Introduction
This article aims to explore the conditions under which diplomatic and commercial ties between Italy and Korea developed, focusing on the activity of Consul Carlo Rossetti during his brief yet significant mandate. Appointed as Consul to Korea in 1902, Rossetti served from November 1902 to May 1903. Despite the short duration of his stay, he gathered an impressive array of materials concerning the social, economic, geographical, and cultural dimensions of Korea. This documentation included books, papers, and official documents offering a detailed and multifaceted picture of Korean society and territory. Moreover, Rossetti made extensive use of photography to capture scenes of Korean life at the time. The study examines Rossetti’s photographic collection to shed light on how his Western gaze shaped the perception and historical narrative of Korea. It further analyzes how Rossetti used photography as a narrative medium to document his experiences. From a theoretical perspective, images can serve as significant tools within cognitive paradigms; as E. Edwards well explained, “photography as a medium is not about photography per se, but about its potential to question, arouse curiosity, tell in different voices or see through different eyes. [It] can communicate about culture, people’s lives, experiences and beliefs, not at a level of surface description, but as a visual metaphor which bridges that space between the visible and invisible, which communicates not through the realist paradigm, but through a lyrical expressiveness.”1 Photography, indeed, can be distinguished on two levels of analysis: 1) the image is taken as an element of a more general picture, a fragment of a collective memory, which together with other similar fragments, contributes to the reconstruction of the particular historical-social context; 2) the image constitutes above all a witness of life, with strong emotional implications for those who possess it, closely linked to the private dimension of memory. This paper focuses primarily on the photographic language of the collection published in Corea e coreani: impressioni e ricerche sull’Impero del Gran Han (Korea and Koreans: Impressions and Research on the Great Han Empire)2 by Carlo Rossetti, as well as on his observations of Korea during his tenure as Italian Consul.
Historical Context and Overview
In the early 19th century, Korea entered a period of profound decline. Agricultural productivity faltered, and waves of popular uprisings began with the revolt of 1811, continuing intermittently throughout the century. These culminated in the Tonghak movement of the 1860s, which later sparked a major peasant rebellion in the 1890s. Korean leaders, aware of China’s transformation following the arrival of powerful Western gunboats and traders, responded to the Opium Wars by sealing Korea’s borders even more tightly. As a result, the Korean peninsula became an increasingly attractive target for Western powers. Foreign ships began appearing along its coasts, only to be met with firm resistance. Korean officials consistently informed explorers, merchants, and adventurers that their presence was both illegal and unwelcome. The year 1866 marked a pivotal moment in Korea’s encounter with imperialism. The Korean persecution of Catholics led to a French military expedition, commanded by Admiral Pierre-Gustave Roze, which attacked Kanghwa Island. However, the mission failed and was forced to retreat in the face of strong Korean resistance. Just weeks earlier, the General Sherman, an American merchant vessel operating under British charter, had sailed up the Taedong River to the outskirts of P’yŏngyang. The ship was destroyed and all those aboard were killed.3. For much of the 19th century, the Hermit Kingdom staunchly resisted the intrusion of the so-called ‘Western barbarians’, in Korean referred to as yang’i (양이, 洋夷) (Photo 1).
The Grand Prince T’aewôn’gun, who governed as regent on behalf of his young son King Kojong from 1864 to 1873, has often been regarded as the embodiment of Korea’s staunch isolationism and resistance to foreign intrusion. His administration epitomized the policy of soaeguk chôngch’i (Kor. 쇄국정치, 鎖國政治, closed-country politics), a resolute stance aimed at preserving the kingdom’s sovereignty and Confucian order in the face of growing external pressures. However, by the mid-19th century, this isolationist policy had become increasingly untenable. Reform-minded factions within the court began advocating for cautious engagement with the outside world, perceiving openness as a necessary condition for modernization and national survival. This internal debate was intensified by mounting external pressure from Western imperial powers, which, following the forced openings of China and Japan, turned their attention toward the Chosôn kingdom (1392–1897). The cumulative effect of these internal and external tensions was encapsulated in the expression naeu oehwan (內憂外患), ‘internal disorder and external calamities’4, a phrase that aptly captured Korea’s precarious geopolitical position in the late 19th century. The country was further debilitated by persistent popular uprisings, entrenched factionalism, political instability, and increasing interference from foreign powers, chiefly China and Japan. In 1873, King Kojong assumed direct control of the throne, effectively sidelining his father, and adopted a more pragmatic stance toward foreign relations. Unlike his predecessor, Kojong exhibited a measured willingness to engage diplomatically with Western nations.5
“Western barbarians are overrunning us if we don’t fight and we compromise, that will mean selling our country”.6
The 1876 Treaty of Kanghwa, signed under Japanese coercion, is generally considered a watershed moment in Korea’s diplomatic history.
Frequently described as Korea’s first modern, or at least Westernstyle, treaty, it marked the formal beginning of Chosŏn’s integration into the international treaty system. Following the Kanghwa Treaty, King Kojong found himself compelled to enter into a series of diplomatic and commercial agreements with various Western powers. The first Treaty of Friendship and Commerce was concluded with the United States in 1882, and was subsequently followed by treaties with the United Kingdom (1883), Germany (1883), Russia (1884), Italy (1884), France (1886), Austria-Hungary (1892), Belgium (1901), and Denmark (1902). These agreements signaled Korea’s reluctant but decisive entry into the global order dominated by imperial powers. Despite the profound social and political crises afflicting Chosôn at the time, this period of forced openness also ushered in a wave of reformist energy. In a symbolic gesture of national renewal and sovereignty, King Kojong proclaimed the establishment of the Korean Empire (Taehan Cheguk, 대한제국, 大韓帝國) in 1897, thereby elevating Korea’s status from kingdom (wangguk) to empire (cheguk). This move was intended to assert Korea’s independence in the face of mounting foreign encroachments and to reframe the country’s identity within the context of emerging modern nationhood.
Italy and Korea: Early Encounters
As Prof. Kirk Larsen quoted, “The story of nineteenth and early twentieth century Korea is, in many ways, a story of competing imperialisms... Foreign encounters with Korea in the nineteenth century generally confirmed that the Chosôn Kingdom was content with its limited relations with China and Japan. But the Korean desire to maintain its status as a ‘hermit’ would come under increasing challenge”. 7
Italy did not remain indifferent to the prospect of establishing political and economic relations with the Korean kingdom, following the example of other Western powers. The modern Italian nation-state was officially unified on March 17, 1861, when most of the states of the Italian peninsula, along with the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, were brought together under King Victor Emmanuel II of the House of Savoy. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Italy actively sought to position itself among the Great Powers, aspiring to assert its influence in regions that offered opportunities for economic expansion and the international promotion of its national image. In particular, the Italian government identified the Far East as a promising arena in which to address domestic challenges, such as the silkworm epidemic that had severely impacted the silk industry, and to seek out new commercial markets. These considerations played a significant role in motivating Italy’s initial diplomatic and economic engagements with Japan and China, relations that would soon be extended to include Korea.
Italy’s interest in Korea was not entirely based on ignorance of the peninsula. While Marco Polo’s Il Milione (1299) offered only a fleeting reference to Korea, referred to as Cauli, it represents, so far, one of the earliest mentions of the region in Italian sources. A more substantive, albeit indirect, encounter occurred in the late sixteenth century, when the Florentine adventurer and merchant Francesco Carletti arrived in Japan in 1597, remaining there for ten months during the period of Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s second invasion of Korea. These sporadic but noteworthy references underscore a longstanding, if limited, Italian awareness of the Land of Morning Calm, before the establishment of formal relations. Francesco Carletti provided one of the earliest Western descriptions of Japan, and, notably, offered one of the first mentions of Korea in Italian travel literature, second only to Marco Polo. In his account, Carletti refers to the Japanese military campaign against Korea, which he explicitly characterizes as “unjust and without cause or reason”. His observations are recorded in the posthumously published work Ragionamenti sopra le cose da lui vedute ne’ suoi viaggi sì delle Indie Occidentali e Orientali come d’altri Paesi (Florence, 1701; Reasonings on the Things He Saw in His Travels Both in the West and East Indies and in Other Countries, see Photo 2). In this text, he also documents the presence of Korean slaves purchased by the Japanese during the invasion, offering a rare and early Western perspective on the human consequences of the conflict. Da quelle provincie, ma particolarmente da quelle più marittime ne conducevano per ischiavi numero grandi d’Uomini e di Donne d’ogni età; fra le quali vi erano assai belle fanciulle, e tutti erano venduti a vilissimo prezzo; ed io ne comprai infino a cinque per poco più di dodici scudi e fattili battezzare li menai meco e nella città di Goa li lasciai liberi, e solo uno di essi condussi con me in quella città di Firenze, che oggi si ritrova a Roma, chiamato Antonio Corea.8
It is well known that Matteo Ricci, the Jesuit missionary who wrote extensively on China, also referred to the sixteenth-century war between Korea and Japan in his Commentaries from China (1610). More detailed, however, was the work of Martino Martini, a Jesuit missionary, cartographer, and historian who focused primarily on ancient Imperial China. In his Novus Atlas Sinensis (1655), produced in the mid-seventeenth century, he dedicated an entire chapter to the kingdom of Chosŏn, about which so little was known in Europe that it was debated whether it was an island or a peninsula. Daniello Bartoli 9, who never visited East Asia, but relied on reports from fellow missionaries, also included Korea in his work Japan (1660). Despite the indirect nature of his sources, Bartoli proved to be well informed about both the geography of the country and the characteristics of its inhabitants.
Koreans, in turn, also became acquainted with Italy. This occurred primarily through scholars and officials who traveled to China or Japan, where they encountered information on Western science disseminated by Jesuit missionaries. Among the works most widely circulated were those of Matteo Ricci, including his celebrated world map, on which the name of Italy is clearly visible. The distinguished writer Pak Chi-wŏn (1737–1805), in his Yŏrha Ilgi (Jehol Diary, 1780), records that while in Beijing, he wished to visit Ricci’s tomb. Citing the inscription on the stele, he recalls Ricci’s origin as being from the State of Italy in the great western ocean at the extreme west.
Later, Giuseppe Calleri, an Italian missionary affiliated with the Société des Missions Étrangères de Paris (MEP), which was reconstituted in 1829, was sent to East Asia and arrived in Macau in 1836. There, he studied the Korean language in preparation for a mission to the Kingdom of Chosôn. Although he was scheduled to travel to Korea aboard a British ship, the journey was ultimately canceled, and he remained in Hong Kong. Calleri eventually left the missionary society and entered the service of the French government as a Chinese interpreter. In 1844, he published Mémoire sur la Corée in France, a work based on indirect sources and secondhand accounts. He is also credited with compiling a Korean–French dictionary manuscript, which is now considered lost. In the broader context of early Italian engagements with Korea, the emergence of Korean studies in Italy was marked by the key figure of the scholar and diplomat Ludovico Nocentini (1849–1913). His contribution marked a significant step beyond the anecdotal and often secondhand accounts of earlier figures, as Giuseppe Calleri. Nocentini received formal training in Chinese and Japanese at the Istituto di Studi Superiori in Florence and subsequently entered the diplomatic service, serving as consul in Shanghai. Upon his return to Italy, he was appointed to teach at the Oriental Institute of Naples, an institution originally founded by Matteo Ripa in 1732 as the Collegio dei Cinesi10 before becoming a full professor at the University of Rome La Sapienza. Nocentini’s scholarly output reflects one of the earliest systematic Italian efforts to engage with Korean history, geography, and culture. In 1887, he published Names of Sovereigns of the Old Corean States and Chronological Table of the Present Dynasty in the Journal of the China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, vol. 22 (1887): 49–58. This was followed by two contributions to the Atti della Reale Accademia dei Lincei in 1896: Materials for the Geography of Korea and Materials for the History of the Ancient Korean States. His work continued with the essay “Pieng Yang” (P’yôngyang), published in 1901 in the Journal of the Italian Asian Society, and General News on Korea in 1902. Nocentini also compiled a New Anthology of Legends and Folk Tales of Korea (1895), reflecting his interest in Korean oral traditions. In 1899, he published Korean Geographical Names and Korean Products with Their Names in Chinese Characters, Korean Pronunciation, and Italian Translation in the Journal of the Italian Geographic Society. Taken together, these publications represent the foundation of Korean studies in Italy, bridging linguistic competence, diplomatic experience, and rigorous academic inquiry. Italy’s interest in Korea is further evidenced by the Italian translations of English-language works on the region. A notable example is the 1820 Milanese edition published by Sonzogno, which presented the Italian translation of Captain Basil Hall’s travel narrative. The volume, titled Relazione d’un viaggio di scoperte alla costa occidentale della Corea ed alla grand’isola Lu-Tsciù del capitano Basilio Hall (Photo 3), is a translation of Hall’s original work Account of a Voyage of Discovery to the West Coast of Corea and the Great Loo-Choo Island. This early translation illustrates the circulation of Western knowledge on Korea within Italian intellectual and publishing circles in the early nineteenth century.
In 1892, the Vallardi publishing house released an Italian edition of Élisée Reclus’s New Universal Geography, specifically Volume VII, Far East Asia (photo 4), which included a chapter dedicated to Korea. In addition to the translated content, the publisher appended a supplementary section detailing recent developments in Korean history, as well as the events that led to the signing of the first commercial treaty between Korea and the Kingdom of Italy.
Diplomatic Contacts between Italy and Korea
On June 26, 1884, Italy obtained the draft of a treaty with Korea, the Treaty of Amity and Commerce between Chosôn and Italy, Choisuhot’ongsang choyak (조이수호통상조약 朝伊修好通商條約). On behalf of Italy, Ferdinando de Luca was appointed as plenipotentiary minister, and for Korea, the minister for negotiations with foreign countries, Kim Pyông-si. However, actual ratification was delayed. The treaty was presented to Parliament on January 15, 1885.12 The limit for exchanging ratifications was one year, but, since Italy’s ratifications had not been received within this limit, the vessel captain and the Consul General of Italy and of Spain in Shanghai, Enrico Accinni, was sent to Korea to ask for and obtain an extension. The ship arrived in Chemulp’o on July 313 (other sources say July 1014). Commander Accinni reached Seoul on the 7th, met the king, and obtained the requested extension. The task of bringing the ratification of the treaty, July 24, 1886, to Seoul was given to the frigate captain Federico Cravosio.15
In the letter of the King of Italy, Umberto I, delivered to him, we read: To all who shall see these presents, greetings. By these letters signed by Us and bearing Our Royal Seal, We confer upon Knight Federico Cravosio, Captain of Frigate and Commander of the Royal Ship Rapido, full powers and special mandate to proceed, together with the Plenipotentiary of His Majesty the King of Korea, with the exchange of the ratifications of the Treaty of Friendship and Commerce concluded in Seoul (Hanyang) on June 26, 1884, between the Kingdom of Italy and the Kingdom of Korea. Given in Rome, the 7th day of January 1886. Signed Umberto (Photo 5).
Following the exchange of treaty ratifications, the Italian commander was received in audience by the King on July 26. As the bearer of a letter from the Sovereign of Italy, he was accorded the exceptional honor of entering the royal palace through the Great Central Gate. On this occasion, the King conveyed his wish to welcome an official Italian representative to the capital in the near future and handed over an autographed letter in reply, addressed to the Italian monarch. Shortly thereafter, Commander Cravosio was also received in audience by the Crown Prince.17 However, the actual establishment of a permanent diplomatic mission in Korea would be delayed by several years, partly due to the broader international context, in which various powers were intensifying their expansionist ambitions in East Asia. Toward the end of the century, the outbreak of the Boxer Rebellion in China required the deployment of substantial foreign military forces. In response to this crisis, Italy organized the Oceanic Naval Division (Divisione Navale Oceanica) in the Far East, under the command of Admiral Candiani.18 It was only after a decade that Italian naval vessels resumed their visits to Korean waters. By that time, conditions had become more conducive for the establishment of a diplomatic mission in Korea. However, due to a shortage of qualified personnel within the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, naval officers with prior experience and a knowledge of the region, including Korea, were appointed to serve in various posts, including that of the Korean legation.
On October 21, 1901, Second Lieutenant Ugo Francesetti di Malgrà disembarked at Chemulp’o (modern-day Inch’ôn), bearing credentials as consul and acting head of the Italian legation in Seoul, during the final phase of the Chosôn dynasty. In December of the same year, the Italian consular office was formally established in the Korean capital.19 The first premises were located at Kondanggol, Ûlchiro 1-ga 181 ponji (곤당골, 을지로 1가 181번지).20 Initially, the consulate was housed in the private residence of the American missionary Reverend Samuel Moore, situated in the Kondanggol district on the site now occupied by the Lotte Hotel in Ûlchiro 1-ga (photo 6). The consulate was later relocated to 41 Sôsomun-dong, the location currently occupied by the headquarters of Korean Air.
The newly arrived Italian Consul, Conte U. Francesetti di Malgrà, presented his credentials at court on the fourteenth instant. Relations between Italy and Korea have been carried on heretofore through the British Legation, but from now on Italy will be represented in person. Conte di Malgrà is occupying the house recently vacated by Rev. S. F. Moore in Kon-dang-kol.21 Navy Lieutenant Count Ugo Francesetti di Malgrà was a strikingly charismatic young man, only twenty-four years old, known for his outgoing nature and popularity within the small Western expatriate community in Seoul. His untimely death from typhoid fever on October 12th, 1902, came as a profound shock to many who knew him, eliciting widespread sorrow. In response to his sudden passing, the Italian government urgently appointed Lieutenant Carlo Fecia di Cossato to assume the post. He served as acting Consul from October 17, 1902, until early November, when Lieutenant Carlo Innocenzo Luca Rossetti of the Royal Navy arrived in Seoul.
Carlo Innocenzo Luca Rossetti
Carlo Rossetti was born in Turin in 1876. According to family notes preserved by his daughter Oretta, little is known about his parents. His father, Agostino Rossetti, also from Turin, served as a legal advisor to the Royal Italian Household in Cairo. He died tragically in 1903 at the age of 51, after being struck by a runaway horse; at the time, Carlo was 27 years old. His mother’s name was Vittoria. Rossetti had three siblings: two brothers, Gigi, a painter who died by suicide at the age of 31, and Romano, a lawyer, and a sister, Maria, who married Captain Amadasi.22 Rossetti’s early naval career included service as a junior officer on the battleships Francesco Morosini and Ruggiero di Lauria, the latter of which participated in the international mission to Crete. Between 1898 and 1900, he was stationed in the Red Sea, and in January 1900, he was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant. That same year, he was assigned to the torpedo ram Puglia during the Italian Far Eastern campaign of 1900–1902. From November 6, 1902, to May 15, 1903, Rossetti served as acting Consul of Italy in Seoul. In February 1904, he was seconded to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Colonial Office, and subsequently represented the ministry at the Colonial Congress held in Asmara, Eritrea, between September and October 1905. During the First World War, he was appointed Naval Attaché in Petrograd, serving from May 1917 until the October Revolution. He was promoted to the rank of Commander in 1918 and formally discharged from recall to active service in 1920. In the postwar years, Rossetti held several significant appointments in the realm of international affairs. Within the naval reserve, he was promoted to Captain in 1927 and to Rear Admiral in 1940. Carlo Rossetti passed away in Rome on September 26, 1948. 23
He married in 1909, Valeria Mengarini, daughter of Guglielmo Mengarini (scientist and politician) and Margarethe Traube Mengarini (of German-Jewish origin, scholar and activist for women’s rights). They had seven children: five daughters, Marina, Donatella, Fiammetta, Oretta, and Benvenuta, and two sons, Romano and Ferruccio.24 Ev en though Rossetti was a man in uniform, he managed to find time and desire to express himself through various hobbies, sometimes unusual. He was known as a precise and methodical person, and despite the austere faces of the photographs made public, he was a jovial man, a lover of company and play. He had a cheerful disposition and a remarkably broad culture. He read and wrote on every subject with enthusiasm. Affable in temperament, he loved the company of his children. Rossetti was not known for being strict; rather, he was described as indulgent and gentle, except for a harmless yet persistent obsession with punctuality at mealtimes. He was regarded as a learned and inquisitive individual, reportedly amassing a personal library of approximately ten thousand volumes. His study was said to be overrun by stacks of newspapers, which he appeared to archive with great care and diligence. Among his more eccentric passions was an extensive collection of succulent plants, comprising a wide variety of species, to which he devoted considerable attention.25
A great lover of graphology, polyglot and expert linguist, author of dozens of publications, including linguistic books still valid in the study of French and English. He was a traveler, lover of Africa and Asia, a man of great personality and charisma, an ironic character who loved to entertain every family reunion with pleasant jokes and games, a great collector of decks of playing cards and hundreds of magic tricks purchased in international magic houses, a man of a thousand resources, and obviously, with great merit, a conjurer and author of three magnificent texts on the art of magic.26
Framing the East: Western Narratives and the Image of Korea
Travel writings have long served as valuable sources for the study of Orientalism, as they often encapsulate imperial ideologies embedded in colonial language and cultural perceptions. These texts reflect the asymmetrical power dynamics between the West and the East, articulating the East primarily through Western frames of reference. Travelers frequently approach the East not as an entirely unknown entity, but as a textual construct shaped by prior representations. As Mary Louise Pratt27 observes that many travelers engage with “the schematic authority of a text” rather than confronting “the disorientations of direct encounters”. This predisposition leads to a recursive form of textual production, in which the experiences of the traveler are filtered through already existing tropes and narratives. Consequently, what is perceived is often what has already been imagined or described, producing a phenomenon akin to déjà vu. Upon returning to their home countries, these travelers often write accounts of the East that reiterate previously established depictions. When such texts fail to introduce new insights or challenge prior assumptions, they contribute to the creation of what Pratt refers to as topoi, stereotypical and formulaic representations that repeat rather than revise. In such cases, textual redundancy displaces the lived experience, replacing it with a fixed imaginary that privileges textual coherence over empirical complexity. These repetitive constructions not only undermine the authenticity of the travel experience but also reinforce hegemonic discourses about the East.
Nevertheless, travel writing as a genre often stands apart from official or institutionalized accounts, such as diplomatic reports or colonial administrative records. Because travelers are not bound by the same formal constraints, their narratives may include subjective impressions, emotional reactions, and sensory experiences that resist homogenization. In this sense, travel writing can generate alternative discourses that depart from dominant orientalist paradigms. Pratt introduces the concept of the ‘contact zone’ to describe the space in which such cross-cultural encounters take place. She defines it as “the social space where disparate cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other, often in contexts of highly asymmetrical relations of power”. Within these zones, travelers may experience moments of mutual recognition and cultural negotiation, even under unequal conditions. Importantly, contact zones offer a possibility for travelers to revise preconceived notions and to participate in a dialogic process with the Other. By foregrounding firsthand encounters, such texts have the potential to resist the textual inertia of orientalist repetition and to contribute to the emergence of new cultural discourses.
Known to many Westerners at the time as the ‘Hermit Kingdom’, Korea began to open its ports and cities to foreign envoys, merchants, missionaries, and adventurers at the end of the 19th century. This influx of outsiders left behind a valuable corpus of travelogues, personal narratives, diaries, illustrated albums, and descriptive reports, documenting their encounters with Korean landscapes, politics, customs, and people. These foreign accounts, written by diplomats, scholars, soldiers, and missionaries, occupy a unique place in the historiography of modern Korea. They offer not only empirical observations of late Chosôn and early Korean Empire society, but also a prism through which contemporary Western (and sometimes Japanese or Chinese) perceptions of Korea were refracted. Travelogues by figures such as Isabella Bird Bishop, Homer B. Hulbert, George Gilmore, and many more blend ethnographic detail with the subjectivities, biases, and cultural assumptions of their authors. Illustrated with sketches, photographs, and maps, these works conveyed to distant readers a vivid, if often partial, picture of Korea’s urban life, rural landscapes, royal court ceremonies, and everyday practices. At the same time, they participated in the broader imperial discourse of the age, situating Korea within a network of geopolitical rivalries and modernization narratives. Today, these travelogues are valued both as historical sources and as cultural artefacts, revealing as much about their authors’ worlds as about the Korea they sought to describe. “The West has constructed its own identity by differentiating the alien Otherness in this way; the Occident is advanced, rational, logical, and balanced, [...] while the Orient is the same, unchanging, uniform, radically peculiar object. [...] The Orient also has backward characteristics, such as a tendency to despotism, a habit of inaccuracy, or indifference. The Orient is thus not the Orient as it is, but as constructed by the European will to dominate the Other”.28
According to Edward Said, discussing cultural strength without sufficient analysis risks falling into vague generalizations. Therefore, he concludes that concerning the West, the assumption was that the Orient and everything within it was either inferior or required ‘corrective study’ by the West.29 Su Young Park’s work provides, indeed, a discussion of Orientalism in the context of Korea: “In some respects, the Far East, to which Korea belongs, was not a threatening opponent to Europe. Nevertheless, it is possible to adapt the theory of Orientalism to Korea with the help of Said’s argument: that the period of growing Orientalism matched the period in which the European empire expanded in Asia and Africa from 1815 to 1914. [...] Even though Korea was not a colony of European countries, it was a kind of ‘the Other’, which was thought to require corrective intervention by the West”.30
According to Park, in applying Said’s Orientalism to the case of Korea there are two points of view: “study the inner Self when Koreans met the Western Other”, as dealing with the “internalizing process of Orientalism”; the second to “study the Western perception of Korea”, focusing on how the West represented and perceived the Orient.31 Travel reports written by foreigners who visited Korea in the late 19th century offer valuable information about the culture and daily life of the Korean people during that time. They provide detailed insights into various aspects of Korean life: Korean food, architecture, religion, and social customs, providing a more comprehensive understanding of their way of life. Another characteristic of some of the reports written by Westerners was that Koreans were often depicted as being in-between and uncivilized. On appearance and character, the Korean is often compared to the Chinese and Japanese, which, according to Sun Ju Kim’s article32 and the research done by Park and Yoon.33 It is visible in many written sources of the West. Generally, the portrayal of Korean traits is limited and tends to be somewhat unfavorable. Despite their amiable nature, there are claims that Koreans are untruthful and fail to uphold their commitments. Unfortunately, during that period, a more pessimistic depiction prevailed. This perspective persisted until more comprehensive accounts of East Asia were published and disseminated throughout Europe and the Americas.
The primary focus of the discourse on colonialism initiated by Edward Said is the West’s discriminatory treatment and marginalization of the Orient as ‘the Other’ to establish a hierarchical relationship between the two. The most prominent aspect of this differentiation, as practiced by Europeans, is the portrayal of the East as unchanging or in a state of decay, while the West is constantly advancing. The fundamental objective of Western travelers is to immerse themselves in the exotic. They actively seek out the extraordinary and the visually appealing, planning their trips with the intention of reveling in the sensation of being liberated from their daily routines and the familiarity of home. For example, travelers as Isabella Bird and George Curzon, in their books respectively, Korea and her neighbors (1898) and Problems of the Far East (1894), are not exempt from this inclination to seek out the exotic, but their journeys serve a greater purpose beyond mere escapism. “According to Bird and Curzon, Korea is a decaying and dying country and obstinately resists reform from the palace to the lowest slums. They use the term ‘conservatism’ to represent Korea. Bird views it as the hotbed of ‘the antique Oriental conservatism’, and Curzon concludes that a ‘conservatism of a hide-bound stolidity is instinctive’ in the Korean people (Curzon: 187)”.34
Knowledge and Observation in Rossetti’s Book: Corea e Coreani
This study examines Carlo Rossetti’s travel text Corea e coreani: impressioni e ricerche sull’impero del Gran Han (Korea and Koreans: impressions and research on the Great Han Empire)35, which contains cultural information and data about the Koreans and the country, and which essentially constitutes a representation of the anthropo-historical- geographical reality of the area. The cultural identities, stereotypes, and culturally marked signs present in the text also have their own cultural geography, in the sense that they are placed, both as texts and as culturally specific signs, in precise locations in the geographical space.
Some signs are unique, others are not, yet they are placed in a well-defined space that is, at the same time, culturally specific, for example, an intrigue at the Chosôn court involving the ministry of finance Yi Yong-ik.36
Carlo Rossetti likely mentioned Yi Yong-ik in his Corea e Coreani (86, 91–99) because he was a central, and colorful, character in the political life of the Korean Empire at the turn of the 20th century, embodying many of the traits that fascinated and perplexed foreign observers. From what we know of Rossetti’s style (humorous, ironic, attentive to political intrigues), Yi Yong-ik’s story would have been irresistible for several reasons: Yi rose from humble origins to become one of King Kojong’s closest advisers, controlling finance, mines, and key negotiations with foreign powers. That kind of ‘rags to riches’ leap was remarkable, even by the standards of the time. He was involved in multiple power struggles within the court. His political maneuvering, alliances, and rivalries made him a living symbol of the factionalism Rossetti often commented on. Yi’s negotiations with Russia, Japan, and Western powers tied him directly to the geopolitical tensions that Rossetti was documenting. Foreigners who met Yi often described him as shrewd, ambitious, and occasionally manipulative, a perfect candidate for one of Rossetti’s ironic sketches. In Rossetti’s narrative, Yi could serve as a culturally specific realia, a concrete figure through which to depict the peculiar blend of Korean tradition, political intrigue, and the pressures of foreign imperialism. I guess that Rossetti didn’t just name-drop Yi, but placed him in a specific court episode, so readers could see both the location and atmosphere of Korean political life at the time (photo 8).
During his stay in Korea, Carlo Rossetti developed a profound interest in the study of Korean culture. What initially began as a series of personal notes eventually culminated in a public lecture delivered upon his return to Italy. In 1904, Rossetti presented a conference on Korea at the National Library, housed within the Collegio Romano in Rome. The event was attended by King Vittorio Emanuele III and Queen Elena of Montenegro, along with prominent figures from Italy’s political and economic spheres. He was invited to produce a publication of his notes. His book was published by the Istituto Italiano di Arti Grafiche of Bergamo in 1904 in two volumes (photo 9).
When confronted with other cultures, two recurrent and contrasting interpretive reactions often emerge. The first involves a tendency to deny or minimize cultural distance by assimilating the foreign to the familiar. This is frequently achieved through the use of analogy, whether consciously adopted as a rhetorical device or employed unconsciously as a cognitive shortcut. The second reaction, by contrast, entails the construction of the other as radically different, often functioning as an inversion or mirror image of the self. In this view, the foreign culture becomes a projection of what one is not, defined through contrast, opposition, or even exoticization. These interpretive tendencies can give rise to stereotyped representations. While stereotypes are not necessarily fabricated, they typically emphasize certain traits while neglecting others, leading to partial or distorted images of the culture in question.37 Moreover, such frameworks are often applied indiscriminately across cultural contexts, erasing historical and regional specificity in favor of generalized models of the Other.
Beyond its textual content, the richness of Carlo Rossetti’s documentation lies in its extensive and diverse visual corpus. The collection includes 132 photographic prints (referred to as aristotipi), of which 66 are duplicates, and an additional set of 161 glass slides. These materials provide a rare visual record of late Chosôn-era Korea, reflecting both documentary intent and aesthetic sensibility. In addition to the photographs, the text is further enriched by drawings, diagrams, tables, and paintings, which together enhance the ethnographic, artistic, and historical value of the work. This integration of visual and textual materials makes the Rossetti collection a significant example of early cross-cultural documentation, offering insights not only into the society it depicts but also into the interpretive frameworks through which it was observed and recorded.
Ethnographic Visions: Selections from Rossetti’s Korean Photographic Archive
Historical narratives are one of the key tools for the construction of a socially shared meaning of the collective past, for giving sense to current events, and for the imagination of possible futures. Thus, the newcomer is expected to assume the collective narratives of the past of the group, first as part of the audience, then as an actor performing in the ongoing socio-historical drama, and eventually (once they have acquired the necessary skills), as a voice transmitting the received stories, or even as an original author of new ones.
Some would say that the power of narrative is in the essence of all photography, while others would argue that photography is strictly a non-narrative medium for its irreducible temporality.
In her essay, Pictorial Narrativity39, Wendy Steiner states that while it’s unusual for a single image to tell a story, it has been common throughout the history of the arts for an image to imply a certain story or remind the viewer of a story he or she already knows. In this way, the photograph can depict a moment within a larger story, and the viewer is able to draw upon the story he or she already knows. Thus, this kind of photograph can be considered narrative because it recalls a story through association.
In his collection of photographs, Rossetti tries to narrate to Italian people as much as possible what the country of Korea was back then and who the Koreans were. Certainly, he was not the first to collect photographs and publish them, and as he himself declares, there were already some works that described the town and also boasted photographic material. However, Rosetti’s book captured the changes that the Korean Empire began to make on its own before that, and became a visible source of the colonial modernization theory that was unexpectedly manipulated after that.
His photos are divided into photos of a landscape, of the city of Seoul with its streets and architecture, of ordinary people, of temples, and of scenes of daily life.
Many of the photos were taken directly by Carlo Rossetti, but he, too, like other foreigners, also collaborated with professional photographers who were present in Seoul.
Who will dare to try to describe Seul, as I am going - dear meto do, will not be able to find any basis for comparison: no city in Asia could be compared to Seul or it could look like it. Seul is the center where to converge all the people who wish to achieve success, it is the heart from which radiate all the innovations, all the national activities and events.40 Rossetti dedicates an entire chapter to the Korean capital, stating that “just as Paris is France, so Seoul is Korea”. The city, transliterated as Seul by Rossetti to facilitate pronunciation for an Italian readership, is presented as a synecdoche for the nation itself. In opposition to the capital, the remainder of the territory is referred to as Sigul (Sigôl, 시걸), a term denoting the rural countryside. The portrayal of Seoul offered by Rossetti, consistent with accounts by other Western observers of the late 19th century, reflects a perception of cultural and urban decline. According to Rossetti, centuries of military and political confrontation with both Chinese and Japanese powers had contributed to the erosion of the city’s former aesthetic and artistic sophistication, attributes for which it had once been celebrated.
Among the urban features most valued by Rossetti are the monumental city gates (see photographs 11 and 12) and the royal palaces. Historically, Seul was enclosed within a fortified wall punctuated by eight principal gates: four Great Gates (Taemun) and four Small Gates (Sômun). The Great Gates were notable not only for their monumental scale but also for their symbolic nomenclature, which drew upon Confucian virtues. These gates were simultaneously associated with the cardinal directions, indicating a geomantic and cosmological ordering of urban space. For instance: Hûnginchimun (“Gate of Benevolence”) or Tongdaemun (“Great East Gate”); Tonûimun (“Gate of Loyalty”) or Sôdaemun (“Great West Gate”); Sukjôngmun (“Gate of Solemn Sovereignty”) or Pukdaemun (“Great North Gate”); and Sungyemun (“Gate of the Exaltation of Rites”) or Namdaemun (“Great South Gate”). Rossetti observes that foreign residents and travelers tended to adopt the directional denominations, which were more practical for everyday use. Prior to the Kabo Reforms of 1894, it was customary for all city gates to be closed at nine o’clock in the evening, effectively imposing a nightly curfew. During Rossetti’s residence in Seoul, this practice was still observed, although entry and exit after hours were permitted upon request.41
Rossetti’s account of the city of Seoul is marked by speculative reflections and personal commentary on how the city might have appeared in earlier periods. In discussing the city’s urban layout, he raises the following question: I do not know whether, in the time of Tai Giò42, the city walls [of Seoul] truly separated the inhabited area from the countryside, or whether he chose instead to be somewhat generous in anticipation of future expansion. If that were the case, his spirit must today be deeply disappointed, for the area within the walls currently occupied by houses does not even constitute onetwentieth of the total space; all the rest is deserted countryside.43 Humour and irony characterize portions of Rossetti’s narrative, as seen in the passage cited above in which he evokes the figure of King Taejo.
Between Distance and Affection: Humour and Irony in Rossetti’s Travel Narratives
The coexistence of humor with realia, signs, and micro-textual elements that are culturally specific is quite rare in this kind of literature. The distinctive feature of Rossetti’s work, therefore, lies in the fact that it contains culturally specific signs and textual parts that are, at the same time, humorous or ironic. The style used has more the characteristics of a diary and travel notes; unlike other authors of the time, Rossetti’s text not only shows knowledge of certain historical, cultural, and religious aspects along with personal comments, but it also abounds in ironic remarks both in the text and in the captions of the photos (Photo 15). It shares some features with odeporic literature that flourished in Europe between the 7th and 9th centuries. In odeporic texts, we find important information regarding the physical and political geography of various places, customs, population, the natural and technical environment, and history. Rossetti’s work has a distinctive trait: the writer describes the reality of Korea, recounting in the text, with humor and irony, characteristic and amusing episodes experienced in various places.
It is plausible that Rossetti deliberately employed humour to render his writings more accessible and engaging to his European readership. At the same time, his attention to cultural particularities, often tinged with amusement or irony, may reflect a deeper fascination with alterity, a recurring feature in 19th-century European travel literature. This tendency to highlight behavioural patterns perceived as unusual or curious was part of a broader discursive framework through which European observers constructed the image of the Other. Rossetti’s text is enriched with additional ironic anecdotes, such as the episode involving Mr. Yang Hong-muk, an interpreter: His official position as interpreter for the Royal Consulate seemed to leave him largely indifferent; one might even say he regarded it as beneath his dignity. His true calling, Rossetti suggests, was idleness, the art of dolce far niente.44 Rossetti had first met Mr. Yang aboard the Italian ship Puglia, where he had taken some photographs of him and promised to send them with a personal dedication once developed. To Rossetti’s surprise, when Mr. Yang later returned, he remarked: I thought you might not be aware of all my titles...Rossetti adds: And indeed, he proceeded to recite them one by one: former private counsellor (counsellor to whom? I wondered), former chief editor of the Han Yang Sinmun, former English professor at the PaI Cè45 School, and finally, interpreter of the Royal Consulate.
As a gesture of gratitude, Mr. Yang offered to publish a description of the Italian vessel in the capital’s newspaper. Unfortunately, due either to Mr. Yang or to the typesetter, the published article mistakenly referred to the ship as belonging to Tai Pi Guk (대비국 – Belgium) rather than Tai Yi Guk (대이국 – Italy). Rossetti, in a tone of mock exasperation, writes: And to think that I had gone to such lengths to praise all excellent qualities, power, armament, and speed!46 The anecdote involving Mr. Yang Hong-muk offers a valuable insight into the complex role played by local intermediaries in the travel narratives of European visitors to East Asia in the late 19th century. Far from being neutral figures, interpreters and cultural brokers like Mr. Yang occupied ambiguous and often strategically negotiated positions at the intersection of colonial knowledge production, diplomacy, and personal ambition.
In Rossetti’s portrayal, Mr. Yang is both collaborator and comic figure, an individual who oscillates between institutional utility and personal vanity. The irony with which Rossetti recounts Yang’s enumeration of his titles, and the subsequent printing error that misidentifies Italy as Belgium (Tai Pi Guk instead of Tai Yi Guk), subtly exposes the fragility and unreliability of mediated cross-cultural communication. Yet, this irony also masks a deeper dependence: European travelers often relied heavily on such intermediaries to access local knowledge, language, and institutions, even as they maintained a rhetorical distance or superiority in their representations. As scholarship on colonial and semi-colonial encounters has shown, intermediaries were not passive transmitters but active agents who shaped the flow of information, sometimes reconfiguring or even subverting the narratives they helped to produce. Their presence complicates the binary model of East versus West by inserting a third position, one that negotiates power from within the contact zone (Pratt, 2007), often with its own agenda. Thus, Mr. Yang’s portrayal, at once dignified, humorous, and pivotal, reveals the tensions inherent in mediated travel writing: between dependency and derision, translation and miscommunication, representation and self-representation.
Rossetti evidently was unaware of Yang’s past and his role in her life. Yang Hong-muk played a prominent role as one of the key members of the Hyôpsônghoe (협성회協成會)47, organized by SôChae-p’il in 1896, along with Chu Sik-yông and Shin Hûn-gu. Afterwards, he joined the Independence Club (독립협회)48 And actively participated in the patriotic enlightenment movement while concurrently serving as a secretary for the Judicial Council in February 1898.
Later, during his tenure as an educator at Pae Che Hakdang, in November 1898, when a massive crackdown was imposed on the Independence Club, he, along with Lee Sûng-man49, and others, led students and crowds to gather at the Ministry of Defense, where they organized the Manmin Kongdonghoe50 to denounce the suppression of the Independence Association. Furthermore, when influential figures who received government support conspired to obstruct the establishment of the assembly, he exposed and strongly condemned such plots. Then, while serving as the chairman of the Hyôpsônghoe, he engaged in press activities, including publishing the newspaper Maeil Shinmun which targeted the common people.
Rossetti was likely very fortunate to have at his service a figure of such stature and knowledge of the historical context of the period, in addition to being an intellectual and a former professor at one of the most important academic institutions of the time. This would also probably explain his deep knowledge of certain cultural aspects, even compared to other Westerners who wrote about Korea during that period. His irony and humour also emerge in his descriptions of the city, which are often marked by sharp or witty remarks. While his observations frequently align with those of other foreign travellers, his tone remains notably lighter and more playful.
For instance, when describing the streets of the Korean capital, Rossetti writes: It is all oriental and particularly Korean life that takes place under the eyes of the western passer-by. Extravagant scenes happen continuously; strange clothes attract attention ... it is incredible the bustle of those streets: from dawn until late at night it is a continuous swarming of people….51 The bustle of those streets is incredible: from dawn until late at night, there is a constant swarming of people moving along with that slow, dazed, swaying gait particular to Koreans. They brush past you, bump into you, stumble, and carry on with a vacant gaze and unsteady steps, ‘as if some mysterious force compelled them to wander eternally.’ Where is all this silent crowd going?52
These passages are illustrative of Rossetti’s observational style, which blends literary embellishment with ethnographic intent. However, it also exemplifies a common trope in orientalist discourse, wherein Asian subjects are portrayed as enigmatic, passive, or guided by forces beyond rational comprehension. Such representations contributed to the creation of an essentialized and exoticized East, constructed in opposition to a rational and self-determined West. While Rossetti’s observations may be read as vivid and entertaining, they also reflect the epistemic asymmetry typical of the colonial and post-Enlightenment gaze. His portrayal of Korean urban life as both animated and directionless, ‘a crowd wandering in silence’, encapsulates this ambivalence, simultaneously admiring and distancing, descriptive and reductive. These comments also serve as evidence that Rossetti was a demanding observer, but they simultaneously highlight the cultural distance in everyday customs between Europeans and Koreans.
In many densely populated Asian cities, the concepts of personal space and social interaction in public areas differ significantly from Western norms (photo 16). Physical proximity and incidental contact, such as brushing past someone or lightly bumping into them in crowded streets, are often perceived as neutral occurrences rather than social transgressions. In such contexts, the lack of an apology is not indicative of rudeness, but rather reflects a different spatial etiquette shaped by the realities of high urban density. Public life in many Asian cultures tends to be more externally oriented, with a strong presence of social and economic activity occurring outdoors, in markets, streets, and communal spaces, rather than within private interiors. As a result, the urban experience normalizes close physical interactions and reduces the emphasis on personal territoriality. This normalization often leads to a lower threshold for what requires verbal acknowledgment, such as apologies, during minor physical contact. In this framework, the street is not only a space of transit but a shared social environment where the flow of movement takes precedence over individualized spatial boundaries. This contrasts with Western urban models, where personal space is often more rigorously protected and where unintentional contact typically prompts an immediate verbal response.
Topographies of Encounter: Rossetti’s Spatial Representations
Many foreign travelers, including Rossetti himself, were largely unaware of the underlying cultural assumptions that shaped Korean social practices, and often interpreted them through a Eurocentric framework. Their observations, rather than reflecting an informed understanding of local norms, tended to project European cultural expectations onto non-European contexts, thereby reinforcing asymmetrical perceptions of civility, modernity, and social order. This epistemological bias aligns with a space of asymmetrical interaction where cultures meet, often under conditions of inequality shaped by imperial or colonial dynamics. In such zones, travelers frequently acted not merely as passive witnesses, but as agents who actively produced knowledge about the “Other,” knowledge that was often shaped more by the expectations and ideologies of the metropole than by the lived realities of the societies they encountered.
Rossetti’s writings, while valuable as historical testimony, must thus be read critically, as part of a broader discursive tradition that, however unconsciously, contributed to the construction of an orientalist worldview.
On one side, he perceives the dynamism of the city and its people (photo 17), but on the other, his observations are sometimes not immune to orientalism. In Rossetti’s book, we found some attitudes towards otherized Korea and Koreans. However, the peculiarity is also to otherize in comparison with other Asian countries, mainly China or Japan.
Seoul, unlike all other cities in both Korea and China, prides itself on having four or five major thoroughfares that traverse it from end to end, and which, being quite wide, are also relatively clean. It is unfortunate, however, that these streets lack the liveliness and cheerfulness so characteristic of Chinese roads, qualities largely owed to the rich and multicoloured external ornamentation of Chinese houses. Instead, one is left to admire the half-meter of mud through which we are forced to wade, or the dusty ditch into which we have just stumbled.53 This type of commentary can be read in light of what scholars have termed the urban picturesque, a framework through which European travelers aestheticized the built environments of foreign cities, often privileging irregularity, ornamentation, and sensory richness. Within this paradigm, visual stimulation and exotic architectural detail were equated with cultural vitality, while perceived monotony or lack of decoration was associated with stagnation or backwardness.
Rossetti’s disappointment at the absence of external embellishment in Seoul’s architecture, contrasted with his admiration for the ‘liveliness and cheerfulness’ of Chinese streets, reveals how the expectations of the picturesque shaped his urban impressions. His gaze was not neutral but filtered through aesthetic conventions that had been cultivated in European art, literature, and urban theory, conventions that valued surface richness and ornamental display as markers of a city’s cultural worth. This aesthetic judgment also participates in what can be termed aesthetic imperialism54, the imposition of Western artistic standards onto non-European contexts. In this view, cities were not merely observed but evaluated and hierarchized according to their capacity to conform to European notions of visual pleasure. As such, Rossetti’s writing not only documents a physical landscape but also enacts a discursive process that reinforces colonial hierarchies by aesthetic means.
Continuing his narrative on the city, Rossetti also offers insight into the residential architecture of Seoul, which, in his eyes, resembled huts more than actual houses. Quoting Lord Curzon’s Problems of the Far East: Japan – Korea – China (1894)55, Rossetti notes that they are “a mixture of wood and paper”. However, unlike Curzon, Rossetti provides a more detailed description: Wood forms the skeletal structure; mud covers it to constitute the walls; and paper, in turn, is used for almost everything: it covers the floors, the walls, the ceilings; paper frames of the desired size divide the interior space... sheets of paper take the place of glass in the windows; the door panels, too, are made of paper...To this enumeration of materials, you need straw, traditionally used for the roofs (Photo 18). Only in exceptional cases, among the wealthier classes or for government buildings, are clay tiles employed”. Rossetti also remarks on the use of the ondol, a traditional Korean underfloor heating system, which he refers to by its Chinese term kang (炕).56 This system, he explains, is used in winter to burn wood or straw, allowing heat and smoke to circulate beneath the thick masonry floors and warm the entire house.57
Portraying the Koreans Through Rossetti’s Eyes
Rossetti embarked on an ambitious attempt to compile a series of portraits to collect anthropometric data, a common objective among European scholars and travelers in the late 19th century who sought to apply pseudo-scientific methods to the visual classification of racial and ethnic types.58 Although his project did not succeed in generating the systematic measurements or comparative data he may have envisioned, Rossetti nonetheless produced a substantial collection of frontal and profile photographs of Korean individuals (Photo 19). These images, taken in both formal and spontaneous settings, reflect the broader anthropological impulse of the time: to document, categorize, and in many cases exoticize the physical features of non-European populations.
What emerges instead of a strict scientific catalogue is a visual archive that offers insight into everyday appearances, dress, posture, and gesture. These portraits unintentionally blur the boundary between ethnographic record and human encounter, revealing, at times, the individual presence and subjectivity of those photographed. While Rossetti’s framing may have been shaped by Eurocentric and colonial visual logics, the resulting images now serve as important historical documents, capturing the tension between objectification and representation that lies at the heart of early photographic practices in colonial or semi-colonial contexts. In support of his photographic and ethnographic endeavors, Rossetti references several prominent intellectuals and scientific figures active in East Asia at the turn of the century. Among them is Dr. Joseph Edkins, a missionary and sinologist based in Shanghai, known for his work on Chinese religion and language, whose authority was widely recognized among European orientalists. From Korea, Rossetti draws upon the expertise of Prof. Homer B. Hulbert, a notable American educator and linguist who had spent years in Seoul and was deeply involved in documenting the Korean language, culture, and politics. He also cites Prof. Erwin von Baelz, a German physician and anthropologist working in Tokyo, who had conducted extensive research on the physical anthropology of East Asian populations, particularly the Ainu. Additionally, Rossetti mentions Emilio Bourdaret, an Italian expatriate whose knowledge of regional languages and local customs contributed to Rossetti’s broader understanding of the East Asian context. The invocation of these and many other figures demonstrates Rossetti’s desire to position his own work within a transnational intellectual framework, one composed of missionaries, diplomats, scholars, and medical professionals who operated within overlapping colonial, academic, and diplomatic spheres. Their citations not only lend an air of scientific credibility to Rossetti’s writings but also reveal the dense network of knowledge exchange that characterized European encounters with East Asia.
Rossetti’s depiction of Koreans is as follows: Their skin tone is a dull white, closely resembling that of the Japanese, although among the lower classes, a brownish tint is often observed. Among women of all social classes, however, the skin is consistently very white. The eyes are always black; though also slanted, they are noticeably less so than those of the Chinese or Japanese, and cases of entirely horizontal eyes are not uncommon. Likewise, the nose is often flattened, with an average width of 36 mm and a length of 49 mm, but straight, regular noses, sometimes even aquiline, cannot be considered exceptional. The hair is always straight, thick, and black. Beards, generally speaking, are far less rare than among the Japanese and are often lighter in color than the hair. Of robust constitution, resistant to fatigue, and, as I have said, taller than average, Koreans undoubtedly constitute a fine race.59 This passage reflects the racialized scientific discourse typical of 19th-century European anthropological writing. Rossetti adopts a tone of empirical objectivity, citing precise measurements, observable traits, and statistical norms, yet the language is deeply embedded in Eurocentric racial hierarchies. The description of physical characteristics such as skin color, eye shape, and nose size uses comparative frameworks that implicitly rank populations, often positioning European features as the normative standard. References to ‘flattened’ noses or ‘oblique’ eyes are juxtaposed with remarks on “straight” or even “aquiline” noses as notable exceptions, revealing an aesthetic valuation rooted in Western ideals of beauty and form. The use of terms like “race” and the emphasis on physical constitution, skin tone, and fatigue resistance also signal the influence of scientific racism, which sought to classify human groups through bodily traits as indicators of moral or intellectual capacity. Despite the ostensibly positive conclusion that Koreans constitute a “fine race”, the statement is framed within a system of visual categorization that served to reinforce colonial and orientalist assumptions about non-European peoples. Today, such descriptions are understood not as objective observations but as cultural constructions shaped by power, ideology, and the politics of representation. Among the portrait photographs of Koreans are several depicting Rossetti’s Korean collaborators. In these instances, Rossetti offers contextual information about their identities and the roles they played within the foreign community in Korea at the time. These individuals often served as essential intermediaries, interpreters, cultural brokers, or local assistants, whose linguistic fluency and intimate understanding of Korean society were indispensable to the functioning of foreign legations, commercial ventures, and scientific or ethnographic documentation. While Rossetti recognizes their contributions, his portrayal is shaped by the unequal power structures of the colonial encounter. As such, the presence of these intermediaries in his photographic and textual archive must also be read critically: they reflect both the dependency of European observers on local knowledge and the limits of that acknowledgment within dominant Western narratives. Their partial visibility highlights what Homi Bhabha calls the ‘in-between’ position of cultural translation60, figures who mediated across epistemological boundaries, yet remained constrained by the very systems they enabled
It was a general habit of foreigners in Korea to use Chinese servants, believing that Koreans were not suitable for the delicate tasks of housekeeping (Photo 20). I took a Korean Ma Yang Ciun, already employed by my predecessor, and he was named by me as the “ number one boy”, an expression that, in pidgin English, the very funny language spoken throughout the Far East, especially with the servants, designates that servant who has precedence and authority over all servitude62.
Among the staff of Rossetti’s at the Italian consulate, in addition to the ‘Number One Boy’, there were two other figures referred to, in Korean, as Kishù63 and Mungighì,64 (Photo 21).
The Kishù is in the lowest rank among the hierarchy of servants. He was obliged to wear a strange dress consisting of a pair of wide trousers with red lines and a jacket of the same color with metal buttons... The main job was to run before the master when going out, opening all the doors.
The Mungighi is in a higher social rank than the kishù and in fact he wears a special uniform... His job is to open and close the main gate of the house, a sort of concierge.65. The Korean staff serving Rossetti included: a butler, Ma Yang-ciun (마양준); a cook, Ma Yang-sun ( the butler’s brother); a kitchen helper, Yi Yung-sun (이양순); a certain Kim as kishù (기수), and Ceu (likely Choe 최 or 죄) as munjigi. The consulate staff was completed by Mr. Yang Hong-muk, interpreter.
Rossetti’s depictions of his Korean staff highlight both the indispensability of local intermediaries and the asymmetries of their representation. While their skills in mediation and cultural translation were essential to the daily functioning of the consulate, they appear in his account within rigid hierarchies that reflect the unequal dynamics of colonial encounters. Their partial visibility in the archive exemplifies the ‘in-between’ space of cultural translation: figures central to the production of Western knowledge about Korea, yet simultaneously marginalized within the very systems they sustained.
Conclusion
The photography of social actions leads us into a rich area of non-verbal research. A variety of reliable evidence can be read directly from photographs of social activity, for in them is reflected complex dimensions of social structure, cultural identity, interpersonal relationships, and psychological expressions. City streets can be a practical laboratory. Kinesic behavior, facial expression, body posture, spatial positions, and costume can indicate social status. Photographs of everyday activity—such as those captured in city streets-provide a form of visual ethnography through which complex social dynamics can be observed and interpreted. As John Berger argues in Ways of Seeing (1972: 128), photographs are not neutral records but constructed representations that reflect particular ways of looking, shaped by both the photographer’s perspective and broader cultural codes. City streets thus become practical laboratories for decoding social behavior in context. Erving Goffman’s theory of the ‘presentation of self’. 66 It is especially relevant here: the street functions as a stage on which individuals manage impressions, engage in face-work, and perform social roles through bodily comportment, gestures, and spatial positioning. Colonial photography, visual materials must be read not only for what they show but also for how they shape knowledge and reinforce hierarchies of representation. Thus, photographs of urban life are not merely illustrative; they are analytical tools that reflect the socio-cultural logics embedded in public space. When read critically, such images reveal both explicit behaviors and implicit structures of meaning, capturing the performance of daily life with all its encoded social significance.
The writings and photographs of Carlo Rossetti provide a rare Italian perspective on Korea at the dawn of the twentieth century, a moment when the peninsula was caught between imperial pressures and the search for national sovereignty. His careful observations, combined with visual documentation, offer not only a testimony of diplomatic encounters but also an attempt to systematize knowledge of a country that was often misrepresented in contemporary European accounts. Rossetti’s work demonstrates how diplomacy, travel literature, and photography intersected in shaping Western images of Korea. While embedded in the orientalist framework of his time, his narrative also conveys an unusual degree of sympathy and curiosity toward Korean society, distinguishing his testimony from the more patronizing accounts of other foreign visitors. His photographs, simultaneously ethnographic and personal, extend the textual narrative, suggesting a conscious effort to balance aesthetic representation with historical record. Ultimately, Rossetti’s account reminds us of the complexity of cross-cultural encounters at the turn of the century. His role as a mediator between Italy and Korea highlights the significance of minor diplomatic actors in global history, whose contributions have often been overshadowed by the narratives of major powers. Revisiting Rossetti’s legacy not only enriches our understanding of Korea’s modern history but also invites reflection on the ways images and texts continue to shape cultural perceptions across borders.
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