41
Difference, Repetition and Utopia
Early Modern Print’s New Worlds
Christopher P. Heuer, Princeton University
Ernst Gombrich saw Dürer’s Rhinoceros
(see fi gure 1) as the triumph of ‘stereotype’
over ‘truth’, convention besting observation
of the early modern exotic.1 His account of
the famed woodcut is straightforward: in
1515 Dürer learned of a Cambodian
pachyderm shipped to the king of Portugal,
and then made a print of it back in
Nuremberg, based upon an illustrated letter
from Lisbon.2 Stamped with Dürer’s by-then
famous ‘AD’ trademark to indicate both
authorship and time (‘Anno Domini’), the
print was headed with five
244
0531 CIHA_06_HYBRID_1.indd 244
letterpress lines detailing the beast’s
habits, appearance and temperament
—’lively and cunning’ (‘fraydig und listig’).
To these Dürer added, as Gombrich put
it, ‘half-invented’ visual details not
included in the letter—interlocking plates
of armour and a spiralling
Figure 1 Albrecht Dürer
Rhinoceros, 1515
23.8 x 30.6 cm
woodcut
National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne (B. 136, H. 273)
Felton Bequest 1956 (3603/4)
17/11/08 10:12:42 AM

vestigial horn before the ‘R’ of his label.
Within the context of Art and Illusion, these
features despoiled visual information with the
fantastic—Dürer’s ‘imagination’ dooming the
print as reportage, as contrafactur.
Yet in the sixteenth century, a woodcut
like the rhino could became one of the most
widely replicated images on earth, appearing
in Munich porcelain, a Castilian tract on
measurement, a 1572 fresco in northern Peru
and, by the 1790s, a silk painting in Edo,
precisely because of its purported drift from
a model, because of what it assumed about
the conceptual ‘homelessness’ of the print
medium, between the poles of pat utility
and aesthetic.3 Everything about Dürer’s
woodcut insisted (and still insists) upon
proximity, tactility, physical entrapment of the
wondrous: compressed space, the roughened
surface of the hide, the print’s tight ink border
enwrapping the animal like a visual cage (one
can almost hear the rhino’s front horn scraping
upwards against the cage of the ink line at far
right). Yet as a print, Dürer’s woodcut banked
on geographical distance for its market and
its novelty. In what early modern Europeans
imagined as the far wilds of the Spanish New
World, the placeless serial image became an
aesthetic for confronting the unknown thing.
We are accustomed to narratives of
global modernity linked to engraving and
art history: print’s ability to internationalise
local art styles4, to speed up and disperse
images of far-flung happenings5, to foment,
through its small format, intimate devotional
relationships between viewers and religious
images6, and, most intriguingly, to engender
new practices of art-making based upon
copying.7 In 1568, Vasari claimed that
engraving ‘made it possible for the world to
be able to see … the maniere of all the artists
who have ever lived’.8 Vasari was pointing
not just to the fame and profit lent to masters
like Raphael by reproductive prints, but also
to the expanded corpus of visual models
available to artists at the time. Engravings by
Raimondi, for example, furnished designs for
craftsmen who could not visit Italy; Vasari
recognised that a crucial faculty of prints was
their collapsing of distance: ‘Prints’, he wrote,
0531 CIHA_06_HYBRID_1.indd 245
Difference, Repetition and Utopia 245
‘have allowed those who cannot travel to the
places where the principal works are to see the
diverse inventions of the masters’. Yet Vasari
also worried how the spread of prints might,
conversely, dissolve the personality of the
same masters. The result might be ‘sheets …
badly made, more for gain than honor’.9 This
presaged not a happy abundance of images,
but a presciently Benjaminian concern with
auratic diminution, a slackening of artistic
presence via reproduction.
Vasari was particularly concerned with
architecture. After the publication between
1537 and 1555 in Venice of Sebastiano Serlio’s
enormously popular Books of Architecture
(works quickly published in France, Spain and
the Netherlands), the issue of print’s authority
for architecture became a serious concern.
Serlio’s books billed themselves as guides for
the ‘artist’ as well as the amateur, containing
large, illustrated pages with little or no text
at all. The fourth book supplied a jumble of
cornices, architraves, entablatures and facades
‘set forth’, its preface claimed, ‘so that every
average person might be able to grasp the art’.10
Largely devoid of what would be called theory
today, the woodcuts furnished a portable
collection of ‘antique’ fragments that skilled
and not-so-skilled artists could, ostensibly,
extract from and redeploy anywhere. Artists
worldwide used Serlio not only for building
but, as he had urged, for painting, sculpture
and to make other pattern books.
Such a tack allowed early modern
designers to erect structures ‘after’ prints
around the world. Serlian facades appeared
from England to Goa to Bolivia.11 This
process marked not just an internationalising
of style, or cheap acculturation of formal
influences; rather, it brought about a
startlingly new conceptualisation of building
and art; with Serlio, architectural images
were no longer worked up from drawing, but
created outright, as if through syncretic Bild
of pre-fashioned parts.12 Design in new Spain
was never ‘vulgarised’ by books so much as
rendered differently elite. As George Kubler
pointed out in a little-known article, the very
idea of architecture in America—all’antica
or no—often mandated access to books and
17/11/08 10:12:44 AM
 246 Hybrid Renaissances in Europe and Beyond
Figure 2 Petro Ocharte
Title page illustration for a quarto of hours
From Petro Ocharte, Horae Beatae Mariae Virginis, secundum
ordinem Fratrum Praedicatorum, 1567, Mexico
Bodleian Library, Oxford (sig. 4° F. 3. Th. Seld/2)
drawings. At the peripheries of Europe, these
were often no easier to access than Italian sites
and histories.13
European prints found copious use in the
New World.14 Spanish translations of Serlio
were taken to Mexico and the viceroyalty of
Peru as early as 1566 by Franciscans, then
Dominicans, and lastly Jesuit missionaries.
In 1584 a crate containing folios of Vitruvius,
quartos of Alberti and two folios of La
Arquitectura de Serlio landed in Mexico.15
Proselytising activities of the various orders
necessitated, on the one hand, the erection
and decoration of new churches (for which
ornament prints were often called in) and, on
the other, huge numbers of Bibles, religious
texts and bilingual dictionaries.16 Inventories
of the Flemish print dealer Christoffel Plantin
in Antwerp, for example, reveal steady
streams of Castilian, Inca and Mayan language
0531 CIHA_06_HYBRID_1.indd 246
Bibles routed from Seville to Mexico. These
travelled with books and loose devotional
prints published in Venice, Paris, Nuremberg
and Antwerp.17 From Peru, there is the
astonishing case of Mateo Perez de Alesia,
an expatriate Italian painter in Lima, who in
1587 paid 490 ducats for an album of ‘all the
prints of Dürer and other antique masters’.18
The prints, whether or not they were in fact
by Dürer, quickly found appeal among local
artists who used them for mural decoration
and altarpieces. As in Europe, these images and
the products they bred ultimately followed the
same distribution networks as luxury imports
like furniture and jewels.
The first printing press in the Western
Hemisphere was founded at Mexico in 1539,
shipped over in pieces from Spain and assembled
by a German named Jean Kromberger (nearly
a century before one was founded in North
America, at Cambridge in 1638.) 19 For those
works printed at Mexico, as later in Asia and
India, doctrinal clarity, as the missionaries
defined it, was paramount; even with scores
of trained local craftsmen, the first Franciscan
bishop of Mexico, Juan Zumárraga, forbade
any native images from both frontispieces and
architectural sculpture made in Mexico.20 A
1588 letter sent from a mission elsewhere, in
fact, reveals that Franciscan authorities in Goa
warned missionaries three times not to permit
unconverted Hindu craftsmen to sculpt or
paint Christian imagery on church portals, for
fear that native imagery might drift into the
public decor.21 As in northern Europe, the
fear of idolatry in Asia and America fuelled
official censure: there is evidence that on at
least one occasion Zumárraga imprisoned
native sculptors for crafting unacceptable
effigies in stone.22
The rough-hewn simplicity of much
of the Christian sculpture and early book
illustrations printed in Mexico has appeared
to art historians much like broadsheets from
Reformation Germany, being printed around
the same time—that is as so much aesthetic
poverty. Yet, as in Lutheran Europe, this
homeliness spoke to a historical concern
with devotional efficacy, in the face of what
was perceived as idolatry; in America, on the
17/11/08 10:12:44 AM

one hand, the prints introduced a specifically
European language of decoration and
grotesques onto a native population and, on
the other, they fostered the idea of decoration
which, as aesthetically meaningless, was
a foil to the devotional image itself. On a
pedagogical level, rustically Christological or
Marian imagery like that in Petro Ocharte’s
1567 Horae Beate Marie virginis, a printed
quarto of hours (see figure 2), asserted its
cover image as a peculiar vehicle to devotion,
not something to be adored in and of itself.23
Saint Augustine had advocated a humble style
of ‘instruction and exegesis’ for depictions of
Christ, while Erasmus—whom Zumárraga
actually excepted and praised his 1544
Doctrina breve, one of the first books printed
in Mexico24—argued that simple images best
spoke to simple people. Drained of colour, the
works printed in Mexico bore no chance of
being confused with the define personages they
described or referred to. Here the devotional
print was self-evidently not a mirror of reality,
but an indication of the ineffable or auratic—a
glyph for the divine.
Much like the Italian counter-Reformation
texts on which they were based, illustrated
psalms and conversion texts produced in the
New World stressed visual and conceptual
repetition as an element of their pedagogy.
A sixteenth-century missionary manuscript
in the Nahuatl language, now at Brown
University, contained passages describing the
Virgin bestowing a sequence of miracles on
ordinary people.25 She is portrayed saving a
falsely accused woman, rescuing a shipwrecked
man, appearing in the dream of a priest.26 The
preface introduces ‘seven things by which it
appears that Mary really speaks for sinners’,
listing a series of exos, or examples, of grace.
In the context of central Mexico, then, the
chapters and the print medium emphasised
the ostensibly systematic character of Marian
grace: miracles happen to those who pray for
them, and happen over and over again. As
Louise Burkhart has pointed out, this process
was intended as a deliberate contrast to
incarnations of Aztec deities like Tezcatlipoca,
who appeared capriciously, sowing chaos and
disorder.
0531 CIHA_06_HYBRID_1.indd 247
Difference, Repetition and Utopia 247
As a corrector of fortune and a stabiliser of
the celestial order, the Virgin alighted on earth
to resolve crises quietly, through a sequence
of personal episodes. These episodes, as
explained in the manuscript, deliberately
differed from and violently supplanted
Indigenous, communal rites as a point of
contact with the divine. Printed Marian
imagery recalled contemporary, older serial
images of the Virgin based upon close contact
and concurrent duplicates: lead seals, icons or
pilgrimage badges.27 Talismanic copies, such
forms reached back to a ostensible original
while actively promulgating—through their
very profusion—the idea of an outward chain
of omniscient Marian grace, one girding space
and time. This was a Christian fantasy of
global order enframed by the terrifying faces
of native chaos (see figure 2).
The most visible application of European
pattern books for the Spanish and Portuguese
was architecture. Dozens of Jesuit churches
completed in the viceroyalty of Peru were
based on the ‘missionary’ model of Il Gesù
in Rome, a building designed in 1571–72 by
Vignola.28 The Gesù represented the mother
church of the Jesuits, and replicas at Lima,
Bogotá and Cuzco spoke to the international
reach of the society.
For the Jesuits, the serial versions of the
Gesù stamped a terra incognita with a particular
notion of religious space. There was no question
of adopting the infinitely more sophisticated
architectural forms and techniques of, say, the
Inca, which were, among other things, much
better suited to earthquake-prone climes like
the Andes, with their use of interlocking wall
bricks. The colonial insistence on a kind of
architectural Classicism at all costs, which a
Spanish missionary once referred to in a letter
as ‘nuesta traza’ (‘our design’), was meant to
impress upon the native population the idea
of architecture as a bearer of meaning.29
Surprisingly, it appears that spiritual rather
than visual resemblance to European models
was the chief concern among the colonists. A
Jesuit report from 1574 on the completion of
the cathedral at Lima, the Spanish capital of
South America, described it to a European
council merely as ‘well accommodated for
17/11/08 10:12:46 AM
 248 Hybrid Renaissances in Europe and Beyond
use by the Society’. The building, assured the
report, abided by ‘noster modus procedeni’
(‘our way of proceeding’).30 Jesuit concern lay
with the idea of the built image in a sequence of
versions more than visual affiliation with some
distant prototype. So aggressively frontal, not
at all unlike an icon, the gigantic Gesú replicas
drew power not only from visual reference to a
single church, but as outward gestures to future
instantiations. Derived from the triumphal
archways of Rome, they modelled gateways to
a faith which was at the time, indeed, rapidly
‘proceeding’ forwards in the present tense
across the former empire of the Inca.
One topos of the New World emergent in
the sixteenth century was the idea of the utopia.
Michel de Montaigne’s ‘On Cannibals’ likened
America to a bizarre prelapserian society, in
which idyllic communities flourished with the
simplest of manners:
[There,] people have no trade of any kind, no
acquaintance with writing, no science of numbers,
no terms for magistrate or political superior, no
habit of service, riches, or poverty; no contracts,
no inheritance, no division of property … no
respect for any kinship but the common ties, no
clothes, no agriculture, no metals, no use of corn
or wine. Among them the words signifying lying,
treason, deceit, greed have never been heard.31
America, for De Montaigne, represented
a litany of absences—no clothes, no property,
no malevolent speech—in a sense, no
difference in and of itself, nothing that might
disrupt a total societal unity.32 Such positing
of the New World as culturally monolithic,
of course, ironically played into European
ideas of the undifferentiated primitive, the
historically blank, a native slate against which
heterogeneous civilisation of Europe could
contrastingly be posed.
Yet Albrecht Dürer, to return to that
storied exoticist, also wrote about difference
in terms of civilisation and resemblance. In
an unpublished guide for painters of around
1525, he wrote:
In all of our work nothing is really like anything
else [ist keins dem andern recht und gantz
0531 CIHA_06_HYBRID_1.indd 248
Figure 3 Marten de Vos
Allegorical Representation of America, late sixteenth century
diameter: 12.5 cm
pen and black ink on cream paper
University of Michigan Museum of Art, Ann Arbor
Museum Purchase 1960/2.24
gleych]—we cannot avoid this. We see that when
we take two impressions from an engraved copper
plate, or set two images from one mold … one
immediately finds differences whereby they are
distinct from one another.33
With his metaphor of the print surface,
Dürer described the way in which new
forms can arise from apparent duplication,
the way in which repetition functions as a
model not just for facture but for thought,
based on serial generation of the new rather
than with re-imaging of the old.34 For Dürer,
print’s very power lay in its capacity to
produce dissimilarity rather than likeness,
even as it globalises an image. Morphological
similarities between objects and prints are not
similarities tout court; similarity (and likeness)
remain culturally and historically relative
phenomena.35
But what, finally, of Dürer’s rhinoceros,
packed into its measured German frame?
Sometime during the late sixteenth century,
the motif moved back across the Atlantic,
into a curious pen design for a plaquette
executed in Antwerp by Marten de Vos
(see figure 3). In a roundel for an engraving
De Vos placed a female personification of
17/11/08 10:12:46 AM

the American continent, complete with
anklets, head feathers and beads. At the
personification’s left, the trunk of a Dürer-
like rhino stands on the bank of a stream
beside a departing ship. Here, migrating
into the European imagination of America,
where it does not naturally occur, the animal
no longer connotes a zoological specimen or
the Indian east from where it originally came
when Dürer made his report in 1515. Rather,
the beast has been extracted and pegged to a
seemingly arbitrary iconographical program
of ‘America’. Masquerading as a native
dweller, the replicated rhino steps awkwardly
into the New World, but not entirely—in
letting the scene be, it marks how print rarely
domesticates imaginings of the distant. Rather,
in truly modern fashion, print breeds infinitely
stranger results by defamiliarising the same
world that it occupies; that is, by truly
acting as art.
NOTES
1 Ernst Gombrich, Art and Illusion: A Study in the
Psychology of Pictorial Representation, Princeton
University Press, Princeton, NJ, 1956, p. 82.
2 The literature on the woodcut is enormous.
See H Walter, ‘Contributioni sulla recezione
umanistica della zoologia antica: Nuovi
documenti per le genesi del “1515 Rhinocervs”
di Albrect Dürer’, Res Publica Litterarum, vol.
12, 1989; Gerd Unverfehrt (ed.), Dürers Dinge,
Kunstammlung der Universität, Göttingen,
1997, pp. 238–40. The Portuguese drawing
consulted by Dürer was recently located in the
Vatican Library. See Jim Monson, ‘The Source
for the Rhinoceros’, Print Quarterly, vol. 21,
no. 1, 2004, pp. 50–3.
3 For Ortlosigkeit (Heidegger’s term) and
print, see Hans Körner, Der früheste deutsche
Einblattholzschnitt, Mäander Kunstverlag,
Mittenwald, 1979, pp. 39–40. For some
instances of the rhino’s specific use in South
America, see Michael Schatz, ‘Le Recepcion
de los Grabados Europeos en Los Murales
de la Época Colonial Temprana en el Nuevo
Reino de Granada’, in Helga von Kügelgen
(ed.), Indigenes Erbe, europäische Traditionen
und der europäische Blick, Vervuert, Frankfurt
am Main, 2002, pp. 125–65, in Colin Eisler,
‘East Asia and Japan’, in Colin Eisler, Durer’s
Animals, Smithsonian, Washington, DC, 1991,
pp. 269–74. The specimen described in the
0531 CIHA_06_HYBRID_1.indd 249
Difference, Repetition and Utopia 249
woodcut is in fact a fairly accurate image of an
Indian rhinoceros, Rhinoceros unicornus, long
thought to be extinct. Gombrich once claimed
that he intended to note this error in subsequent
editions of Art and Illusion, but never did.
See David Topper, review of Giants of Delft:
Johannes Vermeer and the Natural Philosophers:
The Parallel Search for Knowledge during the
Age of Discovery, in Leonardo, vol. 37, no. 3,
June 2004, pp. 258–9.
4 For example, Jan Białostocki, The Art of the
Renaissance in Eastern Europe: Hungary,
Bohemia, and Poland, Cornell University Press,
Ithaca, NY, 1976.
5 Elisabeth Eisenstein, The Printing Press as an
Agent of Change: Communications and Cultural
Transformations in Early Modern Europe,
Cambridge University Press, Cambridge,
UK, 1979; William Ivins, Prints and Visual
Communication, Methuen, London, 1953;
Marshall MacLuhan, Understanding Media: The
Extensions of Man, Methuen, London, 1964.
6 Walter Ong, Orality and Literacy: The
Technologizing of the Word, Methuen, London,
1982; Walter Melion, ‘Pictorial Artifice and
Catholic Devotion in Abraham Bloemaert’s
Virgin of Sorrows with the Holy Face of c.
1615’, in H Kessler & G Wolf (eds.), The Holy
Face and the Paradox of Representation, Nuova
Alfa Editoriale, Bologna, 1998, pp. 319–40.
7 For example Lisa Pon Raphael, Albrecht Dürer
& Marcantonio Raimondi, Copying and the
Renaissance Print, Yale University Press, New
Haven, CT, 2004; and Rebecca Zorach, Blood,
Ink, Milk, Gold: Abundance and Excess in the
French Renaissance, Chicago University Press,
Chicago, IL, 2004.
8 Giorgio Vasari, Lives, trans. Gaston de Vere,
Abrams, New York, 1979, p. 705.
9 Vasari, p. 1345.
10 Sebastiano Serlio, Quattro libro, folio 126
recto, in Vaughn Hart & Peter Hicks (trans.),
Sebastiano Serlio on Architecture, Yale University
Press, New Haven, CT, 1996, p. 253.
11 Santiago Sebastián, ‘La influencia de
los modelos ornamentals de Serlio en
Hispaoamérica’, Boletin del Centro de
Investigaciones Historicas y Estéticas (Caracas),
no. 7, 1967, pp. 30–67; Ramon Gutiérrez, Uso
de libros de arquitectura en Hispanoamérica,
Departamento de Publicaciones e Impresiones
de la Universidad Nacional del Nordeste,
Resistencia, 1971–75.
12 See Alina Payne, The Architectural Treatise in
the Italian Renaissance, Cambridge University
Press, Cambridge, UK, 1999, pp. 113–43.
13 George Kubler, ‘Remarks on the Yale-Texas
Exhibition’, Ventures, vol. 8, no. 2, 1967,
pp. 61–7.
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 250 Hybrid Renaissances in Europe and Beyond
14 For example, see DAI [anonymous], ‘Algunas
huellas de Schongauer y Durero en Méjico’,
Archivo español de arte, no. 18, November–
December 1945, pp. 381–4; José de Mesa &
Teresa Gisber, ‘Martin de Vos en America’,
Anales del Instituto de Arte Americano
e Investigaciones Esteticas, no. 23, 1970,
pp. 36–48; and Michael Schatz, ‘Kunst der
Konquistadoren: Die Ausmalung frükolonialer
Profanbauter in Tunja’, in Oliver Diehl et
al. (eds), Kolumbien im Fokus, Vervuert,
Frankfurt am Main, 2001, pp. 213–30. For the
general issue of prints and mobility, see Herni
Zerner (ed.), Le stampe e la diffusione delle
immagini e degli stili (Atti del XXIV Congresso
Internazionale di Storia dell’Arte, Bologna,
1979), CLUEB, Bologna, 1983, pp. 1–16, 67–72.
15 For transcriptions of the manifests, see Helga
Kropfinger-Von Kügelgen, Europaischer
Büchexport von Seville nach Neuspanien im Jahre
1586, Steiner, Wiesbaden, 1973, pp. 15–16.
16 As in inventories now in Mexico City, folios
1390 recto – 1312 recto, 1576, transcribed in
Irving A Leonard, Books of the Brave, California
University Press, Berkeley, CA, and London,
1992, pp. 336–403.
17 Frans Robbens, ‘Plantin en de Boekhandel in
Spanje’, De gulden passer, nos 66–7, 1988–89,
pp. 399–418, esp. p. 413.
18 ‘Todas las estampas de Alberto Dürero y otros
autores antiquos’: José de Mesa & Teresa
Gisbert, El Pintor Mateo Pérez de Alesio,
Universidad Mayor de San Andrés, La Paz,
1972, p. 64. For Perez de Alesio (born Matteo
da Leccia, Rome, 1547), see also Antonio
Palesati, Matteo da Leccia: manierista toscano
dall’Europa al Peru, Communita di Pomerance,
Pomerance, 1999, pp. 165–98.
19 Clive Griffin, The Crombergers of Seville,
Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1988, pp. 82–97.
20 Alberto Maria Carreño, ‘The Books of Don
Fray de Zumárraga’, The Americas, vol. 5, 1949,
pp. 324ff.
21 BF de Tavares e Tavora, Imaginária luso-oriental,
Imprensa Nacional, Lisbon, 1983, p. xxi.
22 Carreño, pp. 324ff.
23 Alexander Alphonse Marius Stols, Pedro
Ocharte: El Tercer Impresor Mexicano,
Universidad Autonoma de Mexico, Mexico,
1990, no. 18. The exemplar at Oxford appears
to be unique.
24 Marcel Bataillon, ‘Erasme au Mexique’.
Deuxième congrès national des sciences
historiques, Alger, 14–16 Avril 1930, Jules
Cabonel, Algiers, 1932, pp. 32–43. In 1559, the
Doctrina, interestingly, was condemned by the
Mexican Inquisition.
25 Doctrina, evangelios y epistolas en nahuátl,
John Carter Brown Library, Brown University,
0531 CIHA_06_HYBRID_1.indd 250
Providence, RI, Codex Indianorum, 7. For a
transcription and discussion of this manuscript,
see Louise M Burkhart, ‘“Here Is Another
Marvel”: Marian Miracle Narratives in a Nahuatl
Manuscript’, in N Griffiths & F Cervantes
(eds), Spiritual Encounters: Interactions between
Christianity and Native Religions in Colonial
America, University of Birmingham Press,
Birmingham, 1999, pp. 91–115.
26 Burkhart, pp. 108–9.
27 For illustrations of several examples, see
Thomas Raff (ed.), Wallfarht kennt keine
Grenzen, Bayerischen Nationalmuseum,
Munich, 1984, catalogue nos 50–4.
28 See Damián Bayón, Sociedad y arquitectura
colonial sudamerica, Gustavo, Barcelona, 1974.
29 Bernabé Cobo, Histoire del Nuevo mundo,
vol. 2, E Rasco, Seville, 1890–95, p. 53. For a
discussion of ‘nuestra traza’, see Valerie Fraser,
The Architecture of Conquest: Building in the
Viceroyalty of Peru, Cambridge University Press,
Cambridge, UK, 1990, pp. 21–2, 27–40. For a
helpful survey of later developments, see Gauvin
Alexander Bailey, Art on the Jesuit Missions in
Asia and Latin America 1542–1773, Toronto
University Press, Toronto, 1999, pp. 144–82.
30 Gauvin Alexander Bailey, ‘“Just like the
Gesú”: Sebastiano Serlio, Giacomo Vignola,
and Jesuit Architecture in South America’,
Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu, vol. 70,
July–December 2001, p. 249.
31 Michel de Montaigne, ‘Des Cannibales’ Essais,
vol. 1, Gallimard, Paris, 1965, p. 305.
32 As suggested by Mario Klarer, ‘Cannibalism and
Carnivalesque: Incorporation as Utopia in the
Early Image of America’, New Literary History,
vol. 30, no. 2, 1999, pp. 395–6. Klarer translates
the relevant Montaigne passage slightly
differently.
33 Albrecht Dürer, cited in Hans Rupprich, Dürers
Schriftlicher Nachlass, Deutsche Verlag für
Kunstwissenschaft, Berlin, 1969, pp. 291–2,
lines 95–104.
34 As in Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition,
trans. Paul Patton, Columbia University Press,
New York, 1994, pp. 125–8, 129–67. Regarding
Dürer and difference, the present article is
greatly is indebted to Joseph Leo Koerner’s
astonishing ‘Albrecht Dürer: A Sixteenth
Century Influenza’, in Giulia Bartrum, Albrecht
Dürer and His Legacy: The Graphic Work of a
Renaissance Artist, Princeton University Press,
Princeton, NJ, 2002, pp. 18–38.
35 Nelson Goodman, ‘Seven Strictures on
Similarity’, in Charles Harrison & Fred Orton
(eds), Modernism, Criticism, Realism, Harper &
Row, New York, 1984, pp. 88–92.
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