Robert Neff has authored and co-authored several books, including Letters from Joseon, Korea Through Western Eyes and Brief Encounters.
Italian count's tall tales and true from a legendary past (Part5)
The tombstone of Count Daniele Pecorini-Manzoni. When Giorgio Olivotto visited it in October 2005, he was so touched by the Count's tale that he took it on himself to clean the site and lay flowers. Courtesy of Giorgio Olivotto, October 2005
By Robert Neff
Count Daniele Pecorini-Manzoni when he traveled to the United States in 1914. Courtesy of Diane Nars
Aquila's tale of dangerous adventure, salacious gossip and tragic love is, unfortunately, just that ― a tale. Paolo dall' Aquila was a fictitious character based on his creator's (Count Daniele Pecorini-Manzoni) own life, mixed in with a healthy dose of self-aggrandizement and facetious libel of his peers.
Like his character's life, Count Daniele Pecorini-Manzoni's real life is also filled with inaccuracies and mysteries. We know he was born in Padua, Italy, on October 16, 1871, and, if we use his account in his book “Japanese Maple,” he made his way to England where he did find employment with the Chinese Imperial Maritime Customs and was soon on his way to the Far East.
Daniel Pegorini (the name he used in Korea) arrived in China in November 1897, where he worked at one of the open ports as an assistant ― a member of the indoor staff. In 1898, he was transferred to Chemulpo (modern Incheon) and was probably pleasantly surprised to discover some fellow Italians on the staff.
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the Italian community in Korea was very small ― basically a handful of men. Unfortunately, very little is known about them except, perhaps, dashing young Ugo Francescetti di Malgra ― the first Italian consul in Korea.
The consul, who was six years younger than Pegorini, was extremely popular with the men and women of the foreign community. He was so popular that even a young woman named Christine Collbran and her stepmother competed with one another for his attention. Naturally, this caused friction within the household and Mr. Collbran forbade the consul to visit again. He soon, most likely, regretted his harshness.
Japanese Maple. Robert Neff Collection
On October 12, 1902, the Italian consul died of typhoid and, just a little over a month later (November 18), Christine died from the same disease. They were both buried in Yanghwajin cemetery and their stones can still be found ― relatively near one another. It should be noted that the consul's grave is empty ― his mother came and had his body removed to Italy.
Pegorini wrote the consul's obituary ― which was published in the Korea Review ― and described him as having spent all his time in study. “No sport, no pleasure seemed to attract him outside his house, and yet this severity of life did not interfere with his being a most amiable and accomplished gentleman.”
It is a fitting example of Pegorini's mastery of weaving a tale to enhance the memories of friends. He was also able to weave tales that depicted those, like the missionaries, in a less-favorable light.
“Japanese Maple” is filled with truths, half-truths and, perhaps, outright lies. The Russian Tseredine and his secret love Christina seem to be based, in part, on the Italian consul and Christine Collbran. Many of his characters in the book correspond to people in Chemulpo and Seoul ― their true identities concealed somewhat lazily by changing only one or two letters of their names.
Pegorini worked in Chemulpo until 1903, when he was transferred to Fusan and for a short time was the temporary commissioner until the real commissioner returned. He continued to work at Fusan as an assistant until about 1905. According to most sources, he then returned to China where he worked at one of the open ports until 1911.
One source claims that he then returned to Italy where he worked at a Chinese consulate. According to the same source, he never married, which seems to give credence to his tragic relationship with Fujisan. Unfortunately, this isn't quite true.
The engraving on the tomb: “More nimble than the flight of the maple leaf carried by the wind is that thing called life.” Courtesy of Giorgio Olivotto, October 2005
On November 22, 1906, Pegorini (who we will now address as Pecorini) married an American divorcee named Margaret Bucknell Stearns. We don't know much about their lives ― to be honest, I haven't really explored their relationship as I only recently learned of the marriage. Many people, including some of Pecorini's neighbors in Bassano del Grappa (north of Venice), seem to have been unaware of this marriage.
In 2003, I corresponded with one of his former neighbors who remembered visiting him when she was a little girl. She declared that “his memory to me is sacred” and she was related to him through her grandfather who married Pecorini's sister.
“My small family visited [him] ever Sunday for dinner. Count Daniele was suffering from heart trouble from which he later died. He loved us (two girls) and teased us with sweets in a box formed as a frog. He was adored by my beautiful mother because he treated her with great respect.”
Pecorini's villa was known as “Villa Fuji” and it appears that he spent much of his time here devoted to study and writing. His last book was the “Japanese Maple” and it was published in 1935.
An advertisement in the British newspaper Observer (November 3, 1935) described it as “Count Pecorini's unusual autobiography [that] gives a delightful picture of life in Japan and Korea at the time of the Russo-Japanese War, and the idyllic love of the author and the geisha Ofujisan.”
On December 12, 1936, Count Daniele Pecorini-Manzoni died in his home ― most likely from a heart attack ― and he was buried in the cemetery. His stone was adorned with a bronze branch and maple leaves. Unfortunately, the elements or thieves have robbed the stone of this one ornament but the words associated with Fujisan are still clearly visible:
“Piu' labile del volo della foglia d'acero portata dal vento e' la cosa chiamata vita
(More nimble than the flight of the maple leaf carried by the wind is that thing called life.)
As to Villa Fuji, according to residents, the villa was purchased after Pecorini died and following World War II was demolished. No one is quite sure where it once stood.
Additional notes
I have been researching this story since the early 2000s and would like to thank Giorgio Olivotto (who resided in Seoul from the 1970s-2010), Dr. Marco Zagarola (a member of the Italian embassy in 2005) and Diane Nars.
I would strongly recommend reading “Japanese Maple.” It is one of the few books written by a non-missionary about Korea during this period from an eyewitness point of view. It is up to you to determine what is fact and fiction.