Before, Korea used to be so absolutely closed to the rest of the world, that besides annual Chinese embassies, which were strictly controlled at the Green Duck border, no one could enter the Kingdom lest they should die. The missionary Fathers first bravely disregarded this barbarous interdiction and managed to cross, at night, the river which is the border and which many border patrols were carefully and severely guarding. They however soon had to give up on this passage, the Korean government, having been informed of its territory's violation, had trained dogs to go after foreigners. It was then on junks set up by Chinese Christians that the Fathers, hidden by the the coast's islands, could dock the small boats of their future flock, who, risking their lives, helped the missionaries get inside the country. They were hidden from sight thanks to the Korean costume used by orphans as its huge hat entirely covers the face and as the mourning ritual prevents people from asking any sort of inquisitive questions. Today thanks to the treaties signed, a simple passport is enough to enter Korea.

During lunch, the captain asks me if I have ever met Koreans. I tell him that in Japan, aboard the steamboat that was to take me from Kobe to Nagasaki, I saw, a few moments before departure, two boats full of  Japanese officials with a group of strangely dressed people coming towrds us. I was told that it was a Korean prince with his escort [...] No sooner have we departed that the prince, a young man of about twenty five and of a rare, natural distinction, struck by the curiosity with which I am looking at him from afar, comes towards me smiling. I stand up right away and walks towards him: we meet and for lack of a common language to understand each other, we express our feeling with good humored and lively gestures. I give him cigars and he offers me cigarettes, takes the watch in my pocket and shows me the one he just bought. Then we turn to our spectacles, clothes and everything that can be the subject of mutual curiosity. [...] The next day I was sitting on the deck [...] The prince rushes towards me, his face showing signs of great anguis mixed with a strong feeling of confidence. He rolls up his large sleeve up to the shoulder and shows me with an exceptional anxiety the thousand bites that speckle his unusually white skin. I make him understand with signs that he probably has been a victim of mosquitoes. He shakes his head to tell me that it is much worse, and, suddenly turning his back to me, pulls up his jacket and takes down his pants to show me the first quarters of a moon I quickly try to eclipse by covering it. [...] And that is how I got to see all the faces of a Korean prince before even going to Korea. 

Fifteen minutes later, I finally step on Korean soil [...] Hundreds of Korean labourers are there, legs half-naked, working on the ground that will become the unloading dock. Several porters, wearing pants and a white cotton jacket, bring materials with a grossly sculpted wooden hook [...] Their braided hair sticks like a horn on top of their head. They are all barefoot or wear straw shoes, but unlike the Japanese straw shoes, the big toe is not separated from the other toes. Koreans, besides, are much bigger in size than the Japanese and their face has an entirely different character. Here and there, women bring food to their husbands. They are very ugly and disgracious, shave their eyebrows into one thin line which draws a perfectly defined crescent. Their hair is thick, black, oiled up with red reflections and forms, with a trick unbeknowst to me, a thick headress that heavily rests on top of their head. They all look like they were packaged rather than dressed and I am strangely surprised to see most of them let their breasts completely stick out of their clothes which are horizontally open on the chest.