Peeping in Joseon Korea: Voyeurism, diplomats and scandals (Part 1)

Percival Lowell’s picture of a pagoda in Seoul in 1884 / Robert Neff Collection

Recently, an article appeared in The Korea Times discussing the increasing popularity of television programs that showcase the homes of others. As a partial explanation, the article noted: “In Korea, people have long been fascinated by homes — not only as places of rest, but also as symbols of lifestyle, taste and financial success.”

In the late 19th century, however, not everyone was willing to display their homes or courtyards to strangers. Many early Western visitors to the peninsula commented on the high walls surrounding Korean houses and the exteriors which seemed dilapidated and uninviting. Even the residences of the upper class looked rundown, as if they had long been neglected or were badly in need of paint.

When the Rev. John Wolfe, an Englishman, visited Korea in the summer of 1885, he described Korean homes as being “very mean and poor on the outside” but “extremely neat and tidy” on the inside.

Only later did it occur to these Western observers that this was less a matter of neglect and indifference than of prudence. An open display of wealth invited unwanted attention and trouble. Money and valuables could easily be lost to thieves — and not all thieves came dressed in dark clothing in the middle of the night. Some arrived openly, clad in fine clothing or official uniforms: the servants of a local magistrate who had suddenly remembered a new tax that could be levied.

A Korean neighborhood in the 19th century / Robert Neff Collection

Thus, it was safer to build a high wall and maintain a bleak exterior, concealing the comforts and luxuries within. Perhaps more importantly, those walls also served another purpose: They kept prying eyes from wandering where they did not belong — particularly toward the women of the household.

In the winter of 1883-84, Percival Lowell, an American temporarily residing in Seoul, spent much of his time exploring and writing about the capital. He was especially intrigued by the tall “solitary pagoda” that could occasionally be seen rising above the low roofs in the center of the city.

One day, accompanied by Kim, his “invaluable assistant,” Lowell made his way through a maze of narrow streets and alleys to “an ill-kept little garden” where the pagoda was located. Lowell later wrote:

“As I could get no good view of it, such as I wanted, from the alley-way where I stood, I was obliged to ask permission to break one of the most sacred of Korean rites, — no less heinous an offence than the climbing to a neighboring ridgepole. The act was not reprehensible on the score of trespass, — my asking permission precluded that, — but the climbing to any, even one’s own, roof is in Korean eyes a grave affair, for it is a question of statute. It is forbidden by law to go upon one’s own housetop without giving one’s neighbors formal notification of one’s intention to do so. The object of the law is to prevent any woman’s being accidentally seen by one of the other sex. The women’s suite of houses are in the rear of the compound, and their occupants might easily be overlooked when in the enjoyment of their gardens from such a vantage-ground.”

Kim managed to persuade the homeowner to allow the American to climb onto the roof — a feat accomplished only through “the zealous rather than dexterous assistance” of the landlord and his companions. With some trepidation, Lowell’s camera was also hauled up to the precarious perch, allowing the American to take what appears to have been the first photographic image of one of Seoul’s most iconic structures, both then and now.

The pagoda was not the only thing that caught Lowell’s eye — though, unfortunately, not his camera’s lens. He explained:

“I have reason to believe that the proprietor neglected to notify his neighbors of my intention, as I caught a woman in an adjoining back-yard in the act of hanging out some washing. Unfortunately, she did not tarry long enough for me to photograph her, but dodged under shelter again with virtuous rapidity.”

Lowell’s actions could be dismissed as a harmless breach of Korean custom by an ignorant foreigner. However, the subject of the next article — a case involving a Korean employed by a Western diplomat — would hinge not on intent, but on how his actions were perceived.