Riva Mikhlin, Santa Clara University
What is the subject of a portrait? Obviously, the sitter. After all, a man has a right to the leading role in his own portrait. Hasn’t he? And yet, the portrait of Hasekura Tsunenaga is not about the man on the canvas, but rather about the man behind it — Pope Paul V — and his political ambitions. In 1614, Hasekura, a retainer of the daimyo (warlord) Date Masamune, arrived in Spain, ostensibly to pay his respects to Philip III and ask for more missionaries to be sent to Japan (his true aim — securing direct access to trade with New Spain).1 He met with a lukewarm reception in Madrid and continued on to Rome in 1615, where he was accepted with all the pomp befitting a foreign ambassador.2 During Hasekura’s stay in Rome, the artist Archita Ricci3 painted a grand portrait of the samurai (fig. 1). At the time, the painting was housed in the Palazzo Borghese,4 a residence purchased by Pope Paul V when he was still Cardinal Camillo Borghese.5 Through this image of a powerful Japanese man, the portrait seeks to communicate the influence of the Pope and emphasize his political importance in a world where he was rapidly losing his footing.
In the painting, the ambassador stands on a checkered marble floor — arms akimbo — leaning on a table by his right side. He wears light-colored short kosode (short-sleeved inner robe) and hakama pants patterned with gold and green grasses, a dobuku (open-fronted outer jacket) with deer motifs, and golden sandals.6 He sports two swords tucked into his waistband, and a helmet lays in the shadows on the table beside him. By his feet sits a little black dog arrayed in a heavy jeweled collar. A green curtain drapes sideways to reveal the view of a ship — the San Juan Batista — through the window. In the sky above the vessel, three figures sit around a cross on a cloud, and a dove flies overhead in rays of golden light.
The portrait has two focal points: where the eye begins and where it finishes. Hasekura himself functions as the first point — his light-colored clothing stands out against the dark background, and the light that enters on the left side of the painting illuminates his face and instantly draws the eye in. Hasekura forms the point of entry into the portrait, the first thing the viewer sees. Then, the viewer’s eye travels via diagonals to the window behind the ambassador. The drapery of the curtain and the tablecloth, the lines formed by Hasekura’s arms, his jacket, his pants, and even his sword all point to the window. The portrait uses strategic angling to turn the window into a vanishing point. The fact that the light hits Hasekura’s face from the side rather than directly suggests the viewer should look diagonally, following the direction in which the light travels, again leading the eye to the window. The rendering of the floor serves the same purpose. The slant of the checks creates lines that, if extended, would meet around the ship, indicating that the vanishing point lies outside the window. Finally, distance draws the eye in, with the window representing the deepest distance in the painting, forming the natural end point for observation. Clearly, although Hasekura makes for a good introduction, the painting desires the eye to rest on the images outside the window: the ship that brought the ambassador to Europe and, especially, the heavenly figures. This arrangement suggests that Hasekura acts as a vessel for communicating something that extends beyond his person: the imagery outside the window hints at religious achievement — specifically, the ambitious attempt to convert Japan to Catholicism. Hasekura thus appears to be more symbol than man.
The grand manner style of the painting represents Hasekura in the European visual language of power.7 One of the hallmarks of the grand manner portrait is its size. More often than not, the sitter (perhaps here it would be more accurate to say “the stander”) is depicted in a full-length, life-size image.8 The size of the portrait — more than six feet tall — instantly commands the viewer’s attention and respect. In his portrait, Hasekura bears all the accouterments of European nobility — a sword and a dagger, a dog, lace collar and cuffs, a ring, and, of course, the grand interior. Swords, especially ones so lavishly decorated, marked the nobleman, both in Europe and Japan, where only samurai could carry the daisho sword pair.9 The sword’s role as a weapon of war turned it into a representation of those that could be considered of the warrior class throughout many European locales.10 The sword-and-dagger pair appears in numerous portraits of European noblemen and monarchs as well as Japanese samurai (figure 2).
The dog, too, plays the role of a status symbol. Although the breed proves difficult to identify — perhaps a spaniel, a favorite hunting dog — its physical appearance, heavy bejeweled gold collar, and place of honor in the painting speaks to its blue blood. The aristocratic connotations of the dog go beyond its physical appearance: dogs became a favorite diplomatic and mercantile gift from Europe to Japan.11 Both regions prized dogs, as hunting was a gentleman’s pastime in both realms, given its similarity to war — dogs formed a fitting companion for a nobleman.12
While Japan and Europe shared some markers of nobility, like the dog and the swords, some elements represent purely European conventions. The lace collars and cuffs, for one, serve as a signal to a European audience. Lace, being extremely expensive, was very much a luxury good. While clean linen constituted an important part of both Japanese and European outfits, the display of white undergarments keeps up with European fashions of the day. The ring on Hasekura’s finger too serves as a European status symbol: no portraits of high-ranking men from Japan show them wearing a ring, while such a feature is not uncommon among European portraits of men wishing to display their status. The cut of the stone also suggests its European origins. The crown on the crest, marking Hasekura’s noble background, is, of course, singularly European as well. Even Hasekura’s pose — arms akimbo — recalls the favored pose of many portraits of kings and aristocrats of the period (fig. 2).13
The interior also panders to European expectations on the visuals of power. The inclusion of the swords constitutes the first use of the interior space to reference European conventions. When a guest in another’s house, a samurai would take off his long katana prior to entering a room in which he was received, and, as a special indication of respect, would also take off his short wakizashi before sitting.14 While Japanese portraits of samurai often include swords, such paintings are either set outdoors or lack a setting altogether. Wearing the swords specifically indoors, especially in a space where he is most likely a guest, serves the purpose of illustrating Hasekura’s status as a nobleman and a warrior to a European audience. The second way in which the indoor space highlights Hasekura’s power within the European convention lies in the set-up of the interior itself — the marble floors, the draping curtain, even the little table with the helmet harken back to core background elements in a long line of paintings of noblemen and royals. For example, the composition of the portrait bears a resemblance to that employed by Juan Pantoja de la Cruz in his Portrait of Philip III: the draped table holding the subject’s helmet, a curtain unveiling a view beyond the window, the subject’s three-quarters pose with bent knee, the two sword-and dagger hilts (fig. 2). The painting of Hasekura relies heavily on a number of conventions evident in European portraits of the period — the portrait borrows this well-established language to communicate Hasekura’s power and position.
In all, the style of the portrait and the inclusion of certain expected types of elements — ring, lace, swords, etc. — illustrate Hasekura’s status through European conventions of what visually marked authority. He must appear legibly powerful, as a powerful man coming so far to pay his respects to the Pope testifies to the might of Paul V; Hasekura’s status amplifies and reaffirms that of his host.
And yet, though he must appear powerful to European eyes, Hasekura must also look identifiably Japanese — for the sake of the Pope’s reputation, the sitter’s faraway origins signal the distant reach of the Pope’s perceived power. Hasekura wears his hair in a samurai’s knot. The artist carefully documented his clothing. His swords are readily recognizable as the daisho — a pair of swords containing the longer katana and the shorter wakizashi.15 All of these external elements quickly identify Hasekura as foreign to any audience, and as specifically Japanese to a well-educated elite onlooker, the sort this portrait expects. In this regard, the swords play a special role in the painting. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, swords and armor made up the bulk of diplomatic gifts from Japan to European royalty and nobility; the Japanese considered them the only appropriate gifts to be exchanged between men of power. These arms made a splendid addition to royal armories, as well as gifts to other powerful families as a mark of favor.16 An important viewer might have recognized Hasekura’s swords, having seen Japanese arms firsthand, but also understood how exclusive this knowledge really was. He could congratulate himself on being part of an in-group. In this way, the painting speaks to and reinforces a very elite viewership.
Obviously, Hasekura’s physiognomy identifies him as Japanese, but more important are the changeable aspects of his appearance — his hairstyle, his clothing, his swords — because they represent a conscious choice in this depiction. Hasekura could have been painted dressed to look more European. In fact, in a different portrait of himself that he took back to Japan, the ambassador appears much more Europeanized — dark clothes of an unidentifiable cut combined with lace collar and cuffs plausibly suit the European fashions of the day, while showing only the hilt of his wakizashi makes it pass for a generic dagger (fig. 3).
He holds a rosary and raises his eyes to a crucifix. The only hints of Japanese-ness remain in the red woven cord hanging from the wakizashi, the slight crossover barely discernible in his outer garment, and his hairstyle — comparatively minor details. Not only do other portraits of Hasekura dress him in a more European manner, but portraits of other Japanese ambassadors do the same. For example, the 1585 Venetian portrait of Ito Mancio shows the latter dressed in the exact European mode of the time, despite the fact that he was documented as having worn Japanese clothing to various events while visiting the Italian states. In his portrait he dons a brown velvet doublet, a high white ruff, and a Spanish hat (fig. 4).17 Even his features are Europeanized — a common treatment of Asian subjects in this time period. But here, in Hasekura’s Roman portrait, he must, on the contrary, look Japanese — it emphasizes the reach of the Pope’s power and calls to mind the work of Catholic orders in Japan.
The religious symbolism in Hasekura’s portrait continues to play up the success of Catholic orders and the Pope. Outside the window stands the ship that brought Hasekura and his companions to Europe. The name of the ship — San Juan Batista, or Saint John the Baptist — fits the occasion perfectly, given Hasekura’s baptism in Madrid. In fact, the inclusion of the ship in the painting may reference the original baptism — when John baptizes Christ in the river Jordan, the Holy Spirit descends to Jesus in the form of a dove. Here, “Saint John” also sits in a body of water and a dove soars in the rays of light above. Among the trio on the cloud sits a man, possibly Luis Sotelo, the Franciscan friar who accompanied Hasekura on his voyage.18 In Hasekura’s portrait, this figure wears the same drab colored robe and sports the same beard and tonsured brown hair as a depiction of Luis Sotelo located in the Quirinal Palace. There, a fresco depicts him standing by Hasekura’s side, looking much the same as the heavenly figure in the oil painting (fig. 5).19 Put together, a narrative of Catholic achievement seems to emerge — a friar converses with saints and presides over a baptism. And yet, this narrative may be not so much about Catholicism as about the Pope’s personal decisions. Pope Paul V had just permitted the Franciscans to evangelize in Japan in 1608. Previously, only Jesuits had permission to do so.20 The credit for Hasekura’s baptism, and, by extension, the ambition of converting Japan, belongs to the Pope, who, by permitting Franciscans to participate in the conversion of the Japanese, furthered the goals of the entire Catholic world.
For all the glorious religious imagery, the painting commits what seems to be a glaring oversight. Hasekura’s crest, located in the upper left corner, contains the Buddhist swastika. It seems peculiar that a painting celebrating Catholic achievement would include the symbol of a different religion, and so prominently, too. Could this be a mistake stemming from ignorance? Information on Buddhism was not exactly widespread, and yet it was not absent, either. After all, the Jesuits in Japan not only studied Buddhism and its expression, but also sent many detailed accounts of it on to Europe (some written by Alessandro Valignano, the organizer of the preceding Japanese embassy to Europe). In fact, Jesuit writings about their missions were supposed to be reprinted en masse and indeed saw a wide readership among the educated of the Catholic world.21 One might find it hard to believe, then, that not one person in the elite set that might view this portrait would not recognize the Buddhist swastika. The inclusion of the crest does not constitute a necessary part of a portrait, either — a great many grand manner portraits exist without any crests featured, and especially not so prominently.
Why, then, does a symbol of a foreign religion show up in the painting? One might conjecture that the presence of the Buddhist swastika testifies to the fact that Pope Paul V, in his reception of the Japanese embassy, balanced secularly political goals with the expected religious ones. The Pope knew that the true aim of the mission was trade, not Christianity, yet he threw a splendid welcome — perhaps he was receiving Hasekura as a secularly political figure just as much as a religious one.22 He received his guest in part for the political role Hasekura could play in boosting the Pope’s image as a man with far-reaching powers. Unlike the Spanish Crown, which could conquer lands, the Pope had to cast his territorial claim by proxy, for example through Hasekura’s image. Pope Paul V received, almost concurrently with the Japanese ambassador, an embassy from Safavid Persia, a Muslim country. The Pope’s interest in Persia lay in the potential for an alliance against their common enemy, the Ottoman Empire.23 Allying with a Muslim country against a Muslim country demonstrates that Pope Paul V’s motivations were, on occasion, more political than religious. Paul V’s tendency towards realpolitik can then at least excuse, if not fully explain, the presence of the Buddhist swastika in the portrait.
In order to fully interpret the Ricci portrait, one must look at who commissioned the work. Although it proves difficult to confirm, the likely patron is Scipione Borghese, nephew to the Pope. The portrait was certainly kept at the Palazzo Borghese, meaning the painting illustrates the political might of the Pope and his family more so than the power of the papacy (as it might have had the portrait hung in administrative offices).24 This painting is as much about personal achievement as about the papacy.
For further illumination on the topic, one can turn to the frescoed walls of the Salone dei Corazzieri (then called the Sala Regia) of the Quirinal Palace (fig. 5). Pope Paul V built the Quirinal Palace and transferred all administrative business there; it became something of a living testament to his achievements. On the upper part of the Salone dei Corazzieri, frescoed loggias decorate the wall. Their occupants? Foreign ambassadors from Kongo, Persia, Ethiopia, China, and, of course, Japan. The Kongolese ambassador had come from the Catholic King of Kongo to seek protection from encroaching Portuguese forces (figure 6, left); the Persians — to form an alliance against Turkey; Orthodox Christian Ethiopia had intended to send over an ambassador, but Turkish forces blocked the way; the image of a Chinese ambassador is likely fictitious.25 In the front row stands Hasekura, attired exactly as in Ricci’s portrait and accompanied by Father Sotelo (figure 5). The fresco is done in the trompe l’oeil style — the ambassadors lean over the edges of the loggias and appear to watch the viewer. It is as if Pope Paul V has gathered a permanently present court of foreign powers around himself. The fresco’s location in the Quirinal bears significance: the Quirinal Sala Regia served as the main entrance hall to the Pauline Chapel, the chapel used most frequently and often attended by foreign dignitaries visiting the Pope. Important guests — princes and ambassadors — would lodge in rooms connected to the Sala Regia via a gallery.26 Clearly, the fresco not only communicates the papacy’s goal of centralizing and reinforcing its authority, but also intends to impress on powerful visitors the Pope’s widespread political influence.27 The Ricci portrait seeks to do the same.
And there certainly was a pressing need to communicate the Pope’s power. At the time of Hasekura’s visit, the Pope was fighting several battles, the most obvious being the Counter-Reformation. Given the spread of Protestantism, the purpose of the Jesuits was to gain more souls around the world to make up for the losses the Catholic Church incurred. For this reason, the Japanese mission had to be a success. In a different time, converting Japan might have been a nice accomplishment to be proud of, but, in the world of the Counter-Reformation, it constituted a matter of competition and survival, of not losing out to Protestants. Hasekura’s portrait served as evidence of the success of Catholic missionaries abroad, a reassertion of the Pope’s power. An illustrious stranger coming from overseas just to pledge his allegiance to the Pope provided reassurance.
Simultaneously, a second, more subtle conflict was underway: the Papacy’s rivalry with Spain. By the seventeenth century, Spain had begun taking over conversions. After the Portuguese succession crisis,28 with Portugal under Spanish rule, Spain posed a threat to Jesuits in Japan as it favored the Franciscans (such as the Sevillian Luis Sotelo).29 The aforementioned fresco in the Quirinal sheds further light on the inter-Catholic tensions: one of the envoys comes from the Catholic king of Kongo who wished to retain control of churches (and mines) in the face of encroaching Portuguese powers by becoming a papal feudatory. Previously, the Pope had attempted to send non-Portuguese Carmelites to Kongo, but the Portuguese impeded their progress. This time, Paul V planned on giving a public consistory to welcome the Kongolese envoy, against Spanish protests who claimed Kongo as their tributary. To upset the Pope’s plans, the Portuguese Council barred the envoy from leaving the Iberian Peninsula for two years, and when the unlucky fellow finally arrived in Rome, he quickly succumbed to illness before any negotiations could take place.30 When, at the end of the sixteenth century, the Tensho embassy (the preceding Japanese delegation) arrived in Rome, Pope Gregory XIII died shortly before Easter, and so the Spanish took it upon themselves to preside over celebrations, much to the chagrin of Roman citizens.31 In 1608, Pope Paul V finally attempted to reclaim control over evangelizing from the Spanish and established the Congregation of St. Paul. Only five years later he was forced to shut it down under pressure from the Spanish, who found it “inconvenient.”32 Even in purely territorial terms, the Pope’s authority was being threatened. Ever since the end of the Italian Wars in 1559, Spain formed the dominant political power in the Italian Peninsula, having established itself in Naples and Milan and holding sway over Florence (as the Medici had relied on Iberian help in returning from their exile).33 The Papal States therefore found themselves physically surrounded by Spanish-controlled powers, which could hardly have been pleasant to the Pope given the existing animosity between the papacy and Spain. Clearly, then, much mutual rivalry and dissatisfaction existed between the two powers, but Spain had the upper hand.
Simultaneously, the Catholic grip on Japan had begun to slip. Although initially Oda Nobunaga, the first of Japan’s three unifiers, had welcomed Christianity as a counterbalance to the political strength that Buddhism possessed in the sixteenth century, his successor Toyotomi Hideoshi was uncomfortable with the fact that the loyalties of missionaries and their Japanese converts lay with some man overseas (the Pope). In 1587, he banned missionaries from Japan; ten years later, he ordered the crucifixion of twenty-six Catholics (later known as the Nagasaki Martyrs). Hideyoshi’s successor, Tokugawa Ieyasu, brought about a short period of relative tolerance, but, in 1614, Christianity was decisively banned. Subsequently, Christians faced merciless persecution and had to renounce their faith on pain of torture and death. Japan had, in the span of thirty years, gone from the papacy’s favorite project, one that made up for all its losses to Protestantism, to yet another horrific failure.34
This state of affairs sheds light on the vastly different reception given to Hasekura by the Papal and the Spanish courts. Hasekura traveled first to Spain, and then to Rome. The Spanish were not particularly thrilled at his arrival, since the court in Madrid doubted the sincerity of his mission.35 They had received reports of the growing persecution in Japan; of the fact that Date Masamune was not a Christian; of the mission’s misrepresentation, promulgated by Sotelo, that they acted with sanction of the “emperor” (the shogun) when they only had the support of a feudal lord; of the legation’s true aim being a treaty that would allow direct trade with New Spain, rather than by way of Manila.36 The Spanish provided the bare minimum of hospitality; for example, housing the legation in a convent’s infirmary, which had to be shared with grumbling friars.37 The embassy’s reception in Rome, however, turned out spectacularly, much to the annoyance of the Spanish ambassador in Rome, who wrote letters of complaints back to Philip III.38 The Pope had all of the same information at his disposal as did the Spanish, and one would have expected him to be more concerned with the religious sincerity of the mission. However, the glamorous reception can be explained as being organized both in spite of and because of the Spanish. First, Paul V, given his increasingly losing surreptitious battle with the Spanish, did not possess the same luxury of choice. He needed to communicate that he still maintained his power around the world. It benefitted him to claim power over Japan rather than recognizing the true turn of events, especially because in the face of losing some countries to Protestants and others to Spanish control, Japan constituted one of the few remaining locations, if not the last, where the Pope could claim some influence. He simply could not possibly admit to the failed conversion of Japan, and so he had to celebrate Hasekura as much as possible, to use Hasekura’s apparent status to support his own position, and to pretend that the Catholic future in Japan was still as bright as ever. At the same time, perhaps some pettiness was at play: the Spanish had written warnings to the Pope telling him to doubt Hasekura.39 Given the Pope’s not too warm relations with Spain, doing the opposite of what Spain wanted to see could serve as a way of putting the Spanish in their place and reminding them that, at least in Rome, if not elsewhere, the Pope’s decision still carried weight. Hasekura’s portrait thus can be interpreted as the record of a papal achievement in the face of growing Spanish hegemony.
The portrait of Hasekura serves to reassert the power of Pope Paul V at least as much as that of the papacy, as suggested by its placement in the Borghese family residence. Given tensions with the Spanish, the painting is about a victory not solely for Catholicism, but also for Paul V himself, about his political, diplomatic achievements, and the recognition of his authority. It communicates the Pope’s strength by proxy by demonstrating Hasekura’s power through the grand manner style, and, by including identifiably Japanese elements, persuading the viewer that the Pope’s authority extends so far that it has gained him grateful new souls in faraway lands. The painting serves both as an assertion and reassurance of the Pope’s enduring relevance in a world where his power gradually faded away.
Endnotes
- Christina H. Lee, “The Perception of the Japanese in Early Modern Spain: Not Quite ‘The Best People Yet Discovered,’” eHumanista: Journal of Iberian Studies 11 (2008): 348, https://citeseerx.ist.psu.edu/document?repid=rep1&type=pdf&doi=daf19568ccee0fa1f60e55f4eba873865f85be3d. ↩︎
- Lee, “The Perception of the Japanese,” 361-62. ↩︎
- Formerly attributed to Claude Deruet. ↩︎
- Mayu Fujikawa, “Pope Paul V’s global design: the fresco cycle in the Quirinal Palace,” Renaissance Studies 30, no. 2 (2016): 208, https://doi.org/10.1111/rest.12123. ↩︎
- Howard Hibbard, “The Architecture of the Palazzo Borghese,” Memoirs of the American Academy in Rome 27 (1962): 45, https://doi.org/10.2307/4238651. ↩︎
- Anthony J. Bryant and Joshua L. Badgley, “Men’s Garments,” Sengoku Daimyo, accessed November 24, 2023, https://sengokudaimyo.com/garb/mens-garments. ↩︎
- Although, strictly speaking, “grand manner” refers to paintings from the eighteenth century onwards, the type of highly formal portrait indicated by the term predates the name itself, so the use of this appellation is not necessarily anachronistic. ↩︎
- National Gallery of Art, “British and American Grand Manner Portraits of the 1700s,” Accessed December 6, 2023. https://www.nga.gov/features/slideshows/british-and-american-grand-manner-portraits-of-the-1700s.html. ↩︎
- Cameron George Stone, A Glossary of the Construction, Decoration, and Use of Arms and Armor in All Countries and in All Times (Mineola, New York: Dover Publications, 1999), 201. ↩︎
- Dirk H. Breiding, “Arms and Armor—Common Misconceptions and Frequently Asked Questions,” Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, October 2004, https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/aams/hd_aams.htm. ↩︎
- Joao P. R. Joaqium, “The Uses of Animals in Early Modern Portuguese–Japanese Relations,” translated by Fernanda Maio, Bulletin of Portuguese/Japanese Studies 2, no. 3 (2017): 51, https://cham.fcsh.unl.pt/bpjs/files/3_JoaoJoaquim.pdf. ↩︎
- Joaqium, “Animals in Portuguese–Japanese Relations,” 39. ↩︎
- Francesco Freddolini, “(Re)Imagining Asian Rulers in Athanasius Kircher’s China Illustrata: The Agency of Interiors,” Review d’art canadienne 45, no. 2 (2020): 75, https://doi.org/10.7202/1073939ar. ↩︎
- Stone, Glossary, 342. ↩︎
- Stone, Glossary, 201. ↩︎
- Ian Bottomley, “Diplomatic Gifts of Arms and Armour between Japan and Europe during the 16th and 17th centuries,” Arms and Armour 1, no. 1 (April 2004): 15-17, doi:10.1179/aaa.2004.1.1.5. ↩︎
- Jessica O’Leary, “Converting the Cityscape: Emotions, Religion, and Civic Ritual in the Renaissance City for the Tensho Embassy,” in Urban Emotions and the Making of the City, ed. Katie Barclay and Jade Riddle (New York: Routledge, 2021), 25. ↩︎
- O’Leary, “Converting the Cityscape,” 25. ↩︎
- Fujikawa, “Pope Paul V’s Global Design,” 193. ↩︎
- Xizi Chen, “Squabbles between the Jesuits and the Franciscans: a historical review of policies of two Christian orders in Japan,” Trans/Form/Ação 46, no. 1 (March 2023): 244. 10.1590/0101-3173.2023.v46n1.p235. ↩︎
- Linda d’Ortia, Lucia Dolce, and Ana Pinto, “Saints, Sects, and Holy Sites: The Jesuit Mapping of Japanese Buddhism,” in Interactions Between Rivals: The Christian Mission and Buddhist Sects in Japan (c.1549–c.1647), ed. Alexandra Curvelo and Angelo Cattaneo (Peter Lang, 2021), 68-70, DOI 10.3726/b18727. ↩︎
- Lee, “The Perception of the Japanese,” 363. ↩︎
- Fujikawa, “Pope Paul V’s Global Design,” 208. ↩︎
- Fujikawa, “Pope Paul V’s Global Design,” 208. ↩︎
- Fujikawa, “Pope Paul V’s Global Design,” 198-203. ↩︎
- Fujikawa, “Pope Paul V’s Global Design,” 195-197. ↩︎
- Fujikawa, “Pope Paul V’s Global Design,” 217. ↩︎
- King Sebastian I of Portugal died in battle in Morocco in 1578; his great-uncle Henry I succeeded him, but died only two years later, leaving no heirs. Subsequently, a war erupted between pretenders to the throne; finally, in 1583 Philip II of Spain gained control over Portugal, uniting the Iberian Peninsula. ↩︎
- Chen, “Squabbles.” ↩︎
- Fujikawa, “Pope Paul V’s Global Design,” 211. ↩︎
- O’Leary, “Converting the Cityscape,” 26. ↩︎
- Fujikawa, “Pope Paul V’s Global Design,” 212. ↩︎
- O’Leary, “Converting the Cityscape,” 22. ↩︎
- O’Leary, “Converting the Cityscape,” 19. ↩︎
- Lee, “Perception of the Japanese,” 356. ↩︎
- Lee, “Perception of the Japanese,” 356. ↩︎
- Lee, “Perception of the Japanese,” 357. ↩︎
- Lee, “Perception of the Japanese,” 364. ↩︎
- Lee, “Perception of the Japanese,” 361. ↩︎
About the Author
Riva Mikhlin is a senior at Santa Clara University, majoring in Economics and minoring in Mathematics and Art History. She is pursuing a career in economics research, currently focusing on the design of arts programs in schools and their impact on students. If she is not in a museum, you can find her hiking, reading, or studying historical fashion.