The Council of Trent: Reform and Controversy in Europe and Beyond (1545–1700), Volume 3: Between Artists and Adventurers 9783647551098, 3647551090

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Wim François / Violet Soen (eds.)

The Council of Trent: Reform and Controversy in Europe and Beyond (1545–1700) Vol. 3: Between Artists and Adventurers Academic Studies

35,3

Refo500 Academic Studies Edited by Herman J. Selderhuis

In Co-operation with Christopher Brown (Boston), Günter Frank (Bretten), Bruce Gordon (New Haven), Barbara Mahlmann-Bauer (Bern), Tarald Rasmussen (Oslo), Violet Soen (Leuven), Zsombor Tóth (Budapest), Günther Wassilowsky (Linz), Siegrid Westphal (Osnabrück).

Volume 35,3

Wim François/Violet Soen (eds.)

The Council of Trent: Reform and Controversy in Europe and Beyond (1545–1700) Volume 3 Between Artists and Adventurers With 44 Figures and 5 Tables

Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht

This publication has been peer reviewed. Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek: The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data available online: http://dnb.de.

© 2018, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht GmbH & Co. KG, Theaterstraße 13, D-37073 Göttingen All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the publisher. Typesetting: 3w+p, Rimpar Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Verlage | www.vandenhoeck-ruprecht-verlage.com ISSN 2197-0165 ISBN 978-3-647-55109-8

Contents

Art & Music Pierre-Antoine Fabre Une théorie en mouvement: Lainez et les «images» entre Paris et Trente (1562–1563) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Walter S. Melion Quod etiam Ecclesia curat: Responses to the Tridentine Decrees in Jerónimo Nadal’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia of 1595 . . .

31

Soetkin Vanhauwaert The Sculpted Saint John’s Head in the Low Countries 1370–1800: The Influence of the Council of Trent on Religious Cult Imagery . . . . . . . .

69

Ellénita de Mol Le culte de la Vierge après le Concile de Trente, perçu à travers trois triptyques flamands de la fin du XVIe siècle et du début du XVIIe siècle

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Sanja Cvetnic´ Scudum solidissimum: Post-Conciliar Sacred Imagery at the South-Eastern Borders of Catholicism and Beyond . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117 Xavier Bisaro D’un concile à l’autre: aux sources des prescriptions musicales du Concile de Trente . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145 Marianne C.E. Gillion Cantate Domino Canticum Novum? A Re-examination of ‘Post-Tridentine’ Chant Revision in Italian Printed Graduals

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Contents

Global Catholicism Simon Ditchfield De-centering Trent: How ‘Tridentine’ Was the Making of the First World Religion? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 Hélène Vu Thanh Un évêque tridentin au Japon? Le rôle de Luís Cerqueira dans l’application des réformes du Concile de Trente au sein de la mission japonaise (1549–1614) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209 Haruko Nawata Ward Trent and Tales of All These Saints Travelling East: Saint Catherine of Alexandria in the Jesuit Japan Mission . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233 Leonardo Cohen A Postmortem of the Jesuits’ Banishment from Ethiopia . . . . . . . . . . 257 S. Elizabeth Penry Canons of the Council of Trent in Arguments of Priests and Indians over Images, Chapels and Cofradías in Seventeenth-Century Peru . . . . . . . 277 About the Authors . . . . . . Contents of Volumes 1 and 2 Index of Names . . . . . . . Index of Places . . . . . . . .

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301 305 309 313

Art & Music

Pierre-Antoine Fabre*

Une théorie en mouvement: Lainez et les «images» entre Paris et Trente (1562–1563)

Introduction On peut comprendre le Concile de Trente – et les nombreux travaux de cette période anniversaire de la fin du Concile devraient le confirme1 – de deux manières complémentaires: d’une part comme un accomplissement, un double accomplissement, celui du schisme de la Réforme ou des Réformes, que le Concile constate et assume, et celui d’un nouveau Catholicisme que ce schisme engendre et qui apparaît comme la synthèse de ce que l’on a appelé la «Réforme Catholique» et de ce que l’on a appelé la «Contre-Réforme»;2 le cardinal Giovanni Morone, * Je remercie très vivement Wim François et Violet Soen de l’organisation du colloque ambitieux dont ce livre est issu, qui a le grand mérite de réunir trois générations d’historiens, la première le plus souvent marquée par une inscription personnelle forte dans l’Église catholique, en particulier dans la dynamique du Concile Vatican II, et de ce qu’elle a fait naître d’espoirs d’une nouvelle Église, habitée par le «peuple de Dieu», pour des historiennes et des historiens par ailleurs très engagés dans l’Université républicaine; une seconde génération – la mienne –, souvent venus à l’histoire religieuse depuis des horizons très étrangers à l’Église; un nouvel ensemble enfin, probablement issu de ces deux orientations mais aussi et surtout marquée, y compris dans la compétition professionnelle dans une époque de déclin des études «humanistes», par une très haute technicité de la recherche, qui semble parfois renoncer à se saisir du présupposé universel de ses objets. Je les remercie aussi tout particulièrement de m’avoir proposé l’une des assemblées plénières de ce colloque, heureusement devenu maintenant un livre, puisqu’il n’est pas fréquent d’exposer ses travaux devant un aussi grand nombre de spécialistes du Concile ou de l’époque du Concile de Trente. 1 Voir en particulier Ch. Mériaux et al. (éd.), Dramatiques conciliaires (Lille: Presses Universitaires de Lille, à paraître); A. Prosperi/M. Catto (éd.), Trent and Beyond: The Council, Other Powers, Other Cultures (Mediterranean Nexus 4; Turnhout: Brepols, 2018); J.E. Franco (éd.), Il Concilio di Trento (Alcalá: Ediciones de la Universidad de Alcalá, 2017). 2 Au-delà des enjeux implicites situés de ces notions dans l’historiographie italienne (voir en particulier la lumineuse approche de S. Ditchfield, «In Search of Local Knowledge: Rewriting Early Modern Italian Religious History», Cristianesimo nella Storia 19 [1998] 255–96), celles-ci restent opératoires, en particulier pour le spécialiste de la Compagnie de Jésus, si elles sont articulées dans une séquence qui les oppose mais qui permet aussi de spécifier les mêmes individus dans leurs déplacements; et si elles sont par ailleurs l’une et l’autre opposées à la troisième figure, ou à la troisième série de figures des Réformes, comme deux modes de

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légat du pape en 1562–63, figure centrale de la fin du Concile peut être réfléchi comme la synthèse de ces deux mouvements;3 on peut d’autre part comprendre le Concile comme l’inauguration de ce que Paolo Prodi a défini comme la «souveraineté pontificale»4 et celle, étroitement liée à la première sans s’y réduire, d’une formalisation nouvelle des pratiques spirituelles, dévotionnelles, institutionnelles de l’Église catholique, réélaboration de ses modes d’organisation, réaffirmation dogmatique et disciplinaire de ses cultes, etc. Envisagé sous ce double aspect d’un accomplissement et d’une inauguration, le Concile peut être défini comme un moment de transition historique. Mais il semble que l’historiographie actuelle et à venir doive prendre en charge cette transition sous l’angle d’une in-détermination, d’une ouverture des possibles; non pas comme la lecture téléologique d’un Catholicisme virtuellement contenu dans la tradition de l’Église chrétienne, mais le déchiffrement d’un tatônnement, qui permet de saisir, non pas seulement le Concile lui-même, mais l’époque tridentine comme la superposition et le conflit d’orientations souvent contradictoires, matrices d’évolutions de longue durée mais aussi de moments «microhistoriques», au sens que leur a donné l’historiographie italienne des trente dernières années. C’est dans cette perspective que le décret du 2 décembre 1563, dans l’achèvement du Concile et donc dans une intensification particulière de ses tensions transitionnelles, peut aujourd’hui être revisité. Ce décret sur la vénération et le culte des saints, des reliques et des images est en effet – nous allons y revenir – le résultat d’un compromis entre des orientations vivement antagoniques dans le catholicisme du mitan du seizième siècle, sur le statut des médiations matérielles dans le culte chrétien, voire même sur la place des saints dans le système dévotionnel global de l’Église catholique. Mais ce décret, dans ses avancées théologiques discrètes mais essentielles, apparaît davantage comme un temps d’exception dans l’histoire longue des enchantements de l’image que comme l’ouverture d’une nouvelle ère, ou d’une sorte d’âge des Lumières des vieilles icônes. positions par rapport à elles. On ne peut pas, me semble-t-il, produire la Catholicité comme l’espace autonome d’une Réforme et d’une Contre-Réforme, et encore moins comme l’espace autonome d’une vaste dynamique réformatrice. Je rappelle ces problèmes parce qu’ils sont aigüs dans l’élaboration d’une théorie et d’une pratique des images saintes dans la jeune Compagnie de Jésus, qui sera une fois encore notre angle d’observation. 3 Voir sur Giovanni Morone le riche et récent recueil de travaux: M. Firpo/O. Niccoli (éd.), Il cardinale Giovanni Morone e l’ultima fase del Concilio di Trento (Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento. Quaderni 80; Bologna: Il Mulino, 2010) (qui ne fait cependant aucune place au problème de l’image, selon une tendance, représentée avec talent par Alain Tallon, présent dans ce recueil, à inscrire ce problème dans des cadres ecclésiologiques et politiques qui le fonctionnalisent très largement). 4 P. Prodi, Il Sovrano Pontefice. Un corpo e due anime: la monarchia papale nella prima età moderna (Saggi 228; Bologna: Il Mulino, 2006).

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Cette contribution abordera les points suivants: un bref rappel des conditions historiographiques du travail sur le décret du 2 décembre 1563; la situation de Diego Lainez, qui nous retiendra principalement ici, entre 1562 et 1563, l’examen de ses notes de travail sur le culte des images, liasse de plusieurs dizaines de feuillets d’un écriture extrêmement serrée, nerveuse, presque convulsive, et une esquisse des premières conclusions.

Diego Lainez, ambassadeur itinérant Comme on le sait, les sources du décret sont rares, pour des raisons multiples.5 Les travaux qui lui ont été consacrés sont rares eux aussi et la compréhension de ce décret doit passer par la recherche d’une série de sources indirectes, en amont comme en aval: en amont dans les documents qui, d’une manière ou d’une autre, renseignent sur sa genèse, en aval sur les enseignements que nous pouvons retirer de son application – non pas seulement en Europe, mais aussi et peut-être surtout dans les nouveaux territoires de la Catholicité, qui mettent à nu un certain nombre des difficultés de ce décret dans le contexte de l’implantation d’une nouvelle iconographie, qui doit faire pièce à ce que les organisations missionnaires pré- et post-tridentines appellent l’idolâtrie tout en proposant une sorte de monnaie d’échange à ces idoles.6 L’examen porte ici sur un ensemble d’écrits doublement remarquables, audelà de leur caractère encore très largement inédit (mais ce dernier trait n’est sans doute pas étranger aux deux précédents): d’une part, ce sont les traces du travail de Diego Lainez, second général de la Compagnie de Jésus après Ignace de Loyola, Compagnie de Jésus connue – entre d’autres actions – par le développement d’une politique artistique très ambitieuse, à l’échelle mondiale, dès les premières décennies du dix-septième siècle. Walter Melion, Ralph Dekoninck et moi-même sommes engagés avec un ensemble d’historiens de l’art et de la culture d’époque moderne dans la reconstitution complète de la genèse de l’un des premiers grands programmes iconographiques de la Compagnie de Jésus, le recueil des gravures des Evangelicae Historiae Imagines (1593), préparé par Jérôme Nadal, recons5 Voir pour des développements plus précis sur cet aspect P.A. Fabre, Décréter l’image. La XXVe Session du Concile de Trente (L’Ymagier 4; Paris: Belles-Lettres, 2013). 6 Voir sur ce dernier aspect, P.A. Fabre, «La vénération des ‘saintes images’ selon le Concile de Trente: genèse et enjeux d’une décision», dans Prosperi/Catto (éd.), Trent and Beyond. Cette autre contribution aux travaux tridentins fait avec celle-ci une sorte de dyptique, à l’image d’un souci de méthode qui est le mien depuis longtemps maintenant, de tenter de concevoir, jusque dans leurs lignes de rupture, les articulations entre l’histoire européenne de l’époque moderne et l’histoire de la première expansion coloniale. Cette «ligne de conduite» me semble spécialement importante pour ce qui concerne le Concile de Trente, qui, en tant que concile universel en droit, ne rend pas toujours apparente autant qu’elle est présente sa mondialité de fait.

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titution qui montrera l’extrême difficulté de l’élaboration de ce recueil7 – et l’on retrouvera peut-être certaines des traces des notes de travail de Diego Lainez: les traces d’une perception jésuite de l’image très antérieure au «grand art jésuite», qui est resté comme une figure de proue de l’«âge baroque». D’autre part, ces notes sont rédigées dans des circonstances très particulières: Lainez séjourne à Paris entre 1561 et 1562 et participe activement aux deux colloques, selon le nom qui leur est alors donné, qu’y organise Catherine de Médicis, deux colloques interconfessionnels qui, quelques mois avant la clôture possible, probable, attendue du Concile de Trente, manifestent l’ambition d’un concile national et multiconfessionnel, ce que, comme on le sait, le Concile de Trente a déjà renoncé à pouvoir être, malgré ses premiers vœux dans les années 1540. Cette deuxième circonstance est capitale, car elle situe le travail de Lainez dans un espace politique et religieux extrêmement complexe, qui marquera, comme j’essaierai de le montrer, un certain nombre de ses développements. Une enquête exhaustive sur ce séjour et sur le déplacement de Paris à Trente, non sans passage par Saint-Quentin, Valenciennes, Tournai, Bruxelles (où il retrouve Jérôme Nadal), Malines, Anvers, Louvain, Cologne, Liège, Maastricht, Jülich, Trèves, Mayence, Ulm, Augsburg, Munich, et enfin Trente, près d’un an après son départ de Paris – une enquête exhaustive donc, demanderait un examen très attentif de la correspondance de Lainez, qui, comme très souvent les correspondances jésuites – c’est, à mon sens, l’une de leur vocation spirituelle et institutionnelle – organise le récit d’une action, fluidifie les passages, trame une continuité dans ce voyage le long de toutes les frontières: ici, comme on le voit, un arpentage précis de la ligne de faille de l’ancienne christianitas. Je ne pourrai le faire ici, mais il faut signaler cette articulation entre la correspondance d’une part, et d’autre part ces notes de travail, en vérité difficilement situables pour une partie d’entre elles, et qui, d’une certaine manière, travaillent elle aussi à réduire l’écart, entre des positions de discours, entre des situations d’énonciation, entre Paris et Trente.8 7 Enquête poursuivie auprès de l’École Française de Rome dans le cadre d’un programme de recherches sur l’histoire de la Compagnie de Jésus, et qui donnera lieu, pour la première fois, à la publication synoptique des séries de dessins préparatoires à ce recueil et de ses très nombreuses «adaptations», dans le sens proprement missionnaires du mot (l’adaptatio ou l’accomodatio), dans le monde américain et le monde asiatique aux dix-septième et dix-huitième siècles). 8 Voir en particulier pour cette approche pragmatique, encore peu familière, P.A. Fabre, «Responsabilité et liberté dans les correspondances épistolaires des membres de la Compagnie de Jésus. Ignacio de Loyola et Jeronimo Nadal entre Rome et Messine (1548–1549)», dans R.G. Corrado/V. Undurraga (éd.), Formas de control y disciplinamiento. Chile, América y Europa, siglos XVI–XIX (Santiago: Uqbar Editores, 2014) 353–71; voir aussi du même, en préparation avec Patrick Goujon, une édition synoptique de la correspondance d’Ignace de Loyola et des membres fondateurs de la Compagnie de Jésus entre 1540 et 1556. Une telle approche est spécialement peu familière pour des corpus souvent extraits de leur situation d’énonciation

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Le problème de l’image dans la pensée théologique et politique de Lainez Du discours de Lainez sur le culte des images dans cette période, on pourrait écrire ce qu’écrit Sabina Pavone, dans un article important, sur Alfonso Salmeron et Lainez lui-même: Apparemment, la fidélité à Rome des deux théologiens pontificaux … semble être hors de discussion mais la réticence (reticenza) des sources, au-delà des déclarations officielles, fait que de nombreuses questions, du décret sur la justification au débat sur la certitude de la grâce … restent cernées de nombreuses zones d’ombre.9

Et la même Sabina Pavone insiste sur la géo-localisation (pour employer un terme quelque peu anachronique) des écrits de Lainez. Elle le fait à propos d’un texte, Reformanda ecclesia universale, dont Mario Scaduto écrit dans sa monumentale histoire du généralat de Lainez qu’il est un «massif erratique»,10 et dont John O’Malley, dans sa grande enquête sur les Premiers jésuites,11 s’efforce de construire la cohérence en articulant la situation de Lainez à Paris et sa situation à Trente, au nom d’une défense de la «réforme in capite» entendue comme réforme de la tête mais aussi par la tête. Mais à Paris, Lainez va jusqu’au bout, ou tout au moins aussi loin que possible, dans l’adoption d’une perspective conciliaire face à l’autorité pontificale; ce n’est plus le cas à Trente, où il doit contribuer à rétablir l’autorité de Rome contre la voie épiscopaliste. Sabina Pavone souligne cependant que le «massif erratique» de la De universae ecclesiae reformatione, ainsi mobile entre Paris et Trente – et le problème du lieu effectif de son écriture reste de fait difficile –, est peut-être plus qu’un geste tactique (dans le but de s’assurer une sorte d’ascendant politique sur Catherine de Médicis) pour ce qui concerne son pôle parisien. Elle le rattache en effet à d’autres positions antérieures de Lainez, fortement marquées, dans un sermon de 1558 en particulier, par une inspiration anti-papiste (concrètement contre le pape Paul IV, anti-protestant inflexible, largement anti-jésuite,12 hostile enfin à la monarchie des Habsbourg), tout à la

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pour être institués en petits traités spirituels ou dévotionnels, à l’adresse d’autres lecteurs, comme cela a du reste été le cas dès le dix-septième siècle: Michel de Certeau puis Patrick Goujon l’ont bien montré par exemple pour la correspondance de Jean-Joseph Surin. S. Pavone, «Preti riformati e riforma della chiesa: i Gesuiti al Concilio di Trento», Rivista storica italiana 107 (2005) 110–34, à la p. 111. M. Scaduto, L’epoca di Giacomo Lainez, tome 2: L’azione (Storia della Compagnia di Gesù in Italia 3; Rome: La Civilta cattolica, 1974), 140. Je dois signaler ici, en regrettant de ne pas voir pu le mettre à profit ici, la toute récente publication, au printemps 2015, de P. Oberholzer (éd.), Diego Lainez (1512–1565) and His Generalate (Rome: Institutum Historicum Societatis Iesu, 2015), où le lecteur trouvera de nombreux enrichissements à mon propre travail. J.W. O’Malley, Les premiers jésuites 1540–1565, É. Boné (trans.) (Collection «Christus» 88; Paris/Montréal: Desclée de Brouwer/Bellarmin, 1999), 429. Paul IV (ou Gian Pietro Caraffa, fondateur de l’Ordre des Théatins, «frère ennemi» de la

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fois sans doute «évangélique» – dans le sens du seizième siècle érasmien – et proespagnole.13 L’évolution des positions de Lainez sur le sujet du culte des images relèverait sans doute d’une même analyse géo-située, une analyse là aussi compliquée par la difficulté de localiser avec certitude l’écriture des notes de travail de Lainez. Ceci n’est pas anecdotique: les archives, telles qu’elles sont conservées, c’est-à-dire telles qu’elles sont construites, créent une étrange continuité entre des fragments d’écriture pourtant discontinus. Le «massif erratique» qui inquiète M. Scaduto dans son Lainez est en quelque sorte arrimé ou géo-centré, par le fait de l’archive, au cœur immobile de l’institution. La spécificité de la situation parisienne ressort bien d’un bref mémoire de Lainez «pour aider aux choses de la religion dans le royaume de France», publié dans le volume 8 des Monumenta Lainez, mémoire daté de Paris en janvier 1562: Parce que dans l’usage des images et l’invocation des saints, le peuple doit être conduit et enseigné, et détruit les abus que l’on trouve chez lui et qui donne l’occasion aux hérétiques de mal parler et à d’autres d’entendre leurs murmures; que l’on use de beaucoup de diligence dans ce domaine et dans tous deux que relèvent les adversaires de l’Église et ainsi l’on fera du mal qu’il nous font quelque bien, en séparant les abus des choses saintes; peut-être qu’ainsi Dieu veut permettre que l’on s’élève contre les hérétiques en même temps que l’on réformera les choses des catholiques en détruisant leurs abus.14

Document remarquable, dans lequel il faut relever la position défensive de Lainez et la quasi-équivalence pesée, au trébuchet du jugement de Dieu, entre les abus des catholiques et les attaques des hérétiques contre ces abus. Il faut remarquer aussi l’utilisation exclusive de la notion d’«usage», justement, par rapport à celle de culte. C’est un choix très sensible, dans le contexte d’une redéfinition de la fonction des images dans l’Église catholique qui a privilégié l’usage des images pour l’instruction des fidèles, pour la remémoration du récit de la vie évangélique, pour l’édification des chrétiens par le sens moral de ce récit. C’est le choix le plus proche de l’orientation «évangélique» de la première Réforme Catholique, choix commun à celui d’une prédication exclusivement habitée par le sens de ses énoncés et non pas par la sacralité de son énonciation. Ces lignes pourraient avoir été écrites par Reginald Pole, Ambrogio Catarino ou Giovanni Morone, le futur légat de Pie IV à Trente, dans les années 1530 – à l’époque où la Compagnie de

Compagnie dès la fin des années 1530) chercha à réduire la singularité de l’institution ignatienne pendant toute la durée de son pontificat. 13 Pavone, «Preti riformati e riforma della chiesa», 129. 14 Diego Lainez, Epistolae et acta patris Jacobi Lainii, secundi praepositi generalis Societatis Jesu (Lainii Monumenta: Epistolae et Acta 8; Monumenta Historica Societatis Iesu 55; Madrid: Typis G. Lopez del Horno, 1917), 793 ( je traduis, comme pour tous les passages suivants).

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Jésus cherchait encore sa voie entre Réforme Catholique et Contre-Réforme catholique.15 Avant de revenir aux positions de Lainez sur le culte des images, il faut remarquer ici que l’analogie entre le De universae ecclesiae reformatione et la liasse des papiers sur les images n’est pas non plus anecdotique, pour deux raisons au moins. D’une part, la concurrence entre la juridiction épiscopale et l’administration romaine pour le contrôle des images est un mobile essentiel du Décret du 2 décembre 1563, décret qui insiste sur la place de l’évêque. Le décret donne: «Le saint Concile ordonne qu’il ne soit permis en aucun lieu ou église (loco vel ecclesia) de placer ou de faire placer une image sans qu’elle ait été approuvée par l’évêque»; alors que Paolo Sarpi, dans la transcription particulière qu’il propose du décret dans son Histoire du Concile de Trente, déclare: «Que dans aucune Église ni aucun autre lieu (in nessuna Chiesa o in altro luogho) on ne place des images insolites, si elles ne sont pas approuvées par l’évêque.»16 Alors que le jésuite Sforza Pallavicino, dans sa réplique romaine à l’histoire vénitienne (mais nous sommes ici plus d’un siècle après Lainez), passe purement et simplement sous silence cette fonction épiscopale, l’évêque «enseignant» seulement que «les images doivent apprendre et confirmer au peuple les articles de la foi, leur rappeler les bienfaits de Dieu, etc.».17 D’un côté donc, cette fonction est étendue à l’ensemble de l’espace public, voire privé («l’église ou tout autre lieu»); de l’autre, c’est la médiation de l’évêque dans le respect du décret qui est contournée. Le décret sur les «saintes images» n’est ainsi pas étranger au problème politique qui domine le De universae ecclesiae reformatione. Mais il y a une seconde raison, sur laquelle je me suis beaucoup plus longuement expliqué dans un ouvrage récent,18 et dont les documents que nous allons maintenant approcher me semblent illustrer la force: le problème que doivent affronter les experts réunis à Trente pour préparer le décret sur les images est un problème auquel la sémiologie contemporaine, et plus précisément la part la plus inquiète de cette sémiologie, celle qu’incarne Louis Marin lorsqu’il relit les théoriciens jansénistes du signe à la lumière de cette sémiologie et lorsqu’il relit cette sémiologie à la lumière de la doctrine eucharistique de ces mêmes théori-

15 Voir ci-dessus note 3. 16 Paolo Sarpi, Istoria del Concilio tridentino, C. Vivanti (éd.) (2 vol.; Turin: Einaudi, 1974), 1261 (pp. 730–1 dans l’édition originale). 17 Pietro Sforza Pallavicino, Istoria del Concilio di Trento (Rome: Angelo Bernabó dal Verme, 1656), 1007–8. Je dois corriger sur ce point la perspective trop radicale que j’ai développée dans mon petit livre sur le Décret du Concile, emporté par les séductions de l’antagonisme Sarpi/Sforza. Il reste que le cas, à mon sens significatif des deux lectures divergentes du périmètres de l’autorité de l’évêque inciteraient à un travail très méthodique sur la réénonciation des décrets tridentins dans l’historiographie modern du Concile. 18 Voir ci-dessus, note 6.

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ciens de Port-Royal19 – un problème donc que la sémiologie contemporaine a su expliciter: comment séparer le signe, par exemple la représentation de peinture, de ce qu’il/elle représente? Ou, dans les termes du Concile, comment vénérer le prototype de l’image sans vénérer l’image? Comment rendre à l’image le culte qui doit être rendu à son prototype sans rendre un culte à l’image elle-même, et par conséquent tomber dans l’abîme de l’idolâtrie – cette idolâtrie dont la Réforme accuse l’Église catholique et que cette même Église, par ses missionnaires, commence de persécuter à l’autre bout du monde? Or c’est bien l’extraordinaire difficulté de ce problème, dont on pourrait débattre très, très longuement, comme le voudraient certains évêques espagnols soucieux de retarder au maximum la fin du Concile, c’est la difficulté de ce problème qui fait aussi que l’on peut décider d’en finir, comme le pensent d’autres évêques, soucieux de conclure le Concile. Décider d’en finir, c’est-à-dire arrêter une solution; c’est-à-dire faire acte d’autorité. Qui fera acte d’autorité? Le roi d’Espagne, le roi de France, le pape, le Concile lui-même? Comme on le voit nous sommes bien, là encore, et là surtout peut-être au cœur de l’imbrication essentielle du débat sur les images et de la question politique. N’a-t-on pas dit pourtant, à propos d’une toute autre scène, que Charlemagne, lorsqu’il commandite ce que l’on appelle les Livres Carolins, ne s’intéressait nullement aux images, mais seulement à sa position impériale face au pape?20 Cela n’empêche pas Guglielmo Sirleto, bibliothécaire de la curie vaticane, lorsqu’il adresse au cardinal Morone, désormais légat du pape à Trente, une longue dissertation sur les images à quelques jours de la clôture du Concile, de reprendre à son actif les réponses du pape Adrien à Charlemagne. Il importe peu ici de connaître les auteurs des questions ou des réponses, l’essentiel étant qu’une ou plusieurs plumes aient été au travail et que, donc, le problème ait valu travail. Je n’ai que très récemment découvert cette dissertation de Sirleto21 et ce n’est sans doute pas un hasard: car sa lettre démontre que si le problème du culte des images est effectivement instrumenté sur une scène politique – qu’elle soit celle de l’Europe de Charlemagne ou celle du Concile de Trente, ou tant d’autres – ce n’est 19 La double exception eucharistique à la définition du signe représentationnel est de révéler le signifiant «pain» dans opacité de chose et, dans l’opération de la transsubstantiation, de faire de ce signe-chose une autre chose encore: le corps du Christ. Voir la lumineuse traversée de ce terrain difficile dans L. Marin, «La parole mangée ou le corps divin saisi par les signes», dans L. Marin, La Parole mangée et autres essais théologico-politiques (Paris: Méridiens/Klincksieck, 1986) 11–35. 20 F. Close, «Prestige et mises en scène à Francfort», dans Mériaux et al. (éd.), Dramatiques conciliaires. 21 Voir une présentation précise de ce document, conservé aux Archives secrètes du Vatican et demeuré curieusement oublié, dans P.A. Fabre, «Le problème de l’image dans le dernier acte du Concile de Trente: documents inédits du mois de novembre 1563», dans Mériaux et al. (éd.), Dramatiques conciliaires.

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pas malgré elle, mais parce qu’elle provoque l’autorité politique à prendre une décision, ou qu’elle lui permet de la retarder. Il me semble important, et je l’ai fait en recourant à cette analogie entre deux fragments d’écrits hétérogènes de Lainez, de prendre la mesure de la complicité profonde de l’image avec ceux qui décident d’elle, de sa place, de son rôle, etc. D’une certaine manière, on pourrait dire, sans pouvoir aller plus loin ici, que le face-à-face des puissants – des rois, des princes, des cardinaux, des évêques – et de leurs portraits, de tant de portraits que les écrans de nos mémoires nous font voir, substitués à leurs modèles, est une mise en scène de cette complicité, une mise en scène qui ouvre sur une autre question, vertigineuse: qui est le plus fort, du portrait ou de celui que le portrait représente?22

Lainez spectateur effacé d’une image contournée C’est dans l’inextricable discussion de l’image comme chose présente, matérielle, ou comme représentation, idéelle, que nous devons nous plonger avec Lainez. La «harangue» de Lainez, général des jésuites, au colloque de Saint-Germain, en réponse à un premier discours de Théodore de Bèze,23 n’est connue que par les «notes» fragmentaires conservées par les Archives de l’Ordre, relatives à la préparation de cette «harangue». On peut cependant risquer un premier ensemble d’observations générales. La position de Diego Lainez dans la controverse de la conférence de Saint-Germain intensifie les données générales de la situation du parti catholique dans ce débat, comme je l’ai déjà souligné en insistant sur la localisation géographique des positions de Lainez. Il lui faut en effet, contre la critique réformatrice des médiations dévotionnelles et à travers elle de leur garant ecclésial, réaffirmer le cadre dogmatique de la légitimation du culte des «saintes images», comme médiations, telle qu’issue du second Concile de Nicée et telle qu’elle se retrouvera dans le décret final du Concile de Trente; mais il lui faut également, contre le risque d’un détournement sans retour du «renvoi» de l’image à son «prototype», se tenir face à l’image, la prendre au sérieux en quelque sorte; il lui faut défendre le support de l’image tout en la réaffirmant comme seulement 22 On reconnaîtra ici sans peine une autre ligne de force de l’œuvre de Louis Marin, qui n’est évidemment pas sans lien avec le problème du signe eucharistique et celui des portraits impossibles de Jésus-Christ: la figure du «portrait du roi», tramée dans l’ouvrage du même nom et dans Pouvoirs de l’image: gloses (L’ordre philosophique; Paris: Seuil, 1993), entre d’autres livres (voir en particulier dans celui-ci l’analyse de la dédicace de la Mort de Pompée par son auteur Corneille à Mazarin, pp. 133–9). 23 Voir pour une présentation générale de ce colloque D. Willis-Watkins, The Second Commandment and Church Reform: The Colloquy of Saint Germain en Laye, 1562 (Studies in Reformed Theology and History 2/2; Princeton, NJ: Princeton Theological Seminary, 1994).

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support. Il lui faut poser l’objet de l’image sans y arrêter son regard, et réeffectuer empiriquement le geste dogmatique de la révérence rendue à la représentation. La voie est étroite. Notons seulement ici quelques signes de la difficulté du projet de Lainez, selon le témoignage des notes conservées de la préparation de son intervention en réplique à celle de Théodore de Bèze: Nous ne pensons pas qu’il soit légitime de vénérer les images en leur rendant un honneur qui s’arrête à elles, qu’il soit intérieur ou extérieur, car les images étant en elles-mêmes chose incapable de raison et de vertu, elles ne sont pas dignes pour elles-mêmes ni capables d’un tel honneur, et encore moins de contenir en elles la moindre divinité: mais nous comprenons par la vénération des images le fait de s’incliner vers elles et de faire d’autres signes de révérence, qui, avec le culte intérieurement rendu, vont entièrement à la chose représentée par l’image … Vénérer l’image de Dieu est donc, l’image (suit, raturé dans le manuscrit: «me portant») me faisant me souvenir du Seigneur, l’adorer en présence de l’image … Il est donc légitime, en présence de l’image et regardant vers elle (in presenza della imagine et guardando verso quella), de se souvenir de la chose représentée, de la connaître et de l’imiter…24

Il faut regarder vers l’image, mieux encore s’incliner ou se mouvoir vers elle, habiter le lieu devant cette image.25 La localisation de l’image, et les embûches attachées à son emplacement, obsèdent les «notes» de Lainez. Ainsi, par exemple: C’est abus d’avoir trop d’images d’un même saint sur un même autel, si ce saint n’est pas représenté dans des histoires différentes; car ces images étant faites pour guider l’esprit vers ce qui est exemplaire, il ne convient pas de les multiplier sur un seul autel. Mais je ne pense pas qu’il soit abusif, dans une grande église, d’avoir plusieurs chapelles de la Vierge glorieuse, ou d’un même saint, selon la dévotion des fondateurs de ces chapelles et selon le nombre du peuple.26

Comment mesurer le lieu pour une image? Où se circonscrit le lieu légitime pour la vénération de cette image selon son prototype? Quand l’image excède-t-elle son «exemplarité» pour imposer sa «chose» dans la diversité des représentations qu’elle produit de la «chose représentée»? Le lieu, me semble-t-il, figure bien ici, pour adopter les termes de la théologie de l’Incarnation, l’incirconscriptible circonscription des «saintes images». Mais la présence de l’image, lorsque je suis «en présence de l’image et regardant vers elle», semble ne pas faire obstacle, comme si l’image elle-même s’inclinait devant ce regard et ce corps dévotionnels, tendus, au-delà d’elle, vers ce qu’elle 24 Rome, Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu (ARSI), Opp. NN. 209, fol. 338r et 347v–348r. 25 Si je peux indiquer ici une connexion entre certains de mes travaux, cette détermination d’un lieu devant l’image articule aussi, dans la construction progressive d’une image pour la pratique jésuite de l’imagination spirituelle, le passage de la «composition d’un lieu» pour l’imagination dans la méditation des Exercices spirituels à la composition du lieu du spectateur de l’image. 26 ARSI, Opp. NN. 209, fol. 365r.

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Ill. 1: Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu, Opp. NN. 209, fol. 338r.

représente. Un regard tend vers une image qui tend vers son effacement. Un regard et un corps qui pensent à autre chose, non pas à cette «chose incapable de raison et de vertu», mais à autre «chose» encore: à cette «chose représentée». Lainez ne fait pas explicitement référence dans ses «notes» à une formule de Martin Pérez de Ayala (évêque de Ségovie, membre de la deuxième commission préparatoire du décret sur les «saintes images» présenté au Concile de Trente en 1563), dans son De Divinis, apostolicis et ecclesiasticis traditionibus, publié à Paris

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en 1549, réédité en 1562, c’est-à-dire pendant le séjour de Lainez à Paris: «On ne vénère pas les images, mais, en leur présence (in praesentia earum), les personnes qui y sont représentées.» Mais Hubert Jedin relève justement l’importance de cette formule dans la controverse de la période.27 De la difficulté de cette présence qui n’est qu’une indication, une orientation vers ce qui est représenté, il n’est pas de preuve plus concrètement tangible, dans l’écriture de Lainez, que la syntaxe troublée de ce bref énoncé: «L’abus principal serait d’adorer l’image de telle sorte que l’honneur dû à la chose représentée s’arrête et se termine à elle (saria adorare l’imagine di tal modo che l’onore debito alla cosa representata si fermasse et terminasse in essa).»28 À quel substantif renvoie le pronom essa? À l’«image», ou bien à la «chose représentée»? Si c’est à l’image, alors la chose représentée n’est plus que son image; si c’est à la chose représentée, alors non seulement l’image se trouve rejetée, mais, et c’est en ce sens que le trouble est réel, la chose représentée, qui n’est elle-même que le prototype de l’image matérielle mais ne peut, en toute orthodoxie, que renvoyer elle – même à son essence, telle qu’elle se donne à voir à la vénération des hommes sans se réduire à cette visibilité – la chose représentée, donc, capterait illégitimement la puissance réservée seulement à ce dont le prototype est prototype. Au bout du compte, l’image servirait la cause du seul prototype. La difficulté est cruciale: elle fait sortir de l’ombre le troisième terme dont le décret du Concile de Trente, à la différence de celui du deuxième Concile de Nicée, voudra faire l’économie: le terme de l’hypostase. Rappelons l’horos (ou déclaration conclusive) de Nicée: «L’honneur rendu à l’icône atteint le prototype et celui qui se prosterne devant l’icône se prosterne devant l’hypostase de celui qui est inscrit en elle.» L’abandon tridentin de la relation du prototype et de l’hypostase signifie une rupture radicale, mais extrêmement difficile à accomplir. L’hypostase fait passer la ressemblance du côté de la théologie trinitaire, et spécifiquement de la médiation du Saint-Esprit dans l’engendrement éternel du Père et du Fils.29 27 H. Jedin, «Genesi e portata del decreto tridentino sulla venerazione delle immagini», dans Jedin, Chiesa della fede, chiesa della storia (Brescia: Morcelliana, 1972) 340–90, à la p. 361. On peut risquer l’hypothèse que la fortune de cette formule tient à la distribution conjointe de la «présence» – comme une sorte de manne – sur deux terrains différents dont elle construit la solidarité gracieuse: la présence théologique des «personnes divines», toutes présentes, bref éternelles, et la présence immanente des images, là, devant moi, à portée de main et cependant protégées d’une mystérieuse aura, devant moi comme les personnes divines sont en avant de moi, et m’attendant. 28 ARSI, Opp. NN. 209, fol. 366r. 29 La première source de l’horos se trouve dans Basile le Grand, Sur le Saint-Esprit, 18.45, B. Pruche (ed.) (Sources Chrétiennes 17bis; Paris: Cerf, ²1968), 407: «Le Fils est dans le Père et le Père dans le Fils … selon la propriété des Personnes, ils sont un et un; mais selon leur nature commune, les deux ne sont qu’un … l’image du roi on l’appelle roi aussi et … on ne dit pas deux rois: le pouvoir royal ne se dédouble pas, la gloire ne se divise pas. De même qu’il n’y a qu’une seule autorité sur nous et que le pouvoir en est unique, de même la gloire que nous lui

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Ill. 2: Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu, Opp. NN. 209, fol. 366r.

Entre Nicée et Trente, le maillon manquant est celui qui conduit l’imitation de l’art à la ressemblance de la nature: l’art me conduit par l’imitation à une ressemblance qui, elle, me conduit par nature à l’hypostase du Père dans le Fils. C’est rendons est-elle unique, et non multiple, parce que l’honneur rendu à l’image passe au prototype. – Ce que l’image est là par imitation, le Fils l’est ici par nature. Et de même que, en art, la ressemblance se prend sur la forme, ainsi, pour la nature divine, qui est simple, c’est dans la communauté de la déité que réside le principe d’unité.» Basile a écrit son traité Sur le Saint-Esprit vers 375.

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précisément cette continuité, parfaitement formulée par l’horos dans le passage du prototype à l’hypostase, qui se trouve rompue dans le décret tridentin. Mais cette rupture est-elle concevable sans placer le prototype dans une sorte d’instabilité, où il pourrait n’être, où il ne sera de fait par Trente qu’un modèle, un schéma, ce que Kant appellera plus tard une «image-schème»? Le trouble d’écriture de Lainez est le trouble devant ce basculement de l’essence des choses divines dans les arcanes de la perception humaine. Ajoutons ici une autre hypothèse: le trouble est peut-être d’autant plus grand qu’une puissante figure disparaît de la scène entre le Traité de Basile le Grand, source doctrinale de l’horos de Nicée, et le décret tridentin: la figure du roi, ou, spécifiquement, l’image du roi qui articule la relation d’imitation sur la relation de ressemblance, et qui est de ce point de vue une figure théologico-politique qu’elle ne sera plus ensuite. On pourrait presque écrire que les «rois» s’intéressent d’autant plus à l’image dans cette fin de Concile qu’ils ne sont plus au cœur de son dispositif de légitimation théologique; ils visent un pouvoir sur l’image qui ne procède plus d’un pouvoir de l’image, de l’image du roi qui est le roi. Les références de Diego Lainez, telles qu’elles figurent dans les «notes» préparatoires de son intervention à la conférence de Saint-Germain, demanderaient pour être utilement interrogées et interprétées un développement inversement proportionnel à la brièveté de leur mention. Prenons au hasard – entre de très nombreuses listes de ce type – le feuillet 328v: «Tertullien, De la pudicité. Clément [d’Alexandrie], Stromates, 7. Eusèbe, Histoire Ecclésiastique, 7, 14; Vie de Constantin, 3, 4. Athanase [d’Alexandrie], Sermon des Saints et des Prophètes. Basile [de Césarée], Homélies, 46, 48.»30 Comment concevoir le sens de ces références multiples dans l’ensemble des notes de Lainez? Comme le faisait récemment observer Alain Tallon dans l’un des colloques tridentins de la période récente,31 tout l’enjeu de la synthèse finale du Concile est la composition de trois forces centrales: l’empereur, le pape, l’évêque. C’est aussi, me semble-t-il dans cette perspective et non pas seulement dans celle d’une analyse intertextuelle, que ces références doivent être comprises, en mesurant la place de la figure impériale, dont Basile est le premier théoricien, celle de la hiérarchie proprement ecclésiale, dominée par les pontifes, celle de l’autorité des Pères, portée par les évêques. Elles permettraient aussi, d’une manière plus générale, de saisir ce que c’est qu’une «culture chrétienne» dans cette seconde moitié du seizième siècle.

30 ARSI, Opp. NN. 209, fol. 328v. 31 Dramatiques conciliaires, organisé à Lille en mai 2013 par Charles Mériaux.

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Lainez dans ses derniers retranchements Je prolongerai l’étude de ces notes par un autre document, peu connu, issu d’une série de documents attachés à Lainez, conservés dans les Archives de l’Université Grégorienne.32 C’est un feuillet isolé, peut-être incomplet, qui ressaisit l’argumentation de Lainez pour la défense des images. Il est d’une crudité étonnante, par son caractère très raccourci, condensé, des positions de Lainez, dans leur radicalité réformatrice et, tout en même temps, dans la difficulté de leur formulation théorique. Lisons les deux derniers alinéas de ce feuillet: Deuxièmement, nous affirmons qu’il est interdit d’adorer les images et de s’incliner vers elles ou d’exhiber quelque signe de révérence que ce soit dans la mesure où elles porteraient Dieu ou quelque réalité divine en matière, en forme, ou en figure dans quelque mode que ce soit … Troisièmement, nous assurons qu’il n’est pas contre l’Écriture sacrée ni contre les définitions ecclésiastiques ni contre le sens commun, les Docteurs ou la raison elle-même d’adorer les images c’est-à-dire de se prosterner devant elles ou de faire mouvement vers elles.33

Pourquoi présenter ce fragment? Ce ne pourrait être après tout que la réaffirmation répétée, par deux voies différentes du leitmotiv fondamental de Lainez dans cette période sur la position de l’être-devant-l’image comme condition de possibilité de la vénération de l’invisible. Mais c’est un plus petit fragment encore de ce fragment qui me retient: les trois termes raturés de la matière, de la forme, et de la figure, au bénéfice du seul «sous quelque mode que ce soit» (Ill. 3). C’est ici, me semble-t-il, que se concentre, dans une intensité maximale, tous les écueils de la doctrine catholique sur le culte des images. La première évidence est de devoir renoncer à la «matière», elle contient tous les germes d’une idolâtrie; mais il faut aussi renoncer à la «forme», car de deux choses l’une: soit cette forme nous fait remonter, selon le deuxième Concile de Nicée, jusqu’à l’hypostase, et l’image, alors, pourrait donner lieu à une vénération parce qu’elle articule la forme prototype à la forme hypostase, et c’est bien cette tradition héritée de l’icône byzantine que divers experts romains – dont Guglielmo Sirleto dans la lettre à Morone évoquée plus haut – tentent de défendre contre la menace d’un désenchantement radical de l’image comme médiation du culte; soit, seconde hypothèse, la forme reste le seul prototype, selon le choix final du décret tridentin, qui révise Nicée II sur ce point capital, comme je l’ai rappelé, mais alors comment ne basculera-t-elle pas dans une formation matérielle, selon une lecture aristotélicienne qui reconnaîtra la forme dans la matière? Mais il faut aussi et enfin renoncer à la «figure», admirable hypothèse esquissée et rejetée par Lainez, parce 32 Je remercie très vivement Martin Morales, directeur des Archives, de m’avoir fait connaître ce document. 33 Rome, Archives de l’Université Pontificale Grégorienne (APUG), Cod. 621, fol. 174r.

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Ill. 3: Archives Pontificales de l’Université Grégorienne, Cod. 621, fol. 174r.

que cette solution herméneutique, découverte d’une image en figure, d’une image cachée dans une autre image, ferait éclater les cadres de l’image qui instruit en ouvrant les perspectives infinies d’une image que l’on comprend, celui qui regarde devenant alors lui-même l’instructeur de ses propres images. On voit que, sous ces

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quelques mots biffés, tout un monde s’ouvre – que le décret du 2 décembre ne refermera plus. Car que sera cette «sainte image» de la divinité sans matière, sans forme, sans figure? Esquissons enfin – évidemment beaucoup trop rapidement – le contexte théologique de l’élaboration de la position tridentine sur le culte de l’image. Lainez à Paris, c’est, en permanence, le problème de l’image comme contre-point de la controverse eucharistique; et c’est par rapport à cette controverse que sa position se détermine. Paris, c’est aussi Théodore de Bèze, son adversaire principal lors du colloque de Saint-Germain, et comme on le sait le promoteur de la doctrine calvinienne du culte eucharistique. Le Colloque de Poissy, dont l’eucharistie est l’enjeu central et pour lequel nous conservons un mémoire précis de Lainez, publié dans le volume VIII des Monumenta Lainez, engage fortement le général des Jésuites sur ce terrain: l’affirmation de la présence réelle du Christ dans l’eucharistie d’un côté, et de l’autre, comme ses notes de travail nous l’ont montré (mais avec quelle difficulté!), une sévère vigilance sur tout mode de présence du divin dans son image, jusqu’à placer Lainez tout proche des positions les plus radicales de Martin Pérez de Ayala. Mais c’est cette même position qui permet de comprendre – non sans devoir sans doute considérer aussi les effets du long périple de Lainez, entre Paris et Trente, à la frontière orientale de l’Europe catholique – l’évolution probable de cette position dans la phase ultime du Concile, qui correspond également à l’évolution de son analyse politique, comme je l’ai rappelé plus haut avec l’appui des travaux de Sabina Pavone. En effet, l’opposition de la présence réelle de l’eucharistie et de l’image comme présence effacée, pur et simple repère, «pan orientant», comme je l’ai désigné naguère,34 dans le lieu de la contemplation divine, se trouve presque irrésistiblement superposé au clivage réformateur entre l’eucharistie comme commémoration symbolique et les images, exclues de cette symbolique. Ainsi peut-on sans doute comprendre un autre trait de l’argumentation de Lainez, qui porte sur l’antiquité des images chrétiennes: les images sont elles-mêmes objets d’une commémoration – tout particulièrement les images perdues, et nous savons l’immense prestige de la statue anéantie commémorant la guérison de la femme hémoroïsse dans la controverse post-tridentine sur le culte des «saintes images».35 Il me semble également possible – je tiens cette suggestion des travaux du Colloque du mois de décembre 2013 qui est à l’origine de ce 34 P.A. Fabre, Ignace de Loyola: le lieu de l’image: le problème de la composition de lieu dans les pratiques spirituelles et artistiques jésuites de la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle (Collection Contextes; Paris: Vrin, 1992), 279–85. 35 Je renvoie sur ce point à P.A. Fabre, «L’image possible. Réflexions sur le défaut d’illustration dans les écrits prescriptifs et défensifs sur l’image au XVIe siècle», dans R. Dekoninck/A. Guiderdoni (éd.), Emblemata sacra: rhétorique et herméneutique du discours sacré dans la littérature en images (Imago figurata. Studies 7; Turnhout: Brepols, 2007) 229–51.

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volume, avec les exposés de Pauline Renoux-Caron et de François sur le sens de la Vulgate à l’époque du Concile – que l’image puisse ainsi prendre en charge l’héritage d’une très ancienne tradition, d’une tradition antérieure même à l’élaboration des Évangiles, d’une autre tradition, en quelque sorte, qui laisserait le champ libre à l’établissement des deux canaux par lesquels la source qui est l’Évangile est transmise, l’Écriture et la tradition non-scripturaire de l’Église, mais qui, de ce fait, s’enracinerait dans la plus lointaine origine – apostolique – de l’histoire chrétienne. Signalons également, touchant l’eucharistie, en écho également à l’une des sessions de ce colloque, dont on trouvera les résultats dans ce volume, consacrée aux visites pastorales post-tridentines, une passion pour la fabrication des tabernacles, conservatoire de l’hostie consacrée, selon le culte d’adoration perpétuelle du Saint-Sacrement promu immédiatement après le Concile. Ajoutons que le vieux Jérôme Nadal, lorsqu’il renonce à l’entreprise des Evangelicae historiae imagines, dont j’ai marqué toute la portée en ouverture de cette contribution, souligne au contraire sans cesse, dans sa correspondance avec Rome, l’urgence de la restauration du tabernacle d’une petite ville de Vénétie où il séjourne alors. Il est d’ailleurs frappant que les premières commandes jésuites en matière d’ornement d’Église privilégient aussi, dans la seconde moitié du seizième siècle, la confection des tabernacles – et des confessionnaux. Il n’est temps dans les limites de cette contribution que d’ouvrir une seconde hypothèse de travail: on peut s’interroger sur l’articulation de la vénération des reliques et des images dans le décret du 2 décembre 1563. L’une des réponses, précises, serait de placer la relique sur la frontière de l’hostie et de l’image, et de brouiller ainsi d’une autre manière ce clivage de l’eucharistie et de l’image qui pouvait tendre à se superposer au clivage réformateur du symbole et de l’image. La relique ne nous apprend rien, elle ne nous représente rien; mais elle n’est pas non plus la présence réelle du corps divin. C’est une présence, mais une présence morte. C’est ce qui n’est pas là. N’a-t-on pas déclaré au dix-neuvième siècle – mais après trois siècles d’histoire qui disent très long sur les incertitudes d’une telle proclamation36 – que l’introduction des reliques des catacombes romaines en Nouvelle Espagne par les jésuites en 1578 avait été «triompher vraiment de l’idolâtrie»?37

36 Je renvoie sur ce point à la contribution, complémentaire de celle-ci, que j’ai proposée dans le volume Prosperi/Catto (éd.), Trent and Beyond. Au-delà des enjeux spatiaux que j’ai déjà soulignés, il en va aussi, dans cette complémentarité, d’une saisie intégrée de ce que l’on pourrait appeler le système dévotionnel de l’Église catholique post-tridentine, qui produit dans l’articulation du culte des saints, des reliques et des images ce qui ne relève d’aucun d’eux, mais de ce dont chacun d’eux est un découpage symbolique: le Réel d’un Dieu. 37 Voir également sur ce sujet P.A. Fabre, «Reliques romaines à Mexico (1575–1578): histoire

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Conclusion Au terme de cette rapide plongée dans les notes de travail de Diego Lainez, il est sans doute insolite de rappeler le problème posé il y a près d’un siècle et demie par Charles Dejob sur «l’influence du Concile de Trente sur les arts»: Lainez dit-il un seul mot des «arts», des «beaux-arts», donne-t-il à voir des «images»? Et pourtant, je ferai la dernière proposition suivante: dans le moment même où le discours de Lainez désenchante, ou tente de désenchanter radicalement les «saintes images», en leur refusant toute forme, matière ou figure de divinité et en les opposant à l’hostie, forme, matière et figure divines tout à la fois, dans ce moment où il ouvre la voie à un autre enchantement, celui qui conduira à se rapprocher au plus près des images non pas pour les toucher comme des objets vénérés mais pour en observer au plus près la touche, comme celle d’objets admirés, ce discours ouvre aussi la voie au génie de l’artiste comme transformation ou transfert de la puissance divine. De ce point de vue, le Concile de Trente inaugure l’esthétique moderne et, dans le même mouvement, ce que l’on appelle l’«histoire de l’art», en même temps qu’il accomplit dans l’art chrétien l’époque de la Renaissance.

Bibliographie Sources manuscrites Rome, Archives de l’Université Pontificale Grégorienne (APUG), Cod. 621. Rome, Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu (ARSI), Opp. NN. 209.

Sources imprimées et éditées Lainez, Diego, Epistolae et acta patris Jacobi Lainii, secundi praepositi generalis Societatis Jesu (Lainii Monumenta: Epistolae et Acta 8; Monumenta Historica Societatis Iesu 55; Madrid: Typis G. Lopez del Horno, 1917). Sarpi, Paolo, Istoria del Concilio tridentino, C. Vivanti (éd.) (2 tom.; Turin: Einaudi, 1974). Sforza Pallavicino, Pietro, Istoria del Concilio di Trento (Rome: Angelo Bernabó dal Verme, 1656).

Sources secondaires Close, F., «Prestige et mises en scène à Francfort», dans Ch. Mériaux et al. (éd.), Dramatiques conciliaires (Lille: Presses Universitaires de Lille, à paraître). d’une migration», dans S. Baciocchi/C. Duhamelle (éd.), Corps saints des catacombes (Rome: École française de Rome, 2016).

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Ditchfield, S., «In Search of Local Knowledge: Rewriting Early Modern Italian Religious History», Cristianesimo nella Storia 19 (1998) 255–96. Fabre, P.A., Décréter l’image: La XXVe Session du Concile de Trente (L’Ymagier 4; Paris: Belles-Lettres, 2013). Fabre, P.A., Ignace de Loyola: le lieu de l’image: le problème de la composition de lieu dans les pratiques spirituelles et artistiques jésuites de la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle (Collection Contextes; Paris: Vrin, 1992). Fabre, P.A., «La vénération des ‘saintes images’ selon le Concile de Trente: genèse et enjeux d’une décision», dans A. Prosperi/M. Catto (éd.), Trent and Beyond: The Council, Other Powers, Other Cultures (Mediterranean Nexus 4; Turnhout: Brepols, 2018). Fabre, P.A., «Le problème de l’image dans le dernier acte du Concile de Trente: documents inédits du mois de novembre 1563», dans Ch. Mériaux et al. (éd.), Dramatiques conciliaires (Lille: Presses Universitaires de Lille, à paraître). Fabre, P.A., «L’image possible. Réflexions sur le défaut d’illustration dans les écrits prescriptifs et défensifs sur l’image au XVIe siècle», dans R. Dekoninck/A. Guiderdoni (éd.), Emblemata sacra: rhétorique et herméneutique du discours sacré dans la littérature en images (Imago figurata. Studies 7; Turnhout: Brepols, 2007) 229–51. Fabre, P.A., «Reliques romaines à Mexico (1575–1578): histoire d’une migration», dans S. Baciocchi/C. Duhamelle (éd.), Corps saints des catacombes (Rome: École française de Rome, 2016). Fabre, P.A., «Responsabilité et liberté dans les correspondances épistolaires des membres de la Compagnie de Jésus. Ignacio de Loyola et Jeronimo Nadal entre Rome et Messine (1548–1549)», dans R.G. Corrado/V. Undurraga (éd.), Formas de control y disciplinamiento. Chile, América y Europa, siglos XVI–XIX (Santiago: Uqbar Editores, 2014) 353– 71. Firpo, M./Niccoli, O. (éd.), Il cardinale Giovanni Morone e l’ultima fase del Concilio di Trento (Annali dell’Istituto storico italo-germanico in Trento. Quaderni 80; Bologna: Il Mulino, 2010). Franco, J.E. (éd.), Il Concilio di Trento (Lisbonne: Alcalá, Ediciones de la Universidad de Alcalá, 2017). Jedin, H., «Genesi e portata del decreto tridentino sulla venerazione delle immagini», dans Jedin, Chiesa della fede, chiesa della storia (Brescia: Morcelliana, 1972) 340–90. Marin, L., «La parole mangée ou le corps divin saisi par les signes», dans L. Marin, La Parole mangée et autres essais théologico-politiques (Paris: Méridiens/Klincksieck, 1986) 11–35. Marin, L., Pouvoirs de l’image: gloses (L’ordre philosophique; Paris: Seuil, 1993). Mériaux, Ch. et al. (éd.), Dramatiques conciliaires (Lille: Presses Universitaires de Lille, à paraître). Oberholzer P. (éd.), Diego Lainez (1512–1565) and His Generalate (Rome: Institutum Historicum Societatis Iesu, 2015). O’Malley, J.W., Les premiers jésuites 1540–1565, É Boné (trans.) (Collection «Christus» 88; Paris/Montréal: Desclée de Brouwer/Bellarmin, 1999). Pavone, S., «Preti riformati e riforma della chiesa: i Gesuiti al Concilio di Trento», Rivista storica italiana 107 (2005) 110–34. Prodi, P., Il Sovrano Pontefice. Un corpo e due anime: la monarchia papale nella prima età moderna (Saggi 228; Bologna: Il Mulino, 2006).

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Prosperi, A./Catto, M. (éd.), Trent and Beyond: The Council, Other Powers, Other Cultures (Mediterranean Nexus 4; Turnhout: Brepols, 2018). Scaduto, M., L’epoca di Giacomo Lainez, tome 2: L’azione (Storia della Compagnia di Gesù in Italia 3; Rome: La Civilta cattolica, 1974). Willis-Watkins, D., The Second Commandment and Church Reform: The Colloquy of Saint Germain en Laye, 1562 (Studies in Reformed Theology and History 2/2; Princeton, NJ: Princeton Theological Seminary, 1994).

Walter S. Melion

Quod etiam Ecclesia curat: Responses to the Tridentine Decrees in Jerónimo Nadal’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia of 1595

Published posthumously by the Jesuit Order after long and complicated negotiations with various printmakers in the Low Countries, Jerónimo Nadal S.J.’s Evangelicae historiae imagines (Antwerp: Martinus II Nutius, 1593) consists of 153 large plates mainly engraved by Jan, Hieronymus, and Antoon II Wierix of Antwerp (Ill. 1). Closely keyed to the liturgical calendar, these folio-size images narrate the main events from the life of Christ, embedding them within landscape panoramas that depict the collateral places and circumstances described in the Gospels. The imagines were designed to operate in tandem with Nadal’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia (Antwerp: Martinus II Nutius, 1595, infolio), an elaborate sequence of spiritual exercises intended to assist the votary as he meditated on the vita Christi during the feriae and festa codified in the Roman Missal of Pius V (Ill. 2).1 Dedicated to Clement VIII, the Adnotationes et medi1 On the Evangelicae historiae imagines and Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, see M. Nicolau, S.J., Jerónimo Nadal: Obras y doctrinas espirituales (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas/Patronato Raimundo Lulio/Instituto Francisco Suárez, 1949), 63, 114–20, 121–32, 166–70, 194, 205, 455, and 464; E. Cockx-Indestege/G. Glorieux, Belgica typographica, 1541–1600 (4 vol.; Nieuwkoop: B. de Graaf, 1968–94), 3.8782–9; T. Buser, “Jerome Nadal and Early Jesuit Art in Rome”, The Art Bulletin 58 (1976) 424–33; M. Mauquoy-Hendrickx, “Les Wierix illustrateurs de la Bible dite de Natalis”, Quaerendo 6 (1976) 28–63, on pp. 28–34; Mauquoy-Hendrickx, Les estampes des Wierix conservées au Cabinet des Estampes de la Bibliothèque Royale Albert Ier (3 vol.; Brussels: Bibliothèque royale Albert Ier, 1978–83), 3/1.400–29, 491–6; 3/2.542–4, docs. 40–4; M. Fumaroli, L’âge de l’éloquence: rhétorique et ‘res literaria’ de la Renaissance au seuil de l’époque classique (Geneva: Droz/Paris: Champion, 1980), 259–60, esp. n. 67; M.-B. Wadell, Evangelicae historiae imagines: Entstehungsgeschichte und Vorlagen (Gothenburg Studies in Art and Architecture 3; Gothenburg: Eric Lindgrens Boktryckeri A.B., 1985), 9–17 and 46–8; P.A. Fabre, Ignace de Loyola: le lieu de l’image (Paris: Éditions de l’École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales/Vrin, 1992), 162–239 and 263–95; P. Rheinbay, Biblische Bilder für den inneren Weg: Das Betrachtungsbuch des Ignatius-Gefährten Hieronymus Nadal (1507–1580) (Engelsbach/Frankfurt/St Peter Port: Hänsel-Hohenhausen, 1995), 35–106; W.S. Melion, “Artifice, Memory, and Reformatio in Hieronymus Natalis’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia of 1595”, Renaissance and Reformation 22 (1998) 5– 34; R. Dekoninck, “Imagines peregrinantes: The International Genesis and Fate of Two Biblical Picture Books (Hiël and Nadal) Conceived in Antwerp at the End of the Sixteenth Century”, in

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tationes (along with Ignatius’s Exercitia spiritualia) qualifies as one of the Order’s most significant evangelical instruments, and as such, of the Tridentine Church and of its commitment to sacred images as agents of spiritual reform, both personal and institutional.2 As is evident from Nadal’s frequent exhortations to the ideal reader-viewer, his primary audience consisted of Jesuit novices who had taken their First Simple Vows and now, as scholastics, were training for the priesthood.3 The book circulated more widely, however, accompanying Jesuit missionaries whithersoever they traveled.4 A.-J. Gelderblom/J.L. de Jong/M. Van Vaeck (ed.), The Low Countries as a Crossroads of Religious Beliefs (Intersections 3; Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2004) 49–64; W.S. Melion, “The Art of Vision in Jerome Nadal’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia”, in Jerome Nadal, Annotations and Meditations on the Gospels, vol. 1: The Infancy Narratives, F.A. Homann (trans. and ed.) (Philadelphia, PA: St Joseph’s University Press, 2003) 1–96; R. Dekoninck, “Ad imaginem”: status, fonctions et usages de l’image dans la littérature spirituelle jésuite du XVIIe siècle (Travaux du Grand Siècle 26; Geneva: Droz, 2005), 157–370 passim, esp. 234–7, 287–9, and 303–5; W.S. Melion, “Mortis illius imagines ut vitae: The Image of the Glorified Christ in Jerome Nadal’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia”, in Jerome Nadal, Annotations and Meditations on the Gospels, vol. 3: The Resurrection Narratives, 1–32; H. Stroomberg, “Introduction”, in H. Stroomberg (comp.)/J. Van der Stock (ed.), The Wierix Family: Book Illustrations (2 vol.; The New Hollstein Dutch & Flemish Etchings, Engravings, and Woodcuts, 1450–1700; Ouderkerk aan den IJssel/Amsterdam: Sound & Vision Publishers, 2007) 2.3–7; W.S. Melion, “Haec per imagines huius mysterij ecclesia sancta [clamat]: The Image of the Suffering Christ in Jerome Nadal’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia”, in Jerome Nadal, Annotations and Meditations on the Gospels, vol. 2: The Passion Narratives, 1–73; G. Lazure, “Nadal au Nouveau Monde: une traduction poétique des Evangelicae historiae imagines, Pérou, ca. 1614”, in R. Dekoninck/A. Guiderdoni-Bruslé (ed.), Emblemata Sacra: rhétorique et herméneutique du discours sacré dans la littérature en image. The Rhetoric and Hermeneutics of Illustrated Sacred Discourse (Imago Figurata 7; Turnhout: Brepols, 2007) 321– 31; B.U. Münch, Geteiltes Leid: Die Passion Christi in Bildern und Texten der Konfessionalisierung. Druckgraphik von der Reformation bis zu den jesuitischen Groβprojekten um 1600 (Regensburg: Verlag Schnell & Steiner GmbH, 2009), 161–98; and W.S. Melion, “Parabolic Analogy and Spiritual Discernment in Jéronimo Nadal’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia of 1595”, in L. Stelling/H. Hendrix/T. M. Richardson (ed.), The Turn of the Soul: Representations of Religious Conversion in Early Modern Art and Literature (Intersections 23; Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2012) 299–338. 2 Jacobus Ximénez, “Sanctissimo Domino Nostro Clementi VIII. Pontifici Maximo”, in Jerónimo Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia quae in sacrosancto Missae sacrificio toto anno leguntur: cum Evangeliorum concordantia historiae integritati sufficienti. Accessit & index historiam ipsam Evangelicam in ordinem temporis vitae Christi ditribuens. Secunda editio (Antwerp: Martinus Nutius, 1595), fol. 2r–3r. 3 Jacobus Ximénez, “Sanctissimo Domino Nostro Clementi VIII”, fol. *2r: “Dixerat aliquando, Beatissime Pater, Hieronymo Natali, uni ex suis alumnis, Parens nostrae Societatis Ignatius, operaepretium facturum eum, qui ad perpetuam atque paratam Religiosis eiusdem Societatis Scholaribus meditandi, orandique materiam ac segetem, Evangelia Quadragesima tota, Dominicisque per annum diebus inter sacrificandum recitari consueta, methodo quam brevissima certos ad locos, seu capita meditantium utilitati accommodata redigeret: neque id solum, sed etiam appositis imaginibus & adnotationibus illustraret.” Ximénez identifies the book’s primary audience as Jesuit scholastics studying for the priesthood, whom Nadal’s

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Composed at the behest of Ignatius himself, Nadal’s exercises consist of three sorts of text, all of which center on the richly detailed engravings: Gospel pericopes, descriptive adnotationes (annotations), and exegetical meditationes (meditations), that together assist the votary to visualize and thereby more fully to engage with Scripture. The pictorial images, organized as itineraria (sequential journeys), in concert with these genera textualia, unfold the complex meaning of the pericopes recited on selected weekdays, Sundays, and feastdays of the liturgical calendar. The Italian master draftsman Bernardino Passeri supplied the modelli ultimately utilized by the engravers; working in the mid-1580’s, he based his designs on two earlier sets of drawings, the first by Livio Agresti, the second by Giovanni Battista Fiammeri, a member of the Order.5 Fiammeri produced his drawings between 1579 and the early 1580’s, adapting them from the series by Livio Agresti, drawn in the early 1560’s under the supervision of Nadal himself. Agresti’s referents were the innovative woodcuts by Lieven de Witte in Willem van Branteghem’s Gospel harmony, the Iesu Christi vita, iuxta quatuor Evangelistarum narrationes, artificio graphices perquam eleganter picta (Life of Jesus Christ, According to the Four Evangelists, very Elegantly Portrayed through the Art of Drawing) (Antwerp: Matthias Crom, 1537). During the early stages of composing the Adnotationes et meditationes, Nadal had carefully studied De Witte’s images, which primarily derive not from the pictorial tradition but, like Nadal’s annotations and meditations, from close reading of the Gospels.6 spiritual exercises will assist to meditate on the Sunday and Lenten Gospels of the liturgical calendar. 4 The Evangelicae historiae imagines accompanied the Jesuits on their missions to China, India, and Paraguay, on which see G. A. Bailey, Art on the Jesuit Missions in Asia and Latin America, 1542–1773 (Toronto/Buffalo/London: University of Toronto Press, 1999), 93, 98–9, 102, 123, 129, 133, and 173. 5 On the three designers of modelli for the Evangelicae historiae imagines and Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, see Wadell, Evangelicae historiae imagines: Entstehungsgeschichte und Vorlagen, 23–48 and 51–4; and Münch, Geteiltes Leid, 184–90. Two of the red chalk drawings at Windsor, Assumption of the Virgin and Coronation of the Virgin, were redrawn in a manner better suited to engraving, with more clearly delineated contours and hatches; on these pen-and-ink drawings by Fiammeri, which may be survivors from a now lost fourth series, see Wadell, Evangelicae historiae imagines: Entstehungsgeschichte und Vorlagen, 25–6 and 47. Münch, Geteiltes Leid, 187, proposes as an alternative hypothesis that the red-chalk series by Fiammeri, which is missing twenty-five scenes, may have been adapted from the Evangelicae historiae imagines, rather than serving as a bridge between the series by Agresti and Passeri. Fiammeri, she suggests, may have abandoned this project before finishing it. I think it more likely that Fiammeri revised the drawings by Agresti, conforming them to Nadal’s text, a process largely completed by Passeri. 6 On Van Branteghem’s Iesu Christi vita and the likelihood that its images, designed by Lieven de Witte, served as Nadal’s templates during the writing of the Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, see Münch, Geteiltes Leid, 187–97. On Agresti’s close attention to De Witte’s designs, see Münch, Geteiltes Leid, 195. On the Iesu Christi vita iuxta quatuor Evangelistarum narrationes, artificio graphices perquam eleganter picta, printed by Matthias Crom and pu-

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Crucially, the Jesuits ordered that eight of these modelli be replaced, undoubtedly at considerable expense: the celebrated print designer Maarten de Vos redrew at least five imagines – Adoration of the Magi (7), Christ Teaches the Doctrine of Divine Mercy (24), the Parable of the Tares (39), Christ and the Canaanite Woman (61), and the Transfiguration (63) – as these plates, inscribed ‘M. de Vos invent.’, testify (Ills. 7–13). The fact that an engraving after Passeri’s version of Christ and the Canaanite Woman was actually finished and then replaced, strengthens the supposition that De Vos produced these drawings at an advanced stage in the process of publication.7 A sixth plate, the Dawn of the Lord’s Nativity, with Adoration of the Shepherds (4), though attributed on the plate to De Vos, was in fact engraved after the second version of this subject designed by Bernardino Passeri (Ills. 5 and 6).8 Passeri also provided a second version of the blished by Adriaen Kempe van Bouckhout, see W.S. Melion, “From Mystical Garden to Gospel Harmony: Willem van Branteghem on the Soul’s Conformation to Christ”, in W.S. Melion/R. Dekoninck/A. Guiderdoni-Bruslé (ed.), Ut pictura meditatio: The Meditative Image in Northern Art, 1500–1700 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012) 107–55. On the Dutch edition, Dat leven ons Heeren Christi Jesu, likewise published in 1537, and its relation to the Latin, see I.M. Veldman, “De boekillustratie als inspiratiebron voor de Nederlandse prentkunst van de zestiende eeuw”, in H. Duits/A.-J. Gelderblom/M.B. Smits-Veldt (ed.), Eer is het Lof des Deuchts: Opstellen over renaissance en classicisme aangeboden aan Dr. Fokke Veenstra (Amsterdam: Bataafsche Leeuw, 1986) 261–77, on pp. 263–4; and I.M. Veldman/K. van Schaik, Verbeelde boodschap: De illustraties van Lieven de Witte bij ‘Dat leven ons Heeren’ (1537) (Haarlem: Nederlands Bijbelgenootschap/Brussels: Belgisch Bijbelgenootschap, 1989), 17–21. On Van Branteghem and his illustrator De Witte, see Veldman/van Schaik, Verbeelde boodschap, 13–16; and B. Rosier, The Bible in Print: Netherlandish Bible Illustration in the Sixteenth Century, C.F. Weterings (trans.) (2 vol.; Leiden: Foleor Publishers, 1997), 1.28–9. 7 On the first version of Christ and the Canaanite Woman, engraved by Jan II Collaert after Passeri, see Mauquoy-Hendrickx, Estampes des Wierix, 3/1.411, no. 2041; and Wadell, Evangelicae historiae imagines: Entstehungsgeschichte und Vorlagen, 20–1. Jan II and Adriaen Collaert ultimately engraved twelve plates for the Evangelicae historiae imagines, on which see, Stroomberg/Van der Stock, The Wierix Family: Book Illustrations, 2.9; and A. Diels/M. Leesberg (comp.) – M. Leesberg/A. Balis (ed.), The Collaert Dynasty (8 vol.; The New Hollstein Dutch & Flemish Etchings, Engravings, and Woodcuts, 1450–1700; Ouderkerk aan den IJssel/ Amsterdam: Sound & Vision Publishers, 2005–2006), 7.26–33, nos. 1706–17. The Collaert print after Passeri’s modello of Christ and the Woman Taken in Adultery, though cited by MauquoyHendrickx and Wadell, would seem to be unrecorded in The Collaert Dynasty. I owe a debt of thanks to Joris Van Grieken of the Prentenkabinet, Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België, who searched in vain for the copy of Collaert’s print formerly seen by Wadell and illustrated as Abb. 287 of Evangelicae historiae imagines: Entstehungsgeschichte und Vorlagen. 8 Wadell, Evangelicae historiae imagines, 20–1, ascribes both pairs of drawings to Bernardino Passeri, but rightly observes that imago 3 was finally engraved after a modello by Maarten de Vos. Whereas early editions of the Evangelicae historiae imagines credit Passeri as the inventor of all but ten imagines, his name was often erased in later editions, perhaps because the Order considered Fiammeri the true designer of the plates; on this phenomenon, see Evangelicae historiae imagines, 18–19 and 48. The early edition in the Royal Library, Brussels, as Wadell notes, ascribes the invention of imagines 3, 7, 24, 39, 61, 63, and 117 to De Vos; imago 13 to Hieronymus Wierix; and imagines 78 and 97 to Jan Wierix.

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Night Nativity of the Lord (3), on which De Vos closely based his modello, ultimately utilized by the engraver Hieronymus Wierix (Ills. 3 and 4). Passeri probably designed these substitutes, the only such alternative modelli by him to have survived, after completing the series as a whole, perhaps in the later 1580’s. In addition, a few significant changes were made to the Raising of Lazarus (78), perhaps by the engraver Jan Wierix, who seems otherwise to have followed Passeri’s modello (Ill. 14).9 My chapter examines key changes made by Wierix, De Vos, and Passeri himself to three of the original modelli, imagines 3, 4, and 39 (Ills. 3–6 and 9–10). I focus on the most consequential revisions, asking why these alterations were deemed necessary, how they complement Nadal’s image-based readings of the Gospels, and what they tell us about the Order’s conception of the form, function, and meaning of the pictorial image, as formulated by Nadal.10 I shall argue that by 9 On an extant unbound copy of imago 78 with the signature of Passeri, see Wadell, Evangelicae historiae imagines, 19. 10 I have left out of my discussion Maarten de Vos’s Adoration of the Magi, since it adjusts Passeri’s design in ways that do not substantially alter the nature of the image’s relation to Nadal’s arguments. Instead, De Vos merely attempts to make the panoramic landscape topographically plausible. He deletes the improbably massive boulder that Passeri inset between Cana and Bethlehem, clearly indicates that Bethlehem rises from the summit of a small hill (“in monticulo sita”, as Nadal puts it in annotation A of chapter 5, “On the Night of the Nativity of the Lord Christ”), inserts the river Jordan, accurately situating it on Bethlehem’s west bank, shows how it flows past Bethlehem from the place in the hill country of Judea where Christ would later be baptized (L), decreases the distance between Jerusalem and Bethlehem (no more than six miles north of Bethlehem, as Nadal informs us in the same annotation A), and clarifies the route taken by the retinues of the Magi as they wend their way from Jerusalem into Bethlehem (C) and then, after finding and worshipping Christ, cross the river Jordan and travel home by another route (K). These descriptive enhancements correlate to Nadal’s account of Bethlehem in annotation A of chapter 5 and annotation A of chapter 9, “The Adoration of the Magi”, as well as to the “Descriptio loci” subsection of the same chapter 9. This subsection and the two annotations, like all the adnotationes as a subcategory, are themselves descriptive and explanatory, providing the lineaments of the mental map that Nadal expects the meditans to use as he projectively situates himself within the environs of Bethlehem and then follows the Magi on their journey toward Christ. The “Descriptio loci”, closely based on the Ignatian exercise commonly known as the “compositio loci”, provides an example of the kind of topographical information Nadal’s exercitant is expected to visualize on the basis of the imago and its complementary texts: “Picture three cities and three kingdoms in the East, vast, rich, and content, that Magi kings might rule. Imagine too the cities whence they departed, the roads, rivers, and mountains, Jerusalem, Bethlehem, a house, stable, and manger. Omit not the celestial firmament where three angels guide the three Magi, where another angel bears the star. Profit from all this, as if you were seeing those places visited by divine virtue, which issues from the mystery made manifest in them and from the persons inhabiting them.” The mental map provides the armature for the figurative reconfiguration of the Magi’s journey as the spiritual pilgrimage of the loving soul journeying to find Christ its beloved. This pilgrimage is further construed as the Jesuit scholastic’s voyage of self-discovery, which culminates in his experience, corporeal and spiritual, of the nature of his vocation as imitator magorum and, ultimately, imitator Christi. The landscape, its many

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comparing these emended imagines to the orginals they replaced, we may gain a rare insight into the mechanics of scriptural imagemaking sponsored by the Jesuits and other proponents of the reform of sacred art in the wake of Trent. Let us begin with Passeri’s revisions to imagines 3 and 4, Night Nativity of the Lord and Dawn of the Lord’s Nativity, with Adoration of the Shepherds.11 The second version of imago 3 makes the Virgin more prominent, both in scale and luminosity (Ills. 3 and 4). Mary is not only larger than any other figure (including Joseph who has also been enlarged), but also lit more brightly by the light of the newborn Christ. Her head is enframed by a radiant aureole that serves as backdrop to her light-suffused, silhouetted features. Passeri flattens the angle of her face, converting it from three-quarter to a full side view; drawn in slightly darker ink, her heavy-lidded eye, angled downward, defines the point whence issues the intent gaze she casts upon Christ. The transit from her eye to his open arms signifies dynamically the coporeal and spiritual connection between mother and child. She no longer wears a veil, the implication being that maternal love has moved her to use it as a blanket for Jesus, whom she then mercifully unveils to the world. These changes to the figure of Mary attach the imago more precisely to Nadal’s arguments concerning the Nativity in chapter 5, “Nativitas Christi”, of the Adnotationes et meditationes. Nadal pays close attention to the offices, maternal and contemplative, that she discharged. Annotation D, for example, construes episode D of the imago in largely Marian terms: after briefly describing how the infant, laid down upon the straw, reaches out for its mother, the adnotatio dwells at length on Mary, focusing on her actions and emotions. Her response to Iesum recens natum is seen to exemplify the reader-viewer’s contemplative engagement with the pictorial image of the Nativity that he beholds with the eyes, imprints on memory, and, on this basis, elaborates imaginatively: The newborn Jesus in the cave, upon the manger, set upon the straw, crying on the ground, his hands extended toward his mother: simultaneously, the Virgin Mother, fit to be adored, full of spiritual exultation and sweetness, forthwith undertakes to wrap and make warm the mewling infant God with the tattered rags and bandages she had prepared. And at the same time, amidst these mysteries contemplate Mary who maintains her virginal innocence and falls short in no maternal office; what is more, points of demarcation in particular – gateways, bridges, portals – supplies the actual thresholds that the meditans is urged imaginatively to convert into spiritual markers of his progress toward Christ. Although De Vos’s alterations to Passeri’s landscape facilitate in a general way the process of meditative pilgrimage, there is no direct correspondence between his changes and specific elements of Nadal’s meditative argument, which is why I have foregone to discuss imago 7 in the main body of my essay. 11 On imagines 3 and 4, the Night Nativity of the Lord and Dawn of the Lord’s Nativity, with Adoration of the Shepherds, both engraved by Hieronymus Wierix, see Stroomberg/van der Stock, The Wierix Family: Book Illustrations, 2.12, nos. 56.4 and 56.5.

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who with mind raised up, is elevated by exultation of the spirit, by praisegiving for the son born eternally from the Father and temporally from out of herself; and who, both in mind and heart, yet engages most obligingly in every service directed at the son. And Joseph, too, is wholly given over to admiration and adoration.12

The brief reference to Joseph serves to explain why he too was enlarged in the second drawing, but he remains smaller than Mary, less brightly lit, and, unlike her, partly obscured by one of the angels kneeling in the foreground. The meditatio likewise emphasizes that Mary, after Christ, is here paramount. Nadal insists that just as she was made keenly aware by Christ of His presence in utero, so must we visualize meditatively the presence of the infant Christ, as if He were truly and richly present to our eyes, along with all the circumstances of His birth. The admonition is spoken in the voice of Christ: What think you? You indeed believe all the things I expound, but you believe drily and without ornament, you believe without presence, without proper consideration. When I was in the womb … I filled the mind, spirit, and soul of the Virgin Mother with my presence and virtue.13

What Mary apprehends when she stares at the newborn Christ is a temporal event (“nativitatem … tum temporalem”) that expands to encompass the realization that he is eternally born of God (“nativitatem, tum aeternam ex Patre”) and, intrinsically, fit to be worshipped: “That selfsame Virgin, exultant, enlivened by the uttermost sweetness of the spirit, bears, worships, fondles, and enfolds the God-man in swaddling.”14 The accentuation of Mary in imago 3 corresponds to the ratification of Marian doctrine by the Council of Trent and the effect this had on Nadal (Ill. 4). Whereas the Jesuits, as John O’Malley has argued, “found their center in Christianitas, not ‘reform of the Church’”, and therefore viewed their ministry through other lenses than the decrees of the Council – the life of their founder being the most salient – 12 Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, 17: “Iesus recens natus in spelunca ante praesepe foeno exceptus, humi vagiens, & manus ad matrem tendens: simul spiritus exultatione, atque animi suavitate plena virgo Mater, & adorabunda, pannis & fascijs quae paraverat, infantem Deum frigentem aggreditur continuo involuere & fovere. In his vero mysterijs Mariam contemplare suam virginalem integritatem tenentem, nullius muliebrium ministeriorum indigentem, excelsa mente in filij nativitatem, tum aeternam ex Patre, tum temporalem ex se, laudibus, & spiritus exultatione levatam quidem, & mente & corde; obsequia tamen omnia in filium obeuntem officiocissime: Ioseph vero totum esse in Pueri admiratione & adoratione.” 13 Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, 18: “Quid tu censes? Credis quidem omnia quae ego tibi exponam; sed credis ieiune & aride, credis absque praesenti, absque idonea consideratione. In utero Matris cum essem … Matris virginis mentem, spritum, animum, mea praesentia, mea virtute implebam.” 14 Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, 19: “Ipse vegeta, & summa spiritus suavitate exultans Virgo Deum hominem parit, adorat, fovet, pannis involuit.”

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they were surely aware that some of their founding members, amongst whom Diego Laínez and Alfonso Salmerón, had participated in the first, second, and third periods of the Council.15 Indeed, they had secured conciliar recognition for the Order’s religious institute in chapter 16 of the “Decree on Regulars and Nuns”.16 Nadal, was singularly attentive to the doctrinal decrees, as O’Malley has shown, and he delved deeply into the decree on Justification, making it central to his theology and pedagogy.17 It thus makes sense to presume that in foregrounding the Virgin throughout his account of the Nativity, Nadal was responding to the Council’s affirmation of Marian doctrine. The Virgin is invoked in three key places. The “Acceptance of the Creed of the Catholic Faith” (Session 3, 4 February, 1546), reaffirms her role within the mystery of the Incarnation by quoting the credal statement, “by the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary, and was made man”.18 “On Invocation, Veneration, and Relics of the Saints, and on Sacred Images” (Session 25, 3–4 December, 1563), sanctions the Marian image-cult and encourages the production and veneration of Marian images: And they must also teach that images of Christ, the Virgin Mother of God, and the other saints should be set up and kept, particularly in churches, and that due honor and reverence is owed to them … because the honor showed to them is referred to the original which they represent.19

15 On Christianitas, see J.W. O’Malley, The First Jesuits (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press, 1993), 327; and O’Malley, “Was Ignatius of Loyola a Church Reformer? How to Look at Early Modern Catholicism”, in O’Malley, Saints or Devils Incarnate? Studies in Jesuit History (Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2013) 71–87, on pp. 76–7. On the participation of Jesuit theologians at Trent, and their conviction that the reform of the Church must be spearheaded by the papacy, see O’Malley, The First Jesuits, 321–7. 16 As O’Malley observes in The First Jesuits, 326, the Council ultimately ratified papal approbation of the Society, rather than directly and formally approving the new Order. 17 On Nadal’s anti-Pelagian reading of the doctrine of Justification, see O’Malley, The First Jesuits, 108–9; on his belief that a “new creation” (Gal 6:15) comes into being when sins are remitted and grace infused, 281–2. Nadal visited Trent at the behest of his friend Cardinal Giacomo Púteo, between December 1562 and February 1563, during the discussions that preceded the convocation of Session 23 (15 July 1563) and Session 24 (11 November 1563). On this visit, see Nicolau, Jerónimo Nadal, 47–8. 18 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, N.P. Tanner/G. Alberigo (ed.) (2 vol.; London: Sheed & Ward/Washington: Georgetown University Press, 1990), 2.662. 19 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.775. On the image-theory implicit in the “Decree on the Invocation, Veneration, and Relics of the Saints, and on Sacred Images”, and on the “abstractly material” kind of image this decree presupposes, see P.A. Fabre, Décréter l’image? La XXVe Session du Concile de Trente (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2013), vii–xxviii and 17–44.

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And the “Decree on Original Sin”, proclaims the Virgin’s immaculacy and intercessory potency as Mother of God, by citing Sixtus IV’s Constitutiones in Book 3, chapters 1 and 2 of Extravagantium communium.20 The Sistine affirmation of Marian virtue describes her in terms that correlate to her appearance in Passeri’s second version of the Night Nativity. The aureole that causes her to shine as brightly within the shadowy grotto as the angelic star of Bethlehem at upper left (M), accords with the reference to Mary as the “morning star” “shining amid the constellations”.21 She and the star function as the radiant terminals of the diagonal axis connecting the picture’s celestial and terrestrial zones (M & G). The full attention Mary bestows on the newborn child while tenderly preparing to swaddle him, and His compliant response – left arm raised, right hand lifted – signal that she is the “consoler” of His humanity and, as such, “of the human race” He was born to save.22 Her maternal diligence indicates that she is a “sedulous and vigilant advocate”, whose support of him redounds upon us.23 Her dual service, as mother to him and virtual mother to us, is further implied by the way she seems not only to be covering Christ but also displaying him for our benefit. These and other features of the drawing allude to Mary’s role as mediatrix, which the Sistine decree underscores, fulsomely praising her for “interced[ing] with the King whom she has brought forth”.24 Passeri brings her closer to the child, over whom she looms larger, craning her neck to keep him fully in view. The proximity of Jesus and Mary, along with their complementary gestures and mutually outstretched arms, emphasizes their emotional and spiritual closeness, upon which her intercessory potency is based. Passeri accentuates the Virgin’s identity as supplicant by combining her kneeling pose with a more pronounced inclination of her upper torso, shoulders, neck, and head, that highlights how she humbly bows down before the Lord. His revisions coordinate her to the Sistine invocation of Mary as humble mother, efficacious intercessor, and vital agent and instrument of the Incarnation: … Providence regarding from eternity the humility of the same Virgin, for the reconciling to its author human nature, which, by the fall of the first man, became subject unto eternal death, by the preparation of the Holy Spirit, constituted her as the habitation of his only begotten, from whom he should take on him the flesh of our mortality for the redemption of his people…25

20 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.667. For the relevant excerpts from chapters 1 and 2 of the Extravagantium communium, see The Canons and Decrees of the Council of Trent, T.A. Buckley (trans.) (London: George Routledge and Co., 1851), 320–4. 21 The Canons and Decrees, Buckley (trans.), 320. 22 The Canons and Decrees, Buckley (trans.), 320. 23 The Canons and Decrees, Buckley (trans.), 320. 24 The Canons and Decrees, Buckley (trans.), 320. 25 The Canons and Decrees, Buckley (trans.), 321.

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Following pictorial tradition, Passeri positions Christ upon the straw of the manger as if He were the Corpus Christi, “the living bread which came down from heaven” (John 6:51), placed upon an altar. Situated around this virtual altar are the kneeling figures of Mary, Joseph, and the angels, who participate in a liturgical event that resembles the Canon of the Mass. Nadal drives home this analogy by comparing Christ’s self-offering at the Nativity to His self-oblation during the Passion and, by implication, during the Mass: Oh what a thing this is, above all angelic praise: you offered for that [spouse, viz., the Church] your labors, penury, tribulations, persecution, torments, blood, life, and death, as if these were a dowry; and you restored eternal life and glory, an infinite and heavenly treasure of all good things.26

The implied analogy between advent and oblation, combined with the Night Nativity’s strong chiaroscuro, was likely deployed to make this imago more nearly comparable to the imagery of the Eucharist codified by Trent in such decrees as “On Justification”. Chapter 3 of this sixteen-part decree issued during Session 6 utilizes the natal trope of rebirth, along with metaphors of light and shadow, visually to characterize the justification of the faithful who are reborn in Christ through the merit of his Passion. The scriptural source of this imagery is Col 1:12–14 (quoted in italics): … so, if not reborn in Christ, they would never be justified, because by that rebirth there is granted to them, through the merit of his passion, his grace by which they become just. For this gift the Apostle enjoins on us always to give thanks to the Father who has qualified us to share in the inheritance of the saints in light. He has delivered us from the dominion of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.27

The imagery of divine light piercing the darkness derives in this context from Session 3, “Acceptance of the Creed of the Catholic Faith”, where Christ is called “the only son of God, eternally begotten of the Father, God from God, light from light … [who] for us and our salvation … came down from heaven” and “became incarnate from the Virgin Mary, and was made man”.28 The worshipful angels maximize the Eucharistic theme, for they enact the imagery of angelic adoration evinced in chapter 5 of the eight-part “Decree on the Most Holy Sacrament of the Eucharist”, issued during Session 13. The source is Ps 96:7, as reworked in Heb 1:6: “For we believe that the same God is present therein of whom the eternal 26 The Canons and Decrees, Buckley (trans.), 21: “O rem supra omnem Angelorum praedicationem positam! Obtulisti illi tuos labores, egestatem, tribulationes, persecutiones, cruciatus, sanguinem, vitam, & mortem quasi pro dote; sed per haec vitam & gloriam sempiternam, & omnium bonorum infinitas opes in caelo reposuisti.” 27 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.672. 28 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.662.

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Father declared when introducing him into the created world, Let all God’s angels worship him”.29 Maarten de Vos’s modello, discernible in the print engraved by Hieronymus Wierix, adheres to Passeri’s second version but makes the choirs of angels much more prominent (Ill. 4). He brings further forward the angels hovering above the stable (E), embodies them more fully, and differentiates them by age and size, thus implying that they are ranked in hierarchies. Behind them flies a vast cohort of fellow angels who come to pay homage to the newborn Christ. The attention Nadal pays to angelic participation aligns his annotations and meditations on the Nativity with the elucidation of angels in the Catechism of the Council of Trent, promulgated in 1566. The ardency and promptitude they bring to bear in fulfilling Christ’s every wish accords with the Catechism’s description of them as “ministering spirits”, constituted by God as His servitors, not only in the Church but everywhere in the universe.30 Their conspicuous presence at the birth of Jesus, when the mystery of the Incarnation, one of the chief acts of divine providence, is made manifest, recalls that the Lord has intrusted them with the “functions and administration” of His “superintending Providence” and of the “important advantages which flow [from Him] to the human race”.31 Nadal’s admonition to the meditans to join them in humbly worshipping the newborn Christ, Himself an epitome of humility (“adeste Angeli; convenite filiae Syon; concurrite mortales omnes & admiramini”), correlates to the Catechism’s account of angels as paragons of conformation to the divine will, “created intelligences” that serve God “spontaneously and with ecstatic pleasure”.32 Furthermore, the proliferation of angels in imago 3 corresponds to the notion, set forth in the exposition of the Apostolic Creed, that “angels innumerable [were created] to serve and minister to the Lord”.33 Their attachment to the child, evident in the way they congregate around Him, illustrates the doctrine that “endowed … with good will, that is, with pure love, … they adhere” to their Creator who “adorn[ed] them with grace”.34 Their contemplation of the new29 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.695. 30 The Catechism of the Council of Trent, Published by Command of Pope Pius the Fifth, J. Donovan (trans.) (Baltimore, MD: Fielding Lucas, Jr., 1829), 250; on the ministry of angels, also see 68 and 246. 31 The Catechism of the Council of Trent, Donovan (trans.), 333. The passage forms part of the subsection on “On the Lord’s Prayer”. 32 The Catechism of the Council of Trent, Donovan (trans.), 68 and 355. The reference to “created intelligences” forms part of the subsection “On the Eighth Article of the Creed”. The reference to the spontaneous pleasure of angelic service forms part of the subsection “On the Lord’s Prayer”. 33 The Catechism of the Council of Trent, Donovan (trans.), 29. The reference to numberless angelic ministers forms part of the subsection “On the First Article of the Creed”. 34 The Catechism of the Council of Trent, Donovan (trans.), 30. The reference to angelic endowments forms part of the subsection “On the First Article of the Creed”.

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born, especially the gaze cast by the kneeling angels who focus on His face, evokes their heavenly privilege of viewing the “face of God”, a perquisite that certifies their intercessory efficacy.35 Their presence at His birth can be seen to emphasize His transcendent humility, since, as the Catechism avers, they are wont to “adore in heaven” Him who now “bows His supreme and infinite majesty to minister to man … on earth”.36 The association of angelic adoration with the paradox of divine humility resonates with Nadal’s conviction that Jesus reconciles the utmost humilitas and paupertas with supreme power when, from the manger, He enjoins countless angels to descend and adore Him.37 What is more, the predominance of angels as privileged worshippers of Christ and instruments of His supreme potency, implicitly acknowledges their fitness as objects of veneration. In the subsection “On the Honor and Invocation of the Saints and Angels”, the Catechism argues that “the faithful are also accurately to be taught that the veneration and invocation of angels … who enjoy the glory of heaven … [is] not forbidden by [the first] commandment”.38 And finally, the very fact that the angels are so fulsomely portrayed in imago 3, as also elsewhere in the Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, complies with the view, expressed in the same subsection, that it is licit to represent them: “Angels, also, are represented under human form and winged, to give us to understand that they are actuated by benevolent feelings towards us, and are always prepared to execute the ministry of God to man.”39 Passeri’s changes to imago 4, Dawn of the Lord’s Nativity, enhance the allusions to the Mass already discernible in imago 3 (Ills. 5 and 6). The main revisions are fivefold: the child, now swaddled, is seen from a lower vantage point, and, concomitantly, seems to be raised much higher; likewise, the entire scene is elevated upon a podium-like ledge; the child’s radiance intensifies, suffusing the Virgin, Joseph, shepherds, and especially the ox and ass whose forms dissolve into the brilliant shafts of light emanating from Christ; one of the shepherds kneels directly in front of the crib where, silhouetted against the cave’s refulgent interior, he proxies for the devout beholder; and the shepherds are made larger, their gestures and facial features more legible. To start with the last point, the 35 The Catechism of the Council of Trent, Donovan (trans.), 246. The reference to this angelic privilege forms part of the subsection “On the First Commandment”. 36 The Catechism of the Council of Trent, Donovan (trans.), 41–2. The reference to angelic adoration and its relation to the divine ministry of Christ made man forms part of the subsection “On the Third Article of the Creed”. 37 Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, 21. 38 The Catechism of the Council of Trent, Donovan (trans.), 245. The subsection on the invocation of angels forms part of the larger subsection “On the First Commandment”. 39 The Catechism of the Council of Trent, Donovan (trans.), 250. The statement ends by quoting Heb 1:14: “… they are all ministering spirits, sent to minister for them who shall receive the inheritance of salvation”.

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increase in figural scale constitutes a response to adnotatio C, which urges the meditans attentively to visualize how the shepherds, in demeanor and countenance, express visibly to one another their spiritual sense of what they see: Observe how the shepherds, once they had found Mary, Joseph, and the child laid in the manger, and attentively beheld everything, were transmitting amongst themselves through motions of the body and face the signs of [their] spiritual sense.40

By making them more clearly visible to us, Passeri indicates how visible they are to each other, or, better, how their attention to Christ transits through their mutual attentiveness as fellow-worshippers gathering around the altar-like manger. He asks us, in other words, to construe them as a congregation, and inferentially, as an image of the Church. Nadal presses us to ponder the shepherds’ internal sense of themselves as Ecclesia in nuce. They are like Augustine’s ideal orant, whose present of consciousness prayerfully expands to encompass attentive states of retrospection and expectation, all of which – present, past, and future – hinge on the capacity to level one’s gaze steadily on Christ.41 As Nadal puts it in a series of variations on the theme of sight: For admitted into the vision of Christ, the shepherds, being present, beheld and apprehended what the angel had announced, and what earlier they had conceived by faith. Oh singular felicity of the shepherds: they see Christ in the manger, his mother, and Joseph. First amongst men, they are made preachers of the Gospel. Who does not see how their minds were excellently illuminated by divine light? Who does not feel how their hearts were anointed by divine sweetness? But seeing [these things], what did they understand about the child, from the words spoken to them by the angel? Not only those things visible to the eyes: the newborn child wrapped in straw and laid in the manger; but also the things said about him by the angel and sung by the angels as revealed by the infant Jesus. They realized that the light that had surrounded them signified the light that the newborn Jesus was [now] conveying to the world, the light with which he would illumine the Church. They remembered how that celestial light had taken possession of them with so much clarity and potency that their humanity could not bear it, how later, after the angel had restored them to themselves, they were excellently renewed by that light and sweetness. Thereby they perceived by [the angel’s] “Behold”, that a new thing beyond human comprehension had been fashioned amongst men by God, who was delivering to them a most magnificent messenger, God made man, and assuredly, for the abolition of sin and provision to men of life eternal.42 40 Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, 23: “Pastores cum reperissent Mariam, Ioseph, & Infantem in praesepio positum, & omnia essent attente contemplati, adverte ut vario corporum & oris gestu signa inter se dent sensus animorum.” 41 On Augustine’s conception of time, as set forth in the Confessions, see G. Lloyd, “Augustine and the ‘Problem of Time’”, in G.B. Matthews (ed.), The Augustinian Tradition (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1999) 39–60, esp. pp. 48–53. 42 Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, 23–4: “Admissi enim ad Christi conspec-

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This extended passage, together with Passeri’s liturgical imago, argues that the shepherds signify the Church of Christ, and more than this, that they, as virtual Churchmen before the fact, as it were, have fully been made party to the luminous image of Christ. The many references to seeing and to sights observed, recalled, or envisioned, emphasize that the advent of Christ is being communicated visually. The image of Christ illuminates them first as prophecy (delivered by the angel), then as fulfillment (made visible to their eyes of the body, mind, and heart at the Nativity), and then again as prophecy (revealed by the infant Jesus through whom they descry the light of the Church that they themselves adumbrate). That these simple shepherds here double as prescient clergy is also evident from the fact that their reading of the angel’s “Ecce” turns on the equation of the newly visible infant Christ with two scriptural passages – Isa 42:19 and Jer 31:22 – that adumbrate both the Annunciation and the Nativity. Every alteration to the first version of Dawn of the Lord’s Nativity seems calculated to enhance its typological allusiveness: the adoration of the shepherds becomes a version of the sacrifice of the Mass, as represented by Trent in Session 22, “Teaching and Canons on the Most Holy Sacrifice of the Mass”. Chapter 1 provides the rationale for such an imago by reference to 1 Cor 10:21: as Paul there utilizes the image of a table (“mensa”) to allude to the altar of the Mass (“altare”), so here Passeri elevates the manger to allude to a high altar raised upon a platform.43 The rocky ledge upon which the adoration unfolds recalls Carlo Borromeo’s stipulation, in the Instructionum fabricae et supellectilis ecclesiasticae libri II of 1577 (Two Books of Instructions for the Structure and Furnishing of Churches), that a church’s main altar be raised upon a predella.44 Borromeo tum, ea viderunt praesentes Pastores atque intellexerunt, quae ab Angelo nunciata, fide iam ante conceperant. O singularem Pastorum felicitatem! Vident Christum in praesepio, Matrem eius & Iosephum. Primi ex hominibus fiunt Evangelij praedicatores. Quis non videat illorum mentem divina luce excellenter illustratam fuisse? Quis non sentiat eorum corda caelesti suavitate delibuta? Sed quid videntes cognoverunt de verbo quod dictum erat illis per Angelum de Puero? Non ea solum quae oculis conspicua erant; natum Puerum pannis involutum esse, & in praesepio positum: sed ea simul quae de illo erant ab Angelo dicta, & ab Angelis decantata revelante Infante Iesu. Intellexerunt lucem quae illos circumfulserat, lumen significare quod in orbem intulit Christus natus, quo lumine totam Ecclesiam erat illustraturus. Recolebant quemadmodum lux illa caelestis eos occupaverat tanta claritate & virtute, ut eam ferre non posset humanitas; ab Angelo tamen sibi restitutos illa luce & suavitate postea recreatos esse excellenter. Perceperunt per illud, Ecce, novam rem, ac supra hominum captum positam esse a Deo factam inter mortales: praeclarissimum Nuntium hominibus afferre; Deum hominem factum; & quidem ad abolendum peccatum, & vitam sempiternam mortalibus comparandam.” 43 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.733. 44 On the Instructionum fabricae et supellectilis ecclesiasticae libri II, see E. Cecilia Voelker, “Borromeo’s Influence on Sacred Art and Architecture”, in J.M. Headley/J.B. Tomaro (ed.), San Carlo Borromeo: Catholic Reform and Ecclesiastical Politics in the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century (Washington et al.: Folger, 1988) 172–87, especially p. 175 on the elevation

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was reacting to Session 22, in particular to chapter 5, which endorses the use of visibilia and signa for the purpose of enhancing “the majesty of this great sacrifice”.45 The light flowing intensely from Christ stands for the maiestas (“splendor”) of his presence in the stable at Bethlehen and in the sacrament, anywhere that it is performed. The comportment of the shepherds exemplifies with great exactitude how any good Christian must behave when confronted by the Eucharist. This is set forth in chapter 2, on the basis of Heb 4:16: Hence the holy Council teaches that this is a truly propitiatory sacrifice, and brings it about that if we approach God with sincere hearts and upright faith, and with awe and reverence, we receive mercy and find grace in time of need.46

The shepherds, in their veneration of Christ, can also be seen to comply with the “Decree on Things to be Observed and Avoided in Celebrating Mass”: It is equally evident that every effort and attention must be given to carrying it out, both with the greatest possible interior cleanliness and purity of heart, and in an outwardly devout and reverent manner.47

Moreover, the complaisance they display, not only toward Mary, Joseph, and Christ, but also toward each other, conforms to the familial imagery of Session 13, chapter 8, “On the Use of this Wonderful Sacrament”. This is specially true of the father who tenderly guides his son toward Christ as they turn the corner at left. The Council quotes Luke 1:78, Zachary’s prophetic comparison of the coming of Christ to the rising of a new dawn, a passage that applies equally to the Nativity and to the Eucharist as commemoration and reenactment of the sacrifice of Christ: of the main altar: “If there is sufficient space at the sides and in front of the altar, three steps should be prepared; that is, one consisting of the predella itself, and two others lower than this predella. The two lower steps ought to be made of marble or of solid stone, or, if this is not possible, of brick …. The third step, however, which consists of the predella itself, is to be made of wooden boards.” 45 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.734: “Cumque natura hominum ea sit, ut non facile queat sine adminiculis exterioribus ad rerum divinarum meditationem sustolli, propterea pia mater ecclesia ritus quosdam, ut scilicet quaedam submissa voce, alia vero elatiore in missa pronuntiarentur, instituit; caeremonias item adhibuit, ut mysticas benedictiones, lumina, thymiamata, vestes aliaque id genus multa ex apostolica disciplina et traditione, quo et maiestas tanti sacrificii commendaretur, et mentes fidelium per haec visibilia religionis ac pietatis signa ad rerum altissimarum, quae in hoc sacrificio latent, contemplationem excitarentur.” 46 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.733: “Docet sancta synodus, sacrificium istud vere propitiatorium esse, per ipsumque fieri, ut, si cum vero corde et recta fide, cum metu ac reverentia, contriti ac poenitentes ad Deum accedamus, misericordiam consequamur et gratiam inveniamus in auxilio opportuno.” 47 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.736: “Satis etiam apparet, omnem operam et diligentiam in eo ponendam esse, ut quanta maxima fieri potest interiori cordis munditia et puritate, atque exterioris devotionis ac pietatis specie peragatur.”

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Finally, the holy Council with true paternal affection enjoins, exhorts, begs, and entreats through the tender mercy of our God [in which the Orient from on high hath visited us] that each and all who are marked by the name of Christian should now, at long last, join together and agree in this sign of unity, this bond of love, this symbol of harmony; and that, mindful of the so great majesty and surpassing love of our Lord Jesus Christ, who gave his own dear life as the price of our salvation and his own flesh for us to eat, they should believe and reverence these sacred mysteries of his body and blood with such constancy and firmness of faith, such dedication of mind, such devotion and worship, that they may be able to receive frequently that life-supporting bread.48

Session 22, chapter 1 also certifies the kind of typological analogy that Passeri’s image advances in concert with Nadal’s adnotationes – between Nativity and Eucharist, adoration of the shepherds and celebration of the Mass. The sacrifice of the Mass, argues Trent, has the power to accommodate all such types – similitudines – that represent visually (“figurabatur”) what the Eucharist shall represent more perfectly, once it has been established. Chapter 1 concludes by invoking these typological likenesses: it justifies their production by insisting that the eucharistic rite perforce calls them to mind: Finally this is the offering, prefigured by many images of sacrifice in the age of nature and the law, which was to embrace all the values signified by them, as the fulfilment and consummation of them all.49

The self-offering of the infant Jesus raised up for all to see, which Nadal construes as God’s unveiling of himself to human eyes (“revelante Infante Iesu”), qualifies as one of the last and most definitive of all such typi sanctioned by Christ and operative under “nature and the law”.50 Underlying this analogical typus is the ubiquitous parallel, drawn throughout the Tridentine decrees, between watchful shepherds and vigilant clergy. Nadal takes up this very parallel in the meditatio, addressing Jesuit scholastics studying for the priesthood as shepherds in the making; he implores these apprentice pastores ever to keep watch over their 48 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.697: “Demum vero paterno affectu admonet sancta synodus, hortatur, rogat et obsecrat per viscera misericordiae Dei nostri, ut omnes et singuli, qui christiano nomine censentur, in hoc unitatis signo, in hoc vinculo charitatis, in hoc concordiae symbolo iam tandem aliquando conveniant et concordent, memoresque tantae maiestatis et tam eximii amoris Iesu Christi domini nostri, qui dilectam animam suam in nostrae salutis precium et carnem suam nobis dedit ad manducandum, haec sacra mysteria corporis et sanguinis eius ea fidei constantia et firmitate, ea animi devotione, ea pietate et cultu credant et venerentur, ut panem illum supersubstantialem frequenter suscipere possint.” 49 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.733: “Haec denique illa est, quae per varias sacrificiorum, naturae et legis tempore, similitudines figurabatur, ut pote quae bona omnia per illa significata veluti illorum omnium consummatio et perfectio complectitur.” 50 Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, 23–4: “sed ea simul quae de illo erant ab Angelo dicta, & ab Angelis decantata revelante Infante Iesu.”

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flocks, and exhorts them to follow their hearts until Christ their Lord and Savior is found therein. Then, he assures them, united with the angels and shepherds who beheld the Nativity, they shall sing “Gloria in excelsis Deo”.51 The primary change to imago 39, the Parable of the Tares, precisely corresponds to the Tridentine reading of this parable in Session 13, “Decree on the Most Holy Sacrament of the Eucharist” (Ill. 10). Maarten de Vos revised Passeri’s modello by shifting episode I, the burning of the tares, from its position left of center, to a more prominent position on the central vertical axis, immediately above the householder (H). He is shown ordering his servants to separate the wheat from the tares, so that the former may be bundled and stored, while the latter are destroyed. The bonfire now functions as a fulcrum between two scenes: at left, Christ teaches in parables from a boat docked at Capharnaum; at right, the householder’s men enact the climax of the parable of the tares, carrying sheaves of wheat into the storehouse. De Vos retained all the features of Passeri’s original, excepting two: in addition to the new placement of episode I, he enlarged episode K and used it to counterbalance episode A. He retained the structural diagonal, extending from upper left to lower right, that analogizes Christ (A) and his gesture of instruction, to the householder who twice gestures similarly (H & F). In episode H, he commands his men to burn the injurious weeds (sown nocturnally by the devil [C]) and preserve the nutritious grain; in episode F, he forbids his men from rooting out the tares, lest they inadvertently destroy the wheaten shoots. De Vos made these alterations to foreground the analogy between tares and heresy upon which Nadal emphatically dwells. This analogy, as we shall see, conforms to Tridentine usage. Episodes A, I, and K now constitute a triptych, whose three sections exemplify the parable’s three main components, as parsed by Nadal. Episode A portrays Christ as source of the parable that chiefly concerns his manner of sowing the Word. He is the propagator of goodness (“propagator boni”) who scatters evangelical seeds (“semen Christi”). Episode I illustrates the tares being burned, at the behest of the paterfamilias, alias householder (H), who having waited until the wheat and tares are ripe, now orders them to be sundered. The tares denote the agents of corruption (“depravatio zizaniorum”) who should be extirpated. Episode K illustrates the wheat being saved. The sheaves signify all 51 Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, 24: “Pastores sumus & nos, si nihil aliud, certe nostrarum potentiarum, affectionum, operat onum. Vigilemus igitur, & excubias agamus super nostros greges; & tunc maxime, si nox esse videatur, nec quicquam consolationis singularis sentiamus. Curemus ut in officio sint cuncti greges nostri. Nihil erret, nihil a lupo Daemone diripiatur, nihil desidia tabescat; omnia suavi pascantur pabulo, & salutari aqua potentur. Tunc nobis Angelus tutelaris gaudium annunciabit magnum, & natum audiemus, & inveniemus Salvatorem Christum Dominum: tunc audiemus, & corde percipiemus coeleste illud Angelorum canticum: Gloria in excelsis Deo. &c. Amen.”

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those Christians who, though assailed by the forces of corruption, were ultimately confirmed in the one true apostolic faith (“restitutio frumenti”). The source upon whom Nadal relied for his sequential reading of the parable’s principal themes – propagatio, depravatio, restitutio – was Basil, as he explains in adnotatio A.52 Whereas Theophrastus had argued that wheat can spontaneously mutate into cockles, and cockles into wheat (“mutatio naturae unius in aliam”), Basil, in his exegesis of the parable, forcibly demurred: the seeds sown by Christ are fundamentally different from those sown by the devil; the latter may oftentimes corrupt the former, but when temptation is finally overcome and true faith restored, the incontrovertible difference between the semina Christi and the semina Diaboli will show. For Nadal, Basil’s distinction between the origins of truth and falsehood becomes the distinction between orthodoxy, the true teaching of Christ, and heterodoxy, the false teaching of the Devil. The adnotationes to imago 39 largely focus on the theme of heresy and on how Christ, through this parable, licenses the Church to deal with heretics (Ills. 11 and 12). The forebearance shown by the householder in episode F, avers Nadal, is dictated by circumstances: there are occasions when heretics cannot be punished without endangering Roman Catholics; in certain principalities of the Holy Roman Empire, for instance, they constitute a majority of the population, and this hampers Catholic princes from acting against them. But the thrust of the parable, especially its conclusion, is to assert irrefutably that heretics must burn: Wherefore, if the heretic can be destroyed not only without harm to the Catholic but, even more, for the preservation of said Catholic in faith and piety, who shall not infer that Christ would want this, and that the Church reasons wisely and dutifully in damning heretics according to the true and pure doctrine of Christ. For [the Church], if it cannot punish heretics without damage to itself, refrains from punishing… The Church, with great charity and wisdom, also attends to [the conversion of heretics], when it invites them to repent before handing them over for capital punishment; nor does [the Church] punish until it judges nothing further to be forthcoming. Inquisitors proceed similarly when they detain indicted heretics in prison for a long time, admonishing them frequently, salutarily, and forebearingly, [causing] some of them to repent. In fine, nothing is perpetrated on heretics which is not authorized by the doctrine and teaching of Christ.53

52 Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, 61. 53 Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, 61: “Quare, si exscindi haereticus ita possit, ut non solum non simul exscindatur Catholicus, sed conservetur etiam in fide & pietate, ac proficiat; quis non intelliget hoc voluisse Christum, & hanc esse rationem qua sapienter & pie utitur Ecclesia in damnatione haereticorum, ex germana Christi & pura doctrina? Nam si non potest animadvertere in haereticos sine sua iactura; non animadvertit … Quod etiam Ecclesia curat magna cum charitate & sapientia, ubi haereticos priusquam damnandos capitis tradat, ad poenitentiam invitat; nec punit, donec iudicet nihil praeterea esse expectandum. Quod etiam Inquisitores usurpant, ubi delatos haereseos in carcere diu detinent, & frequenter

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Nadal adds that who should burn and when, has been left by Christ to the discretion of the Church. As proof of this assertion, he musters a deliberate omission in Christ’s explication of the parable. He elucidates all but one of the parable’s figurative images, refusing to comment on Matt 13:28: “And the servants said to him: ‘Wilt thou that we go and gather it up?’” Nadal takes this to mean that Christ, just as he leaves this aspect of the parable’s meaning for us to interpret, also leaves it to his Church to decide when the tares – that is, heretics – must be gathered up and incinerated. The freedom to interpret this passage of the parable, parabolically signifies the Church’s authority to judge heresy, and to execute or forestall punishment. But if the Church, as sometimes happens in this life, is compelled to withhold judgment, it may nevertheless rest assured that punishment, though momentarily deferred, will be meted out in the afterlife, where “for heretics there shall be no escape from the wrathful face of God”.54 The change in the position of episode I gives added prominence to the parabolic image that Nadal construes as a warrant for the punishment of heresy. In Antoon II Wierix’s engraving, the fiery demise of the tares is accentuated by billowing masses of dark smoke that scintillate with bright highlights. Trent utilized this exact episode to justify the eradication of all heresies concerning the Eucharist. The “Decree on the Most Holy Sacrament of the Eucharist” opens by invoking the Holy Spirit, which the Council entreats to “supply a remedy for all the heresies and other serious troubles” that now miserably beset, disturb, and tear it apart. The Holy Spirit is the source of the warrant that authorizes the Church’s ministers, like the servants of the householder, to bind up and set fire to heresies of all kinds: … yet [the Church] had among its chief aims right from the beginning to tear up root and branch the tares of those detestable errors and schisms which the enemy in these calamintous times has sown in the teaching of faith in the most holy Eucharist and its use and liturgy, the very sacrament which the Saviour left in his Church as a symbol of its unity and love, whereby he wished all Christians to be mutually linked and united. Consequently, the same most holy Council, handing on that sound and uncontaminated teaching concerning this venerable and divine sacrament of the Eucharist which the Catholic Church, instructed by our Lord Jesus Christ himself and his apostles, and taught by the Holy Spirit as he daily proposes to her all truth, has always retained and will preserve till the end of the world, prohibits all Christians from venturing to believe, teach, or preach otherwise concerning the most holy Eucharist than as has been explained and defined in this present decree.55 admonent salutariter & mansuete, & ipsorum aliqui opportune poenitentiam recipiunt. Denique nihil in haereticos designatur, quod ex doctrina & verbo Christi non accipiat auctoritatem.” 54 Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia, 62: “… nec ullum illis futurum effugium a facie irae Domini”. 55 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.693.

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Whoever mandated the revision of imago 39, did so with a view to pressing home Nadal’s disquisition on heretics and their just deserts. The image thereby points up the conformity between his account of the parable and the Council’s, and thus implicitly verifies the Jesuit Order’s Tridentine credentials.

Bibliography Printed and edited sources Nadal, Jerónimo, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia quae in sacrosancto Missae sacrificio toto anno leguntur: Cum Evangeliorum concordantia historiae integritati sufficienti. Accessit & index historiam ipsam Evangelicam in ordinem temporis vitae Christi ditribuens. Secunda editio (Antwerp: Martinus II Nutius, 1595). The Canons and Decrees of the Council of Trent, T.A. Buckley (ed.) (London: George Routledge and Co., 1851). The Catechism of the Council of Trent, Published by Command of Pope Pius the Fifth, J. Donovan (trans.) (Baltimore, MD: Fielding Lucas, Jr., 1829).

Secondary sources Bailey, G.A., Art on the Jesuit Missions in Asia and Latin America, 1542–1773 (Toronto/ Buffalo/London: University of Toronto Press, 1999). Buser, T., “Jerome Nadal and Early Jesuit Art in Rome”, The Art Bulletin 58 (1976) 424–33. Cecilia Voelker, E., “Borromeo’s Influence on Sacred Art and Architecture”, in J.M. Headley/J.B. Tomaro (ed.), San Carlo Borromeo: Catholic Reform and Ecclesiastical Politics in the Second Half of the Sixteenth Century (Washington et al.: Folger, 1988) 172–87. Cockx-Indestege, E./Glorieux, G., Belgica typographica, 1541–1600 (4 vol.; Nieuwkoop: B. de Graaf, 1968–94). Dekoninck, R., “Ad imaginem”: status, fonctions et usages de l’image dans la littérature spirituelle jésuite du XVIIe siècle (Travaux du Grand Siècle 26; Geneva: Droz, 2005). Dekoninck, R., “Imagines peregrinantes: The International Genesis and Fate of two Biblical Picture Books (Hiël and Nadal) Conceived in Antwerp at the End of the Sixteenth Century”, in A.-J. Gelderblom/J.L. de Jong/M. Van Vaeck (ed.), The Low Countries as a Crossroads of Religious Beliefs (Intersections 3; Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2004) 49–64. Diels, A./Leesberg, M. (comp.) – Leesberg, M./Balis A. (ed.), The Collaert Dynasty (8 vol.; The New Hollstein Dutch & Flemish Etchings, Engravings, and Woodcuts, 1450–1700; Ouderkerk aan den IJssel/Amsterdam: Sound & Vision Publishers, 2005–2006). Fabre, P.A., Décréter l’image? La XXVe Session du Concile de Trente (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2013). Fabre, P.A., Ignace de Loyola: le lieu de l’image (Paris: Éditions de l’École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales/Vrin, 1992). Fumaroli, M., L’âge de l’éloquence: rhétorique et ‘res literaria’ de la Renaissance au seuil de l’époque classique (Geneva: Droz/Champion: Paris, 1980).

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Lazure, G., “Nadal au Nouveau Monde: une traduction poétique des Evangelicae historiae imagines, Pérou, ca. 1614”, in R. Dekoninck/A. Guiderdoni-Bruslé (ed.), Emblemata Sacra: rhétorique et herméneutique du discours sacré dans la littérature en image. The Rhetoric and Hermeneutics of Illustrated Sacred Discourse (Imago Figurata 7; Turnhout: Brepols, 2007) 321–31. Lloyd, G., “Augustine and the ‘Problem of Time’”, in G.B. Matthews (ed.), The Augustinian Tradition (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1999) 39–60. Mauquoy-Hendrickx, M., Les estampes des Wierix conservées au Cabinet des Estampes de la Bibliothèque Royale Albert Ier (3 vol.; Brussels: Bibliothèque royale Albert Ier, 1978–83). Mauquoy-Hendrickx, M., “Les Wierix illustrateurs de la Bible dite de Natalis”, Quaerendo 6 (1976) 28–63. Melion, W.S., “Artifice, Memory, and Reformatio in Hieronymus Natalis’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia of 1595”, Renaissance and Reformation 22 (1998) 5–34. Melion, W.S., “From Mystical Garden to Gospel Harmony: Willen van Branteghem on the Soul’s Conformation to Christ”, in W.S. Melion/R. Dekoninck/A. Guiderdoni-Bruslé (ed.), Ut pictura meditatio: The Meditative Image in Northern Art, 1500–1700 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012) 107–55. Melion, W.S., “Haec per imagines huius mysterij ecclesia sancta [clamat]: The Image of the Suffering Christ in Jerome Nadal’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia”, in Jerome Nadal, Annotations and Meditations on the Gospels, vol. 2: The Passion Narratives, F.A. Homann (trans. and ed.) (Philadelphia, PA: St Joseph’s University Press, 2007) 1– 73. Melion, W.S., “Mortis illius imagines ut vitae: The Image of the Glorified Christ in Jerome Nadal’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia”, in Jerome Nadal, Annotations and Meditations on the Gospels, vol. 3: The Resurrection Narratives, F.A. Homann (trans. and ed.) (Philadelphia, PA: St Joseph’s University Press, 2005) 1–32. Melion, W.S., “Parabolic Analogy and Spiritual Discernment in Jéronimo Nadal’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia of 1595”, in L. Stelling/H. Hendrix/T.M. Richardson (ed.), The Turn of the Soul: Representations of Religious Conversion in Early Modern Art and Literature (Intersections 23; Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2012) 299–338. Melion, W.S., “The Art of Vision in Jerome Nadal’s Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia”, in Jerome Nadal, Annotations and Meditations on the Gospels, vol. 1: The Infancy Narratives, F.A. Homann (trans. and ed.) (Philadelphia, PA: St Joseph’s University Press, 2003) 1–96. Münch, B.U., Geteiltes Leid: Die Passion Christi in Bildern und Texten der Konfessionalisierung. Druckgraphik von der Reformation bis zu den jesuitischen Groβprojekten um 1600 (Regensburg: Verlag Schnell & Steiner GmbH, 2009). Nicolau, M., S.J., Jerónimo Nadal: Obras y doctrinas espirituales (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas/Patronato Raimundo Lulio/Instituto Francisco Suárez, 1949). O’Malley, J.W., The First Jesuits (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press, 1993). O’Malley, J.W., “Was Ignatius of Loyola a Church Reformer? How to Look at Early Modern Catholicism”, in O’Malley, Saints or Devils Incarnate? Studies in Jesuit History (Leiden/ Boston, MA: Brill, 2013) 71–87.

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Rheinbay, P., Biblische Bilder für den inneren Weg: Das Betrachtungsbuch des IgnatiusGefährten Hieronymus Nadal (1507–1580) (Engelsbach/Frankfurt/St Peter Port: Hänsel-Hohenhausen, 1995). Rosier, B., The Bible in Print: Netherlandish Bible Illustration in the Sixteenth Century, C.F. Weterings (trans.) (2 vol.; Leiden: Foleor Publishers, 1997). Stroomberg, H. (comp.)/Van der Stock, J. (ed.), The Wierix Family: Book Illustrations (2 vol.; The New Hollstein Dutch & Flemish Etchings, Engravings, and Woodcuts, 1450– 1700; Ouderkerk aan den IJssel/Amsterdam: Sounds & Vision Publishers, 2007). Veldman, I.M., “De boekillustratie als inspiratiebron voor de Nederlandse prentkunst van de zestiende eeuw”, in H. Duits/A.-J. Gelderblom/M.B. Smits-Veldt (ed.), Eer is het Lof des Deuchts: Opstellen over renaissance en classicisme aageboden aan Dr. Fokke Veenstra (Amsterdam: Bataafsche Leeuw, 1986) 261–77. Veldman, I.M./Van Schaik, K., Verbeelde boodschap: De illustraties van Lieven de Witte bij ‘Dat leven ons Heeren’ (1537) (Haarlem: Nederlands Bijbelgenootschap/Brussels: Belgisch Bijbelgenootschap, 1989). Wadell, M.-B., Evangelicae historiae imagines: Entstehungsgeschichte und Vorlagen (Gothenburg Studies in Art and Architecture 3; Gothenburg: Eric Lindgrens Boktryckeri A.B., 1985).

Illustrations For illustrations see the following pages.

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Ill. 1: Jerónimo Nadal, Evangelicae historiae imagines (Antwerp, editio princeps: Society of Jesus, 1593; reprint ed., 1596), frontispiece. Engraving by Hieronymus Wierix, after Maarten de Vos, 234 × 146 mm © Atlanta, Emory University, Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library.

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Ill. 2: Jerónimo Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia (Antwerp, editio princeps: Martinus Nutius, 1594/95; reprint ed., Johannes Moretus, 1607), title page. Engraving by one of the Wierix brothers, after Maarten de Vos (?), 316 × 216 mm © Leuven, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek.

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Ill. 3: Bernardino Passeri, Night Nativity of the Lord, first version (left), ca. 1587, second version (right), ca. 1588, pen and brown ink, ca. 233 × 148 mm © Brussels, Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België.

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Ill. 4: Hieronymus Wierix, after Bernardino Passeri, Night Nativity of the Lord, engraving, 233 × 148 mm. In Jerónimo Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia (Antwerp: Johannes Moretus, 1607), Imago 3, Chapter 5 © Leuven, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek.

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Ill. 5: Bernardino Passeri, Dawn of the Lord’s Nativity, with Adoration of the Shepherds, first version (left), ca. 1587; second version (right), ca. 158,8, ca. 233 × 146 mm © Brussels, Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België.

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Ill. 6: Hieronymus Wierix, after Bernardino Passeri, Dawn of the Lord’s Nativity, with Adoration of the Shepherds, engraving, 233 × 146 mm. In Jerónimo Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia (Antwerp: Johannes Moretus, 1607), Imago 4, Chapter 6 © Leuven, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek.

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Ill. 7: Hieronymus Wierix, after Maarten de Vos, Adoration of the Magi, engraving, 233 × 146 mm. In Jerónimo Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia (Antwerp: Johannes Moretus, 1607), Imago 7, Chapter 9 © Leuven, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek.

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Ill. 8: Carel de Mallery, after Maarten de Vos, Christ Teaches the Doctrine of Divine Mercy, engraving, ca. 233 × 146 mm. In Jerónimo Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia (Antwerp: Johannes Moretus, 1607), Imago 24, Chapter 128 © Leuven, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek.

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Ill. 9: Bernardino Passeri, Parable of the Tares, pen and brown ink, ca. 234 × 147 mm © Brussels, Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België.

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Ill. 10: Antoon II Wierix, after Maarten de Vos, Parable of the Tares, engraving, 234 × 147 mm. In Jerónimo Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia (Antwerp: Johannes Moretus, 1607), Imago 39, Chapter 15 © Leuven, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek.

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Ill. 11 (a): Maarten de Vos, Christ and the Canaanite Woman, pen and brown ink and wash, ca. 233 × 143 mm © Brussels, Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België.

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Ill. 11 (b): Hieronymus Wierix, after Maarten de Vos, Christ and the Canaanite Woman, engraving, 233 × 147 mm. In Jerónimo Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia (Antwerp: Johannes Moretus, 1607), Imago 61, Chapter 31 © Brussels, Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België.

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Ill. 11 (c): Bernardino Passeri, Christ and the Canaanite Woman, pen and brown ink and wash, ca. 233 × 147 mm © Brussels, Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België.

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Ill. 12: Hieronymus Wierix, after Maarten de Vos, Christ and the Canaanite Woman, engraving, 233 × 147 mm. In Jerónimo Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia (Antwerp: Johannes Moretus, 1607), Imago 61, Chapter 31 © Leuven, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek.

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Ill. 13: Hieronymus Wierix, after Maarten de Vos, Transfiguration, engraving, 232 × 146 mm. In Jerónimo Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia (Antwerp: Johannes Moretus, 1607), Imago 63, Chapter 33 © Leuven, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek.

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Ill. 14: Johannes Wierix, after Bernardino Passeri, Raising of Lazarus, engraving, 231 × 146 mm. In Jerónimo Nadal, Adnotationes et meditationes in Evangelia (Antwerp: Johannes Moretus, 1607), Imago 78, Chapter 63 © Leuven, Maurits Sabbebibliotheek.

Soetkin Vanhauwaert*

The Sculpted Saint John’s Head in the Low Countries 1370– 1800: The Influence of the Council of Trent on Religious Cult Imagery

Without debate, Session 25 of the Council of Trent (3 December, 1563) accepted a decree “On invocation, veneration and relics of the saints, and on sacred images”.1 This short and rather inexplicit text, mainly focused on countering the comments and criticisms of the Reformers, sent out a positive message confirming that saints and their relics were still to be venerated by the faithful. With regard to the image cult, it reaffirmed that due honor and veneration are to be given to the images of Christ, the Virgin Mother and the other saints, provided, however, that it is not meant for the objects, but for the saints whose likeness they bear.2 A lot of emphasis is put on the didactic functions of the images, with the aim of banning all images that present false doctrine or give occasion to error;3 by doing so, the Tridentine decree reconfirms the medieval view on images as a way

* This research is part of a research project under the direction of prof. dr. Barbara Baert (KU Leuven) and dr. Cyriel Stroo (KIK-IRPA), funded by the Research Foundation Flanders (FWO). With special thanks to Gregory Arblaster for correcting my English text. 1 For the full text of the decree in Latin and English, see: Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, N.P. Tanner/G. Alberigo (ed.) (2 vol.; London: Sheed & Ward/Washington: Georgetown University Press, 1990), 2.774–6. For more information on the context and the genesis of this Tridentine decree, see: H. Jedin, “Entstehung und Tragweite des Trienter Dekrets über die Bilderverehrung”, Theologische Quartalschrift 116 (1935) 143–88 and 404–29. J.W. O’Malley places the origin of the decree in the broader context of the Council of Trent in the last chapter “The Council concludes” of Trent: What happened at the Council (Cambridge, MA/London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2013), on pp. 205–47. In his recent article “Trent, Sacred Images, and Catholics’ Senses of the Sensuous”, in M.B. Hall/T.E. Cooper (ed.), The Sensuous in the Counter-Reformation Church (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013) 28–48, O’Malley discusses context and content of the decree. In these publications the French model of 1561, the sententia, is also discussed. 2 “Imagines porro Christi, deiparae Virginis et aliorum sanctorum, in templis praesertim habendas et retinendas, eisque debitum honorem et venerationem impertiendam, … sed quoniam honos, qui eis exhibetur, refertur ad prototypa, quae illae repraesentant.” Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.775 l.15–21. 3 “… ita ut nullae falsi dogmatis imagines et rudibus periculosi erroris occasionem praebentes statuantur”. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.775 l.37–9.

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of informing and teaching the illiterate.4 Abuses in the contexts of the veneration of saints, relics, and images – superstition, the veneration of false relics, the selling of indulgences – were condemned. Further, the appropriateness of images towards the context in which they were seen, as well as towards the subject that is depicted is made an important issue: the guidelines specifically mention the necessary exclusion of disgraceful5 and disorderly6 things, and the needed approval of the bishop for unusual7 images. Although they deal with a wide range of topics, these guidelines are, nevertheless, kept rather vague. They do not include straightforward instructions for artists, nor their patrons. No examples of “representations of false doctrine” are mentioned, and what exactly is meant by disgraceful, disorderly or unusual? No examples are given, and no specific instructions are recorded in the decree. Therefore, scholars have often written about the interpretation and the possible influence of these guidelines.8 As the decree asks for the avoidance of all sensual appeal in art,9 frequently, emphasis is put on the hesitation towards the use of nudity, and the didactic emphasis puts the focus on the use of the right biblical stories.10 Others turn to the contemporary and more detailed treatises of Gabriele Paleotti (1522–97), who functioned as counselor to the papal legates in the last phase of the Council of Trent, and Johannes Molanus 4 This idea was already present from the Early Middle Ages onwards. Gregory the Great (590– 604) compared looking at art with reading a book in a letter to Serenus, Bishop of Marseille. B. Kramer, Een lekenboek in woord en beeld. De spegel der minschliken zalicheid (Middeleeuwse studies en bronnen 144; Hilversum: Verloren, 2013), 19–21. 5 “nihilque inhonestum”. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.776 l.6. 6 “nihil inordinatum”. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.776 l.5. 7 “… nemini licere, ullo in loco vel ecclesia, etiam quomodolibet exempta, ullam insolitam ponere vel ponendam curare imaginem, nisi ab episcopo approbata fuerit”. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.776 l.8–10. 8 In the “Introduction”, in Hall/Cooper (ed.), The Sensuous in the Counter-Reformation Church, Marcia Hall added an overview of the literature on art of the Post-Tridentine era. The work of Emile Mâle, L’art religieux après le Concile de Trente: étude sur l’iconographie de la fin du XVIe siècle, du XVIIe, du XVIIIe siècle: Italie, France, Espagne, Flandres (Paris: Colin, 1932) provides a good overviewof the new tendencies in ‘high’ art influenced by the Tridentine decree in different regions. Other approaches can for example be found in: A. Blunt, Artistic theory in Italy: 1450– 1600 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1970), 103–36; D. Freedberg, Iconoclasm and Painting in the Revolt of the Netherlands, 1566–1609 (New York: Garland, 1988); J.L. De Jong, “Cultivating Piety: Religious Art and Artists after the Council of Trent”, in K. Enenkel/W. Melion (ed.), Meditatio – Refashioning the Self. Theory and Practice in Late Medieval and Early Modern Intellectual Culture (Intersections 17; Leiden: Brill, 2011) 367–89. Leopold Kretzenbacher takes a different approach and deals with art in a more vernacular devotional context: Nachtridentinisch untergegangene Bildthemen und Sonderkulte der ‘Volksfrömmigkeit‘ in den Südost-Alpenländern (Munich: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1994). 9 “omnis turpis quaestus eliminetur”. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.775 l.44. 10 J.W. O’Malley, The Council of Trent: Myths, Misunderstandings, and Unintended Consequences (Gregoriana 4; Rome: Gregorian and Biblical Press, 2013), 16.

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(1533–85), a Flemish theologian of the Louvain University.11 Both tried to put the rather conceptual decree into real guidelines. In addition to this more general approach, it seems very interesting to look into the effect of the Tridentine decree on images on the religious image cult. This study will focus in particular on one specific type of “unusual image”, the sculpture type of the decapitated head of Saint John the Baptist on a platter, also known as Saint John’s Head or the Johannesschüssel.12

Ill. 1: Johannesschüssel, eighteenth century, wood, 50 × 35 cm (platter); Lummen, church of Our Lady © Author.

11 A good overview and interpretation of the treatises of Molanus and Paleotti is written by C. Hecht, Katholische Bildertheologie im Zeitalter von Gegenreformation und Barock: Studien zu Traktaten von Johannes Molanus, Gabriele Paleotti und anderen Autoren (Berlin: Mann, 1997). An edition of the work of Johannes Molanus was made by François Boespflug, Olivier Christin and Benoît Tassel: J. Molanus, Traité des saintes images, F. Boespflug/O. Christin/B. Tassel (ed.) (2 vol.; Paris: Cerf, 1996). A recent, English edition of the text of Gabriele Paleotti is published by the Getty Research Institute, and has an interesting introduction by Paolo Prodi: G. Paleotti, Discourse on Sacred and Profane Images, W. McCuaig (trans.)/P. Prodi (intr.) (Los Angeles, CA: Getty Research Institute, 2012). 12 Some of the main publications on the topic of the sculpted Saint John’s Head: I. Combs Stuebe, “The Johannisschüssel: From Narrative to Reliquary to Andachtsbild”, Marsyas. Studies in the History of Art 14 (1968–69) 1–16; H. Arndt/R. Kroos, “Zur Ikonographie des Johannesschüssel”, Aachener Kunstblätter 38 (1969) 243–328; J. Erftemeijer, “Middeleeuwse Johannesschotels in Nederland”, Antiek 19/5 (1984) 241–53; B. Baert, Caput Joannis in Disco (Essay on a Man’s Head) (VMA 8; Leiden: Brill, 2012).

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The Sculpted Saint John’s Head as imaginem insolitam

A Johannesschüssel actually is an unusual object: the representation of a decapitated head often presented on a platter, an image that is very confronting on first exposure (Ill. 1). The expressive character of the object and its place in local cult practices make it tend towards the idolatrous. The three-dimensional Saint John’s Head is primarily a sculpture,13 but, as it is in se seen as the skull relic of the Saint John the Baptist as it appears on a platter – in disco – in the Bible story of the decapitation of Saint John (Matt 14:1–21 and Mark 6:14–29), it balances on the edge between relic and representation. Some Johannesschüsseln make this duality, this ambivalence even more explicit by containing relics themselves. Others are mere sculptures and do not contain relics, though they often seem to function as if they do, and are venerated accordingly. These artefacts are often, as relics, believed to cure headaches and throat aches, or to be effective against epilepsy.14 Particularly interesting in the context of this research is that basic literature on this topic seems to suggest that the motif disappeared in sculpture in the Low Countries around 1550. Mostly, emphasis is put on the medieval character and popularity of this motif. Louis Réau, an authority in the field of Christian iconography, describes this theme as popular in the late Middle Ages, and only mentions two examples later than the sixteenth century.15 In one of the major articles on this topic, Isabel Combs Stuebe writes that the veneration of the Johannesschüssel stopped after the Counter-Reformation, with the exception of Spanish and Italian areas, where this motif appeared up to the eighteenth century, but mostly in painting.16 Jan Erftemeijer, who wrote an article specific about the Johannesschüssel in the Netherlands, ends with the idea that “the motif seems

13 The Johannesschüssel originated as a sculpture, but over time it appears also in different art forms, for example painting (see further). 14 L. Réau, Iconographie de l’art chrétien (3 vol. in 4; Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1956–59) 2/1.431–63, on p. 458; P. Sartori, Handwörterbuch des deutschen Aberglaubens, E. Hoffmann-Krayer/H. Bachtold-Staubli (ed.) (10 vol.; Handwörterbücher zur deutschen Volkskunde 1; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1927–42), 4.740–1. An example is the Johannesschüssel of Museum M (Leuven) which was venerated on the feast day of the beheading of Saint John the Baptist (29 August) in the chapel of Saint-Peter’s Hospital in Leuven in the early sixteenth century, and like the skull relic in Amiens, this ‘stand-in’ was invoked for help against headaches and sore throats. M. Smeyers, “Sint-Jan-in-disco”, in Schatten der Armen. Het artistiek en historisch bezit van het O.C.M.W.-Leuven (exh. cat.; Leuven: Stedelijk museum Vander Kelen-Mertens, 1988) 144–7; Baert, Caput, 70–2. 15 Réau, Iconographie, 458–9. 16 Combs Stuebe, “The Johannisschüssel”, 15: “… however, the veneration of the Johannisschüssel as a Eucharistic Andachtsbild was largely discontinued after the Counter-Reformation, except for the few Italian examples mentioned and in Spain and her colonial Empire where Johannisschüsseln were produced well into the eighteenth century.”

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to have disappeared in [these] regions in the second half of the sixteenth century, while it is still depicted in Southern Europe”.17 However, as the result of extensive local research in the collections of the Low Countries the majority of the sculptures in the corpus date from after the sixteenth century (Ill. 1). The sculpted Saint John’s Head clearly did not disappear from the Low Countries as is suggested in the literature.18 The question is why this misunderstanding would have arisen. Did something change about the sculpture of the Johannesschüssel around the middle of the sixteenth century, which made the later examples elude the eye? Alternatively, did the context in which they were used and found change? Is there a line of fracture in the production in the middle of the sixteenth century, and if there is, can it be traced back to the influence of the Council of Trent? To answer these questions, this chapter will focus on alterations in the composition and materiality of the sculpture of the Saint John’s Head, on potential changes in function and a different perception of the object in the context of the veneration of Saint John the Baptist. Therefore, a corpus comprising exactly 50 sculptures will be used.19 This selection consists of most20 of the known sculptures with the theme of the Saint John’s Head, which are preserved in collections in the Low Countries – in museums, churches and chapels – or were made in these regions. They are divided into two equal groups of 25 sculptures: the first group dates from the end of the fourteenth century until 1550, and the second one comprises of examples dated between 1575 and the end of the eighteenth century.21 Most are three-dimensional and freestanding, others are part of a

17 Erftemeijer, “Middeleeuwse Johannesschotels”, 250: “Het motief schijnt in de tweede helft van de zestiende eeuw in onze streken te verdwijnen, terwijl het in Zuid-Europa nog langer wordt afgebeeld.” 18 This finding was also confirmed by the research of Georg Geml, who focuses on the Johannesschüssel in the German speaking areas in the context of the joint research program Caput Johannis in disco of prof. dr. Baert. In this article, however, the focus lies on the sculptures of the Low Countries as the main area of research. 19 This chapter formulates some hypotheses based on the research corpus as this was constructed at the end of 2013 within the research project Caput Johannis in disco; it will not provide further information on each of the sculptures individually. A catalogue of the used sculptures will be part of the doctoral thesis. 20 Fifty-five sculptures were found dated between the end of the fourteenth century and the end of the eighteenth century, but, as five of them are dated in the broad sixteenth century and it cannot be said for sure if they originated before or after the Council of Trent, these were omitted from the corpus. Fifty Saint John’s Heads remain. The dates used for the corpus are based on information found in databases and literature. The author did not date the sculptures herself. 21 1575, to consider the time of the decrees to become accessible in our regions, which was amongst others prevented because of the turbulent religious situation and Iconoclastic Fury in 1566. M. Cloet/N. Bostyn/K. de Vreese (ed.), Repertorium van dekenale visitatieverslagen betreffende de Mechelse kerkprovincie (1559–1801) (Belgisch Centrum voor Landelijke Ge-

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greater whole, which is nevertheless movable, and three of them were detached sculptures, but have later on been incorporated into a wall.22 Using this divided corpus, this chapter will look for differences in the production of the Saint John’s Heads in a more general way, and will not focus on particular objects.23

II.

Before 1550 versus after 1575

1

The Question of Materials

The first aspect to consider is the materiality of the two groups of Johannesschüsseln.

Chart 1: The materials of the Johannesschüssel

In general, wood appears to be by far the most popular material used for the production of a Saint John’s Head. Further, by comparing both groups, two interesting findings concerning the used materials come forth. The first one bears upon the disappearance of the alabaster head sculptures. In the group before 1550, ten of the Saint John’s Heads are made in alabaster. In the second group, there are none. This could however – at least in part – be explained by the reduction of alabaster proschiedenis 92; Leuven: Belgisch Centrum voor Landelijke Geschiedenis, 1989), 8–9. A. Tallon, Le concile de Trente (Paris: Cerf, 2000), 85–7. 22 Reliefs originally part of an immovable structure as, for example, a pulpit were left out. 23 Of course, we have to keep in mind that, because of the turbulent religious situation and the Iconoclastic outbreak, this corpus may be representative of the whole of Johannesschüsseln that were once made in the Low Countries, but chances are that it is not. The hypotheses formulated in the following parts of this paper must however be based on the extant sculptures.

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duction in Nottingham, England during the sixteenth century. Five of the ten alabaster Saint John’s Heads originated in England, where alabaster production to a large extent faded away due to the Protestant Reformation.24 From the early 1530’s on, images of Christ and the saints were under attack, especially when object of pilgrimage or other sorts of veneration. Then, in November 1538, Henry VIII (r. 1509–47) prohibited the prayers and images of Saint Thomas Becket (1118–70), who very often accompanied Johannesschüsseln in alabaster (Ill. 2). Additionally, in the Act of January 1550 against amongst others superstitious images by Edward VI (r. 1547–53) and his tutors, alabasters were explicitly demanded to be destroyed, and people who had an image in stone, timber, alabaster or earth in their possession were to be punished.25 Therefore, as Eamon Duffy writes, “[i]t seems inconceivable that images of this kind continued to be produced after 1538…”,26 even if this production would have been intended for export. The other five alabaster heads have been ascribed to the Rimini master, who worked in the northern French/southern Netherlandish style in the second quarter of the fifteenth century, to an unknown sculptor of Germany, or in general to the cultural region of Northern France and the Southern Netherlands.27 The disappearance of the Saint John’s Heads in these regions can however not be explained; alabaster sculptures were popular here until the seventeenth century.28 In literature on the alabaster production of Mechelen, for example, a thriving production is mentioned in the course of the sixteenth century, and examples of alabaster statuettes and reliefs are given up to the first half of the seventeenth century.29 Lipinska 24 Already before, the Lollard movement criticized these ‘gay’ images. E. Duffy, “The Reformation and the Alabastermen”, in P. Williamson (ed.), Object of Devotion. Medieval English Alabaster Sculpture from the Victoria and Albert Museum (Alexandria: Art Services International, 2011) 54–65, on pp. 54–6. During the fifteenth century, the alabaster panels of the Johannesschüssel were popular devotional images used in a domestic context, and a popular export product. F. Cheetham, English Medieval Alabasters with a Catalogue of the Collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer Ltd, 2005), 45–8 and 317. 25 Cheetham, English Medieval Alabasters, 51–2; Duffy, “The Reformation”, 62. 26 Duffy, “The Reformation”, 60. 27 H.L.M. Defoer, “Een albasten Johannes-in-disco in de St. Willibrordus te Utrecht”, in Miscellanea I.Q. van Regteren Altena (Amsterdam: Scheltema & Holkema, 1969) 17–19; T. Belyea, “Johannes ex disco. Remarks on a Late Gothic Alabaster Head of St. John the Baptist”, Bulletin van het Rijksmuseum 47/2–3 (1999) 100–17; K. Woods, “The Master of Rimini and the Tradition of Alabaster Carving in the Early Fifteenth-century Netherlands”, in A.-S. Lehmann et al. (ed.), Meaning in materials, 1400–1800 (Nederlands kunsthistorisch jaarboek 62; Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2013) 56–83. 28 A. Lipinska, “Matter of Light and Flesh: Alabaster in the Netherlandish Sculpture of the 16th and 17th centuries”, in J. Kriegseisen (ed.), Matter of Light and Flesh: Alabaster in the Netherlandish Sculpture of the 16th and 17th Centuries (exh. cat.; Gdánsk: Muzeum Narodowe w Gdansku, 2011) 12–61; A. Lipinska, “Alabastrum, id est, corpus hominis: Alabaster in the Low Countries, a Cultural History”, in Lehmann et al. (ed.), Meaning in materials, 84–115. 29 For example M. Wustrack, Die Mechelner Alabaster-Manufaktur des 16. und frühen 17.

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Ill. 2: Johannesschüssel, flanked by Saint Peter and Saint Thomas Becket, England, end fifteenth century, alabaster, 32 cm; Maastricht, Bonnefantenmuseum (collection Neutelings), inv. nr. 4820 © Peter Cox, Eindhoven.

Jahrhunderts (Europäische Hochschulschriften. Reihe 28: Kunstgeschichte 20; Frankfurt a.M.: Lang, 1982); A. Lipinska, “Mechelse albasten in Polen”, Handelingen van de Koninklijke Kring voor Oudheidkunde, Letteren en Kunst van Mechelen 105/1 (2001) 87–151.

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even makes mention of the crucial role these images play in the exercitia spiritualia, which caused “the next boom in popularity of small-scale domestic alabaster sculpture …, alongside the introduction of Post-Tridentine reforms”.30 Although there are no Saint John’s Heads found in the enumeration of recurrent iconographies of the Mechelen workshops, it is nevertheless possible that this theme was produced in alabaster in our region after the second half of the sixteenth century. Therefore, unfortunately, no sufficient explanation for the lack of these later alabaster Saint John’s Heads produced in the Low Countries can be given. The second finding concerning the used materials relates to the appearance of metalwork in the production of the Johannesschüsseln after 1575. In the first group, none of the sculptures is made in metal, either as a whole, or partially; in the second group, two are made in silver, and four are partially made in wood, partially in metal (silver, brass or tin). As in the German speaking regions precious Johannesschüsseln dated before 1550 are not uncommon,31 the absence before 1550 in the Low Countries could be explained by the randomness of the surviving sculptures; it is likely that many metal Saint John’s Heads were melted down for their precious materials.32 When trying to connect these two findings on the materiality of the Johannesschüsseln with the Tridentine decree on sacred images, nothing came up. As the decree is not specific and does not mention materiality as such at all, unfortunately, it was impossible to relate these outcomes to the impact of the decree of the Council of Trent.

2

The Question of Form

The next aspect taken into consideration is the typology of the sculptures: what is the position of the head on the platter; what are the main characteristics of the head; what shape is the platter; etc. Most of all, are there any particular formal characteristics that seem to be specifically related to one time period? First, although there is a lot of diversity among the sculptures, there seem to be no time related specifics about head or platter. The hair is not wilder before or 30 Lipinska, “Alabastrum”. 31 I mention here the example of the cloister of Katharinenthal (third quarter of the fifteenth century). H. Lanz, “Johannesschüssel aus St. Katharinenthal”, in Krone und Schleier. Kunst aus mittelalterlichen Frauenklöstern (exh. cat.; Munich: Hirmer, 2005) 418–19. 32 There were also waves of silver shortages during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, so probably less silver art objects were produced in that time period. P. Spufford, Money and Its Use in Medieval Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 339–62. Only in the beginning of the sixteenth century the silver mines of Joachimsthal and Potosi are discovered and exploited, which made silver again more available all over Europe.

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after the sixteenth century, his eyes are not specifically open or closed in one of the two time periods, nor is the platter obviously decorated. Head and platter seem both perfectly random in design, although, of course, to a certain degree adapted to the style typical of their period. Second, as in Counter-Reformation art a lot of emphasis is put on the suffering of martyrs,33 a difference in the depiction of the facial expression of the saint, or more emphasis put on the gruesome neck wound would have been expected. This could however not be confirmed by this research. In both groups, there are heads that look serene, almost asleep, as well as heads in which the saint is depicted more tormented and which seem to stress his being dead. Third, it is striking that a few examples from the eighteenth century are not merely a head on a platter anymore. They are placed in or on a larger, more elaborate whole, as a three-dimensional sculpture surrounded by angels, or as a relief, stuck onto a (still portable) shrine (Ill. 3). Although style preferences have to be considered, could it be that this tendency was further encouraged by the fear of the idolatrous ceremonies which the Johannesschüsseln were often part of ?34 After all, a Johannesschüssel that was part of a shrine or stuck underneath a canopy could for example not be carried around the altar by an individual to cure headaches. It could however be carried around in a procession, which was still permitted in saints’ cults. The procession, although in a more strict and supervised form,35 was even encouraged, for example the procession on the feast of Corpus Christi.36 Unfortunately, there are no extant sources that connect this change in structure explicitly to the decree of the Council of Trent. Finally, while looking specifically at the coherence of head and platter before and after the sixteenth century, a difference was noticed between the heads with and the heads without a platter.37 It became clear that the Saint John’s Heads 33 Mâle, L’art religieux, chapter 3. 34 Sartori, Handwörterbuch, 4.740–1. 35 “et sanctorum celebratione ac reliquiarum visitatione homines ad commessationes atque ebrietates non abutantur, quasi festi dies in honorem sanctorum per luxum ac lasciviam agantur.” Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.776 l.1–4. A. Angenendt, Heilige und Reliquien: Die Geschichte ihres Kultes vom frühen Christentum bis zur Gegenwart (Munich: Beck, 1994), 248–50. 36 The practice of carrying the host in procession was acknowledged and stimulated in chapter 5 of the first Decree on the most holy sacrament of the Eucharist, cleared in Session 13 of the Council of Trent (11 October 1551): “On the worship and reverence to be shown to this most holy sacrament”, in Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.695–6; Hall, “Introduction”, 2. About the Corpus Christi procession in general, see M. Rubin, Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Medieval Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 243–70. As sources proof, also the Johannesschüssel was often part of the procession of Corpus Christi, for example the one of Katharinenthal mentioned earlier. Lanz, “Johannesschüssel”. 37 It is not clear for all of these Saint John’s Heads without platter whether their platters are lost, or

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Ill. 3: Livinus van Helderbergh, Johannesschüssel, 1739, various materials, 33 × 25 cm (platter); Bachte-Maria-leerne, church of Our Lady and Saint-John the Baptist © Author.

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Ill. 4: Standing Saint John’s Head, seventeenth century (platter is more recent), wood and tin, 28 cm; Nieuwenhove, church of Saint-John the Baptist © Author.

simply have never existed. For some there is proof, e. g. the head of Grubbenvorst, that once, there was a platter.

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without a platter are more often standing up, and strikingly, there are much more ‘standing heads’ in the second group, than in the first.38 The selection comprises only three standing heads before the sixteenth century: all three are made of alabaster, none of which have a platter. After the sixteenth century however, no less than ten standing Saint John’s Heads were produced, seven of which without platter (Ill. 4). When comparing these sculptures, one aspect immediately caught the eye: nine out of ten of these standing sculptures function or functioned as a reliquary.

3

Form follows Function follows Form?

With the focus shifted towards the function of these sculptures, both categories were compared again, and, although most sculpted Saint John’s Heads of both groups do not or did not function as a reliquary, it is striking that there are remarkably more Saint John’s Head-reliquaries after 1575.

Chart 2: Saint John’s Heads with and without relics

To put it in numbers, from the twenty-five sculptures dated before 1550, only three out of twenty-five possibly contain(ed) a relic. After 1575 however, nine out of twenty-five function or functioned as a reliquary for sure; another one of them contains a theca, which normally contains a relic but seems to be empty; and two 38 According to Erftemeijer, standing heads are rarer than heads lying down on the platter. Erftemeijer, “Middeleeuwse Johannesschotels”, 246. This research seems to confirm that statement.

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others are part of a ‘reliquary shrine’, which is carried around in processions, but does not actually contain a relic. So, nine out of twenty-five with a relic for sure, and three within the ‘relic atmosphere’. For the group dated after 1575, that makes twelve, just a little bit less than half.

III.

From Function to Trent? Visitation Reports as Source

What does this say about the evolution of the sculpture of the Saint John’s Head in the aftermath of the Council of Trent? It is very difficult to argue that this change in function – from ‘mere’ sculpture to relic-container39 – could have been influenced by the Tridentine decree. However, as the decrees of Session 24 of the Council of Trent required frequent episcopal visitations of the different parishes,40 episcopal reports are certainly a source worth looking at in this context.41 The Council fathers deemed it very important that a bishop stayed in contact with his diocese and requested the bishops to visit every parish in their diocese at least once every two years, preferably personally, but if necessary they could assign someone to do this in their place.42 The goal was among others “to ensure sound and orthodox teaching and the removal of heresies, [and] to safeguard good practices and correct evil ones”,43 and as surviving reports show, most of the time some attention is given to the material structures and the furnishings of the church/chapel in question too. At times, relics and imagery were also dealt with, as, additionally, Session 25 on sacred images ordains: “that

39 For information on the materiality of the Johannesschüssel as reliquary, see S. Vanhauwaert/ G. Geml, “(Don’t) Judge a Head by Its Cover: The Materiality of the Johannesschüssel as Reliquary”, in H. Laugerud/S. Ryan/L. Skinnebach (ed.), The Materiality of Devotion in Late Medieval Northern Europe. Images, Objects and Practices (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2016) 104–120. 40 Decree on reform: Canon 3. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.761– 3. Further bibliography on the practice of the visitation as such in A. Turchini, “Die Visitation als Mittel zur Regierung des Territoriums”, in P. Prodi/W. Reinhard (ed.), Das Konzil von Trient und die Moderne (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2001) 261–98, esp. on pp. 261–2. 41 As Prodi nicely summarizes, it is necessary to narrow our focus to individual dioceses, and therefore visitation reports are valuable sources with individual and specific information; see the Introduction of Prodi in Paleotti, Discourse, 13. 42 “Patriarchs, primates, metropolitans and bishops must without fail visit their diocese personally or, if legitimately impeded, through their vicar general or visitor; and if because of its extent they cannot visit it every year, then they should cover the greater part of it, so that it is covered every two years by them or their visitors.” Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.761–2. 43 “Visitationum autem omnium istarum praecipuus sit scopus, sanam orthodoxamque doctrinam, expulsis haeresibus, inducere, bonos mores tueri, pravos corrigere…” Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.762 l.16–18.

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no one may erect or see to the erection of any unusual image in any church or site, however exempt, unless it has been approved by the bishop.”44 The Council of Trent puts thereby a lot of weight and responsibility on the shoulders of a bishop, as he is made responsible of all that goes wrong in his respective diocese. Of course, concerning image policy this is open for discussion, as the guidelines of the Council on sacred images are very vague. The attitude of the bishop towards art and his actions in his diocese are likely to be influenced by his own personal beliefs and interpretation of the decrees.45 All the same, visitation reports are an interesting source to look for more information about the use, abuse and reception of images.46 Few episcopal visitation reports exist, because, unlike deans, bishops were not required by decree to write reports of their visits.47 On the other hand, a lot of decanal visitation reports of the end of the sixteenth and especially the seventeenth century did survive, in which furnishings and the equipment of the churches and chapels are often discussed.48 In the context of this research, reports of both categories were found providing interesting information about the Saint John’s Head of the parish of the Saint John’s church of Kachtem (Ill. 5): a seventeenth-century episcopal visitation report contains a first intriguing mention, which can be complemented with later references in decanal reports.

44 “… nemini licere, ullo in loco vel ecclesia, etiam quomodolibet exempta, ullam insolitam ponere vel ponendam curare imaginem, nisi ab episcopo approbata fuerit.” Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.776 l.8–10. 45 Prodi in the Introduction in Paleotti, Discourse, 13; O’Malley, Trent, 28 and 44. 46 See for example the valuable article of O. Mansour, “Censure and Censorship in Rome, ca. 1600: The Visitation of Clement VIII and the Visual Arts”, in Hall/Cooper (ed.), The Sensuous in the Counter-Reformation Church, 136–60. 47 M. Cloet, Itinerarium visitationum Antonii Triest episcopi Gandavensis (1623–1654). De visitatieverslagen van bisschop Triest (Belgisch Centrum voor Landelijke Geschiedenis 45; Leuven: Universitaire Pers Leuven, 1976), v; Cloet/Bostyn/de Vreese, Repertorium, 21; C. Van de Wiel, Visitatieverslagen van Paulus Pelsmaker, deken van Vilvoorde (1574–1577). Bouwstenen voor de studie van de vroege Contrareformatie in het aartsbisdom Mechelen (Belgisch centrum voor landelijke geschiedenis 117; Leuven: Belgisch Centrum voor Landelijke Geschiedenis, 1997), 6. One well-known exception of preserved episcopal reports in the Low Countries is the manuscript with visitation reports of Bishop Triest of Ghent: Cloet, Itinerarium. 48 Cloet/Bostyn/de Vreese, Repertorium, 14 and the repertory as a whole.

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Ill. 5: Saint John’s Head, seventeenth century, wood, 24 cm; Kachtem, church of Saint-John the Baptist © Author.

IV.

The Saint John’s Head of Kachtem: “Petantur alibi reliquiae aliquae”

Since 1561, the parish of Kachtem (then Cachtem) belonged to the diocese of Bruges. Bishop Nicolaas de Haudion (ca. 1596–1649) already visited parts of his diocese in 1642, the year of his ordination, Saint-John’s church of Kachtem among others, and interestingly, he wrote a report of his visits.49 In his report on the parish of Kachtem dated 22 September 1642, he refers to the sculpture of Saint John’s head.50 In the part of his report discussing the church and its contents, he wrote: “to bless with the head of Saint John the Baptist, in which there are no relics [preserved]”.51 Further in his Ordinata, he gives the order: “There should be asked elsewhere for other relics to be placed in the head which is used to bless the people; meanwhile it should not be offered to be kissed.”52 By means of these short listings, we can assume that the sculpture of the head of Saint John 49 Bishop de Haudion was focused on his pastoral work and made consequent visits to his diocese. He also attached a lot of importance to the decanal visitations. M. Therry, “Nicolaas de Haudion (1642–1649)”, in M. Cloet (ed.), Het bisdom Brugge (1559–1984). Bisschoppen, priesters, gelovigen (Brugge: Westvlaams Verbond van Kringen voor Heemkunde, 1984) 71–4. 50 Brugge, Rijksarchief, Kerkfabriek Onze-Lieve-Vrouw (Brugge) (henceforth RAB, NK), nr. 408. 51 “… ad signandum cum capite Sancti Johannis Baptistae in quo non sunt reliquiae”. RAB, NK, nr. 408. 52 “Petantur alibi reliquiae aliquae ut ponantur capiti cum quo populus signatur; interim non praebeatur osculandum.” RAB, NK, nr. 408.

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the Baptist – without relics – functioned in the parish church of Kachtem as an Ersatz for the real head relic of the saint, which was believed to be preserved in Amiens (amongst other places).53 Another document, a testimony dated 1644, shows that the people of Kachtem and pilgrims visiting the church indeed perceived the head sculpture as a relic of Saint John, without actually containing one. In that year, two years after the visitation of De Haudion, several laymen, once the receivers of the altar of Saint John, had to testify that the gifts and alms donated by the pilgrims on the altar of Saint John and the high altar in de Saint John’s church in Kachtem were used in favor of this church and its altars. In the document is mentioned: “… that on Saint John’s day in the summer, during the nine days, and on all the other days of the whole year too, there the pilgrims come to visit and to kiss the holy relics of Saint John”.54 As this document was written two years after the visitation in 1642, at first sight, it would seem that in the meantime the directions of the bishop were followed and there actually had been put some relics in the head sculpture. However, the testimonies are talking about many years before; the years 1617 to 1622 are explicitly mentioned in the text. This means that, while the church of Kachtem did not possess relics of Saint John, the people perceived this in another way. They talk about kissing the holy relics of Saint John, so it is safe to say that the head sculpture that was used to bless the people, was seen as a relic, and was venerated accordingly. This use of this sculpture clearly worried the bishop. As mentioned earlier, the Council of Trent acknowledged that images of saints can be adored and kissed, as this honor is meant for the prototype, the saint him- or herself. However, all abuses are to be avoided, therefore the bishop has to give permission for every unusual image or new relic. Clearly, this was not the case here. According to the report, Bishop de Haudion does not approve of this unusual head sculpture, a cult image that functions as a relic, but is not a relic and does not contain one.

53 The tradition to bless the people with the object and let them kiss the head resembles actions associated with relics and the Eucharist. See G.J.C. Snoek, Medieval Piety from Relics to the Eucharist: A Process of Mutual Interaction (Leiden: Brill, 1995), 236–40 and 295–9. Numerous other skulls or skull parts attributed to Saint John the Baptist can be found in Europe and the Near East, among others in San Silvestro in Capite in Rome, in San Marco in Venice, in the Topkapi Serail in Istanbul or in the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, Martin Luther was aware of no fewer than twelve head relics of this saint in the West of Europe. Combs Stuebe, “The Johannisschüssel”, 2; Baert, Caput, 27–9. 54 “Zoo up Sinte Jansdagh inden somere (pateroon der voorseijde kercke) gheduerende de neghen daghen metsgaders oock op alle andere daghen vanden gheheelen jaere bij de pilgrims aldaer commende besoucken ende cussen de heijlighe relicqiuen van Sinte Jan.” Brugge, Bisdomsarchief (henceforth BAB), Reeks B/F 180.

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Apparently, his way of solving this problem was to get a relic and to insert it into the sculpture.55 That Bishop Nicolaas de Haudion was a bishop who was inclined to set things right according to the Tridentine decree can further be illustrated by another request in the Ordinata of his 1642 visitation report, where he asks for the painted figures of Herodias and her servant to be erased or to make them “not nude, but decent”;56 here he answers to the Tridentine request that “all sensual appeal must be avoided, so that images are not painted or adorned with seductive charm”.57 However, could both remarks by Bishop de Haudion really be placed in the aftermath of the art reform by the Council of Trent almost a hundred years earlier? Could it be that the head sculpture of Kachtem, that was used as a relic but did not contain one, and the subsequent demand of the bishop represent a tendency which could explain the sudden presence of relics also in other head sculptures of Saint John and thus the existence of more Johannesschüssel-reliquaries in the second group? Was putting a relic inside an ‘unusual image’ seen as a good, or maybe easy solution to smooth away the suspicious, idolatrous character of a cult image? In the course of this research, it could not yet be established whether the Kachtem Saint John’s Head is a unique example, or if other sculptures without relics were perceived in the same way. This case study does however witness of the use, the perception and the adaption of the sculpture following imperative guidelines, as was apparently normal, and therefore some generalization can be justified. Anyhow, if a sculpture of the head of Saint John without relics was seen as a head relic, was believed to cure diseases, to work miracles, was touched and kissed as a relic, this perception of the sculpture by the faithful will not have changed when the church requested and inserted a relic to validate this image. Moreover, as many examples of Saint John’s Heads are known to have functioned 55 Apparantly, this did not turn out to be so simple. Somewhere between 1642 and 1745, a relic of Saint Georg the Martyr was placed in the wooden head. In a decanal report of this last year, the relic of Saint Georg is mentioned in the chapter of the confraternities, the indulgences, and relics, together with the Confraternity of Saint John the Baptist; here, there is no reference yet to the head sculpture (BAB B 239 Decanale Verslagen Roeselare 1745). Further, while in 1748 an official relic of Saint John the Baptist arrived in Kachtem, the subsequent decanal visitation report of 1749 mentions that the relics of Saint George are preserved in the “caput ligneum S. Joannis” (Kortrijk, Rijksarchief, Decanale Verslagen 1749). Anyhow, in the course of the twentieth century, the relic that was preserved in a theca on the top of the head sculpture was taken out, and nowadays the Saint John’s church of Kachtem possesses but two relics; both of them are nowadays believed to be a relic of Saint John and are used accordingly in the local cult of the saint. 56 “Deleantur ex pictura Sti Joannis Herodias et pedissiqua eius vel saltem ibidem remaneant non ita nude sed decentius.” RAB, NK, nr. 408. 57 “… omnis denique lascivia vitetur, ita ut procaci venustate imagines non pingantur nec ornentur”. See: Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.775 l.44–776 l.1.

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in this way, it is possible that the Church demanded a real relic to accompany some of these sculptures, so no one could interpret these uses as improper.58

V.

Further Reflections

Yet, this does not explain why not all sculptures of the decapitated head of Saint John contain relics. Maybe for some sculptures it was not considered necessary as they were perhaps not part of a popular cult and thus less ‘visible’ to the higher authorities and the critics of the Church. Other sculptures may have simply functioned as decoration in a church or chapel, and thus did not cause suspicion. If this sculpture was not used as cult image, there would be no reason to criticize the motif; there are even grounds to argue that the reform measures of the Council of Trent could have increased the popularity of this sculpture. For one, as mentioned before, the ‘new iconography’ of the Counter-Reformation puts strong emphasis on the representation of the suffering and passion of Christian martyrs.59 As the head of Saint John is a motif that can be seen as the summary, even the highlight of the story of his decapitation, this iconography certainly deserved its place alongside Saint Sebastian at the column or the evisceration of Saint Erasmus. Further, as I have demonstrated, the general idea that this sculpture type disappeared in the second half of the sixteenth century is not correct. However, the painted variant that arose in the fifteenth century alongside the sculpture heads did become more and more popular in the sixteenth and seventeenth century. Painted Saint John’s heads were made in the Low Countries (Ill. 6), but also in Italy, France, Spain and elsewhere. Various examples, small or large, plain or in a scene, can be found in collections all over Europe. There is the possibility that the effects of the Council of Trent and the Counter-Reformation as a whole have stimulated the spread of the theme of the decapitated head on a platter as a painting. In this medium, “the idolatrous character the motif has as sculpture” is diminished.60 As Mariët Westermann writes, the “media shift from suspect sculpture to emotionally powerful, clear painting can be traced to the impact of

58 Obviously, to make this argument more valid, more research should be done to the contents of other surviving episcopal and decanal visitation reports of parishes that held a sculpture of a Saint John’s head. Also other specimen of odd, non-conformist sculptures could be integrated in the research. This lies however outside the scope of this article. 59 Mâle, L’art religieux, chapter 3. 60 Baert, Caput, 212.

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Ill. 6: Albrecht Bouts, Head of Saint John the Baptist on a Charger, first quarter of the 16th century, oil on wood, diam. 28,3 cm; New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, inv.nr. 60.55.2 © The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

the Tridentine decree and to the outlines of an image theory embedded in the Counter-Reformation treatises of Joannes Molanus and Gabriele Paleotti.”61 The rise of the painted Saint John’s Head could be an explanation for the omission of the sculpted Saint John’s Head of later date in literature. The focus shifted, and the more questionable three-dimensional objects of later date were pushed to the margins and forgotten. If this shift in medium would explain the gap in literature, this would indirectly also relate it to the impact of the image decree of the Council. Another explanation for the shortcoming in literature can be found in a more practical aspect of the sculptures, which has nothing to do with form or materiality. While most Johannesschüsseln of the fourteenth and fifteenth century are safely preserved in museums, from the sixteenth century on a difference is noticeable. Only a few sixteenth-century sculptures are preserved in a museum, while from the seventeenth century onwards, all known Saint John’s Heads are still part of their original, religious context in a church or chapel.62 As a result, these sculptures almost never appeared in catalogues or articles, and stayed hidden and unknown for the researcher at work.

61 M. Westermann, “After Iconography and Iconoclasm: Current Research in Netherlandish Art, 1566–1700”, The Art Bulletin 84/2 (2002) 351–72, on p. 355. 62 Some heads were replaced from one church or chapel to another, but none were detached from this religious context.

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It can however be concluded that there is no fracture line in the appearance of the sculpted Saint John’s Head around the middle of the sixteenth century, and that hitherto no evidence is found that the Council of Trent had an immediate impact on their production. Indirectly, the more strict supervision of the bishop and his staff members of the local parishes due to the Tridentine Council will have had its effect on the local cults and the associated cult objects. To arm themselves against criticisms concerning idolatry, questionable images and practices were restrained.63 In the case of the sculpted Johannesschüssel, the demanded insertion of a relic connected the sculpture even more closely with the prototype behind the decapitated head, Saint John the Baptist, and therefore solved the problem of the local veneration of a suspicious, unusual image as a relic. Unfortunately, even with the indications in archive documents related to the Kachtem Saint John’s Head, this thesis remains hypothetical. Just as Kretzenbacher, I have to conclude that it is hard – if not impossible – to link the Tridentine decree on sacred images to actual consequences in religious art and real cult images, because of the “nicht zu leugnenden Dürftigkeit seiner Aussage”.64

Bibliography Archival sources Brugge, Bisdomsarchief (BAB), Reeks B/F. Brugge, Rijksarchief (RAB), Kerkfabriek Onze-Lieve-Vrouw van Brugge. Oud archief (NK), nr. 408. Kortrijk, Rijksarchief (RAK), Decanale Verslagen 1749.

Edited sources Molanus, J., Traité des saintes images, F. Boespflug/O. Christin/B. Tassel (ed.) (2 vol.; Paris: Cerf, 1996). Paleotti, G., Discourse on Sacred and Profane Images, W. McCuaig (trans.)/P. Prodi (intr.) (Los Angeles, CA: Getty Research Institute, 2012).

63 Another possibility to do this is mentioned by Maarten Delbeke in his “Van topos tot sieraad. Levende stenen”, in G. Rooijakkers (ed.), De hemel in Tegenlicht: macht en devotie in het aartsbisdom Mechelen (exh. cat.; Tielt: Lannoo, 2009) 108–16, on pp. 108–9. He discusses the need to imbed certain aspects of a cult and related objects in a longer standing tradition in order to arm them against criticism, hence the rise of Catholic historiography. 64 Kretzenbacher, Nachtridentinisch, 6.

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Secondary sources Angenendt, A., Heilige und Reliquien: Die Geschichte ihres Kultes vom frühen Christentum bis zur Gegenwart (Munich: Beck, 1994). Arndt, H./Kroos, R., “Zur Ikonographie des Johannesschüssel”, Aachener Kunstblätter 38 (1969) 243–328. Baert, B., Caput Joannis in Disco. (Essay on a Man’s Head) (VMA 8; Leiden: Brill, 2012). Belyea, T., “Johannes ex Disco: Remarks on a Late Gothic Alabaster Head of St. John the Baptist”, Bulletin van het Rijksmuseum 47/2–3 (1999) 100–17. Blunt, A., Artistic theory in Italy: 1450–1600 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1970). Cheetham, F., English Medieval Alabasters with a Catalogue of the Collection in the Victoria and Albert Museum (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer Ltd, 2005). Cloet, M., Itinerarium visitationum Antonii Triest episcopi Gandavensis (1623–1654). De visitatieverslagen van bisschop Triest (Belgisch Centrum voor Landelijke Geschiedenis 45; Leuven: Universitaire Pers Leuven, 1976). Cloet, M./Bostyn, N./de Vreese, K. (ed.), Repertorium van dekenale visitatieverslagen betreffende de Mechelse kerkprovincie (1559–1801) (Belgisch Centrum voor Landelijke Geschiedenis 92; Leuven: Belgisch Centrum voor Landelijke Geschiedenis, 1989). Combs Stuebe, I., “The Johannisschüssel: From Narrative to Reliquary to Andachtsbild”, Marsyas. Studies in the History of Art 14 (1968–69) 1–16. Defoer, H.L.M., “Een albasten Johannes-in-disco in de St. Willibrordus te Utrecht”, in Miscellanea I.Q. van Regteren Altena (Amsterdam: Scheltema & Holkema, 1969) 17–19. De Jong, J.L., “Cultivating Piety: Religious Art and Artists after the Council of Trent”, in K. Enenkel/W. Melion (ed.), Meditatio – Refashioning the Self: Theory and Practice in Late Medieval and Early Modern Intellectual Culture (Intersections 17; Leiden: Brill, 2011) 367–89. Delbeke, M., “Van topos tot sieraad. Levende stenen”, in G. Rooijakkers (ed.), De hemel in Tegenlicht: macht en devotie in het aartsbisdom Mechelen (exh. cat.; Tielt: Lannoo, 2009) 108–16. Duffy, E., “The Reformation and the Alabastermen”, in P. Williamson (ed.), Object of Devotion: Medieval English Alabaster Sculpture from the Victoria and Albert Museum (Alexandria: Art Services International, 2011) 54–65. Erftemeijer, J., “Middeleeuwse Johannesschotels in Nederland”, Antiek 19/5 (1984) 241–53. Freedberg, D., Iconoclasm and Painting in the Revolt of the Netherlands, 1566–1609 (New York: Garland, 1988). Hall, M., “Introduction”, in M.B. Hall/T.E. Cooper (ed.), The Sensuous in the CounterReformation Church (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013). Hecht, C., Katholische Bildertheologie im Zeitalter von Gegenreformation und Barock: Studien zu Traktaten von Johannes Molanus, Gabriele Paleotti und anderen Autoren (Berlin: Mann, 1997). Jedin, H., “Entstehung und Tragweite des Trienter Dekrets über die Bilderverehrung”, Theologische Quartalschrift 116 (1935) 143–88 and 404–29. Kramer, B., Een lekenboek in woord en beeld. De spegel der minschliken zalicheid (Middeleeuwse studies en bronnen 144; Hilversum: Verloren, 2013).

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Kretzenbacher, L., Nachtridentinisch untergegangene Bildthemen und Sonderkulte der ‘Volksfrömmigkeit‘ in den Südost-Alpenländern (Munich: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1994). Lanz, H., “Johannesschüssel aus St. Katharinenthal”, in Krone und Schleier. Kunst aus mittelalterlichen Frauenklöstern (exh. cat.; Munich: Hirmer, 2005) 418–19. Lipinska, A., “Alabastrum, id est, corpus hominis. Alabaster in the Low Countries, a Cultural History”, in A.-S. Lehmann et al. (ed.), Meaning in Materials, 1400–1800 (Nederlands kunsthistorisch jaarboek 62; Leiden/Boston, MA: Brill, 2013) 84–115. Lipinska, A., “Matter of Light and Flesh: Alabaster in the Netherlandish Sculpture of the 16th and 17th Centuries”, in J. Kriegseisen (ed.), Matter of Light and Flesh: Alabaster in the Netherlandish Sculpture of the 16th and 17th Centuries (exh. cat.; Gdánsk: Muzeum Narodowe w Gdansku, 2011) 12–61. Lipinska, A., “Mechelse albasten in Polen”, Handelingen van de Koninklijke Kring voor Oudheidkunde, Letteren en Kunst van Mechelen 105/1 (2001) 87–151. Mâle, E., L’art religieux après le Concile de Trente: étude sur l’iconographie de la fin du XVIe siècle, du XVIIe, du XVIIIe siècle: Italie, France, Espagne, Flandres (Paris: Colin, 1932). Mansour, O., “Censure and Censorship in Rome, ca. 1600. The Visitation of Clement VIII and the Visual Arts”, in M.B. Hall/T.E. Cooper (ed.), The Sensuous in the CounterReformation Church (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013) 136–60. O’Malley, J.W., The Council of Trent: Myths, Misunderstandings, and Unintended Consequences (Gregoriana 4; Rome: Gregorian and biblical press, 2013). O’Malley, J.W., “Trent, Sacred Images, and Catholics’ Senses of the Sensuous”, in M.B. Hall/T.E. Cooper (ed.), The Sensuous in the Counter-Reformation Church (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013) 28–48. Réau, L., Iconographie de l’art chrétien (3 vol. in 4; Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1955–59). Rubin, M., Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Medieval Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). Sartori, P., Handwörterbuch des deutschen Aberglaubens, E. Hoffmann-Krayer/H. Bachtold-Staubli (ed.) (10 vol.; Handwörterbücher zur deutschen Volkskunde 1; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1927–42). Smeyers, M., “Sint-Jan-in-disco”, in L. Bessemans/P.V. Maes et al. (ed.), Schatten der Armen. Het artistiek en historisch bezit van het O.C.M.W.-Leuven (exh. cat.; Leuven: Stedelijk museum Vander Kelen-Mertens, 1988) 144–7. Snoek, G.J.C., Medieval Piety from Relics to the Eucharist: A Process of Mutual Interaction (Leiden: Brill, 1995). Spufford, P., Money and Its Use in Medieval Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). Tallon, A., Le concile de Trente (Paris: Cerf, 2000). Therry, M., “Nicolaas de Haudion (1642–1649)”, in M. Cloet (ed.), Het bisdom Brugge (1559–1984). Bisschoppen, priesters, gelovigen (Brugge: Westvlaams verbond van Kringen voor heemkunde, 1984) 71–4. Turchini, A., “Die Visitation als Mittel zur Regierung des Territoriums”, in P. Prodi/W. Reinhard (ed.), Das Konzil von Trient und die Moderne (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2001) 261–98.

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Van de Wiel, C., Visitatieverslagen van Paulus Pelsmaker, deken van Vilvoorde (1574–1577). Bouwstenen voor de studie van de vroege Contrareformatie in het aartsbisdom Mechelen (Belgisch centrum voor landelijke geschiedenis 117; Leuven: Belgisch Centrum voor Landelijke Geschiedenis, 1997). Vanhauwaert, S./Geml, G., “(Don’t) Judge a Head by Its Cover: The Materiality of the Johannesschüssel as Reliquary”, in H. Laugerud/S. Ryan (ed.), Late Medieval Devotions: Images, Instruments and the Materiality of Belief (Dublin: Four Courts Press, forthcoming). Westermann, M., “After Iconography and Iconoclasm: Current Research in Netherlandish Art, 1566–1700”, The Art Bulletin 84/2 (2002) 351–72. Woods, K., “The Master of Rimini and the Tradition of Alabaster Carving in the Early Fifteenth-century Netherlands”, in A.-S. Lehmann et al. (ed.), Meaning in Materials, 1400–1800 (Nederlands kunsthistorisch jaarboek 62; Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2013) 56–83. Wustrack, M., Die Mechelner Alabaster-Manufaktur des 16. und frühen 17. Jahrhunderts (Europäische Hochschulschriften. Reihe 28: Kunstgeschichte 20; Frankfurt a. M.: Lang, 1982).

Ellénita de Mol

Le culte de la Vierge après le Concile de Trente, perçu à travers trois triptyques flamands de la fin du XVIe siècle et du début du XVIIe siècle

I.

Introduction: le débat religieux autour du culte marial après le Concile de Trente

La notion d’idolâtrie est récurrente dans les attaques que les réformés ont formulées à l’égard des catholiques. Elle fut d’abord dirigée contre le culte des images, objets purement matériels qui, dans l’Église catholique, sont pourtant considérés comme des signes de la présence de Dieu. Le Concile de Trente répliqua au cours de sa vingt-cinquième et dernière session en réaffirmant la valeur des images et l’honneur qui leur est dû en vertu des personnages saints qu’elles représentent.1 Les accusations d’idolâtrie ont ébranlé non seulement le culte des images mais aussi celui de la Vierge Marie. Si, dans l’Église catholique, les premières avaient pris la place de Dieu, c’était également vrai pour la seconde.2 La gloire qui était rendue à Marie faisait de l’ombre au Christ, qui seul méritait d’être vénéré aux côtés du Père pour sa nature divine. Les pamphlets protestants dénoncèrent l’attitude «mariolâtre»3 des catholiques. La Vierge, tournée en dérision, se vit affublée des attributs d’une femme vile dont le portrait était connoté par l’idée de la fornication spirituelle,4 qui avait également été associée au culte des images. 1 Corpus Christianorum. Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Generaliumque Decreta. Editio Critica: The Oecumenical Councils of the Roman Catholic Church, K. Ganzer/G. Alberigo/A. Melloni (éd.) (3 vol. in 4 publiés; Turnhout: Brepols, 2006–13), 3.149–50 l. 4646–66 (désormais CC COGD 3). 2 B. Heal, The Cult of the Virgin Mary in the Early Modern Germany: Protestant and Catholic Piety, 1500–1648 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 53–4 et 63. 3 S. Beissel, Geschichte der Verehrung Marias im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert. Ein Beitrag zur Religionswissenschaft und Kunstgeschichte (Freibourg i.Br: Herdersche Verlagshandlung, 1910), 116; Heal, The Cult of the Virgin Mary, 46. 4 L. Grindlay, «Sham Queens of Heaven: Early Modern Iconoclasm and the Virgin Mary», http://c. ymcdn.com/sites/www.rsa.org/resource/resmgr/2013_san_diego/2013_sandiego_program.pdf (page consultée le 30 octobre 2013; communication présentée à la rencontre annuelle de la Renaissance Society of America, San Diego, États-Unis, 4–6 avril 2013), 111.

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En réaction, l’Église de la Réforme Catholique mit particulièrement de vigueur à défendre et à honorer Marie à partir de la seconde moitié du seizième siècle. Le Concile de Trente n’en laissait pourtant rien présager. En effet, aucune session ne fut exclusivement réservée à la Vierge, qui n’a été évoquée que ponctuellement. Elle est notamment mentionnée dans les décrets sur le péché originel5 et la justification6 comme cas d’exception, sans que ceux-ci ne tranchent définitivement la question de l’Immaculée Conception,7 qui renvoie à la croyance selon laquelle Marie a été gardée du péché originel dès le moment de sa conception, comme, plus tard, de tout péché véniel. Par ailleurs, celle-ci est ponctuellement citée aux côtés de Jésus-Christ et des autres saints dans le décret sur le culte des images.8 Il semblerait que les questions relatives à sa personne ne fussent pas cruciales pour la clarification de la doctrine catholique, comparées à d’autres plus fondamentales, comme celle des sacrements.9 Il n’en demeure pas moins que le culte marial fut un sujet de discorde majeur entre catholiques et protestants. Par conséquent, il retint toute l’attention de l’Église catholique réformatrice. Il fut abordé dans de nombreux ouvrages théologiques, dont certains lui sont exclusivement consacrés, comme le De Maria Virgine incomparabili et Dei genitrice sacrosanta du Jésuite Pierre Canisius, la première somme mariologique qui fut imprimée après la Réforme, à Ingolstadt, par David Sartorius, en 1577.10 Les Litanies de Lorette,11 approuvées par le pape Sixte V en 1587, se répandirent. De nouveaux ordres, dédiés à la Vierge Marie, furent fondés. En particulier, les Jésuites, qui étaient appelés les «soldats du Christ», prirent également les armes pour protéger sa Mère. Ce faisant, ils soutinrent, dans les Pays-Bas, l’action des archiducs Albert et Isabelle, qui purent s’appuyer sur le bras droit qu’ils leur offraient pour propager la foi catholique rénovée. Enfin, le culte marial bénéficia encore de l’ardeur des grands saints de la Réforme catholique, parmi lesquels Thomas de Villeneuve, Charles Borromée, Ignace de Loyola, Vincent de Paul et François de Sales. Les protestants montrèrent plus ou moins de tolérance à l’égard de la Vierge Marie en fonction des courants et des sensibilités auxquels ils appartenaient. Les 5 Session 5 – 17 juin 1546 – Décret sur le péché originel, CC COGD 3, p. 20 l.298–302. 6 Session 6 – 13 janvier 1547 – Décret sur la justification, CC COGD 3, p. 35 l.811–15. 7 Voir, à propos des discussions qui se sont tenues dans les congrégations générales sur l’Immaculée Conception, et les décisions auxquelles elles ont abouti: H. Jedin, Geschichte des Konzils von Trient (4 vol. in 5; Freibourg i. Br: Herder, 1949–75), 2.116–18, 127–36. 8 Session 25 – 3–4 décembre 1563 – De invocatione, veneratione et reliquiis sanctorum, et [de] sacris imaginibus, CC COGD 3, p. 149 l. 4646. 9 Beissel, Geschichte der Verehrung Marias, 115. 10 Voir, sur ce traité: L. Scheffczyk, «Das Mariengeheimnis zwischen Apologie und Doxologie», Forum Katholische Theologie 13/4 (1997) 241–56. 11 Voir, sur les Litanies de Lorette: M. Boval, Les litanies de Lorette. Histoire, symbolisme, richesses doctrinales (Charleroi/Paris: J. Dupuis, 1946).

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principaux qualificatifs que les catholiques associaient à son nom – «semper Virgo», «Dei genitrix», «immaculata», «Maria mediatrix» – ne furent pas tous combattus par eux à l’unanimité et avec la même virulence. Ils avaient néanmoins l’intention commune de réduire sa place et son rôle au sein de la religion et d’amoindrir ses mérites. Ils la considéraient à l’égal des autres hommes, ce qui signifiait qu’elle avait part à la faiblesse et à la pauvreté de leur condition.12 Ils lui reconnaissaient pour seul avantage qu’elle avait été choisie par Dieu pour être la mère de son fils. Les catholiques répondaient à ce jugement dépréciatif par les croyances de l’Immaculée Conception et de l’Assomption, qui manifestaient avec éclat les grâces dont jouissait la Vierge.13 Toutefois, les contestations protestantes ne restèrent pas sans effet, puisque l’Église de la Réforme catholique s’employa à légitimer le culte marial en le rapportant à celui du Christ. Ainsi, elle eut tendance à fonder le premier sur le titre de Mère de Dieu et à déduire de celui-ci les privilèges qu’elle reconnaissait à Marie.

II.

Problématique: discours marial et format du triptyque

Nous nous proposons d’aborder trois triptyques en rapport avec la Vierge Marie, peints à la fin du seizième siècle et au début du dix-septième siècle dans le contexte que nous venons de détailler. Quels propos tiennent-ils sur cette figure sacrée ? À l’époque où nous nous situons, le format du triptyque, propre à l’époque gothique, reculait au-dessus de l’autel pour laisser place au retable baroque, qui consiste dans un unique tableau vertical encadré par un portique sculpté. Comment le genre traditionnel semble-t-il pourtant encore se justifier en regard du message auquel il sert de support ?

III.

La contribution au culte marial de trois triptyques nés à l’époque de la Réforme Catholique

Présentons d’abord brièvement les triptyques qui vont retenir notre attention. Tous remplissaient sans doute la fonction de retable d’autel, ainsi que le laissent croire leurs grandes dimensions notamment. Le premier,14 chronologiquement, 12 Heal, The Cult of the Virgin Mary, 61. 13 M. Rubin, Mother of God: A History of the Virgin Mary (New Haven, CT/Londres: Yale University Press, 2009), 408. 14 Huile sur bois, panneau central: 206 × 180 cm, volets: 206 × 83 cm. Voir, sur ce triptyque: C. Van de Velde, «Frans Pourbus the Elder and the Diffusion of the Style of Frans Floris in the Southern Netherlands», dans E. Mai/K. Schütz/H. Vlieghe (éd.), Die Malerei Antwerpens – Gattungen, Meister, Wirkungen. Studien zur flämischen Kunst des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts.

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est conservé à l’église Saint-Martin de Wezemaal. Il a été peint par Frans I Pourbus dans les années 1572–1574 pour l’église des franciscains à Audenarde (Oudenaarde). Le deuxième15 est situé à Saint-Pierre de Lo. Il fut exécuté par Jeremias Mittendorff en 1621. Enfin, le troisième16 se trouve à l’église Notre-Dame d’Aarschot. Il a pour auteur Pieter van Avont. Le cadre porte la date de 1607 mais nous verrons plus loin qu’il ne fut probablement pas réalisé avant 1622.

1

Un triptyque a priori marial mais en réalité eucharistique

L’état actuel du triptyque de Wezemaal (Ills. 1 et 2) résulte d’une inversion entre ses volets. Nous le décrirons donc tel qu’il se présentait à l’origine. Lorsqu’il est fermé, il montre une Annonciation sur le volet gauche et une Visitation sur le volet droit. Une fois ouvert, il rassemble une Adoration des mages au centre, une Adoration des bergers à gauche et une Présentation au temple à droite. Dans l’interprétation d’un retable de ce format, il faut tenir compte du fait qu’il restait fermé la plupart du temps et qu’on l’ouvrait le dimanche et certains jours de fête. Ainsi, l’extérieur ménage un temps d’attente qui prépare la révélation qui doit survenir à l’intérieur. C’est pourquoi les revers des volets portent fréquemment une Annonciation qui, comme le nom l’indique, annonce la venue du Messie.17 Dans le cas présent, cette scène est adéquatement accompagnée d’une Visitation, qui peut être considérée en quelque sorte comme une autre annonciation. En effet, au cours de cet épisode, où la Vierge enceinte s’est rendue chez sa cousine Élisabeth, elle aussi enceinte de Jean-Baptiste, il fut signifié à cette dernière que l’enfant porté par Marie était le Seigneur.18

15

16

17 18

Internationales Kolloquium Wien 1993 (Cologne: Locher, 1994) 10–17, aux pp. 12–13, fig. 6– 10. Inscription en bas à droite du panneau central sur un cartellino: «Jeremias Mittendorff/inven. et fecit an° 1621»; huile sur bois; panneau central: ca. 180 × 150 cm, volets: ca. 180 × 60 cm. Voir, sur ce triptyque: J. Dewilde, «Omtrent Jeremias Mittendorff en zijn rol in het Iepers Ambacht van schilders, beelthouwers en ruyttewerkers in de XVIIde eeuw», dans J. Van Acker (éd.), Wevend aan het verleden. Liber Amicorum O. Mus (Veurne: De rode bles, 1992) 105–15, à la p. 108, ill. 1–2; A. Donetzkoff, «Le martyre de saint Pierre de Vérone par Jérémias Mittendorff: un triptyque flamand du XVIIe siècle reconstitué», Revue du Nord 86/354 (2004) 25– 58, à la p. 28, fig. 3–4. Inscription sur le bord inférieur du cadre du panneau central: «petrus van avont fecit. 1607», huile sur toile, panneau central: ca. 300 × 245 cm (avec cadre), volets: ca. 300 × 95 cm. Voir, sur ce triptyque: J. de Borchgrave d’Altena, Notes pour servir à l’Inventaire des œuvres d’Art du Brabant. Arrondissement de Louvain (Annales de la Société Royale d’archéologie de Bruxelles. Mémoires, rapports et documents 43/I; Bruxelles: Ballieu, 1940) 121–389, à la p. 171. Luc 1:26–38. Luc 1:39–56.

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Ill. 1: Frans I Pourbus, l’Adoration des mages, triptyque (fermé), ca. 1572–4; Wezemaal, église Saint-Martin © KIKIRPA, Bruxelles

Après le temps de l’annonciation vient celui de la révélation, qui s’accomplit à l’intérieur du triptyque, où des destinataires à chaque fois différents découvrent Dieu dans l’enfant Jésus. À gauche, les bergers qui avaient été prévenus par un ange de la naissance du Messie, sont venus le reconnaître et le vénérer.19 Sur le panneau central, ce sont les mages originaires d’Orient qui apportent leurs présents à celui qu’ils appellent le roi des Juifs.20 À droite, enfin, Siméon reçoit dans les bras celui qui allait apporter le Salut.21 Le rapprochement entre l’Ado19 Luc 2:8–20. 20 Matt 2:1–12. 21 Luc 2:22–38.

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Ill. 2: Frans I Pourbus, l’Adoration des mages; triptyque (ouvert), ca. 1572–4; Wezemaal, église Saint-Martin © KIKIRPA, Bruxelles

ration des bergers et l’Adoration des mages suggère le caractère universel de la mission du Christ, les premiers évoquant les Juifs et les seconds, les Gentils. Après avoir parcouru l’entièreté du triptyque, on constate que l’extérieur et l’intérieur se complètent étroitement et instaurent une progression au cours de laquelle l’identité de Jésus se précise toujours davantage. Bien que nous les ayons définies par les termes d’ «annonciation» d’une part et de «révélation» d’autre part, les deux vues traitent en réalité d’un seul thème: Dieu qui se fait connaître. Elles se distinguent cependant par leur temporalité, puisque l’une est située avant la naissance du Christ et l’autre, après. Ensemble, elles dressent un portrait complet de celui-ci en rassemblant les divers titres qui lui reviennent. D’abord, il fut présenté à Marie comme étant le fils de Dieu. Puis, Élisabeth le nomme le Seigneur, c’est-à-dire Dieu lui-même. Dans un premier temps, sa nature divine fondamentale est donc établie. Ensuite s’ajoutent les fonctions qu’il est appelé à assumer: celle de sauveur, conformément aux paroles de l’ange à l’adresse des bergers, celle de guide, de pasteur, ainsi que le désignent les mages et enfin, celle de rédempteur, évoquée par Siméon. La vocation du Christ, sous les différentes acceptions que nous venons de détailler, fut fondée par un événement unique: son sacrifice sur la croix. Source du Salut, celui-ci est réactualisé au cours de la messe à travers l’oblation de l’hostie, qui en répand les fruits.22 Le retable, placé au-dessus de l’autel, était ouvert au

22 Jedin, Konzil von Trient, 4/1.177, 181–2, 187, et 207; L. Palmer Wandel, The Eucharist in the Reformation: Incarnation and Liturgy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 221, 226–7, et 260; Session 22 – 17 septembre 1563 – Décret sur le sacrifice de la messe., CC COGD 3,

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moment de ce rituel, qu’il encadrait et commentait. Par conséquent, les panneaux intérieurs du triptyque de Wezemaal sont chargés de fortes connotations eucharistiques. Jésus est associé à l’hostie, sa nudité renforçant visuellement cette relation. Pourtant, les théoriciens de l’art de la fin du seizième siècle, tel Molanus, désapprouvaient les chaires découvertes, parce qu’elles encourageaient une attitude lascive.23 L’enfant est placé sur l’autel, suggéré de gauche à droite par la mangeoire remplie de paille, par les genoux de Marie appelée ara coeli, et par la table. La Vierge jouerait quant à elle le rôle du prêtre, tandis que les bergers et les mages rempliraient celui des fidèles.24 Enfin, on remarquera que l’élévation de l’hostie est rendue par la diagonale ascendante qui joint les trois occurrences du Christ. Une progression s’instaure de part en part du triptyque. Au début, la Vierge aménage les conditions d’une exposition en écartant les langes de son fils. Puis, celui-ci, en position frontale sur les genoux de sa mère, est présentifié à la manière du Saint-Sacrement dans l’ostensoir. Il fait l’effet d’une figure de dévotion au sein d’une image proposée à la méditation du fidèle. Cette perception est consolidée à la fois par la composition et par la taille que lui et Marie ont reçue. En effet, il occupe l’exact milieu de l’espace et constitue le point de mire des personnages qui dessinent un cercle autour de lui. De plus, il est projeté en avant avec la Vierge du fait qu’ils sont rendus à plus grande échelle que sur les autres panneaux. Enfin, le mouvement se conclut à droite, où Jésus est installé sur la table du repas eucharistique. Le fidèle dans l’Église est invité à participer à celui-ci par le couple de la mère et l’enfant qui se tiennent la main, la première l’appelant du regard et le second, qui remplit la fonction d’admonestator, lui montrant du doigt le lieu de la célébration. En revanche, il était empêché de pénétrer dans les deux images précédentes par un obstacle matériel sous la forme d’une lourde dalle ou d’un rondin. Le triptyque réaffirme le dogme de la transsubstantiation, selon lequel le pain et le vin de l’Eucharistie se transforment dans le corps et le sang du Christ au moment de la consécration.25 Il s’agissait d’un sujet de désaccord fondamental

p. 100 l.2932–42; J.W. O’Malley, Trent: What Happened at the Council (Cambridge, MA/ Londres: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2013), 189. 23 Joannes Molanus, Traité des saintes images, F. Bœspflug/O. Christin/B. Tassel (éd.) (2 vol.; Paris: Cerf, 1996), 1.243–4 et 474. 24 Jedin, Konzil von Trient, 4/2.140–1; O’Malley, Trent, 16–17, 117–18 et 218. 25 E. Yarnold, «Transsubstantiation», dans I. Perczel/R. Forrai/G. Geréby (éd.), The Eucharist in Theology and Philiosophy: Issues of Doctrinal History in East and West from the Patristic Age to Reformation (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2005) 381–94, aux pp. 386–7; Wandel, The Eucharist in the Reformation, 221–2; Session 13 – 11 octobre 1551 – Décret sur le sacrement de l’eucharistie, CC COGD 3, p. 53 l.1382–6.

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avec les protestants,26 qui ne reconnaissaient pas le caractère performatif de ce dernier acte mais interprétaient le lien entre les espèces sacramentelles et le Christ de manière consubstantielle, symbolique ou spirituelle.27 Ils allaient jusqu’à qualifier le terme de transsubstantiation de «monstrueux».28 De leur point de vue, la messe correspondait à une commémoration et non à un véritable sacrifice.29 Au contraire, cette dernière notion est suggérée à travers les offrandes qu’apportent les bergers et les mages, ainsi qu’à travers la circoncision de Jésus, à laquelle pourrait faire allusion la présentation au temple, étant donné que les deux événements se confondent. En effet, les offrandes propitiatoires que les fils d’Israël présentaient à Dieu dans l’Ancienne Loi sont le type du sacrifice rédempteur que le Christ a consommé dans la Nouvelle Loi. Le Concile de Trente le rappelle par ces mots: C’est elle [cette offrande pure] enfin qui, au temps de la nature et de la Loi, était figurée et représentée par diverses sortes de sacrifices, comme renfermant tous les biens qui n’étaient que signifiés par les autres, dont elle est la consommation et la perfection.30

Par ailleurs, la circoncision introduit la Passion parce que le Christ versa alors son sang pour la première fois. Le retable de Pourbus s’offre comme un guide de l’art et la manière dont il convient de s’adonner au culte à l’intérieur de l’église, selon la conception tridentine. En première instance, on vénérera dans le Saint-Sacrement le même Dieu que celui devant lequel les mages se sont prosternés.31 Ensuite, on rehaussera la messe d’ornements,32 tels que les objets précieux et les parfums qu’évoquent les présents royaux, ou encore de musique, jouée par les bergers.

26 Yarnold, «Transsubstantiation», 385–6; Wandel, The Eucharist in the Reformation, 216–17, 258–9. 27 Jedin, Konzil von Trient, 3.32–6; Yarnold, «Transsubstantiation», 384; Wandel, The Eucharist in the Reformation, 102–3 et 161–3; Session 13 – 11 octobre 1551 – Décret sur le sacrement de l’eucharistie, CC COGD 3, p. 55 l.1465–6. 28 Jedin, Konzil von Trient, 3.41. 29 Jedin, Konzil von Trient, 3.32; 4/1.182 et 207; Wandel, The Eucharist in the Reformation, 100, 112–13, 159, 165, 226–7, 256–7, et 260; Session 22 – 17 septembre 1563 – Décret sur le sacrifice de la messe, CC COGD 3, p. 102 l.3016–18; O’Malley, Trent, 131 et 189. 30 «Haec denique illa est, quae per varias sacrificiorum, naturae et legis tempore, similitudines figurabatur, ut pote quae bona omnia per illa significata veluti illorum omnium consummatio et perfectio complectitur» (Session 22 – 17 septembre 1563 – Décret sur le sacrifice de la messe, CC COGD 3, p. 99 l.2927–30). Traduction empruntée à: A. Michel, Les décrets du Concile de Trente (Histoire des Conciles d’après les documents originaux 10; Paris: Letouzay et Ané, 1938), 10/1.442–3. 31 Session 13 – 11 octobre 1551 – Décret sur le sacrement de l’eucharistie, CC COGD 3, p. 53 l.1394. 32 Wandel, The Eucharist in the Reformation, 227; Session 22 – 17 septembre 1563 – Décret sur le sacrifice de la messe., CC COGD 3, p. 101 l.2963–71; O’Malley, Trent, 191.

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Enfin, on prendra une attitude respectueuse33 en s’agenouillant ou en se découvrant, sur le modèle de plusieurs personnages. En définitive, on se rend compte que le triptyque de Wezemaal n’est pas dédié à la Vierge, malgré les apparences, selon lesquelles elle est seule à intervenir sur tous les panneaux et qui plus est, souvent en position dominante. En effet, il a un contenu essentiellement christologique. Marie n’est que l’instrument du projet divin. Si elle s’impose visuellement, elle accentue ainsi la figure de son fils. Elle s’efface en sa présence pour lui laisser la primauté et, tout entière consacrée à son service, elle tire de lui sa raison d’être. Par conséquent, le triptyque de Wezemaal soutient, plutôt que le culte marial, la doctrine eucharistique défendue par l’Église de la Réforme catholique. Il renseigne donc mal sur le discours dont la Vierge fut le propos à la suite du Concile de Trente.

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Un triptyque qui loue, à travers la Vierge, les vertus de son fils

Le triptyque de Jeremias Mittendorff (Ills. 3 et 4) a trois scènes en commun avec le précédent, même si elles ne sont pas disposées de la même façon: l’Annonciation, l’Adoration des bergers et la Visitation. Comme ce dernier, il fut démembré, et fit l’objet d’une inversion au moment où il fut remonté. Celle-ci ne concerne désormais que le seul volet droit, dont les deux faces ont été échangées.34 Notre commentaire suivra donc à nouveau l’arrangement initial. L’Annonciation est partagée entre les deux revers des volets. À gauche intervient l’ange Gabriel avec la colombe du Saint-Esprit et à droite, la Vierge. Une partition nette est aménagée entre le monde céleste dans lequel évolue le premier et le monde terrestre dans lequel se situe la seconde. En effet, l’Église de la Réforme catholique a voulu supprimer la familiarité qui s’était introduite au Moyen Âge dans la relation de l’humain au divin en séparant distinctement ces deux ordres et en présidant au dialogue du fidèle avec Dieu. C’est pourquoi les artistes furent invités à représenter l’archange flottant dans les nuées, ce qu’a exécuté Mittendorff. Derrière celles-ci pointe en outre une lumière dorée d’origine divine. Au contraire, Marie est accompagnée d’un nécessaire de couture qui relève de la sphère purement matérielle. Placé à l’entrée de l’image, celui-ci sert de relais entre la réalité concrète du spectateur et la fiction propre à la représentation. Ce faisant, il surenchérit sur le rôle d’intermédiaire que jouent les revers des volets, ainsi qu’il sera détaillé plus bas.

33 Session 13 – 11 octobre 1551 – Décret sur le sacrement de l’eucharistie, CC COGD 3, p. 54 l. 1420–1. 34 Donetzkoff, «Le martyre de saint Pierre de Vérone», 28 n. 8.

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Ill. 3: Jeremias Mittendorff, l’Adoration des bergers, triptyque (fermé), 1621; Lo, église SaintPierre © Auteur.

Ill. 4: Jeremias Mittendorff, l’Adoration des bergers, triptyque (ouvert), 1621; Lo, église SaintPierre © Auteur.

Suivant la théorie de Lynn Jacobs,35 qui a défini les seuils séparant les différentes parties du triptyque selon trois catégories – fermés, miraculeux et ouverts – 35 L.F. Jacobs, Opening Doors: The Early Netherlandish Triptych Reinterpreted (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University, 2012).

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nous nous trouvons ici dans le second cas de figure: les deux revers des volets accueillent des espaces distincts mais un contact est établi entre l’archange Gabriel et la Vierge, face à face. En outre, le premier est désigné comme messager, ce qui implique qu’il quitte son lieu d’origine pour en rejoindre un autre. Il rassemble en effet un certain nombre d’attributs caractéristiques de Mercure, le héraut des dieux de l’Olympe: les ailes, les sandales et le bâton qu’il tient en main. Celui-ci ressemble à un caducée de par la banderole qui l’entoure. Or, depuis le début du seizième siècle, il était pourtant plus courant que l’ange Gabriel porte un lis. Les seuils qui jalonnent la profondeur du panneau droit s’avèrent du même type que le précédent. À la fois ouverts et fermés, on les qualifiera également de «miraculeux». Si le regard du spectateur est arrêté à gauche par le panier, la voie lui est laissée libre par ailleurs. À l’arrière-plan, une imposante tenture traverse l’embrasure d’une porte, mais elle n’est pas entièrement déroulée, si bien qu’il est possible de progresser au-delà, vers l’intérieur du triptyque. Elle livre en outre un commentaire méta-pictural sur les revers des volets. Dans l’Ancienne Loi, un rideau dissimulait le Saint des Saints au cœur du sanctuaire. Il marquait ainsi une frontière avec le sacré. Il en va de même des panneaux extérieurs. En effet, ceux-ci assurent la transition entre le dehors, de nature temporelle, et le dedans, où séjourne la divinité. L’ouverture des volets correspond à un processus de dévoilement comparable au déchirement qui fut provoqué par la mort du Christ dans le voile du Temple.36 Il est d’ailleurs significatif que ceux-ci furent parfois remplacés par des rideaux.37 En résumé, le regard chemine depuis une réalité tangible vers un horizon de plus en plus spirituel qui aboutira au moment où l’intérieur du triptyque sera découvert. L’œuvre est intégrée à un vaste retable portique, où elle remplace l’unique tableau vertical qui forme habituellement le centre d’une telle structure. L’espace vide laissé par les volets rabattus est comblé de chaque côté par un panneau de bois portant une inscription. Celle qui jouxte l’ange Gabriel est la même que sur la banderole autour de son sceptre: «Ave Gratia Plena».38 Elle renvoie au salut que l’archange adressa à Marie lorsqu’il pénétra chez elle. Celle qui flanque la Vierge, «Verbum caro factum est»,39 explicite le mystère qui est en train de s’accomplir. Ensemble, l’une et l’autre sont en quelque sorte programmatiques de la mariologie qui s’est imposée à l’époque de la Réforme catholique et qui sous-tend le triptyque. Celle-ci exalte la Vierge, tout en précisant que les qualités de la mère 36 M. Rimmele, Das Triptychon als Metapher, Körper und Ort. Semantisierungen eines Bildträgers (Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 2010), 24–41 et 77–84. 37 A.S. Steinmetz, Das Altarretabel in der altniederländischen Malerei. Untersuchungen zur Darstellung eines sakralen Requisit vom frühen 15. bis zum späten 16. Jahrhundert (Weimar: VDG, 1995), 22 et 36. 38 Luc 1:28. 39 Jean 1:14.

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font honneur au fils, qui en est la cause. Les paroles bibliques jointes aux images pourraient s’expliquer par le souci de s’appuyer sur les Écritures, que les protestants reconnaissaient pour seules authentiques, contrairement aux traditions qu’ils contestaient.40 L’Église de la Réforme catholique attendait des artistes qu’ils se conforment strictement à cette source textuelle et qu’ils ne s’écartent pas de la vérité qu’elle contenait. Elle avait en outre pour autre exigence la clarté du message, à laquelle les citations répondent également. Le panneau central avec l’Adoration des bergers compte lui aussi une inscription scripturaire. Sur la banderole tendue par deux anges de la troupe qui a surgi des nuées dans la partie supérieure, on lit «Gloria in Excelsis Deo».41 Cependant, Mittendorff fait une entorse à l’Évangile, puisque ce chant de louange fut entonné par les créatures célestes rassemblées lors de l’annonce aux bergers qui a précédé l’adoration. La première est rapportée à l’arrière-plan, derrière l’architecture qui délimite la scène principale. Un pareil étagement, dans l’espace de la représentation, de scènes chronologiquement distinctes, est un héritage médiéval. L’hymne semble en même temps souligner la portée de l’événement qu’il commente. Comme dans le triptyque de Wezemaal, la signification de celui-ci dépasse les faits tangibles. Le moment de l’incarnation qu’il concrétise instaure la mission rédemptrice que Dieu a envoyé son fils accomplir sur terre. On retrouve le geste de la Vierge découvrant l’enfant Jésus et le berger agenouillé. En outre, l’agneau que celui-ci a apporté en offrande et qui est allongé de manière ostentatoire à l’avant-plan se rapporte indubitablement à l’agnus Dei, qui symbolise le corps du Christ offert en sacrifice. Ainsi que nous l’avons fait remarquer, les triptyques placés au-dessus de l’autel, où ils assumaient la fonction de retable, sont propices aux connotations eucharistiques, qui réapparaissent ici. Pour terminer, l’attitude de Saint Joseph, à droite, suggère qu’il a part à la compréhension du mystère qui fut révélé aux bergers, selon lequel en Jésus est né un Sauveur. En effet, la main sur la poitrine et les yeux levés au ciel, il apparaît touché par la grâce. Il n’est plus le vieillard sénile et effacé sous les traits duquel on le figurait au Moyen Âge mais, à présent que son culte s’était épanoui, il a reçu ceux d’un homme jeune impliqué dans la situation. L’auréole dont il a l’exclusivité signifie en outre qu’il jouit du statut de saint. À la lumière du panneau central s’accroît le sens de la scène de l’Annonciation. Ainsi se vérifie la perception du triptyque comme un objet tridimensionnel théorisée par Marius Rimmele.42 Elle suppose que les différentes parties qui le composent s’enrichissent mutuellement au fil du cheminement du spectateur, qui inclut des allers et retours. En acceptant le destin que Dieu lui avait prévu et 40 Jedin, Konzil von Trient, 2.46; O’Malley, Trent, 90 et 93. 41 Luc 2:14. 42 Rimmele, Das Triptychon.

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que l’ange Gabriel lui fit connaître, Marie a permis l’incarnation du Christ et donc la délivrance du genre humain prisonnier du mal. Par conséquent, on la qualifie de co-rédemptrice. La promesse du Salut qu’elle personnifie est renforcée à l’avers des volets. Lors de la Visitation, à gauche, celle-ci fut confirmée par l’allégresse dont tressaillit Jean-Baptiste dans le sein d’Élisabeth. L’Immaculée Conception qui déclare la Vierge sans péchés, à droite, présage quant à elle de la grâce qui serait répandue sur l’humanité tout entière. Dès le départ, ce dernier concept avait soulevé de longs débats dans les rangs catholiques. En effet, il remettait en question l’universalité de la rédemption, puisque Marie n’y aurait pas eu part. À la fin du treizième siècle, le franciscain Duns Scot répondit à cette difficulté par l’idée d’une «rédemption préventive» dont la Vierge aurait bénéficié par anticipation sous l’effet de la puissance christique.43 La dispute n’en faiblit pas pour autant entre les dominicains qui entretinrent la suspicion à l’égard de l’Immaculée Conception et les franciscains qui, en héritiers de Duns Scot, la défendirent. Elle se prolongea jusqu’au Concile de Trente. Le Pape chercha alors à la neutraliser en ordonnant que l’on maintienne le statu quo et que l’on s’efforce d’accorder les différents partis.44 En effet, il fallait à tout prix éviter des dissensions au sein de l’Église catholique et rester unis contre l’hérésie protestante. Dans le décret sur le péché originel, le Concile s’est ainsi contenté de préciser qu’il ne comprenait pas la Vierge Marie et de renvoyer aux décisions arrêtées par Sixte IV.45 Malgré sa prudence, il donne cependant l’avantage aux franciscains en admettant une exception. Ce faisant, il perpétue la tendance qui a toujours dominé dans l’Église, bien que l’Immaculée Conception ne fût élevée au rang de dogme qu’en 1854, sous Pie IX. L’iconographie du thème a grandement évolué au cours des siècles, depuis la visualisation du concept abstrait, jusqu’à sa manifestation dans la personne de la Vierge.46 L’époque de la Réforme catholique est synonyme d’apogée. Marie rayonne alors de la splendeur de l’Immaculée Conception dans une interprétation triomphante qui profite aussi bien au culte marial qu’à l’Église, qui a cherché à rallier les fidèles en les impressionnant. Dans le même temps, la négation par les novateurs du qualificatif «immaculata» est contestée avec force. Ceux-ci refusaient d’accepter l’exception mariale47 parce qu’elle affaiblissait la règle générale. Ils estimaient que la Vierge avait été rachetée par le sacrifice du Christ à l’égal des autres hommes. C’est pourquoi ils mettaient en doute le contenu de la salutation 43 G. Neyron, «La Théologie mariale de Suarez», Revue apologétique. Doctrine et faits Religieux 57/579 (1933) 665–85, aux pp. 673–5. 44 Paolo Sarpi, Histoire du Concile de Trente, P.-F. Le Courayer (trad.)/M. Viallon (éd., introd. et comment.) (Textes de la Renaissance 63; Paris: Honoré Champion, 2002), 329. 45 Session 5 – 17 juin 1546 – Décret sur le péché originel, CC COGD 3, p. 20 l.298–302. 46 Beissel, Geschichte der Verehrung Marias, 242–75. 47 Rubin, Mother of God, 369.

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angélique,48 répétée à deux reprises au sein du retable. Puisque Marie partageait la condition de pécheur, elle ne pouvait être pleine de grâces. Tel qu’il fut conçu par Mittendorff, le portrait de l’Immaculée Conception est inspiré par la description de la femme de l’Apocalypse.49 Debout sur un croissant de lune, la Vierge est environnée d’une lumière intense. La couronne que les anges tiennent au-dessus de sa tête est toutefois dépourvue des douze étoiles que mentionne le passage biblique. On relève plus d’un point commun avec le type iconographique fixé par Francisco Pacheco dans son traité L’art de la peinture, publié de manière posthume en 1649. En effet, on voit une jeune fille dans la fleur de l’âge, de douze ou treize ans, magnifique, les yeux beaux et graves, le nez et la bouche parfaits et les joues roses, les cheveux tombants couleur d’or splendides; … avec une tunique blanche et un manteau bleu, parce que cette Dame apparut de la sorte à Béatrice de Silva, portugaise, qui se retira ensuite à Saint Dominique le Royal de Tolède pour fonder l’ordre de l’Immaculée Conception, que le pape Jules II confirma en 1511; revêtue de soleil, un soleil … ocre et blanc, qui entoure toute l’image, … des rayons de soleil émanant du visage sacré… Une couronne impériale orne sa tête…; sous les pieds, la lune.50 Dans la partie inférieure de la composition s’étend un paysage rassemblant harmonieusement les symboles de l’Immaculée Conception qui, dans le schéma médiéval, étaient isolés à l’intérieur de médaillons disposés autour de la Vierge.51 Ils sont tirés de l’Ancien Testament et plus particulièrement du Cantique des Cantiques. Certains sont cités dans les Litanies de Lorette52 qui, dans la seconde moitié du seizième siècle, connurent une popularité croissante, encouragée par la reconnaissance officielle qu’elles avaient reçue de l’Église. De gauche à droite sont disposés la tour de David, le cèdre surélevé, le cyprès de Sion, la porte du ciel, le temple de la Sainte Trinité et la fontaine scellée ou bien le puits d’eau vive. Enfin, à l’arrière-plan se dresse la cité de Dieu, qui est aussi la Jérusalem céleste. Mittendorff propose donc de l’Immaculée Conception une image moderne néanmoins située dans le prolongement de la tradition. Celle-ci se distingue par ses qualités iconiques, qui rassemblent une position frontale, une attitude hiératique et un fond doré. De ce fait, elle prend une allure iconique étonnante à cet endroit du triptyque parce qu’un tel genre de composition se rencontre habituellement sur la vue extérieure. Cette incongruité a sans doute conduit à l’erreur d’accrochage mentionnée plus haut.

48 Rubin, Mother of God, 367. 49 Ap 12:1–17. 50 Francisco Pacheco, Arte de la pintura, B. Bassegoda i Hugas (éd.) (Madrid: Cátedra, 32009), 575–7. Traduction de l’auteur. 51 Beissel, Geschichte der Verehrung Marias, 247–52. 52 Boval, Les litanies de Lorette, 198–390.

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Depuis le triptyque fermé, les relations entre le terrestre et le céleste se sont précisées. Tandis que le revers du volet droit montrait Marie dans sa nature humaine, l’avers, qui le complète, dépeint son existence divine. La différence est marquée par l’apparence de la Vierge. En effet, sa chevelure et sa tenue font exception par rapport au reste du triptyque. Au-delà, sa double appartenance terrestre et céleste suggère que ces deux mondes ne sont pas étrangers l’un à l’autre, mais communiquent. Cela se confirme sur le panneau central, où ils sont réunis dans le même espace, tout en étant dissociés au moyen de nuées qui, dans l’ensemble du triptyque, sont le signe d’une présence surnaturelle. Celui-ci illustre la manière dont l’Église de la Réforme catholique a défini les rapports entre les fidèles et la divinité: la seconde évolue dans des sphères hors de portée des premiers, mais elle révèle sa participation aux affaires humaines en se manifestant sur terre. Le style caravagesque propre à Mittendorff possède la force de conviction visée par la rhétorique catholique à l’époque des réformes. En effet, il implique le spectateur dans l’image en ménageant un rapport de proximité et d’intimité entre l’une et l’autre. Celui-ci repose sur une perspective rudimentaire, qui maintient la composition au premier plan, et sur des motifs qui, affleurant la surface picturale, tendent à la transgresser et à faire irruption dans l’espace réel. Enfin, le naturalisme doublé d’un ton populaire et quotidien avec lesquels les faits sont énoncés, leur donne une expression familière. Ce dernier transparaît notamment de la simplicité des personnages, qui concerne principalement les bergers, dont la sobre mise contemporaine va jusqu’au dépouillement dans les pieds nus de l’homme agenouillé, qui sont une marque typiquement caravagesque. Mittendorff se serait d’ailleurs directement inspiré du maître italien. Plus précisément, il se serait approprié les trois figures adultes de la Madone de Lorette,53 qu’il a disposées autour de l’enfant Jésus sur le panneau central. Par ailleurs, il a peutêtre emprunté la coiffure de la Vierge et la disposition de la tenture à la Madone du Rosaire.54 En conclusion, le triptyque est bien, désormais, centré sur la Vierge. Toutefois, il développe une mariologie qui s’appuie sur des fondements christologiques. En effet, Marie est décrite en fonction de la mission rédemptrice de son fils. Par conséquent, elle n’apparaît pas comme une finalité mais a plutôt valeur d’ambassadrice et de coopératrice.

53 Rome, basilique Sant’Agostino, ca. 1603–6. Voir, sur cette œuvre: C. Puglisi, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (Paris: Phaidon, 2005), 188, 190, cat. 50 p. 402, pl. 102. 54 Vienne, Kunsthistorisches Museum, ca. 1606–7. Voir, sur cette œuvre: Puglisi, Caravaggio, 275–6, cat. 62 p. 405, pl. 139.

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Un triptyque pleinement consacré à la Vierge, qui s’expose néanmoins à des jugements désapprobateurs

Au même titre que les autres, le triptyque d’Aarschot (Ills. 5 et 6), peint par Pieter van Avont, a fait l’objet d’une confusion, les volets ayant été substitués l’un à l’autre. Nous respecterons donc ici encore la configuration originale. Pour la troisième fois, le triptyque fermé représente une Annonciation. Comme à Lo, celle-ci se partage entre les deux volets, le côté gauche revenant à l’ange Gabriel accompagné de la colombe du Saint-Esprit et le côté droit à la Vierge, qui s’est détournée de sa lecture au moment de l’arrivée du messager. À l’intérieur, le panneau central est divisé en deux registres. La Mort de la Vierge dans la partie inférieure est surmontée par l’Assomption dans la partie supérieure. On est une nouvelle fois confronté, mais à une autre échelle, à la pratique médiévale qui consiste à fragmenter l’espace de la représentation pour combiner plusieurs événements. De manière générale, le retable se montre plus conservateur que les deux autres, alors qu’il aurait été réalisé après eux. Bien que le bord inférieur du cadre porte une inscription comprenant la date de 1607, celleci s’avère invraisemblable, pour peu que l’auteur soit Pieter van Avont, comme il est indiqué également. En effet, ce dernier n’avait alors que sept ans environ, puisqu’il fut baptisé en 1600.55 Le triptyque se situerait plutôt après l’entrée du peintre à la gilde de Saint-Luc anversoise, en 1622. De plus, les personnages de la Visitation sur le volet gauche rappellent, par leur physionomie, ceux de Rubens dans le triptyque de la Descente de Croix,56 qui ne fut achevé qu’en 1614. La Vierge et Zacharie proviendraient, l’une de son équivalent et l’autre de Siméon sur le volet droit, Élisabeth de la Vierge sur le panneau central, sa servante du même personnage sur le volet gauche et enfin Saint Joseph pourrait mêler les traits des deux hommes au revers des volets, à savoir Saint Christophe et l’ermite. Or, l’on sait que Pieter van Avont a copié les œuvres du maître baroque. Il semblerait qu’il ait réalisé l’ensemble de son triptyque par «collage» et assemblage, ce qui donne à celui-ci un aspect quelque peu discordant. En particulier, on observe une rupture entre un panneau central traditionnel et des avers de volets plus modernes. Ainsi que nous l’avons fait remarquer, le premier perpétue par sa composition un héritage flamand ancien. Au contraire, les seconds expérimentent plusieurs styles récents, d’inspiration italienne. Tandis que le volet gauche comporte des influences rubéniennes, comme nous l’avons observé, le volet droit renferme des éléments caravagesques. En effet, on relève un certain nombre de ressemblances 55 J.E. Van Der Sterre, «Avont, Pieter van», The Dictionary of Art 2 (1996) 875–6. 56 Anvers, cathédrale Notre-Dame. Voir, sur ce triptyque: P. Huvenne, La Descente de Croix de P.-P. Rubens dans la Cathédrale Notre-Dame à Anvers (Tielt: Openbaar Kunstbezit in Vlaanderen, 1993).

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Ill. 5: Pieter van Avont, Mort de la Vierge, triptyque (fermé), ca. 1622–52 (?); Aarschot, église Notre-Dame © KIKIRPA, Bruxelles.

entre ce dernier et le panneau central du triptyque de Lo, qui représente le même sujet: l’Adoration des bergers. Celles-ci sont flagrantes dans l’homme agenouillé, revêtu d’un pourpoint rouge et pieds nus, ainsi que dans l’agneau ligoté à ses côtés. On note en outre la répétition du bœuf, de la jarre ronde en cuivre et de la saynète secondaire avec pour sujet l’annonce aux bergers. On peut émettre l’hypothèse que Van Avont et Mittendorff se sont rapportés à un modèle commun.

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Ill. 6: Pieter van Avont, Mort de la Vierge, triptyque (ouvert), ca. 1622–52 (?); Aarschot, église Notre-Dame © Auteur.

Enfin, les architectures similaires que le premier a placées à l’arrière-plan des volets et qui se font écho relèvent d’une veine classique. À droite, la colonnade en ruines qui évoque la Rome antique symbolise la chute du paganisme et l’avènement d’un ordre nouveau. Comparée aux scènes latérales empreintes d’une certaine retenue, l’Assomption du panneau central paraît exaltée. Comme c’était le cas dans l’Immaculée Conception de Lo, la Vierge est assimilée à la femme de l’Apocalypse:57 enveloppée de lumière, elle repose sur un croissant de lune, tandis que deux putti lui apportent une couronne surmontée de douze étoiles avec laquelle elle est sacrée reine du ciel. Soutenue par deux anges, elle monte dans une posture extatique, les mains et les yeux tournés vers Dieu, qu’elle s’apprête à rejoindre. Autour, toute la milice céleste rassemblée la loue par ses chants et ses instruments.58 Malgré leur proximité iconographique, l’Assomption et l’Immaculée Conception se distinguent par l’attitude de la Vierge. À présent, celle-ci apparaît comme le sujet d’une scène narrative plutôt que comme une figure iconique. Non plus droite, immobile et le regard fixement dirigé vers le spectateur, elle est entièrement ravie par Dieu. Le thème de l’Assomption connut un succès important à l’époque de la Réforme catholique parce qu’il manifestait la majesté de la Vierge. Après qu’elle eut été élevée à un rang royal, il lui fut donné de régner, derrière la Trinité, sur toutes les créatures du ciel. Les heureuses retrouvailles entre l’Époux et l’Épouse, accueillie avec tous les honneurs, étaient susceptibles d’inspirer aux fidèles des 57 Ap 12:1–17. 58 Molanus, Traité, 420; Jacobus de Voragine, La Légende Dorée, J.-B.M. Roze (trans.)/H.Savon (éd.) (2 vol.; Paris: Garnier-Flammarion, 1967), 2.86–111, à la p. 94.

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marques d’amour à l’égard de la Vierge semblables à celles qui lui furent témoignées dans l’au-delà.59 En même temps, l’Assomption, comme l’Immaculée Conception, contribue par son iconographie apothéotique à la glorification militante de l’Ecclesia triumphans.60 Il est évident que les réformés ne voyaient pas cet événement du même œil. Celui-ci avait tout pour obtenir leur discrédit. D’abord, il supposait que la Vierge jouissait de privilèges qui, selon eux, n’appartenaient qu’à Dieu. En outre, il contrevenait au principe de la sola Scriptura sur lequel est fondée leur doctrine puisque, d’origine apocryphe, il n’est pas attesté par l’Écriture. Enfin, il était en désaccord avec leur vision de la Justification, qui prévoit indistinctement pour tous les élus le même salut. Combinée à l’Assomption, la Mort de la Vierge, située en dessous, semble approfondir la mariologie propre à l’Église catholique. Dans ce rapprochement pourrait être affirmée la croyance selon laquelle Marie ressuscita sans avoir connu la corruption physique, si bien que son corps rejoignit le ciel en union avec l’âme qu’il avait abritée. Il convenait que la mère de Dieu connût le même destin que son fils, puisqu’ils avaient part à la même chaire. L’immunité dont elle bénéficia avait pour autre raison qu’elle échappait à la malédiction qu’Ève avait attirée sur le genre humain. L’Église déclarait en effet qu’elle avait été délivrée du péché originel dès sa conception. Marie aurait également connu une mort sans douleur, ce que ne laisse néanmoins pas paraître le panneau central du triptyque d’Aarschot. De fait, il la montre expirant, entourée des apôtres qui, selon la légende, avaient été miraculeusement réunis autour d’elle à l’heure du trépas, ainsi qu’elle en avait formulé le souhait à l’ange qui était venu lui annoncer sa fin.61 Il perpétue ainsi une iconographie traditionnelle qui fut désapprouvée par Johann Eck et Josse Clichtove, puis par Molanus. Celle-ci était jugée inconvenante non seulement parce qu’elle s’écartait de la vérité, supposant que la Mère de Dieu avait été en prise à la perdition des derniers moments de l’existence, mais surtout, parce qu’elle était indigne d’elle.62 Malgré ce discrédit, elle continua à se maintenir au seizième siècle et au début du dix-septième siècle. On mentionnera notamment les panneaux centraux de deux triptyques d’origine bruxelloise dus à Michel Coxcie, destinés l’un à l’église Saint-Michel-et-Sainte-Gudule63 et l’autre à la gilde 59 Scheffczyk, «Das Mariengeheimnis», 251. 60 J.B. Knipping, Iconography of the Counter Reformation in the Netherlands: Heaven on Earth (2 vol.; Nieuwkoop/Leiden: B. de Graaf, 1974), 2.253. 61 De Voragine, La Légende Dorée, 2.87–8, 91, 101–3, et 107. 62 Molanus, Traité, 418–19. 63 Triptyque de la Vie de la Vierge; Madrid, Museo Nacional del Prado. Voir, sur ce triptyque: D. Laurenza, «Michel Coxcie à Rome et dans les Pays-Bas anciens. Nouvelles attributions», dans R. de Smedt (éd.), Michel Coxcie, pictor regis (1499–1592). Internationaal colloquium, Mechelen, 5 en 6 juni 1992 (Handelingen van de Koninklijke Kring voor Oudheidkunde, Letteren en Kunst van Mechelen 96/2; Mechelen: Koninklijke Kring voor Oudheidkunde, Letteren en Kunst van Mechelen, 1993) 93–117, aux pp. 101–11, fig. 7, 9, 11, et 12.

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du Grand Serment de l’Arbalète,64 ou encore, la version de Jean-Baptiste Le Saive actuellement conservée au couvent des augustines de Malines.65 Comme la composition de Van Avont, celles de Coxcie pour Saint-Michel-et-Sainte-Gudule et de Le Saive sont divisées en deux registres. Dans tous les cas, la Mort de la Vierge est surmontée d’une scène triomphante qui rapporte le destin de Marie dans l’audelà, où elle est entourée de créatures célestes qui lui rendent gloire. Tandis que les deux premiers maîtres ont fait le choix de l’Assomption pour la partie supérieure, le troisième a donné la préférence au Couronnement de la Vierge par la sainte Trinité. Dans le retable qui nous occupe, on remarque que deux des disciples qui entourent la mourante tiennent un livre. Le premier le porte fermé sous le bras et le second en fait la lecture. On peut supposer que le peintre a voulu compenser le caractère apocryphe et donc contestable de la scène en la revêtant d’une autorité textuelle. Une cohérence se dégage une fois encore entre triptyque fermé et triptyque ouvert. Au sein de ce dernier, elle concerne plus particulièrement le panneau central. En effet, l’Annonciation et l’Assomption interviennent aux deux extrémités de la vocation de Marie. L’une ouvre la vie consacrée de la Vierge et l’autre en constitue l’aboutissement. Chacun de ces moments fut l’occasion pour elle de recevoir des grâces spéciales, qui sont détaillées dans la mariologie catholique. Celles-ci relèvent toutes du principe fondamental selon lequel la Vierge Marie n’a pas subi la malédiction due à Ève. Elle a gardé l’intégrité de son corps aussi bien dans la conception que dans la mort. Comme le signale le lis, symbole de pureté, dans la main de l’ange Gabriel, elle a engendré en dehors de toute souillure, parce qu’elle n’a pas connu d’homme. De même, elle a quitté la terre sans avoir été touchée par la putréfaction. En définitive, ses privilèges lui viennent de son fils. Il fallait qu’elle soit à la hauteur de la vertu divine du Christ afin que celle-ci ne fût point salie. Les avers des volets commentent son étroite participation au destin et à la mission de ce dernier. Lors de la Visitation, à gauche, elle fut saluée par Élisabeth comme la mère du Seigneur. Elle-même adressa un cantique à Dieu afin de lui rendre grâce du choix qu’il avait fait pour elle.66 Du côté opposé, les bergers sont parvenus auprès de l’enfant Jésus, dont ils révèlerent qu’il est le Sauveur, comme ils l’avaient appris de l’ange. Or, Marie recueillit leur témoignage et l’inscrivit dans son cœur.67 Celle-ci est associée aux qualités du Christ à travers 64 Triptyque de la gilde bruxelloise du Grand Serment de l’Arbalète; Bruxelles, Musées royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique. Voir, sur ce triptyque: K. Jonckheere (éd.), Michiel Coxcie. De Vlaamse Rafaël (cat. d’exp.; Leuven: Davidsfonds/M–Museum Leuven, 2013), 69, fig. 61. 65 Couronnement de Marie par la Sainte Trinité; Malines, couvent des Augustines. Voir, sur cette œuvre: E. Neeffs, Inventaire historique des tableaux et des sculptures se trouvant dans les édifices religieux et civils et dans les rues de Malines (Leuven: C.-J. Fonteyn, 1869), 278. 66 Luc 1:46–55. 67 Luc 2:17–19.

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l’auréole qu’elle est seule à partager avec lui, bien que l’intensité du halo lumineux crée une hiérarchie entre eux. Cependant, Van Avont livre de la Vierge une vision passéiste. En effet, le panneau central met l’accent sur une scène archaïque. De plus, Marie est non seulement la figure principale mais la priorité du triptyque. Elle bénéficie d’une aura pour ainsi dire absolue, indépendamment du Christ. Par conséquent, l’œuvre ne traduit pas en toute fidélité les intentions de la Réforme catholique.

Conclusion Les trois triptyques que nous avons analysés n’appréhendent pas le culte marial de la même façon. Bien que celui de Wezemaal offre, sur chacun de ses panneaux, une place de choix à la Vierge, il n’illustre pas tellement la mariologie propre à l’Église catholique réformatrice, mais essentiellement la doctrine relative au sacrifice de la messe et au sacrement eucharistique sur laquelle le Concile de Trente a particulièrement insisté. Le retable de Mittendorff, quant à lui, s’attache bien à la personne de Marie, qu’il dépeint de manière élogieuse. Cependant, plutôt que de l’envisager pour elle-même, il affirme à travers elle le pouvoir rédempteur du Christ, né pour enlever le péché du monde. Dès lors, il donne la priorité, lui aussi, à un des fondamentaux de la théologie tridentine. Les deux triptyques mentionnés justifient donc la place primordiale de la Vierge dans la foi catholique par son étroite collaboration à l’histoire de l’incarnation et du Salut, sur laquelle repose le christocenterisme dont le Concile de Trente a montré la voie. Enfin, le retable de Van Avont rend l’hommage le plus absolu à la Vierge, bien que le plus polémique dans le contexte des réformes. En effet, il s’expose non seulement aux critiques protestantes mais aussi à celles de l’Église catholique, qui entendait légitimer la dévotion à l’égard de la Vierge à partir du titre de Mère de Dieu, en soulignant sa relation au Christ. Par ailleurs, nous avons pu constater que le format du triptyque, qui se maintient pourtant tardivement, conserve sa pertinence. Ses espaces de représentation multiples permettaient en effet de combiner contenus mariologiques et christologiques. Mais ce n’est pas tout. À travers le jeu de ses vues intérieure et extérieure, il matérialisait la complexité caractéristique de la mère de Dieu, figure liminaire entre le profane et le sacré, puisqu’elle abrita en son sein de femme humaine la divinité incarnée.

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Bibliographie Sources imprimées et éditées Molanus, Joannes, Traité des saintes images, F. Bœspflug/O. Christin/B. Tassel (éd.) (2 vol.; Paris: Cerf, 1996). Pacheco, Francisco, Arte de la pintura, B. Bassegoda i Hugas (éd.) (Madrid: Cátedra, 32009). Sarpi, Paolo, Histoire du Concile de Trente, P.-F. Le Courayer (trad.)/M. Viallon (éd., introd. et comment.) (Textes de la Renaissance 63; Paris: Honoré Champion, 2002). Voragine, Jacobus (de), La Légende Dorée, J.-B.M. Roze (trans.)/H.Savon (éd.) (2 vol.;Paris: Garnier-Flammarion, 1967).

Sources secondaires Beissel, S., Geschichte der Verehrung Marias im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert. Ein Beitrag zur Religionswissenschaft und Kunstgeschichte (Freiburg i. Br.: Herdersche Verlagshandlung, 1910). Borchgrave d’Altena de, J., Notes pour servir à l’Inventaire des œuvres d’Art du Brabant. Arrondissement de Louvain (Annales de la Société Royale d’archéologie de Bruxelles. Mémoires, rapports et documents 43/I; Bruxelles: Ballieu, 1940) 121–389. Boval, M., Les litanies de Lorette. Histoire, symbolisme, richesses doctrinales (Charleroi/ Paris: J. Dupuis, 1946). Dewilde, J., «Omtrent Jeremias Mittendorff en zijn rol in het Iepers Ambacht van schilders, beelthouwers en ruyttewerkers in de XVIIde eeuw», dans J. Van Acker (éd.), Wevend aan het verleden. Liber Amicorum O. Mus (Veurne: De rode bles, 1992) 105–15. Donetzkoff, A., «Le martyre de saint Pierre de Vérone par Jérémias Mittendorff: un triptyque flamand du XVIIe siècle reconstitu», Revue du Nord 86/354 (2004) 25–58. Grindlay, L., «Sham Queens of Heaven: Early Modern Iconoclasm and the Virgin Mary», http://c.ymcdn.com/sites/www.rsa.org/resource/resmgr/2013_san_diego/2013_sandie go_program.pdf (page consultée le 30 octobre 2013; communication présentée à la rencontre annuelle de la Renaissance Society of America, San Diego, États-Unis, 4–6 avril 2013). Heal, B., The Cult of the Virgin Mary in the Early Modern Germany: Protestant and Catholic Piety, 1500–1648 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Huvenne, P., La Descente de Croix de P.-P. Rubens dans la Cathédrale Notre-Dame à Anvers (Tielt: Openbaar Kunstbezit in Vlaanderen, 1993). Jacobs, L.F., Opening Doors: The Early Netherlandish Triptych Reinterpreted (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University, 2012). Jonckheere, K. (éd.), Michiel Coxcie. De Vlaamse Rafaël (cat. d’exp.; Leuven: Davidsfonds/ M–Museum Leuven, 2013). Knipping, J.B., Iconography of the Counter Reformation in the Netherlands: Heaven on Earth (2 vol.; Nieuwkoop: B. de Graaf, 1974). Laurenza, D., «Michel Coxcie à Rome et dans les Pays-Bas anciens. Nouvelles attributions», dans R. de Smedt (éd.), Michel Coxcie, pictor regis (1499–1592). Internationaal colloquium, Mechelen, 5 en 6 juni 1992 (Handelingen van de Koninklijke Kring voor

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Oudheidkunde, Letteren en Kunst van Mechelen 96/2; Mechelen: Koninklijke Kring voor Oudheidkunde, Letteren en Kunst van Mechelen, 1993) 93–117. Michel, A., Les décrets du Concile de Trente (Histoire des Conciles d’après les documents originaux 10; Paris: Letouzay et Ané, 1938) Neeffs, E., Inventaire historique des tableaux et des sculptures se trouvant dans les édifices religieux et civils et dans les rues de Malines (Leuven: C.-J. Fonteyn, 1869). Neyron, G., «La Théologie mariale de Suarez», Revue apologétique. Doctrine et faits Religieux 57/579 (1933) 665–85. Puglisi, C., Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (Paris: Phaidon, 2005). Rimmele, M., Das Triptychon als Metapher, Körper und Ort. Semantisierungen eines Bildträgers (Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 2010). Rubin, M., Mother of God: A History of the Virgin Mary (New Haven, CT/Londres: Yale University Press, 2009). Scheffczyk, L., «Das Mariengeheimnis zwischen Apologie und Doxologie», Forum Katholische Theologie 13/4 (1997) 241–56. Steinmetz, A.S., Das Altarretabel in der altniederländischen Malerei. Untersuchungen zur Darstellung eines sakralen Requisits vom frühen 15. bis zum späten 16. Jahrhundert (Weimar: VDG, 1995). Van Der Sterre, J.E., «Avont, Pieter van», The Dictionary of Art 2 (1996) 875–6. Van de Velde, C., «Frans Pourbus the Elder and the Diffusion of the Style of Frans Floris in the Southern Netherlands», dans E. Mai/K. Schütz/H. Vlieghe (éd.), Die Malerei Antwerpens – Gattungen, Meister, Wirkungen. Studien zur flämischen Kunst des 16. und 17. Jahrhunderts. Internationales Kolloquium Wien 1993 (Cologne: Locher, 1994) 10–17. Wandel, L. Palmer, The Eucharist in the Reformation: Incarnation and Liturgy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). Yarnold, E., «Transsubstantiation», dans I. Perczel/R. Forrai/G. Geréby (éd.), The Eucharist in Theology and Philosophy: Issues of Doctrinal History in East and West from the Patristic Age to Reformation (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2005) 381–94.

Sanja Cvetnic´

Scudum solidissimum: Post-Conciliar Sacred Imagery at the South-Eastern Borders of Catholicism and Beyond

At the time of the Council of Trent, and for a century and a half afterwards, the Kingdom of Croatia, Slavonia, and Dalmatia was divided between the Habsburg Monarchy (as a part of its multinational mosaic), the Republic of Venice, and the Ottoman Empire.1 In those days, Bosnia and Herzegovina was a province of the Empire, the Sanjak of Bosnia (later Elayet),2 but there were Catholic Croats in both the Kingdom and the Sanjak.3 The implementation of conciliar decrees and post-conciliar initiatives was thus challenged by this particular geopolitical frame with its different yet neighbouring religious practices and cultural experiences. The aim of this chapter is to call attention to the visual imprint that these factors left on the sacred imagery of the day. To some extent, these differences with regard to the global changes in post-conciliar iconography challenge Émile Mâle’s 1932 claim that post-conciliar iconography was identical all across Catholic Europe.4 1 From 1102, the Kingdom of Croatia and the Kingdom of Hungary were in a personal union. In 1527, the Croatian parliament elected Ferdinand I from the House of Habsburg as a King, with succession to his heirs, which situation lasted until 1918. Cf. I. Supicˇic´ (ed.), Croatia in the Late Middle Ages and the Renaissance (London: Philip Wilson Publishers, 2008); J. Beresford-Peirse (ed.), Croatia: Aspects of Art, Architecture and Cultural Heritage (London: Frances Lincoln, 2009). 2 The Kingdom of Bosnia was occupied by the Ottomans in 1463 and remained part of the Empire until 1878, first as the Sanjak of Bosnia (until 1580), then as the Elayet (until 1864), and in the last year of the Empire as the Villayet. Cf. I. Lovrencˇic´, Bosnia: A Cultural History (London: The Bosnian Institute, Saqi, 2001/New York: New York University Press, 2001). 3 A document issued by the Apostolic Tribunal of the Roman Rota (1655) concerning the hospice of Saint Jerome in Rome states: “… Prouinciam Illyricam vere et proprie intelligi ˇ rncˇic´, Imena Slovjenin i Dalmatiam, cuius partes sunt Croatia, Bosna et Slauonia…”. See I. C Ilir u nasˇem gostinjcu u Rimu poslije 1453 godine [The Names Slovjenin and Ilir in our Hospice in Rome after 1453] (Rad Jugoslavenske akademije znanosti i umjetnosti 13/79; Zagreb: Jugoslavenska akademija znanosti i umjetnosti, 1886), 64. The geographical terms used here reflect the Roman perspective based upon ancient Roman geography, i. e. the province of Illyricum, later divided into Pannonia and Dalmatia. 4 “Cet art chrétien a été le même dans toute l’Europe catholique.” See É. Mâle, L’art religieux de la fin du XVIe siècle, du XVIIe siècle et du XVIIIe siècle. Étude sur l’iconographie après le

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Scudum solidissimum as a Symbol and a Simulacrum Croatian historiography remembers the Kingdom of Croatia, Slavonia, and Dalmatia in the grim sixteenth and seventeenth centuries by the expression “reliquiae reliquiarum olim magni et inclyti regni Croatiae” [“remnants of the remnants of the once great and glorious Kingdom of Croatia”]. The land was mostly exhausted by its continuous wars against the Ottomans and many similar figures of speech expressing the sense of loss are present during that period of political tug of war with the mighty neighbours: “miserrimae Croatiae” [“of the most miserable Croatia”];5 “Plorantis Croatiae saecula duo” [“Two centuries of Croatia in mourning”],6 “Croatiam ipsam christianorum scutum esse ac portam” [“that Croatia itself is the shield and the gate of Christendom”].7 The Barnabite father Simpliciano Bizozeri from Milan observed in 1686 that “the Croats are a combative nation since they are continuously at war with the Turks, their neighbours”.8 This statement further accentuates the impact of historical turbulences on the collective identity when compared with an early medieval testimony of Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos (905–59) on the peacefulness of the newly baptized Croats. According to his De administrando imperio, after their baptism – initiated in 640/1 by the efforts of John IV, a Pope originating from Dalmatia – the Croats promised not to wage war with their neighbours, for which they received the Pope’s benediction and a promise that, in case of aggression against them, “mighty God would fight for the Croats and protect them”.9 Concile de Trente. Italie, France, Espagne, Flandres (Paris: Librairie Armand Colin, ²1951, 1932), vii. If not indicated otherwise, the translations are by the author of this article. That expression (as well as “misera Croatia”, “miserrime patrie Croacie”, “laboranti Croatiae”) was used in anti-Ottoman speeches (antiturcica) by Count Bernardin Frankapan at the Diet of Nuremberg in 1522. Cf. I. Jurkovic´/V. Moretti (ed. and trans.), Bernhardus de Frangipani: Oratio pro Croatia (1522)/Bernardin Frankopan Modrusˇki: Govor za Hrvatsku (Zagreb/Moˇ akavskoga sabora Modrusˇe, 2010), 102. drusˇ: Katedra C Partial quotation of the book title: [P. Ritter alias P. Vitezovic´], Plorantis Croatiae saecula duo, carmine descripta ab equite Paulo Ritter (Graecomonti [Zagreb]: s.n., 1703). Jurkovic´/Moretti, Bernhardus de Frangipani, 102. At the time of Bernardin’s speech, the phrase was already in use, since he “reminded” the German nobles (“in memoria vobis redigerem”) rather than informing them. The phrase “scudum solidissimum et antemurale christianitatis” (“the strongest shield and bulwark of Christendom”) as referring to Croatia has been repeatedly evoked in Croatian historiography, journalism, and political discourse. See I. Zˇanic´, “The Symbolic Identity of Croatia in the Triangle Crossroads-Bulwark-Bridge”, in P. Kolstø (ed.), Myths and Boundaries in South-Eastern Europe (London: C. Hurst & Co, 2005) 35–76. “Sono gli Croati vna nazione bellicosa, poiche si esercitano del continuo nelle arme co’ Turchi loro vicini.” See [S. Bizozeri], Notizia Particolare Dello stato passato, e presente De’ Regni D’vngheria, Croazia e Principato di Transilvania … Opera Di D. Sempliciano Bizozeri… (Bologna: Gioseffo Longhi, 1686), 281. Constantine Porphyrogenitius, De administrando imperio, G. Moravcsik (ed.)/R.J. Heald 1

5

6 7

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This centuries-old papal benediction was visually evoked after the victory in which the town of Osijek (Essek) was regained from the Ottoman dominion (September 26, 1687). The battle was concluded on the eve of the feast of Saint Michael the Archangel and represented on the main altar of the newly erected Jesuit church in Osijek, dedicated to the same saint. The large painting – over five meters high – titled Saint Michael the Archangel Intervenes on the Side of the Imperial Troops for the Victory over the Ottomans in Osijek and produced a century later (1770)10 shows a life-size figure of Saint Michael the Archangel in its upper part, accompanied by a host of angels. This iconographical solution is congenial to the post-conciliar representations of the muscular Archangel as the winner against the Satan and the enemies of the Church. The lower part of the picture contains an image of the battle in which the imperial troops prevailed over the terrified Ottoman soldiers. The town of Osijek is shown as it was in the eighteenth century, rather than at the time of its liberation from the Ottoman rule a century earlier. The huge, star-shaped Habsburg fortress, built on the right bank of the Drava (1712–22), is also there, and apparently the town has already been re-catholicized, since the belfries of the renewed Franciscan monastery and the newly built Jesuit church are visible. Conflicts on the border continued well into the eighteenth century, and thus the contemporary view of Osijek represented the state of ‘here and now’ instead of commemorating the liberation of Osijek, providing a continuous assurance of heavenly intervention in favour of the Catholic (imperial) troops, as well as an encouragement for the citizens and soldiers in future battles. It was probably for this reason that the painter, Franz Xaver Wagenschön, emphasized to an unusual extent the shield in the hands of Saint Michael the Archangel, rather than his more common attribute, a sword. Similarly, the town of Osijek in the background is represented only with its burly fortress, as the scudum solidissimum at the eastern border of the Habsburg Monarchy and thus the shield of the entire Catholic Europe. In Session 25 of the Council of Trent, the decree On the Invocation, Veneration, and Relics of Saints, and on Sacred Images defended the

Jenkins (trans.) (Corpus fontium historiae Byzantinae 1; Dumbarton Oaks: Center for Byzantine Studies/Washington: Trustees for Harvard University, 1985 [1967]), Cap. xxxi, 149. 10 Franz Xaver Wagenschön (Littisch, Litícˇ near Jatromeˇrˇ, north-eastern Bohemia 1726 – Vienna 1790), Saint Michael the Archangel and the Victory over the Ottomans in Osijek, 1770 oil on canvas, 506 × 275 cm; Osijek, the former Jesuit, now the parish church of Saint-Michael the Archangel). The battle for Osijek in the military campaign in 1664, which preceded the Great Ottoman-Habsburg War (1683–99) and the final liberation, is represented in one of the frescoes by Giuseppe Alberti (Tesero, 1640 – Cavalese, 1716) in the Castle del Buonconsiglio in Trent, identified by the title of the battle scene: “PONS ESSEK”. It shows the strategically ingenious burning of the bridge behind the enemy lines by the Croatian Viceroy and Count Nikola VII. Zrinski.

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Ill. 1: Franz Xaver Wagenschön, Saint Michael the Archangel Intervenes on the Side of the Imperial Troops for the Victory over the Ottomans in Osijek, 1770, oil on canvas, 506 × 275 cm © Osijek, ex-Jesuit church.

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presence of images in churches against the Protestant accusation of iconodulism by emphasizing that they should be properly understood as simulacra: And they [all bishops and others with the office and responsibility of teaching] must also teach that … the images of Christ, the virgin mother of God and the other saints should be set up and kept, particularly in churches, and that due honour and reverence is owed to them, not because some divinity or power is believed to lie in them as reason for the cult, or because anything is to be expected from them, or because confidence should be placed in images as was done by the pagans of old; but because the honour showed to them is referred to the original which they represent: thus, though the images which we kiss and before which we uncover our heads and go down on our knees, we give adoration to the Christ and veneration to the saints, whose likeness [similitudinem] they bear. And this has been approved by the decrees of Councils, especially the second Council of Nicea, against the iconoclasts.11

The painting in Osijek represents a simulacrum of the saintly Archangel, Prince of the Heavenly Host, but is even more a visual simulation, showing a situation that could happen anytime (a battle), as well as a visual exegesis of praying intentions (both earthly and eternal salvation). But even if this iconographical fusion of Saint Michael the Archangel, who “defends us in battle”, with the contemporary experience of existence on the border to the Ottoman Empire is understandable, and even to some extent expected, my next example of iconographical interpretation, or more accurately an addition to the first one, may raise a few eyebrows.

Prophet Muhammad and the Immaculate Conception An intriguing representation of Prophet Muhammad contributing to the dispute on the Immaculate Conception is found in an altar painting of the Franciscan church in the Dalmatian city of Split.12 Apparently, the Dispute on the Immac11 “Imagines porro Christi, Deiparae virginis et aliorum Sanctorum, in templis praesertim habendas et retinendas: eisque debitum honorem et venerationem impertiendam, non quod credatur inesse aliqua in iis divinitas vel virtus, propter quam sint colendae, vel quod ab eis sit aliquid petendum, vel quod fiducia in imaginibus sit figenda, veluti olim fiebat a gentibus, quae in idolis spem suam collocabant: sed quoniam honos, qui eis exhibetur, refertur ad prototypa, quae illae repreaesentant: ita ut per imagines, quas osculamur et coram quibus caput aperimus et procumbimus, Christum adoremus et Sanctos, quorum illae similitudinem gerunt, veneremur. Id quod Conciliorum, praesertim vero secundae Nicaenae Synodi, decretis contra imaginum oppugnatores est sancitum.” See Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, N.P. Tanner/G. Alberigo (ed.), vol. 2: Trent to Vaticanum II (London: Sheed & Ward/Washington: Georgetown University Press, 1990), 775. 12 Mihovil Luposignoli (and Nicola Bralich), Dispute on the Immaculate Conception, 1727 (1518) oil on canvas, 300 × 210 cm.; Split [Poljud], Franciscan church of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, part of the monastery of Saint-Anthony of Padua.

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ulate Conception by Mihovil Luposignoli was copied (1727) from an earlier painting from 1518, made by Nicola Bralich (Braccio), a rather obscure painter from Zadar.

Ill. 2: Mihovil Luposignoli and Nicola Bralich (Braccio), Dispute on the Immaculate Conception, 1727 (1518) © Split, Poljud, Franciscan church.

The attributive question concerning the painting has not yet been resolved, its traditional attribution being based upon an inscription in the upper part of the

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scene, which mentions both painters.13 A third, unidentified artist painted the older medieval icon of the Virgin with the Child, incorporated as a quadro riportato in the centre of the pala portante by Bralich and Luposignoli. The dispute is situated in a hall that looks like a lecture room in a late medieval university, with the contributors to the discussion unrolling the scrolls with their theses. Thirty nine disputers are shown in the painting: seventeen theologians, doctors of the Church, and high prelates are shown on each side of the room, ‘separated’ by the medieval icon of the Virgin with the Child and the vision of the Immaculate Conception above it. On the right side, there is an additional female figure (Saint Brigitte of Sweden?). Among the four additional defenders of the Immaculate Conception in the first row, one sees the prominent figure of Prophet Muhammad to the right. Réjane Gay-Canton has researched in 2010 the genesis of such rare appearances of the Prophet Muhammad on the basis of four altar paintings, concluding that it was clearly encouraged by the theological dispute on the Immaculate Conception of Mary,14 especially by Nicholas of Lyra’s Responsio ad quendam Iudeum (1334) and Marquard von Lindau’s treatise De reparatione hominis (1374),15 both taking into account the translation of the Qur’a¯n made by Robert of Ketton and Herman Dalmatin. A sermon known by the incipit as Necdum erant abyssi (ca. 1430), attributed to the Franciscan friar Francesco de Rimini, has been identified by Réjane Gay-Canton as a source for the inscription on the scroll that Prophet Muhammad is holding in his hand in the altar painting of the Franciscan church in Split: “Nullus est, ex Adam / Quem non tenuerit Satan / præter Mariam / et filium eius. // Mohameto / I. IIo libro V / Corani.”16 At the time when the first painting by Bralich was painted in 1518 (repainted by Lupisignoli in 1727), the Ottoman threat to Dalmatia was at its peak, but here this threat is appropriated for the Immaculists’ causa. The appearance of Prophet Muhammad can also be understood as a reflection of the

13 The inscription on the painting reveals that it was first painted in January 1518: “1518 / del mese di genaro fece l’originale Nicola Bralich Giacortino ed io Michele Luposignoli ho estrato la presente copia come sta…” [1518 / in the month of January, the original was made by Nicola Bralich Giacortino and I, Michele Luposignoli, have extracted the present copy as it is]. 14 R. Gay-Canton, “Lorsque Muhammad orne les autels: Sur l’utilisation de la théologie isla˙ de l’immaculée conception de la fin du XIVe au début du mique dans la controverse autour XVIIIe siècle”, Revue des Sciences philosophiques et théologiques 94/2 (2010) 201–48. R. GayCanton has erroneously identified the figures in the first row as Martin Luther and Nicolas Copernicus. 15 S. Mossman, Marquard von Lindau and the Challenges of Religious Life in Late Medieval Germany: The Passion, the Eucharist, the Virgin Mary (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 2010). 16 The quotation is not from the Qur’a¯n, as shown by R. Gay-Canton, but from a hadith, a report on the deeds and sayings of Muhammad. In Necdum erant abyssi the quotation is already attributed to the authority of the Qur’a¯n. R. Gay-Canton, “Lorsque Muhammad”, 243–4.

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intellectual atmosphere in late-humanist Dalmatia before it was caught in the clash between the Venetian and Ottoman ambitions.

A Prelate, a Knight, and a Saintly King George II Drashkovich (1515–87), a Croatian nobleman and bishop of Pécs (Lat. Quinque Ecclesiae), acted as an imperial delegate of Emperor Ferdinand I Habsburg in the last sessions of the Council.17 While in Trent, he was nominated the Bishop of Zagreb, the capital of the Kingdom of Croatia.18 Soon afterwards, he became the ban (Viceroy, 1567–76) of Croatia.19 With both the ecclesial and political powers in his hands, he was one of the crucial figures – if not the most crucial – representing Croatia’s new identity constructed after the Council of Trent as the faithful defender of Catholicism, an image that was also emphasized by Bizozeri: These people [Croats] deserve a maximum of praise, since they have never accepted any alteration of Faith, preserving their innocence in the Catholic religion: which is also the reason why they have always remained most faithful to the House of Austria [Habsburg].20

Drashkovich himself was highly praised by his contemporaries,21 as Lorenzo Cardella stated in his bishop’s biography of 1793: Orator at the Council of Trent under Pius IV, where he spoke to the Fathers, delegated by the Emperor Ferdinand I, whose confessor he was. When the Synod terminated, he was transferred … to the bishopric of Zagreb with the dignity of the Viceroy of Croatia, 17 H. Jedin, Crises and Closure of the Council of Trent: A Retrospective View from the Second Vatican Council (London/Melbourne: Sheed & Ward, 1967 [German original 1963]), 33 and 96. 18 Selected on November 11, 1563; confirmed on March 22, 1564. He organized three synods (1566, 1570, 1574) and was appointed first to the bishopric of Gyo˝r (Raab) in Hungary (1578), then to the archbishopric of Kalocsa (1582), and subsequently elevated to the office of a Cardinal (1585). He introduced the new Georgian calendar both to Croatia and Hungary in 1583. See G. Van Gulik/K. Eubel/L. Schmitz-Kallenberg, Hierarchia catholica medii et recentioris aevi, sive summorum pontificum, S.R.E. cardinalium ecclesiarum antistitum series, vol. 3: saeculum XVI ab anno 1503 complectens… (Monasterii [Münster]: Sumptibus et typis librariae regensbergianae, ²1923; repr. Patavii [Padua]: “Il Messaggero di S. Antonio”, 1960), 172, 216, 280, 338, and 359. 19 Rudolf II Habsburg made Drashkovich the royal governor of Hungary (1584). 20 “Meritano questi popoli somma lode; imperoche non hanno mai accettata alcuna alterazione nella Fede, conseruandosi illibati nella Religione Cattolica: il che ancora è stato cagione che siano sempre stati fedelissimi alla Casa di Austria.” See Bizozeri, Notizia partiolare, 281. 21 [G. Würfel], Carmen Sapphicvm. Ad Reuerendissimum Dominum, Dominum Georgium Drascowyth Episcopum Zagrabiensem Georgius Wijrflel P.L. Canonicus Ecclesiae Zagrabiensis (Vienna: Kaspar Stainhofer, 1572).

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as he had managed to preserve it from the plague of heresy with his vigilance and diligence, for which Saint Pius V thanked him in an Apostolic letter … He died in Vienna, with a reputation of a zealous man fighting for the Catholic religion, endowed with unique piety and equally great prudence…22

His legacy may be discerned in a decision of the Croatian Aristocratic Assembly (sabor)23 – ratified by Rudolf II Habsburg on January 16, 1608 – that the only religion permitted in the Kingdom was Roman Catholicism. The Kingdom of Hungary had previously enabled the Protestant feudal landlords to keep their faith, lands, and possessions.24 The Kingdom of Croatia set off on the path of post-conciliar reforms, reinforcing with them its national identity as the scudum solidissimum both of Catholic Europe’s political frontier and of Roman Catholicism itself. The rhetoric of that path included harsh speeches such as that of Count Thomas II Erdo˝dy (1558–1624), another Croatian Viceroy and a victorious hero against the Ottomans in the Battle of Sisak (1593), who is remembered both for his victorious motto “In Deo vici” and for the threat that he hurled against the Protestants at the Croatian-Hungarian Aristocratic Assembly in Pressburg in 1608: “With this sword, if it proves impossible otherwise, we will eradicate that plague [i. e. the Lutherans and the Calvinists]. We still have three rivers: Sava, Drava, and Kupa, and we will give these new guests to drink from one of them.”25 Croatia’s historical circumstances in the sixteenth century (and subsequently) provide the insight needed in order to properly understand the diversity found 22 “Giorgio Drascovizio … Oratore al Concilio di Trento sotto Pio IV, a nome di Ferdinando I. Cesare, di cui ascoltava le confessioni, dove orò innanci a’Padri. Terminato ili sinodo, fu trasferito … al Vescovado di Zagabria colla dignità di Vicerè di Croazia, che colla sua vigilanza, ed industria, seppe preservare dalla peste dell’eresia, del che ne fu per mezzo di un Breve Appostolico ringraziato da S. Pio V. … Morì in Vienna in riputazione di uomo assai zelante della cattolica religione, e di singolare pietà, e pari prudenza dotato…” See L. Cardella, Memorie storiche de’ cardinali della Santa Romana Chiesa (9 vol. in 10; Roma: Stamperia Pagliarini, 1792–97), 5.231. 23 “The unicameral chamber, the sabor, was composed of the great landowners, the representatives of the lesser nobility elected on the country level, the Catholic prelates, delegates from the free towns, and some others.” See B. Jelavich, History of the Balcans: Eighteenth and Ninetheenth Centuries (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), 141. 24 J.G. Bauhofer/J.H. Merle d’Aubigné, History of the Protestant Church in Hungary: From the Beginning of the Reformation to 1850; with Special Reference to Transylvania (Boston, MA: Phillips, Sampson, and Company/New York: James C. Derby, 1854 [German original 1854]), 138. 25 “Hoc ferro, si aliter fieri non poterit, pestem istam a nobis eliminabimus; Tresque nobis adsunt fluvii, Dravus, Savus, & Colapis, e quibus unum novis hospitibus sorbendum dabimus.” See M. Vrhovac, Constitutiones Synodales Ecclesiæ Zagrabiensis pro clero diocesano (Zagreb: Typis Novoszelianis, 1805), 330. Vrhovac quoted the renowned historiographic book: [G. Rattkay], Memoria regum, et banorum, regnorum Dalmatiae, Croatiae, & Sclavoniae, inchoata ab origine sua, & usq[ue]; ad praesentem annum MDCLII. deducta auctore Georgio Rattkay, de Nagy Thabor, lectore & canonico Zagrabiense (Vienna: Matthaeus Cosmerovius, 1652).

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within the regional sacred imagery in the post-conciliar times. In his seminal Étude sur l’iconographie après le Concile de Trente. Italie, France, Espagne, Flandres (1932), Émile Mâle affirmed that he did not consider the imagery in Mitteleuropa as providing anything but “examples de plus” reinforcing the general picture, owing to the homogeneity of sacred imagery in Catholic Europe.26 Considering the overall post-conciliar task set before the liturgical images, which was clearly formulated by Cardinal Gabriele Paleotti (1582) in his Discourse of the Sacred and Profane Images: “… sacred images having no other end, in sum, than uniting men with God…”,27 it is, of course, true. Nevertheless, the traumatic experiences of the “clear and present danger” from the Ottoman Empire in the border regions gave a different tone to all the post-conciliar efforts in Croatia, including post-conciliar iconography. On the one hand, there was a firm resolution to adhere to Roman Catholicism, which can be unmistakably detected in the efforts of Croatian bishops, viceroys, and religious orders. On the other hand, there were several coexisting features that accentuated Croatia’s particular status within the Roman Church after the Council of Trent. For example, the approved liturgy was in Old Church Slavonic as well as in Latin; the liturgical books were in the Glagolitic as well as in Latin script;28 the ‘Zagrebense’ rite was preserved, as well as the missal and the breviary;29 and the translation of the Roman rite (Rituale Romanum) into the Croatian language by the Jesuit father Bartholomaeus Cassius (Bartol Kasˇic´) was approved.30 Using the vernacular in liturgy contributed to the success of post-conciliar reforms and was not 26 “Si les principes de ce livre sont exacts, les pays de l’Europe centrale n’y apporteront que des examples de plus.” See Mâle, L’art religieux, vii. 27 G. Paleotti, Discourse on the Sacred and Profane Images, P. Prodi (intr.)/W. McCuaig (trans.) (Los Angeles, CA: Getty Research Institute, Getty Publications, 2012 [Italian original 1582]), book I, 77. 28 F.J. Thomson, “The Influence of the Slavo-Latin (Glagolitic) Rite on the Decision of the Council of Trent about the Use of the Vernacular in the Liturgy”, in M.-A. Dürrigl et al. (ed.), Glagoljica i hrvatski glagolizam: Zbornik radova s med¯unarodnoga znanstvenog skupa povodom 100. obljetnice Staroslavenske akademije i 50. obljetnice Staroslavenskog instituta [The Glagolitic Script and the Croatian Glagolitism: Proceedings of the International Conference on the Occasion of the 100th Anniversary of Old Slavonic Academy and the 50th Anniversary of Old Slavonic Institute] (Zagreb: Old Slavonic Institute/Krk: Bishopric of Krk, 2004) 295–307. From one synod (1570) organized by bishop Drashkovich the ordo has been preserved and it testifies that it opened with the Holy Mass in the Croatian language. See I. Tkalcˇic´, “Prilog za povjest zagrebacˇkih sinoda u XV. i XVI. vijeku” [Contribution to the History of the Synods in the Zagreb Diocese], Starine 16 (1884) 117–29, on p. 123. 29 Missale secundum Chorum et Rubricam Almi episcopatus Zagrabiensis Ecclesie: roboratum et approbatum in sacra synodo et generali capitulo sub Reverendissimo domino. Domino Luca episcopo… (Venice: Peter Liechtenstein/Johannes Müer, 1511). 30 Ritvale Romanum Vrbani VIII. PONT. MAX. Ivssv Editvm Illyrica Lingva (Rome: Ex Typographia Sac. Congreg. de Propag. Fide, 1640)/Ritval Rimski Istomaccen Slovinski po Bartolomeu Kaſsichiu Popu Bogoslovçu od Druxbæ Yeſuſovae Penitençiru Apoſtolskomu (V Riimu: Iz Vtiesteniçæ Sfet. Skuppa od Razplodyenya S. Vierræ, 1640).

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perceived to be in conflict with them. In that manner, the implementation of post-conciliar reforms contributed to the (self-) representation and (self-) definition of the Croats as an undisputed part of Catholic Europe (genus proximum), although necessarily with some differentia specifica. Whereas the former expression served to clearly determine the religious and cultural area to which Croatia belonged, the latter emphasized its difference from the Hungarian and German cultural circles and can be understood as a concession made by Rome to the Croatian Church because of its position on the border. Thus, the “examples de plus” from Central Europe, discarded by Mâle, could hide some surprises. He was right in saying that often, or even predominantly, additional examples only augment the statistics. However, the paintings considered in this article clearly stand out from the global currents and even question their very principles. Saint Ladislaus I from the House of Árpád is traditionally considered as the founder of the Zagreb bishopric (1094). The post-conciliar trend in the imagery serving to encourage faith by evoking the local roots of Christianity (the principle ad fontes) was therefore manifested in the Zagreb cathedral by erecting a new altar dedicated to the saintly founder. Bishop Alexander Ignatius Miculich engaged painter Joannes Eisenhart (1690) to produce an elaborate cycle showing scenes from the life of Saint Ladislaus in the form of a polyptych for the main altar in the north aisle of the cathedral. The medieval King, warrior, and saint – previously represented in his royal magnitude or victorious in historical battles – was here ‘transformed’ into a post-Tridentine saint. He is represented in levitation during prayer, like Saint Joseph of Cupertino, experiencing ecstasy like Saint Teresa of Avila, giving alms like Saint Thomas of Villanova, and finally having a vision like many of the newly created saints, thus following the new concept of sanctity as defined by Émile Mâle: “The saints of the Middle Ages performed miracles; the saints of the Counter-Reformation were miracles themselves.”31 The foundation and building of the first cathedral were evoked in the paintings Saint Ladislaus Supervises the Construction of the Cathedral and An Architect Shows the Plan of the Cathedral to Saint Ladislaus for Approval. Furthermore, current events and features were included that were expected in the post-conciliar iconographic model and transformed the medieval saint into the new standard of sanctity, at the same time reminding of the origin of the Bishopric. In one of the paintings – Croatian Noblemen in Front of King Ladislaus and His Sister Helena the Beautiful32 – a nobleman bows before the King (Saint

31 “Ces saints du moyen âge faisaient des miracles; les saints de la Contre-Réforme furent euxmêmes des miracles.” See Mâle, L’art religieux, 152. 32 Joannes Eisenhart (Ljubljana, ca. 1647–91), Croatian Noblemen in Front of King Ladislaus and His Sister Helena the Beautiful, 1690, oil on panel, 167.3 × 109.5 cm.; Zagreb, Municipal Museum.

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Ladislaus) unfolding three coats of arms in his hands, those of Dalmatia, Croatia, and Slavonia, while Queen Helena points at them with her finger. The introduction of Helena served as a reminder that Ladislaus had become the Croatian King owing to the fact that his sister Helena was the widow of the last native Croatian King, Demetrius Suinimir (Dmitar Zvonimir), who was both the Viceroy of Slavonia and the King of Croatia and Dalmatia.33 Three years before the new altar honouring Saint Ladislaus was ordered by the Bishop of Zagreb, Slavonia was liberated (1687) from the Ottoman rule in the Great OttomanHabsburg War. The Bishop of Zagreb ‘used’ the post-conciliar principle ad fontes to promote his strategy of reuniting the once large diocese, which before the Ottoman invasion had consisted of fourteen archdeaconries with more than four hundred parishes,34 and – as shown in the painting – of returning Dalmatia to the Kingdom. Another painting in the cycle shows the first bishop of Zagreb, Bishop Duh, offering the crown to Saint Ladislaus.35 The crown represented in the painting is neither the Imperial Crown of Austria nor the Holy Crown of Hungary – which was well known to the high prelate in Zagreb who ordered the painting – but rather the crown from the reliquary bust of Saint Stephen from the House of Árpád, preserved at the Treasury of the Zagreb cathedral.36 In 1635, the reliquary bust – attributed to Alessandro Algardi37 – was donated to the Bishop of Zagreb by Cardinal Francesco, nephew of Pope Urban VIII Barberini. Instead of using a contemporary political symbol, it was that particular crown, the crown sent from Rome (even though as a part of the reliquary), that was painted in the scene Bishop Duh Offers the Crown to Saint Ladislaus, as well as in the other scenes of the cycle. Together with the painting Croatian Noblemen in 33 As a supporter of the reforms of Pope Gregory VII of Sovana (1073–85) in the investiture controversy to increase the central authority of the Church, Demetrius Suinimir was crowned as King of Croatia and Dalmatia in 1075 by Pope Gregory’s legate, abbot Gebizon, in the church of Saint Peter and Moses in Solin near Split. 34 J. Buturac, “Popis zˇupa zagrebacˇke biskupije od 1334” [List of Parishes in the Zagreb Diocese in 1334], in D. Kniewald (ed.) Kulturno-poviestni zbornik Zagrebacˇke nadbiskupije, u spomen 850. godisˇnjice osnutka [Collectio dissertationum de almo episcopatu zagrabiensi in memoriam fundationis eiusdem A. D. MXCIV] (Zagreb: Institute of Croatian Bibliography, 1944) 409–54; J. Buturac, “Popis zˇupa zagrebacˇke biskupije 1334. i 1501. godine” [List of Parishes in the Zagreb Diocese in 1334 and 1501], Starine 59 (1984) 43–108. 35 Joannes Eisenhart (Ljubljana, ca. 1647–91), Bishop Duh, offering the crown to Saint Ladislaus, 1690, oil on panel, 165.7× 96.2 cm.; Zagreb, Municipal Museum. 36 D. Sˇourek, “Ad imitationem angelicae, apostolicaeque coronae Vngaricae. Prilog ikonografiji krune na prikazima svetih kraljeva u zagrebacˇkoj katedrali” [Ad imitationem angelicae, apostolicaeque coronae Vngaricae. A Contribution to the Iconography of the Crown in the Images of the Holy Kings in Zagreb’s Cathedral], Peristil: zbornik radova za povijest umjetnosti 54 (2011) 177–86. 37 D. Premerl, “Zagreb Cathedral’s Reliquary Bust of Saint Stephen the King: The Context of Its Commission and Its Attribution”, Radovi Instituta za povijest umjetnosti 34 (2010) 101–12.

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Ill. 3: Joannes Eisenhart, Croatian Noblemen in Front of King Ladislaus and His Sister Helena the Beautiful, 1690, oil on panel, 167.3 × 109.5 cm © Zagreb, Municipal Museum.

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Ill. 4: Joannes Eisenhart, Bishop Duh, offering the crown to Saint Ladislaus, 1690 © Zagreb, Municipal Museum.

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Ill. 5: Alessandro Algardi, attributed, The reliquary bust of Saint Stephen from the House of Árpád, 1635 © Zagreb, Treasury of the Zagreb Cathedral.

Front of King Ladislaus and His Sister Helena the Beautiful, it shows that the assignment of images shifted slightly from the purpose of “uniting people with God” – as manifested by the post-conciliar representation of Saint Ladislaus as God’s miracle and a religious pedagogue – to a historically motivated plea for the

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miraculous political unification of the country, expected to happen through Rome. For the saint was expected not only to ‘be’ a miracle, as Émile Mâle defined the post-conciliar concept of sanctity, but also – as in the Middle Ages – to ‘perform’ a miracle.

The Post-Conciliar Identity and Iconography of the Pauline Order Whereas political iconography may only be expected in the diocesan patronage of an important cathedral altar – as in the case of the altar dedicated to Saint Ladislaus – especially considering that it was not unusual for the Bishop of Zagreb to also function as the Croatian Viceroy, in the patronage of orders one can encounter different needs and motivations. The friars of the Order of Saint Paul the First Hermit (Lat. Ordo Fratrum Sancti Pauli Primi Eremitae) had been present in Croatia since 1244.38 In the postconciliar period, their impact on the local Church and society – through education, theological and scholarly work – was overshadowed by the energetic propulsion of the Jesuits. While the Pauline fathers erected their monasteries in solitude, following their motto “Solus cum Deo solo”, the Jesuits settled in the urban centres: Zagreb, Rijeka, Varazˇdin, Dubrovnik, Osijek, Petrovaradin, and Pozˇega. There, as elsewhere in Europe, they became the main educators, pastoral writers, scientists, confessors, and even missionaries to the Ottoman Empire, promoting post-conciliar spirituality at the same time: all that “ad maiorem Dei gloriam”.39 The Jesuit saints entered the post-conciliar iconography and pious imagination: from Saint Ignatius of Loyola, Saint Francis Xavier, Saint Francis de Borja and Petrus Canisius, to youthful Saint Aloysius Gonzaga and Saint Stanislas Kostka, and the Japanese Jesuit martyrs (Miki, de Goto, Kisaï). The Pauline fathers – who did not lack post-conciliar achievements in Croatia, but failed to produce such successful iconographical models – used the principle ad fontes to strengthen their position and to accentuate their own importance within the Catholic Church. Besides their spiritual father and legendary founder, Saint Paul the First Hermit, who appears in every Pauline church, often accompanied by Saint Anthony the Abbot,40 the Pauline fathers revived the iconography of some ‘forgotten’ saints at their main Croatian monastery in Lepoglava: hermits, coenobites, and anchorites of early Christianity. These saints included Saint Hilarion 38 !. Cvitanovic´ et al. (ed.), Kultura pavlina u Hrvatskoj: 1244–1786 [The Pauline Culture in Croatia: 1244–1786] (Zagreb: Globus, Museum of Arts and Crafts, 1989). 39 B. Rauter Plancˇic´ (ed.), Isusovacˇka basˇtina u Hrvata [The Jesuit Heritage in Croatia] (Zagreb: Museum and Gallery Centre, 1993). 40 M. Miladinov, Margins of Solitude: Eremitism In Central Europe Between East and West (Zagreb: Leykam International, 2008).

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of Gaza, Saint Macarius the Great of Egypt, Saint Abraham the Great of Kidunja, Saint Malchus (a hermit in Syria), Saint Paphnutius of Thebe, Saint Helenus (an Egyptian monk and abbot), Saint Ephrem the Syrian, Saint Arsenius the Deacon, Saint Pachomius the Great, Saint Onuphrius, the monastic martyrs Epictetus and Astion, Saint Barlaam and Saint Josaphat, Saint Paul the Simple of Egypt, Saint Simeon Stylite the Elder, Saint Theodosius the Cenobiarch, Saint Theodosius of Antioch, Saint Moses the Black, and Saint Menas of Egypt. Owing to the ‘lack’ of saints from their own order, the Pauline fathers appropriated the common Christian heritage from the period before the Great Schism (1054). In order to fill the void in their own visual representations, they proposed the old hermits as renewed, post-conciliar saints, transforming them into post-conciliar miracles: they are depicted in ecstasy, having angelic visions, being empowered by the Holy Spirit, or with their gaze uplifted towards the Heaven. In order to do so, the Paulines had to take into account the decree of the Council fathers, who had warned that “the holy Synod lays down that no one may erect or see to the erection of any unusual image in any church or site”.41 Gabriele Paleotti (1582) advises on that matter that pictures that are obscure and difficult to understand should be explained by means of inscriptions: Adding the name of the mystery in a convenient place, or that of the saint if he or she is not well known, is a great help in achieving this. We infer from a phrase in Saint Paulinus that this was the practice in the ancient times: “When martyrs are painted in the middle, they record their holy names”. The painter may also indicate the passage in the sacred story that is being represented or include a brief yet informative quotation from the work itself concerning the subject of the painting.42

Therefore, when the Pauline friar Ioannes Baptista Rangger (or Ranger) decorated the upper part of the monastic choir with twenty four images showing the hermits, coenobites, and anchorites of early Christianity (1737), he wrote their names under each representation.43 The iconographical tasks expressed by the Pauline patrons that the lay brother and painter Rangger carried out were often unusual, so he clarified the identity of the saints by inscriptions on many of his paintings. For example, for the decoration of the sanctuary in the chapel dedicated to Saint John the Baptist on a hill near Lepoglava (Gorica) he painted sixteen saints named “John” (1731). The choice of some of them is expected (Saint John the Evangelist, the Apostle, or 41 “… statuit sancta Synodus, nemini licere ullo il loco, vel ecclesia, etiam quomodolibet exempta, ullam insolitam ponere, vel ponendam curare imaginem”. See Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.776. 42 Paleotti, Discourse, book II, 253. 43 Ioannes Baptista Rang[g]er (Götzens near Innsbruck, 1700 – Lepoglava 1753), oil on panel, each 48.2 × 45.6 cm.; Lepoglava, parish church of the Immaculate Conception, formerly Pauline church and monastery.

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Ill. 6: Ioannes Baptista Rangger (or Ranger), Saint Macarius the Great, one of the twenty four images showing the hermits, coenobites, and anchorites of early Christianity, 1737 © Lepoglava, ex-Pauline church.

Saint John of Nepomuk); some are rare, such as the Croatian hermit Saint John, a legendary early medieval prince who denied the crown, as written under his image: “S. Ioannes seu Ivan Croat. et Dalma Regis Filius Eremita”, or a saint from the Order of Hermits of Saint Augustine, John of Saint Facundo, praised in the inscription below as a peacemaker: “S.Ioannes de S.Factundo Ord.S.Aug.In Conciliandis Difsidysa”, but some are even a hapax within the corpus of postconciliar iconography in Croatia, such as the hermit Saint John who had been sent by Saint Romuald to Poland and martyred there. Therefore Rangger wrote under each of these Johns a short hagiographical note, such as this: “S. Ioannes Polonus / Erem: et / Martÿr”. In this way, he observed Paleotti’s requirement to add “the name of the holy deed or that of the saint” so as to maintain clarity in

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visual representation as requested by the Holy Synod, even though the choice of his saints is somewhat unexpected in post-conciliar iconography.

The Franciscans in partibus infidelium: Bosnia Argentina On the other side of the border, in the Sanjak of Bosnia, which was part of the Ottoman Empire, finding any trace of the Roman Catholic renovatio can be regarded as a miracle. The only organized ecclesiastical presence in partibus infidelium was the Franciscan Province of Bosnia Argentina (Croat. Bosna Srebrena). The Franciscan friars remained there protected by an imperial decree or ferman issued by Sultan Mehmed II the Conqueror in 1463 and renewed by the subsequent sultans. Nevertheless, the construction of new churches was forbidden and the only active monasteries in the Province were the three ancient ones: Kraljeva Sutjeska, Fojnica, and Kresˇevo. The Holy Mass was mostly celebrated outdoors, often in a suitable forest glade. For that reason, Pope Urban VIII Barberini – the same Pope who, as the patron of Gian Lorenzo Bernini, Pietro da Cortona, and Carlo Maderno, transformed Rome into the Baroque capital – permitted the Franciscan friars to celebrate the Holy Mass outdoors, at a portable altar, although it was to be situated in a decent and seemly place.44 The congregation would gather around the priest, but there were usually armed men standing in the back, ready to defend the believers from an attack. During the Eucharist they would kneel, but just on one knee, holding their guns like walking sticks. The habit of kneeling on one knee and of men standing in the back was acceptable at the time, even in churches. When the Jesuit father Bartholomaeus Cassius went on his second missionary journey (1618–20) to the western part of the Ottoman Empire, including Bosnia, on which he later reported to the Sacra Congregatio de Propaganda Fide, he observed “with admiration” Muslims at prayer and commented: Ah, if only the Christians prayed such chastity and respect before the greatness of Christ the Lord, who is really present in the Eucharist in our churches, and if they only worshipped His divine Majesty and His divine Presence on both knees, and not just on one knee, as if (how funny they are!) they were shooting at sparrows!45

44 Andrija Zirdum (ed.), Filip Lastric´, Pregled starina Bosanske provincije [Overview of Ancient Documents from the Bosnian Province] (Sarajevo/Zagreb: Synopsis, 2003 [Latin original 1765]), 96. 45 M. Vanino, Isusovci i hrvatski narod III. Pucˇke misije, prekomorske misije, rezidencija Osijek, knjizˇevni rad [The Jesuits and the Croatian People III: Missions, Overseas Missions, the Residence in Osijek, and Literary Work] (Zagreb: Faculty of Philosophy and Theology of the Society of Jesus/Vienna: Croatian Historical Institute, 2005), 26.

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Ill. 7: Baldassare d’Anna, The Last Judgement, ca. 1630 © Kresˇevo, Franciscan church.

The Franciscan friars, who were the principal commissioners and creators of the post-conciliar heritage of sacred imagery, imported or commissioned numerous pieces of church furnishing – from paintings to paraments – from Venice, or from artists who worked in the Dalmatian region under the Venetian rule. Therefore, the painting heritage of Bosnia Argentina from the Baroque centuries should be considered within these artistic boundaries, rather than its actual political borders. It should be compared with the artistic heritage of Dalmatia and within the framework of stylistic movements in the artistic centre of Venice. This is corroborated by numerous unattributed works of unknown masters from the Venice school preserved in the Franciscan collections, but also of known artists covering a large time span and style range, who connect Venice, Dalmatia, and Bosnia Argentina, from the late mannerist Baldassare d’Anna and his paintings The Immaculate Conception with Lauretan Symbols, Saint Stephen the Protomartyr, and the Donor, Stjepan Dragojlovic´ (1621) in Kraljeva Sutjeska and The Last

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Ill. 8: Gian Antonio Guardi, The Return of the Holy Family from the Temple and Saint Antony of Padua, ca. 1750, oil on canvas, 40.1 × 32.7 cm © Petric´evac near Banja Luka, Franciscan monastery.

Judgement (ca. 1630) in Kresˇevo46 to a small masterpiece titled The Return of the Holy Family from the Temple and Saint Antony of Padua (ca. 1750) by Gian

46 Baldassare d’Anna (Venice, 1572–1646), Judgement, 1630, oil on canvas, 159 × 186 cm.; Kresˇevo, Franciscan church of Saint Catherine of Alexandria. All sculptural decoration was offensive to Islam and therefore decoration of churches with sculptures was avoided.

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Ill. 9: Francesco Guardi, Holy Mary with the Child and Saint Antony of Padua, ca. 1775, oil on canvas, 40.1 × 32.7 cm © Kraljeva Sutjeska, Franciscan monastery.

Antonio Guardi at Petric´evac near Banja Luka,47 as well as a painting by his younger brother Francesco Guardi, titled Holy Mary with the Child and Saint

47 Gian Antonio Guardi (Gian[n]antonio, Antonio; Venice, 1699–1760), The Return of the Holy Family from the Temple and Saint Antony of Padua, ca. 1750, oil on canvas, 40.1× 32.7 cm.; Petric´evac (near Banja Luka), Franciscan monastery of the Most Holy Trinity.

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Ill. 10: Sebastiano Giuseppe Devita, Holy Mary with Saint Rochus and Saint Sebastian, a Franciscan, and a Group of Devotees, 1784, oil on canvas, 152 × 119 cm © Fojnica, Franciscan monastery.

Antony of Padua in Kraljeva Sutjeska, where one can read a note by Father Grgo Hiljic´: “DOBAVI [obtained by] O.F. / GARGO IZ [from] / VARESA / 1775”.48

48 Francesco Guardi (Venice, 1712–93), Holy Mary with the Child and Saint Antony of Padua,

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The Venetian and Dalmatian painter Sebastiano Giuseppe Devita authored the votive painting Holy Mary with Saint Rochus and Saint Sebastian, a Franciscan, and a Group of Devotees in Fojnica: “Baschie De Vita … Pengo 1784”.49 Apart from the Franciscan, possibly the guardian of the Fojnica monastery at the time (Fra John [Matthew] Skocˇibusˇic´ the Elder), it also contains the portraits of votive commissioners in folk costumes, which is a particular rarity in the painting heritage of the post-conciliar period in Bosnia Argentina under the Ottoman rule.

Conclusion Croatia’s firm adherence to the Roman Catholic Church and several centuries of resistance against the Ottoman threat – for which the Croats were rewarded with the honourable title scudum solidissimum – served as two distinct bases for the Croatian identity in the Early Modern Period at the triplex confinium of the Habsburg Monarchy, the Ottoman Empire, and the Republic of Venice. Thus, the post-conciliar sacred imaginary in the Kingdom of Croatia, Slavonia, and Dalmatia and in the Sanjak of Bosnia bear witness to a modification, to some extent, of the global iconographical trends that followed the Council of Trent, as if a familiar melody had been played in a different tone or rhythm, echoing the beat of war drums.

Bibliography Printed and edited sources [Bizozeri, S.], Notizia Particolare Dello stato passato, e presente De’ Regni D’vngheria, Croazia e Principato di Transilvania … Opera Di D. Sempliciano Bizozeri … (Bologna: Gioseffo Longhi, 1686). Cardella, L., Memorie storiche de’ cardinali della Santa Romana Chiesa (9 vol. in 10; Rome: Stamperia Pagliarini, 1792–97). Constantine Porphyrogenitus, De administrando imperio, G. Moravcsik (ed.)/R.J. Heald Jenkins (trans.) (Corpus fontium historiae Byzantinae 1; Dumbarton Oaks: Center for Byzantine Studies/Washington: Trustees for Harvard University, 1985 [1967]).

ca. 1775, oil on canvas, 54 × 43 cm.; Kraljeva Sutjeska, Franciscan monastery of Saint John the Baptist. 49 Sebastiano Giuseppe Devita (Split, 1740 – ? after 1797), Holy Mary with Saint Rochus and Saint Sebastian, a Franciscan, and a Group of Followers, 1784, oil on canvas, 152× 119 cm.; Fojnica, Franciscan monastery of the Holy Spirit.

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Missale secundum Chorum et Rubricam Almi episcopatus Zagrabiensis Ecclesie: roboratum et approbatum in sacra synodo et generali capitulo sub Reverendissimo domino. Domino Luca episcopo… (Venice: Peter Liechtenstein/Johannes Müer, 1511). Paleotti, G., Discorso intorno alle Imagini Sacre et Profane diuiso in cinque Libri. Libro Secondo (Bologna: Alessandro Benacci, 1582). [Rattkay, G.], Memoria regum, et banorum, regnorum Dalmatiae, Croatiae, & Sclavoniae, inchoata ab origine sua, & usq[ue]; ad praesentem annum MDCLII. deducta auctore Georgio Rattkay, de Nagy Thabor, lectore & canonico Zagrabiense (Vienna: Matthaeus Cosmerovius, 1652). Ritvale Romanum Vrbani VIII. PONT. MAX. Ivssv Editvm Illyrica Lingva (Rome: Ex Typographia Sac. Congreg. de Propag. Fide, 1640)/Ritval Rimski Istomaccen Slovinski po Bartolomeu Kaſsichiu Popu Bogoslovçu od Druxbæ Yeſuſovae Penitençiru Apoſtolskomu (V Riimu: Iz Vtiesteniçæ Sfet. Skuppa od Razplodyenya S. Vierræ, 1640). [Ritter, P. alias P. Vitezovic´], Plorantis Croatiae saecula duo, carmine descripta ab equite Paulo Ritter (Graecomonti [Zagreb]: s.n., 1703). Van Gulik G./Eubel, K./Schmitz-Kallenberg, L., Hierarchia catholica medii et recentioris aevi, sive summorum pontificum, S.R.E. cardinalium ecclesiarum antistitum series, vol. 3: saeculum XVI ab anno 1503 complectens… (Monasterii [Münster]: Sumptibus et typis librariae regensbergianae, ²1923; repr. Patavii [Padua]: “Il Messaggero di S. Antonio”, 1960). Vrhovac, M., Constitutiones Synodales Ecclesiæ Zagrabiensis pro clero diocesano (Zagreb: Typis Novoszelianis, 1805). [Würfel, G.], Carmen Sapphicvm. Ad Reuerendissimum Dominum, Dominum Georgium Drascowyth Episcopum Zagrabiensem Georgius Wijrflel P.L. Canonicus Ecclesiae Zagrabiensis (Vienna: Kaspar Stainhofer, 1572).

Secondary sources Bauhofer, J.G./Merle d’Aubigné, J.H., History of the Protestant Church in Hungary: From the Beginning of the Reformation to 1850; With Special Reference to Transylvania [Geschichte der evangelischen Kirche in Ungarn: Vom Anfange der Reformation bis 1850: mit Rücksicht auf Siebenbürgen (1854)], J. Craig (trans.) (Boston, MA: Phillips, Sampson, and Company/New York: James C. Derb, 1854). Beresford-Peirse, J. (ed.), Croatia: Aspects of Art, Architecture and Cultural Heritage (London: Frances Lincoln, 2009). Buturac, J., “Popis zˇupa zagrebacˇke biskupije od 1334” [List of the Parishes of the Zagreb Bishopric in 1334], in D. Kniewald (ed.), Kulturno-poviestni zbornik Zagrebacˇke nadbiskupije, u spomen 850. godisˇnjice osnutka [Collectio dissertationum de almo episcopatu zagrabiensi in memoriam fundationis eiusdem A.D. MXCIV] (Zagreb: Hrvatski izdavalacˇko bibliografski zavod, 1944) 409–54. Buturac, J., “Popis zˇupa zagrebacˇke biskupije 1334. i 1501. godine” [List of the Parishes of the Zagreb Bishopric in 1334 and 1501], Starine 59 (1984) 43–108. Cvitanovic´, !. et al. (ed.), Kultura pavlina u Hrvatskoj: 1244–1786 [The Pauline Culture in Croatia: 1244–1786] (Zagreb: Globus, Muzej za umjetnost i obrt, 1989).

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ˇ rncˇic´, I., Imena Slovjenin i Ilir u nasˇem gostinjcu u Rimu poslije 1453 godine [The Names C Slovjenin and Ilir in our Hospice in Rome after 1453] (Rad Jugoslavenske akademije znanosti i umjetnosti 13/79; Zagreb: Jugoslavenska akademija znanosti i umjetnosti, 1886) Flood, J.F., Poets Laureate in the Holy Roman Empire: A Bio-bibliographical Handbook, vol. 4: S-Z (Berlin/New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2006). Gay-Canton, R., “Lorsque Muhammad orne les autels: Sur l’utilisation de la théologie ˙ islamique dans la controverse autour de l’immaculée conception de la fin du XIVe au e début du XVIII siècle” [When Mohammed Adorns the Altars. On the Use of Islamic Theology in the Controversy Surrounding the Immaculate Conception at the End of the 14th and Beginning of the 18th Centuries], Revue des Sciences philosophiques et théologiques 94/2 (2010) 201–48. Jedin, H., Crises and Closure of the Council of Trent: a Retrospective View from the Second Vatican Council (London/Melbourne: Sheed & Ward, 1967; [German original 1963]). Jelavich, B., History of the Balcans: Eigthteen and Ninetheenth Centuries (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). Jurkovic´, I./Moretti, V. (ed. and trans.), Bernhardus de Frangipani: Oratio pro Croatia (1522) – Bernardin Frankopan Modrusˇki: Govor za Hrvatsku (Zagreb/Modrusˇ: Katedra ˇ akavskoga sabora Modrusˇe, 2010). C Lovrencˇic´, I., Bosnia: A Cultural History (London: The Bosnian Institute, Saqi/New York: New York University Press, 2001). Mâle, É., L’art religieux de la fin du XVIe siècle, du XVIIe siècle et du XVIIIe siècle. Étude sur l’iconographie après le Concile de Trente. Italie, France, Espagne, Flandres (Paris: Librairie Armand Colin, ²1951, 11932). Miladinov, M., Margins of Solitude: Eremitism In Central Europe Between East and West (Zagreb: Leykam International, 2008). Mossman, S., Marquard von Lindau and the Challenges of Religious Life in Late Medieval Germany: The Passion, The Eucharist, The Virgin Mary (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010). Paleotti, G., Discorso intorno alle Imagini Sacre et Profane (1582) (Monumenta studia instrumenta liturgica 25; Vatican City: Libreria editrice Vaticana; [Milano]: Cad & Wellness, 2002). Paleotti, G., Discourse on the Sacred and Profane Images, P. Prodi (intr.)/W. McCuaig (trans.) (Los Angeles, LA: Getty Research Institute, Getty Publications, 2012). Premerl, D., “Zagreb Cathedral’s Reliquary Bust of Saint Stephen the King: the Context of its Commission and its Attribution”, Radovi Instituta za povijest umjetnosti 34 (2010) 101–12. Rauter Plancˇic´, B. (ed.), Isusovacˇka basˇtina u Hrvata [The Jesuit Heritage in Croatia] (Zagreb: Muzejsko galerijski centar, 1993). Sˇourek, D., “Ad imitationem angelicae, apostolicaeque coronae Vngaricae. Prilog ikonografiji krune na prikazima svetih kraljeva u zagrebacˇkoj katedrali” [Ad imitationem angelicae, apostolicaeque coronae Vngaricae. A Contribution to the Iconography of the Crown on the Images of the Holly Kings in Zagreb Cathedral], Peristil: zbornik radova za povijest umjetnosti 54 (2011) 177–86. Supicˇic´, I. (ed.), Croatia in the Late Middle Ages and the Renaissance (London: Philip WilsonPublisher, 2008).

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Thomson, F.J., “The Influence of the Slavo-Latin (Glagolitic) Rite on the Decision of the Council of Trent About the Use of the Vernacular in the Liturgy”, in M.-A. Dürrigl et al. (ed.), Glagoljica i hrvatski glagolizam: Zbornik radova s med¯unarodnoga znanstvenog skupa povodom 100. obljetnice Staroslavenske akademije i 50. obljetnice Staroslavenskog instituta. [Glagolitsa and the Croatian Glagolitism: Proceedings of the International Conference on the Occasion of the 100th Anniversary of Staroslavenska Akademija and the 50the Anniversary of Staroslavenski Institut] (Zagreb: Staroslavenski institute/Krk: Krcˇka biskupija, 2004) 295–307. Tkalcˇic´, I., “Prilog za povjest zagrebacˇkih sinoda u XV. i XVI. vijeku” [Contribution to the History of the Synods of the Zagreb Diocese], Starine 16 (1884) 117–29. Vanino, M., Isusovci i hrvatski narod III. Pucˇke misije, prekomorske misije, rezidencija Osijek, knjizˇevni rad [Jesuits and the Croatian people III. Missions, Oversees Missions, Residences Osijek, Literary Work] (Zagreb: Filozofsko-teolosˇki institut Druzˇbe Isusove u Zagrebu, Hrvatski povijesni institut u Becˇu, 2005). Zirdum, A. (ed.), Filip Lastric´: Pregled starina Bosanske provincije [Overview of the Antiques of the Bosnian Province] (Sarajevo/Zagreb: Synopsis, 2003). Zˇanic´, I., “The Symbolic Identity of Croatia in the Triangle Crossroads-Bulwark-Bridge”, in P. Kolstø (ed.), Myths and Boundaries in South-Eastern Europe (London: C. Hurst & Co, 2005) 35–76.

Xavier Bisaro

D’un concile à l’autre: aux sources des prescriptions musicales du Concile de Trente

Les décrets du Concile de Trente relatifs à la musique suscitèrent une incessante glose dès le dix-septième siècle,1 au point que certains auteurs relurent l’histoire de la musique religieuse moderne comme une succession d’attitudes obéissantes ou désobéissantes à ceux-ci selon des degrés variables.2 Or, en dépit des efforts de plusieurs musicologues pour nuancer sinon contester cette amplification,3 la thèse de l’existence d’une norme musicale tridentine, réduite à une poignée d’éléments mais fermement exprimée, demeure vivace dans la littérature scientifique.4 1 Lieu commun de la littérature ecclésiastique, ce récit presque légendaire se retrouve dans des ouvrages à vocation canonique (cf. Ch.-L. Richard, Analyse des conciles généraux et particuliers [5 vol.; Paris: Chez Vincent, 1772], 2.720) ou réflexive (cf. François-André Potel, «Dissertation sur l’introduction de la Musique dans les Églises», Journal ecclésiastique 15/1 [1764], 34). Les approches minimisant la portée des décrets tridentins seront désormais rares, à l’instar de la notice consacrée à Henry Dumont par L.-A. de Bonafous, Dictionnaire des artistes (2 vol.; Paris: Chez Vincent, 1776), 1.536. Plus généralement, sur l’articulation entre le contenu effectif des débats lors du Concile et leur devenir symbolique, cf. P. Prodi/W. Reinhard, Il concilio di Trento e il moderno (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1996). 2 Ce phénomène fut doublé par l’héroïsation progressive de la figure de Giovanni da Palestrina en tant que «sauveur» de la polyphonie ecclésiastique. Cf. notamment J. Garratt, Palestrina and the German Romantic Imagination (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). 3 K. Fellerer/M. Hadas, «Church Music and the Council of Trent», The Musical Quarterly 39/4 (1953) 576–94; O. Mischiati, «Il Concilio di Trento e la polifonia – una diversa proposta di lettura e di prospettiva bibliografica», dans D. Curti/M. Gozzi (éd.), Musica e liturgia nella Riforma tridentina (Trente: Servizio Beni Librari e Archivistici, 1995) 19–29; C. Monson, «The Council of Trent Revisited», Journal of the American Musicological Society 55/1 (2002) 1–37. 4 Encore récemment, le Concile de Trente a été l’objet d’invocations globales («les décisions du Concile» sans autre précision chez I. His, «Les répertoires musicaux associés au roi Henri IV», Revue belge de musicologie 59 (2005) 143–64, à la p. 147) ou, inversement, très précises (le stile antico «hérité du Concile de Trente» selon J.-P.C. Montagnier, «La messe polyphonique imprimée en France au xviiie siècle: survivance et décadence d’une tradition séculaire», Acta musicologica 77/1 (2005) 47–69, à la p. 48). Même l’article de K. Fellerer, pourtant pionnier dans la déconstruction de l’incidence des décrets musicaux tridentins, se conclut sur une affirmation de l’influence du Concile; Fellerer/Hadas, «Church Music and the Council of Trent», 594. En revanche, cette surestimation de la nature et de la portée des prescriptions

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Au travers de la question musicale s’est donc installée l’illusion d’une dimension immédiatement prescriptive du Concile de Trente, illusion à laquelle il reste possible de substituer un paradigme alternatif, ce à quoi cette contribution sera consacrée. Pour ce faire, après un rappel des évolutions de l’historiographie dédiée à ce sujet, il conviendra de revenir sur les décrets des conciles provinciaux de la fin du seizième siècle, souvent considérés comme des instances ayant eu prise sur la réalité des pratiques.5 Dans un dernier temps seront formulées des hypothèses quant à la provenance du lexique musical utilisé lors de ces conciles provinciaux pour, en conclusion, reconsidérer la place du Concile de Trente dans la chronologie du discours sur la musique d’Église à la Renaissance. De la sorte, la présente étude tendra vers un objectif de nature expressément «tridentine»: en finir avec une sorte de superstition.

Une lente mutation historiographique L’origine de l’intérêt musicologique pour le Concile de Trente réside dans deux fragments de décrets.6 Le premier découle de la Session 22 conclue le 17 septembre 1562, et concerne les conduites à observer et les abus à proscrire dans la célébration de la messe: [Les évêques] banniront des Églises les musiques où se mêle, soit dans l’orgue soit dans le chant, quelque chose de lascif et d’impur; aussi bien que les actions séculières, les conversations vaines et profanes, les promenades, les bruits, les clameurs, afin que la maison de Dieu puisse en vérité paraître et être dite maison de prière.7 musicales tridentines a servi de point de départ pour démontrer, justement, la difficulté d’observer leur concrétisation dans la musique d’Église et ses modalités de performance à la fin du seizième siècle; cf. F. Rodilla León, «Algunas precisiones sobre la influencia del Concilio de Trento en Tomás Luis de Victoria y otros polifonistas de finales del siglo xvi y principios del xvii», Revista de musicología 35/1 (2012) 103–28. 5 Parmi d’autres, cf. Monson, «The Council of Trent revisited», 3 et 19. Cette étude délaissera volontairement le vaste ensemble des statuts synodaux produits durant la même période, et dont la partie française a été étudiée par B. Dompnier, «Les ordonnances synodales des xviie et xviiie siècles et la réglementation du culte divin», dans M. Aoun/J.-M. Tuffery-Andrieu (éd.), Conciles provinciaux et synodes diocésains du Concile de Trente à la Révolution française: défis ecclésiaux et enjeux politiques? (Strasbourg: Presses universitaires de Strasbourg, 2010) 365– 83. 6 Sur le déroulement des sessions du Concile de Trente, cf. la récente synthèse de J.W. O’Malley, Trent: What Happened at the Council (Cambridge, MA/London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2013). 7 Session 22 – 17 septembre 1562 – Décret sur les choses à observer et à éviter en célébrant la messe: «Ab ecclesiis vero musicas eas, ubi sive organo sive cantu lascivum aut impurum aliquid miscetur, item saeculares omnes actiones, vana atque adeo profana colloquia, deambulationes, strepitus, clamores arceant, ut domus Dei vere domus orationis esse videatur ac dici possit» (la fin du texte est une citation extraite de l’épisode biblique de l’expulsion des marchands du

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La seule autre mention musicale explicite dans le corpus tridentin se trouve dans le canon 12 du décret de réforme de la Session 24 dédié aux devoirs des bénéficiers: Tous [les bénéficiers] seront obligés d’assister aux offices divins par eux-mêmes et non par des remplaçants, d’assister et de servir l’évêque célébrant ou officiant pontificalement, et de louer respectueusement, distinctement et dévotement le nom de Dieu dans le chœur institué pour le chanter par des hymnes et cantiques.8

C’est à partir d’un terme de ces lignes (l’adverbe distincte) qu’a été développé l’essentiel de l’édifice interprétatif touchant aux prescriptions musicales tridentines et à leurs supposés effets en matière d’intelligibilité textuelle de la musique polyphonique.9 Pourtant, peu d’auteurs ont retenu un trait essentiel de ce décret: celui-ci n’évoque pas la musique figurée mais la psalmodie chantée à l’accomplissement de laquelle tout bénéficier – les chanoines notamment – devait statutairement prendre part. En fait, le souci de la compréhension des textes chantés en musique polyphonique n’apparaît que dans des propositions émises par quelques participants au Concile,10 ainsi que dans deux états intermédiaires du décret sur la messe, le premier se fondant sur la décrétale Docta sanctorum de Jean XXII (1324–25).11 Disparue de la version définitive, cette préoccupation demeura donc confinée à un niveau infra-réglementaire. La soi-disant norme conciliaire ne fut alors invoquée que dans quelques recueils de musique placés sous la bannière de l’événement tridentin, à l’instar des messes de Vincenzo Ruffo (ca. 1572) «composte ultimamente con arte meravivliosa conforme al decreto del sacrosancto Concilio di Trento».12 Certains prélats réformateurs usèrent aussi de

8

9

10 11

12

Temple par le Christ [Matt 21:12–13]); see Les conciles œcuméniques: Les décrets, G. Alberigo/ A. Duval (éd.) (2 vol.; Paris: Cerf, 1994), 2/2.1498. Session 24 – 11 novembre 1563 – Décret sur la réforme: «Omnes vero divina per se et non per substitutos compellantur obire officia, et episcopo celebranti aut alia pontificalia exercenti adsistere et inservire, atque in choro, ad psallendum instituto, hymnis et canticis Dei nomen reverenter, distincte devoteque laudare» (Les Conciles œcuméniques: Les décrets, G. Alberigo/ A. Duval (éd.), 2/2.1558). La confusion a été confortée par la légende palestrinienne, ainsi que par l’engagement effectif de Carlo Borromeo dans une réflexion sur l’adéquation entre énoncé rituel et polyphonie; L.H. Lockwood, «Vincenzo Ruffo and Musical Reform After the Council of Trent», The Musical Quarterly 43/3 (1957) 342–71. Cf. également le décret sur la musique du Concile de Milan en 1565 dans J.D. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum nova, et amplissima collectio (Venise: Antonius Zatta, 1759–98), 34.57. Cf. les «Postulata nonnullorum Patrum circa varios abusus in missa subintroductos» reproduites par J. Le Plat, Monumentorum ad historiam Concilii Tridentini (8 vol.; Leuven: Typographia Academica, 1785), 5.432, article 10. Monson, «The Council of Trent Revisited», 9. L’éventualité d’une interdiction de la musique est, quant à elle, perceptible dans une lettre de l’Empereur Ferdinand Ier et dans ses réponses au Concile au moment des discussions préalables à la Session 24; Monson, «The Council of Trent Revisited», 15–16. Cité par Lockwood, «Vincenzo Ruffo and Musical Reform», 363. Une mention comparable

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cette caution au moment d’intervenir dans l’activité musicale de leurs églises, comme Giulio Feltrio della Rovere déclarant s’inspirer des «leggi prescrite dal concilio tridentino ai musici di chiesa».13 En exagérant l’applicabilité et la signification de ces décrets, les musicographes du dix-neuvième siècle ont longtemps postulé, dans un contexte d’ultramontanisme triomphant, leur transmission directe auprès des musiciens par l’intermédiaire des expérimentations menées en 1565 par la commission cardinalice missionnée par Pie IV. La notice de François-Joseph Fétis sur Palestrina dans sa Biographie universelle des musiciens offre un exemple éloquent de ce topique sur la musique d’Église à la fin de la Renaissance: Les sessions de celui-ci [le Concile de Trente] ayant été closes au mois de décembre 1563, le pape Pie IV nomma pour exécuter les décrets de cette assemblée les cardinaux Vitelozzi et Borromée, qui s’adjoignirent pour ce qui concernait la musique une commission de huit membres, choisie en grande partie parmi les chapelains-chantres de la chapelle pontificale. Dès la première réunion de cette commission, il fut décidé: 1° qu’on ne chanterait plus à l’avenir les messes et motets où des paroles différentes étaient mêlées; 2° que les messes composées sur des thèmes de chansons profanes seraient bannies à jamais. En France, où les décrets du Concile de Trente n’ont jamais été reçus, les musiciens continuèrent encore pendant plus de vingt ans à suivre l’ancien usage dans leur musique; mais en Italie, et surtout à Rome, les décisions dont il vient d’être parlé furent immédiatement exécutées … Les cardinaux choisis par le pape pour l’exécution des décrets du Concile, insistaient particulièrement sur la nécessité de rendre ces textes [de la messe] intelligibles dans l’audition de la musique…14

Ultérieurement, ce modèle historiographique a été tempéré par la prise en compte des conciles provinciaux tenus à la fin du seizième siècle, dont les décrets auraient servi de filtres amplifiant ou réduisant l’incidence des textes tridentins. Ce transfert de responsabilité aux instances locales était d’ailleurs prévu dans les textes conciliaires, accompagné par la possibilité pour l’évêque d’agir par luimême de concert avec son chapitre: Quant au reste, en ce qui concerne l’organisation des offices divins, la façon convenable d’y chanter ou d’y psalmodier, le règlement précis pour s’assembler et se tenir dans le chœur, de même que ce qui sera nécessaire pour tous les serviteurs de l’Église, et autres choses ouvre le recueil de Salmi de ce même musicien (1574); Lockwood, «Vincenzo Ruffo and Musical Reform», 366. 13 D’après son règlement musical pour la Santa Casa de Loreto (1576), cité par V. Morucci, «Cardinal’s Patronage and the Era of Tridentine Reform: Giulio Feltro della Rovere as Protector of Sacred Music», The Journal of Musicology 29/3 (2012) 262–91, à la p. 280 n. 52. Dans ce cas précis, ce cardinal fait néanmoins référence à un fragment exact du corpus conciliaire en enjoignant aux musiciens de «non mischiare alcunche’ di lascivo o d’impuro nei loro canti»; Morucci, «Cardinal’s Patronage». 14 F.-J. Fétis, Biographie universelle des musiciens (8 vol.; Bruxelles: Meline, Cans et compagnie, 1841), 7.142–3.

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semblables, le synode provincial prescrira la règle précise en fonction de l’utilité de chaque province et de ses usages. Cependant, l’évêque, avec au moins deux chanoines, l’un choisi par l’évêque, l’autre par le chapitre, pourra pourvoir à tout ce qui lui semblera expédient.15

Enfin, une tardive rectification a été apportée par un article de Craig Monson précisant les circonstances exactes de rédaction des deux passages sur la musique du corpus tridentin. En ne confondant plus ceux-ci avec les discussions préparatoires et les échanges épistolaires entre prélats et dignitaires civils sur la polyphonie, Monson parvient à un constat frappant: si le statut de la musique ecclésiastique fut effectivement discuté dans l’environnement des débats du Concile et dans leur prolongement,16 les décrets promulgués restent silencieux à cet égard.17 Cet auteur a également montré combien les entretiens sur la musique au moment du Concile furent tributaires de la maturation de prises de position ou de réalisations pratiques remontant au premier tiers du seizième siècle. Dans une même perspective, Rob Wegman a mis au jour l’existence d’un faisceau de contestations de la musique figurée dès la fin du quinzième siècle dans les milieux humanistes situés plutôt aux marges de l’institution ecclésiastique, et dont les récriminations seront relayées par Érasme et les premiers réformés.18

15 Les Conciles oecuméniques: Les décrets, Alberigo/Duval (éd.), 2/2.1558 «Cetera, quæ ad debitum in divinis officiis regimen spectant, deque congrua in his canendi seu modulandi ratione, de certa lege in choro conveniendi et permanendi, simulque de omnibus ecclesiæ ministris, quæ necessaria erunt, et si qua huiusmodi: synodus provincialis pro cuiusque provinciæ utilitate et moribus certam cuique formulam præscribet. Interea vero episcopus, non minus quam cum duobus canonicis, quorum unus ab episcopo, alter a capitolo eligatur, in his, quae expedire videbuntur, poterit providere». 16 Ainsi, c’est seulement après le Concile et hors de toute visée prescriptive universelle que furent prises les initiatives des cardinaux Borromeo et Vitelli en matière de musique polyphonique. Cf. Lockwood, «Vincenzo Ruffo and Musical Reform», 343–54, et Monson, «The Council of Trent Revisited», 24. 17 Au contraire, les images donnèrent lieu à un des textes conciliaires les plus commentés. Sur cette question abondamment traitée, cf. l’ouvrages récent de P.-A. Fabre, Décréter l’image ? La XXVe session du Concile de Trente (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2013) et la contribution de J. W. O’Malley, «Trent, Sacred Images, and Catholics’ Senses of the Sensuous», dans M.B. Hall/T.E. Cooper (éd.), The Sensuous in the Counter-Reformation Church (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013) 28–48. 18 R. C. Wegman, The Crisis of Music in Early Modern Europe, 1470–1530 (New York: Routledge, 2008). Sur les critiques d’Érasme à l’encontre de la musique d’Église, cf. J.-C. Margolin, Érasme et la musique (Paris: Vrin, 1965). Il faut ajouter à ces contributions la publication à venir d’une communication de David Crook («Music Wanton or Impure», congrès European Sacred Music, Fribourg, 2010) discutant du sens de l’adjectif lascivum dans son application à la musique.

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Les décrets des conciles provinciaux Cette déconstruction du mythe musical tridentin peut toutefois être approfondie, au moins pour ce qui concerne la littérature prescriptive. Le lien supposé entre Concile de Trente et conciles provinciaux postérieurs n’a en effet rien d’évident, même si ces derniers avaient en principe pour objet d’officialiser leur acceptation des textes publiés à l’issue du Concile général. En effet, dans les décrets sur la musique édictés par les assemblées provinciales, nulle trace ou presque d’une reprise littérale des sentences de 1563: si le vocabulaire de cellesci est ponctuellement réemployé, des mots nouveaux les précisent ou les modulent, voire formulent des appréciations sortant des cadres posés par le Concile général. Malgré la grande diversité de ces textes, il reste possible d’en dégager deux champs lexicaux dont le premier découle des décrets tridentins. Hormis le Concile de Malines (1607) citant fidèlement le décret sur l’office,19 des conciles provinciaux réemploient les termes principaux publiés en 1563 en les associant à d’autres mots afin d’en éclairer le sens. Le triptyque tridentin reverenterdistincte-devote qualifiant le chant de l’office peut être réitéré entièrement, à moins d’évoluer comme à Bordeaux (1583) et Narbonne (1609) en devoteattente-graviter.20 Dans le sillage du Concile de Trente, la lasciveté est, quant à elle, convoquée lors de ces conciles provinciaux pour définir la musique indésirable à l’Église, et rapprochée de la mollesse et du caractère profane à Milan (1565).21 Ces mots-slogans véhiculent non seulement les conclusions tridentines officielles, mais aussi les sujets abordés dans les coulisses du Concile général relativement au brouillage des paroles rituelles lorsqu’elles sont mises en musique, ou encore au remplacement par l’orgue ou par la musique figurée de textes à réciter à voix haute.22 Probablement inspirés par des échos rapportés après la clôture du Concile général, plusieurs décrets provinciaux convertissent ces préoccupations en réglementation23 et, en cela, outrepassent le sens des préceptes tridentins par le biais de thématiques environnantes. 19 20 21 22

Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 34.1455. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 34.766 et 1510. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 34.57. Restés à l’état de manuscrit jusqu’au dix-neuvième siècle, les Acta Concilii Tridentini de Gabriele Paleotti attestent que les propos informels sur la musique échangés lors du Concile étaient connus de manière synthétique peu de temps après sa clôture; Monson, «The Council of Trent Revisited», 23 n. 62 (cf. également l’extrait cité n. 63). 23 L’interdiction de musique de substitution pour certains passages du formulaire de la messe (un ou plusieurs des textes suivants: Gloria, Credo, préface, Pater Noster) est exprimée à Salamanque (1565), Embrun (1582), Bordeaux (1583), Reims (1583), Mexico (1585), Malines (1607). En revanche, l’intelligibilité du texte musicalisé n’est évoquée que dans les actes du Concile de Cambrai (1565) où il est question d’une musique «simple» tolérable pour le Credo

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Pour autant, la maigre substance musicale des décrets tridentins n’est pas le seul point d’appui pour la réflexion des participants à ces assemblées provinciales. Leurs décisions laissent transparaître certaines inflexions pastorales voulues par de fortes personnalités, comme à Milan où le rigorisme borroméen explique le bannissement de tout instrument hormis l’orgue. Cependant, plus que ces nuances, la lecture sérielle de ces documents permet de repérer un second corpus lexical homogène, corpus qui, s’il ne contredit pas les décrets tridentins, contient des informations supplémentaires. Après 1563, les termes qui le composent apparaissent une première fois lors du Concile de Malines en 1570:24 sur le vocabulaire tridentin à propos de la récitation de l’office s’ajoute l’impératif d’un chant posé (tractim) et d’allure différenciée selon les degrés festifs du calendrier liturgique. Les conciles français insistent particulièrement sur ces deux aspects, en leur adjoignant l’exhortation au respect des pauses à la médiation des versets psalmodiés. À Reims (1583), Bordeaux (1583), Tours (1583) et Bourges (1584),25 ces directives – au demeurant d’origine ancienne – sont exprimées avec des mots invariants, ce qui trahit une possible source commune à chercher en amont de l’événement tridentin.

L’empreinte du Concile de Bâle Cette piste se révèle rapidement féconde. En remontant la chronologie des conciles provinciaux d’avant 1563, on retrouve le fil conduisant aux actes des assemblées provinciales de la fin du seizième siècle dès les décrets du Concile de Trèves (1549)26 puis de celui de Cologne (1536).27 Singulièrement, les textes de ce dernier recèlent à la fois une nomenclature pré-tridentine28 et celle caractéristique des conciles français tardifs,29 à quoi s’ajoute la consigne de ne pas

24 25 26 27

28 29

(affirmation reprise à Bordeaux en 1583), et dans ceux du Concile de Bourges (1584) recommandant l’évitement des «repetitiones vocum & syllabarum supervacantes» pour le Gloria et le Credo. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 34.584. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 34.686, 766, 830 et 889. Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 32.1444. Également remarquée par B. Dompnier dans les statuts synodaux (Dompnier, «Les ordonnances synodales», 370 n. 22), l’absence presque totale de référence explicite au Concile de Bâle dans les décrets provinciaux post-tridentins résulte vraisemblablement de leur censure avant publication par la Congrégation du Concile; cf. M. Venard, «Les conciles provinciaux post-tridentins de France, sous la censure de Rome», dans Aoun/Tuffery-Andrieu (éd.), Conciles provinciaux et synodes diocésains, 31–44. Selon ce Concile, l’office doit être chanté integre, distincte, devote, et reverenter (Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 32.1233), alors que le jeu d’orgue doit être exempt de toute lasciveté (Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 32.1227). La psalmodie canoniale y est aussi décrite comme «non cursim ac festinanter, sed tractim» (Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 32.1233).

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remplacer par de la musique les textes prophétiques ou apostoliques, le Credo, la Préface et le Pater noster de la messe.30 Ces instructions sont pareillement énoncées à l’issue des Conciles de Sens (1528), Salzbourg (1490) et à nouveau Sens (1485) avec, dans ces deux derniers cas, l’affichage de leur autorité émettrice: le Concile de Bâle (Session 21, 1435)31 et sa reformulation dans la Pragmatique Sanction (1438).32 Les décrets du Concile controversé de Bâle33 contiennent en effet des précisions relatives à la musique et au chant dans les canons troisième (Quomodo divinum officium in Ecclesia celebrandum sit34) et huitième (De his qui in missa non complent Credo, vel cantant cantilenas, vel nimis basse missam legunt, aut sine ministro35), précisions se répartissant comme suit (Fig. 1):

30 Selon ces décrets, ces textes réclament un chant distinct et intelligible; Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 32.1227. Toutefois, il ne s’agit point dans ce cas de musique, mais de plain-chant ou de cantillation rituelle. 31 En 1435, sa Session 21 porte entièrement sur les modalités de récitation de l’office; Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 29.104–8. Le Concile de Bourges (1528) revendique lui-aussi cette autorité (même s’il désigne le Concile de Bâle sous l’intitulé de Concile de Constance) mais se contente de prôner une psalmodie «lente & cum certa modula facienda». 32 F.-A. Isambert/A.J.L. Jourdan/M. Decrusy, Recueil général des anciennes lois françaises depuis l’an 420 jusqu’à la révolution de 1789 (29 vol.; Paris: Belin-Leprieur/Verdière, 1825), 9.38–41 (pour les décrets sur l’office divin). 33 Sur ce Concile et son environnement musical, cf. M. Nanni (éd.), Music and Culture in the Age of the Council of Basel (Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 2014). 34 «Statuit igitur sancta Synodus, ut in cunctis cathedralibus ac collegiatis Ecclesiis, horis debitis, signis congrua pulsatione praemissis, laudes divinae per singulas Horas non cursim ac festinanter, sed asiatim ac tractim, & cum pausa decenti, praesertim in medio cujuslibet versiculi psalmorum, debitam faciendo inter solemne ac feriale officium differentiam, reverenter ab omnibus persolvantur … Et cum psallendi gratia ibidem conveniant, juncta ac clausa labia tenere non debent, sed omnes, praesertim qui majori funguntur honore, in psalmis, hymnis & canticis Deo alacriter modulentur» (Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 29.105). 35 «Abusum aliquarum Ecclesiarum, in quibus Credo in unum Deum, quod est symbolum & confessio Fidei nostrae, non complete usque ad finem cantatur, aut praefatio seu oratio Dominica omittitur, vel in Ecclesiis cantilenae saeculares voce admiscentur, seu missa etiam privata sine ministro, aut per secretas orationes ita submissa voce dicitur, quod a circumstantibus audiri non potest, abolentes, statuimus ut qui in his transgressor inventus fuerit a suo superiore debite castigetur» (Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, 29.107).

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Psalmodie

non précipitée et distincte pause à la médiation allures différenciées selon les rangs de fête psalmodier avec révérence ne pas rester muet ni bouche close tendre à la dévotion

chanter le Credo entièrement ne pas omettre la Préface et le Pater ne pas chanter de musiques profanes (“saecularesˮ) respecter les différents tons de voix du célébrant Figure 1: Synthèse des prescriptions du Concile de Bâle (1435) concernant le chant

Messe

Ces consignes émanent d’une généalogie prescriptive remontant à Isidore de Séville, passant par le canon 137 du Concile d’Aix-la–Chapelle en 816 et l’ordonnance de Chrodegang, puis se poursuivant durant le Moyen Âge au travers notamment de la célèbre décrétale Docta Sanctorum.36 Le Concile de Bâle constitue à ce titre un nouvel apport à la définition séculaire des traits de la vox congruens37 propre aux manifestations publiques du culte divin. Rien d’étonnant alors à ce que les termes essentiels des décrets bâlois apparaissent en filigrane dans les décrets tridentins sur le chant et la musique (signalés en gras dans le tableau ci-dessus), et que plusieurs de leurs détails techniques et lexicaux soient repris par la plupart des conciles provinciaux tenus entre la fin du quinzième et le début du dix-septième siècle. Cependant, cette propagation des décisions bâloises n’est peut-être pas aussi neutre que la copie coutumière de textes disciplinaires vénérables par des scribes médiévaux. De même que le Concile de Constance, le Concile de Bâle fut perçu déjà au quinzième siècle comme un moment décisif du réformisme chrétien. Concrétisant les aspirations de personnalités d’envergure telles que Jean Gerson, les décrets de ces conciles et le projet ecclésiologique qu’ils sous-tendaient furent ensuite invoqués par les contestataires de l’absolutisme pontifical ou princier en matière religieuse. Dès lors, pour certains auteurs de décrets provinciaux sur le chant aux seizième et dixseptième siècles, le Concile de Trente sembla vraisemblablement moins décisif pour ce qui concerne certains critères disciplinaires que l’événement originel du Concile de Bâle. La mise en concurrence des décrets musicaux de ces deux Conciles généraux avait d’ailleurs de quoi leur donner raison: comparés aux indications prolixes de 36 Sur la transmission et l’utilisation concrète de ce texte à la suite de sa promulgation, cf. F. Körndle, «Die Bulle Docta sanctorum patrum. Überlieferung, Textgestalt und Wirkung», Die Musikforschung 63 (2010) 147–65. L’impact de cette décrétale a cependant été reconsidéré de manière plus restrictive; cf. notamment E. Anheim, «Une controverse médiévale sur la musique: la décrétale Docta sanctorum de Jean XXII et le débat sur l’ars nova dans les années 1320», Revue Mabillon 72 (2000) 221–46. 37 Sur les racines et les manifestations de ce concept à l’époque moderne, cf. M. Brulin, Le Verbe et la voix – la manifestation vocale dans le culte en France au xviie siècle (Paris: Beauchesne, 1998).

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l’assemblée de Bâle, celles de Trente sont rien moins que laconiques.38 De ce fait, il convient de faire remonter au début du quinzième siècle l’ouverture d’une longue période de velléités réformistes pour ce qui touche à la liturgie, période au cours de laquelle s’inscrit, très naturellement, le Concile de Trente. De plus, les lieux communs lexicaux de cette ambition réformatrice ne proviennent pas seulement des figures minoritaires au sein de l’Église identifiées par Wegman, mais du cœur de celle-ci. Par ailleurs, la motivation des références au Concile de Bâle dans les décrets provinciaux tardifs n’est probablement pas que disciplinaire. Les décrets du Concile de Bâle et leur reprise quasi exacte dans la Pragmatique Sanction39 furent, en effet, au cœur des luttes de pouvoir entre la monarchie française, l’autorité pontificale et les structures capitulaires. L’enjeu était tel que l’abrogation de la Pragmatique Sanction fut recherchée à diverses occasions et obtenue en définitive avec la signature du Concordat de Bologne en 1516. L’échelonnement dans le temps des citations sur le chant du Concile de Bâle et de la Pragmatique Sanction par les assemblées provinciales correspond d’ailleurs aux phases de cette crise (Fig. 2). 1435 [1438

conciles abordant le chant Session 21 du Concile de Bâle Pragmatique Sanction]

conciles sans référence au chant 1448 1449 1451 1452 1456 1456 1457 1468 1470

Tours Lyon Mainz Cologne Salzburg Reims Avignon Autun Cologne Bénévent Tolède

1473 1485 Sens Figure 2: Chronologie des conciles du quinzième siècle traitant ou pas du chant

38 Cette retenue peut diversement s’expliquer. Outre que la question musicale était considérée par les Pères du Concile de Trente comme épineuse et secondaire, il était inconcevable pour eux de se référer explicitement au Concile de Bâle compte tenu de l’ecclésiologie dominante au milieu du seizième siècle. Sans doute pour cette raison, le mémoire produit par l’évêque d’Ermland, Stanislas Hosius, qui reprenait les prescriptions musicales du Concile de Bâle et figurait parmi les papiers de Ludovico Beccadelli, président de la commission de préparation du décret sur la messe, resta lettre morte; Monson, «The Council of Trent Revisited», 6–7. Ce recul explique peut-être la déception de certains observateurs en attente de décrets plus ambitieux; cf. la lettre de Giovanni Strozzi à Cosimo I de Medici (14 septembre 1562) citée par Monson, «The Council of Trent Revisited», 12 n. 31. 39 Hormis quelques changements de mots sans conséquence, la seule différence significative dans la Pragmatique Sanction consiste en une recommandation de préservation des spécificités des églises du roi et du dauphin (probablement les chapelles royales, les saintes-chapelles et les collégiales placées sous leur protection).

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Les décrets des conciles provinciaux consécutifs à la promulgation de la Pragmatique Sanction sont exempts de référence au chant. En revanche, le concile tenu en 1485 à Sens – métropole de l’évêché de Paris – reprend à son compte la terminologie des décrets du Concile de Bâle, en reconnaissant son autorité et celle de la Pragmatique Sanction. Or, ce concile provincial est contemporain de la réaffirmation en France de la Pragmatique Sanction après que le pape Pie II ait presque réussi à obtenir de Louis XI sa révocation. Promulgués au commencement du règne de Charles VIII, les décrets du Concile de Sens participeraient à ce titre d’une stratégie de consolidation d’une norme dont les conciles provinciaux se préoccupaient peu avant qu’elle soit menacée.40 Puis, une fois la Pragmatique Sanction rendue caduque par le Concile de Latran V et le concordat de Bologne,41 le fait de s’en réclamer reflèterait un attachement à des conciles considérés comme indiscutables, ceux de Constance et de Bâle, en réaction au contestable Concile du Latran. En voie de disparition, l’ecclésiologie emblématisée par ces décrets connut un dernier sursaut au cours des préparatifs du Concile de Trente. Durant l’assemblée de Meaux convoquée par François Ier, la Pragmatique Sanction fut envisagée comme base possible pour une réforme du clergé.42 À nouveau introduits dans l’argumentaire du parti français durant les sessions du Concile de Trente,43 les décrets bâlois repris dans la Pragmatique Sanction deviendront un des monuments mémoriels du gallicanisme ecclésiastique et parlementaire,44 dans un contexte de recomposition des rapports de force entre les principales institutions civiles et religieuses du royaume de France. La norme héritée du Concile de Bâle ne fut pourtant pas qu’une abstraction manipulée par les acteurs d’un affrontement idéologique. Dans la vie courante des chanoines français du seizième siècle, elle sert aussi de levier manipulé par les doyens lors du relèvement des usages de leurs chapitres,45 de même qu’elle 40 Sur l’autonomie décisionnaire des chapitres à la fin du quinzième siècle, cf. V. Julerot, «Y a un grant desordre»: élections épiscopales et schismes diocésains en France sous Charles VIII (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2006). 41 Conséquence de ce Concordat, la disparition d’importants privilèges des évêques et des chapitres provoqua une vague d’oppositions, notamment au sein de l’Université de Paris. Le concordat fut donc enregistré de force en 1518; A. Tallon, La France et le Concile de Trente (1518–1563) (Rome: École française de Rome, 1997), 57–60. 42 Tallon, La France et le Concile de Trente, 140. 43 Tallon, La France et le Concile de Trente, 427. 44 Cf. par exemple les nombreuses allusions à ce texte chez P. Pithou (éd.), Traitez des droits et libertez de l’Eglise Gallicane (s.l.: s.n., 1639). 45 Ainsi à Noyon en 1552: «ledit sieur Doyen entre autre chose remonstra notamment aux Vicaires de la part de la compagnie, de psalmodier selon le decret du Concile de Basle, iadis receu en France, comme le prouvoit par la Pragmatique Sanction. C’estoit de là qu’il tiroit ses principaux motifs pour induire à bien & devëment faire le Divin service, & officier à l’Eglise…» Voir J. Le Vasseur, Annales de l’Eglise Cathedrale de Noyon (Paris: Chez Robert Sara, 1632), 1191.

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apparaît dans les décrets provinciaux après le Concile de Trente dans le but de régler concrètement la discipline du chant de l’office. En cela, les prescriptions du Concile de Bâle concernant le chant connurent une paradoxale longévité: alors que le support juridique de ces décrets était devenu obsolète, ceux-ci restèrent d’actualité pour des autorités religieuses locales en attente d’instructions plus claires que celles du Concile de Trente, d’instructions renvoyant aussi à l’âge, désormais révolu, de la toute puissance des chapitres et d’une forme d’alliance privilégiée entre un roi et l’Église de son royaume. En fonction de cela, il serait possible de proposer une nouvelle modélisation de l’histoire des normes conciliaires relatives à la musique au commencement de l’époque moderne. Ramenés à l’échelle de la très longue durée, les décrets de Trente ne font finalement que reprendre des thèmes presque émoussés par une récurrence ancestrale. Et s’ils perpétuent une longue lignée de récriminations à l’égard des déviations du chant ecclésiastique, ces textes restent en retrait par rapport aux débats théoriques impliquant prélats et musiciens au milieu du seizième siècle. Considéré dans le temps plus court de l’ère conciliaire ouverte à Constance en 1414, le corpus tridentin est surpassé par la précision et la valeur symbolique, surtout aux yeux des ecclésiastiques français, de l’enseignement d’un Concile qu’ils estimaient comme antinomique, celui de Bâle. Les formes de l’activité chantante étant une matière sans conséquence théologique grave,46 les décrets bâlois évoluèrent ainsi en directoire disciplinaire au fur et à mesure que leur contenu ecclésiologique était mis à distance. En somme, au lieu d’un événement fondateur ou rénovateur à partir duquel toute situation locale serait à analyser,47 le Concile de Trente serait plutôt assimilable à une greffe sur une tradition réglementaire constituée de strates d’anciennetés diverses, et instrumentalisée selon les besoins et les prétentions des provinces tenant Concile. Enfin, l’examen des décrets musicaux produits par les Conciles de la première modernité montre qu’un lexique stable peut endosser des fonctions différentes selon les préoccupations ou les usages qui les environnent. Au temps du Concile de Bâle, décréter sur le chant procède d’un plan de régénération ambitieux. Réitérer ces décrets peut ultérieurement devenir un acte d’affirmation de leur validité ou, encore plus tard, un témoignage de résistance à l’évolution du système politico-ecclésiastique. Les mêmes mots pour des finalités, sinon des stratégies évolutives: la dialectique de la lettre et de l’esprit de la lettre est assurément opérationnelle lorsqu’il s’agit d’étudier l’histoire des prescriptions liturgicomusicales à l’époque moderne. 46 Monson, «The Council of Trent Revisited», 10. 47 Ceci n’exclut pas que des réactions «musicales» au Concile soient ponctuellement observables; cf. par exemple L. Jambou, «Trois niveaux de lecture musicale des dispositions ecclésiastiques du xvie siècle et leur rapport au Concile de Trente», Analyse musicale 58 (2008) 80– 6, à la p. 84.

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Bibliographie Sources imprimées et éditées Isambert, F.-A./Jourdan, A.J.L./Decrusy, M., Recueil général des anciennes lois françaises depuis l’an 420 jusqu’à la révolution de 1789 (29 vol.; Paris: Belin-Leprieur/Verdière, 1825). Le Plat, J., Monumentorum ad historiam Concilii Tridentini (8 vol.; Leuven: Typographia Academica, 1785). Le Vasseur, J., Annales de l’Eglise Cathedrale de Noyon (Paris: Chez Robert Sara, 1632). Mansi, J.D., Sacrorum Conciliorum nova, et amplissima collectio, vol. 34 (Venise: Antonius Zatta, 1759–1798). Potel, F.-A., «Dissertation sur l’introduction de la Musique dans les Eglises», Journal ecclésiastique 15/1 [1764]. Richard, Ch.-L., Analyse des conciles généraux et particuliers (5 vol.; Paris: Chez Vincent, 1772).

Sources secondaires Anheim, E., «Une controverse médiévale sur la musique: la décrétale Docta sanctorum de Jean XXII et le débat sur l’ars nova dans les années 1320», Revue Mabillon 72 (2000) 221– 46. Brulin, M., Le Verbe et la voix – la manifestation vocale dans le culte en France au xviie siècle (Paris: Beauchesne, 1998). Dompnier, B., «Les ordonnances synodales des xviie et xviiie siècles et la réglementation du culte divin», dans M. Aoun/J.-M. Tuffery-Andrieu (éd.), Conciles provinciaux et synodes diocésains du Concile de Trente à la Révolution française: défis ecclésiaux et enjeux politiques ? (Strasbourg: Presses universitaires de Strasbourg, 2010) 365–83. Fabre, P.-A., Décréter l’image ? La XXVe session du Concile de Trente (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 2013). Fellerer, K./Hadas, M., «Church Music and the Council of Trent», The Musical Quarterly 39/ 4 (1953) 576–94. Garratt, J., Palestrina and the German Romantic Imagination (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). His, I., «Les répertoires musicaux associés au roi Henri IV», Revue belge de musicologie 59 (2005) 143–64. Jambou, L., «Trois niveaux de lecture musicale des dispositions ecclésiastiques du xvie siècle et leur rapport au Concile de Trente», Analyse musicale 58 (2008) 80–6. Julerot, V., «Y a un grant desordre»: élections épiscopales et schismes diocésains en France sous Charles VIII (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2006). Körndle, F., «Die Bulle Docta sanctorum patrum. Überlieferung, Textgestalt und Wirkung», Die Musikforschung 63 (2010) 147–65. Lockwood, L.H., «Vincenzo Ruffo and Musical Reform after the Council of Trent», The Musical Quarterly 43/3 (1957) 342–71. Margolin, J.-C., Érasme et la musique (Paris: Vrin, 1965).

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Mischiati, O., «Il Concilio di Trento e la polifonia – una diversa proposta di lettura e di prospettiva bibliografica», dans D. Curti/M. Gozzi (éd.), Musica e liturgia nella Riforma tridentina (Trente: Servizio Beni Librari e Archivistici, 1995) 19–29. Monson, C., «The Council of Trent Revisited», Journal of the American Musicological Society 55/1 (2002) 1–37. Montagnier, J.-P.C., «La messe polyphonique imprimée en France au xviiie siècle: survivance et décadence d’une tradition séculaire», Acta musicologica 77/1 (2005) 47–69. Morucci, V., «Cardinal’s Patronage and the Era of Tridentine Reform: Giulio Feltro della Rovere as Protector of Sacred Music», The Journal of Musicology 29/3 (2012) 262–91. Nanni, M. (éd.), Music and Culture in the Age of the Council of Basel (Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 2014). O’Malley, J.W., «Trent, Sacred Images, and Catholics’ Senses of the Sensuous», dans M.B. Hall/T.E. Cooper (éd.), The Sensuous in the Counter-Reformation Church (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013) 28–48. Prodi, P./Reinhard, W. (éd.), Il concilio di Trento e il moderno (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1996). Rodilla León, F., «Algunas precisiones sobre la influencia del Concilio de Trento en Tomás Luis de Victoria y otros polifonistas de finales del siglo xvi y principios del xvii», Revista de musicología 35/1 (2012) 103–28. Tallon, A., La France et le Concile de Trente (1518–1563) (Rome: École française de Rome, 1997). Venard, M., «Les conciles provinciaux post-tridentins de France, sous la censure de Rome», dans M. Aoun/J.-M. Tuffery-Andrieu (éd.), Conciles provinciaux et synodes diocésains du Concile de Trente à la Révolution française: défis ecclésiaux et enjeux politiques ? (Strasbourg: Presses universitaires de Strasbourg, 2010) 31–44. Wegman, R.C., The Crisis of Music in Early Modern Europe, 1470–1530 (New York: Routledge, 2008).

Marianne C.E. Gillion

Cantate Domino Canticum Novum? A Re-examination of ‘Post-Tridentine’ Chant Revision in Italian Printed Graduals

The influence of the precepts of the Council of Trent on liturgical music has been reassessed in recent years. Gone are the days when the very mention of Trent conjured the image of stern-faced cardinals trying to ban polyphonic music, only to be dissuaded by Palestrina’s Missa Papae Marcelli.1 Musicologists such as Craig Monson have pointed out that the actual wording of the decrees, as opposed to what was put forward for discussion, was vague and non-prescriptive.2 The decree On things to be observed and avoided in celebrating Mass, from Session 22 of September 17, 1562 simply states that, “the kind of music in which a base and suggestive element is introduced into the organ playing or singing” should be kept out of the Church.3 Session 24, held on November 14, 1563, determined that in regards to “other matters concerning the due ordering of the divine office”, including “the appropriate style of singing and chanting”, that the provincial synods would prescribe a “precise rule in the light of the good and the customs of each province”.4 Until that time, matters would rest in the hands of the bishop and no less than two canons.5 The differing interpretations and implementation of these decrees, together with other philosophical and aesthetic 1 C.A. Monson, “The Council of Trent Revisited”, Journal of the American Musicological Society 55/1 (2002) 1–37, on p. 2. 2 Monson, “The Council of Trent Revisited”, 2–3. 3 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, N.P. Tanner/G. Alberigo (ed.) (2 vol.; London: Sheed & Ward/Washington: Georgetown University Press, 1990), 2.737: “Ab ecclesiis vero musicas eas, ubi sive organo sive cantu lascivum aut impurum aliquid miscetur, item saeculares omnes actiones, vana atque adeo profana colloquia, deambulationes, strepitus, clamores arceant, ut domus Dei vere domus orationis esse videatur ac dici posit.” 4 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.767. 5 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.767: “Cetera, quae ad debitum in divinis officiis regimen spectant, deque congrua in his canendi seu modulandi ratione, de certa lege in choro conveniendi et permanendi, simulque de omnibus ecclesiae ministris, quae necessaria erunt, et si qua huiusmodi: synodus provincialis pro cuiusque provinciae utilitate et moribus certam cuique formulam praescribet. Interea vero episcopus, non minus quam cum duobus canonicis, quorum unus ab episcopo, alter a capitulo eligatur, in his, quae expedire videbuntur, poterit providere.”

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influences of the same period, could and did greatly impact polyphonic music, giving rise to an idea of ‘Tridentine polyphony’.6 Yet the influence of Trent on the ‘other’ music used in the service of the Church – plainchant – is far less clear. This music was held in high regard, believed to have been sung by the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove to the saintly Pope Gregory the Great, who then dictated it to a scribe (hence the designation ‘Gregorian Chant’).7 Instructions to remove lascivious elements, such as musical references to secular music that could occur in polyphonic masses, did not apply.8 The most important moment for plainchant did not occur in any of the discussions regarding music, but rather in the recommendation that the supreme pontiff oversee a revision of the liturgy, including the issue of a new breviary and missal.9 These volumes, published and promulgated under Pius V in 1568 and 1570 respectively, would in turn necessitate changes in the books of music for the Divine Office and the Mass, as the liturgical celebrations were brought in line with the new norms (or brought back in line with ancient practice, depending upon one’s views).10 The editors of Italian printed volumes of plainchant used in the Mass (graduals) had been experimenting with chant revision ever since the advent of the musical printing press made wholesale changes practicable and possible. The editor of the first gradual published by the firm of Giunta (Venice, 1499/1500), Francis of Bruges, revised plainchant mainly through the copious notation of accidentals. This volume was emulated to a greater or lesser degree by other firms, including Liechtenstein (Venice) and Porris (Turin). As early as 1524, in the 6 Monson, “The Council of Trent Revisited”, 25–8. 7 T. Karp, An Introduction to the Post-Tridentine Mass Proper (2 vol.; Middleton, WI: American Institute of Musicology, 2005), 1.1. 8 Many tropes were removed from the Mass Ordinary, and the number of ‘approved’ sequences were reduced to four: Lauda Sion, Veni Sancte Spiritus, Victimae Paschali Laudes, and Dies Irae. However, these devotional additions, while extra-biblical, cannot be described as ‘lascivious’. R. Crocker/J. Caldwell/A.E. Planchart, “Sequence”, in Grove Music Online (Oxford Music Online, accessed 05. 06. 2014). 9 Session 25 Super indice librorum, catechismo, breviario et missali, see Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.797. The work on the reform of the breviary and the missal had been begun at Trent, but was not completed by the close of the council. H. Jedin, Ecumenical Councils of the Catholic Church: An Historical Outline (Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 1960), 185. 10 M. Gozzi, “Le Edizioni Liturgico-Musicali Dopo il Concilio”, in D. Curti/M. Gozzi (ed.), Musica e Liturgia nella Riforma Tridentina (Trento: Provincia Autonoma di Trento, Servizio Beni Librari e Archivistici, 1995) 39–55, on pp. 39–41. See also J. Veltman, Prosody and Rhythm in the Post-Tridentine Reform of Plainchant (Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Ohio State University; Columbus, OH, 2004), 48–51. Simon Ditchfield notes that the bull Quo Primum Tempore, which prefaced the missal, emphasized renewal as opposed to innovation. S. Ditchfield, Liturgy, Sanctity and History in Tridentine Italy: Pietro Maria Campi and the Preservation of the Particular (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 43.

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Graduale Romanum published by Porris and Dossene (Turin), editors began excising sections of long melismas in order to the shorten the chant.11 Now the printers and editors faced a unique challenge: how to incorporate and assimilate the changes mandated by the new missal into a centuries old corpus of music within an ongoing framework of chant revision. Their approach to this task marks the beginning of a new era of chant reform, and foreshadows the more drastic alterations that have come to be associated with the term ‘Post-Tridentine chant’.12 The first gradual to be published after the promulgation of the missal was the two-volume Graduale Romanum, by the Venetian branch of the Giunta firm, in 1572.13 The title pages of both volumes proudly assert that the contents have been “carefully collated” with the new Roman Missal, sorting and arranging the contents, which were “previously confused” into their proper order. Further, it is claimed that the plainchant, which had been so corrupted that “one had to pronounce a nearly infinite amount of words with a barbarous sound”, had again been made intact.14 The latter statement is pure publisher’s rhetoric: the plain11 For further discussion, see M.C.E. Gillion, Accidental Chant Revision: A Case Study of Accidental Use in the Giunta Graduale (1499–1500) Edited by Francis of Bruges (Unpublished Master’s thesis, Bangor University, 2011); R.J. Agee, “The Printed Dissemination of the Roman Gradual in Italy in the Early Modern Period”, Notes 64/1 (2007) 9–42, on pp. 13–15. 12 In his discussion of the terms ‘Tridentine Reform’ and ‘Tridentine Age’ John W. O’Malley notes that, “the major problem with the term[s], however, is that, when used in an unreflective way, [they] attribute too much to the council”. J.W. O’Malley, Trent and All That: Renaming Catholicism in the Early Modern Era (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000), 135, and discussion 134–6. This criticism can be justly applied to the designations of ‘Tridentine’ or ‘Post-Tridentine’ when applied to music; they imply that the council had a more significant impact on music than was actually the case. 13 Prior to 1572, Giunta published full graduals in 1499/1500, 1513/16, 1527, ca. 1535, 1544, and 1562. In his article, “The Printed Dissemination of the Roman Gradual”, Richard Agee discusses the interrelation of various printed sources, including the copying of layouts, which he determined “through concordant line ending and foliation, among other things” (p. 13). Discounting the graduals from 1544 and 1562, of which no known copies survive, Agee concluded that the prints from 1513/16 and 1527 had layouts copied from the 1499/1500 gradual, while the prints from 1535 and 1572 (the two-volume edition) did not (p. 14). The Renaissance Liturgical Imprints: A Census (RELICS) database lists a copy of the 1562 gradual held at the Biblioteca del Centro Studi Francescani per la Liguria in Genoa (http://quod.lib.umich.edu/r/relics/index.html). However, in his article Agee says that there is no known surviving copy, referencing Camerini’s Annali dei Giunti (see Agee, “The Printed Dissemination”, 11, table one; P. Camerini, Annali dei Giunti (2 vol.; Florence: Sansoni Antiquariato, 1962–63), 1.432). Camerini lists the two volumes of Giunta 1572 as entry 754 in the Annali (Camerini, Annali, 2.51). There is at present no reason to think that the two-volume 1572 print was anything but a new, separate publication (rather than a reissue of old copies of the 1562 edition with new title pages and amendatory lists). 14 Graduale Romanum (Venice: Giunta, 1572), unfoliated title pages: “… nuper cum Missali novo Romano, diligenter collatum: // Quod quidem multis: quae antea confusa perturbataque erant: distinctis atque in ordinem adductis: nunc summa diligentia emendatum est. // Cantus

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song that makes up the majority of the volume is in fact almost exactly reprinted from earlier Giuntine prints, following a tradition that goes back at least to the beginning of the sixteenth century. However, the changes in the missal that affected the contents of the gradual are enumerated in two lists: one prefacing the Temporale volume (which I shall term Giunta 1572a), and one prefacing the Sanctorale and Kyriale volume (which I shall term Giunta 1572b). These alterations, which have been tabulated by Marco Gozzi, include the removal of some saints’ feasts, the addition of others, and instructions to use different proper items for yet more.15 There are also amendments to texts, which range from the replacement of individual words, wholesale changes to introit verses, and the removal of repeated textual phrases.16 Of great interest are the twenty-four amendments that include notated music. These encompass all of the genres of the Proper: introits, communions, offertories, alleluias, graduals, and tracts. In most instances, the items had not previously been included in printed graduals, so their addition required music (Fig. 1). The 1572 Giunta edition has been acknowledged as a significant milestone in the history of Italian chant prints.17 By being the first printed gradual to incorporate the liturgical reforms of Trent it set a standard and a pattern for other publications to follow. However, new evidence has come to light to somewhat modify this view. Whilst conducting research into printed graduals in the spring of 2012, I found that the Western Bank Library at the University of Sheffield, UK, holds a gradual catalogued as a Giuntine print from 1572.18 Upon examining it, I discovered that it is not another exemplar of the two-volume edition, but a completely separate, single-volume gradual, with a title page identifying it as being published by Giunta in 1572, and also containing a prefixed section of

15 16

17 18

praeterea notae, quae ita depravatae erant, ut verba prope infinita, necesse esset barbaro sono pronunciari, in integrum restitutae sunt.” M. Gozzi (ed.), Il Graduale Giunta Venezia 1572 (Lucca: Libreria Musicale Italiana, 2013), 53– 4, 101, and 158–61. The removal of textual phrases impacts offertories, which are the only items of the Proper that can feature significant textual repetition. Four offertories are mentioned in this regard in the preface: Iubilate Deo Omnis Terra (Sunday within the Octave of the Epiphany), Iubilate Deo Universa Terra (Second Sunday after the Epiphany), Benedictus es Domine (Quingquagesima Sunday), and Precatus est Moyses (Thursday after the second Sunday of Lent, and 12th Sunday after Pentecost). In both of the Iubilate offertories, the music of the repeated text differs from the first iteration, and excising the phrase would have melodic and structural implications. The repeated text of Benedictus contains only minor variants, while in Precatus the close of the second repeated phrase is different from the first. For further discussion, see M.C.E. Gillion, “Revelation and Reevaluation: The Council of Trent, Printed Graduals, and a Post-Epiphany Chant” (Unpublished paper, delivered at New Directions in Renaissance Italy, University of Edinburgh, 2 November, 2012). Gozzi, Il Graduale Giunta, 50–2. Sheffield, Western Bank Library, University of Sheffield, RBR F 264.025 (C).

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amendments. Preliminary investigations suggest that this is a previously unknown source, and that the volume in Sheffield is currently the only known extant copy.19 The Sheffield exemplar differs from the two-volume gradual in several key ways, such as the decoration of the title page, the mise-en-page of the body of the gradual, the layout of the list of alterations and additions, some of the type, and the music. While these changes are echoed in Giuntine prints after about 1586, their appearance in a source from 1572 is not only unprecedented, but also curious: why would Giunta print two graduals, different in layout and content, in the same year? The answer is startling. Giunta did not print the majority of the body of the gradual. When the contents are compared to the gradual printed by Varisco (Venice, 1565), the type, pagination, line breaks, woodcuts, and collation all appear to be identical.20 Other unique aspects of the Varisco print, such as incorrectly paginated folios, are also present. The exceptions to this uniformity are ff. 6r–v, 166r–v, and 171r–v which in the Sheffield exemplar have been reset. Folio 171r–v, the penultimate page of the gradual, was presumably reprinted so that a Giuntine colophon could be added. Thus, the gradual held in Sheffield is a composite print, with its title page and amendatory preface printed by Giunta in 1572, and the body of the gradual (save certain folios) printed by Varisco in 1565. The existence of this print (which I shall term ‘Giunta 1572c’) sheds new light on the complex relationship between the various Italian publishers of printed graduals in the sixteenth century.21 Agee has noted that Varisco’s Graduale Romanum of 1565 used Liechtenstein’s 1562 gradual as a model.22 After 1562, Liechtenstein would publish two further graduals, one in 1580, and a final gradual in 1585. In incorporating the musical additions, the 1580 print appears to have drawn mainly upon the amendments from the Sheffield exemplar (discussed further below). In 1586 the two publishers, Giunta, and Varisco and Paganinis, each issued a gradual. In his analysis of the sources, Agee notes that contents of each print appear to be identical and only the title pages – one for Giunta and one 19 The volume is not mentioned in the Annali dei Giunti, although several other extant Giuntine graduals do not appear among its contents either. The extant copies of Giunta 1572 discussed in the literature all seem to refer to the two-volume version. See: M.C.E. Gillion, “‘Diligentissime emendatum, atque correctum’? The transmission and revision of plainchant in Italian printed graduals, 1499–1653” (Unpublished doctoral dissertation, The University of Manchester; Manchester, 2015). 20 It is extremely unlikely that Varisco’s formes were saved in their entirety to be used again later, as the normal procedure when printing a large volume would have been to break up the formes and reuse the type already for later sections of the same volume. 21 I have chosen the designation ‘Giunta 1572c’ because Giunta issued the composite print, and was also responsible for compiling the amendatory preface. Further, switching between ‘Giunta 1572c’ (when referring the preface) and Varisco 1565 (when referring to the body of the gradual) might become confusing. 22 Agee, “Printed Dissemination”, 15–19.

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for Varisco and Paganinis – mark the separate copies.23 Agee suggests that this was a collaborative project, which resulted in what he calls an edition “in two different states”.24 The 1586 gradual was based largely upon Liechtenstein’s 1585 print, which was in turn related to the earlier print from 1580.25 When the 1586 Varisco and Paganinis gradual is compared to the Liechtenstein gradual published in 1580, it is clear that the pagination and line breaks are similar, although the finer details, such as initials, and pause-lines, can be different. The plainchant contained in the volume is largely the same as the earlier print, although some variants can be seen. It is within this complex web of collaboration and competition that the composite print of 1572 was issued. The Sheffield print need not be a blatant theft of Varisco’s material (although it might be) but could have been a joint venture between the two firms. It might also have been published as a quick ‘stop-gap’ measure while the larger, more ornate two-volume Giuntine gradual was under production.26 Given that both of the graduals transmit preexistent plainchant readings without trace of ‘Post-Tridentine chant revision’, the musical additions take on an added significance. Despite both volumes being issued in the same year, the notation of the musical additions in the prefixed amendatory sections is not uniform. Both contain music for twenty-four chants, yet only twenty-two of those chants are shared between the volumes. Thus, each gradual has two chants only notated in its version of the amendments (Fig. 1). Of the twenty-two chants that appear in both graduals’ amendatory sections, fourteen contain musical variants. Most of these are minor, and generally involve four or fewer notes. Only the differences in the tract Veni Sponsa and Alleluia Rex Noster are more substantial.27 Giunta 1572a contains music for the introit Deus Dum Egredereris (Wednesday after Pentecost). This chant occurs in the body of the gradual (fol. 167v), but in this version the text and the melody are different. The Varisco 23 Agee, “Printed Dissemination”, 34–9. See also the discussion with accompanying figures on pp. 33–41. Although I have not been able to view the Giunta gradual from 1586, I have examined the Varisco and Paganinis print (Trent, Biblioteca Communale, G.2.104a), as well as a fragmentary gradual from 1586 that Agee has identified as being one of the collaborative graduals from 1586 (Trent, Biblioteca Feininger, FSG 04). 24 Agee, “Printed Dissemination”, 39. 25 Agee, “Printed Dissemination”, 33–4, 14. 26 It might never possible to determine which of the 1572 prints was issued first. Assuming that its publication was a commercial venture – perhaps a way to utilize some of Varisco’s old stock – Giunta 1572c would not have taken long to produce, and could have been issued before the two-volume gradual. It is interesting to note that the musical additions from Giunta 1572c seem to have been more influential on the editors of printed graduals than its counterparts in the two-volume Graduale Romanum (see further discussion below). 27 Allelluia Rex Noster has different clefs (C3 in Giunta 1572b, and F3 in Giunta 1572c). This is probably due to a printer’s error, as the melody would otherwise, save some minor variants, be identical.

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gradual (the body of Giunta 1572c) rarely contains celebration for weekdays, which is likely why the revision to Deus Dum Egredereris was omitted. The second chant in the two-volume gradual is notated for the Common of a Virgin Martyr in Paschal Time, Alleluia Specie Tua. The melody is not that of the eponymous and well-known chant for the Common of Virgins, however, which appears later in the volume (fol. 297r–v). Some similarities can be traced in the ‘alleluia’ and through the course of the chant, but it has been drastically altered and shortened. In its amendatory section, Giunta 1572c notates music for the chants Alleluia Angelus Domini Descendit, and the gradual Tollite Portas. The alleluia occurs as part of the Votive Mass of the Holy Angels, with the rubric aliud tempore Pascali. Interestingly, although the chant is notated among the additions and alterations, it also occurs normally in the body of the gradual on Easter Monday (fol. 52r–v). The version of that chant that appears on Easter Monday is different from that notated in the preface: it is shorter, and some of the repeated notes do not occur. In Giunta 1572b the alleluia is listed in the amendments with an instruction to turn to folio 144, where the alleluia occurs as part of the celebration for Easter Week. There the chant closely resembles the alteration in the preface to Giunta 1572c, with only one variant between the two. It is unclear why the editors of Giunta 1572c should chose to notate Alleluia Angelus Domini Descendit among the amendments when it already appeared in the gradual. It is possible that they did so in order to make the gradual easier to use as the rest of the Proper of the Votive Mass of the Holy Angels was only notated in the amendments. Finally, in Giunta 1572c, the gradual Tollite Portas is notated in the amendatory section for the Votive Mass for the Blessed Virgin Mary Between Advent and Nativity. Again, in Giunta 1572b the user is directed to where the gradual normally occurs, Wednesday after the third Sunday of Advent. Giunta 1572c omits the Ember days following the third Sunday of Advent, thus the need for Tollite Portas to be notated among the additions. When the two editions are compared, there are no variants in the notation of the gradual. Subsequent printed graduals would incorporate the amendments into the body of their volumes. In view of the interrelation between the Italian firms, it might be reasonable to assume that the Giuntine musical additions would be copied outright. However, this was not always the case, as can be seen in Liechtenstein’s influential Graduale Romanum of 1580, in which the integration of the musical additions is particularly interesting. Of the twenty-two ‘shared’ chants that occur in the Giuntine prefaces with musical notation, thirteen follow neither Giunta 1572b nor Giunta 1572c. The variants are for the most part minimal, although Iustus Cum Ceciderit appears with a different melody. Only one chant, Mihi Autem, follows the version found in Giunta 1572b. Of the chants that are identical in both prefaces, five are found in Liechtenstein 1580. Three musical additions follow notation specific to Giunta 1572c. Interestingly, among the

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Fig. 1: Musical additions to the Giunta 1572 graduals. Notated music: Giunta 1572c N

Variants

IIIr–v

Y (minor)

Genre

Incipit

Liturgical occasion

Introit

Deus dum egredereris

Wednesday after Pentecost

Introit

Mihi autem absit gloriari

Saint Ignatius, bishop and martyr

Notated music: Giunta 1572a&b GIU 1572a: Y (unfoliated preface) GIU 1572b: IIv

Communion Frumentum Christi Tract Veni sponsa

Saint Ignatius, bishop and martyr Common of a Virgin Martyr

GIU 1572b: IIIv IIv GIU 1572b: VIIIv– IIIr IXr

Y (minor) Y (major)

Tract

Votive Mass for the Holy Angels, in Paschal Time Saint Joseph

GIU 1572b: Xv IIIr–v

Y (minor)

Benedicite dominum

Communion Ioseph fili david Alleluia

n/a

GIU 1572b: IIIv–IVr N IVv

Rogavi pro te Petre Iustus cum ceciderit

Octave of the Apostles Saint Pantaleonis, martyr / Common of a Martyr, not a bishop

GIU 1572b: Vr VIv–VIIr GIU 1572b: VIIIr VIIv

Y (minor) Y (minor)

Illuxerunt coruscationes tuae Propter veritatem

Transfiguration

GIU 1572b: VIr VIIIr

Y (minor)

Common of a Virgin GIU 1572b: IXr Martyr in Paschal XIIv Time

Y (minor)

Alleluia

Specie tua

GIU 1572b: N XIIv–XIIIr

n/a

Alleluia

Benedicamus patrem

Common of a Virgin Martyr in Paschal Time Votive Mass for the Trinity in Paschal Time

GIU 1572b: IXv XIIIr

N

Tract

Te Deum patrem ingenitum Laudate dominum de caelis

Votive Mass for the Trinity after Septuagesima Votive Mass for the Holy Angels

GIU 1572b: IXv–Xr XIIIv

Y (minor)

GIU 1572b: Xr XIVr

N

In conspectu angelorum

Votive Mass for the Holy Angels

GIU 1572b: Xr XIVr

N

Gradual

Introit Alleluia

Gradual Alleluia

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(Continued) Genre

Incipit

Liturgical occasion

Alleluia

Angelus domi- Votive Mass for the ni descendit Holy Angels, in Paschal Time Communion Angeli archVotive Mass for the angeli Holy Angels Tract

Notated music: Giunta 1572c Xr–v

Variants

n/a

GIU 1572b: Xv–XIr XIVv

N

Votive Mass for the Holy Cross after Septuagesima Humiliavit se- Mass of the Passion metipsum of the Lord

GIU 1572b: XIr XIVv–XVr

N

GIU 1572b: XIv XVv–XVIr

N

Improperium Mass of the Passion expectavit of the Lord Ave Rex noster Mass of the Passion of the Lord

GIU 1572b: XIv– XVIr–v XIIr GIU 1572b: XIIr XVIv

N

Alleluia

Tibi Gloria Vere languores

GIU 1572b: XIIr–v XVIv– XVIIr GIU 1572b: XIIv XVIIr–v

Y (minor)

Tract

Mass of the Passion of the Lord in Paschal Time Mass of the Passion of the Lord after Septuagesima

Insurrexerunt in me viri iniqui Communion Foderunt manus

Mass of the Passion of the Lord

GIU 1572b: XIIv–1r XVIIv– XVIIIr GIU 1572b: 1r XVIIIr

Gradual

N Votive Mass for the B.V.M., from Advent to Nativity

Introit Gradual Alleluia

Adoramus te Christe

Notated music: Giunta 1572a&b N

Offertory

Tollite portas

Mass of the Passion of the Lord

1r–v

Y (major)

Y (minor) Y (minor) Y (minor) n/a

chants that differ to the Giuntine additions many, including Veni Sponsa, Insurrexerunt, Vere Languores, and Foderunt Manus, are closer to the chants in Giunta 1572c than their counterparts in Giunta 1572b. The disparity with the twovolume print continues with the notation of the ‘unique’ chants not being adopted. Alleluia Angelus Domini Descendit and Tollite Portas occur as notated in Giunta 1572c. A comparison of the additions in Liechtenstein’s 1580 print to one ‘state’ of the collaborative print, Varisco and Paganinis 1586, demonstrates how although the format and layout might be copied, the same cannot always be said for the chant. As opposed to the Liechtenstein gradual, fifteen chants do not follow the 1572 editions, the consequence of variants between the 1580 and 1586

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prints. Mihi Autem still follows Giunta 1572b, but in this gradual, there are only two chants that adopt the amendments from Giunta 1572c. As in Liechtenstein 1580, the unique chants from the two-volume gradual are not adopted. In this instance, there is a small variant to Tollite Portas , so only Alleluia Angelus Domini Descendit occurs as it is notated in Giunta 1572c (Fig. 2). Fig. 2: The appearance of melodies from the musical additions to the Giunta 1572 graduals in later prints. Genre

Incipit

Introit Tract

Mihi autem absit gloriari Benedicite dominum

Communion Ioseph fili david Alleluia

Benedicamus patrem

Alleluia

In conspectu angelorum

Alleluia

Angelus domini descendit (Giunta 1572c only)

Communion Angeli archangeli

Liechtenstein 1580 Giunta 1572b Giunta 1572c

Varisco and Paganinis 1586 Giunta 1572b Does not follow Giuntine melodies.

Giunta 1572b &c Giunta 1572b &c

Giunta 1572b & c

Giunta 1572b &c Giunta 1572c

Does not follow Giuntine melodies. Giunta 1572c

Giunta 1572b &c Giunta 1572b &c

Giunta 1572b & c

Giunta 1572b & c

Introit

Humiliavit semetipsum

Giunta 1572b & c

Alleluia Alleluia

Ave Rex noster Tibi gloria

Giunta 1572c Giunta 1572c

Giunta 1572c Giunta 1572c

Gradual

Tollite portas (Giunta 1572c only)

Giunta 1572c

Does not follow Giuntine melodies.

Yet while the editors included the amendments, they apparently did not yet embark upon chant revision on a larger scale.28 Pope Gregory XIII turned his attention to plainchant in 1577, and, apparently appalled at its current state, commissioned composers Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina and Annibale Zoilo to revise the entire corpus, writing: … the Antiphoners, Graduals, and Psalters that have been provided with music for the celebration of the divine praises and offices in plainsong (as it is called) since the publication of the Breviary and the Missal ordered by the Council of Trent have been 28 Richard Agee notes this in his description of Liechtenstein’s Graduale Romanum of 1580. See R.J. Agee, “Ideological Clashes in a Cinquecento Edition of Plainchant”, in A. Buckley/C.J. Cyrus (ed.), Music, Dance and Society: Medieval and Renaissance Studies in Memory of Ingrid G. Brainard (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 2011) 143–58, on p. 148.

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filled to overflowing with barbarisms, obscurities, contrarieties, and superfluities as a result of the clumsiness or negligence or even wickedness of the composers, scribes, and printers…29

It is thought that Palestrina and Zoilo completed their revisions in 1578. However, by that time Pope Gregory had withdrawn his support, and the project foundered.30 The Venetian-based publishing firm of Gardano issued the small Graduale, et Antiphonarium in 1587, which was followed in 1591 by the first fullyrevised Graduale Romanum.31 Giunta would follow with a highly influential edition in 1596, which not only would become the basis of its subsequent editions of 1606, 1611, and 1618, but would also be heavily drawn upon by the Venetian firm of Ciera. Between 1614 and 1615, almost 40 years after the project was initiated, a Vatican-commissioned, but not Vatican-sanctioned, gradual was published under Pope Paul V: the Editio Medicea or Medicean Edition. As initially discussed by Raphael Molitor and summarized later by Richard Agee, the editors of these volumes, the contents of which have become synonymous with the idea of ‘Post-Tridentine chant’, employed an arsenal of techniques to address current aesthetic and (music)-theoretical concerns. In order to correct improper textual declamation, lengthy melismas could be removed, or transferred to accented syllables. Further musical amendments, which echo some of the concerns of contemporary theorists and composers, include the use of word-painting, increased application of B-flat, simplification of notation, and modal clarification.32 These priorities and techniques of revision were not exclusive to editors of printed graduals in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, but can be seen in various guises from the very first printed graduals. The principles began to be applied more frequently in the decades following Trent, as can first be seen 29 O. Strunk/L. Treitler, Source Readings in Music History (New York/London: W.W. Norton & Company, 1998 [revised edition]), 375. For the full translation of the letter, see pp. 375–6. A transcription of the Latin original is found in R.P. Molitor, Die Nach-Tridentinische ChoralReform zu Rom: Ein Beitrag zur Musikgeschichte des XVI. und XVII. Jahrhunderts (2 vol.; Leipzig: F.E.C. Leuckart, 1901–02), 1.297–8. 30 Veltman, “Prosody and Rhythm”, 57–63; Agee, “Ideological Clashes”, 144–5. 31 Agee, “Ideological Clashes”, 147–8. In tracing the history of these graduals Agee puts forth the fascinating possibility that Palestrina’s efforts at chant revision might have been carried forward in Gardano publications. Agee notes that in 1582 Angelo Gardano’s agent in Rome negotiated an unspecified contract with Palestrina. The following year, in a petition for a tenyear printing privilege, Gardano specified chant books edited by Palestrina and Zoilo. As Agee discusses, it may never be possible to discover if the contents of Gardano’s revised graduals were based upon Palestrina and Zoilo’s revisions; however, this intriguing possibility could be a potential link between a call for chant revision in Rome, and the issuing of revised graduals in Venice. Agee, “Ideological Clashes”, 145–6. 32 Molitor, Die Nach-Tridentinische Choral-Reform, 1.183–215. Agee summarizes over one hundred years of discussion in “Ideological Clashes”, 147.

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in the musical additions to the Giuntine prefaces, although the first extensively revised gradual would not be published until nearly 30 years after the close of the Council. The progression of chant revision during this time can be clearly charted by examining two tracts that appear for first time in Italian printed graduals in the amendatory section of Giunta 1572b, Veni Sponsa, for the Common of a Virgin Martyr, and Adoramus te Christe, for the Votive Mass of the Holy Cross, and comparing them to influential graduals published between 1572 and 1615. Comparing two of the earliest chants that can truly be designated as ‘PostTridentine’ to their later revisions in sources commonly labeled as ‘Post-Tridentine’ will demonstrate how chant revision after Trent was part of an ongoing and multifaceted creative process. The tracts Veni Sponsa and Adoramus te Christe have rather unusual histories. In missals printed in Italy, they appear to have been added at some point in the early- to mid-sixteenth century.33 The verses of these tracts were created by stringing together pre-existing liturgical texts used in other genres of chant. Adoramus te Christe’s three verses are taken from antiphons, responsories, and responsory verses for the Exaltation of the Holy Cross.34 The tract melody for Adoramus does not draw upon musical elements from these other chants. The three verses of Veni Sponsa are widely used in responsories, antiphons, versicles, and alleluia and gradual verses for the Common of Virgins.35 Veni Sponsa presents a more complicated compositional history. The first verse shows some correspondences to a version of the eponymous antiphon (see Figure 3); however, the antiphon is a shorter version of the text, ending at the word aeternum. The remaining two verses sometimes appear to reference preexistent Office 33 I have examined missals digitized by the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Munich printed by various Italian firms in the years 1481, 1501, 1521, 1557, 1564, 1566, 1572, and 1578. Before ca. 1521, celebrations in the Common, and those for votive masses did not include a tract for use if or when they were celebrated in penitential seasons. This is mirrored in the Commons of printed graduals. In the selection of missals mentioned above, the texts of Veni Sponsa and Adoramus te Christe first appear in Giunta’s 1557 Missale Romanum (Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 2 Liturg. 253). This does leave at least a 15-year period where the contents of the printed missals and graduals were at variance. It is unclear how the choirs at institutions using the printed missals and/or printed graduals would have performed the tracts. Presumably, they would need access to further books or manuscripts containing music – although whether the melodies would have been preexistent, contrafacts, or newly composed would likely depend on the individual institution. 34 “Veni sponsa Christi accipe coronam quam tibi dominus preparavit in aeternum pro cuius amore sanguinem tuum fudisti. V. Dilexisti iustitiam et odisti iniquitatem: propterea unxit te deus deus tuus oleo laetitiae prae consortibus tuis. V. Specie tua, et pulcritudine tua, intende prospere procede et regna.” 35 “Adoramus Christe, et benedicimus tibi quia per crucem tuam redemisti mundum. V. Tuam crucem adoramus domine tuam gloriosam recolimus passionem miserere nostri qui passus es pro nobis. V. O crux benedicta quae sola fuisti digna portare regem caelorum, et dominum.”

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chants, yet some of these similarities can be attributed to characteristic modal compositional gestures.36

Fig. 3: The antiphon Veni Sponsa transcribed from an antiphoner made for the Benedictine monastery Saint Ulrich and Afra in Augsburg, ca. 1519 (Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 4304, fol. 47r) compared with the tract as it appears in Giunta 1572b.37

Tracts are chants that replace the joyful alleluia in penitential seasons, such as Lent. They are among the longest chants in the repertoire, and only occur in two modes, the second and the eighth. Scholars have long agreed that the eighthmode tracts – a group to which Veni Sponsa and Adoramus te Christe belong – are comprised of a shared group of set phrases.38 In her work on the tracts, Emma Hornby demonstrates that there are six melodic phrases in total, which she terms A through F. Each of these categories, with the exception of F, has up to five subphrases, which Hornby designates with numbers. Phrase A begins the tract; B is used at the end of the first half-verse; C begins the second half-verse; D ends verses other than the last; E begins verses other than the first; F ends the final verse (Fig. 4). It is apparent that the musical phrases are tied closely to the function of the text units. Their use can be prompted by textual cues, their content can be based upon the text, and the musical endings (cadences) can coincide with textual endings.39 Hornby’s work highlights the inherent musicaltextual complexity of eighth-mode tracts. 36 The chants in a variety of manuscripts can be viewed via the Cantus Database (www.cantusindex.org). 37 This manuscript, originating in Augsburg, was selected as a point of reference as it was copied in the sixteenth century, and demonstrates the melodic continuity of this version of the antiphon. The manuscript can be viewed on the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek website (http:// daten.digitale-sammlungen.de/~db/0006/bsb00060183/images/). 38 E. Hornby, Gregorian and Old Roman Eighth-Mode Tracts (Aldershot/Burlington: Ashgate, 2002), 10–14. Hornby provides an overview of scholarship on eighth-mode tracts, citing musicologists such as James McKinnon, Peter Wagner, Willi Apel and Olivier Cullin. See J.W. McKinnon, “Tract”, in Grove Music Online (Oxford Music Online, accessed 01. 12. 2013); W. Apel, Gregorian Chant (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1958), 315–23. 39 Hornby, Eighth-Mode Tracts, 9–10.

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Fig. 4: Summary of tract phrase groups.40 Phrase A B

Function Begins the tract Used at the end of the first half-verse

C D

Begins the second half-verse Ends verses other than the last

E F

Begins verses other than the first Ends the final verse

Faced with the need to provide music for the additional tracts, it would be reasonable to assume that the editors of printed volumes would either use the music of the Office texts, or simply re-text a preexistent tract melody – a common procedure known as contrafacture. Creating a contrafact would have been a relatively straightforward undertaking. The long melismas inherent to the tract genre would have made the number of syllables in the new text versus the old irrelevant. If the new texts might have fewer syllables than the model, the resulting adaptation would simply have more or longer melismas. However, with the exception of the first verse of Veni Sponsa, the editors have not chosen either of these options, and instead appear to have composed entirely new melodies.41 These melodies differ widely from those used in eighth-mode tracts: instead they are short, with a compact musical range that focuses on the higher register, few repeated gestures, and a mainly syllabic setting of text. Other more elaborate chants that appear in the amendatory section, such as graduals and alleluias, also display these compositional characteristics that are unconventional, with respect to the medieval tradition, of their respective genres. The additional chants in the preface reveal an increased application of revision techniques, and a move towards a less ornate musical style that would come to be associated with ‘PostTridentine’ chant. Despite both operating within this revised stylistic framework, Veni Sponsa and Adoramus te Christe illustrate two different compositional approaches. From its very outset, Veni Sponsa exemplifies a style more clearly departing from 40 Adapted from Hornby, Eighth-Mode Tracts, 9. 41 It is important to note that the decisions of the editors of Italian printed graduals represent only a single approach to providing music for these additional tracts. It seems that editors and scribes were left to their own devices to provide music as they saw fit. For the printed tradition, this view appears to be validated by the different version of Adoramus te Christe that appears in the Medicean Edition (discussed below). It is also possible that the music for these tracts are contrafacts based upon other chant melodies yet to be identified. The manuscript tradition is beyond the scope of this article. However, a manuscript gradual possibly originating from Florence in the first half of the eighteenth century that I was able to examine at the Biblioteca Feininger (Trent, Biblioteca Feininger, FC 124), contained different melodies for most of the chants listed in the Giuntine prefaces, including the two tracts in question.

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traditional models (Fig. 5). Although eighth-mode tracts normally begin on G or F, the first verse of Veni Sponsa follows its antiphon model and begins boldly on high d. While most of the verse endings are well-defined with a clear cadence, there is not the same degree of correspondence between individual text-phrase units and musical patterns. Moreover, the melody spends much of its time in the higher register, from a to high e. Not only is this atypical, but focusing on these notes also creates modal ambiguity. This, combined with the less rigid musical structure, might make it appear that the chant has discarded every hallmark of an older style. Yet the placement of melismas illustrates the creative tension between the two. While some are placed on accented syllables, which would in the coming years be more common, many remain on the final syllable of the word, regardless of accentuation, which is more common in ‘traditional’ chants.

Fig. 5: Transcription of Veni Sponsa from Giunta 1572b.

After the experimental style of Veni Sponsa, Adoramus te Christe comes as something of a surprise (Fig. 6). Although it shows the hallmarks of the ‘new style’, such as a lack of melismas and repeated notes, it is not as experimental as Veni Sponsa and even obliquely references some of the common compositional gestures of the eighthmode tracts (Fig. 7). Its opening phrase is reminiscent of Hornby’s phrase A1, and the melody proceeds through B and D material. As the chant continues, motifs from the sub-phrases occur, but are not tied to their appropriate text-phrase unit. For example, the last verse begins with a reference to B material, which normally occurs at the end of the first half-verse. It ends, however, with F material, which always ends the final phrase of tracts. Despite these traditional elements, Adoramus is significantly shorter than Veni Sponsa, and this brevity would prove increasingly important to editors of chant. With their succinct, less elaborate style, these two tracts from the

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amendatory preface clearly foreshadow the musical priorities of later chant editors, and how the revision techniques used in the preceding decades might be expanded and utilized in pursuit of those priorities.

Fig. 6: Transcription of Adoramus te Christe from Giunta 1572b.

Fig. 7: Tract phrases referenced in Adoramus te Christe from Giunta 1572b.

Veni Sponsa and Adoramus could have potentially posed something of a conundrum to the various editors of graduals printed in the early sixteenth century. These chants had been composed in a new style that already took into account some of the key issues surrounding chant revision. However, they were apparently not yet ‘ideal’ as they too were subject to change. Appendix 1 presents a synoptic transcription of Veni Sponsa from the 1572 Giunta prints, the 1591 Gardano print, Giunta 1596, and the Medicean Edition. The prints Gardano 1591 and Giunta 1596 appear to be drawing upon Veni Sponsa as it appears in Giunta 1572c, instead of different melodies found in various manuscripts. This can be

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seen in the moments when the two prints from 1572 differ, such as the final syllable of preparavit, the penultimate syllable of amore, the melisma on fudisti, and on the phrase dilexisti iustitiam. One can trace a gradual move towards a more condensed version of the chant, which is especially apparent on the phrase sanguinem tuum. The rather severe cuts to the new chant that can be seen in Giunta 1596, a print that would be copied by various firms for the next twenty years, are not favoured by the editors of the Medicean Edition. Yet of all the editors, those responsible for the Medicean Edition are the most concerned with providing the chant with a clear modal identity. They do not completely recompose the chant, but maintain many of its compositional idiosyncrasies, such as its bold opening and predilection for the higher range. However, key notes of phrases and sub-phrases are altered to give a clearer sense of mode, as in the first phrase of verse two. Dilexisti now starts on the modal final of G, and a three note cadential figure has been added to the final syllable of iniquitatem. Adoramus te Christe, transcribed in Appendix 2, is more lightly revised by the editors. Several instances of melismatic redesignation occur, where the melodic material is divided differently between the syllables of a word. It is most common in Giunta 1596, for example on the phrases domine tuam, and fuisti digna. Although the mode is relatively clear, the editors of Gardano 1591 reemphasize it by altering the starting notes of the phrase tuam gloriosam and miserere nostri to the modal final of G. The Medicean Edition’s version of Adoramus is transcribed in figure 8. In this instance, the Medicean Edition appears to follow a different chant tradition. Its version of Adoramus seems closer to the phrases and sub-phrases used in traditional eighth-mode tracts. It follows the typical pattern of opening with A material, moving through B and D, starting the next verse with E and carrying on through the appropriate order of phrase groups before ending with F material. The phrase designations are only approximate, and with its use of repeated motifs the chant has an almost strophic feel (Fig. 8). It is unclear why in this instance the Medicean Edition differs from its counterparts. It could be a matter of locale – the other editions were prepared and printed in Venice, while Medici was far distant in Rome. Moreover, the editors preparing this print had ties to the papal chapel and other Roman institutions, and for this chant could have drawn on sources unknown to the other editors. Although the various editors demonstrate different priorities of chant revision, resulting in some unique alterations, they approach Veni Sponsa and Adoramus te Christe in a similar manner. They are not attempting to make them look more like typical tracts, or even typical revised tracts (beyond the traditional modal limitation of being in the second or eighth mode) but treating each one as its own musical entity. Plainchant has often been overlooked in the debate concerning the impact of the decrees of the Council of Trent on music. While it is clear that these decrees had no impact on chant, the same cannot be said for the liturgical reforms. Indeed, these

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Fig. 8: Tract phrases referenced in Adoramus te Christe (Medici 1614–15).

reforms would have a lasting influence, and would result in the composition of the first, and perhaps only chants that can truly be directly tied to Trent and thus truly designated as ‘Post-Tridentine’. These pieces of music combine earlier revision techniques with an increased emphasis on brevity. Their use and subsequent revision in later sources demonstrate that chant revision in the decades after Trent was not a discrete event, or series of events, but rather was part of a process that had been occurring, however minimally, throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. When viewed within this contextual framework, it is clear that the drastic

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alterations to plainchant commonly associated with the term ‘Post-Tridentine’ came about through a combination of factors: aesthetic and theoretical trends, the possibilities for wide-scale changes opened up by the musical printing press, ongoing revision, and liturgical reforms that occurred in the wake of Trent.42 Although the resultant chants often strayed drastically from conventional models, they still retained a connection, however tenuous, with the received musical tradition. Thus, the ‘Post-Tridentine’ chant in Italian printed sources did not represent singing a ‘new song’ to the Lord, but rather a ‘revised song’.

Bibliography Printed and edited sources Commune Sanctorum (1519): Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 4304. Graduale Romanum (Venice: Varisco, 1565). Copy consulted: Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, SA.80.E.13 27 Mus. Graduale Romanum (Venice: Giunta, 1572) [Giunta 1572 a and b]. Copies consulted: Trent, Biblioteca Feininger, FSG 11 and FSG 12. Graduale Romanum (Venice: Giunta, 1572) [Giunta 1572c]. Copy consulted: University of Sheffield, Western Bank Library, RBR F 264.025 (C). Graduale Romanum (Venice: Liechtenstein, 1580). Copy consulted: Trent, Biblioteca Feininger, FSG 15. Graduale Romanum (Venice: Varisco and Paganinis, 1586). Copy consulted: Trent, Biblioteca Communale, G.2.104.a. Graduale Romanum (Venice: Gardano, 1591). Copies consulted: Trent, Biblioteca Feininger, FSG 16; Oxford, Bodleian Library, Mus. 59 b.4. Graduale Romanum (Venice: Giunta, 1596). Copy consulted: Augsburg, Staats- und Stadtbibliothek Augsburg, 2 Th Lt K 26. Graduale Romanum (Rome: Medici, 1614–1615). Graduale de tempore: Iuxta ritum Sacrosanctae Romanae Ecclesiae; Editio Princeps (1614), B.G. Baroffio/E.J. Kim (ed.) (Facsimile edition; Monumenta Studia Instrumenta Liturgica 10; Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2001). Graduale de sanctis: Iuxta ritum Sacrosanctae Romanae Ecclesiae; Editio Princeps (1614– 1615) B.G. Baroffio/E.J. Kim (ed.) (Facsimile edition; Monumenta Studia Instrumenta Liturgica 11; Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2001). Missale Romanum (Venice: Giunta, 1557). Copy consulted: Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 2 Liturg. 253.

Secondary sources Agee, R.J., “Ideological Clashes in a Cinquecento Edition of Plainchant”, in A. Buckley/C.J. Cyrus (ed.), Music, Dance and Society: Medieval and Renaissance Studies in Memory of Ingrid G. Brainard (Kalamazoo: Medieval Institute Publications, 2011) 143–58. 42 Gozzi, “Le Edizioni Liturgico-Musicali”, 39; Agee, “Ideological Clashes”, 151.

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Agee, R.J., “The Printed Dissemination of the Roman Gradual in Italy in the Early Modern Period”, Notes 64/1 (2007) 9–42. Apel, W., Gregorian Chant (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1958). Camerini, P., Annali dei Giunti (2 vol.; Florence: Sansoni Antiquariato, 1962–63). Ditchfield, S., Liturgy, Sanctity and History in Tridentine Italy: Pietro Maria Campi and the Preservation of the Particular (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). Gillion, M.C.E., Accidental Chant Revision: A Case Study of Accidental Use in the Giunta Graduale (1499–1500) edited by Francis of Bruges (Unpublished Master’s thesis, Bangor University, 2011). Gillion, M.C.E., “Revelation and Reevaluation: The Council of Trent, Printed Graduals, and a Post-Epiphany Chant” (Unpublished paper, delivered at New Directions in Renaissance Italy, University of Edinburgh, 2 November, 2012). Gillion, M.C.E., “‘Diligentissime emendatum, atque correctum’? The transmission and revision of plainchant in Italian printed graduals, 1499–1653” (Unpublished doctoral dissertation, The University of Manchester; Manchester, 2015). Gozzi, M. (ed.), Il Graduale Giunta Venezia 1572 (Lucca: Libreria Musicale Italiana, 2013). Gozzi, M., “Le Edizioni Liturgico-Musicali Dopo il Concilio”, in D. Curti/M. Gozzi (ed.), Musica e Liturgia nella Riforma Tridentina (Trent: Provincia Autonoma di Trento, Servizio Beni Librari e Archivistici, 1995) 39–55. Hornby, E., Gregorian and Old Roman Eighth-Mode Tracts (Aldershot/Burlington: Ashgate, 2002). Jedin, H., Ecumenical Councils of the Catholic Church: An Historical Outline (Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 1960). Karp, T., An Introduction to the Post-Tridentine Mass Proper (2 vol.; Middleton, WI: American Institute of Musicology, 2005). Molitor, R.P., Die Nach-Tridentinische Choral-Reform zu Rom: Ein Beitrag zur Musikgeschichte des XVI. und XVII. Jahrhunderts (2 vol.; Leipzig: F.E.C. Leuckart, 1901–02). Monson, C.A., “The Council of Trent Revisited”, Journal of the American Musicological Society 55/1 (2002) 1–37. O’Malley, J.W., Trent and All That: Renaming Catholicism in the Early Modern Era (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000). Strunk, O./Treitler, L., Source Readings in Music History (New York/London: W.W. Norton & Company, 1998 [revised edition]). Veltman, J., Prosody and Rhythm in the Post-Tridentine Reform of Plainchant (Unpublished doctoral dissertation, Ohio State University; Columbus, OH, 2004).

Internet sources “Cantus Index”, www.cantusindex.org. Crocker, R./Caldwell, J./Planchart, A.E., “Sequence”, in Grove Music Online (Oxford Music Online, www.oxfordmusiconline.com; accessed 05. 06. 2014). McKinnon, J.W., “Tract”, in Grove Music Online (Oxford Music Online, www.oxfordmusiconline.com ; accessed 01. 12. 2013). “Oxford Music Online”, www.oxfordmusiconline.com. “Renaissance Liturgical Imprints: A Census (RELICS)”, http://quod.lib.umich.edu/r/relics/ index.html.

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Appendices Appendix 1: Tract – Veni Sponsa

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De-centering Trent: How ‘Tridentine’ Was the Making of the First World Religion?

I.

Introduction: a Tale of Two Councils

“The Council of Trent is more important for what it left out. Do you agree?” This is an exam question I have set my students at York more than once over the last few years. It reflects what, thanks in significant part to John O’Malley, is fast becoming the new orthodoxy in our understanding of the Council and of its broader significance.1 This is very different from the previous tendency to project onto Trent all that those who were supportive of an ‘updating’ (aggiornamento) of Roman Catholic worship to bring it into line with the modern world found most old-fashioned about traditional practice. The disdain of such critics focused in particular upon the Latin liturgy, which was considered as both monolithic and as frozen in time.2 It had therefore become a pre-eminent symbol of all that was deemed to be wrong about Roman Catholicism on the eve of Vatican II. The irony is that, as O’Malley has reminded us, reform of the liturgy was precisely one of those topics which was not actually debated and defined at Trent; having been left up to commissions of experts set up directly by the papacy. This is a classic case of historians succumbing to that occupational hazard of the profession: of remembering the future, (or at least failing to forget it)! Indeed, it might be said that over the last fifty years or so, those of us who have been trying to uncover the history and significance of the Council of Trent in all its historical specificity and contingency have found it difficult not to write what is effectively ‘A Tale of Two Councils’, where writers have used Trent to comment upon

1 J.W. O’Malley, “The Council of Trent: Myths, Misunderstandings and Misinformation”, in T. M. Lucas (ed.), Spirit, Style, Story: Essays Honouring John W. Padberg S.J. (Chicago, IL: Loyola Press, 2002) 205–36. Cf. O’Malley, Trent: What Happened at the Council (Cambridge, MA/ London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2013). 2 S. Ditchfield, “Giving Tridentine Worship Back Its History”, in R.N. Swanson (ed.), Continuity and Change in Christian Worship (Studies in Church History 35; Woodbridge: Boydell, 1999) 199–226.

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Vatican II.3 Or to put it slightly differently, historians and theologians have found it both easy and convenient to indicate where they stand with regard to Vatican II by adopting a particular stance towards Trent. However, thanks largely to John O’Malley, we are now able to view these two, very different Councils as essentially incommensurable: Trent belongs to what was essentially a legislative-judicial tradition. By contrast, Vatican II belonged to a poetic-rhetorical tradition.4 O’Malley has thereby finally broken the spell and enabled us to forget the future and see the Council of Trent in all its historical particularity and uniqueness.5 But there is still work to be done to better grasp what has been ‘left out’. A useful point of departure here is, however, not Trent but Rome and it is provided by the English cleric and translator of the Rheims-Douay Bible, Gregory Martin (1542–82), who spent some eighteen months (December 1576–June 1578) criss-crossing the Eternal City as a pilgrim. His extraordinary portrait of Roman Catholic ‘best practice’ – Roma Sancta – which he left in manuscript at his death, was divided into two parts: “Of devotion” and “Of charitie”.6 Gregory’s text provided his readers with a gazeteer-cum-meditation on the Eternal City that not only enumerated its churches and their relics but also testified to the overwhelming praesentia of the saints buried there. And if any where a man stand nigh to these tombes, he perceaveth his sence by and by ravished with this sayd force, for the sight of the coffin entring into the hart, pearceth it, stirreth it up, and moveth it in such a maner, as if he that lyeth there dead, did pray with us, and were visibly present to be seen. Besides it cometh to passe, that he which feeleth him selfe so sweetly moved, is marvelous jocund, and gladsom, and being clean altered after a sort into an other man, in such heavenlie plight departeth he out of the place.7

Here Rome was itself an agent of conversion by means of its material relics, which functioned as portals that transported a person with the right interior disposition to early Christian Rome. Place has become the most fundamental form of embodied experience, where self, space and time coincided. So this chapter will 3 S. Ditchfield, “Trent Revisited”, in G. dall’Olio/A. Malena/P. Scaramella (ed.), Per Adriano Prosperi, vol. 1: La fede degli Italiani (Pisa: Edizioni della Normale, 2011) 357–70, on p. 358. This article attempts to locate Trent as a process happening in space and time rather than as an abstract product of disembodied historical forces. 4 J.W. O’Malley, What Happened at Vatican II (Cambridge MA/London: Belknap Press, 2008). 5 J.W. O’Malley, Four Cultures of the West (Cambridge MA/London: Belknap Press 2004), 103–15 and 174–7 and J.W. O’Malley, “Trent and Vatican II: Two Styles of Church”, in R.F. Bulman/F.J. Parrella (ed.), From Trent to Vatican II: Historical and Theological Investigations (New York/ Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006) 301–20. 6 Gregory Martin, Roma sancta (1581), G.B. Parks (ed.) (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1969). 7 Martin, Roma sancta, 27. This work remained unpublished in full until this edition, although extracts from it were included in his posthumously printed Treatyse of Christian peregrination (1583 [ca. 1597]).

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begin with an attempt to ‘re-place’ the Council of Trent in its immediate context. This will help us appreciate the degree to which not only the deliberations of the Council itself, but also its subsequent implementation was shaped by the agendas of the secular powers: in the Mediterranean heartlands of Roman Catholicism, this meant of course the Spanish Crown. It will also enable us to reappraise the role of the Pope not simply as a papal prince of a Renaissance state but also as papal pastor and denizen of the capital of this planet’s first world religion: which from the Jubilee of 1575 re-launched itself as the pre-eminent pilgrimage destination of Catholic Christendom. I will return to this need to correct the tendency, encouraged by the influential interpretation of Paolo Prodi, to regard the pastoral and political identities of the papacy as somehow necessarily in a zerosum relationship with one another in section V below. But this is to anticipate our narrative of events. Before there emerged a re-launched Rome it is necessary to re-place Trent as a contingent and frequently conflicted process with ‘Trent’ the symbol. We can better understand how this came about if we now look at how Trent was represented at the time.

II.

Putting the Council in its Place

One of the most widely disseminated contemporary prints of the Council in session was engraved by the adoptive Italian Frenchman Claude Duchet (or Duchetti). It depicts one of the General Congregations – i. e. plenary, working sessions of the Council which were by the final period being held in what was a specially constructed wooden amphitheater in the church of Saint Maria Maggiore in Trent.8 These congregations should of course be distinguished clearly from the more formal ‘Sessions’ which were primarily ceremonial and still took place in the Cathedral of Saint Vigilio. There is a famous painting, now in the Louvre, by an unknown artist that was most likely commissioned by the bishop of Paris who celebrated Mass at the opening of this session and taken back with him to France, where it remains.9 The absence of theologians and the dominance of bishops in their miters is striking. The heads of religious orders present are seated on the back row left. Prominent, however, is a band of light green mixed with 8 Claude Duchetti, General Congregation of the Council of Trent, Held in the Church of S. Maria Maggiore, Trento, 1563, etched engraving, 33.5 × 49.7 cm, 1565. Cf. the detailed commentary on the near identical engraving attributed to an anonymous Venetian engraver by Roberto Pancheri in R. Pancheri/D. Primerano (ed.), L’Uomo del Concilio. Il cardinale Giovanni Morone tra Roma e Trento nell’età di Michelangelo (Trent: Temi, 2009) 330–1 (cat. 84), reproduced in the first of these conference volumes on p. 72. 9 Paris, Louvre, Inventory number 751, oil on canvas 123 × 180 cm. Cf. Pancheri/Primerano, L’Uomo del Concilio, entry by Pancheri on 328–9 (cat. 83).

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brown behind the High Altar – in front of which may be found the four papal legates. This depicts the outside of the wooden theater which had been specially constructed in the presbytery of the cathedral for the first period of the Council meetings, but which on account of the summer heat and the number of bishops present had been abandoned on this occasion and the nave used instead. This is an important reminder of the need to bear in mind how Trent the Council related to Trent the place. Indeed, meetings did not only take place in the two churches of Saint Vigilio and Saint Maria Maggiore, but some congregations, as well as a lot more informal meetings were held in the residences of the papal legate Cardinal Morone (Palazzo Thun, today the Town Hall) and of the Cardinal of Lorraine (the Palazzo Giroldi, which was on the site of the current central post office), where much of the discussions relating to the veneration of saints and images took place. To return to the Duchetti print, it depicts a scene from the final year of the Council. In fact, a specific detail allows us to date the scene depicted with some precision. Note the two gentlemen seated directly beneath the focal point of the whole composition – the so-called Crocefisso del Concilio, (which is venerated in Trent Cathedral to this day). On the right is the Council’s secretary, Angelo Massarelli, but to his left and directly facing the Cardinal legates seated prominently on the left hand side of the image, is the Spanish ambassador, Claudio Fernández Quiñones, Count of Luna. This means that the scene depicted is on or shortly after 21 May 1563 when a bitter and prolonged dispute over precedence between the representatives of His Most Catholic Majesty, Philip II of Spain and that of the Most Christian King of France, Charles IX had been resolved in Luna’s favour.10 Why a French born, adoptive Italian engraver would wish to celebrate this Spanish diplomatic victory is a moot point; but it might be reasonably speculated that the engraver sought to curry favour amongst the members of the largest ‘national’ group of prelates and theologians: that of Spain (which of course at the time also included the prelates from the Duchy of Milan, the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies and the Habsburg Netherlands).11

10 H. Jedin, Geschichte des Konzils von Trient (4 vol. in 5; Freiburg i. Br.: Herder, 1949–1975), 4/ 2.61–4. 11 The importance of the market amongst those in attendance: not only bishops and theologians but also ambassadors is reinforced if one considers also that a near identical engraving, as discussed by Pancheri above n. 8, was also made in nearby Venice. Furthermore, Pancheri mentions yet another, slightly different, print now in the Deutsches Historisches Museum, Berlin, which suggests that there existed also a non-Catholic market for visual representations of the Council.

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The dramatis personae Reconsidered

In the light of the theme of this chapter, I think it is significant that not only is the centre of this depiction of the Council in working session occupied by a royal ambassador, but that also a prominent place is taken up by half-a-dozen ambassadors of Catholic powers. If you look carefully, you can see they are seated immediately below the theologian who is currently in full flow and in close proximity to the papal legates grouped on the left hand side of the image. It has only recently been remarked how the number of theologians outnumbered bishops for much of the Council,12 but the consistent presence (throughout all three periods) of the lay representatives of the major Roman Catholic powers – and the fact that they were regularly in contact with their masters via couriers who were able to make their way to a city which was particularly well-situated for both North-South communication over the Brenner Pass as well as being only a day or two’s ride from Verona which was well connected to Milan, Venice and Bologna – has not much been remarked upon by commentators. Masarelli, the papal secretary, noted what must have been a record of the just fifty hours it took one papal courier to reach Trent from Rome in June 1545 – the more usual time was five days.13 This is highly significant since it was not up to the Pope but rather the attitudes of the Roman Catholic princes which were ultimately to decide whether and, in significant measure, how Trent and its decrees were going to be interpreted and applied on the ground; in other words, how ‘Tridentine’ the post-Tridentine Church was actually to be. As can be seen from Ignasi Terricabras’s contribution to this volume, one might even talk of a ‘stalemate’ here. Indeed, if Philip II of Spain had had his way, the Council of Trent would not have closed when it did and, given the death of Pius IV on 9 December 1565, almost exactly twenty-four months to the day after the concluding Te Deum rang out in Trent Cathedral, it is not beyond the realms of possibility that the Council would, consequently, have remained suspended indefinitely and its decrees unpromulgated, at least in the form we have them today. The Spanish ambassador was in fact the only one to refuse to sign the official record of the decrees drafted and voted upon during the final period of the Council and, as a tragic coda to events, having refused to leave a freezing Trent until he had received specific instructions from his royal master, the ambassador took ill and died there on 28 December 1563.14

12 Ditchfield, “Trent Re-visited”, 363. 13 W. Behringer, Im Zeichen des Merkur: Reichspost und Kommunikationsevolution in der Frühen Neuzeit (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003), 83. 14 Jedin, Konzil von Trient, 4/2.265 n. 1.

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Universal ‘Tridentine’ Catholicism or National Catholicisms?

It is of course well enough known that the promulgation of the decrees of the Council was a far from straightforward process. Although the Italian states, (but excluding the Spanish-held Kingdom of the Two Sicilies), Portugal and Poland ratified them more or less immediately, in May 1564, with Spain following in July of the same year, the Catholic lands of Germany accepted only those decrees relating to dogma and worship and in France it took until 1615 for the Assembly of Clergy to adopt them, although as Nicole Lemaitre emphasises in her chapter, this largely symbolic event was preceded by the fact that from the Assemblée de Melun in 1579 onwards many of the decrees of the Council were adopted by clerics near to the monarchy. However, as far as the governance of their dioceses were concerned, the Crown consistently refused to receive the decrees of the Council into French Law.15 By contrast, Spain was the very first to promulgate publicly the decrees and canons of the Council of Trent, on 12 July 1564 (only a few weeks after the Pope himself had formally issued the collected decrees). What is more, contrary to persistent myth, the King did so without adding the public proviso that this was to take place only when the decrees did not compromise royal authority.16 However privately, in communication with his own counsellors and subordinates, Philip II was very careful to ensure that in cases where conciliar decrees compromised the royal prerogative, the latter won out.17 As Luis de Requesens put it to his master on 10 December 1568: “there is no Pope in Spain”; and as former ambassador in Rome, he was only too well aware of the significance of this statement.18 The instrument which the canny King used to ‘translate the Council of Trent into Spanish’, to borrow the remark of a contemporary wit, was none other than that mandated by the Council for the reform of dioceses: provincial councils of bishops and clergy. Philip found particularly offensive to royal jurisdiction over his subjects such decrees as those relating to clerical immunity (Session 22, On reform, chapter 6) and ecclesiastical censure and excommunication (Session 25, On reform, chapter 3).19 However, although Philip wished to be in control of the 15 O. de La Brosse et al., Histoire des conciles œcumeniques, vol. 9: Le Concile de Trente, 1551– 1563 (Paris: Éditions de l’Orante, 1981), 565–9; C. Fantappié, Storia del diritto canonico e delle istituzioni della Chiesa (Bologna: il Mulino, 2011), 178; J. Bergin, Church, Society and Religious Change in France, 1580–1730 (New Haven, CT/London: Yale University Press, 2009), 4. 16 I. Fernández Terricabras, Felipe II y el clero secular. L’aplicación del Concilio di Trento (Madrid: Sociedad Estatal para la Conmemoración de los Centenarios de Felipe II y Carlos V, 2000), 116. 17 Fernández Terricabras, Felipe II, 114–15. Cf. G. Parker, Imprudent King: A New Life of Philip II (New Haven, CT/London: Yale University Press, 2014), 88. 18 Parker, Imprudent King, 91. 19 Fernández Terricabras, Felipe II, 131.

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Spanish translation of Trent, understood metaphorically, he was certainly not at all in favour of it in the literal sense. For example, the King showed his displeasure at the distribution by bishops of vernacular summaries of the decrees of the Council without royal license.20 Of a piece with Philip’s disapproval of the distribution of such texts in the vernacular was the decision taken by the Spanish Inquisition to forbid distribution of Castilian translations of a new catechism, notwithstanding the fact that the text incorporated within it the doctrines recently approved by Trent.21 This should remind us that we would be making a grave error were we to consider Spain as simply the secular arm of the Counter-Reformation. At the root of the tensions between the papacy and the King of Spain was the issue of royal ecclesiastical patronage – known as the patronato real. This term – together with its cousin, the Portuguese padroado real – refers to the privilege first granted in 1486 by Pope Innocent VIII to Ferdinand and Isabella to nominate to all benefices in their newly conquered territories in order that the conversion and spiritual welfare of its indigenous peoples be catered for. It was accompanied by the regular granting of crusade indulgences, the so-called cruzado, which was to be administered by their Most Catholic Majesties, in support, first, of their reconquest and then the expansion and defence of their Christian territories. Such papal privileges became an integral means whereby the ever cashstrapped early modern Spanish administration raised tax revenue. Given that an agreed proportion of this income made its way back to Rome, it also became a vital supplement to the papacy’s own fragile fiscal foundations; and in a highly visible fashion. It has recently been calculated, by Tom Dandelet, that revenue from this indulgence and related papal privileges raised from Spanish imperial territories directly accounted for no less than 65 % of the costs of building the new Saint Peter’s in Rome between 1529 and 1620.22 These arrangements between the papacy and the monarchies of Spain and Portugal made possible a nearglobal campaign of evangelisation to be undertaken in the name of Roman Catholicism, a campaign which the papacy itself lacked the resources to carry out on its own. But Popes struggled ever after to reclaim the jurisdictional initiative and actually realise their pretensions as universal pastors. All this was notwithstanding the combined efforts of the two papal standing committees, known as Congregations: firstly, that of the Holy Office (founded in 1542 and otherwise 20 Fernández Terricabras, Felipe II, 117. 21 “An amended version of the Roman catechism in Latin appeared in Spain only in 1577, and the first vernacular translation of it – the only form suitable for use by ordinary Spaniards – not until 1777.” Parker, Imprudent King, 91. 22 T. Dandelet, “Paying for the New St Peter’s: Contribution to the Construction of the New Basilica from Spanish Lands, 1506–1620”, in T. Dandelet/J. Marino (ed.), Spain in Italy: Politics, Society and Religion, 1500–1700 (Leiden: Brill, 2007) 181–95, on p. 194.

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known as the Roman Inquisition – which is to be sharply distinguished from its Spanish cousin, which was under direct royal control) and, secondly, that of the Propaganda Fide (from its foundation in 1622). Propaganda Fide made extensive use of faculties or special privileges, issued to secular clergy, to enable them to administer the sacraments in lands dominated by the missionary orders and where the ordinary canon law (ius comune) was supplanted by that which obtained in the missions (ius missionum).23 In this context, one might justifiably question whether it makes sense to label, even for convenience’s sake, the Catholic Churches which were established under the aegis of Portugal and Spain as specifically Roman Catholic in identity. Instead, perhaps we should employ the prefixes ‘Lusitanian-’ and ‘Hispanic-’ to the plural noun ‘Catholicisms’. This would appear to be supported by the fact, according to a recent investigation by Antonio Menniti Ippolito, that not only were the overwhelming majority of cases (98 %) considered in the year 1664 by one of the key curial congregations of the Counter-Reformation papacy – that of bishops and regulars (that is to say, members of religious orders) – of Italian origin, but that 80 % of these related just to the Papal States and southern Italy.24 If we look at the register of decrees issued by the Congregation of the Council for the same year of 1664 one encounters a similar picture: with 20 % of all decrees concerning the Kingdom of Naples and no less than 37 % the Papal States. In the light of this, Menniti Ippolito argues that it perhaps makes more sense to view the institution presided over by the Early Modern papacy less as a monarchy and more as a commonwealth of national Churches? However, this would be a premature assessment, since the ongoing work by Benedetta Albani (and her team based at the MaxPlanck Institut für europäische Rechtsgeschichte) who are making it possible finally to study properly what was undoubtedly the most important curial congregation for the implementation of the decrees of Trent: the Congregation of the Council, suggest that Rome remained relevant even to those inhabitants of the New World for whom the padroado real, at least in theory, blocked their recourse to papal justice.25 23 See, for example, the special issue edited by P. Broggio, C. de Castelnau-l’Estoile and G. Pizzorusso: “Administrer les sacrements en Europe et au Nouveau Monde: la curie romaine et le Dubia circa sacramenta”, of Mélanges de l’École française de Rome: Italie et Méditerranée 212 (2009) 5–217. 24 A. Menniti Ippolito, 1664. Un anno della Chiesa universale. Saggio sull’attività italiana del papato in età moderna (Rome: Viella, 2011), ch. 5. 25 Albani analyzed a sample of some 75 marriage dispensations from restrictions of affinity granted to couples from Mexico by the Congregation of the Council 1585–1670. See Albani, Sposarsi nel Nuovo Mondo. Politica, dottrina e pratiche della cocessione di dispense matrimoniali tra la Nuova Spagna e la Santa Sede (1585–1670) (Unpublished Ph.D thesis, Università degli Studi di Roma “Tor Vergata”; Rome, 2008–2009) in particular, ch. 4. See also notes 30 and 47 below. On the Congregation of the Council, see N. del Re, La Curia Romana:

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Trent and the Papacy: Revising the ‘Prodi paradigm’

I would now like to turn to a second detail from the Duchetti engraving. Paolo Sarpi famously quipped that if the deliberations of the Council of Trent were guided by the Holy Spirit, then the latter arrived in the carrier bags of the couriers from Rome!26 I have already remarked on how quickly and regularly instructions from Rome could reach Trent, but the second detail I am referring to is the absence of the Pope. As is well known, ever since the part played by the early fifteenth-century Councils of Constance and Basle in deposing popes, the papacy had lived in fear and dread of Councils and the opportunities they afforded to those who claimed such assemblies enjoyed a power superior to that of the Pope himself. As a result, Pope Pius IV, like his predecessor Paul III, was careful not to be present and to attend only by proxy of his representatives, the papal legates. Indeed, the currently dominant view of the early modern papacy – what I call the ‘Prodi paradigm’ – views the re-invention of the Pope as the papal prince essentially as a reaction to the trauma of Conciliarism through the creation of a papal monarchy ruling over a consolidated territorial state.27 In the short term, the papal prince, in whom temporal and spiritual power was, for the West at least, uniquely conjoined, was able to pioneer various innovations in the fields of taxation and borrowing – specifically direct taxation of the clergy throughout the Italian peninsula (the decime from 1543) and bond issues (monti) linked to specific needs and underwritten by specific sources of revenue (beginning with the monte di fede floated to finance war against the Ottoman Turks in 1526) only to find himself, in the longer term, the victim of his own relative lineamenti storico-giuridico (Vatican City: Libreria editrice vaticana, 41998), 162–4. On the archive of the Congregation, see: F. Chiappafreddo, “L’archivio della sacra congregazione del Concilio”, in La sacra congregazione del Concilio. Quarto centenario della fondazione (1564– 1964). Studi e ricerche (Vatican City: [s.n.], 1964) 395–406. The only monograph on the Congregation of the Council remains: R. Parayre, La Congrégation du Concile: son histoire – sa procedure – son autorité (Paris: Lethielleux, 1897). 26 “perche niente era risoluto da’Padri ma tutto in Roma; tanto che era passato in bocca di tutti un blasphemo proverbio, che la sinodo di Trento era guidata dallo Spirito Santo inviatogli da Roma di volta in volta nella valise …” (emphasis added), Pietro Soave [Paolo Sarpi], Istoria del Concilio Tridentino (London: Giovan Billio, 1619), 482. It appears that Sarpi was quoting from Louis de Saint Gelais de Lansac, French ambassador to the Council. I am grateful to my colleague David Wootton for his help with tracking down the origin and location of this famous quotation. Cf. P. Sarpi, Istoria del Concilio Tridentino … con note (7 vol.; Mendrisio: Angelo Borella, 1835), 4.297 n. 1. 27 P. Prodi, Il sovrano pontefice: un corpo e due anime. La monarchia papale nella prima età moderna (Bologna: il Mulino, 1982), which should ideally be consulted in the 2006 reprint (Bologna: Il Mulino) with postfazione, 417–39. Prodi also provides a slightly revised (and clearer) formulation of his original argument as in “Il Sovrano Pontefice”, in R. Romano/C. Vivanti (ed.), Storia d’Italia. La Chiesa e il potere politico dal medioevo all’età contemporanea (Turin: Einaudi, 1986), vol. 9: 198–216.

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success.28 Though it should be noted that, in contrast to the Spanish Crown, which notwithstanding the unprecedented flow of bullion from the Americas in the late sixteenth century, was forced to default on its debts no fewer than four times during the reign of Philip II (in 1557, 1560, 1575 and 1596) alone, the papacy sustained its capacity to borrow throughout the Early Modern Period and was only forced to devalue its coinage – by a modest 5 % – in 1684. An office-holding class of mainly ecclesiastics, (which peaked at a little over 3.600 offices for sale in 1562), combined with a remarkably resilient bond market with unrivalled geographical reach sucked in money from all over the Roman Catholic world.29 This funded not only the costs of the Curia and the city, (it should not be forgotten that six of the fifteen permanent curial congregations listed in Sixtus V’s reform bull of 1588 dealt with temporal matters), but also an expensive and usually unpredictable commitment to subsidise Catholic princes to fight Protestant heretics and the Ottomans.30 The 1.500.000 scudi sent to assist the Habsburg alliance in its fight against the Turks in 1598, for example, represented almost half the papacy’s annual income and was only made possible by the existence of a cash reserve in the Castel Sant’Angelo of circa 4.000.000 scudi – the so-called Erario sanziore or sacred treasure – which Sixtus V had built up by borrowing for just such an emergency, although drawing on this reserve was only to be made in extremis: when the security of Rome or Catholic Christendom was at issue.31 Income enjoyed by Rome-resident clerics from benefices and pensions elsewhere in the Italian peninsula also helped make possible the conspicuous 28 Between 1526 and 1684 the Roman Curia authorized 187 monti of which 71 were devoted to raising money for itself, 55 to consolidate the debts of Roman noble families, 23 were for the city of Rome and 38 for other cities in the papal states. See F. Piola Caselli, “The Formation of Fiscal States in Italy: The Papal States”, in B. Yun-Casalilla/P.K. O’Brien/F. Comín Comín (ed.), The Rise of Fiscal States: a Global History, 1500–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012) 285–303, on pp. 291–2. Cf. W. Reinhard, “Finanza pontificia e Stato della Chiesa nel XVI e XVII secolo”, in A. De Maddalena/H. Kellenbenz (ed.), Finanza e ragione di stato in Italia e in Germania nella prima età moderna (Bologna: il Mulino, 1984) 353–87, on pp. 376–9. 29 Reinhard, “Finanza pontificia”, 347. 30 See W. Reinhard, Paul V Borghese: mikropolitische Papstgeschichte (Stuttgart: Hiersmann, 2009), 41 for the number of curial offices which were for sale. 31 Papal subsidies to Catholic powers fighting either heretics or the Ottoman Turks between 1542–1716 amounted to ca. 19.6 million scudi. See Reinhard, “Finanza pontificia”, 368. Cf. A. Wright, The Early Modern Papacy: From the Council of Trent to the French Revolution, 1564– 1789 (Harlow: Longman, 2000), 235, 237, 239. Although it was in the nature of such expenditure that it was both variable and unpredictable, one should bear in mind that during the period 1570–1660 papal income from both spiritual and temporal sources came to a total of 258,400,000 scudi. (See E. Stumpo, Il capitale finanzario a Roma tra cinque e seicento. Contributo all storia della fiscalità pontificia in età moderna (1570–1630) (Milan: Giuffré, 1985), table 36 on p. 308). On the Erario sanziore, see P. Partner, “Papal Financial Policy in the Renaissance and Counter-Reformation”, Past and Present 88 (1980) 17–62, on pp. 30–1 and Reinhard, “Finanza pontificia”, 380–1.

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consumption in the Eternal City as Cardinals rivalled each other and also noble families, religious orders and Catholic rulers sought to assert their presence in the urban landscape, which from the 1570s to at least the 1640s must have resembled a huge building site.32 No less than 63 % of the income from ecclesiastical pensions and benefices generated by the Kingdom of Naples, which amounted to 1.000.000 ducats a year at this time, made its way to Rome, which has led Reinhard to observe that the Kingdom of Naples might thus be viewed as a ‘spiritual colony’ of the papacy.33 In addition, as we have already seen, the new Saint Peter’s was largely built with money deriving from taxation of the Spanish clergy. Finally, it has been calculated that by towards the end of Paul’s pontificate (1616–20) as much as 50 % of income enjoyed by the Cardinals came from benefices and pensions originating in the Kingdom of Naples combined with money from the Iberian peninsula.34 However, by the second half of the seventeenth century Rome became a less effective magnet for such income. Combined with a reduced capacity to borrow, it was no longer enough to sustain an economy which for the entire period covered by this book was almost entirely based on the demand for luxury goods and where the clericalisation of administrative office had crowded out the opportunities for an enterprising lay office-holding class to develop, as happened elsewhere in Europe where sale of office was also widespread, such as Louis XIV’s France.35 Although accurate enough in outline, this narrative is seriously problematic. Prodi’s overriding personal quest to trace the genealogy of Christian democracy, which has informed all of his work and which he locates in the dynamic tension between temporal and spiritual power, (that need to remain separate for the mutual benefit of Church and State, Christian and Citizen), has led him to an assessment that is seriously unbalanced in the emphasis it places upon the papal prince at the expense of the papal pastor and on the necessarily zero-sum rela32 Between 1550–1650 it has been calculated that there were either built ex novo or substantially rebuilt 150 palaces and 300 churches. See D. Metzger Habel, ‘When all of Rome Was Under Construction’: The Building Process in Baroque Rome (University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 2013), 3. 33 Reinhard, Paul V Borghese, 39 (on the Kingdom of Naples as a victim of ‘spiritual colonialism’, geistlichen Kolonialismus), 641 (on the global figure of one million ducats). 34 Reinhard, Paul V Borghese, 269. 35 P. Partner, Renaissance Rome, 1500–1559: Portrait of a Society (Berkeley, CA/London: California University Press, 1976); J. Delumeau, Vie économique et sociale de Rome dans la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle (2 vol.; Paris: Boccard, 1957–1959); R. Ago, Gusto for Things: A History of Objects in Seventeenth-century Rome (Chicago, IL/London: Chicago University Press, 2013 [Italian edition: Rome, 2006]); H. Gross, Rome in the Age of Enlightenment: The post-Tridentine Syndrome and the Ancient Regime (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). Cf. J. Collins, The State in Early Modern France (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 22009), 47–53.

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tionship between the Pope’s two roles.36 Nowhere is this clearer than in Prodi’s stress on papal expenditure qua prince, particularly on the fact that by enriching their families they placed undue fiscal pressure on the Papal States. To borrow the words of the leading English-language scholar of early modern papal finance, Peter Partner: “Rome was thus at once the favoured meadow and the milch cow of papal finance.”37 However, such a statement seriously underplays the extent to which both Prodi and Partner simultaneously underestimated the extraordinary spiritual income that was channelled via the Datary, whose huge corpus of records is still inadequately inventorised, which has been estimated as averaging 380–400.000 a year (1570–1660) as well as the public indebtedness of the papacy, which was not measured only in the separate records of the Apostolic Chamber, that the English historian relied upon in the main.38 This has contributed to an overestimation of the relative importance of the papacy’s temporal income and thus to the argument which sees the economic well-being of the Papal States as grand victim of the international (and family) politics of the papacy.39 This underestimation of the spiritual income stream also reflects a Eurocentric view of the papacy that, on the one hand, has focused overmuch on the losses to such income caused by the Reformation which radically reduced the papacy’s spiritual tax base north of the Alps and, on the other, has not given due weight to the spiritual revenue e toto Orbe Christiano (i. e. from both the New and Old Worlds) derived from annates and related fees from benefices as well as from marriage dispensations which, taken together, in 1595 were estimated to be worth 700.000 scudi.40 In relation to marriage dispensations, as has already been mentioned, the 36 He has explored this theme from the complementary perspectives of political, legal and economic thought respectively in: P. Prodi, Il sacramento del potere (Bologna: il Mulino, 1992); Una storia della giustizia (Bologna: il Mulino, 2000) and Settimo non rubare: furto e mercato nella storia del Occidente (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2009). The most concise articulation of his central argument may be found in the article: P. Prodi, “Cristiano-cittadino/suddito: appartenenza alla chiesa e appartenenza allo Stato tra antico regime, rivoluzione e ristaurazione”, in G. Zito (ed.), Chiesa e società in Sicilia, vol. 3: I secoli xvii–xix (Turin: Società editrice internazionale, 2005) 119–33. This article is also available in a French translation in: P. Prodi, Christianisme et monde moderne (Paris: EHESS, 2006), 295–308; but see now also the introduction to P. Prodi, Cristianesimo e potere (Bologna: il Mulino, 2012), 7–22. For a fuller discussion of the rhyme to Prodi’s reason, see S. Ditchfield, “In Sarpi’s Shadow: Coping with Trent the Italian Way”, in Studi in memoria di Cesare Mozzarelli (2 vol.; Milan: Vita e Pensiero, 2008) 1.585–606, on pp. 598–9. Cfr. S. Ditchfield, “Paolo Prodi, 1932–2016”, Catholic Historical Review 103 (2017) 186–90. 37 P. Partner, “The Papacy and the Papal States”, in R. Bonney (ed.), The Rise of the Fiscal State in Europe, ca.1200–1815 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999) 359–80, on p. 366. 38 According to Stumpo, the archive of the Datary runs to tens of thousands of volumes (there are 7.365 of petitions alone). Stumpo, Il capital finanziario a Roma, 2.182–3. 39 Stumpo, Il capitale finanziario a Roma, 8. 40 The Congregation of Propaganda Fide also received some income from diocesan offerings, although since they were voluntary the sum would most likely have been very limited and also

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work of Benedetta Albani has taught us that notwithstanding the obstacle of the patronato real/padroado reale, a small but not insignificant number of plaintiffs from Mexico thought it worth their while to appeal to Rome – via the papal nunzio in Spain who thus functioned as a de facto Nunziature per il Nuovo Mondo.41

VI.

Making Catholicism Roman

However, not only the financial but also the symbolic importance of Rome as the capital of a universal Church with global reach needs to be emphasized. In this context, it is important to remember the degree to which the city functioned as the source of what was the richest and oldest of several ‘mines of sanctity’, the catacombs, whose relics circulated widely within Northern Europe and beyond. A recent study calculates that from their rediscovery until the nineteenth century no fewer than 14.000 bodies and relics from the Roman catacombs were distributed throughout the Catholic world.42 This unique status enjoyed by Rome not only as home of the papacy, but also for having witnessed the sufferings and been the place of burial of an unrivalled number of early Christians martyred at the hands of the Roman Emperors was memorably referred to by Pius V (r. 1566– 72) when he told a departing Polish diplomat: “this earth [of Saint Peter’s Square] is drenched (inzuppata – literally soaked like bread in soup) with the blood of the martyrs.” Rome was itself a most precious reliquary.43 This was the ultimate follow up to the Roman Catholic taunt: where was your Church before Luther? Rome was not only a place but also a state of mind. It also enjoyed the prestige conferred by ‘double apostolicity’; since it had witnessed the life and death of both Peter and Paul. restricted to defraying the costs of the congregation in Rome, since that of the missions overseas was met, according to the terms of the padroado reale, by the Spanish and Portuguese crowns. I am grateful to Giovanni Pizzorusso for discussion on this matter. Cf. Stumpo, Il capitale finanziario, 163, 166, 167. 41 B. Albani, “Un nunzio per il nuovo mondo: il ruolo della nunziatura di Spagna come istanza di giustizia per i fedeli americani tra cinque e seicento”, forthcoming. I am very grateful to Dr Albani for sharing this essay with me prior to its publication. 42 S. Baciocchi/C. Duhamelle (ed.), Reliques romaines: invention et circulation des corps saints à l’époque moderne (Rome: École française de Rome, 2016); P.-A. Fabre, “Reliquias romanas en México: historia d’una migración”, in G. Wilde (ed.), Saberes de la Conversión: Jesuitas, Indígenas e Imperios coloniales en las fronteras de la Cristianidad (Buenos Aires: Editorial SB, 2012) 207–24. Cf. L. Karnal, “Les reliques dans la conquête de l’Amérique luso-espagnole”, in P. Boutry/P.-A. Fabre/D. Julia (ed.), Reliques modernes: cultes et usages chrétiens des corps saints des Réformes aux révolutions (2 vol.; Paris: EHESS, 2009) 2.731–50, on pp. 745–50. 43 See Acta SS, Maii I (Antwerp: Plantin, 1680), 715 section E.

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Rome’s unique status was foregrounded in the new sacred history that was currently being made fashionable by members of the Congregation of the Oratory, which had been founded by that Christian Socrates, Filippo Neri (1515–95), and whose rule had been approved in 1575. The leading figure here, after Neri, was undoubtedly Cesare Baronio, who is best known for the twelve-volume Annales Ecclesiastici (1588–1607), which was the Catholic reply to the Protestant Magdeburg Centuriators, whose history of the first 1300 years of Church history was portrayed in terms of a progressive decline from apostolic purity from ca. 600 onwards.44 The first published fruit of Baronio’s research here was, however, not the Annales, but his work on the historical notes to the list of saints (mostly but not exclusively martyrs) arranged by calendar month to be read out at the daily office of Prime and known as the Roman Martyrology. Baronio’s scholarly edition came out in 1586, was frequently reprinted and became the basis of the standard version for use throughout the Roman Catholic world until 2001.45 His erudite notes invited readers to dig down with their mind’s eye beneath Rome’s topsoil to the early Christian layer of the city’s past. The Roman Calendar as glossed in the Roman Martyrology not only included the names of those saints who had been martyred in the Eternal City or whose bones had been buried there, but also the names of martyr and non-martyr (confessor) saints who enjoyed an officially recognised, universal cult elsewhere in the Christian world. So Rome stood also for the universal, Catholic Church and her importance was underlined, in the period immediately after Trent, by the numerous colleges established there in the later sixteenth century which trained priests for missionary work. Most of these institutions were entrusted to the Jesuits, such as the Collegium Germanicum-Hungaricum, the Maronite seminary, the House of (former Jewish) Neophytes, the English College and the Greek College.46 44 Ecclesiastica historia, integram ecclesiae Christi ideam, quantum ad locum, propagationem, persecutionem, tranquillitatem, doctrinam, haereses, ceremonias, gubernationem, schismata, synodos, personas, miracula, martyria, religiones extra ecclesiam et statum imperij politicum attinet secundum singulas centurias perspicuo ordine complectens per aliquot studiosos et pios viros in urbe Magdeburgica (5 vol.; Basel: Ioannes Oporinus, 1562–1567). 45 Martyrologium romanum ad novam kalendarii rationem et ecclesiasticae historiae veritatem restitutum. Gregorii XIII pont. max. iussu editum. Accesserunt notations atque tractatio de Martyrologio Romano. Auctore Caesare Baronio sorano Congregationis Oratorij Presbytero (Rome: Domenicus Basa, 1586). 46 The dates of foundation are as follows: German (1552 but re-endowed in 1573 and merged with the Hungarian college, itself founded in 1578, in 1580), Greek (1577), English (1578) and Maronite (1584) as well as those at Vienna (1574), Graz (1578), Prague (1575), Olomouc (in Moravia) (1579), Brandenberg, Vilnius, Dillingen (1585), Augsburg, Fulda (1584), Rennes, together with the Collegio Elvetico, Milan (1568) for the teaching of missionaries to work in the Swiss cantons as well as no fewer than four in Japan (the professed house in Usuki, the college in Funai and the seminaries in Arima and Azuchi). The Collegio dei Neofiti was refounded by

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Baronio explored this identification of Rome with universality at greater length under the year 45 AD of his Annales. Here he argued anachronistically that ‘Catholicus’ was the natural adjective (cognomen) to describe the noun (nomen) ‘Christianus’, before going on to assert that the terms ‘Catholicus’ and ‘Romanus’ were “synonyms used since antiquity to describe those who loyally adhered to the universal Church led by the Pope”.47 As Giuseppe Guazzelli has pointed out, this identification of Romanus with Catholicus was, in fact, an anachronistic projection back in time of a state of affairs which was only achieved gradually and considered normative after the closure of the Council of Trent in 1563. The new importance of this association may be seen by the addition of the adjective Romanum to all the newly revised office books, including, of course, the Martyrologium.

VII.

Rome as Capital of Saint-Making

The papacy not only asserted its claims to universal authority by means of the daily veneration of its early Christian heroes who testified to the Roman Church’s apostolic origins, but also by means of the making of new saints. As André Vauchez reminded us all those years ago now, the papacy in fact only meaningfully asserted its monopoly here from the twelfth century onwards.48 Before then, the vox populi, as shaped and tamed by local bishops to a greater or lesser degree of success, had been responsible for adding to the list of those whose remains and memories were evoked for aid in the prayers of the Christian faithful. So it was only to be expected that the reassertion of papal authority post-Trent should be accompanied by the re-launch of papal canonization after a sixty-five year hiatus, with the raising of the fifteenth-century Spanish Franciscan missionary to the Canary Islands, Diego of Alcalà, to the altar in 1588 (as depicted in the Vatican library fresco proudly commissioned by Sixtus V with alongside a depiction from the same cycle of Sixtus’ raising, in the same year, of his fellow Franciscan Saint Bonaventure to the position of doctor of the Church). Over little Gregory XIII in 1577 (an earlier institution had been set up by Paul III in 1543). Cf. F. Cantatore, “Spazio urbano e luoghi di sapere a Roma nel XVI secolo”, in G. Simoncini (ed.), Roma. Le trasformazioni urbane nel Cinquecento: II dalla città al territorio (Florence: Olschki, 2011) 89–104, on pp. 91–6. 47 G. Guazzelli, “Cesare Baronio and the Roman Catholic vision of the Early Church”, in K. van Liere/S. Ditchfield/H. Louthan (ed.), Sacred History: Uses of the Christian Past in the Renaissance World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012) 52–71, on p. 60. 48 A. Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident aux derniers siècles du Moyen Âge d’après les procès de canonization et les documents hagiographiques (Rome: École française de Rome, 1981).

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more than a hundred years – down to 1712 – Rome was to see a total of thirty saints canonised, of whom twelve – 40 % – were Spanish.49 But before one jumps to any conclusions about a supposed Spanish ‘conquest of heaven’, to mirror their political hegemony over the Italian peninsula from 1559 until 1712, one should bear in mind the fact that for many of these saints, their identity as members of particular religious orders trumped their nationality.50 Just to give a single example: the quintuple canonisation of Saints Ignatius Loyola, Francis Xavier, Teresa of Avila, Filippo Neri and Isidore Agricola in 1622, the only candidate who was explicitly championed as a Spanish saint – was the little-known Isidore, whose chief claim to fame, then as now, was that he is a patron saint of Madrid and thus enjoyed royal patronage. It is yet another irony of history that it is the largely invented account of the life of this obscure saint which decorated the splendid wooden theatre in the crossing of Saint Peter’s. The only visual testimonies to the presence of the four other, infinitely more significant saints, were just three banners suspended from the ceiling of the basilica (and Loyola and Xavier had to share).

VIII. Taming Trent: how the Papacy sought to Control the Legacy of Trent By the terms of the papal bull Benedictus Deus, (dated 26 January 1564 but not published until July of that year), Pius IV not only formally ratified the decrees and canons of the Council but forbade anyone from commenting or glossing them and claimed for the papacy the exclusive right to do so: Furthermore, in order to avoid the perversion and confusion, which might arise, if each one were allowed, as he might think fit, to publish his own commentaries and interpretations of the Council, we, by Apostolic authority, forbid all men, as well [as] ecclesiastics, of whatsoever order, condition and rank they may be, as also laymen, with 49 Index ac status causarum (Vatican City: Congregation of the Causes of Saints, 1999), 547–53. By comparison, according to Clare Copeland, of the 189 individuals discussed as candidates for canonization by the Congregation of Rites (1592–1654), 51 were born either on the Spanish mainland or on the Canary Islands. A further five candidates were Portuguese. These figures were culled from the Archivio della Congregazione per le Cause dei Santi, Vatican City, Decreta servorum dei, vol. 1 (1592–1654). See C. Copeland, “Spanish Saints in CounterReformation Italy”, in P. Baker-Bates/M. Pattenden (ed.), Imagining Iberia: Italians and Spain in the sixteenth century (Farnham: Ashgate, 2015) 103–25. 50 Copeland draws attention to the fact that the occasion of the beatification of the twenty-six Nagasaki martyrs in 1627 saw the Franciscans adamant that there should be separate papal briefs for their martyrs and for the Jesuit martyrs. Accordingly, one for the twenty-three Franciscans – incl. seventeen Japanese Tertiaries was issued on 14 September 1627 and that for the three Jesuits the next day.

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whatsoever honour and power invested; prelates under pain of being interdicted from entering the Church, and all others, whomsoever they be, under pain of excommunication incurred by the fact, to presume, without our authority, to publish in any form, any commentaries, glosses, annotations, scholia, or any kind of interpretation whatsoever of the decrees of the said Council; or settle anything in regard thereof, under any plea whatsoever, even under pretext of greater corroboration of the decrees, or the more perfect execution thereof… But if anything therein shall seem to any one to have been expressed and ordained in an obscure manner, and it shall appear to stand in need, on that account, of an interpretation or decision, let him “Go up to the place which the Lord hath chosen” (Deuteronomy, xvii. 8), to the Apostolic See, the mistress of all the faithful, whose authority the Holy Synod has so reverently acknowledged.51

So as to ensure that this was the case, the Acts themselves, whose publication had been announced in the first edition of the printed decrees, remained locked away in a special cupboard built for the purpose, which was first kept in the Vatican Library and then, from its foundation in 1612, in the Archivio segreto.52 This represented an about-turn in respect of what had been decided at the close of the 25th and final session of the Council.53 Such was the desire to remove Trent from the realm of discussion that even the decisions made by the body set up to deal with queries and problems that arose out of the implementation of the Council’s decrees and canons – the Congregation of the Council – remained secret until their deliberations from 1717 onwards began to be published in 1718.54 Although 51 Bullarum: diplomatum et privilegiorum sanctorum et romanorum pontificum taurinensis (25 vol.; Turin: Seb, Franco et Henrico Dalmazzo, 1857–1872), 7.244–7, on pp. 244–5. My English translation is adapted from The Canons and Decrees of the Sacred and Oecumenical Council of Trent, J. Waterworth (trans.) (London: C. Dolman, 1848), 288. 52 Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano (ASV), Conc. Trid. 1–156, which were originally held in Armadi LXII–LXIII. There were also active attempts to trace descendants of two key officials involved in the Council sessions: its secretary, Angelo Massarelli and its notary, Cinzio Pamphili in order to have them deposit their forbears’ relevant private papers. See O. Poncet, “Les archives de la papauté (XVI–milieu XVII siècle). La genèse d’un instrument de pouvoir”, in A. Jamme/O. Poncet (ed.), Offices, écrits et papauté (XIIIe–XVII siècle) (Rome: École française de Rome, 2007) 737–55. 53 “Quod sit in his recipiendis aliqua difficultas oriatur, aut aliqua inciderint, quae declarationem, quod non credit, aut definionem postulant: praeter alia remedia in hoc concilio instituta, confidit sancta synodus, beatissimum Romanum pontificem curaturum, ut vel evocatis, ex illis praesertim provinciis, unde difficultas orta fuerit, iis quos eidem negotio tractando viderit expedire, vel etiam concilii generalis celebratione, si necessarium iudicaverit, vel commodiore quacumque ratione ei visum fuerit, provinciarum necessitatibus pro Dei gloria et ecclesiae tranquillitate consulatur ‘De recipiendis et observandis decretis concilii’”, Sessio 25, “Decreta publicata die secunda sessionis”, Conciliorum oecumenicorum decreta, G. Alberigo et al. (ed.) (Bologna: EDB, 1991), 798. 54 The first official collected edition of the Congregation’s decrees (from 1717) began publication in 1739: Thesaurus resolutionum Sacrae Congregationis Concilii (Urbino: Geronimo Mainardi, 1739), vol. 1.

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there was clearly the demand for guidance as can be seen from the numerous editions that were printed of Johannes Gallemart’s commentary on the Council’s decrees, which was rapidly placed on the Index.55 This move to lock away the acts of Trent represented a dramatic departure from immemorial tradition whereby the decisions of Church Councils had fed into Canon Law. With no little justification, Paolo Prodi has gone so far as to say that as direct result of the decision taken not to include the decrees of Trent in the Corpus of Canon Law the dualism which had characterised the high and late Middle Ages, that placed canon law in creative dialogue with theology, came to an end and that their divorce accentuated the positivist aspect of canon law: with overriding emphasis being place on content rather than on process.56

IX.

The Legacy of Trent: a Tridentine or a Borromean Church?

It is one of the unacknowledged ironies of the Counter-Reformation that it was none other than the prefect of the Congregation of the Council at the time of Benedictus Deus, Cardinal Carlo Borromeo, who also provided the ‘solution’ to the problem posed by this removal of Trent from the bloodstream of the Roman Church’s traditional means of coping with the challenge of change: canon law. I am referring to the collection of decrees of his six provincial and eight diocesan synods held while he was Archbishop of Milan (r. 1563–84) and first published in 1583 as the Acta ecclesiae mediolanensis.57 If the decrees and canons of the Council of Trent might be considered the ‘theory’ of Tridentine Catholicism, then the Acta should perhaps be regarded as

55 Decisiones et declarationes illustrissimorum cardinalium Cardinalium sacri concilii Tridentini interpretum (Douai: Baltazar Bellerus, 1615). Cf. J.M. De Bujanda, Index librorum prohibitorum 1600–1966 (Montréal: Médiaspaul/Genève: Droz, 2002), 368. My thanks to Nelson Minnich for directing me to this work and its importance. 56 P. Prodi, “Note sulla genesi del diritto nella Chiesa post-Tridentina”, in Legge e vangelo. Discussione su una legge fondamentale per la Chiesa (Brescia: Morcelliana, 1972) 191–226 and Ibid., “Il Concilio di Trento e il diritto canonico”, in G. Alberigo/I. Rogger (ed.), Il Concilio di Trento nella prospettiva del terzo millennio (Brescia: Morcelliana, 1977) 267–285. 57 Acta ecclesiae mediolanensis tribus partibus distincta quibus concilia provincialia, conciones synodales, synodi dioecesanae, instructiones, litterae pastorales, edicta, regulae confratriarum, formulae et alia denique continentur, quae Carolus S.R.E. Cardinalis tit. S. Paxedis, Archiepiscopus egit (Milan: Pacificus Pontius, 1583). I have discussed the wider significance of the Acta Ecclesiae mediolanensis in Ditchfield, “San Carlo Borromeo in the Construction of Roman Catholicism as a World Religion”, Studia borromaica 25 (2011) 3–23 whose arguments are summarized in Ditchfield, “Tridentine Catholicism”, in A. Bamji/G. Janssens/M. Laven (ed.), The Ashgate Research Companion to the Counter-Reformation (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012) 15–31, on pp. 20–3.

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the practical ‘how to’ manual for the conscientious prelate. Indeed, Borromeo himself seems to have been conscious of his collection’s broader value as a compendium of advice and regulations. This is suggested not only by the fact that he had his Provincial Councils confirmed by papal brief – when the usual practice was simply to have them approved by the Congregation of the Council – but also by the inclusion of such supplementary material as the detailed instructions for the siting and outfitting of churches, whose overriding aim was to provide “a dignified setting for the Eucharist”.58 In addition, the Acta contained detailed advice on how to deliver sermons and hear confession; two of the vital aspects of San Carlo’s pastoral vision.59 Finally, over fifty folios of this volume was given over to the complete texts of Borromeo’s pastoral letters, which taken together constituted nothing less than a history of the application of Trent-inspired measures in his vast archdiocese – geographically-speaking the largest in the Old World.60 Although there were to be only five editions of the Acta before the nineteenth century, its influence can be identified in genuinely global terms: from Paris to Poland; Lombardy to Lima.61 For example, there were already twenty copies of the Acta extant in Polish libraries during its author’s lifetime and the Third Provincial Council of Lima (1582–83), which is often called ‘the Trent of the Americas’, shows clear evidence of having borrowed extensively from Borromeo’s treatise on church outfitting.62 The following century, Blessed Juan de Palafox y Mendoza, Bishop of Puebla (r. 1640–55), interim Archbishop of Mexico and for six months acting Viceroy of New Spain referred to San Carlo in the introduction to his Direcciones pastorales (1646) as: “finest example for prelates of these times”.63 As late 58 The attention of historians of art and architecture has meant that this section of the Acta, (fol. 177r–211v out of a total of twenty different types of instructiones that take up fol. 177r–268v), which was entitled Instructiones fabricae et suppellectilis ecclesiasticae, has been studied out of its original context as a stand alone work. A complete English translation with notes and commentary by Evelyn Voelker (d. 2008) has now been published online in her memory at: http://evelynvoelker.com/ (last accessed 27 April 2014). 59 Acta ecclesiae mediolanensis, fol. 212r–221r (instructions for preaching) and 230r–236r (advice to confessors). 60 Acta ecclesiae mediolanensis, fol. 271r–325v. 61 E. Cattaneo, “La singolare fortuna degli Acta ecclesiae mediolanensis”, La scuola cattolica 111 (1983) 191–217. 62 See the preface to C. Borromeo, Instrucciones de la fabrica y del Ajuar ecclesiasticos (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de Mexico, 1985). I am grateful to Bill Taylor for making the historical preface available to me. Cf. F. Bazoli/L. Daglio, “Le chiese del Borromeo e le chiese latinoamericane: un’ipotesi di lettura”, in S. Della Torre/M. Marinelli (ed.), Instructionum fabricae et suppellectilis ecclesiasticae libri II (1577) (Vatican City: Libreria editrice vaticana, 2000) 376–85, on p. 384. 63 J. de Palafox y Mendoza, “Direcciones pastorales”, in de Palafox y Mendoza, Obras (13 vol.; Madrid: Gabriel Ramirez, 1762), 3/1.5, 7; cf. 10.23–35, where the two model reforming bishops, San Carlo Borromeo and San Tommaso Villanova are compared.

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as the end of the eighteenth century, Palafox’s successor as Archbishop of Mexico, Alonso Nuñez de Haro y Peralta, could still refer to San Carlo as a model of episcopal best-practice and exhort his clergy, in a pastoral letter of 1777, to read not only the works of Saint Augustine but also those of Borromeo.64 However, those who travel today through Latin America in search of Tridentine-Borromean influence do not need to access archives or visit libraries to find textual confirmation or even enter churches in search of altarpieces dedicated to San Carlo. Instead, they are simply required to look around the interior of any Roman Catholic church and note two prominent visual details: the High Altar and the Confessional. The High Altar will not infrequently be supporting a Ciborium displaying the Eucharist, while the confessional will often be lavished with colour and decoration to a degree rare in the Old World. To conclude, by sketching Borromean influence in the New World, I am really making a case for the importance of bishops outside Europe and thus for the relevance of the Council of Trent where the bishop was viewed as the building block of a reformed, pastorally-focused Church. Even if bishops were of negligible importance in India, China, Japan and in Latin America, where they nearly always found themselves operating in what was fundamentally a missionary environment inimical to the uncontested exercise of episcopal jurisdiction, even where the ordinary was himself a member of religious order. The ongoing work of Benedetta Albani and her team on the archive of the Congregation of the Council strongly suggests that in two of the four continents personified by Andrea Pozzo in the nave spandrels of his famous fresco celebrating the global reach of the Jesuit missions at San Ignazio, Rome – Europe and America – the figure of San Carlo Borromeo remained of significance. He did so not only as a model bishop but also as a generator of a body of pastoral legislation, which remained a long-lasting point of reference wherever bishops found themselves engaged in the enterprise of the making of this planet’s first world religion.

Bibliography Archival sources Vatican City, Archivio della Congregazione per le Cause dei Santi (ACCS), Decreta servorum dei, vol. 1 (1592–1654). Vatican City, Archivio Segreto Vaticano (ASC), Conc. Trid. 1–156. 64 A. Nuñes Haro y Peralta, Sermones escogidos, pláticas, espirituales, privadas y dos Pastorales (3 vol.; Madrid: de la hija de Ibarra, 1806–1807), 3.79, 231–2, 240.

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Printed and edited sources Acta SS, Maii I (Antwerp: Plantin, 1680). Bullarum: diplomatum et privilegiorum sanctorum et romanorum pontificum taurinensis (25 vol.; Turin: Seb Franco et Henrico Dalmazzo, 1857–1872). Borromeo, C., Acta ecclesiae mediolanensis tribus partibus distincta quibus concilia provincialia, conciones synodales, synodi dioecesanae, instructiones, litterae pastorales, edicta, regulae confratriarum, formulae et alia denique continentur, quae Carolus S.R.E. Cardinalis tit. S. Paxedis, Archiepiscopus egit (Milan: Pacificus Pontius, 1583). Borromeo, C., Instrucciones de la fabrica y del Ajuar ecclesiasticos (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de Mexico, 1985). Decisiones et declarationes illustrissimorum cardinalium Cardinalium sacri concilii Tridentini interpretum (Douai: Baltazar Bellerus, 1615). Ecclesiastica historia, integram ecclesiae Christi ideam, quantum ad locum, propagationem, persecutionem, tranquillitatem, doctrinam, haereses, ceremonias, gubernationem, schismata, synodos, personas, miracula, martyria, religiones extra ecclesiam et statum imperij politicum attinet secundum singulas centurias perespicuo ordine complectens per aliquot studiosos et pios viros in urbe Magdeburgica (5 vol.; Basel: Ioannes Oporinus, 1562–67). Index ac status causarum (Vatican City: Congregation of the Causes of Saints, 1999). Martin, G., Roma sancta (1581), G.B. Parks (ed.) (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1969). Martyrologium romanum ad novam kalendarii rationem et ecclesiasticae historiae veritatem restitutum. Gregorii XIII pont. max. iussu editum. Accesserunt notationes atque tractatio de Martyrologio Romano. Auctore Caesare Baronio sorano Congregationis Oratorij Presbytero (Rome: Domenicus Basa, 1586). Nuñes Haro y Peralta, A., Sermones escogidos, pláticas, espirituales, privadas y dos Pastorales (3 vol.; Madrid: de la hija de Ibarra, 1806–07). Palafox y Mendoza, J., “Direcciones pastorales”, in Palafox y Mendoza, Obras (13 vol.; Madrid: Gabriel Ramirez, 1762). Sarpi, S., Istoria del Concilio Tridentino… con note (7 vol.; Mendrisio: Angelo Borella, 1835). The Canons and Decrees of the Sacred and Oecumenical Council of Trent, J. Waterworth (trans.) (London: C. Dolman, 1848). Thesaurus resolutionum Sacrae Congregationis Concilii (Urbino: Geronimo Mainardi, 1739), vol. 1.

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Bazoli, F./Daglio, L., “Le chiese del Borromeo e le chiese latinoamericane: un’ipotesi di lettura”, in S. Della Torre/M. Marinelli (ed.), Instructionum fabricae et suppellectilis ecclesiasticae libri II (1577) (Vatican City: Libreria editrice vaticana, 2000) 376–85. Behringer, W., Im Zeichen des Merkur: Reichspost und Kommunikationsevolution in der Frühen Neuzeit (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003). Bergin, J., Church, Society and Religious Change in France, 1580–1730 (London/New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009). Broggio, P./Castelnau-l’Estoile de, C./Pizzorusso, G., “Administrer les sacrements en Europe et au Nouveau Monde: la curie romaine et le Dubia circa sacramenta”, Mélanges de l’École française de Rome: Italie et Méditerranée 212 (2009) 5–217. Cattaneo, E., “La singolare fortuna degli Acta ecclesiae mediolanensis”, La scuola cattolica 111 (1983) 191–217. Chiappafreddo, F., “L’archivio della sacra congregazione del Concilio”, in La sacra congregazione del Concilio. Quarto centenario della fondazione (1564–1964). Studi e ricerche (Vatican City: [s.n.], 1964) 395–406. Collins, J., The State in Early Modern France (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2 2009). Copeland, C., “Spanish Saints in Counter-Reformation Italy”, in P. Baker-Bates/M. Pattenden (ed.), Imagining Iberia: Italians and Spain in the sixteenth century (Farnham: Ashgate, 2015) 103–25. Dandelet, T., “Paying for the New St Peter’s: Contribution to the Construction of the New Basilica from Spanish Lands, 1506–1620”, in T. Dandelet/J. Marino (ed.), Spain in Italy: Politics, Society and Religion, 1500–1700 (Leiden: Brill, 2007) 181–95. De Bujanda, J.M., Index librorum prohibitorum 1600–1966 (Montréal: Médiaspaul/Geneva: Droz, 2002). Del Re, N., La Curia Romana: lineamenti storico-giuridico (Vatican City: Libreria editrice vaticana, 41998). Delumeau, J., Vie économique et sociale de Rome dans la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle (2 vol.; Paris: Boccard, 1957–59). Ditchfield, S., “Giving Tridentine Worship back Its History”, in R.N. Swanson (ed.), Continuity and Change in Christian Worship (Studies in Church History 35; Woodbridge: Boydell, 1999) 199–226. Ditchfield, S., “In Sarpi’s Shadow: Coping with Trent the Italian way”, in Studi in memoria di Cesare Mozzarelli (2 vol.; Milan: Vita e Pensiero, 2008) 1.585–606. Ditchfield, S., “San Carlo Borromeo in the Construction of Roman Catholicism as a World Religion”, Studia borromaica 25 (2011) 3–23. Ditchfield, S., “Trent revisited”, in G. dall’Olio/A. Malena/P. Scaramella (ed.), Per Adriano Prosperi, vol. 1: La fede degli Italiani (Pisa: Edizioni della Normale, 2011) 357–70. Ditchfield, S., “Tridentine Catholicism”, in A. Bamji/G. Janssens/M. Laven (ed.), The Ashgate Research Companion to the Counter-Reformation (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012) 15–31. Ditchfield, S., “Paolo Prodi, 1932–2016”, Catholic Historical Review, 103/1 (2017) 186–90. Fantappié, C., Storia del diritto canonico e delle istituzioni della Chiesa (Bologna: il Mulino, 2011).

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Fabre, P.-A., “Reliquias romanas en México: historia d’una migración”, in G. Wilde (ed.), Saberes de la Conversión: Jesuitas, Indígenas e Imperios colonials en las fronteras de la Cristianidad (Buenos Aires: Editorial SB, 2012) 207–24. Gross, H., Rome in the Age of Enlightenment: The post-Tridentine Syndrome and the Ancien Regime (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). Guazzelli, G., “Cesare Baronio and the Roman Catholic Vision of the Early Church”, in K. van Liere/S. Ditchfield/H. Louthan (ed.), Sacred History: Uses of the Christian Past in the Renaissance world (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012) 52–71. Karnal, L., “Les reliques dans la conquête de l’Amérique luso-espagnole”, in P. Boutry/P.A. Fabre/D. Julia (ed.), Reliques modernes: cultes et usages chrétiens des corps saints des Réformes aux revolutions (2 vol.; Paris: EHESS, 2009) 2.731–50. Lecler, J. et al., Histoire des conciles œcumeniques, Vol. 11: Le Concile de Trente, 1551–1563 (Paris: Éditions de l’Orante, 1981). Lynch, J., “Philip II and the Papacy”, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5 series 11 (1961) 23–42. Menniti Ippolito, A., 1664. Un anno della Chiesa universale. Saggio sull’attività italiana del papato in età moderna (Rome: Viella, 2011). Metzger Habel, D., ‘When all of Rome Was Under Construction’: The Building Process in Baroque Rome (University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 2013). O’Malley, J. W., “The Council of Trent: Myths, Misunderstandings and Misinformation”, in T.M. Lucas (ed.), Spirit, Style, Story: Essays Honouring John W. Padberg S.J. (Chicago, IL: Loyola Press, 2002) 205–36. O’Malley, J. W., “Trent and Vatican II: Two Styles of Church”, in R.F. Bulman/F. J. Parrella (ed.), From Trent to Vatican II. Historical and Theological investigations (New York/ Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006) 301–20. O’Malley, J. W., Four Cultures of the West (Cambridge, MA/London: Belknap Press, 2004). Parayre, R., La Congrégation du Concile: son histoire – sa procedure – son autorité (Paris: Lethielleux, 1897). Partner, P., Renaissance Rome, 1500–1559: Portrait of a Society (Berkeley, CA/London: California University Press, 1976). Partner, P., “Papal Financial Policy in the Renaissance and Counter-Reformation”, Past and Present 88 (1980) 17–62. Partner, P., “The Papacy and the Papal States”, in R. Bonney (ed.), The Rise of the Fiscal State in Europe, c.1200–1815 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999) 359–80. Piola Caselli, F., “The Formation of Fiscal States in Italy: The Papal States”, in B. YunCasalilla/P.K. O’Brien/F. Comín Comín (ed.), The Rise of Fiscal States: A Global History, 1500–1914 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012) 285–303. Poncet, O., “Les archives de la papauté (XVI–milieu XVII siècle). La genèse d’un instrument de pouvoir”, in A. Jamme/O. Poncet (ed.), Offices, écrits et papauté (XIIIe–XVII siècle) (Rome: École française de Rome, 2007) 737–55. Prodi, P., L’uomo europeaus (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2015). Prodi, P., “Cristiano-cittadino/suddito: appartenenza alla chiesa e appartenenza allo Stato tra antico regime, rivoluzione e ristaurazione”, in G. Zito (ed.), Chiesa e società in Sicilia, vol. 3: I secoli xvii–xix (Turin: Società editrice internazionale, 2005) 119–33.

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Prodi, P., “Il Concilio di Trento e il diritto canonico”, in G. Alberigo/I. Rogger (ed.), Il Concilio di Trento nella prospettiva del terzo millennio (Brescia: Morcelliana, 1977) 267– 85. Prodi, P., “Il Sovrano Pontefice”, in R. Romano/C. Vivanti (ed.), Storia d’Italia 9. La Chiesa e il potere politico dal medioevo all’età contemporanea (Turin: Einaudi, 1986) 198–216. Prodi, P., “Note sulla genesi del diritto nella Chiesa post-Tridentina”, in Legge e Vangelo. Discussione su una legge fondamentale per la Chiesa (Brescia: Morcelliana, 1972) 191– 226. Prodi, P., Christianisme et monde moderne (Paris: EHESS, 2006). Prodi, P., Cristianesimo e potere (Bologna: il Mulino, 2012). Prodi, P., Il sacramento del potere (Bologna: il Mulino, 1992). Prodi, P., Il sovrano pontefice: un corpo e due anime. La monarchia papale nella prima età moderna (Bologna: il Mulino, 1982; repr. with new postface: Bologna: il Mulino, 2006). Prodi, P., Settimo non rubare: furto e mercato nella storia del Occidente (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2009). Prodi, P., Una storia della giustizia (Bologna: il Mulino, 2000). Reinhard, W., “Finanza pontificia e Stato della Chiesa nel XVI e XVII secolo”, in A. De Maddalena/H. Kellenbenz (ed.), Finanza e ragione di stato in Italia e in Germania nella prima età moderna (Bologna: il Mulino, 1984) 353–87. Reinhard, W., Paul V Borghese: mikropolitische Papstgeschichte (Stuttgart: Hiersmann, 2009). Stumpo, E., Il capitale finanzario a Roma tra cinque e seicento. Contributo all storia della fiscalità pontificia in età moderna (1570–1630) (Milan: Giuffré, 1985). Vauchez, A., La sainteté en Occident aux derniers siècles du Moyen Age d’après les procès de canonization et les documents hagiographiques (Rome: École française de Rome, 1981). Vivo de, F., “How to Read Venetian relazioni”, Renaissance and Reformation/Renaissance et Réforme 34/1–2 (2011) 25–59. Wright, A., The Early Modern Papacy: From the Council of Trent to the French Revolution, 1564–1789 (Harlow: Longman, 2000).

Hélène Vu Thanh

Un évêque tridentin au Japon? Le rôle de Luís Cerqueira dans l’application des réformes du Concile de Trente au sein de la mission japonaise (1549–1614)

La mission jésuite du Japon débute en 1549 avec l’arrivée de François Xavier dans l’archipel, mais elle se développe surtout à partir des années 1580 sous l’influence du visiteur des Indes orientales, Alessandro Valignano, chargé de superviser les missions en Orient. La Chrétienté japonaise est particulièrement dynamique dans l’île du Kyushu, mais également autour de la capitale Miyako (actuelle Kyoto). Cependant, les chrétiens restent une minorité qui, en règle générale, vit au milieu des non chrétiens. D’après Charles Boxer, à la veille des persécutions en 1614, la communauté chrétienne compte 250.000 à 300.000 membres, soit 2 % de la population japonaise.1 Face à cela, le nombre des jésuites demeure très inférieur aux besoins, puisqu’ils ne sont que 116 en 1614, ce qui a des conséquences sur les pratiques des convertis japonais, peu soumis au contrôle des missionnaires.2 Malgré ces difficultés, la mission jésuite du Japon devient très rapidement un modèle de réussite pour les autres terres évangélisées, au point qu’un évêque appartenant à la Compagnie de Jésus est envoyé dans l’archipel nippon dès 1596, alors même que le pays ne se trouve pas sous domination portugaise. Quant aux jésuites, ils sont présentés comme des partisans enthousiastes de l’application des réformes tridentines dans les mondes extra-européens. Cependant, les terres de missions ont longtemps été laissées en dehors du champ de recherche sur le Concile de Trente, l’historiographie ayant privilégié l’étude de l’impact des réformes conciliaires en Europe.3 Cette absence de véritables études sur les liens entre le Concile de Trente et les missions d’outremer 1 Boxer se base sur les informations fournies par la lettre annuelle de 1614 pour avancer ces chiffres, C.R. Boxer, The Christian Century in Japan 1549–1650 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1951), 320–1. 2 L’auteur se base également sur la lettre annuelle de 1614 pour donner ce chiffre. Celui-ci ne prend pas en compte les membres non officiels de la mission, et notamment les nombreux catéchistes japonais (do¯juku) qui n’appartiennent pas à la Compagnie de Jésus, voir J.P. Costa, O Japão e o Cristianismo no Seculo XVIe (Lisbonne: Ship, 1999), 45. 3 Voir le cas de la France dans A. Tallon, La France et le Concile de Trente (1518–1563) (Rome: École française de Rome, 1997).

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était justifiée par le fait que les décrets du Concile n’évoquent ni les «missions», ni les «missionnaires». À cela s’ajoute le fait que les missions en Asie se trouvant sous patronage royal, les délégués portugais au Concile ne voient pas la nécessité d’aborder la question missionnaire. Cet apparent silence du Concile de Trente sur les missions explique que l’historiographie ancienne n’ait vu dans celles-ci qu’un simple terrain d’application des réformes tridentines, à l’image d’Antonio da Silva.4 Plus récemment, John O’Malley affirme que les missionnaires ne se sont pas référés à Trente dans leurs actions, ce qui ne signifie pas pour autant un désintérêt de leur part pour l’application des décrets du Concile. Il souligne ainsi le rôle essentiel des évêques et des ordres religieux qui fournissent l’essentiel des forces pour les missions d’outremer. D’après O’Malley, les missionnaires appliquent les décrets du Concile de Trente, mais ils le font de leur propre initiative, inspirés par les traditions spécifiques à leur ordre, sans se référer explicitement aux décrets conciliaires et sans bénéficier d’un contrôle de la part de leur hiérarchie.5 Pourtant, comme le remarque Paolo Prodi, les premières initiatives outremer s’inscrivent bien dans le mouvement de la réforme catholique et les missionnaires voient dans leurs actions une manifestation des discussions religieuses qui ont lieu en Europe.6 Mais lui-même n’évoque qu’une «projection» du Concile de Trente en Amérique dans le cadre institutionnel du patronage royal des Couronnes ibériques.7 Dans le cas de l’Asie, il met en avant la politique d’accommodation mise en œuvre par les jésuites, mais sans étudier ses liens avec la réforme tridentine. Le but de cet article est donc de nuancer ou de préciser ces éléments dans le cas particulier de la mission jésuite du Japon. Premièrement, quel est le rôle de la Compagnie de Jésus dans l’application des réformes tridentines au pays du Soleil levant? Deuxièmement, la mission jésuite du Japon se caractérise par la mise en œuvre de la politique d’accommodation:8 les missionnaires présents sur place s’accordent sur le fait que des éléments du Catholicisme, notamment certains rites, demandent à être adaptés aux conditions religieuses et sociales nippones 4 A. da Silva, Trent’s Impact on the Portuguese Patronage Missions (Lisbonne: Centro de Estudos Históricos Ultramarinos, 1969), 39–63. 5 J.W. O’Malley, Trent and All That: Renaming Catholicism in the Early Modern Era (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, 2000), 69. 6 P. Prodi, Il Paradigmo tridentino, Un’epoca della storia della Chiesa (Brescia: Morcelliana, 2010), 189. 7 Prodi, Il Paradigmo tridentino, 197. 8 I.G. Zˇupanov, «Accommodation», dans R. Azria/D. Hervieu-Léger (éd.), Dictionnaire des faits religieux (Paris: PUF, 2010). La politique d’accommodation n’est pas propre au Japon; elle est également appliquée en Inde ou en Chine. Voir I.G. Zˇupanov, Disputed Missions: Jesuit Experiments and Brahmanical Knowledge in Seventeenth Century India (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 1999) et L.M. Brockey, Journey to the East: the Jesuit Mission to China, 1579–1724 (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2009).

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afin de faciliter les conversions. Les jésuites ne remettent pas en cause les réformes issues du Concile de Trente et la nécessité de les diffuser au Japon, mais ils s’interrogent sur la méthode à mettre en œuvre pour concilier ces réformes avec leur politique d’accommodation dans le but de faciliter les conversions. Comment la Compagnie de Jésus parvient-elle à résoudre cette tension entre la politique d’accommodation et les réformes tridentines, parfois difficilement applicables au Japon? Dans ce double questionnement, la figure de l’évêque Luís Cerqueira, à la tête de la Chrétienté japonaise de 1598 à 1613, est fondamentale, car il est celui qui donne l’impulsion pour appliquer les réformes tridentines au Japon. Mais cette politique est-elle bien acceptée par les jésuites et est-elle une réussite dans le contexte japonais? Tout d’abord, on analysera le choix des jésuites d’appliquer les réformes issues du Concile de Trente au Japon. Ensuite, nous étudierons la diffusion des pratiques sacramentelles dans la lignée des recommandations tridentines. Enfin, nous ferons un bilan de l’action de Luís Cerqueira au Japon.

I.

Une volonté claire d’appliquer les réformes tridentines au Japon?

1

L’absence de décision des jésuites dans les premiers temps de la mission

Au moment de la clôture du Concile de Trente en 1563, la mission du Japon est fondée depuis moins de quinze ans et elle compte un faible nombre de convertis.9 Elle ne prend son essor que dans les années 1580 sous la direction du visiteur des Indes orientales Alessandro Valignano, partisan résolu de la politique d’accommodation. Suite à la réunion des responsables jésuites en 1580, il édite un règlement pour la mission qui s’intéresse aux questions liturgiques, à la diffusion de sacrements comme l’Eucharistie ou encore à l’ouverture d’établissements scolaires au Japon, mais sans faire référence au Concile de Trente.10 La distance entre Rome et les terres de mission peut contribuer à expliquer un retard dans l’application des décrets tridentins outremer, mais cela fait dix-sept ans que le Concile a pris fin. Cette absence de référence aux réformes issues du Concile est donc plutôt volontaire de la part du visiteur des Indes orientales. Est-ce à dire que Valignano se désintéresse du sujet ou ne considère pas l’application des réformes comme prioritaire dans le contexte japonais, voire y serait hostile?

9 L. Bourdon, La Compagnie de Jésus et le Japon (Paris/Lisbonne: Fondation Calouste Gulbekian, 1993). 10 Rome, Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu (désormais ARSI), Japonica Sinica 2, fol. 4–35.

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Un argument peut faire pencher la balance en ce sens: Valignano se montre fermement opposé à la venue d’un évêque au Japon et il préconise que la Chrétienté japonaise soit confiée aux seuls jésuites. Or, le Concile de Trente est par excellence le Concile des évêques qui voient un renforcement de leur autorité, ainsi qu’une affirmation de leur rôle de pasteur. Dans son rapport sur la mission du Japon rédigé à l’attention de la Curie jésuite (1583), le visiteur justifie son refus de la venue d’un évêque au Japon en raison de particularités propres à la Chrétienté japonaise.11 Il met en avant la fierté des Japonais qui ne supporteraient pas d’être dirigés par un étranger; il ajoute que l’évêque serait obligé de vivre pauvrement en raison du peu de ressources des convertis et qu’il lui serait également difficile de s’adapter aux coutumes nippones. Valignano souligne que l’évêque ne pourrait pas remplir une de ses tâches les plus importantes, à savoir l’ordination des prêtres, car les Japonais sont loin d’avoir fini leur éducation. Enfin, il met en avant les conflits de juridiction possibles entre l’évêque et la Compagnie de Jésus. Cependant, ce refus de la venue d’un évêque participe plus largement d’une politique de défense du monopole jésuite sur la mission du Japon. Le chapitre suivant du règlement s’attache ainsi à expliquer pourquoi il faut empêcher d’autres congrégations religieuses de venir au Japon. Le visiteur se montre ainsi fermement opposé à la venue des ordres mendiants depuis les Philippines espagnoles ou la Nouvelle-Espagne et il réclame au pape la publication d’un bref Ex pastoralis officio confiant la mission du Japon uniquement à la Compagnie de Jésus, bref qu’il obtient de Grégoire XIII en 1585. Le visiteur justifie sa décision en arguant que des conflits entre les ordres mendiants et la Compagnie de Jésus ne manqueraient pas de surgir, ce qui nuirait à l’évangélisation du pays.12 On retrouve là le même argument utilisé pour justifier le refus de la venue d’un évêque au Japon. En réalité, Valignano tente de faire comprendre à ses supérieurs en Europe la nécessité d’avoir une pastorale uniforme sur l’ensemble du territoire, ce qui n’est possible que par une union étroite entre l’évêque et les jésuites, décidant conjointement des politiques d’évangélisation à mettre en œuvre. Or, l’obstruction à l’installation d’un évêque dans l’archipel nippon s’accompagne du souhait de faire du Japon une Église militante, mobilisée dans la lutte contre le Protestantisme qui se répand en Europe. Bien que les Hollandais ou les Anglais ne soient pas encore présents en Asie à cette date, Valignano est préoccupé par une éventuelle diffusion des doctrines protestantes au Japon qui viendraient «corrompre» les bonnes dispositions des Japonais à l’égard du Ca-

11 A. Valignano, Les Jésuites au Japon, J. Bésineau (trans.) (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1990), 121–5. 12 P. Correia, A Concepção de missionação na Apologia de Valignano, Estudo sobre a presença jesuíta e francicana no Japão (1587–1597) (Lisbonne: Centro Científico e cultural de Macau, 2008), 37–78.

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tholicisme.13 Valignano en vient même à assimiler certaines groupes bouddhistes à des représentants de la doctrine luthérienne: [Les bonzes] font valoir la miséricorde et la grande charité d’Amida et de Shaka et en viennent à dire que, même avec tous les péchés possibles, quand on invoque les noms d’Amida et de Shaka, avec une ferme espérance en eux et en leurs mérites, on est purifié et lavé de tous ses péchés, sans besoin de recourir à la pénitence et aux autres œuvres … C’est proprement la doctrine de Luther.14

Luther prône le salut par la foi seule et non par les œuvres, tandis qu’il souligne la nécessité de réformes des fonctions ecclésiastiques et des pratiques religieuses. Comme le souligne John O’Malley,15 le pape envisage le Concile comme une réponse aux points de doctrine soulevés par Luther et, dans ce mouvement, les jésuites du Japon doivent protéger leurs ouailles des diverses «hérésies» qui se répandent en Europe.16 Valignano inscrit donc la Chrétienté japonaise dans le prolongement des luttes menées par l’Église à la même époque en Europe, luttes et réformes qui passent par le Concile de Trente. Plus qu’un refus de laisser la conduite de la pastorale à l’évêque ou un refus d’appliquer les réformes conciliaires, l’argumentation de Valignano révèle les tensions à l’œuvre au sein de l’Église japonaise. Celle-ci est une Église nouvelle, fondée depuis une trentaine d’années, et elle possède ses propres particularités. La question sous-jacente est celle de l’intégration de cette nouvelle Chrétienté à l’Église universelle qui est en train de traverser une période de crise. Pour Valignano, l’Église peut se refonder en terres japonaises, mais c’est une entreprise délicate qui demande une adaptation aux coutumes du pays.17 Valignano ne se désintéresse donc pas des décisions prises au Concile de Trente, pas plus qu’il ne s’oppose à leur diffusion. Le vrai problème est pour lui plus profond et il réside dans la capacité de l’Église à intégrer de nouvelles Chrétientés et à les préserver des divisions de la Chrétienté européenne. La décision d’appliquer les réformes tridentines n’est donc pas vraiment le fait des jésuites, mais plutôt celle de l’évêque Luís Cerqueira. En effet, malgré l’opposition de Valignano, un évêque issu de la Compagnie de Jésus arrive au Japon en 1596.

13 Le premier navire hollandais à parvenir au Japon en 1600 est le Liefde, commandé par l’Anglais Will Adams. 14 Valignano, Les Jésuites au Japon, 88. 15 J.W. O’Malley, Le Concile de Trente, ce qui s’est vraiment passé (Bruxelles: Lessius, 2013), 25. 16 O’Malley, Le Concile de Trente, 146. 17 Valignano, Les Jésuites au Japon, 116–17.

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Le rôle de l’évêque Luís Cerqueira: une nouvelle impulsion pour l’application des réformes tridentines

L’ambassade de quatre jeunes samurais, envoyés en Europe par Valignano entre 1582 et 1590, contribue à diffuser une image très positive de la Chrétienté japonaise, ce qui justifie en 1588 la création d’un évêché au Japon ayant pour siège Funai au Bungo, considéré alors comme le principal lieu de développement de la Chrétienté nippone après le baptême du daimyô (seigneur) Ôtomo Yoshishige en 1578.18 Afin de concilier cette décision avec le respect du monopole jésuite, il est décidé d’envoyer un évêque issu de la Compagnie de Jésus au Japon.19 Le premier évêque du Japon à être nommé est Sebastião de Morais, mais il périt au cours de la traversée vers le Mozambique. En 1591, on nomme à la tête du diocèse Pedro Martins, ainsi que son coadjuteur, Luís Cerqueira, dans le but de ne pas laisser la Chrétienté japonaise sans pasteur en cas d’incident. Pedro Martins parvient au pays du Soleil levant en 1596, mais il n’y reste que deux ans avant de s’embarquer en 1598 pour Macao.20 Martins périt au cours de la traversée et la charge d’évêque passe alors à son coadjuteur resté au Japon, Luís Cerqueira. Le tournant dans l’application des réformes tridentines au Japon se place donc à la fin du seizième siècle et au début du dix-septième siècle et le rôle de l’évêque Cerqueira est décisif en la matière. En effet, ce dernier se montre un fervent partisan de l’application des réformes tridentines au Japon, ce qui se traduit par la création d’un séminaire de l’évêque, parallèlement et en coopération avec le séminaire jésuite, pour former un clergé indigène au fait des réformes de l’Église. La question de l’ouverture d’un séminaire diocésain est débattue dès 1599 et la décision d’en créer un est aussitôt mise en application.21 La formation dispensée dans ce séminaire est avant tout pratique et en cela, Cerqueira met en application le décret de la Session 23 du Concile de Trente qui préconise l’institution de prêtres zélés, pasteurs des âmes. L’éducation dispensée par le séminaire vise à les faire progresser dans la vertu et à leur donner les bases d’une théologie pratique. Cerqueira rédige plusieurs manuels à l’attention des futurs prêtres dont le Manuale ad sacramenta ecclesiae administranda, véritable vade mecum pour le futur clergé diocésain, imprimé en 1605 à Nagasaki.22 Outre une explication sur la façon d’administrer les sacrements, 18 La mort de Yoshishige en 1587 et l’apostasie de son fils ont pour conséquence le déplacement du siège de l’évêché à Nagasaki. 19 Costa, O Japão e o Cristianismo, 154. 20 J.P. Costa, O Cristianismo no Japão e o Episcopado de D. Luís Cerqueira (Thèse de doctorat; Lisbonne, 1998), 129–58. 21 H. Cieslik, Publikationen über das Christentum in Japan: Veröffentlichungen in Europäischen Sprachen (Bern/Bruxelles: P. Lang, 2004), 309. 22 Un exemplaire du Manuale se trouve dans ARSI, Japonica Sinica I–207. A ce sujet, voir R.I.

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l’ouvrage de Cerqueira regroupe les prescriptions les plus importantes de la morale et du droit canonique; des sermons en japonais sur les différents sacrements sont également recensés. Du fait de la double tutelle des jésuites et de l’évêque, les futurs prêtres se trouvent être sous l’entier contrôle de la Compagnie de Jésus, réalisant la volonté de Valignano. Parallèlement, Luís Cerqueira souhaite appliquer une autre réforme du Concile de Trente qui impose à l’évêque l’obligation de visiter son diocèse et de remplir ainsi sa charge de pasteur des âmes (Session 24 du 11 novembre 1563).23 Cependant, Cerqueira arrive au Japon dans un contexte troublé: en 1597, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, alors à la tête du Japon, déclenche une persécution contre les chrétiens qui aboutit au martyre de Nagasaki, largement relayé en Europe. Cela n’empêche pas l’évêque de débuter la visite de son vaste diocèse dès 1599 à Shiki, avant de se rendre à Arima en 1601 et à Ômura en 1603, où il administre le sacrement de la confirmation, ce qui est une nouveauté au Japon.24 En 1606, Cerqueira voyage jusqu’à la capitale Miyako, ce qui lui permet de rencontrer Tokugawa Ieyasu, nouveau maître de l’archipel depuis 1600, en tant que chef de l’Église du Japon.25 L’intérêt d’Ieyasu pour le commerce fait qu’il ménage les missionnaires à cette époque et la visite de l’évêque est ainsi un franc succès. La diffusion des réformes tridentines au Japon se fait sous l’impulsion de l’évêque au tournant du dix-septième siècle, plus que sur celle du visiteur jésuite. Ce dernier ne s’oppose pas à leur application, car il considère qu’elles rentrent dans le champ de l’accommodation: la formation d’un clergé indigène par l’évêque a été anticipée par Valignano pour qui la direction de la Chrétienté japonaise ne peut être confiée qu’aux autochtones sur le long terme. Si l’ouverture du séminaire diocésain se fait facilement, la diffusion des pratiques sacramentelles, dans la lignée des recommandations tridentines, se montre parfois plus difficile à adapter au contexte japonais.

II.

La diffusion des pratiques sacramentelles au Japon: une adaptation des réformes tridentines?

L’importance accordée aux sacrements par l’évêque est le reflet des discussions tridentines sur la question. Cependant, la diffusion du sacrement du mariage, et particulièrement du décret Tametsi, s’avère problématique dans le contexte de la Kataoka, La Vita e la Pastorale di Luís Cerqueira, SJ, Vescovo del Giappone (1598–1614) (Thèse de doctorat version dactylographiée, Pontifica Università Gregoriana; Rome, 1985), 195–8. 23 Les conciles œcuméniques, G. Alberigo/A. Duval (éd.) (2 vol., Paris: Cerf, 1994), 2.1547. 24 Lisbonne, Biblioteca da Ajuda (désormais BA), 49–IV–59, fol. 138 v. 25 Kataoka, La Vita e la Pastorale di Luís Cerqueira, 201.

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mission japonaise de nombreuses discussions sont menées entre les missionnaires présents dans l’archipel nippon, mais également avec les théologiens présents en Europe et les autorités romaines. Le rôle de Cerqueira s’avère alors indispensable pour adapter la diffusion des pratiques sacramentelles au territoire japonais.

1

L’importance du culte eucharistique

La diffusion des sacrements dans une Chrétienté nouvelle ne se fait pas sans difficulté, car les convertis doivent comprendre la signification de ces nouvelles pratiques qui peuvent entrer en contradiction avec les coutumes japonaises. L’importance accordée au culte eucharistique se mesure par le soin que les missionnaires accordent à l’explication du sens de la communion: les jésuites se montrent attentifs à défendre la présence réelle du Christ dans le pain et le vin, ainsi que le dogme de la transsubstantiation (réaffirmé avec force lors de Session 13 du Concile),26 difficile à comprendre pour les Japonais.27 La Dochiriina Kirishitan, publiée en japonais à Nagasaki en 1591 et largement distribuée aux chrétiens, s’attache à expliquer en détail la communion: huit questions d’ordres pratique et théologique sont posées sur ce sacrement. La première question est d’ordre général, puisque le converti demande la signification du sacrement de l’Eucharistie. Le missionnaire lui répond que c’est un mystère qui va au-delà d’une simple description: le prêtre récite les paroles enseignées par le Christ; au dessus du calice (caliz) et de l’hostie (hostia); le pain (pão) devient le corps du Christ (Jesus Christo) et le vin, le sang du Christ. Même si l’on perçoit toujours la couleur ou le goût du pain et du vin, ils sont devenus le vrai corps du Christ; il convient donc de se montrer très respectueux devant ce sacrement. Mais les questions suivantes du converti traduisent sa difficulté à saisir le mystère de la transsubstantiation: Disciple: How is it ever possible for a pão and grape wine to turn into the flesh and blood of Jesus Christo? The flavor, and taste of the grape wine remain the same. This is incomprehensible. Master: That is why this sacramento is mysterious. Even though we cannot completely apprehend it, as long as the Lord Jesus Christo, the real origin [of all], has taught, you should not have the slightest doubt but should believe it. The santa Ecclesia has taught these meanings [of the sacramento]; and Lord Jesus Christo showed various miracles on 26 À voir aussi: Session 21 – 16 juillet 1562 – Doctrine sur la communion sous les deux espèces et la communion des enfants, chap. III, dans Les conciles œcuméniques, Alberigo/Duval (ed.), 2. 1479. 27 O’Malley, Le Concile de Trente, 162–3.

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Eucharistia in order to prove that this sacramento is true. There are no special reasons for the pão and grape wine to appear as such in our eyes. Simply because their colour, flavour, taste and size remain the same as before, they appear in our eyes only as a pão and grape wine. However, if we believe in them with the light of Fides, there is no substance of a pão and grape wine under the color and flavour of the pão and grape wine. There only exist the immediate flesh and blood of the Lord Jesus Christo.28

Le prêtre fait appel à la foi pour dissiper les doutes du converti, mais ce dernier n’est pas entièrement convaincu. Le missionnaire doit fournir des explications supplémentaires, notamment pour rappeler que le corps et le sang du Christ existent ensemble dans l’hostie et dans le calice: la doctrine de la présence réelle est ainsi affirmée.29 Cependant, le converti remarque qu’il est difficile pour le Christ de se trouver en même temps dans un grand nombre d’hosties. Le prêtre lui répond en utilisant la métaphore du miroir: un objet peut être démultiplié grâce à la présence de miroirs et il en est de même pour l’hostie. Enfin, le Japonais objecte qu’une hostie peut difficilement contenir un corps normal, de par ses proportions. Le prêtre se contente de lui répondre en faisant appel à la foi: le sacrement est un mystère que l’on ne saurait appréhender de manière logique. Conformément aux recommandations du Concile de Trente, la transsubstantiation demeure au centre de cette explication de l’Eucharistie et le prêtre a à cœur de dissiper tous les doutes du converti en la matière. Si la compréhension que les Japonais ont du sacrement de l’Eucharistie reste difficile à mesurer, les jésuites s’assurent toujours de la dévotion et du respect des convertis face au Saint Sacrement. Cette attitude est conforme à la tradition européenne qui promeut le culte du Saint Sacrement, au moment où l’on affirme avec force la doctrine de la présence réelle du Christ dans l’hostie. Les missionnaires transposent ce culte au Japon en célébrant la Fête-Dieu (ou Corpus Christi), dénoncée par Luther comme un abus de l’adoration de l’hostie consacrée en dehors de la célébration de la messe: les jésuites accordent beaucoup d’importance à cette fête qui s’accompagne de processions et de prédications sur le thème du Saint Sacrement, inscrivant ainsi l’Église japonaise dans le prolongement des luttes religieuses européennes. Selon Luís Fróis, chroniqueur officiel de la mission jésuite du Japon, cette fête est célébrée en 1565 dans l’île de Hirado:

28 Je cite ici la traduction anglaise de la Doctrina Kirishitan, publiée dans I. Higashibaba, Christianity in Early Modern Japan: Kirishitan Belief and Practice (Leiden: Brill, 1999), 168. Les mots portugais sont ceux utilisés dans la version originale en japonais. 29 Les jésuites reviennent plusieurs fois sur la question de la Présence réelle dans des ouvrages à destination des convertis japonais, notamment dans l’Orasho no honyaku (Préparation au baptême et à la mort), dont une copie est conservée à l’université Sophia de Tôkyô.

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La fête du Corpus Christi fut célébrée avec beaucoup de solennité, afin de renforcer la foi des chrétiens récemment convertis et un sermon sur le Saint Sacrement fut prononcé par le Frère João Fernandes, à la grande consolation de tous.30

L’importance prise par cette fête au sein de la Chrétienté japonaise témoigne de la relative facilité à implanter le culte eucharistique dans l’archipel nippon, car celuici ne connaît aucun équivalent au Japon. Parallèlement à la diffusion du sacrement de l’Eucharistie, l’évêque et les jésuites se préoccupent de diffuser la confession dans la lignée de la pastorale de la pénitence promue lors du Concile de Trente.

2

La diffusion de la confession au Japon

Le développement de la confession dans l’archipel nippon est le résultat de la place accrue accordée à ce sacrement à partir du Concile de Trente. Auparavant, le Concile de Latran IV (1215) a imposé l’obligation de la confession annuelle. Constatant la réticence des fidèles face à l’aveu détaillé et obligatoire des fautes, les religieux élaborent progressivement une pastorale de la confession: ils tentent de trouver un équilibre entre la menace et la punition, l’encouragement et le pardon.31 Lors de la Session 14 (25 novembre 1551), les pères du Concile de Trente affirment ainsi: Pour ce qui concerne la vertu et l’efficacité du sacrement, la réconciliation avec Dieu en est la réalité et l’effet; chez les hommes pieux et qui reçoivent ce sacrement avec dévotion, elle produit habituellement paix et sérénité en même temps que grande consolation spirituelle. En disant tout cela sur les parties et l’effet de ce sacrement, le saint Concile condamne en même temps les affirmations de ceux qui prétendent que les terreurs qui s’emparent de la conscience et la foi sont des parties de la pénitence.32

La pastorale de la confession qui se met en place à l’époque tridentine s’efforce de présenter le confesseur sous des aspects rassurants, tel un confident charitable et compatissant. Parallèlement au nouveau rôle accordé au confesseur, on questionne également le mode d’action du sacrement de la pénitence. Les fidèles sont amenés à s’interroger sur les motifs de leur repentir: est-ce l’amour de Dieu (la contrition), ou plus prosaïquement, la laideur du péché et la peur de l’enfer 30 L. Fróis, Historia de Japam, A. Mourato/N. Camarinhas/T. Miranda (éd.) (Lisbonne: Biblioteca virtual dos descobrimentos portugueses, nr. 10, 2000), vol. 2, première partie, chap. 64, fol. 216 v: «A festa de Corpus Christi celebrarão mui solemnemente, para maior confirmação da fé dos christãos novamente convertidos, com hum sermão do Santissimo Sacramento que os muito consolou, feito pelo Irmão João Fernandes.» 31 J. Delumeau, L’aveu et le pardon: les difficultés de la confession, XIIIe–XVIIIe siècle (Paris: Fayard, 1990). 32 Alberigo, Les conciles œcuméniques, 2.1433–5.

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(attrition)? Ces réflexions générales ont des répercussions jusque dans les terres de mission. Au Japon, les missionnaires se chargent de diffuser la confession auprès des nouveaux convertis et de leur expliquer les différentes étapes menant à l’absolution. L’introduction du sacrement de la confession est rapide dans l’archipel nippon: dès 1559, les Frères et les domestiques au service de la Compagnie de Jésus sont tenus de se confesser une fois par mois.33 Pour ce qui est des fidèles, de fréquents sermons sur le sacrement de la confession sont prononcés, tandis que les jésuites tiennent un compte précis du nombre de confessions réalisées dans l’année, selon les régions: ainsi, en 1600, 28.349 confessions ont lieu à Nagasaki et alentours.34 Les missionnaires s’efforcent également de développer la confession fréquente comme en Europe: Fróis rapporte le cas d’une convertie appelée Magdalena qui dispose d’une autorisation spéciale pour se rendre à la messe tous les dimanches et qui se confesse régulièrement.35 De même, les membres de la confrérie Nossa Senhora Revista du collège de Nagasaki se confessent et communient fréquemment.36 La diffusion du sacrement de la confession s’accompagne d’explications auprès des fidèles, car la confession est un rituel qui ne connaît pas d’équivalent au Japon et qui témoigne de l’appartenance à la nouvelle communauté religieuse.37 Les jésuites s’attachent à préciser la signification profonde du sacrement pour les convertis dans la Dochiriina Kirishitan. Une partie est ainsi consacrée à l’explication de la confession (confissão): celle-ci est désignée comme un médicament spirituel, destiné à guérir des péchés commis depuis le baptême (Bautismo).38 Les missionnaires distinguent le péché originel (orijinaru toga en japonais) des péchés commis après le baptême, divisés entre péchés véniels et péchés mortels. La confession est ensuite divisée en trois moments distincts, conformément aux recommandations tridentines: contrition (contrição), confession (confissão) et satisfaction (satisfação).39 Les jésuites expliquent en détails les trois étapes: la contrition est définie comme le regret profond éprouvé face aux péchés commis; la confession comprend l’énumération des péchés commis depuis le baptême, si c’est la première fois que l’on reçoit ce sacrement ou depuis la dernière confession; quant à la satisfaction, elle est réalisée par les souffrances spirituelles et par le 33 Lettre de Baltasar Gago aux jésuites d’Indes, écrite de Funai le 1er janvier 1559 dans Monumenta historica Japoniae, vol. 2: Documentos del Japon, 1547–1557, J. Ruiz-de-Medina (éd.), (Rome: Institutum Historicum S.I, 1990), 80. 34 Fróis, Historia de Japam, 84. Voir aussi la lettre annuelle de 1600 dans BA, 49–IV–59, fol. 8. 35 BA, 49–IV–56, fol. 217 v. 36 Lettre annuelle de 1605 dans BA, 49–IV–59, fol. 291 v. 37 Higashibaba, Christianity in Early Modern Japan, 112. 38 Higashibaba, Christianity in Early Modern Japan, 170. 39 Higashibaba, Christianity in Early Modern Japan, 170–1.

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rejet des péchés sous la conduite du prêtre. Celui-ci est fréquemment dépeint comme un guérisseur, tandis que le pécheur est un malade qui doit se préparer au rituel par son examen de conscience en se référant aux commandements ou aux sept péchés capitaux. Les jésuites au Japon mettent l’accent sur la rencontre avec Dieu grâce au prêtre: la confession permet le progrès spirituel et est un acte de réconciliation grâce à la bonté de Dieu.40 Les jésuites du Japon appliquent donc parfaitement les recommandations tridentines en la matière. Si l’introduction du sacrement de pénitence est antérieure à l’arrivée de l’évêque, Cerqueira s’attache à en préciser les conditions d’administration dans son Manuale, rédigé pour les futurs prêtres japonais: le pénitent se tient à genoux devant le prêtre, il fait le signe de la croix, puis récite la confession générale en latin ou en langue vulgaire.41 La confession proprement dite commence ensuite. L’admonition se fait en latin ou en japonais et, au moment de l’absolution, le prêtre étend les mains et récite «Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus sancti, Amen» en traçant le signe de la croix. Cerqueira précise également que seul le prêtre est autorisé à donner ce sacrement et que la confession est secrète;42 elle peut avoir lieu dans les maisons des chrétiens en l’absence d’église.43 Mais les normes définies en la matière au Concile de Trente s’imposent bientôt au Japon: le règlement rédigé par le visiteur Alessandro Valignano et le vice-provincial jésuite Francisco Pasio (1612) préconise l’utilisation d’un confessionnal muni d’une grille dans les églises.44 Dans le cas des femmes, il est recommandé de ne pas les confesser dans le zashiki, sauf si celui-ci se trouve près de l’église et s’il s’agit de femmes nobles.45 Dans les autres cas, les femmes se confessent publiquement dans le confessionnal ou à la porte du zashiki munie d’une grille de séparation. Le prêtre, quant à lui, reste dans l’église à la vue de tous; dans le cas où il n’y a pas d’église, on utilise une petite chaise avec une grille de séparation. Toutes ces mesures sont destinées à éviter les scandales possibles, résultant de la proximité et de l’isolement du prêtre et du pénitent. Les nouvelles normes imposées par le Concile de Trente rencontrent les préoccupations des missionnaires face aux rumeurs pouvant circuler sur la nouvelle religion et sur ce rituel propre au Christianisme.46 Les responsables jésuites précisent ici les con40 L. Cerqueira, Manuale ad sacramenta ecclesiae ministranda dans ARSI, Japonica Sinica I– 207, 65. 41 ARSI, Japonica Sinica I–207, 86–90. 42 ARSI, Japonica Sinica I–207, 64. L’évêque du Japon précise que le prêtre qui confesse doit s’exercer à la vertu afin de donner le bon exemple. 43 Fróis, Historia de Japam, vol. 2, première partie, chap. 111, fol. 402. 44 BA, 49–IV–56, fol. 160. 45 Cette pièce, entièrement recouverte de tatamis, est destinée à accueillir les invités. Le terme est également utilisé par les jésuites pour désigner l’espace dans lequel les daimyô s’installent pour assister aux offices. 46 Eugenio Menegon fait remarquer qu’en Chine cette pratique de la confession au vu de tous est

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ditions d’administration de la confession par rapport aux instructions de l’évêque Cerqueira, sans qu’aucun conflit ne surgisse entre les deux parties. La diffusion de la communion et de la confession se situe clairement dans la lignée des recommandations du Concile de Trente et elle est accueillie avec enthousiasme par les chrétiens japonais. En revanche, les missionnaires imposent avec davantage de difficulté le mariage chrétien, le problème étant renforcé par leur volonté d’appliquer au Japon les décrets du Concile de Trente en matière de mariage.

3

La constitution d’aires de mission par Luís Cerqueira: le problème de la diffusion du sacrement du mariage au Japon

Si l’intervention de l’évêque dans la diffusion de la communion ou de la confession a été réduite, en revanche son intervention pour l’introduction du décret Tametsi au Japon se révèle déterminante. L’introduction du sacrement du mariage s’avère problématique dans le contexte japonais, car les missionnaires s’interrogent sur l’existence de «vrais mariages» au Japon, c’est-à-dire l’existence d’unions librement consenties, individuelles et perpétuelles.47 Concernant spécifiquement les décrets du Concile de Trente sur le mariage, les missionnaires du Japon rencontrent des difficultés pour appliquer le décret Tametsi. En effet, la publication du décret Tametsi en 1563 introduit une nouveauté et durcit les conditions d’administration du mariage.48 Auparavant, pour que le mariage soit juridiquement valide, l’échange des consentements entre les deux contractants, exprimé par la parole, était suffisant. A la suite de ce décret, le consentement des époux n’est plus suffisant pour garantir la validité du mariage, mais il doit s’accompagner de la célébration dans l’église en présence du prêtre et de deux ou trois témoins; des bans sont publiés dans l’église pendant trois dimanches successifs avant la cérémonie, afin que le prêtre soit informé des éventuels empêchements.49 Le décret Tametsi renforce ainsi la prédestinée à éviter les scandales sexuels. Voir N. Standaert/A. Dudink (éd.), Forgive Us Our Sins: Confession in Late Ming and Early Qing China (Monumenta Serica Monograph Series 55; Sankt Augustin: Institut Monumenta Serica/Nettetal: Steyler Verlag, 2006), 35. 47 Ces questions sont également abordées dans les autres terres de mission. Voir I. Zˇupanov, «Lust, Marriage and Free Will: Jesuit Critique of Paganism in South India (17th century)», Studies in History 16/2 (2000) 199–220; C. Castelnau-L’Estoile, «Le mariage des infidèles au XVIe siècle: doutes missionnaires et autorités pontificales», Mélanges de l’École française de Rome, Italie-Méditerranée 121/1 (2009) 95–121. 48 D. Lombardi, «Fidanzamenti e matrimoni dal Concilio di Trento alle riforme settecentesche», dans M. De Giorgio/C. Klapisch-Zuber (éd.), Storia del matrimonio (Rome: Laterza, 1996) 215–50. 49 Les conciles œcuméniques, Alberigo/Duval, 2.1531–43.

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tention de l’Église à avoir une autorité déterminante sur le mariage et il représente un pas décisif dans la mise du mariage sous tutelle ecclésiastique.50 Cette affirmation est d’autant plus importante dans les terres de mission où l’Église est confrontée à une institution du mariage définie par des sociétés étrangères aux traditions européennes en la matière: il ne s’agit pas seulement d’adapter un rituel chrétien, mais il faut conserver au maximum une réalité indigène en la transformant en un mariage chrétien et, pour ce faire, assouplir les règles chrétiennes. Par ailleurs, l’Église doit assurer son contrôle sur l’institution du mariage, afin d’assurer la validité des unions et une unité de la pastorale, ce qui s’avère problématique dans le cas de territoires qui ne sont pas soumis à une puissance européenne comme le Japon. Or si le décret Tametsi vise essentiellement à empêcher les mariages clandestins, il pose également la question du libre consentement des époux désirant s’unir; ceci est particulièrement problématique au Japon où les parents interviennent fréquemment pour décider des unions. Cette liberté du consentement est plusieurs fois soulignée par les missionnaires et par l’évêque Cerqueira. Ce dernier rappelle que, le mariage étant indissoluble, le libre consentement des mariés est indispensable et qu’il faut préserver ces derniers des pressions des parents et de la famille.51 Il ajoute que des scandales peuvent survenir si des époux ont contracté un mariage in facie Ecclesiae, ont consommé le mariage et vécu ensemble plusieurs années, mais au moment de recevoir le sacrement, ils n’avaient pas de réelle intention de se marier. D’où il s’en suit qu’ils décident de se séparer et de contracter de nouvelles noces, comme cela se fait parfois au scandale des autres chrétiens.52

Aussi, avant la cérémonie, Cerqueira demande aux prêtres de s’entretenir séparément avec chaque fiancé, pour déterminer si l’un d’entre eux est opposé au mariage ou s’il a quelques aversions pour l’autre. Dans ce cas, l’évêque préconise d’attendre quelques temps, voire plusieurs mois, pour permettre une évolution des décisions des fiancés. Les prêtres doivent avertir les futurs mariés qu’ils s’unissent conformément aux décrets du Concile de Trente. Cependant, il n’y a pas de publication généralisée des bans au Japon, car la publication des décrets du Concile de Trente ne se fait pas sur l’ensemble du territoire japonais; la pratique est introduite progressivement, uniquement dans les territoires les plus christianisés, comme Nagasaki, Ômura, Arima, Amakusa et Oyano. Dans les régions où le Christianisme est solidement implanté, le décret Tametsi est appliqué et Cerqueira précise que le mariage est célébré en présence du prêtre et des témoins.53 Cependant, cette organisation est parfois mise à mal en raison des 50 51 52 53

O’Malley, Le Concile de Trente, 275. BA, 49–IV–56, fol. 47–47 v. BA, 49–IV–56, fol. 47–47 v. Le théologien Gabriel Vázquez recommande de publier les décrets du Concile de Trente dans

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persécutions au Japon. Ainsi, des fiefs où les décrets du Concile de Trente ont été publiés peuvent ensuite passer sous l’autorité d’un seigneur hostile au Christianisme. Les jésuites s’interrogent alors sur la validité de mariages, contractés sans la présence d’un prêtre, dans des régions où les décrets du Concile de Trente ont été publiés. Le théologien Gabriel Vázquez de l’université d’Alcalá, à qui la question est soumise en 1592, reconnaît la validité de tels mariages mais, pour plus de sûreté, il préconise de demander une dispense au pape.54 Celle-ci est accordée en 1612 pour les régions d’Arima, d’Ômura et d’Amakusa car les jésuites ne peuvent s’y rendre en raison des persécutions.55 Bien que les décrets du Concile de Trente aient été publiés, les chrétiens des régions mentionnées ont l’autorisation de contracter des mariages reconnus valides en l’absence des prêtres. Quelques précisions sont ensuite apportées: il convient de dire aux chrétiens que les mariages contractés pendant le temps que dure la dispense sont perpétuels et indissolubles, parfaitement valides, comme s’ils avaient été célébrés in facie Ecclesiae. Si un prêtre vient dans la région, les mariés peuvent ensuite demander une bénédiction par dévotion; le père vérifie également si les noms des mariés, ainsi que la date du mariage, sont inscrits sur un papier. Le cas de l’application du décret Tametsi souligne que Cerqueira doit prendre en compte les particularités du terrain, notamment les persécutions et le nombre réduit de jésuites présents sur place pour administrer les sacrements. Cette application différenciée des décrets conciliaires sur le territoire témoigne d’une volonté de l’évêque d’adapter les réformes, et non de les appliquer sans discernement, mais ce choix n’est pas sans susciter des oppositions à l’intérieur de la Compagnie de Jésus.

III.

Luís Cerqueira, un évêque au service de la diffusion des réformes tridentines au Japon?

1

Les oppositions à la politique d’accommodation des décrets du Concile de Trente

Comme le montre l’exemple du sacrement du mariage, l’évêque Cerqueira décide de ne pas publier les décrets du Concile de Trente sur l’ensemble du territoire japonais. Dans la lignée des recommandations de Valignano (1583), il propose toutes les paroisses. J. López-Gay, «Un Documento Inédito del P. G. Vázquez (1549–1604) sobre los Problemas Morales del Japón», Monumenta Nipponica 16 (1960) 118–160, à la p. 141. 54 López-Gay, «Un Documento Inédito del Vázquez», 134–41. 55 BA, 49–IV–56, fol. 52.

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une division du Japon en trois aires de mission où les chrétiens ne sont pas astreints aux mêmes obligations de respect des décrets du Concile ou en matière de calendrier liturgique. Cerqueira distingue d’abord la Chrétienté de Nagasaki: en tant que Chrétienté ancienne, elle est habituée à garder les jours de fêtes et de jeûne sur le modèle européen et les mêmes règles qu’en Europe sont appliquées. La deuxième aire de mission regroupe les Chrétientés d’Arima, Ômura, Amakusa, de Hirado et du Gotô. Pour Cerqueira, le Catholicisme est moins implanté dans ces territoires et il convient d’être moins rigoureux dans l’imposition des fêtes: les convertis sont astreints uniquement à respecter le repos dominical, ainsi que les fêtes principales du calendrier. Enfin, le reste du territoire japonais est considéré comme une Chrétienté nouvelle, ce qui justifie de réduire les obligations des convertis au minimum. Ce choix de Cerqueira provoque-t-il des affrontements avec les jésuites, et notamment Valignano qui s’est prononcé contre la venue de l’évêque, craignant une application sans discernement des décrets du Concile de Trente qui irait à l’encontre de la politique d’accommodation menée par les jésuites? On observe au contraire une absence de conflits entre les deux parties. Tout d’abord, Cerqueira propose une évolution de la méthode d’adaptation, et non sa suppression, et il décide d’intégrer les réformes tridentines dans le champ de l’accommodation en les faisant appliquer graduellement et en tenant compte du degré de christianisation des populations. Ce choix se situe donc dans la lignée de la stratégie pastorale définie par le visiteur et l’appartenance de Cerqueira à la Compagnie de Jésus facilite la communication entre les deux dirigeants. Pour autant, ce choix conjoint de Cerqueira et de Valignano ne va pas sans susciter l’opposition d’une partie des jésuites. Le point qui suscite le plus de critique est celui de la formation d’un clergé indigène. Pour Cerqueira, l’ouverture du séminaire s’inscrit dans les missions de l’évêque, telles qu’elles ont été définies lors du Concile de Trente. Pour une partie des jésuites, elle signifie surtout une prise en charge progressive de la Chrétienté japonaise par des prêtres locaux, jugés inconstants et peu aptes à exercer ces fonctions. Les jésuites européens perdraient alors une partie de leur influence et ne seraient plus à même de corriger d’éventuelles dérives doctrinales. La question de l’ouverture du séminaire recoupe donc des débats plus larges sur l’équilibre des pouvoirs au sein de la mission et de la Chrétienté du Japon.56 Ces critiques contre le séminaire de l’évêque et l’ordination des Japonais commencent avant l’arrivée de Cerqueira au Japon, mais elles se poursuivent après l’ouverture du séminaire. Le jésuite Matheo de Couros rédige ainsi en 1612 un texte dans lequel il s’oppose violemment à l’idée 56 H. Vu Thanh, «‘Il nous faut acquérir de l’autorité sur les Japonais’: le problème de l’adaptation de la hiérarchie jésuite aux conditions religieuses et sociales japonaises», Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 106/3–4 (2011) 471–96.

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d’ordonner des prêtres japonais ou d’admettre des Japonais dans la Compagnie de Jésus.57 Or Cerqueira procède déjà à des ordinations: le premier prêtre diocésain est ordonné en 1604 et l’évêque a ordonné en 1601 un Japonais issu du séminaire jésuite.58 Dans ce contexte, l’action de Cerqueira est déterminante, puisque l’évêque ordonne tous les ans des Japonais aux ordres majeurs à partir de 1598: elle apparaît comme un contrepoids face à des missionnaires européens hostiles à l’intégration des Japonais et à son action en tant qu’évêque désireux d’appliquer les réformes tridentines. La question de l’adaptation des réformes tridentines au Japon suscite donc des conflits avec une partie des missionnaires jésuites. Elle souligne le tournant auquel est arrivée la mission du Japon au début du dix-septième siècle, au moment où les autorités japonaises se montrent de plus en plus hostiles au Christianisme.

2

L’impact du Concile de Trente au Japon: quel bilan de l’action de Luís Cerqueira en tant qu’évêque tridentin?

Le bilan de Cerqueira en tant qu’évêque tridentin paraît contrasté au moment de sa mort en 1613, à la veille des persécutions qui marquent l’entrée du Christianisme dans une période de clandestinité. Il est certain que l’activité de Cerqueira en tant qu’évêque correspond à un moment d’expansion de la Chrétienté japonaise et de consolidation de son identité alors que le pays demeure en majorité bouddhiste.59 Au début du dixseptième siècle, les jésuites enregistrent 4.000 baptêmes d’adultes par an; après l’arrivée de Cerqueira, ce chiffre grimpe à 5.500 en 1605, avant de culminer à 7.956 l’année suivante.60 Le rôle de l’évêque dans cette évolution est important: son arrivée dans l’archipel nippon suscite la ferveur des nouveaux convertis qui se pressent pour recevoir le sacrement de la confirmation. Quant à Cerqueira, il parvient à s’adapter au terrain local, à gérer la distance avec Rome et à concilier les traditions japonaises avec les obligations chrétiennes. Constatant l’importance sociale du nouvel an pour les Japonais, l’évêque décide d’instituer ce jour-là une fête dédiée à Notre-Dame afin que les chrétiens puissent participer aux réjouissances avec les autres habitants.61 Malgré les oppositions de certains jésuites, 57 ARSI, Japonica Sinica 2, fol. 159–68. 58 Costa, O Cristianismo no Japão, 512. 59 Sur la consolidation de l’identité de la Chrétienté japonaise, voir le cas des rites funéraires, in H. Vu Thanh, «Between Accommodation and Intransigence: Jesuit Missionaries and Japanese Funeral Traditions», Journal of the LUCAS Graduate Conference 2 (2014) 108–24. 60 BA, 49–IV–59, fol. 283 et 384 v. 61 BA, 49–IV–59, fol. 21r–21v.

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Luís Cerqueira poursuit la politique d’accommodation d’Alessandro Valignano et sait la concilier avec les innovations tridentines, ce qui se traduit par une extension de la Chrétienté japonaise. Cette action réformatrice de l’évêque est cependant limitée géographiquement. En effet, son action se concentre principalement dans la région de Nagasaki, devenu le lieu de résidence de l’évêque: ville entièrement chrétienne, comparée à Rome, Nagasaki représente une exception au Japon. C’est dans cette ville et son périmètre proche que Luís Cerqueira peut véritablement remplir sa fonction d’évêque tridentin et agir en tant que chef de l’Église japonaise. C’est sans conteste grâce à l’influence de l’évêque que des paroisses peuvent voir le jour au Japon au tournant du dix-septième siècle. En 1611, Nagasaki compte dix églises, à quoi il faut ajouter des paroisses qui se situent en dehors de la ville comme celle de Todos os Santos.62 Cependant, l’établissement de paroisses ne se fait que sur les terres fortement christianisées, pour une Chrétienté suivant les traditions religieuses européennes: Cerqueira souligne régulièrement la difficulté de trouver des fonds pour l’entretien des paroisses et des prêtres, ce qui justifie en partie l’absence de développement des paroisses dans les autres régions du Japon. Leur moindre degré de christianisation et la présence de daimyô non chrétiens sont d’autres arguments avancés pour justifier cette absence. On touche là une des limites du pouvoir de Cerqueira: en dehors de Nagasaki, il ne dispose pas de moyens pour imposer son autorité d’évêque tridentin. Une large partie de la Chrétienté japonaise n’est donc pas touchée par les innovations promues par le Concile. Enfin, Luís Cerqueira ne parvient pas à résoudre les divisions entre les ordres religieux présents au Japon, au moment où la menace représentée par les Hollandais se profile à l’horizon. Ardent défenseur du monopole jésuite, l’évêque se montre très hostile à l’arrivée des ordres mendiants en provenance des Philippines dès les années 1580. Les premiers franciscains arrivent depuis Manille en 1584, mais leur mission ne prend réellement son essor qu’au début du dixseptième siècle. Ce faisant, les religieux espagnols s’opposent au bref du pape Grégoire XIII de 1585 confiant la mission nippone aux seuls jésuites et ils empiètent sur le patronage royal portugais. Cette arrivée des ordres mendiants n’est pas perçue négativement par l’ensemble des jésuites qui soulignent leur faible nombre et leur incapacité à prendre en charge l’ensemble de la Chrétienté japonaise.63 L’évêque se prononce quant à lui dès 1598 contre la présence des ordres mendiants au Japon, les accusant de désobéir au pape. Dès son arrivée, il ex62 Il s’agit de la cathédrale Nossa Senhora, de l’église de la Compagnie, São Miguel, de Nossa Senhora da Protecção, et des paroisses de la Misericórdia, de l’Hospital, Santa Maria, São João Baptista, São Pedro e São Antonio. 63 Costa, O Cristianismo no Japão, 516–26.

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communie les religieux des ordres mendiants présents au pays du Soleil levant et il écrit une lettre au gouverneur des Philippines, à l’archevêque de Manille et au provincial franciscain pour les informer de sa décision.64 Il souligne à cette occasion que les religieux espagnols désobéissent à ses ordres et ne respectent pas les décisions prises lors du Concile de Trente.65 Sollicitée par l’évêque, la papauté intervient: en 1600, Clément VIII publie la bulle Onerosa pastoralis qui autorise la venue des ordres mendiants en passant par les Indes, confirmée en 1608 par le bref Sedis Apostolicae Provendentia de Paul V. Si ce dernier libéralise l’installation des ordres religieux au Japon, il réaffirme également la position de Cerqueira en tant qu’évêque, soulignant que tous les religieux présents dans l’archipel nippon sont soumis à son autorité. Le bilan de Cerqueira est donc mitigé concernant l’unité des religieux présents au Japon: jésuite avant tout, Luís Cerqueira défend avec ardeur le monopole de son ordre, mais il sait également réaffirmer son autorité en tant qu’évêque, se situant ainsi dans la lignée des recommandations tridentines qui, à travers l’accent mis sur le rôle des évêques, ont réaffirmé implicitement l’importance de l’Église comme institution hiérarchique.66 Mais, dans le contexte japonais, cette inflexibilité nuit à l’image de la mission auprès des autorités nippones qui décident d’interdire le Christianisme.

Conclusion La Compagnie de Jésus joue donc un rôle essentiel pour appliquer les réformes du Concile de Trente au Japon, même si Valignano se montre au départ hésitant sur la question. Il faut attendre l’arrivée de l’évêque Luís Cerqueira pour qu’apparaisse une véritable volonté de mettre en œuvre les réformes au Japon. Conscient de son rôle d’évêque tridentin, celui-ci décide d’ouvrir un séminaire pour la formation des futurs prêtres et de diffuser les pratiques sacramentelles comme la confession ou la communion dans l’archipel nippon. Cependant, il ne faudrait pas considérer les terres d’outremer comme un simple terrain d’application des réformes du Concile. En effet, ces dernières s’avèrent parfois difficiles à appliquer dans le contexte de la mission et elles doivent être conciliées avec la politique d’accommodation prônée par la Compagnie de Jésus pour faciliter les conversions, ce qui reste le but essentiel de la mission. Cerqueira parvient à diffuser les innovations tridentines, notamment en termes de liturgie sacramentelle, tout en sachant les adapter au terrain nippon. Il réalise ainsi un équilibre entre sa volonté

64 ARSI, Japsin 13 I, fol. 164–5. 65 Costa, O Cristianismo no Japão, 543. 66 O’Malley, Le Concile de Trente, 34.

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d’intégrer l’Église japonaise à l’Église universelle par le biais des réformes et sa prise en compte des réalités locales. Cependant, cette position équilibrée ne fait pas l’unanimité au sein de la Compagnie de Jésus. La mort de Valignano en 1606 ouvre une période de conflit entre l’évêque et certains jésuites. La Compagnie de Jésus perd alors son élan missionnaire au Japon, ce qui se traduit par des oppositions à la politique de l’évêque, notamment à l’ouverture du séminaire diocésain. Plus qu’un refus des innovations tridentines, une partie des jésuites craignent que la formation des Japonais à la prêtrise ne soit synonyme d’une perte de pouvoir de la Compagnie sur la Chrétienté japonaise. Ces mauvaises relations entre jésuites européens et jésuites japonais aboutissent à l’apostasie de plusieurs catéchistes japonais, notamment Fabian Fukan qui devient un adversaire acharné des chrétiens au moment où des persécutions sont déclenchées au Japon à partir de 1613. La mort de l’évêque, à la même date, souligne ainsi le bilan mitigé de Cerqueira: si l’action de l’évêque a permis un affermissement de la Chrétienté japonaise et une augmentation des conversions, ce dernier n’est pas parvenu à résoudre des tensions internes à l’organisation de la mission, pas plus qu’il ne parvient à assurer l’unité des ordres religieux au moment où les Hollandais arrivent au Japon. Le Christianisme est ainsi proscrit par les autorités japonaises dès 1614: privée de repères après la mort de Cerqueira, la Chrétienté rentre dans une période de clandestinité qui dure jusqu’au milieu du dix-neuvième siècle.

Bibliographie Sources manuscrites Lisbonne, Biblioteca da Ajuda, 49–IV–59. Rome, Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu, Japonica Sinica.

Sources éditées Fróis, L., Historia de Japam, A. Mourato/N. Camarinhas/T. dos Reis Miranda (éd.) (Lisbonne: Biblioteca virtual dos descobrimentos portugueses nr. 10, 2000). López-Gay, J., «Un Documento Inédito del P. G. Vázquez (1549–1604) sobre los Problemas Morales del Japón», Monumenta Nipponica 16 (1960) 118–60. Monumenta historica Japoniae, vol. 2: Documentos del Japon, 1547–1557, J. Ruiz-de-Medina (éd.) (Rome: Institutum Historicum S.I, 1990).

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Sources secondaires Bourdon, L., La Compagnie de Jésus et le Japon, 1549–1570 (Paris/Lisbonne: Fondation Calouste Gulbekian, 1993). Boxer, C.R., The Christian Century in Japan 1549–1650 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1951). Brockey, L., Journey to the East: the Jesuit Mission to China, 1579–1724 (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2007). Castelnau-L’Estoile, C., «Le mariage des infidèles au XVIe siècle: doutes missionnaires et autorités pontificales», Mélanges de l’École française de Rome, Italie-Méditerranée 121/1 (2009) 95–121. Cieslik, H., Publikationen über das Christentum in Japan: Veröffentlichungen in Europäischen Sprachen (Bern/Bruxelles: P. Lang, 2004). Correia, P., A Concepção de missionação na Apologia de Valignano, Estudo sobre a presença jesuíta e francicana no Japão (1587–1597) (Lisbonne: Centro Científico e cultural de Macau, 2008). Costa, J.P., O Cristianismo no Japão e o Episcopado de D. Luís Cerqueira (Thèse de doctorat, version dactylographiée; Lisbonne, 1998). Costa, J.P., O Japão e o Cristianismo no Seculo XVIe (Lisbonne: Ship, 1999). Da Silva, A., Trent’s Impact on the Portuguese Patronage Missions (Lisbonne: Centro de Estudos Históricos Ultramarinos, 1969). Delumeau, J., L’aveu et le pardon: les difficultés de la confession, XIIIe–XVIIIe siècle (Paris: Fayard, 1990). Higashibaba, I., Christianity in Early Modern Japan: Kirishitan Belief and Practice (Leiden: Brill, 2001). Kataoka, R.I., La Vita e la Pastorale di Luís Cerqueira, SJ, Vescovo del Giappone (1598–1614) (Thèse de doctorat, version dactylographiée, Pontifica Università Gregoriana; Rome, 1985). Lombardi, D., «Fidanzamenti e matrimoni dal Concilio di Trento alle riforme settecentesche», dans M. De Giorgio/C. Klapisch-Zuber (éd.), Storia del matrimonio (Rome: Laterza, 1996) 215–50. O’Malley, J.W., Le Concile de Trente, ce qui s’est vraiment passé (Bruxelles: Lessius, 2013). O’Malley, J.W., Trent and All That: Renaming Catholicism in the Early Modern Era (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000). Standaert, N./Dudink, A. (éd.), Forgive Us Our Sins: Confession in Late Ming and Early Qing China (Monumenta Serica Monograph Series 55; Sankt Augustin: Institut Monumenta Serica/Nettetal: Steyler Verlag 2006). Prodi, P., Il Paradigmo tridentino, Un’epoca della storia della Chiesa (Brescia: Morcelliana, 2010). Tallon, A., La France et le Concile de Trente (1518–1563) (Roma: Ecole française de Rome, 1997). Valignano, A., Les Jésuites au Japon, J. Bésineau (trans.) (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1990). Vu Thanh, H., «Between Accommodation and Intransigence: Jesuit Missionaries and Japanese Funeral Traditions», Journal of the LUCAS Graduate Conference 2 (2014) 108–24.

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Vu Thanh, H., «‘Il nous faut acquérir de l’autorité sur les Japonais’: le problème de l’adaptation de la hiérarchie jésuite aux conditions religieuses et sociales japonaises», Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 106/3–4 (2011) 471–96. Zˇupanov, I.G., «Lust, Marriage and Free Will: Jesuit Critique of Paganism in South India (17th century)», Studies in History 16/2 (2000) 199–220. Zˇupanov, I.G., Disputed Missions: Jesuit Experiments and Brahmanical Knowledge in Seventeenth Century India (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 1999).

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Trent and Tales of All These Saints Travelling East: Saint Catherine of Alexandria in the Jesuit Japan Mission

Introduction This essay examines the transformation of the story of Virgin Martyr Saint Catherine of Alexandria in the Jesuit Japan mission. In the spirit of going back to the Church of the apostolic age, and in reaction to the criticisms from both Catholics and Protestants, the Council of Trent defended the legitimacy of the cult of the saints at Session 25 in December 1563.1 Over the course of decades, the Tridentine Church critically examined the legends of the saints, limited and authenticated their official saints, and clarified the process of canonization for new saints. In the meantime, the Jesuits introduced Christian hagiography as one of their evangelistic tools in their fast growing global mission. Leading the company of other saints’ stories, Saint Catherine’s story travelled to the Portuguese East Indies with the Jesuit missionary expansion and reached Japan. The Japanese translations of the story of Saint Catherine represent one of the trajectories of the results from the Council of Trent in a newly Catholicized land. Hubert Jedin points out that the Council’s hurried final session simply reaffirmed the earlier ecumenical councils’ orthodoxy of the invocation and veneration of the saints, their relics and images.2 It emphasized the responsibilities of the bishops to teach the faithful the correct doctrine and practice of the vener* My research on the Kirishitanban stories of Catherine of Alexandria was aided by the 2011– 2012 William Scheide Fellowship at the Center of Theological Inquiry, Princeton and a 2011– 2012 Faculty Fellowship, Lilly Theological Research Grant from the Association of Theological Schools in addition to a generous year-long sabbatical from Columbia Theological Seminary. My participation in this Leuven conference was made possible by a faculty development grant from Columbia Theological Seminary. 1 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, N.P. Tanner/G. Alberigo (ed.) (2 vol.; London: Sheed & Ward/Washington: Georgetown University Press, 1990), 2.774–6. 2 See H. Jedin, Der Abschluss des Trienter Konzils, 1562/63: Ein Rückblick nach vier Jahrhunderten (Katholisches Leben und Kämpfen im Zeitalter der Glaubensspaltung 21; Münster: Aschendorff, 1963), 71–2; and J.W. O’Malley, Trent: What Happened at the Council (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2013), 235–47.

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ation of the saints, and defend it against superstition and Calvinism. After the Council, the reformation of the cult of the saints steadily proceeded in Europe and official Roman Martyrology was published in 1584. In the seventeenth century, the Jesuit Bollandists pioneered critical philological study of hagiography. Meanwhile the Council lacked any interest in the new missions outside Europe as John O’Malley observes: Few phenomena of the sixteenth century … had a greater long-range impact on the future of Catholicism or were more characteristic of the Church in that century than the great waves of missionaries sent by the religious orders to Latin America and Asia. About such missions, however, Trent uttered not a word. They did not enter the Council’s purview.3

Even without clear directives from Superior General Diego Laínez, in a very different environment, the Jesuit Japan mission (founded in 1549) cultivated unique ways of promoting Christian saints through storytelling.4 Shortly after the conclusion of the Council between 1564 and 1567, we see evidence of the mission’s translating the stories of the saints.5 In these translations, Saint Catherine becomes localized in the Japanese context.

Popularity of Saint Catherine in Pre- and Post-Tridentine Western Contexts In medieval Europe, Saint Catherine of Alexandria was one of the most popular female saints. The widespread popularity of Saint Catherine has attracted much scholarship in recent years. Her story is dramatic. Very learned in scholarship and Scripture, she refuses to worship the pagan gods of the Emperor. She wins a debate with fifty imperial scholars and converts them. While in prison, she receives divine communion directly from Christ. No matter the brutal tortures the Emperor inflicts upon Catherine, she remains steadfast due to divine intervention. She helps convert the Empress and her retainer, who also die as martyrs. 3 See J.W. O’Malley, “Trent, Sacred Images, and Catholics’ Senses of the Sensuous”, in M.B. Hall/ T.E. Cooper (ed.), The Sensuous in the Counter-Reformation Church (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013) 28–48, on p. 31. 4 Diego Laínez, the second General of the Society of Jesus (1558–65), was at the final session of the Council as one of the papal theologians. In his letter written at Trent on 1 January 1563 to Antonio de Quadros, Laínez mentions various questions which arose in the new Province of India, including the Japan mission, without discussing the cult of the saints. See Documentos del Japón (1558–1562), J.G. Ruiz de Medina (ed.) (Monumenta Historica Japoniae 2; Monumenta Historica Societatis Jesu 148; Rome: Monumenta Historica Societatis Iesu, 1995), 646–8. 5 See L. Fróis, Historia de Japam, J. Wicki (ed.) (5 vol.; Lisbon: Biblioteca Nacional, 1976–1984), 2.182.

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She is finally beheaded, and from her body flows white blood. The angels transport her body to Mount Sinai. To this prototype story, Jacobus de Voragine’s late thirteenth century Legenda aurea added post mortem miracles and the alleged transport of her relic from Mount Sinai to Rouen.6 In the later Middle Ages, her story was also translated into various vernacular languages in the Rhineland, Normandy, England, Wales, France, Germany, Sweden, Bohemian and Czech lands, Russia, and Spain.7 Some translations went on to add a more detailed genealogy and biography of Saint Catherine, including episodes of her conversion to Christianity, baptism, and her mystical betrothal to Christ. Scholars agree that the strongly pro-feminine character of the learned Saint Catherine with superb rhetorical skills appealed to female readership, and encouraged women to be preachers in their own local contexts.8 Her presence remained prominent in Renaissance paintings, including the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel by Michelangelo. Despite the lack of proof for her historical existence or martyrdom in 305, Saint Catherine’s legends survived the scrutiny of Tridentine reform, and her place in the Latin Missal on her feast day November 25 was firmly established.9 While the Tridentine hagiographers revised the ancient stories of virgin martyrs in a variety of forms to meet the high demand, some tried to tame or frame the “Early Christian female subjects in terms acceptable to the Tridentine Church” and its orthodoxy.10 Nonetheless, localization of the saints continued. Saint Catherine’s story proved particularly adaptable to the Japanese context and the Jesuit way of cultural accommodation.

6 J. De Voragine, The Golden Legend: Readings on the Saints, W.G. Ryan (trans.) (2 vol.; Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012), 2.339. 7 For recent studies on the medieval cult of Saint Catherine, see J. Jenkins/K.J. Lewis (ed.), St Katherine of Alexandria: Texts and Contexts in Western Medieval Europe (Medieval Women 8; Turnhout: Brepols, 2003); C. Walsh, The Cult of St Katherine of Alexandria in Early Medieval Europe (Church, Faith and Culture in the Medieval West; Aldershot/Burlington: Ashgate, 2007); and T.R. Sands, The Company She Keeps: The Medieval Swedish Cult of Saint Katherine of Alexandria and its Transformations (Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies 362; Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies/Turnhout: Brepols, 2010). 8 See Jenkins/Lewis, St Katherine of Alexandria, 3 and 133. 9 See P. Burke, “How to Be a Counter-Reformation Saint”, in K. von Greyerz (ed.), Religion and Society in Early Modern Europe, 1500–1800 (London: German Historical Institute/Boston, MA: Allen & Unwin, 1984) 45–55. 10 S. Ditchfield, “An Early Christian School of Sanctity in Tridentine Rome”, in Ditchfield (ed.), Christianity and Community in the West: Essays for John Bossy (Aldershot/Burlington: Ashgate, 2001) 183–205, on p. 195; also S. Ditchfield, “What Was Sacred History? (Mostly Roman) Catholic Uses of the Christian Past after Trent”, in K. Van Liere/S. Ditchfield/H. Louthan (ed.), Sacred History: Uses of the Christian Past in the Renaissance World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012) 72–97, especially p. 95.

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The Importance of Books to the Jesuit Japan Mission Jesuit Francis Xavier founded the first Christian mission in Japan in 1549. His successor Jesuits soon came to appreciate the long tradition of Japanese Buddhist literary culture. They began to devote a great part of their energy to the production of books. They discovered that the Japanese Buddhist storytelling tradition fit well in telling the stories of the Christian saints. The translation of stories of the saints began with oral exchanges. A team of missionaries and native Christians translated many Kirishitanban (Christian edition) stories of the saints into Japanese.11 Japanese Jesuit Irmão Lourenço and others who were formerly biwa ho¯shi – blind minstrel Buddhist preachers – sang them to traditional ballad tunes. Christians who heard these stories gave feedback and the Jesuits continued to revise and improve them. They circulated the texts first as manuscripts and soon they were published. Noting the value of these books, Visitor Alessandro Valignano (1539–1606) obtained a printing press from Europe. The Jesuit Press in Japan began its operation in 1590. Until its forced relocation to Macau in 1614, it published about 60 Kirishitanban titles.12 One of their very first publications was a collection of the stories of the saints. This and other multiple versions of the Kirishitanban stories of the saints enjoyed a long and wide readership. Even after the expulsion of the foreign missionaries and during the ensuing years of harsh suppression, underground Kirishitan communities continued to preserve and circulate stories of the saints. Three collections of Kirishitanban stories of saints have been recovered. The first is entitled Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi (Excerpts from the Acts of 11 See S. Obara, Sanctos no gosagyo¯ (Kirishitan kenkyu¯ 33; Tokyo: Kyo¯bunkan, 1996), 383–411; also H.N. Ward, Women Religious Leaders in Japan’s Christian Century, 1549–1650 (Women and Gender in the Early Modern World; Farnham/Burlington: Ashgate, 2009); and H.N. Ward, “Women and Kirishitanban Literature: Translation, Gender and Theology in Early Modern Japan”, Early Modern Women: An Interdisciplinary Journal 7 (2012) 271–81. Also H. Shirane (ed.), Traditional Japanese Literature: An Anthology, Beginnings to 1600 (Translations from the Asian Classics; New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), 1159–60; and J. G. Ruiz de Medina, Iezusu kaishi to kirishitan fukyo¯ (Tokyo: Iwata Shoin, 2003), 131–68. 12 On Valignano’s Keicho¯ mission of four young Japanese noblemen representing three Christian daimyo¯ to the papal and the Iberian imperial courts between 1582 and 1590 and importation of the printing press in Japan, see W.J. Farge, The Japanese Translations of the Jesuit Mission Press, 1590–1614: De imitatione Christi and Guía de pecadores (Lewiston, NY: E. ¨ c¸erler, “Jesuit Enterprise in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century Mellen, 2003); M.A.J. U Japan”, in Th. Worcester (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Jesuits (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008) 153–68; and J.F. Schu¨ tte, Valignano’s Mission Principles for Japan, J.J. Coyne (trans.) (2 vol.; Saint Louis, MO: The Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1980); also J.F. Moran, The Japanese and the Jesuits: Alessandro Valignano in Sixteenth-Century Japan (London/New York: Routledge, 1993). The Jesuit Press Japan books include titles published in Goa and Macau before and after its operation in Japan.

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the Saints), published by the Jesuit Press in 1591.13 The second collection is a manuscript dating from about the same period (1590–91). The section of stories of the saints in this codex bears the Portuguese title Vidas gloriosas de algu˜ns Sanctos e Sanctas (Glorious Lives of Some Male and Female Saints) but its content is in Japanese.14 The third collection, Martyrio no cagami (Mirror of Martyrdom), was found among the manuscripts which circulated among hidden Christians. These materials are thought to have been written ca. 1596–1614.15 [These collections are designated as text A, B, and C in the following]. These Kirishitanban stories were selectively and freely translated from their European originals. This process of free, non-literal translation can be termed contextualized translation, in which the translators replaced European cultural elements with familiar Japanese ones, so that the core message of the original could be communicated with fewer European trappings to the Japanese readership. As a result, these stories became cultural hybrids. In examining translations of other Kirishitanban religious works, William Farge notes Jesuit courageous transcultural efforts in creating the Kirishitanban as a model of “a truly Japanese Christian literature”, which “relied on the language of the originals but not always on their underlying philosophy, which was based on European 13 There are two surviving copies of Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi in Venice, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana and Oxford, Bodleian Library (Oxford University). The facsimile of the Marciana copy is published as Sanctos no gosagveo go vchi nvqigaqi, T. Koso (ed.) (2 vol. in 1; Kirishitanban seisen; Tokyo: Yu¯shodo, 2006). Partial modern critical rendition in Japanese characters is found in S. Obara, Santosu no gosagyo¯. 14 This codex, popularly called Barreto copy, survives in the Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana (BAV), Codices Reginenses Latini 459, fol. 163v°–381: Vidas gloriosas de algu˜ns Sanctos e Sanctas. See J.F. Schütte, “Christliche japanische Literatur, Bilder und Druckblätter in einem unbekannten vatikanischen Codex aus dem Jahre 1591”, Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu 9 (1940) 226–80. On Emmanuel Barreto (1564–1620), the amanuensis of the manuscripts, see Textus Catalogorum Japoniae aliaeque de Personis Domibusque S.J. in Japonia, Informationes et Relationes, 1549–1654, J.F. Schütte (ed.) (Monumenta Historica Japoniae 1; Monumenta Historica Societatis Jesu 111; Rome: Institutum Historicum Societatis Iesu, 1975), 1136. 15 Martyrio no cagami (Mirror of Martyrdom) was found among the materials known as Yasokyo¯ so¯sho (Christian writings), which were confiscated during the First Uragami Crackdown by the Nagasaki Inquisitional Office between 1789 and 1800. In 1896 a historian Murakami Naojiro¯ made copies of the Yasokyo¯ so¯sho. In 1930 another historian Anesaki Masaharu published a critical edition of Murakami copies and entitled it as Martyrio no shiori (Guidebook for Martyrdom) in three parts: 1) Martyrio no susume (Exhortation of Martyrdom); 2) Martyrio no cocoroye (Preparation of Martyrdom); and 3) Martyrio no cagami (Mirror of Martyrdom). See M. Anesaki, Kirishitan shu¯mon no hakugai to senpuku (Tokyo: Do¯bunsha, 1925), 131–239. The originals eventually were lost, and only the copies made by Murakami survive in Tokyo, the Kirishitan Bunko Library in Sophia University. A critical edition of the same is published in S. Obara (ed.), Kirishitan no junkyo¯ to senpuku (Kirishitan kenkyu¯ 43; Tokyo: Kyo¯ bunkan, 2006). A critical edition from another copy is published as H. Cieslik (ed.), Maruchiru no michi, in Kirishitansho haiyasho, A. Ebisawa (ed.) (Nihon shiso¯shi taikei 25; Tokyo: Iwanami, 1970) 323–60.

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culture”.16 The translators left such foundational Christian terminologies: cruz, fides, paraiso, inferno, Spirito Sancto, resurreição, gloria, bautismo, and oratio in transliteration from the original Portuguese, Latin and Spanish.17 In this, Farge observes Jesuit self-restraint in fear of going against Tridentine orthodoxy.18 However, considering the origin of these Kirishitanban stories as sung ballads, and the fact that native speakers contributed their input during the process of creating written versions, it is most likely that these European loanwords had been incorporated into the liturgical vocabulary of the Japanese Christians long before the publication of the Kirishitanban texts. The translators employed far more Buddhist terminologies. In addition, to express the special Japanese sentiment of honor, the translators often Japanized European words by adding honorifics. For example, Christ’s Passion became go Passion. Kirishitanban neologisms such as gotaixet to express the precious love between God and Christians were more than simply translation but theological invention. Another point of the contextualization of the translation can be seen in the fact that these works were aimed at an ordinary Japanese readership, including women. In its early stage, the Kirishitanban simply used the Roman alphabet, called romaji. Romaji was useful for rendering Japanese phonetics into letters. Both texts A and B used romaji. While it required readers to learn the alphabet, once they did, it was easier to read than learning countless Chinese characters. Later the Kirishitanban adopted the kanamajiri, consisting of Japanese characters (also phonetic) and limited numbers of Chinese characters, making them more accessible to common people, especially women. Text C used the kanamajiri. Kirishitanban clearly rejected the kanbun style, which consisted only of Chinese characters and was used exclusively by male scholars of the Chinese classics. The Jesuits recorded the popularity and demand for these stories of the saints among the Japanese Christians.19 Stories of female saints are well represented in these collections.20 At least forty written texts of full stories and numerous episodes from the stories of male saints in addition to stories of biblical women were available for the Japanese readers by 1591. It is possible to estimate that many more saints’ stories were told through sermons, liturgy, dramas, and pamphlets. 16 Farge, The Japanese Translations, 6. 17 See a linguistic analysis of these loan words in K. Fukushima, Kirishitan shiryo¯ to kokugo kenkyu¯ (Kasama so¯ sho 38; Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 1973), esp. p. 142. 18 Farge, The Japanese Translations, 122. ¯ ta Julia 19 Such women as Hibiya Monica (ca. 1549–ca. 1577), Blessed Takeda Inez (?–m.1603), O (?–after 1621), Luzia de la Cruz (ca. 1580–1656) owned and read the Kirishitanban stories of the saints. See Ward, Women Religious Leaders. 20 Early Church and medieval female saints include Blondina, Felicitas, Simphorosa, Agatha, Barbara, Lucia, Febronia, Catherine, Eugenia, Olalha, Martina, Anastasia, Euphemia, Clara, and many more.

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The Kirishitanban Texts of Saint Catherine: A Literary Transformation Saint Catherine’s story proved particularly appealing to the Japanese readers. Her exceptional popularity can be attested by six findings. Saint Catherine is the only saint whose stories appear in all three Kirishitanban collections, A, B and C. There is also a shorter nineteenth century version of her story allegedly discovered by Bernard Thadée Petitjean, a missionary of the Société des Missions Étrangères de Paris.21 Her feast day was celebrated in the Church calendar.22 Two heavily damaged paintings are also considered to be depictions of Saint Catherine.23 The texts of Saint Catherine’s story have many layers of cross-lingual and cross-cultural translation: from Greek, to Latin, to the Iberian languages of the Jesuits, and finally to Japanese.24 Saint Catherine’s story in the Kirishitanban text A, Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, published in 1591, is entitled On the Martyrdom of the Glorious Virgin Saint Catherine, which appears in the record of a person named Simeon Metaphrastes. November 25. (Gloriosa Virgem Sancta Catherina no Martyrio no Yodai. Core Simeon Metaphrastes to yv fito no qirocvni miyetari. Novemb. 25.).25 Simeon Metaphrastes was the tenth century compilereditor of the oldest existing Greek Passio (960s).26 However, it is unlikely that the 21 See the text with Anesaki’s commentary in Anesaki, Kirishitan shu¯mon no hakugai to senpuku, 168–71. 22 See BAV, Codices Reginenses Latini 459, fol. 96v° for “Santa Chataria to, S. Ines virg. Martir no fi, Sanct. Mat. 2 V Mata moro moro no Virg. et Mart. Euangel”. The reading has a concluding note which says: “Vide Jenninno gosanguiono fol. 330, 331 multa in Laud.Martyru˜Virginumque”; however, this folio pagination does not correspond to the Acts of Saints (text B) in the same codex and gives the possibility of the existence of another collection of Stories of the Saints entitled Jennin no gosaguio in which the story of Saint Catherine appeared. 23 On the pictorial images attributed to Saint Catherine among the recovered Kirishitan artifacts, see Nishimura Tei’s comments in T. Chizawa/Z. Uchiyama (ed.), Kirishitan no bijutsu (Hobunkan, 1961), 17. Also see Tokyo National Museum, Illustrated Catalogues of Tokyo National Museum, Kirishitan Objects: Christian Relics in Japan 16th-19th Century (Rev. ed.; Tokyo: Tokyo Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan, 2001), 18–21. The images can be viewed on the Tokyo National Museum’s website http://webarchives.tnm.jp/, catalogue nos. C0002030 and C0026158 (with Saints Dominic and Laurence) accessed 1 June 2014. 24 Although I am yet to find an exact Portuguese or Spanish version from which the Kirishitanban may have been translated, there is also evidence that the Spanish Jesuits translated and freely adapted Saint Catherine’s story in the Counter-Reformation context. See M. Parker (ed.), The Spanish “Santa Catalina de Alejandria”: The Many Lives of a Saint’s Life (Hispanic Monographs Series Estudios de Literatura Medieval “John E. Keller” 7; Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2010). 25 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.61–85. The modern critical editions in transliterations are available in K. Fukushima, Santosu no gosagyo¯: Honji kenkyu¯hen (Kirishitan Shiryo¯ Shu¯sei; Tokyo: Benseisha, 1979), 186–97. 26 For the history of transmission of Catherine’s passio, see Walsh, The Cult of St Katherine of Alexandria, especially Appendix A.

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translator/redactor Japanese Jesuit brother Irmão Vicente To¯in used the Greek text.27 Text A, B and C rather follow the sixteenth-century Latin translation of Metaphrastes by the humanist Laurentius Surius (1522–78), with minor alterations.28 Saint Catherine’s story in text B is entitled Vida de Sancta Chaterina Virgem e Martyr.29 It does not identify the original source or translator’s name. There are only minor differences between texts A and B.30 The third story of Saint Catherine, entitled ヒル前サンタカテレイナノ御作 業 (Acts of Virgin Saint Catherine) is found in text C Martyrio no cagami (Mirror of Martyrdom).31 This collection consists of only three virgin martyr saints: Anastasia, Catherine and Marina. It is thought to have originated around 1614, during the fierce Christian persecution in Japan. Compared to A and B, the style in C is more colloquial. Text C uses a kanamajiri style, and translates many transliterated loanwords in A and B into Japanese. Following Surius, texts A, B and C retain the prototype narrative line without medieval European embellishment. In contrast to Surius and other contemporary European versions which introduce Catherine as a young beautiful noblewoman in their opening sections, Kirishitanban translations introduce her as a mature woman (nhonin), mentioning her beauty only in passing. The ending prayer of Catherine in the Kirishitanban also departs slightly from Surius, in which Catherine states her objection for her body to be divided as relics; instead she asks for her body’s preservation until the Day of Judgment. Saint Catherine’s story from the later period, attributed to Father Petitjean’s rendition, is set apart from texts A, B and C because it contains the late medieval European addition of the nuptial episodes between Saint Catherine and Christ.

27 Irmão Vicente To¯in (ca. 1540–1609), otherwise called Ho¯in or Vicente Vilela, was a son of Irmão Yo¯ho¯ Paulo (ca. 1508–95) of Wakasa. Both were medical doctors, preachers, teachers of Japanese language and religion, and Kirishitanban translators. Vicente translated all except four chapters in text A. See J.F. Schütte (ed.), Textus Catalogorum Japoniae, 1325. 28 See the parallel texts of Metaphrastes (in Greek) and Surius (in Latin) in Symeon Metaphrastès, Opera omnia, vol. 3: Vitae sanctorum (continuatio), J.P. Migne (ed.) (PG 116; Paris: Garnier Frères, 1891), col. 275–302. The text A also adds information on Catherine’s father’s name not included in Metaphrastes/Surius. This may suggest that the Kirishitanban translator Irmão Vicente used another Latin translation of Metaphrastes. 29 “Vida de Sancta Chaterina Virgem e Martyr,” Vidas gloriosas de algu˜ns Sanctos e Sanctas, is found in BAV, Codices Reginenses Latini 459, fol. 276–89. The modern critical editions in transliterations are available in Obara, Sanctos no gosagyo¯, 134–47. 30 See Fukushima, Kirishitan shiryo¯ to kokugo kenkyu¯., 121–52. Fukushima suggests that text B predated text A, which is more refined. He also argues the same point on Saint Eugenia’s stories in A and B in K. Fukushima, Zoku zoku Kirishitan shiryo¯ to kokugo kenkyu¯: Seijinden sho¯ (Kasama So¯ sho 287; Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 1995), 221–40. 31 ヒル前サンタカテレナノ御作業. The modern critical editions in transliteration are available in Obara, Kirishitan no junkyo¯ to senpuku., 110–27.

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Saint Catherine of Japan: A Theological Transformation The Japanese context was far different from the Ancient Roman Empire, late medieval Europe, or Tridentine Rome. Saint Catherine’s story conveyed distinct messages to the Kirishitan communities under persecution. As hagiography, it represents particular communal ideals that the Jesuits and the Japanese Christians shared. Virgin martyr Saint Catherine of Alexandria in the Kirishitanban literature stands out as an exceptionally learned woman who expresses Kirishitan Christology eloquently through her speeches. Her story can be divided into three settings: the imperial disputation, the Emperor’s sexual advances, and the torture and martyrdom of Catherine. Each setting is delineated by Catherine’s sermonlike speeches, in which Catherine proclaims her Christian confession. In all discourses, her gender as a mere woman making eloquent speeches is highlighted. Reading the Kirishitanban texts of Saint Catherine in the Japanese historical context reveals four themes of theological transformation. First, the Kirishitanban story of Catherine rejects the mandate of Buddhism as the state religion. In the late medieval period, diverse schools of Buddhism flourished in Japan. But in the sixteenth century, the unifiers Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and Tokugawa Ieyasu began imposing their preferred school of Buddhism as a state religion. Catherine’s story begins when Emperor Maxentius forces the inhabitants to worship his idols. Despite some Greek names for these idols, the Emperor’s religion is imperial Buddhism. Those who do not follow his religion are called the enemy of Buddha (butteqi) and of the Empire (cho¯teqi). Catherine confronts Maxentius in the midst of his sacrificial ritual at the temple. In her first speech, Catherine reprimands him of his ignorance of the true way and his worship of demon (tengu). She argues that the idols are only human forms representing the human desire for immortality. The disturbed Emperor summons her to his palace. The Kirishitanban story preserves the typical hagiographic cast of the persecutor in comical light.32 Seeing that the Emperor bears a wicked desire for her beauty, Catherine tells him that he must not adore that which is created from dust and returns to dust, but worship only her Creator (go sacuxa). She also declares that she will be able to demonstrate that Jesus is greater than his Buddha. Addressing her as a mere woman (vonna), the Emperor replies to her: “I don’t have any desire to argue with such a junior woman like you. I shall gather the scholars who will lecture you on the superiority 32 H. Delehaye, The Legends of the Saints: An Introduction to Hagiography, V.M. Crawford (trans.) (London: Longmans, Green, 1907; repr. with an intr. by R.J. Schoeck, Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame, 1961), 93: “[T]he picture of the persecution is always painted as black as possible; the Emperor or judge usually figures as a monster in human shape, thirsting for blood, having no other aim than the destruction of the new faith throughout the world, … the first of our stock subjects.”

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of the idols.”33 Thus the Emperor stages a public disputation (mondo¯) between fifty imperial scholars and Catherine. The readers of Kirishitanban would have made immediate connections to actual religious disputations, which the unifiers staged between representatives of different schools of Buddhism, as well as those between the Jesuits and Buddhist priests and nuns. Even while the Jesuits in Japan engaged in polemics against Japanese religions and rulers, they studied the doctrines and practices of different schools of Buddhism, incorporated numerous Buddhist terms to describe Christian concepts and expressions, and borrowed the acolyte system into the ranks of the native Jesuits. They could not simply apply to their context, the words of the Council of Trent, which were crafted in defense of the Catholic cult of the saints against the Protestant charge of idolatry: [The bishops] are first of all to instruct the faithful carefully about the intercession of the saints…; they should teach them that the saints, reigning together with Christ, offer their prayers to God for people; that it is a good and beneficial thing to invoke them and to have recourse to their prayers and helpful assistance to obtain blessings from God through his Son our Lord Jesus Christ, who is our sole redeemer and savior; and that those hold impious opinions … that … calling on them to pray for all of us is idolatry, or contrary to the word of God, or impugns the honour of the one mediator between God and humankind, Jesus Christ…34

Without the presence of the Protestants but with an abundance of Buddhist statues surrounding them, the Jesuits were careful in deciding what constituted idolatry. The Kirishitanban stories of the saints do contain harsh Catholic criticism against Buddhist cults as idolatrous, and the translators used both the loanword idolos and Japanese word fotoque (Buddha) interchangeably. According to the study by Asami Masaichi, some of the early converts, with missionary encouragement, destroyed Buddhist statues, temples and Shinto shrines by the order of their Christian lords.35 However, the Jesuit administrators generally took a non-iconoclastic attitude toward Japanese religious practices. For example, Valignano expressed a high opinion of Japanese ritual practices in folk religions, without relating them to their roots in Buddhist teachings. He regarded the Japanese people’s rational and just characters more highly than the pagan worshipers of Rome (current or ancient Rome), and hoped that by substituting Japanese ritual practices with similar Catholic ones, the Japanese would soon recognize what was truth from superstition. Pedro Gómez (1535–1600), a theo-

33 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.66–7: “vare nangi gotoqi no jacufai naru vonna to arasô beqini arazu. Mazzu gacuxa uo atçumete idolos no curia uo nangi ni qicasu bexi.” 34 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.774–5. 35 M. Asami, Kirishitan jidain no gu¯zo¯ su¯hai (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 2009), esp. pp. 139–80.

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logical teacher at the seminario, also advocated Japanese Christians’ engagement in ritual practices, festivals and customs if demanded by their lords, unless one’s conscience was troubled. In other words, these Jesuits did not impose the Catholic doctrine against pagan worship strictly on Japanese ritual practices. Rather, they saw more continuity between the Catholic veneration of sacred persons with the Japanese honoring of their holy persons. The Jesuits taught their converts so as not to offend or provoke their non-Christian lords. Yet even with these efforts, the unifiers noted Kirishitan iconoclastic activities, and in 1587, Toyotomi Hideyoshi issued the Edict of Expulsion of Padres, charging that the Jesuits encourage the destruction of Japanese deities. In turn, the Jesuits portrayed Hideyoshi as the evil king, and the instrument of Satan, devil and tengu.36 This image of Hideyoshi as the devil incarnate is a mirror image of Emperor Maxentius in Saint Catherine’s story. Hideyoshi was also a notorious womanizer. The second theme which emerges from Saint Catherine’s story is its emphasis on the mystical union of Christian souls with Christ based on the Kirishitan understanding of the Incarnation and go Passion. In her first address to the Emperor, Catherine summarizes this concept of the Incarnation, saying: Know the immeasurable Deus: for Deus who does not die receives the human body for our sake; in order to save us from dying, Deus chooses death. Therefore there is no doubt that Deus will help those who hesitate if they leave their hesitation and look to this mercy.37

At the beginning of the debate with the imperial scholars, Catherine builds her arguments in a straight forward presentation of foundational Christian doctrine, following the usual hagiographic pattern of the apologetic speeches.38 She tells

36 A later martyrology depicted the last unifier Shogun Tokugawa Ieyasu as an Emperor turning into tengu or gods (idols). See P. Morejón, Historia y Relación de lo sucedido en los Reinos del Japón ye China … desde el año de 1615 hasta el de 1619 … (Lisbon: Juan Rodríguez, 1621), 57v–58. Tengu 天狗 is a demon in Japanese popular religion. 37 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.64–5: “macoto no facari maximasanu Deus uo mixiritamaye. Sonoyuye ua: xixi tatamuanu Deus varerauo tasuqe tamauan tameni, ningai uo vqe saxerare, varera no xisuru yori nogaxi tamuan tameni, xi vo yerabi tori tamayeba, mayoitaru monodomo sono mayoiuo sute, cono vonjifi uo auogui tatematçuraba, tasuqe tamo˘ beqi coto vtagai naxi.” 38 Delehaye, The Legends of the Saints, 94: “[I]t is very rare that from among the questions and answers one can seize any personal and characteristic trait. We find only dissertations on the absurdity of paganism and the beauty of the Christian faith, speeches of an inconceivable improbability which would be more appropriate on the lips of a pulpit orator than on those of a prisoner before a court of justice in the course of a rapid criminal procedure. The triumphant eloquence of the martyr is usually set off against the ignorance and vulgarity of the judge, unless indeed the latter displays sufficient knowledge of the Scriptures and the

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them that she wears the God-given belt of wisdom, alluding to the Scriptures that in the fear of the Lord and keeping God’s commandments one finds true wisdom. In response to the scholars who argue that the philosophers such as Homer who worshiped Jupiter as Deus would not have regarded someone crucified as Deus, Catherine gives a lengthy sermon on “Jesus Christ, who was crucified, is the true God, the maker of heaven and earth, Savior of humanity and the ultimate unknowable by human reason”.39 Claiming Sybil and Socrates also as her ancient authority who prophesied divine incarnation and a trinitarian creator of the universe, she surveys the Kirishitan teachings on the Incarnation of Jesus Christ as true God and true human, salvation history beginning with the Creation, Fall, Incarnation, Crucifixion, Resurrection, and Ascension of Jesus Christ, and apostolic mission, ending with the exhortation for each human to examine ones’ life, follow this logical teaching (do¯ri), and worship only Deus/God and serve Christ.40 Her speech may have reflected the typical sermons that were given in the Kirishitan communities throughout the period. In addition to this standard theological argument, the later scene of the divine visitation while Catherine is in prison contains numerous complex gendered Eucharistic imageries. In this vision, Catherine has an intimate relationship with the holy Trinity, who is highly respectful of her in contrast to the Emperor who pretends to be her father. Deus as her true parent (von oya), sends a dove, a symbol of the Holy Spirit, carrying heavenly food to sustain her. The translator’s choice of the word von oya implies that this parent is not a father, but a nurturing mother. The food is none other than the body of her spouse (von tçuma) Jesus Christ, a manna-like sweet dew (canro). When Catherine tastes it, Christ appears to her with a multitude of angels and exhorts her. This Eucharistic feeding unites Christ and Catherine into one. That the feeding sustains Catherine through her life is shown at the end of the story in the execution scene, when Catherine sheds white blood. The sweet dew, or motherly milk of Christ, which sustains Catherine throughout her ordeal, streams out of Catherine’s body at her beheading, to spiritually nurture the Kirishitan community. Thus, the Kirishitanban translation amplifies the traditional mystics’ understanding of Eucharistic gender, which is fluid and interchangeable within Christ: Christ is both male (husband) and female (mother). In turn Catherine becomes one with Christ, as she represents broken humanity in Eucharistic union with the body of Christ, broken for the salvation of humanity. This gender concept is Christian religion to provoke some learned reply from the accused.” In Catherine’s case, the judge is the Emperor as well as the imperial scholars. 39 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.70: “Cruz ni cacaritamo˘ Iesu Christo, macotono Deus nite maximasu tenchi no von aruji, ninguen no von tasuqete, facari maximasanu ineffabile nite maximasu.” 40 See her sermon in Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.70–3.

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rooted in the doctrine of the Incarnation of Christ the divine as humanity. Noting the similar patterns in various stories of virgin martyr saints, Karen Winstead summarizes the underlying paradoxical theology of the Incarnation: As the most vulnerable and carnal of human beings – women – the virgin martyrs testify that the flesh can indeed triumph over corporeal desires, that weakness can prevail over strength. As women who transcended their gender to become manly, the virgin martyrs evoke the mystery of a God made man.41

The incarnational nature of Saint Catherine fits well in the localization of her story. As Christ became God incarnate in a particular human society in a particular historical time, virgin martyr Catherine also becomes a representative of Christ incarnate in different times in human history. According to Winstead, Saint Catherine in late medieval England takes up a likeness of the Lollard wife, who is an “audacious and eloquent teacher … deriding tradition and quoting Scripture”.42 In the Kirishitanban, Saint Catherine evokes the image of women catechists of the Jesuit mission, who derided state Buddhism, quoting Scripture and Catholic doctrine. Notably before Jesus departs from Catherine in her vision in prison, he nominates Catherine as the teacher of the faith, assuring her of divine protection and echoing Archangel Gabriel’s message to Mary at the annunciation, as he says to her: Do not be afraid, my daughter, because I am with you and the suffering will not overwhelm you. Be the true teacher (do˘xi) of many persons and you will receive great reward from me according to your patience.43

The important point is that Christ nominates Catherine as do˘xi, a traditional Buddhist term for a master teacher, guide, or spiritual director. A year after the publication of the text A of Catherine’s story in 1592, another Kirishitanban Fides no do˘xi (Guide of Faith) was published. The translators completely changed the title of this work, of which the original was Sumario de la introducción del símbolo de la fe (Summary of the Introduction of the Symbol of Faith) by Fray Luis of Granada (1504–88). In Kirishitanban literature, Christ and religious leaders are the new do˘xi of new faith in Japan. The Kirishitanban Saint Catherine was the hagiographic representation of the Kirishitan community, who attains the way of 41 K.A. Winstead, Virgin Martyrs: Legends of Sainthood in Late Medieval England (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997), 12. 42 Winstead, Virgin Martyrs, 17. 43 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.80: “icani vaga musume, vare nangi to tomoni ireba, vosorezare, curuximi ua nangi ni ataru becarazu. Tada amata no fito no macoto no do˘xi to nari, nangi no cannin uo motte vare yori vo¯qi naru fenpo¯ uo vbexi.” Emphasis added. The text in C does not contain the word do˘xi but says “Tada amata no fito uo macoto no michi ni fiqiireraru bexi” (Guide many to the true path).

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Christ the do˘xi and teaches this way opposing the teachings of imperial Buddhism. The third theme is gender and vocation, which has already emerged in the previous discussion. Both Japanese and the Greco-Roman-European societies and religions shared the notion that women had lesser intellectual and spiritual capacity due to their essential flaw; and they were to be subjugated to men. Reflecting this notion, the Emperor’s speeches in Catherine’s story are peppered with reminders that Catherine is a mere woman (vonna).44 In contrast, Saint Catherine maintains a firm self-identity of her vocation as a scholar, teacher, preacher, and priest as a woman. At the first encounter with the Emperor, she reveals herself as a scholar and Kirishitan: I am Catherine, daughter of Lord Costo. I studied various learned schools, but chose to be a maidservant of Jesus Christ, dismantling the knowledge of the learned, and doing away with the wisdom of the astrologers, just as the Prophet said.45

The Emperor orders the imperial scholars to “shut up the mouth” of “a very wise woman who criticizes Mercury, the source of all wisdom”.46 He warns the scholars saying, “Do not make light of the disputant simply because she is a woman (vonna). Be well informed that she is strong”. The head scholar assures the Emperor that this vonna may be very learned, but she does not have the eloquence of a rhetorician because she is a vonna. Yet all fifty scholars are no match for Catherine, and are converted by her persuasion, reporting to the Emperor, “there is no logical teaching that can match this woman’s public speech”.47 Even as the Emperor orders all fifty scholars to be burnt in the middle of the city of Kyoto, the scholars prostrate themselves before the saint asking her for the forgiveness of their sins. They ask to receive baptism and the Holy Spirit. Catherine joyfully exhorts her new disciples: Truly every one of you is blessed for you left the darkness. Seeking the true light, and not fearing death, you return to Deus who never dies. The fire with which the evil men burn each of you is your baptism, a bridge which takes you up to heaven. It will cleanse all your impurity, and guide you to the throne of heaven like shining stars.48 44 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.67. In the following discourse while A and B continue to call Catherine vonna, C names her “a vonna called Catherina”. 45 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.62: “Sagrada Scriptura to xogacu uo qiuametaruru nominarazu, suguretaru Christan nari.” Text C has Deus no tattoqi goqio¯mon for the Sacred Scriptures (Obara, Kirishitan no junkyo¯ to senpuku, 111). The texts A and B call Catherine nhonin (woman) and C adds jennhonin (female preacher). 46 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.67. 47 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.73: “cono nhonin no yenzet ni teqiro¯beqi do¯ri naxi.” C has wisdom for speech. 48 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.74: “macotoni vonovono ua quafo¯ naru fitobito nari.

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Thus the scholars receive the crown of martyrio in the baptism of blood, and their bodies were miraculously left unburnt.49 Here the hagiographer depicted Saint Catherine not only as a preacher but also as a priest, with the authority of granting the sacraments of absolution and baptism. The texts of Catherine’s semi-priestly vocation foreshadowed the vocation of the Miyaco no bicuni, a Jesuit inspired society of women catechists, led by Naito¯ Julia (ca. 1566–1627).50 Julia was a Buddhist abbess, who became a Kirishitan around 1598, and founded the Miyaco no bicuni in Kyoto around 1600. Women took three public vows, and adopted the Jesuit active apostolate in their ministries. These women catechists were instrumental in converting and baptizing thousands of women and men between 1600 and 1612. They also helped prepare the new converts to receive communion, which meant that they heard confessions in the absence of the Jesuit priests. Although we lack direct textual evidence that the women read the Kirishitanban story of Saint Catherine, there are records that they owned some collections of the Kirishitanban stories of saints. It is likely that the women took Saint Catherine, the supreme do˘xi, as their teacher and guide of vocation. The Kirishitanban translators also set the place of the martyrdom of the imperial scholars in the street or public square of Kyoto, where the actual execution of criminals regularly took place. Again, in 1612, the Miyaco no bicuni, who were arrested under the order of the Tokugawa shogunate, suffered public humiliation and torture in the public square of Kyoto, before they were expelled from Japan to the Philippines in 1614. Throughout the ordeal, these women preached, sang hymns, and openly criticized the imperial Buddhists. In other words, the Kirishitanban Saint Catherine may have set the stage for the women catechists to perform their preaching and priestly vocation publically. Finally, the Kirishitanban story of Saint Catherine promotes the idea that Kirishitan community is egalitarian and extends beyond the blood related family in the stratified Confucian society. Confucian society demanded women to stay in their proper place in their families according to their class. Women’s identity was defined by her relationship to the patriarchal heads of her clan and family, be it her feudal lord, father, husband, elder brother, or first son. From the beginning of the story, Saint Catherine acts as one totally free from her family obligations. She Yami uo sute, macoto no ficari uo xitai, xisu beqi coto uo vasure, facarinacu xixi tamo¯ to yu¯ cotonaqi Deus ni tachi cayeri tamayeba nari. Acuninra vonovono uo yaqu beqi fi ua, sunauachi vonovono no Baptismo nari, vonovono uo ageraren faxitaru bexi. Vonovono no fujo¯ uo qiyome, cacayaqu foxi no gotoqu tenno von aruji no von maye ye michibiqu bexi.” 49 The dates of this and the other two martyrdoms in this story differ in the texts ranging from November 19 to November 25 (A); November 18 to December 25 (B); and November 12 to no dates (C). 50 On Naito¯ Julia and the Miyaco no bicuni, see Ward, Women Religious Leaders, 61–81.

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also establishes an egalitarian community. Saint Catherine’s followers include imperial scholars, the Empress, her soldier retainers, and many other women and men, forming a new spiritual kinship. After the execution of the imperial scholars, knowing that he cannot win her over in words, the Emperor promises Catherine treasures and the seat of the Empress. In Japanese marriage law and customs, a man was free to divorce his first wife, or to acquire as many concubines as he pleased. A woman did not have the right to file for divorce or freedom to choose her spouse. Such legal and social practices often placed women in competition for the securer position of the first wife. Just as Kirishitan virgins refused marriage or concubinage, seeing the Emperor’s seduction, Catherine declares herself to be spouse (von tçuma) of Jesus Christ, adorned with chastity (castidade; C has fubon), seeking the crown of martyrio. Echoing Christ’s authority in the Gospel account of Judas’ betrayal, she prophesizes her own coming death: Do what you wish. For you persecute me so that I may gain eternal glory. Because of me, there will be many among your retainers who will become Kirishitan and believe in Jesus Christ. There will be many who will go to the high court of glory with me.51

The angry Emperor strips her, and orders her to be beaten for four hours until her whole body is awash with blood. He imprisons her for twelve days without food, but Jesus appears and feeds her as we have already seen. While in prison, Catherine also receives a secret visit from the Empress, guarded by her retainer Prophirio and his troop of soldiers. Stricken by Catherine’s glorious countenance, the Empress prostrates herself before Catherine, and says that she had wished to meet her before but could not because she was a woman (cocoro ni macaxenu vonna no mi).52 Catherine predicts the Empress’ martyrdom. When the Empress confesses her fear of torture and wrath of the tyrant, Catherine encourages her to endure the short period of bodily (xiqixin) suffering to receive the eternal comfort to come. When Prophirio asks Catherine, calling her “the holy woman ( jennhonin)”, what rewards (goxo¯quan) he might receive if he served Jesus Christ, Catherine discovers that he has not learned anything about Christianity. Catherine persuades him to become a Kirishitan by pointing to the Scriptures, which say that the blessings (xotocu, C has tocugi) which God prepares for those who serve God in love (gotaixet) are numerous. This brief exchange establishes a close spiritual bond between the Empress, Prophirio and Catherine in the shared faith in God. 51 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.76: “voboximesu mamani facarai tamaye: sono yuye ua vare uo xemetamo¯ niuoiteua, sono cauarini itçu made mo fate naqi Gloria uo vbexi. Mata go xinca no vchi yorimo, vare yuyeni amata Christan to nari, Iesu Christo uo xinji tatematçuri, vare to tomo ni gloria no tacaqi dairi ni mairumono vouocaru bexi.” 52 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.78.

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In the last scenes of the story, the Emperor imposes brutal tortures on the women’s bodies. He summons Catherine for the third time but is surprised at Catherine’s radiant presence just after she received the visitation and communion from Christ in her cell. Again he tries to tempt Catherine saying that if she worships his Buddha, he will make Catherine his consort and does not want to harm her beautiful body (sono mi no birei uo sonzasu coto nacare).53 Catherine reminds him again of the temporality of human bodies. The Emperor subjugates Catherine to the famous sadistic torture of the four wheels (yotçuno xarin). Catherine’s body is stretched out and her arms and legs tied to the four wheels with various blades that would cut her body into pieces as the wheels turn. However, the angels descend from heaven to cut the ropes, so that the wheels come apart, hitting and killing the torturers. In the early modern Japanese context, this broken wheel metaphor fits perfectly well to the Kirishitan antiBuddhist message of the broken wheel of karma. When the madman Emperor prepares another tool of torture, the Empress protests, saying that Catherine is Deus’ precious retainer and that it is foolish for the Emperor to become Deus’ enemy.54 The outraged Emperor orders the Empress to be placed in a large jar half buried underground, over which rim they stretch and fasten her breasts, and drop the lid. The tearing off of her breasts is symbolic of both sexual degradation of a woman and mutilation of a mother who provides food to her children just like the body of the crucified Christ, again pointing to the mystical theology of union. The mutilated Empress is then dragged away to be beheaded.55 Passing where Catherine is imprisoned, she asks for a prayer and Catherine assures her of glory. This brief exchange shows a strong bond between two women, who under normal circumstances in Japanese society would have been rivals for the queen’s position. The following day Porphirio, who had received the promise of heavenly reward from Catherine, stands before the emperor with other soldiers and declares that they had joined the army (tçuvamono) of Jesus Christ. The Emperor orders the execution of these new converts. Although Porphirio leads the flock of these newly converted soldiers, his loyalty to Christ is expressed through his loyalty to Catherine as the chief leader of the faith. Seeing that he cannot change Catherine’s determination either by courtesy (teinei) or threats (vodoxi), the Emperor orders Catherine’s beheading. As they take Catherine to the execution site, countless noble ladies-in-waiting (nhôbo˘xu˘), 53 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.80. 54 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.82. 55 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.83. The texts are confusing in telling this emotionally disturbing scene. In A and C, the Empress’s whole chest is torn apart between the two breasts; in B it is the soldiers who cut off her breasts in pieces, and behead her. When she meets Catherine is unclear in all three texts.

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among them some famous, follow her weeping.56 This imagery of women following the footsteps of Catherine ties this group of Japanese nhôbo˘xu˘ to the women in the New Testament who followed Christ in his via dolorosa. Thus the story of Saint Catherine creates a new possibility of Christian community beyond Confucian restrictions and invites Kirishitan readers to be members of the communion of the saints. The final prayer of Catherine before execution makes the four themes of the story clear. It is anti-Buddhist polemic but said in Buddhist words and gestures. It is a prayer of a mystic who is united to Christ in his go Passiom. It is a public testimony of a woman do˘xi teacher, preacher and priest. And it is an invitation to the onlookers to choose another kind of society than the one in which they currently live. Thus, looking up to heaven, Catherine prays in the Buddhist ritual gaxxo˘ pose: I give thanks to you Jesus Christ, our Deus, for you securely place my feet on the rock and you are the guide (do˘xi) of my path. Stretch out your hand which you extended on the cross, to receive my soul, dedicated to you and to the faith. Lord, remember that I am but flesh and bone (cotniq), and at the time of the last judgment, do not expose my mistakes, which I made due to my ignorance, to my brutal enemies. Wash my sins with the blood which I shed for you. Hide me from the ones who intend to harm me for the sake of the wounds that I receive for your sake. Give the light to these persons who surround me so that they might see you. I ask you not to make vain the prayers of those who worship your precious name for my sake. I entrust these things to your precious throne.57

Finishing her prayer, Catherine turns to the executioner, and tells him to do what he needs to do as he was told by the King, echoing Jesus’s words to Judas. White blood pours out of her severed neck. This white blood which Catherine sheds again recalls Jesus’ shedding of pure blood on the cross, as well as mother Christ feeding his followers through their Eucharistic union as referenced earlier in the 56 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.84. A has “reqireqi no nho¯bo¯xu¯” (well-known ladies at the court); B has “co¯qe no nho¯bo¯xu¯” (high ranking noble ladies at the court); and C has “reqireqi no nhonintachi” (well-known women). 57 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.84–5: “Icani vareraga Deus nite maximasu Iesu Christo vaga axi uo suuaritaru ixi no vye ni voqi tamai, vaga michi no go annaixa nite maximasu ni yotte, vonrei uo mo¯xi aguru nari. Tadaimamo vare ni taixite, Cruz no vye nite nobetamo¯ mite uo nobesaxerare, von mi to Fides ni taixite sasague tatematçuru animauo vqe tori tameye, icani von aruji vareraga cotniqu narucoto uo voboximexi idaxi tamaye, vaga guchi yuye ni tçucamatçuritaru ayamari uo Iuizo no toqi, araqenaqi teqi no maye ni arauarenu yo¯ ni facarai tamaye, tada võn mini taixite, nagasu chi nite vocaxitaru toga uo arai tamaye, von mi ni taixi tatematçurite vquru qizu ni yotte, sono nozomi uo motçu fito yori mirarenu yo¯ni facaraitameye. Mata cono mauari ni yru fitobito ni von mi uo mixiri tatematçuru ficari uo ataye tamaye, mata vare uo motte tattoqi mina uo tattomi tatematçuru beqi mono no Oratio uo munaxiqu naxitamauazare to tanomi tatematçuru. Core mina von curai ni tatixi tatematçurite, nozomi tatematçuru.” Text C omits gaxxo˘.

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section of Christ’s feeding of imprisoned Catherine.58 Saint Catherine at her execution represents the Kirishitan communal ideal of the imitation of Christ to the point of martyrio and their way of gotaixet love. Irmão Vicente concludes his translation in text A by saying: “By the hand of angels, [God] stored the precious corpse (von xigai) in a mountain called Sinai.”59 In this, the textual image of Saint Catherine’s body being carried away, perhaps still drenched in white blood, became the immaterial relic to the imagination of the Kirishitan community. Proper burial was an important Buddhist teaching in Japan. In the accounts of martyrs beginning in 1603, Kirishitans flock to the places of execution to drench their clothes with the blood of the martyrs, or steal the martyrs’ bodies for relics, but the Church also tries to give the martyrs a proper burial.60 The Japanese authorities became aware of the strange behavior of Kirishitans, and in the persecution of the 1620s began burning the bodies of the executed and scattered their ashes in the sea to discourage the gathering and veneration of relics.

Conclusion The decisions made at the Council of Trent and by the Jesuits at early stages of Catholic Reform regarding saints and their texts invited unintended consequences. The translated texts of Saint Catherine of Alexandria and other saints from the early Church spoke to the Kirishitan communities in the Japanese context and to the theology of martyrdom on multiple levels. Following such ideals about 40.000 members including women along with their clergy resisted the Japanese regime and were executed. The Church of Japan became a Church of martyrs. Others who survived as nominal Buddhists during the fiercest persecution and ensuing years of suppression remembered their martyr saints. When Europeans at the Council at Trent defended the veneration of the saints and their relics, their eyes were turned toward the martyrs of Ancient Rome. The hidden communities in Japan treasured the memories of their recent martyrs, venerated their relics, and gave prayers to the saints. They also kept the texts of the stories of 58 See the discussion above on p. 18. 59 Sanctos no gosagveo no vchi nvqigaqi, 2.85: “von xigai uoba Anjo no te yori Sinaito yu˘ yama ni vosame tamo˘ mono nari. ɋ Irm.Vicente core uo fonyacu su.” The texts B and C add: “They say that her coffin is still there”, in the style of old story telling. 60 For example, the Christians stole the body of Blessed martyr Hayashida Magdalena (d. 1613) for relics, but returned it to Bishop Luís Cerqueira for a proper memorial service and burial. See Sebastián Vieira’s annual letter of 1613 to General Claudio Aquaviva, sent from Nagasaki on 16 March 1614 in Rome, Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu (ARSI), Japonica Sinica 57, fol. 261–276v, and especially fol. 271v.

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Saints Catherine, Marina and Anastasia, and maybe more. The kakure Kirishitans stubbornly believed in a prophecy of deliverance by the Pope after seven generations. While still banned by the Japanese government, a group of Kirishitans led by a peasant woman named SugiharaYuri Isabelina, resurfaced in 1865. This news conveyed by the missionaries of the Société des Missions Étrangères de Paris brought encouraging news to the papacy in a time of particular stress. Pope Pius IX canonized 26 as saints and beatified another 205 martyrs of Japan in 1862 and 1867 as the revived persecution raged on in Japan until the lifting of the ban in 1870. But the most unexpected consequence of the regulations of the Council of Trent and the Jesuit Constitutions came in the area of women’s active apostolate. The grip of patriarchy escalated both in Europe and Japan in the Early Modern Period. The Council meeting just before their discussion on the saints was on the reform of the religious orders.61 The Council reaffirmed the vigorous observance of the strict cloister of women’s monasteries under the supervision of the bishops. Many studies have been produced on this regulation and the resulting “frustration” of active women’s groups outside of monastic walls in Europe, and women’s resilience and creativity in cultivating venues for their ministries.62 No European women missionaries ever arrived in Japan until the late nineteenth century. Instead in the sixteenth century, Saint Catherine of Alexandria arrived and provided the supreme model for women’s active apostolate, with her intellect, religious knowledge, preaching, teaching, public discourse, community building, and resistance to the persecuting regime. Ironically during the ‘Christian Century’, the Church of Japan also turned out to be that of women’s active apostolate. These phenomena and consequences in the case of Kirishitanban story of Saint Catherine and all other saints in the Jesuit Japan mission do not fit neatly in the older categories of the Counter-Reformation, Catholic Reform/Reformation, Tridentine Reform/Age, Confessional Age/Confessional Catholicism, but indeed open a trajectory in what O’Malley defines as Early Modern Catholicism, or rather, toward early modern globalizing/localizing Catholicism.63

61 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.776–84. 62 See also O’Malley, Trent, 240. Also see J. Grisar, “Jesuitinnen: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des weiblichen Ordenswesens von 1550–1650”, in E. Iserloh/K. Repgen (ed.), Reformata Reformanda (2 vol.; FS H. Jedin; Münster: Aschendorff, 1965) 2.70–113. The most current work on these women’s groups whose apostolate do not fit into the standard religious way of life are in the collection of essays in A. Weber (ed.), Devout Laywomen in the Early Modern World (Women and Gender in the Early Modern World; London/New York: Routledge, 2016). 63 J.W. O’Malley, Trent and All That: Renaming Catholicism in the Early Modern Era (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press, 2002).

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Bibliography Archival sources Rome, Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu, Japonica Sinica 57. Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Codices Reginenses Latini 459.

Printed and edited sources Anesaki, M., Kirishitan shu¯mon no hakugai to senpuku (Tokyo: Do¯bunsha, 1925). Cieslik, H. (ed.), “Maruchiru no michi”, in A. Ebisawa (ed.), Kirishitansho haiyasho (Nihon shiso¯shi taikei 25; Tokyo: Iwanami, 1970). Fukushima, K. (ed.), Santosu no gosagyo¯: Honji kenkyu¯hen (Kirishitan Shiryo¯ Shu¯sei; Tokyo: Benseisha, 1979). Fukushima, K. (ed.), Zoku zoku Kirishitan shiryo¯ to Kokugo kenkyu¯: Seijinden sho¯ (Kasama So¯ sho 287; Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 1995). Fróis, L., Historia de Japam, J. Wicki (ed.) (5 vol.; Lisbon: Biblioteca Nacional, 1976–1984). Koso, T., Sanctos no gosagveo go vchi nvqigaqi, Kirishitanban seisen (2 vol. in 1; Tokyo: Yu¯shodo, 2006). Laínez, Diego, “Letter to Antonio de Quadros, Trent, 1 January 1563”, Documentos del Japón (1558–1562), J.G. Ruiz de Medina (ed.) (Monumenta Historica Japoniae 2; Monumenta Historica Societatis Jesu 148; Rome: Monumenta Historica Societatis Iesu, 1995) 646–8. Morejón, P., Historia y Relación de lo sucedido en los Reinos del Japón ye China … desde el año de 1615 hasta el de 1619… (Lisbon: Juan Rodríguez, 1621). Obara, S. (ed.), Kirishitan no junkyo¯ to senpuku (Kirishitan kenkyu¯ 43; Tokyo: Kyo¯ bunkan, 2006). Obara, S. (ed.), Sanctos no gosagyo¯ (Kirishitan kenkyu¯ 33; Tokyo: Kyo¯bunkan, 1996). Symeon Metaphrastès, Opera omnia, vol. 3: Vitae sanctorum (continuatio), J.P. Migne (ed.) (PG 116; Paris: Garnier Frères, 1891). Textus Catalogorum Japoniae aliaeque de Personis Domibusque S.J. in Japonia, Informationes et Relationes, 1549–1654, J.F. Schütte (ed.) (Monumenta Historica Japoniae 1; Monumenta Historica Societatis Jesu 111; Rome: Institutum Historicum Societatis Iesu, 1975). Tokyo National Museum, Illustrated Catalogues of Tokyo National Museum, Kirishitan Objects: Christian Relics in Japan 16th-19th Century (rev. ed.; Tokyo: Tokyo Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan, 2001). Tokyo National Museum, images website http://webarchives.tnm.jp/. Valignano, A., Valignano’s Mission Principles for Japan, J.F. Schu¨ tte (ed.)/J.J. Coyne (trans.) (2 vol.; Saint Louis, MO: The Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1980). Voragine, J. de, The Golden Legend: Readings on the Saints, W.G. Ryan (trans.) (2 vol.; Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012.

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Secondary sources Asami, M., Kirishitan jidain no gu¯zo¯ su¯hai (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 2009). Burke, P., “How to Be a Counter-Reformation Saint”, in K. von Greyerz (ed.), Religion and Society in Early Modern Europe, 1500–1800 (London: German Historical Institute/ Boston, MA: Allen & Unwin, 1984) 45–55. Chizawa, T./ Uchiyama, Y. (ed.), Kirishitan no bijutsu (Tokyo: Hobunkan, 1961). Delehaye, H., The Legends of the Saints: An Introduction to Hagiography, V.M. Crawford (trans.) (London: Longmans, Green, 1907; repr. with an intr. by R.J. Schoeck, Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame, 1961). Ditchfield, S., “An Early Christian School of Sanctity in Tridentine Rome”, in S. Ditchfield (ed.), Christianity and Community in the West: Essays for John Bossy (Aldershot/Burlington: Ashgate, 2001) 183–205. Ditchfield, S., “What Was Sacred History? (Mostly Roman) Catholic Uses of the Christian Past after Trent”, in K. Van Liere/S. Ditchfield/H. Louthan (ed.), Sacred History: Uses of the Christian Past in the Renaissance World (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012) 72– 97. Farge, W.J., The Japanese Translations of the Jesuit Mission Press, 1590–1614: De imitatione Christi and Guía de pecadores (Lewiston, NY: E. Mellen, 2003). Fukushima, K., Kirishitan shiryo¯ to kokugo kenkyu¯ (Kasama so¯ sho 38; Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 1973). Grisar, J., “Jesuitinnen: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des weiblichen Ordenswesens von 1550– 1650”, in E. Iserloh/K. Repgen (ed.), Reformata Reformanda (2 vol.; FS H. Jedin; Münster: Aschendorff, 1965) 2.70–113 Jedin, H., Der Abschluss Des Trienter Konzils, 1562/63. Ein Rückblick Nach Vier Jahrhunderten (Katholisches Leben und Kämpfen im Zeitalter der Glaubensspaltung 21; Münster: Aschendorff, 1963). Jenkins, J./Lewis, K. J. (ed.), St Katherine of Alexandria: Texts and Contexts in Western Medieval Europe (Medieval Women 8; Turnhout: Brepols, 2003). Moran, J.F., The Japanese and the Jesuits: Alessandro Valignano in Sixteenth-Century Japan (London/New York: Routledge, 1993). Obara, S., “Editor’s comments”, in Sanctos no gosagyo¯ (Kirishitan kenkyu¯ 33; Tokyo: Kyo¯bunkan, 1996) 383–411. O’Malley, J.W., Trent and All That: Renaming Catholicism in the Early Modern Era (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press, 2002). O’Malley, J.W., “Trent, Sacred Images, and Catholics’ Senses of the Sensuous”, in M.B. Hall/T.E. Cooper (ed.), The Sensuous in the Counter-Reformation Church (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013) 28–48. Parker, M. (ed.), The Spanish “Santa Catalina de Alejandria”: The Many Lives of a Saint’s Life (Hispanic Monographs Series Estudios de Literatura Medieval “John E. Keller” 7; Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2010). Ruiz de Medina, J.G, Iezusu kaishi to kirishitan fukyo¯ (Tokyo: Iwata Shoin, 2003). Sands, T.R., The Company She Keeps: The Medieval Swedish Cult of Saint Katherine of Alexandria and Its Transformations (Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies 362; Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies/Turnhout: Brepols, 2010).

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Schütte, J.F., “Christliche Japanische Literatur, Bilder Und Druckblätter in Einem Unbekannten Vatikanischen Codex Aus Dem Jahre 1591”, Archivum Historicum Societatis Iesu 9 (1940) 226–80. Shirane, H. (ed.), Traditional Japanese Literature: An Anthology, Beginnings to 1600 (Translations from the Asian Classics; New York: Columbia University Press, 2007). ¨ c¸erler, M.A.J., “Jesuit Enterprise in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century Japan”, in Th. U Worcester (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Jesuits (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008) 153–68. Walsh, C., The Cult of St Katherine of Alexandria in Early Medieval Europe (Church, Faith and Culture in the Medieval West; Aldershot/Burlington: Ashgate, 2007). Ward, H.N., “Women and Kirishitanban Literature: Translation, Gender and Theology in Early Modern Japan”, Early Modern Women: An Interdisciplinary Journal 7 (2012) 271– 81. Ward, H.N., Women Religious Leaders in Japan’s Christian Century, 1549–1650 (Women and Gender in the Early Modern World; Farnham/Burlington: Ashgate, 2009). Weber, A., Devout Laywomen in the Early Modern World (Women and Gender in the Early Modern World; London/ New York: Routledge, 2016). Winstead, K.A., Virgin Martyrs: Legends of Sainthood in Late Medieval England (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997).

Leonardo Cohen*

A Postmortem of the Jesuits’ Banishment from Ethiopia

Ignatius of Loyola, the founder of the Society of Jesus, had conceived of Ethiopia’s conversion to Catholicism with great enthusiasm.1 In 1622, several decades of persistent attempts by the Jesuit Order to ingratiate itself with the Kingdom’s rulers culminated with Emperor Susənyos’ conversion, and Catholicism was declared the official religion of the land several years later. Throughout this period, members of the nobility and monastic leaders clung tight to their ancestral faith – Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity. In the provinces, many of these same factors took up arms against Susənyos, thereby engulfing the Kingdom in turmoil. After ten years of insurrection, the situation had become unsustainable for the Emperor. Succumbing to pressure, he allowed freedom of religion on June 1632. For the members of the Society of Jesus, this decree effectively spelled the end of Ignatius’s dream, as the mission was subsequently banished from the Empire. In the ensuing years, members of the Jesuit mission to Ethiopia were compelled to account for their ignominious exit. Coming to terms with these developments was no easy task for the ousted Jesuits. As we shall see, they blamed the Order’s failure on the character and temperament of the local populace. On the other hand, the missionaries refrained from even considering the idea that they had taken some missteps during the final stages before their expulsion.2 Three primary Jesuit eye-witnesses have left testimony summing up and interpreting this episode. The first is Father Manuel de Almeida, author of the

* The present research was made possible thanks to the generous support of the Foundation for Science and Technology of Portugal (FCT). 1 S. Madrigal, Estudios de Eclesiología Ignaciana (Madrid: Universidad Pontificia Comillas/ Desclée de Brower, 2002), 25–102. 2 For a bibliography of the Jesuit mission in Ethiopia, see L. Cohen/A. Martínez d’Alòs Moner, “The Jesuit Mission to Ethiopia (16th–17th Centuries): An Analytical Bibliography”, Aethiopica 9 (2006) 190–212.

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monumental work Historia de Etiópia a Alta ou Abassia.3 This book, which de Almeida started working on in Gorgora, Ethiopia in 1628, is considered a trustworthy account due to the author’s rigorous use of sources. Our second witness is Father Manuel Barradas, who penned three historical-geographical treatises4 and a multitude of letters. The last is Afonso Mendes – the Catholic Patriarch of Ethiopia at the time of the ouster. He left scholars an expansive correspondence of appreciable import along with two essential works on this period: Expeditio Aethiopica, a book on the land’s geography and history, which also covers the Jesuit mission;5 and Bran Haimanot, a polemical work enumerating and refuting the ‘errors’ of the Oriental churches.6 The present article offers a detailed analysis of the reasons broached by these three Jesuits, inter alios, for the Society of Jesus’ defeat. Before delving into this topic, let us examine a couple of incidents that shed light on the priorities of Patriarch Mendes and the Sacred Congregation de Propaganda Fide. The first revolves around the death of Abba Zärʾa Wängel, one of the most prominent Ethiopian clergymen, in 1627. Zärʾa Wängel, the superior of the Däbrä Libanos monastery and əcˇcˇäge (imperial counselor),7 had stead˙˙ fastly refused to accept the Roman faith. Despite his recalcitrance, another Ethiopian monk, who had converted to Catholicism, solemnly interred the father’s remains under the altar of his church. When word of this reached the Patriarch, he reprimanded the priest and proclaimed that the church had been desecrated by the “heretic’s body”. Furthermore, Mendes prohibited Mass from being celebrated at this house of worship. In consequence, the frightened monk exhumed the body and cast it out of the building. This act, however, triggered a series of uprisings that the Catholics were hard-pressed to contain.8 The second incident was the Sacred Congregation de Propaganda Fide’s admonishment of Patriarch Mendes for allowing a theatrical performance to be held after a pontifical mass, at which he delivered a sermon. As told by de Almeida, the sacrifice of Abraham was staged beside the church, to the acclaim of

3 This work is included in Rerum Aethiopicarum Scriptores Occidentales Inediti a Saeculo XVI ad XIX, C. Beccari (ed.) (Rome: C. De Luigi, 1903–17), vol. 5–7. 4 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), vol. 4. 5 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), vol. 8–9. 6 Afonso Mendes, Bran Haimanot: Id est. Lux Fidei in Ephitalamium Aethiopissae Sive in Nuptias Verbi et Ecclesiae (Cologne: Agrippinae, 1692). 7 From the latter half of the fifteenth century onwards, Däbrä Libanos had been the most influential monastery in Ethiopia’s central and southern regions. In addition, the monastery’s abbot was considered the Kingdom’s preeminent monastic position and held the special title of əcˇcˇäge. It is worth noting that De Almeida referred to Zärʾa Wängel by the Jesuit title “General of˙˙the religious [order] of Täklä Haymanot”. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.) 7.60. 8 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.) 7.60 and 4.61.

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all those in attendance, and was followed by “a pastoral dance”.9 In a missive sent from Rome on October 2, 1629, the Sacred Congregation reproved Mendes for countenancing “an abuse of the ecclesiastical rite stipulating the reverence that should be observed in the holy temple”.10 These two controversies reveal issues that troubled the Society of Jesus – both its representatives in the field and those back at headquarters – and illuminate the chain of command within the organization. Moreover, they reflect the flaws, especially the lack of solemnity, that the Jesuits imputed to the Ethiopian populace following its rejection of the Catholic faith. The Order indeed considered levity to be a major transgression, even graver than ‘schismatic’ acts. While the missionaries’ deliberation over their failure is indeed noteworthy, none of them pointed to the patriarchate’s violent treatment of the local traditionalists. All of our witnesses believed that the main problem was the insouciant temperament of Ethiopian society, which never ‘seriously’ committed itself to the Roman faith, particularly in all that concerns ritual and ceremony. Owing to the idiosyncrasies and undisciplined behavior of the Kingdom’s prelates and nobility of the realm, the ousted Jesuits claimed, Ethiopian Catholicism had been built on weak foundations, so that it was unable to withstand the faintest tremor. Against this backdrop, the crux of this paper is not the actual causes of the Jesuits’ banishment from Ethiopia, but rather on what the protagonists considered them to be.

Sexual and Moral Transgressions Each of the three missionaries drew an interesting correlation between heresy and licentiousness. However, it bears noting that the Ethiopian case was hardly the first time that this link has been made, as it comes up time and again in the source material from earlier Jesuit missions. In fact, de Almeida’s postmortem referred to setbacks in Germany, France, Japan, Sweden, England, Denmark, and the Netherlands during the 1500s. He wrote, for example, that “the sweltering voluptuousness of Henry VIII [of England] was enough to burn the land with heretical fire”.11 In de Almeida’s estimation, then, forbidden sex was tied to inadequate knowledge of Catholic doctrine. Heresy is not only a cognitive error, he asserted, but spurs on questionable moral practices as well. The Portuguese Jesuit believed that the misguided Alexandrian faith weakened the population’s rectitude. Moreover, Ethiopia’s rulers and abunäs lacked the wherewithal to censure the notables for their sultry public lifestyles. Upon becoming the official 9 Braga, Arquivo Distrital, Ms. 779, fol. 352v., Cartas Annais das Missões da Etiopia. 10 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 12.408. 11 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.133.

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religion, the Catholic faith helped devotees withstand ‘temptation’ and edified large portions of society by virtue of its ‘purity’. Upon realizing their mistakes, the faithful “ceased the abuse and the many vices and sins” that hitherto informed their lives.12 In the end, though, ‘iniquity’ dragged Ethiopians back to their “heretical ways”. Drawing on the paradigmatic case of King Solomon, de Almeida also linked heresy to idolatry. The Judean King’s surfeit of wives addled his mind. At first, Solomon built pagodes13 for them. However, in due time, he began worshipping these idols himself, offering them sacrifices of incense, inter alia. Put differently, sexual intemperance gave idol worship a foothold from which to build on. Many Ethiopians, according to de Almeida, followed in Solomon’s footsteps: people got married and separated as often as they liked; Emperors took numerous women; and most noblewomen led promiscuous lives. A case in point is the handful of noblewomen who viewed Catholicism to be a foreign means of coercion and a heavy imposition on their personal lives.14 For this reason, they vehemently opposed the new religion and took to the defense of their ancestral faith. De Almeida claimed that there was a direct correlation between Patriarch Mendes’ standardization of sexual virtue throughout the Kingdom and the gradual abandonment of Dioscorus of Alexandria’s one-nature doctrine, which Rome considered to be heretical. These advances notwithstanding, the Emperor’s daughters, who the Jesuit father dubbed the “squadron from hell”, and other “women of royal blood always fought resolutely against the [Catholic] faith”.15 Some Jesuit correspondents accused Ethiopian monks of exploiting the wartime mobilization of men to fornicate with their wives and teach the latter the “lies and blasphemies” of Dioscorus.16 Manuel Barradas wrote that certain noble women 12 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.134. 13 Pagodes are statues of Asian-Indian saints. These idols have fallen out of use. See S.R. Dalgado, Glosário Luso-Asiático (Coimbra: Academia das Sciências de Lisboa, Imprensa da Universidade, 1919), 2.130–1. 14 In recent years, the noblewomen’s reaction to the Jesuit inroads in Ethiopia and their role in the struggle to restore the local Orthodox Church has garnered ever more research attention. E. g. V. Böll, “Holy Women in Ethiopia”, in B. Hirsch/M. Kropp (ed.), Saints, Biographies and History in Africa, Nordostafrikanisch-Westasiastiche Studien (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2003) 5.31–45; S. Chernetsov, “A Transgressor of the Norms of Female Behaviour in the Seventeenth Century Ethiopia – the Heroine of the ‘Life of Our Mother Walatta Petros’”, Khristianskij Vostok 4/10 (2006) 56–72; G. Geist, L’influence portugaise sur la femme éthiopienne aux XVIème et XVIIème siècles (Coimbra: Coimbra Editora, Limitada, 1986); and W.L. Belcher, “Sisters Debating the Jesuits: The Role of African Women in Defeating Portuguese Proto-Colonialism in Seventeenth Century Abyssinia”, Northeast African Studies 13/1 (2013) 121–66. 15 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.134. 16 T. de. Barros, Copia de una carta que escrivio el Padre Tomas de Barros de la Compañia de Iesus en Iunio de 622. al Padre General, en que declara lo que los de la Compañia hizieron en el

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“abandoned” Catholicism “and returned to the Alexandrine faith” for the purpose of resuming their lascivious ways.17 From his seat in exile, Mendes raised similar accusations in his final letter to Fasilädäs, the new Emperor who had banished the Jesuits from his realm. More specifically, the Patriarch blamed sexual immorality for the heavy toll that was exacted on Ethiopia during its recent wars, even comparing the bloodshed to the punishment meted out to the Egyptians for their oppression of the ancient Hebrews: [T]he great ones [i. e., the Ethiopian nobility] want to have many women, women want to have and replace many husbands, and the monks want to be monks only in the cloister and to annex the houses of the town’s women to the monastery; and the great ones want to be lords of the churches and their lands, and all want freedom of the flesh and for their pastor to be akin to a statue without eyes for seeing their transgressions, or without a mouth for rebuking them or without hands for chastising them. So long as these sins persist in Ethiopia, never shall the sword leave it.18

Despite being “a Christian at heart”, de Almeida reported, Emperor Susənyos and his children practiced polygamy and other “sins of the flesh”.19 It is evident that the missionaries’ Tridentine spirit fueled their belief that God intended marriage to be a union between no more than two. This principle is indeed commensurate with the following Catechism issued at the Council of Trent: [T]here would seem to be no reason why he who marries a second wife, whilst he retains the first, should be said to be guilty of adultery, any more than, if having dismissed his first, he should be united with a second. And we understand this to be the reason why, if, in accordance with the law and custom of his country, an infidel had married several wives, the Church commands him, when converted to the true religion, to dismiss all the rest, and regard the first only in the light of a true and lawful wife.20

According to de Almeida, polygamy began to wane in Ethiopia upon the institution of Catholicism, but “the demon of lust” soon reasserted itself along with the vices of greed, envy, selfishness, ambition, and hate.21 As Patriarch of Ethiopia, Afonso Mendes indeed sought to rigorously impose the Catholic rules of marriage on his flock. Session 26 of the Council of Trent laid down the criteria for a valid marriage. Furthermore, the delegates sought to end the controversy over the so-called clandestine marriages. With this objective in mind, they decreed that the bride and groom must declare their mutual consent

17 18 19 20 21

Imperio de Etiopia, en el dicho año de 622 (1622), (s.l.: s.n. [1622], consulted in Puebla: Biblioteca Palafoxiana). Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 4.46. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.240. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 4.46. Catechism of the Council of Trent, J.D.D. Donovan (ed. and trans.), (Dublin: J.M. O’Toole & Son, 1867), 298. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.136.

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to enter the bonds of matrimony before a priest from either of their parishes as well as several lay witnesses. In fact, this testimony henceforth constituted the sacrament of marriage.22 In Bran Haimanot, which was translated into Gəʿəz (Classical Ethiopic), Mendes reaffirmed the necessity of this process. Moreover, he transferred jurisdiction over nuptial disputes from civil to ecclesiastical courts.23 Pursuant to the Council of Trent’s catechetical instructions for parish priests, marriage was elevated to the dignity of a sacrament “for the procreation and education of a people in the religion and worship of the true God, and of Christ our Saviour”.24 As per this thinking, if lust and adultery led to heresy, defying the Catholic Church constituted a betrayal of the Church fathers and the institution of marriage. From the Jesuits’ standpoint, conjugal relationships and the family were measuring sticks for Ethiopians’ devotion to Catholicism. Metaphors of this sort indeed come up in several contexts. In the 1500s, André de Oviedo, the Catholic Patriarch of Ethiopia, wrote a missive to the Emperor stating that he expects the Kingdom to enter a monogamous relationship with Rome “because the Holy and Catholic Church is [the only] one in the entire world”. For this reason, it is unfathomable that the Kingdom recognizes “both the Roman Pontiff and the Patriarch of Alexandria, or that each one has a single and absolute Church, for Jesus Christ is its lone husband; so too His wife[,] the Church[,] has been and will always be but one”.25 In the aftermath of their expulsion from Ethiopia, the idea that the Catholic Church is a wife and mother recurs time and again in the Jesuits’ correspondence. For instance, Barradas wrote that Fasilädäs suckled the Roman Church’s “milk”, only to later defy his “mother”.26 In one of Mendes’ final letters to Fasilädäs, the Patriarch similarly contended that the emperor “cannot have God as Father” if “this Holy Church” is not his “mother”. Although the Catholic Church was forced to “abandon” Ethiopia, Mendes still considered himself to be the Emperor’s one and only lawful husband. Consequently, any prelate that takes Fasilädäs or Ethiopia for a wife is essentially committing adultery.27 22 M. Venard, “El quinto concilio de Letrán (1512–1517) y el concilio de Trento (1545–1563)”, in G. Alberigo (ed.), Historia de los concilios ecuménicos (Salamanca: Ediciones Sígueme, 1993) 269–312, on p. 296. As per the Council’s decree, “such marriages as are not contracted in presence of the parish-priest, or of other priest with the leave of the parish-priest himself or of the ordinary, and before a certain number of witness, are to be considered neither true, not valid marriages.” Catechism, Donovan (ed.), 302. 23 Mendes, Bran Haimanot, 752. 24 Catechism, Donovan (ed.), 295. 25 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 5.351. 26 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 4.67. 27 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.237.

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In the run-up to the Jesuits’ expulsion, the Emperor took issue with the ‘spouse metaphor’ in a letter to Afonso Mendes: Your Grace says: Ethiopia is our [i. e., Rome’s] wife; how shall we [Ethiopia] wed? Is it not written and decreed that the woman is not bound by the law of the husband, but by the will of her father, mother, and family if she did not wish to marry him? As such[,] Your Grace knows that she is not Your true wife, for we have already said that no one received her faith out of her own volition.28

In response, Mendes insisted that Ethiopia had voluntarily embraced Catholicism. Furthermore, he emphasized the difference between spiritual and carnal marriage. Whereas the latter is up to the individual’s discretion, every soul is obliged to accept God as his or her spiritual husband. Therefore, joining a false church is analogous to infidelity.29 In sum, the Jesuits rejected Ethiopia’s reversion to the Alexandrine faith by turning to metaphors of conjugal relations and by promoting family and community values in their correspondence with Ethiopian rulers. To the ousted Patriarch, then, his bonds of matrimony with Ethiopia were sustained by divine right, and the separation between the two was as unlawful as the dissolution of the sacrament itself. For instance, when Fasilädäs’ representatives came to escort the Patriarch out of the Emperor’s realm, Mendes warned them that “If she [i. e., the Church of Ethiopia] is by divine right our [the Roman Pontiff ’s, the King of Portugal’s and the Patriarch’s] wife, who can separate us or how can I leave her?” Compelling us to do so is “a grave sin against God”. By consenting to this order, the Jesuits would be “complicit” in this transgression.30 The notion of the Church as the wife or mother of the faithful derives from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians (Eph 5:22–33), and many early Christian thinkers followed in his footsteps. Likewise, the Council of Trent’s above-cited catechism states that husband and wife must love each as purely and sacredly as “Christ also loved the Church”.31 In Mendes’ correspondence with Fasilädäs, though, the husband is not Christ himself, but his earthly representative – the Catholic Patriarch. This metaphor also turns up in a letter that Francisco Rodrígues addressed to the exiled father during the 1630s against the backdrop of the persecution suffered by the remaining European Catholics in Ethiopia. More 28 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.306. 29 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.306. 30 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.279. Similar sentiments underpin Mendes’ letter to King Philip III of Portugal in 1632: “Descreve as disputas religiosas que houveram entre o imperador Seltan Sagued e a Companhia de Jesus em que na matéria de fé vieram a entenderse. Transcreve a carta de Ras Cela Cristos a seu irmão, o imperador etc.” Notícia a Felipe III, rei de Portugal, sobre as coisas que se passaram em 1632, Braga, Arquivo Distrital, fol. 495v. 31 Catechism, Donovan (ed.), 300.

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specifically, Rodrígues referred to the Kingdom as Mendes’ “ingrate wife” and to the Catholics as “banished and exiled children and serfs”.32 In 1647, Bernardo Nogueira reported to the Patriarch that “I cannot explain to Your Grace the hardships we endure [here in Ethiopia], the cruel persecution against your saintly wife [, the severity of which] has never been seen before in the world”.33 From the vantage point of the Jesuit mission, the Ethiopians practiced a schismatic Christianity that betrayed a native lifestyle tainted by frivolity, disobedience, and rebelliousness. These attributes were a by-product of an eclectic, flawed, and lax church whose clergy had no means for disciplining or even admonishing the flock. De Almeida averred that heresy “blinds the eyes of the soul in such a way that it implants the vices of the flesh and the miseries and pettiness of this life”.34 For this reason, the Society of Jesus endeavored to bolster the local patriarchate, which our subjects considered a fragile institution, by legitimizing its jurisdiction over the population.

Good for the Soul, Bad for the Kingdom Needless to say, the correlation between heresy and recalcitrance and chaos is not without precedent in the Church’s long annals.35 As G.R. Evans astutely observes, the term ‘order’ has had different meanings over the years from the standpoint of Catholic teachings. From an ecclesiastical standpoint, God has providence over the universe. Heresy is merely a symptom of the devil’s determination to wrest control of the Kingdom of Earth.36 The Council of Trent indeed placed a premium on obedience. Accordingly, the fourth commandment to “honor thy father and mother” (Exod 20:12) was extended by catechism to all members of the Roman clergy, foremost among them Church prelates and parish priests. On a secondary basis, it was extended to “those who govern the State, to whom are entrusted Empire, or magistracy, or power”.37 Parents are honored [respected] by submitting “our views to their judgment and will”.38 Insofar as the Jesuits were concerned, Ethiopia’s rebellion against Catholicism was thus an act of insubordination against fathers in both the religious and secular sense of the word. Our witnesses’ explanations for their mission’s failure shed light on their limitations and how they viewed the people 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 13.92. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 13.265. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.137. G.R. Evans, A Brief History of Heresy (Padstow/Cornwall: Blackwell Publishing, 2003), 49. Evans, A Brief History, 53–4. Catechism, Donovan (ed.), 353. Catechism, Donovan (ed.), 354.

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that they were seeking to convert. From the perspective of Mendes and his ilk, the setback was closely tied to the uprisings and political chaos that roiled the Kingdom at the time. In fact, they believed that this sort of rebelliousness is inherent to Ethiopia. While each revolt during Mendes’ patriarchy was triggered by a particular cause, they were all motivated, to some degree, by the opposition’s desire to restore the Alexandrine faith.39 As Barradas put it, They [i. e., the Church’s opponents] want to saddle our holy faith with faults she does not have. And being quite natural to Ethiopia…, the uprisings and wars are like clouds to air, thorns to the earth[,] and winds and tempests to the sea; they now say that after she [i. e., Catholicism] has been admitted, everything will be ravaged by war. It is true that all those who rise up [against Susənyos] take advantage of this excuse in order to recruit men, for they believe it is more sincere than openly confessing that they are doing it out of insubordination to their King.40

In short, the Emperor reinstated the Orthodox Church on the premise that Catholicism had stoked a great deal of violence. However, Barradas felt that opposition to Rome was merely a guise on the part of Susənyos’ enemies for aggregating more power.41 The Jesuits well understood that their denomination could triumph only so long as it remained in harmony with raison d’état. Barradas noted how Susənyos was forced to play down his own Catholic fervor amid the uprisings. Likewise, in a letter to Father Diogo de Matos in April of 1624, Father António Fernandes attributed the Emperor’s decision to grant his subjects religious freedom to his “fear of the rebel Cabrael, who then held power”. Under the threat of mutiny, “the King … was hesitant to curtail his own [power]”.42 Political calculations also stood behind Susənyos’ decision to refrain from mentioning his adoption of the Roman faith in his chronicle.43 Mendes reprimanded the Emperor for ingratiating himself to the Masses by permitting them to revert to the Orthodox Church: “It is easier for everyone to walk down the long path of their grandparents’ traditions than to walk down the afflicted path of the Catholic faith.”44

39 40 41 42 43

Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 13.212. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 13.4. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 4.60. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 4.27–8. I. Orlowska, “The Chronicle of Susneyos as an Ethiopian Source for Research on the Jesuit Period in Ethiopia”, in B. Yimam et al. (ed.), Ethiopian Studies at the End of the Second Millennium. Proceedings of the XIVth International Conference of Ethiopian Studies, 6–11 November 2000, Addis Ababa (Addis Ababa: Institute of Ethiopian Studies, Addis Ababa University, 2002) 1.422–34. 44 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 13.6.

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In the Patriarch’s estimation, Susənyos’ changed course after a grisly battle against the rebels. Although the sovereign won this particular encounter, it came at the expense of thousands of casualties on either side.45 Similarly, de Almeida pointed to a battle on June 7, 1632. Insurgent noblemen led a force that was comprised of thousands of Lasta peasants, but most of them were destitute – wearing “not cloth but cow hide”46 – and poorly-armed. Thanks to his superiority in equipment and ‘Divine Providence’, Susənyos routed his foes. However, given the penury of the defeated troops, the spoils were paltry at best. De Almeida’s viewed this to be the Emperor’s greatest military achievement, but it spelled the beginning of the end for the Jesuit mission. Once the fighting had subsided, ‘heretics’ accompanied Susənyos past the legions of mutilated bodies that were strewn across the battlefield and appealed to his conscience: “Do you see, Lord, this slaughter? These are not moors, Gallas [Oromo], gentiles, or enemies of your Empire that lie dead here; these are your own vassals, our blood, our brothers, and family.”47 They advised the Emperor that he could relieve the tension in the Kingdom and put an end to the fratricide by restoring the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. Emboldened by the chaos throughout the Empire, there were courtesans who dared counsel that “the faith of Rome was better for the soul, but for the Kingdom, the Alexandrine faith was best”. Alternatively, other members of the court sought to erase the borders between the two Churches by arguing that both Rome and Alexandria deemed Jesus to be ‘a true God and true Man’. Moreover, they claimed that the entire debate over Christ’s nature was superfluous. To the Jesuits, these arguments underscored the doctrinal inconsistencies of their opponents. In any event, these words did not fall on deaf ears. From hereon in, the Emperor started making concessions that would allow him to hold on to the throne. By respecting the Kingdom’s ancestral faith and granting religious freedom to his subjects, he hoped to silence the rebels and restore the peace.48 On June 18, the ruler convened a meeting of notables to assess the state of the Empire. Most of the delegates opined that the solution to Ethiopia’s problems was to reinstitute a single faith across the entire Kingdom. Since the Lasta were adamantly opposed to Catholicism, it was decided that all Ethiopians should find a place under the wings of their ancestral Church. De Almeida cites the advice give by some members of the nobility to Susənyos. According to his testimony they implore the Emperor to allow his subjects to practice their own venerable rites and beliefs:

45 46 47 48

Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 13.4. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.162. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.165. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.168.

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Faith is very good, but for this people there is no place in their hearts other than for the faith of their fathers. Who will persuade them to stray from the circumcision that they were raised with, always abhorring the Colafâs [uncircumcised]? Those of us who abandoned the faith of our fathers’ fathers, they call moors; they see that we not only refrain from keeping the Sabbath, but we fast and break the fast on Wednesday; they see that many churches have been shut down, lest ancient Masses be officiated therein; blood is not given at communion; they are astounded by these novelties; the feasts have been changed; they say that those of us who do not observe them are heretics. Who can put such new things into the mind of these people?49

What is more, the Jesuits assumed that Ethiopian politics was hopelessly unstable, beyond the repair of Rome. De Almeida claimed that “fake Christians”, namely a group of converts who did not sincerely embrace the Kingdom’s new religion, had agitated for a return to their ancient traditions. To this end, these “deceivers” held conversations with the Emperor that weakened the base support of Catholicism; and the “evil government” ultimately chose a “venal religion”.50 With the ascendance of Emperor Fasilädäs, the Society of Jesus’ collaboration with the sovereign – a staple of the Jesuits’ missionary strategy – fell apart and the order was soon banished from the land.

Ritual Issues One of the projects that Mendes advanced during his patriarchy was the translation of Catholic Masses into Gəʿəz, with the objective of supplanting the traditional Ethiopian liturgy. Along with the ordainment of new priests, this initiative was part of a grand scheme to launch a reformation in the African Kingdom. On the premise that the traditional Masses did not contravene Catholic rite, Susənyos urged Mendes to allow the Orthodox version to be administered as well. The prelate was initially dead set against this modification. However, given the Emperor’s precarious political state, the Patriarch eventually yielded to this demand on the following conditions: the Ethiopian liturgy would undergo amendment;51 and the weekly fast would be moved from Saturday to Wednesday.52 These changes indeed went into effect. According to de Almeida, 49 50 51 52

Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.139–40. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.165. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.62. During his last months on the throne, Susənyos dispatched a missive to the patriarch that referred to these developments: “We understand all that was written therein [i. e., Mendes’ letter] regarding matters that Your Grace granted to us . . . with the objective of putting an end to the uprisings and mollifying the people, namely fasting on Wednesday, not Sabbath, and officiating old masses that were amended by the patriarch.” Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.144.

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though, the Catholic leadership soon lost its grip over the ceremony, as original versions of the Mass began to resurface throughout the Kingdom.53 Succumbing to pressure, Mendes subsequently allowed feasts to be held according to the old Ethiopian calendar. The lone exception to this rule was Easter; for the date of this festival was set by the Council of Nicaea, so that the Church deemed it to be sacrosanct.54 The Patriarch explained to Susənyos the rationale behind his decisions: The … customs – fasting on Wednesday, amended Masses, and the feasts – that His Highness [i. e., the Emperor] had initially asked for, he [Mendes] had already conceded and was ready to concede anything that was not against the holy faith or under his jurisdiction. Yet if His Highness did not intend to change the faith [of the land], then let him proclaim that he was beholden to the faith of Rome and that this [is what] he wanted and [universally] commanded…55

Both de Almeida and Mendes were indeed cognizant of the need to adapt the Catholic message to local conditions. The crux of the matter, though, was deciding what areas were open to change and how far to go.56 Furthermore, on certain issues, the Jesuits’ hands were tied by their commitment to the Tridentine worldview. De Almeida expounded on the missionaries’ dilemma. Facing complex political and social circumstances, they were forced to determine which local rituals and customs were incompatible with Catholic doctrine. As expected, the Patriarch’s compromises aroused quite a bit of suspicion. In justifying Mendes’ initial resistance to the Emperor’s lobbying, de Almeida averred that the heretics would try to contaminate the Catholic faith step by small step; and with the restoration of their old customs, the populace would revert to their misguided and heretical ways.57 Compromising on these matters, he felt, would not merely cut down a branch, but fell the whole tree.58 Here too, the decrees of the Council of Trent apparently dictated the Jesuits’ Ethiopian policy. In a sense, the argument can be made that Mendes was caught between the Council’s ideological rigor and the need for flexibility vis-à-vis a society that was averse to ritualistic hierarchy, centralization, and homogeneity.

53 54 55 56

Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.63. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.141. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.140. While contending with similar dilemmas in China, Father Domingo Fernández Navarrete, a Dominican monk, paraphrased Saint Augustine (Epist. 18, chap. 5): “What is not contrary to the Faith or good morals should not be changed, but should be left as is, in agreement with Saint Thomas who said that there are customs which Nec prosunt, nec obsunt, regarding our Religion, in which a missionary should not intervene.” J.S. Cummins, Jesuit and Friar in the Spanish Expansion to the East (London: Variorum Reprints, 1986), 87. 57 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.141. 58 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.140.

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Similar to the Provincial Councils of Lima,59 Trent had a substantial impact on Mendes’ plans to consolidate the priesthood. More specifically, he wanted every Ethiopian priest to be assigned to a specific church and to undergo a basic primer in Catholicism, the ceremony of the Roman Mass included. Moreover, no candidate that was unfamiliar to the Catholic leadership was to be ordained without a testimonial letter from the Patriarch himself.60 These steps notwithstanding, Mendes failed to erect a disciplined version of Catholicism in Ethiopia and was compelled to give a reckoning before the Emperor for this failure. The Patriarch claimed that he had had no personal desire to run the Kingdom’s Catholic Church, but had merely answered the call of the Roman Pontiff and the King of Portugal. He also reminded Susənyos that the latter had sent tens of missives beseeching the Pope and King to dispatch a Patriarch to his realm: “All of Ethiopia accepted me as their father and pastor and swore on my hands to always obey the Roman Church.”61 This apologetic tone suggests that Mendes was already planning his departure and was concerned about whether his superiors would hold him responsible for the mission’s shortcomings. As the Patriarch himself put it, And though I return to India and make my own grave in Fəremona at the feet of the grave of Patriarch Dom André [de Oviedo], the same will be surely said in all of India, all of Europe, and throughout the world knowing that I was shown the door.62

For this reason, he asked the Emperor to put down in writing the reasons behind his expulsion, be they for preaching “a false doctrine …, grievous faults or sins”, failing to “perfectly” carry out “pastoral duties”, conceit, passing unmerciful judgments, maintaining a “slothful or unkempt” appearance, “or for anything else”.63 Mendes believed that he had done everything in his power to overcome the challenges that arose during his tenure. In a letter addressed to Fasilädäs, the Patriarch elaborated on the agreements that he had struck with Susənyos in an effort to adapt the Catholic rite to the local culture: “I conceded everything that was not contrary to Divine Right with the exception of communion to noncelebrating priests in utraque specie [in both species].” While not in violation of Catholic doctrine per se, “this concession is reserved for the Roman Pontiff, successor of Saint Peter and Vicar of Christ on Earth”.64 59 S. Aparicio, Influjo de Trento en los Concilios limenses (Madrid: Raycar S. A. Impresores, 1972). 60 Braga, Arquivo Distrital, Ms. 778, fol. 361v. 61 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.215. 62 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.215–16. 63 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.216. 64 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.216.

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Communion under two species (i. e., the consecrated bread and wine of the Eucharist) was prevalent in the Ethiopian Church at the time Catholicism was declared the official religion of the land. Thereafter, this sort of communion became a telltale sign of ‘schismatic’ practice. Mendes’ position on this issue was in full accord with the Council of Trent and the liberties that a Patriarch could take within the Church hierarchy.65 Communion under two species had been practiced in Europe for over a thousand years,66 but had fallen into disuse. By the sixteenth century, it had evolved into what Jedin refers to as a “combative symbol of the rebellion against the Church of Rome; a symbol of the emancipation that non-celebrating priests had to achieve by any means possible and of the freedom of Christians”.67 Much to the chagrin of the reformers who wanted to reintroduce this type of communion, the Council reached the following decision: “Whether the reasons which led the holy Catholic Church to communicate the laity and even non-celebrating priests in the form of bread alone are so compelling that the chalice is not to be allowed to these for any reason;” and, “Whether, if for reasons that are proper and according to christian charity it seems right to allow the chalice to an individual or nation or kingdom, this should be allowed on certain conditions, and what these are.” Now the Council, desiring the best solution for the salvation of those on whose behalf the petition was made, has decided to refer the whole matter to our most holy lord, and by this decree so refers it, so that in his unrivalled wisdom he may judge what will be best for the christian community and most salutary for those requesting the use of the chalice.68 65 A heated controversy erupted at the Council of Trent on July 30, 1562 over the practical question of whether to allow the laity to have use of the chalice, at least in certain regions. On September 15, a mere two days before de Session, the legates proposed that the matter be referred to the pope. J.W. O’Malley, Trent: What Happened at the Council (Cambridge, MA/ London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2013), 187 and 195. 66 The Council of Constance (1414–18) had strictly forbidden communion under two species. Accordingly, it determined that Christ is indivisibly received under each kind. Two decades later, though, the Compactata of the Council of Basel permitted the most moderate branch of the Hussites to take this sort of communion, albeit with certain restrictions. H. Jedin, El Concilio de Trento en su última etapa. Crisis y conclusión, J.A. Maylin (trans.) (Barcelona: Herder, 1965), 57. 67 Jedin, El Concilio de Trento, 57. 68 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, N.P. Tanner/G. Alberigo (ed.) (2 vol.; London: Sheed & Ward/Washington: Georgetown University Press, 1990), 2. 741: “An rationes, quibus sancta catholica ecclesia adducta fuit, ut communicaret laicos atque etiam non celebrantes sacerdotes sub una panis specie, ita sint retinendae, ut nulla ratione calicis usus cuiquam sit permittendus;” and: “An, si honesties et christianae charitati consentaneis rationibus concedendus alicui vel nationi vel regno calicis usus videatur, sub aliquibus conditionibus concedendus sit, et quaenam illae sint,” in aliud tempus, oblate sibi occasione, examinandos atque diffiniendos reservaverit: nunc eorum, pro quibus petitur, saluti optimum consultum volence, decrevit, integrum negotium ad sanctissimum dominum nostrum esse referendum, prout praesenti decreto refert; qui pro sua singulari prudential id efficiat, quid utile rei publicae christianae et salutare petentibus usum calicis fore iudicaverit.

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Succinctly put, the decree can be broken down into three basic parts: all of Christ was in each of the species; communion from the chalice is not absolutely necessary for obedience to Christ; and the Church had had valid reasons for modifying this rite.69 In light of the above, only the Pope had the authority to allow a diocese to administer communion under two species. For example, Pius XI sanctioned it in regions of Christendom where it was so desired.70 Barring such consent, though, it was deemed a schismatic act. In a letter dated September 12, 1637, the prefect Cardinal of the Sacred Congregation de Propaganda Fide instructed Mendes, in the name of Pope Urban VIII, to tolerate communion under two species in Ethiopia. However, no such leeway was given regarding circumcision and the unique nature of Christ.71 At any rate, by the time of this papal allowance, the Society of Jesus had long been exiled from the Kingdom. The Jesuits’ attitude towards Ethiopian Baptism is particularly captivating. The Council of Trent left no doubt that baptisms administered by schismatic Christians were acceptable both in Europe and abroad: “If anyone says that the baptism which is given by the heretics in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, with the intention of doing what the Church does, is not a true baptism: let him be anathema.”72 Nevertheless, Jesuits occasionally insisted on re-baptizing its Ethiopian recruits. This deviation from the Council’s teachings may stem from what the missionaries viewed as the lack of a unique and uniform baptism formula in Ethiopia. In other words, every local priest administered the rite as he saw fit. That said, the Order had no problem with the local “substance”, for the Ethiopians “baptized with elemental water” and were thus free of “errors”.73 According to De Almeida, The formula was for those who only knew how to say: “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost a God,” whereupon they added “your name is such”. However, not many [Ethiopian priests] were familiar with this formula. The common formula was: “I baptize you once in the Father, again in the Son, and again in 69 J. Aldazábal, “La Eucaristía”, in D. Borobio et al. (ed.), La Celebración en la Iglesia (Salamanca: Ediciones Sígueme, 1988) 2.181–436, on p. 432; O’Malley, Trent, 188. 70 J.M. Huels, “Trent and the Chalice: Forerunner of Vatican II?”, Worship 56/5 (1982) 386–400, on pp. 398–9. For more on this subject, see the exhaustive work of G.L.M.J. Constant, Concession a l’Allemagne de la communion sous les deux espèces. Etude sur les debuts de la reforme catholique en Allemagne, 1548–1621 (2 vol.; Paris: E. de Boccard, 1923). His book includes an extensive collection of relevant documents. 71 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 13.128–9. 72 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.685: “Si quis dixerit, baptismum, qui etiam datur ab haereticis in nominee Patris et Filii et Spiritus sancti, cum intentione faciendi, quod facit ecclesia, non esse verum baptismum: a.s. “Canones de sacramento baptismi 4.” 73 Conversely, de Almeida disapproved of the wine of the Eucharist that was commonplace in Ethiopia because it was made entirely of prunes and water. That is to say, it contained no actual wine. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 6.137.

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the Holy Ghost.” And even this formula, though wrong, was not known to many clergymen. For the rest, every individual [priest] improvised their own: “I baptize you in the Holy Ghost,” many others “I baptize you in the waters of the Jordan,” others “May God baptize you,” “Baptism has come to you,” and others said nothing and simply recited a portion from the Gospel.74

Manuel Barradas and Jerónimo Lobo similarly lamented over how every priest concocted his own baptism liturgy, regardless of how “absurd” the outcome was.75 Father Pedro Páez was unhappy with the version “I baptize you in the Holy Ghost”. At one of the imperial court’s main churches, Páez saw an Ethiopian priest baptizing a young gentile boy with the words: “I baptize you in the name of the Father and the Holy Ghost.” When the missionary asked the priest why “the Son” had been left out, he replied that that was how the Portuguese administered the ceremony. For the local clergy member, adding “the Son” could be construed as acquiescing to a Jesuit command.76 Owing to this lack of structure, the missionaries had their doubts regarding the validity of the Ethiopian baptism and thus went so far as to re-baptize the local populace. In a missive sent to the Catholic Patriarch soon after succeeding his father, Fasilädäs noted that his subjects found this practice offensive and, in the ruler’s estimation, exacerbated their animosity towards the missionaries.77 During his final years at the helm, Susənyos entreated Mendes to sanction the practice of circumcision. Like the observance of the Sabbath and certain dietary restrictions, circumcision was deeply rooted in Ethiopian Christianity, but the Jesuits deemed it to be a glaring vestige of Judaism. In making this request, the Emperor was basically asking the Patriarch for a lifeline that would help him contend with the disturbances throughout the Kingdom. However, Mendes summarily rejected this appeal on the grounds that circumcision was contrary to the Roman faith. Susənyos responded that the prelate was making much ado over a small piece of flesh and that circumcision was practiced in Ethiopia “for beauty” alone.78 Father Barradas reported that given the pressure that the Emperor was 74 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 6.138–9. 75 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 4.288; J. Lobo, Itinerário e Outros Escritos Inéditos, M. Gonçalves da Costa (ed.) (Porto: Livraria Civilização – Editora, 1971), 378. 76 This criticism pertains to the question of the Filioque – “and (from) the Son”. Since the Great Schism of 1054, Latin Catholicism has maintained that the Holy Ghost derives from the Father and the Son. Conversely, Eastern Churches opine that the Holy Ghost emanated from the Father alone. This issue loomed large in the Christological debate in seventeenth-century Ethiopia. Including the Filioque in the Nicene Creed was akin to aknowledging the Catholic faith. Conversely, leaving it out was a sign of devotion to the Ethiopian-Alexandrine Church, which absolutely rejected the Filioque. L. Cohen, The Missionary Strategies of the Jesuits in Ethiopia (1555–1632) (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2009), 133–6. 77 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.221. 78 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 4.36. In 1557, Emperor Gälawdewos released a ‘con-

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under, he was toying with the idea of making circumcision mandatory throughout his realm. In the end, Wälättä Gyiorgis, a noblewoman, persuaded him to maintain his silence on this issue, while tacitly allowing subjects to circumcise their children.79 With respect to Sabbath observance, the Society of Jesus’ uncompromising attitude stemmed from the religious education that most missionaries received on the Iberian Peninsula during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In addition, this position was consistent with the Council of Trent’s distinction between the commandment to observe the Sabbath and the rest of the Decalogue. Whereas the other nine commandments accord with natural law, the fourth is subject to change because it falls under the heading of ceremonial law. “We are not,” the relevant catechism reads, “taught or formed by nature to give external worship to God on that rather than in any other day.” Furthermore, “the time when the observance of the Sabbath was to be removed, is that same time when the other Hebrew rites and ceremonies were to be abrogated, at the death of Christ.”80 Due to the Sabbath’s prominence in the ancient law, Mendes was unwilling to compromise on this matter. All told, the Patriarch believed that he had exhibited as much ritual flexibility as possible within the limitations of Catholic doctrine.

Conclusion All told, the Jesuits blamed their failure in Ethiopia on the local populace’s undisciplined temperament, which was ill-suited for strict religious observance. De Almeida argued that the complacency of Ethiopian faith was the main reason Christianity never managed to put down deep roots in the Empire and reach a level of authenticity. Even after Catholicism became the official religion of the land, the Church was unable to flush out heretical beliefs and practices. Dubbing the Kingdom’s notables ‘earthly children’, de Almeida claimed that many of them were more interested in a malleable doctrine that catered to their temporary interests than in adapting themselves to the genuine Roman faith.81 fession’ stating that “We do not circumcise in the way of the Jews”. Moreover, he argued that this practice is merely “a custom of the country – like the scarification of the face [practiced] in Ethiopia and Nubia; and like the perforation of the ears in India”. See E. Ullendorff, “The confession Fidei of King Claudius of Ethiopia”, Journal of Semitic Studies 32/1 (1987) 159–76, on pp. 168, 173–4. Also see L. Cohen, “The Portuguese Context of the Confessio Fidei of King Claudius”, in B. Yimam et al. (ed.), Ethiopian Studies at the End of the Second Millennium, 1.152–68. 79 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 4.37. 80 Catechism, Donovan (ed.), 341. 81 Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.127.

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Several of the Jesuits under review suggested that the anti-Catholic movement had thrived on the weakness of the new faith. As a result of its overly accommodating, erratic, and eclectic nature, Ethiopian Catholicism had failed to command obedience or entrench itself in society. Likewise, de Almeida referred to a large group of Ethiopians who devised a quasi-concordat whereby they accepted the two natures of Christ, but followed the Alexandrine faith in every other respect. Moreover, he described the typical Ethiopian outlook with the following words: “The faith of Rome and Alexandria[,] each one has its goods and evils; separating the wheat from the chaff, we [i. e., Ethiopians] take from each what we think is best and the rest we leave.”82 Barradas also pointed to a “natural inconsistency which always accompanied, accompanies, and will accompany the people of Ethiopia”. For this reason, he believed, they inevitably gravitated back to the Alexandrine faith.83 According to Patriarch Mendes, they not only strayed from a handful of Catholic customs, but deliberately rejected key Roman articles of faith: [M]any said Christ was Son by Grace, others that He had two persons, others that He had one from two, others that He has only one nature, others that this one nature is composed of two and that He has neither two wills nor two operations; others that His divinity is dead, others that humanity is equal to divinity and that He is in every place; others that consecration can be done with raisins; others that the souls of children come from their parents; yet others say other similar things that rebuff the truth of the holy Scriptures and were condemned and proclaimed anathema by different councils.84

While several missionaries, like Gasparo Páez and Jerónimo Lobo, thought the Ethiopians possessed good religious inclinations,85 this was negated by their lack of rigor. Even when combined with the worship of the one true God, de Almeida believed that the native potpourri of beliefs and practices was equivalent to idolatry. More specifically, he claimed that this admixture confuses “heaven and earth and hell itself, and sets the idol Dagam and the Ark of the Covenant on the same altar, bringing together God and Belial, light with darkness, truth with falsehood, virtue and evil”.86 This over-arching vision of an undisciplined local brand of Catholicism and a native temperament that is overly accommodating, flexible, and complacent is crucial to understanding not only how the Jesuits viewed their defeat at the hands of Ethiopians who had remained loyal to the Orthodox Church, but the manner in which they perceived their own selves.

82 83 84 85 86

Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.138. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 4.46. Rerum Aethiopicarum, Beccari (ed.), 7.238. Cohen, The Missionary Strategies, 178. Beccari, Rerum Aethiopicarum, 7.138.

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Bibliography Archival sources Braga, Arquivo Distrital, Ms. 779, Cartas Annais das Missões da Etiopia.

Printed and edited sources Barros de, Tomaz, Copia de una carta que escrivio el Padre Tomas de Barros de la Compañia de Iesus en Iunio de 622. al Padre General, en que declara lo que los de la Compañia hizieron en el Imperio de Etiopia, en el dicho año de 622. (s.l., s.d., [1622]), Puebla: Biblioteca Palafoxiana. Catechism of the Council of Trent, J.D.D. Donovan (ed. and trans.) (Dublin: J.M. O’Toole & Son, 1867). Lobo, J., Itinerário e Outros Escritos Inéditos, M. Gonçalves da Costa (ed.) (Porto: Livraria Civilização – Editora, 1971). Mendes, Afonso, Bran Haimanot: Id est. Lux Fidei in Ephitalamium Aethiopissae Sive in Nuptias Verbi et Ecclesiae (Coloniae Agrippinae, 1692). Rerum Aethiopicarum Scriptores Occidentales Inediti a Saeculo XVI ad XIX, C. Beccari (ed.) (15 vol.; Rome: C. De Luigi, 1903–1917). Ullendorff, E., “The Confessio Fidei of King Claudius of Ethiopia”, Journal of Semitic Studies 32/1 (1987) 159–76.

Secondary sources Aldazábal, J., “La Eucaristía”, in D. Borobio et al. (ed.), La Celebración en la Iglesia (2 vol., Salamanca: Ediciones Sígueme, 1988) 2.181–436. Aparicio, S., Influjo de Trento en los Concilios limenses (Madrid: Raycar S. A. Impresores, 1972). Belcher, W.L., “Sisters Debating the Jesuits: The Role of African Women in Defeating Portuguese Proto-Colonialism in Seventeenth Century Abyssinia”, Northeast African Studies 13/1 (2013) 121–66. Böll, V., “Holy Women in Ethiopia”, in B. Hirsch/M. Kropp (ed.), Saints, Biographies and History in Africa, Nordostafrikanisch-Westasiastiche Studien (Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2003) 5.31–45. Chernetsov, S., “A Transgressor of the Norms of Female Behaviour in the Seventeenth Century Ethiopia – the Heroine of the ‘Life of Our Mother Walatta Petros’”, Khristianskij Vostok 4/10 (2006) 56–72. Cohen, L./Martínez d’Alòs-Moner, A., “The Jesuit Mission to Ethiopia (16th–17th Centuries): An Analytical Bibliography”, Aethiopica 9 (2006) 190–212. Cohen, L., The Missionary Strategies of the Jesuits in Ethiopia (1555–1632) (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2009). Cohen, L., “The Portuguese Context of the Confessio Fidei of King Claudius”, in B. Yimam et al. (ed.), Ethiopian Studies at the End of the Second Millennium. Proceedings of the

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XIVth International Conference of Ethiopian Studies, 6–11 November 2000, Addis Ababa (Addis Ababa: Institute of Ethiopian Studies, Addis Ababa University, 2002) 1.152–68. Constant, G.L.M.J., Concession a l’Allemagne de la communion sous les deux espèces. Etude sur les debuts de la reforme catholique en Allemagne, 1548–1621 (2 vol.; Paris: E. de Boccard, 1923). Cummins, J.S., Jesuit and Friar in the Spanish Expansion to the East (London: Variorum Reprints, 1986). Dalgado, S.R., Glosário Luso-Asiático (2 vol.; Coimbra: Academia das Sciências de Lisboa, Imprensa da Universidade, 1919). Evans, G.R., A Brief History of Heresy (Padstow/Cornwall: Blackwell Publishing, 2003). Geist, G., L’influence portugaise sur la femme éthiopienne aux XVIème et XVIIème siècles (Coimbra: Coimbra Editora, Limitada, 1986). Huels, J.M., “Trent and the Chalice: Forerunner of Vatican II?” Worship 56/5 (1982) 386– 400. Jedin, H., El Concilio de Trento en su última etapa. Crisis y conclusión, trans. Jaime Arbona Maylin (Barcelona: Herder, 1965). Madrigal, S., Estudios de Eclesiología Ignaciana (Madrid: Universidad Pontificia Comillas/ Desclée de Brower, 2002). Orlowska, I., “The Chronicle of Susneyos as an Ethiopian Source for Research on the Jesuit Period in Ethiopia”, in B. Yimam et al. (ed.), Ethiopian Studies at the End of the Second Millennium. Proceedings of the XIVth International Conference of Ethiopian Studies, 6– 11 November 2000, Addis Ababa (Addis Ababa: Institute of Ethiopian Studies, Addis Ababa University, 2002) 1.422–34. Venard, M., “El quinto concilio de Letrán (1512–1517) y el concilio de Trento (1545–1563)”, in G. Alberigo (ed.), Historia de los concilios ecuménicos (Salamanca: Ediciones Sígueme, 1993) 269–312.

S. Elizabeth Penry

Canons of the Council of Trent in Arguments of Priests and Indians over Images, Chapels and Cofradías in Seventeenth-Century Peru

The aim of this essay is to demonstrate that indigenous people in the Viceroyalty of Peru (known as Indians by colonizing Spaniards) were active participants in what John O’Malley felicitously terms Early Modern Catholicism.1 I join other scholars such as Karen Melvin and Simon Ditchfield in rethinking the active roles played by actors in the so-called periphery in creating that world.2 This is not to suggest that indigenous Andeans’ understandings of the decrees of the Council of Trent or more generally of Tridentine Christianity were identical to their Iberian counterparts, although William Christian’s account of local religious practices in Spain suggests similarities. Much like the King’s European vassals, Andeans formed confraternities, celebrated the saints, and demanded that their parish priest attend to them.3 Andeans’ uptake of Tridentine discourse was facilitated not only by active missionizing but also by other aspects of Spanish colonization, particularly the resettlement of the indigenous population into Spanish-modeled towns, roughly equivalent to parishes, complete with resident priests. Indigenous Andeans adapted the town model to their own uses, along the way creating local uptakes of Tridentine Christianity through their actions and words. This essay is divided into four parts beginning with a brief overview of the place of the Tridentine reforms in sixteenth-century Spain. Second, a short re1 J.W. O’Malley, Trent and All That: Renaming Catholicism in the Early Modern Era (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, 2000), 8. 2 K. Melvin, “The Globalization of Reform”, in A. Bamji/G.H. Janssen/M. Laven (ed.), The Ashgate Research Companion to the Counter-Reformation (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2013) 435–51; S. Ditchfield, “Tridentine Catholicism”, in Bamji/Janssen/Laven (ed.), The Ashgate Research Companion to the Counter-Reformation, 15–31. 3 I follow O’Malley, Ditchfield and others who distinguish what the Council of Trent actually did from later bulls, decrees, and customs inspired by Trent, or what some have termed the mythologization of Trent. J.W. O’Malley, Trent: What Happened at the Council (Cambridge, MA/London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2013), 11; Ditchfield, “Tridentine Catholicism”; W.A. Christian, Local Religion in Sixteenth-Century Spain (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University, 1981).

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view of the Spanish civilizational project for Andeans, a project that was both civil and religious and in which the Tridentine reforms importantly figure. Third, the heart of the essay is a microhistorical account of the experiences of one group of indigenous people in the Viceroyalty of Peru as they used Tridentine discourse in petitioning the ecclesiastical power structure of the archbishopric of La Plata (modern Bolivia) to respect their legal rights to honor their saint image in their own chapel against the local priest’s accusations of idolatry and refusal to say Mass there. Finally by way of conclusion, a brief coda that attends to an eighteenth-century case where a radical uptake of the Tridentine Catechism for indigenous Andeans, designed to distance them from their ancient gods, instead led to a ‘Protestant’ critique of transubstantiation. These final two sections demonstrate the tenacity, creativity and agency of indigenous Andeans as they interpreted Early Modern Catholicism in their own terms. As a whole, the essay points to the impact of the decrees of the Council of Trent in the everyday lives of native Andeans. It also demonstrates how the actions and words of native Andeans shaped Tridentine Christian religious practices, especially in regard to the role that confraternities and saints played in defining a community.

The Place of Tridentine Reforms in Sixteenth Century Spain Early twentieth-century Spanish historian Marcelino Menéndez Pelayo insisted that the Council of Trent was “as Spanish as it was ecumenical”.4 The Franco regime, in an effort to link itself to the glories of Spain’s Golden Age, took up this idea of a Spanish dominated Council and made it official dogma. Historian Fernández Terricabras has recently demonstrated that the notion that Spaniards dominated the Council, either in terms of numbers or outcomes was false, that most scholars would now term it a ‘Mediterranean’ Council.5 While the Council cannot be described as Spanish, Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Spain, did play a major role in calling for the Council, and his son, Philip II took an active part in its conclusion and was responsible for the promulgation of its decrees in the Spanish Empire. Charles’ goal had been religious and political stability in Europe, which he believed could be achieved through reform of the Church. Indeed, Charles believed that it was the great need for reform that had paved the way for Lutheran critiques.6 Certainly, there was much demand for religious and political reform within Spain in the early years of the sixteenth 4 Menéndez Pelayo quoted in I. Fernández Terricabras, “‘As Spanish as It Was Ecumenical’: Was the Catholic Reformation a Spanish Event?”, in P. Optiz (ed.), The Myth of the Reformation (Göttingen/Bristol, CT: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2013), 32–58, on p. 33. 5 Fernández Terricabras, “‘As Spanish as It Was Ecumenical’”, 34. 6 O’Malley, Trent, 14.

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century. Almost immediately upon ascending the Spanish throne, Charles was confronted by a revolution of commoners demanding a larger share in governance and justice.7 Although Charles succeeded in putting down the Comunero Revolt in 1521, the political upheaval merged with simmering religious unrest. The early sixteenth century also saw increased Erasmian sympathies in Spain, culminating in Spain’s own protestants and the alumbrado movement, which “rejected the external precepts of the Church, practiced mental prayer, and sought mystical union with God”. Indeed, Sara Nalle found Protestant sympathies at all levels of society in the mid-sixteenth century Castilian city of Cuenca.8 Beyond these revolutionary ideas, more common Spanish complaints were echoed across Catholic Europe: ill-prepared or ignorant priests, moral laxity among the clergy, absent clergy sometimes claiming multiple benefices, and a general lack of knowledge among the laity of key tenets of the faith. As John O’Malley and others have noted, Trent either did not address or only narrowly considered many things that in retrospect would seem to have been key issues. In particular, the delegates at Trent did not take up the subject of the newly opened mission fields in the Americas, and barely touched on the role of confraternities, both important issues within the Spanish realms. Maureen Flynn in her study of confraternities in the Castilian city of Zamora argues that Trent ultimately had a “quite modest” impact on “popular piety”. Most Zamoran confraternities continued to operate much as before, although the 1604 bull Quaecumque enhanced bishops’ control over confraternities initiated by the Council of Trent. Certainly in Spain confraternities provided the core of the laity’s practice and beliefs, and played the dominant role in charity. Even at the end of the eighteenth century Zamora, admittedly an extreme case, had nearly fourteen confraternities for every 1.000 inhabitants.9 Confraternities were introduced to Amerindians in the wake of the Spanish invasions, and in short order became a source of contention as the apparent success of Indian confraternities led to greater efforts to monitor and control

7 There is an enormous literature in Spanish, and to a much lesser degree in English, on the 1520–21 Revolution of the Communities in Castile (also known as the Comunero Revolt). Key works include: J.A. Maravall, Las Comunidades de Castilla. Una Primera Revolución Moderna (Madrid: Revista de Occidente, 1963); J. Pérez, La Revolución de las Comunidades de Castilla 1520–1521 (Madrid: Siglo Veintiuno de España, 1998); S. Haliczer, The Comuneros of Castile: The Forging of a Revolution, 1475–1521 (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin, 1981); A. Espinosa, The Empire of the Cities: Emperor Charles V, the Comunero Revolt and the Transformation of the Spanish System (Leiden: Brill, 2009). 8 S.T. Nalle, God in La Mancha Religious Reform and the People of Cuenca, 1500–1650 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University, 1992), 20 and 33. 9 M. Flynn, Sacred Charity: Confraternities and Social Welfare in Spain, 1400–1700 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1989), 137, 119 and 139.

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their activities, and limit their numbers.10 However, the overall mission to Christianize native Americans, or any other peoples outside of Europe, was not a subject taken up by the delegates at Trent. In fact, no bishops from the Americas were in attendance at Trent; their presence was prohibited in effect by Charles V.11 The initial papal bull calling for a General Council, Ad dominici gregis curam, reached Mexico in 1537.12 Although the Archbishop of Mexico City, Juan de Zumárraga, and other bishops expressed strong interest in attending, Charles V requested a dispensation from the Pope allowing for the absence of American bishops due to distance and to the need for them to oversee the conversion of the indigenous peoples. A few American bishops attempted to attend the Council: Vasco de Quiroga, Bishop of Michoacán (Mexico) set out for Trent, only to be turned back at the port of Vera Cruz, with a royal order forbidding travel to the Council. Bishop of Popayán (present day Colombia), Juan del Valle, determined to make the Council aware of the abuses against the Indians by encomenderos (Spaniards with claims to Indian labor), nearly succeeded in attending, only to die in France before reaching the Council.13 The Council ended in 1563, and on 26 January 1564 Pope Pius IV officially confirmed the decrees. Although Philip II had opposed submitting the decrees for papal ‘approval’, less than two weeks later he accepted the decrees, and promulgated them within Spain and related areas under his rule on 12 July 1564.14 Spanish delegates to the Council had failed in their efforts to enhance episcopal authority vis-à-vis the Pope, but they returned home zealous in their efforts to reform their dioceses.15 As part of its reform agenda, the Council of Trent had called for regular provincial councils to be held to correct errors and insure that the decrees of Trent were followed. Shortly after announcing his acceptance of its 10 The enthusiastic uptake of confraternities led ecclesiastic officials to try to limit each indigenous town to only two or three saints’ advocations. Even so, the eighteenth century it was not uncommon for one indigenous town to celebrate ten saints, see Buenos Aires, Archivo General de la Nación, 13.18.9.2, “Padrón de Pocoata 1754”. 11 I. Fernández Terricabras, Felipe II y el Clero Secular: La Aplicación del Concilio de Trento (Madrid: Sociedad Estatal para la Conmemoración de los Centenarios de Felipe II y Carlos V, 2000), 43. 12 O’Malley, Trent, 68; E. Dussel, A History of the Church in Latin America: Colonialism to Liberation (Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co, 1981), 138. 13 Dussel, A History of the Church, 138–9. 14 O’Malley, Trent, 246; Flynn, Sacred Charity, 119. Parker notes how firmly Philip controlled the Tridentine reforms, see G. Parker, The World is Not Enough: The Imperial Vision of Philip II of Spain (Waco, TX: Baylor University, 2000). 15 One of the more renowned Spanish delegates who worked for a clear statement of divine authority for bishops was Archbishop of Granada Pedro Guerrero, see O’Malley, Trent, 197. Coleman compares Guerrero’s the efforts to ‘Christianize’ Granada with the nearly simultaneous efforts to convert native Andeans and sees many similarities in method and reaction, D. Coleman, Creating Christian Granada: Society & Religious Culture in an OldWorld Frontier City, 1492–1600 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2003).

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decrees, Philip II issued the call for provincial councils. The most important of these provincial councils for Spain was held in 1565 in the city of Toledo. Philip II chose as his representative to his council Francisco de Toledo. Born in 1515, Francisco de Toledo had already led a distinguished career, having served the Crown in Germany, Africa, Flanders, Italy and France. Francisco de Toledo’s diligent work at the Provincial Council of Toledo in “canon and moral law” brought him to the attention of Cardinal Diego de Espinosa. Espinosa was a close adviser to Philip II and was instrumental in having Toledo named Viceroy of Peru. Among the delegates to the Provincial Council of Toledo was Don Pedro de La Gasca, who as president of the Audiencia in Lima (Peru) had put down the rebellion of Gonzalo Pizzaro in 1548.16 One can imagine that La Gasca and Toledo would have discussed conditions in the Viceroyalty. As Viceroy of Peru, Francisco de Toledo would play a fundamental role in introducing the decrees of the Council of Trent to native Andeans under his rule.

Viceroy Francisco de Toledo and Spain’s ‘Civilizing’ Project for Peru Spaniards had invaded and conquered the vast Inca Empire in the 1530s. This polyglot, poly-ethnic empire, ruled by the ‘Son of the Sun’ from the high-altitude capital city of Cuzco, reached from modern Ecuador in the north into modern Argentina and Chile in the south. The conquered territory was formally made the Viceroyalty of Peru in 1542, and until the end of the eighteenth century it included nearly all of present day Spanish-speaking South America. The decades following the Spanish invasion saw a series of civil wars among the conquerors as they fought over the spoils of conquest. Charles V, influenced by Dominican priest Bartolomé de las Casas had issued legislation curtailing the encomienda, grants of Indian labor to Spaniards. Attempts to enforce these laws led to the rebellion of Gonzalo Pizarro, who was captured and executed by forces led by Bishop Pedro de la Gasca.17 At the same time, the indigenous people of the Andes suffered a demographic collapse from war, disease, and abusive labor. It was during these frantic years that members of the mendicant orders began their efforts to convert indigenous people to Christianity.

16 L. Gómez Rivas, El Virrey del Perú Don Francisco de Toledo (Toledo: Instituto Provincial de Investigaciones y Estudios Toledanos, Diputación Provincial, 1994), chapter 5. Gómez Rivas makes clear that the Viceroy of Peru was not the same Francisco de Toledo who was in attendance at the Council of Trent, as some scholars have averred. 17 The classic work on encomienda for Peru is J. de la Puente Brunke, Encomienda y Encomenderos en el Perú: Estudio Social y Político de una Institución Colonial (Seville: Diputación Provincial, 1992).

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The Dominicans and Franciscans who made up the early mission to Peru had generously supposed that native Andeans’ interpretation of the world must in some way reflect knowledge of God, the world being his creation.18 These early missionaries had tolerated Andean forms of worship while aiming to substitute one sort of god for another, hence Quechua hymns praising the Virgin incorporated poetic language formerly used in praise of an Andean moon goddess.19 In this way, early conversion efforts in the Viceroyalty of Peru echoed the conversion of Europeans to Christianity, allowing or even encouraging syncretic practice as a path to Christianity.20 New Christian shrines were placed directly on top of pre-conquest holy sites, Christian saints were clothed in Andean textiles, and the earliest dictionaries compiled by priests provided indigenous language equivalents for Christian terminology. However, the missionizing zeal following the reforms of the Council of Trent produced a dramatic break in methods of evangelizing native Andeans in the Viceroyalty of Peru; no longer would Andean culture be accommodated in Christian practice.21 The new orthodoxy that followed in Trent’s wake produced hurdles that native Andeans could not overcome; no matter how sincere their protestations of Christian belief might be, they were held suspect as perpetual ‘new Christians’. Campaigns to root out idolatry soon followed. Viceroy Francisco de Toledo arrived in Peru in 1569 with a mandate to make the Viceroyalty orderly and profitable for Spain after years of protracted civil war and open rebellion against the Crown. His instructions, which included orders to reorganize indigenous civil and religious life, had been compiled over a fivemonth period of study and debate in 1568 with the Junta Magna, what Toledo termed “that so-qualified assembly”.22 Although they had access to various reports from colonial officials, none among this small group of men had experience in the Americas, their careers had been made as officers of the Holy Office of the Inquisition, or in high-ranking diocese office. How explicit the orders of the Junta Magna were, or how closely Toledo hewed to his ‘secret orders’ from the 18 S. MacCormack, “‘The Heart Has Its Reasons’: Predicaments of Missionary Christianity in Early Colonial Peru”, Hispanic American Historical Review 65/3 (1985) 443–66. 19 B. Mannheim, The Language of the Inka Since the European Invasion (Austin, TX: University of Texas, 1991), 146. 20 MacCormack, “The Heart Has Its Reasons”. 21 Several scholars have noted a sharp break pre- and post-Trent in the manner of evangelizing the native Andeans. See A. Durston, Pastoral Quechua the History of Christian Translation in Colonial Peru, 1550–1650 (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame, 2007), 28–9; MacCormack, “The Heart Has Its Reasons”; J.C. Estenssoro Fuchs, Del Paganismo a la Santidad: la Incorporación de los Indios del Perú al Catolicismo, 1532–1750 (Lima: Instituto Francés de Estudios Andinos, Pontificia/Universidad Católica del Perú, 2003), chapters 3–4. 22 J. Mumford, Vertical Empire: The General Resettlement of Indians in the Colonial Andes (Durham, NC: Duke University, 2012), 75.

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Crown, has been a matter of debate among scholars. Jeremy Mumford has recently argued that the crown and Junta Magna produced broad mandates that not only left policy details up to Toledo but also left him to shoulder the responsibility (and blame) for the massive resettlement of indigenous people.23 That the Junta Magna also expected Toledo to implement religious reforms can be seen in the title of Toledo’s instructions, Doctrina y gobierno eclesiástico (“Doctrine and Ecclesiastic Government”). The Junta Magna sought to make clear the relationship between Philip and the Pope by reinforcing the Real Patronato, the royal patronage that the Spanish Crown had over appointment of church officials within their realm.24 In an effort to assert his own authority, Pope Pius V had proposed sending a papal nuncio to the Americas; when he changed his mind this was taken as an implicit endorsement of Toledo’s orders, thus allowing Toledo to be understood and present himself as representative of both King and Pope.25 One of the first orders of business for Toledo was the Visita General, a general inspection tour of the Viceroyalty. Toledo spent five years traversing the mountains and high plateaus of the Andes in a procession that was reminiscent of not only inspections by the pre-invasion Inca monarchs, but also of the episcopal inspections mandated by the Council of Trent.26 Certainly, Viceroy Toledo’s recent experience in implementing the Tridentine decrees at the 1565 Provincial Council of Toledo must have influenced his thinking.27 It was during this in23 Merluzzi argues that Toledo was fulfilling orders from the court and the Junta Magna. On the other hand, Mumford points out that in Toledo’s correspondence with the Crown he was constantly asking for more explicit orders. M. Merluzzi, Politica e Governo Nel Nuovo Mondo: Francisco de Toledo Viceré del Perù, 1569–1581 (Rome: Carocci, 2003), 64; Mumford, Vertical Empire, 79, chapter 6 passim. 24 El Tercer Concilio Limense y la Aculturación de los Indígenas Sudamericanos: Estudio Crítico con Edición, Traducción y Comentario de las Actas del Concilio Provincial Celebrado en Lima Entre 1582 y 1583, F.L. Lisi (ed.) (Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca, 1990), 28. 25 P. Tineo, “La Evangelización de Perú en las Instrucciones Entregadas al Virrey Toledo (1569– 1581)”, in A. Pazos/J.I. Saranyana (ed.), Evangelización y Teología en America Siglo XVI (Pamplona: Servicio de Publ. de la Univ. de Navarra, 1990) 273–95, on pp. 275, 280. Toledo’s instructions have been published in L. Hanke/C. Rodríguez (ed.), Los virreyes españoles en América durante el gobierno de la Casa de Austria (Madrid: Atlas, 1978), 94–117. 26 References to specific Tridentine decrees are from Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, N.P. Tanner/G. Alberigo (ed.) (2 vol.; London: Sheed & Ward/Washington: Georgetown University Press, 1990). Tanner’s pagination directly corresponds to the COD, Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.688. 27 Although it is beyond the scope of this essay, a close comparison of Toledo’s ordinances for Indians and decrees of the Council Trent, as well the provincial councils following this in Spain and Peru would no doubt point to a great influence. It also could be argued that Toledo’s ordinances reflected the “wave of moralizing reform [that] swept over parts of Europe”, O’Malley, Trent, 261. Toledo was deeply concerned with marriage, sexual behavior, personal hygiene, intra-familial relations, and what a later generation would think of as manners.

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spection tour that upwards of 1.5 million native Andeans were forced to resettle from their small, dispersed hamlets into Castilian-styled towns known as reducciones.28 While there were many reasons why Toledo undertook such a massive resettlement project, one objective was to make evangelization easier.29 Rather than traversing the wind-swept and forbiddingly high altitudes of the Andes looking for possible converts, priests could teach their parishioners in one town. Spaniards imagined reducciones as a spatial display of imperial power. Reducciones were designed with rectilinear streets and central plazas, where the cacique, the native hereditary lord would have his home, where the cabildo, the town council would meet, and where the parish church would be erected. The rectilinear design and the new juridical and religious apparatus formed a kind of early modern social engineering, designed to make Indians into proper subjects of God and King.30 Spain’s only legal claim to the Americas rested on the 1493 bull Inter caetera, which obliged the Crown to evangelize the New World.31 Evangelization was only possible if Indians lived in buena policía, the good habits that came from the political and religious institutions that Spaniards associated exclusively with urban life.32 Each reducción, just as each Spanish town, was imagined as a self-governing república, complete with town council officers who had authority to negotiate for the town with colonial authorities, and even the right to directly address the King himself.33

28 On the meaning of the term reducción and its origins, see T. Cummins, “Forms of Colonial Towns, Free Will, and Marriage”, in C.L. Lyones/J.K. Papadopoulos (ed.), The Archeology of Colonialism (Los Angeles, CA: Getty Research Institute, 2002) 199–240 and W.F. Hanks, Converting Words: Maya in the Age of the Cross (Berkeley, CA: University of California, 2010). Earlier attempts to resettle the indigenous population had met with limited success because of lengthy wars of conquest and rebellion. See S.E. Ramírez, The World Upside Down CrossCultural Contact and Conflict in Sixteenth-Century Peru (Stanford, CA: Stanford University, 1996); A. Coello de la Rosa, “Resistencia e Integración en la Lima Colonial: El Caso de la Reducción de Indios de El Cercado de Lima (1564–1567)”, Revista Andina 35 (2002) 111–28. 29 Tineo, “La Evangelización del Perú”, 282–3. 30 Spaniards were hardly unanimous in their support for resettlement, see H.V. Scott, “A Mirage of Colonial Consensus: Resettlement Schemes in Early Spanish Peru”, Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 22/6 (2004) 885–99. 31 M. Góngora, Studies in the Colonial History of Spanish America (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University, 1975). 32 On buena policía, see R.L. Kagan/F. Marías, Urban Images of the Hispanic World, 1493–1793 (New Haven, CT: Yale University, 2000), 26–8, 36. On the relations between crown and town in Spain, see H. Nader, Liberty in Absolutist Spain: the Habsburg Sale of Towns, 1516–1700 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University, 1990). 33 For the Toledan ordinance defining ‘republics’ wherein Indians could govern themselves “in the manner of Spaniards”, see F. de Toledo, Disposiciones Gubernativas para el Virreinato del Perú (2 vol., Seville: Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 1986), 2.6.

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Along with town council offices, Spaniards also introduced confraternities, known as cofradías, to celebrate the new town’s patron saint. Cofradías quickly became very popular associations, so much so that early synods sought to curb their numbers.34 Cabildo and cofradía officers helped to maintain the parish archives, recording matters such as the official arrival ceremony of a new priest to the parish, and in the spirit of Trent, also noting his absences from the parish, ecclesiastical inspections, and a list of the ornaments pertaining to the church.35 Of course, also following Trent and the later bull Quaecumque, cofradías also maintained an archive with their license, constitution, membership lists, and their account books.36 The written legal culture and performative acts of cabildo and cofradía were to encourage the idea of the people as constitutive of a political community, and as part of the “mystical body of Christ”.37 While Viceroy Toledo was instrumental in introducing the Council of Trent decrees and Tridentine reforms to Peru, he certainly did not act alone. The first Jesuits had arrived in Peru with Toledo and Jesuit José de Acosta accompanied the Viceroy during part of his inspection tour. Acosta would later play a leading role in the Third Provincial Council of Lima (1582–83), which institutionalized a Tridentine Catechism in the Aymara and Quechua languages.38 Although earlier priests had allowed indigenous words to be used for Christian concepts, Acosta decided that terms such God, heaven, hell, angel, archangel, spirit, holy, and liberty could not be rendered in indigenous languages, and became Spanish loan words for an Aymara or Quechua catechism.39 The catechism from the Third Council of Lima and others based on this model focused on the contrast between the transcendent Creator and His creations; “the sun, the moon and the stars” are not Gods but God’s creation.40 Thus, the Jesuit fathers sought to undo the confused products of what they understood to be a prior laxity. In the early sev34 This effort appeared in the Third Council of Lima and later provincial councils. El Tercer Concilio, Lisi (ed.) 195. 35 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.744, 2.688, and 2.774–6. 36 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.740; Flynn, Sacred Charity, 119. 37 Of course, teaching that there was one mystical body of Christ could have unintended consequences. In 1647 a pastoral letter from the Bishop of Tucumán (present day Argentina) explaining the concept led to riots among indigenous people. Exactly why they rioted is not made clear, but one could suppose that the emphasis on equality of all believers might be heady information. See Sucre, Archivo National de Bolivia (hereafter ANB), Correspondencia, Audiencia de Charcas, 1647 #1553 Pastoral del Obispo de Tucumán. 38 On the Catechism published under Pius V in 1566, see O’Malley, Trent, 263–4. 39 For the debate over whether indigenous language terms could be used for key Christian ideas, see S. Hyland, The Jesuit and the Incas the Extraordinary Life of Padre Blas Valera, S.J. (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan, 2003). 40 G. Taylor, El sol, lu luna y las estrellas no son Dios: la evangelización en quechua (siglo XVI) (Lima: Instituto Francés de Estudios Andinos/Fundo Editorial de la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 2003), 57, my translation.

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enteenth century, the Jesuits were largely responsible for launching the infamous ‘extirpation of idolatry’ campaigns, seeking to root out any heterodox indigenous practices. In 1621, Jesuit José de Arriaga published his manual for extirpation in Peru. Although this book reads much like a guide for the inquisition, extirpation was technically not part of the inquisition; defined by Spanish priests as perpetual ‘new Christians’ indigenous people could only be accused of idolatry and not heresy, with which the inquisition was charged.41 These campaigns came to an end in the early eighteenth century, replaced by a new understanding that categorized such ontological errors as mere superstition, or, in the late nineteenth century, as custom or culture. Since the 1990s, a new ‘theology of enculturation’ has reversed the Tridentine policy, and has encouraged customary cultic practices.42 The key figure in the Third Council of Lima was Archbishop Santo Toribio de Mogrovejo. The Third Provincial Council of Lima (1582–83), known as the ‘American Trent’, put limits on how many indigenous parishioners any one priest would have, limited priestly absences from the parish, provided for regular visitas (inspection tours), and tried to control and curtail confraternity activities.43 Mogrovejo was inspired by the work of Archbishop of Milan San Carlo Borromeo, whose influence can be seen in the Council’s decrees. As Simon Ditchfield puts it, Borromeo’s Acta ecclesiae mediolanensis (1582), and I would argue by extension his Instructiones fabricae et suppellectilis ecclesisticae (1577), were the “practical ‘how to’ manual[s] for the conscientious prelate” in implementing Tridentine Catholicism.44 Constitutions of later provincial councils, which draw on the Instructiones fabricae to provide exacting detail on the proper adornment of chapels, reinforced the idea of the extreme orthodoxy of Tridentine Christianity. Priestly efforts to enforce that Tridentine orthodoxy would clash with native Andeans uptake of discourse from the Council of Trent to produce accusations of idolatry.

41 For idolatry in the Andes, see K. Mills, Idolatry and Its Enemies Colonial Andean Religion and Extirpation, 1640–1750 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University, 1997). 42 A. Orta, Catechizing Culture: Missionaries, Aymara, and the ‘New Evangelization’ (New York: Columbia University, 2004). 43 Dussel, A History of the Church, 147; Lisi, El Tercer Concilio, 173, 175, 203–5, and 195. 44 Ditchfield, “Tridentine Catholicism”, 21; S. Ditchfield, “Carlo Borromeo in the Construction of Roman Catholicism as a World Religion”, Studia Borromaica 25 (2011) 3–23.

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Idolatry or Early Modern Catholicism in Action: the Chiri brothers of Santa Bárbara de Culta Native Andeans were quick to take up and use for their own benefit the Spanish legal system. Viceroy Toledo had publicly burned a number of their lawsuits in an unsuccessful effort to curtail them. It also becomes clear that native Andeans were equally willing to engage with ecclesiastical powers. Many scholars have recently argued that native Andeans’ conversion to Christianity, not as Spaniards might have wished it, but on their own terms, was accomplished by the midseventeenth century.45 What Spaniards meant and contemporary scholars mean by the term ‘conversion’ varies, but what is certain is that by the end of the sixteenth century and certainly in the early seventeenth century, native Andeans had embraced many outward aspects of Christianity, in particular the cult of the saints through cofradías.46 The case presented here pits members of one Andean community against their parish priest, but with the scales tipped in favor of the native Andeans by the support of the archbishop and leading members of the ecclesiastical council. The case comes from the archive of the former archbishopric of La Plata, now Sucre, Bolivia.47 In this case and many others like it, indigenous use of Council of Trent decrees and of Tridentine Christianity to forward their own interests frequently clashed with the general trend to orthodoxy embraced in the early seventeenth century. Some time around 1616, Pedro and Diego Chiri, two brothers, approached the Archbishop of La Plata, Gerónimo Méndez de Tiedra for permission to found a cofradía dedicated to Santa Bárbara. Here the Chiri brothers were clearly following the spirit of Trent’s decrees on confraternities, and, more clearly Tri45 G. Ramos, Death and Conversion in the Andes: Lima and Cuzco, 1532–1670 (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame, 2010); Estenssoro Fuchs, Del Paganismo. 46 As Hanks has recently noted, the conversion that Spaniards hoped to implement was not simply religious but also political, and that it “is a social and cultural process”. Hanks, Converting Words, 5. The Christian practices of colonial indigenous people might include llama sacrifice, or libations poured in honor of mountain spirits. On the question of conversion, in addition to Ramos, Estenssoro, and Hanks, see T.A. Abercrombie, Pathways of Memory and Power Ethnography and History Among an Andean People (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin, 1998); Durston, Pastoral Quechua; and Hyland, The Jesuit. 47 Sucre (Bolivia), Archivo y Biblioteca Arquieiocesanos (ABAS), Causes Contra Eclesiasticos (CCE) No. 5020: Condo, liçençia para capilla, 1626, fol. 1r. This document, like the others I quote in this essay, was written in Spanish, not in Aymara, the native language of the Chiris. Here I follow Owensby in arguing that by contextualization the indigenous voice comes through. B.P. Owensby, Empire of Law and Indian Justice in Colonial Mexico (Stanford, CA: Stanford University, 2008), 9–10. On the question of the native voice in the colonial language, see W.F. Hanks, “Authenticity and Ambivalence in the Text: A Colonial Maya Case”, American Ethnologist 13/4 (November 1986) 721–44. The Santa Bárbara de Culta case has been analyzed by Abercrombie, Pathways, 272–6.

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dentine Catholicism in the bull Quaecumque, by obtaining permission from the ordinary.48 They received their license, bought an image of Santa Bárbara, built a chapel in her honor, and began to collect alms in her name, all done with the knowledge, support and permission of Archbishop Tiedra. How the Chiri brothers came to be aware of the process necessary to legally establish a cofradía and a chapel is never specified, but one can imagine that a robust business in making, selling and repairing saints’ images, and the ornaments needed for a chapel had developed in the archbishopric. As O’Mally notes, one of the unintended consequences of Trent was the spurt given to the visual arts in Catholic countries.49 San Carlo Borromeo codified this element of Tridentine Catholicism in his Instructiones fabricae. San Carlo’s lists of specific sizes and materials for items needed in a chapel appear in various forms in provincial councils and diocesan synods. The mestizo and Indian artisans and artists in La Plata and especially wealthy mining cities such as Potosí or Oruro, would surely be eager to explain to the two native Andeans from a rural reducción what they needed to buy to conform to church rules. One can imagine that they might have provided a shopping list inspired by San Carlo Borromeo, as well as advice about what to include in their license petition to the archbishop. Part of the condition of their license was that their parish priest regularly came to their chapel to say Mass. Again, this conforms to decrees from Trent, and this is where the Chiris ran into problems: their parish priest did not want to come to their chapel to say Mass.50 The Chiris belonged to the reducción town of San Pedro de Condocondo (Condo), founded in the 1570s as part of Toledo’s general inspection tour. The Chiris’ ancestors had been forcibly moved from their homes scattered around the countryside into the reducción but they were reluctant to remain there. Instead, as the Chiri brothers in the early seventeenth century pointed out, although they still belonged to the parish of Condo, they now lived in a hamlet that would become known as Santa Bárbara de Culta, a place that was close to their fields and where they tended their cattle. Condo was many hours’ walk from Culta, too far to go to several times a week for catechism classes or hear Mass from their parish priest. While the license from the archbishop to create the cofradía and chapel has not come to light, it is clear that it contained an order for the parish priest to come regularly to the chapel and oversee the cofradía. Again, this interpretation would be in keeping with decrees from Trent and the traditions of Tridentine Catholicism. 48 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.740. The bull Quaecumque required the bishop to “examine, correct, and approve corporate statutes …”; see Flynn, Sacred Charity, 119. 49 O’Malley, Trent, 273. 50 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.744. See also: O’Malley, Trent, 218. For the Third Council’s statement, see El Tercer Concilio, Lisi (ed.) 175.

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However, the priest of Condo, Gonzalo Leal Vejarano saw things quite differently. He defied the order from the archbishop to travel to Culta to say Mass. Instead he argued that the Chiri brothers had only been able to gain permission from the archbishop for their cofradía by lying. And the reason for their lies was their ulterior reason in founding the cofradía and chapel: they wanted to return to their pre-Christian religious practices (this was a common accusation that Indians founded cofradías as covers for idolatry). Simply put, for the priest Vejarano, the Chiri brothers and all others who lived in Santa Bárbara de Culta were idolaters. Indeed, the early seventeenth century saw a wave of accusations of idolatry made against native Andeans. Certainly some native Andeans continued with their pre-conquest religious practices. Others, probably the majority, followed cultural practices that they themselves understood as part of their own Christian practice but which many Spaniards would take as devil inspired idolatry. Just to take one example, religious practice for native Andeans during the colonial era included sacrificial offerings of llamas, the main pack animal for the high Andean traders that early colonial Spaniards referred to as ‘sheep of the land’. Native Andeans’ llama sacrifices might be read as symbolically analogous to the central act of Christianity, the sacrifice of God’s son, the Lamb of God, but Spaniards could not see it that way. Condo parish priest Vejarano never offered any proof along with his accusations of idolatry. To him, as well as many other priests, it was self-evident that if Indians wanted to leave their reducciónes it was with nefarious intent. However, another element enters the tale here. Priests who were able to ‘prove’ their accusations of idolatry, or at least claim to have destroyed Indians’ idols, and then redeemed the Indians through their wise teaching stood to gain. Successful idolatry campaigns became a step to advancement, maybe a bigger and richer Indian parish, or even a benefice in a Spanish city.51 Countless probanzas de servicios y meritos (proofs of services and merits, the colonial era’s equivalent of a curriculum vitae) from seventeenth century priests proudly list idols destroyed and devil-inspired cult eliminated. Of course the post-Trent era was a time of moral reform where demands for orthodox practice and belief became the norm in Europe.52 The waves of accusations of idolatry in the Viceroyalty of Peru fit that pattern; cultural practices that earlier had been taken as legitimate ways to worship were no longer tolerated. But the Chiri brothers were not to be undone by their parish priest. The Chiris filed an appeal with the archbishopric, now in sede vacante. They confirmed that they had won a license from the ordinary for their cofradía and that they had at 51 K. Mills, “Bad Christians in Colonial Peru”, Colonial Latin American Review 5/2 (1996) 183– 218. 52 O’Malley, Trent, 261.

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their own expense bought everything needed for divine cult. The problem as they saw it, was that they had a lazy priest who refused to walk the few miles to their chapel to say Mass. Not only were they not conducting any non-Christian practice, they were demanding that their priest come and say Mass for them. Thus they concluded their petition: We ask and beseech that Your Mercy send an order, a warrant with penalties and legal consequences so that the priest continues with the said good work [of our chapel, which] besides being in the service of God, has been for the good of the Indians. Likewise he should return all the ornaments, chalices, and all the rest of the things that he has in his power because none of it belongs to him legally but to the cofradía. With this, we should well receive the justice that we request. [signed] Don Pedro Chiri / Don Diego Chiri.53

In this case, the Chiris were in luck because their petition fell on fertile ground, the person who heard their appeal was Doctor Pascual Peroches. For extended periods of time during the seventeenth century the archbishopric of La Plata was in sede vacante, without a presiding prelate. Archbishop Fray Gerónimo Méndez de Tiedra who originally granted the license to the Chiri brothers for their chapel and cofradía had died in 1620; the next archbishop would not arrive until 1626. Dr. Pascaul Peroches, as the Vicar-General of the diocese (chief administrative officer and head of the ecclesiastic court), as well as maestroescuela (in charge of education for diocesan priests), and commissioner of the Holy Office of the Inquisition, was the highest-ranking officer in the archbishopric.54 A native of Spain, Peroches had come to the Viceroyalty of Peru as a protégé of Archbishop Santo Toribio de Mogrovejo, the prelate who had summoned the Third Council of Lima and institutionalized the decrees of the Council of Trent. Santo Toribio was especially vigilant in conducting the Trent-mandated visitas (inspection tours), as well as being famous for his efforts to convert the Indians, and for the expansion of the number of parishes under his jurisdiction.55 Santo Toribio had earlier shown his faith in Peroches by naming him visitador general (chief inspector) for the archbishopric of Lima. Thus Peroches had wide experience in rural Indian parishes, as well as a doctorate in canon law from the University of Alcalá de Henares in Spain.56 Peroches’ response to the Chiri brothers’ petition was short and to the point: 53 ABAS, CCE No. 5020, fol. 2r; my translation. 54 L.A. Draper, Arzobispos, Canónigos y Sacerdotes Interacción Entre Valores Religiosos y Sociales en el Clero de Charcas del Siglo XVII (Sucre: Archivo-Biblioteca Arquidiocesanos “Monseñor Taborga”, 2000). 55 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.688. The records of Mogrovejo’s inspections can be found in Libro de Visitas de Santo Toribio Mogrovejo, 1593–1605, J.A. Benito (ed.) (Lima: Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 2006). 56 Seville, Archivo General de las Indias (hereafter AGI), Charcas 88, n. 21, 1618: “Información de Pascual de Peroches…”

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I order that Gonzalo Leal Vejarano, priest of Condocondo be notified that he [must] guard the custom in the celebration of that cofradía and that he carefully keep the Holy Sacraments in that hamlet and return the ornaments to the Indians that he took from there on pain of excommunication, without giving the Indians any further reason to complain against him.57

However, Vejarano refused to obey Dr. Peroches’ order, leading the Chiri brothers to send yet another a petition to the archbishop. By this time, the new Archbishop, Hernando Arias de Ugarte had arrived in La Plata, and again, the Chiri’s plea fell on fertile ground. Arias de Ugarte had doctorates in both canon and civil law, and had served as Bishop of Quito (present day Ecuador), and Archbishop of Bogotá (present day Colombia) before coming to La Plata. In his extensive personal library, he had copies of the canons of the Council of Trent and of the Third Council of Lima in addition to several synod constitutions.58 He would later preside over the Provincial Council held in La Plata in 1628. As soon as he arrived in La Plata, Arias Ugarte began to enforce Tridentine Catholicism, going so far as to obtain a bull from Pope Paul V regarding the relationship of regular clergy to episcopal authority.59 He also began to assert his authority over the doctrineros, the parish priests for Indians, who having been loosely supervised during the sede vacante, were a discipline problem. When the Chiris’ petition was presented to Arias Ugarte in September 1626, he asked to have the entire case reviewed. What this judicial review revealed was a complex case of charges and countercharges between the Chiri brothers and their parish priest Vejarano. Three separate visitas were conducted in the rural reducción town of Condo, the head seat of the Chiris’ parish. An ecclesiastical lawyer was sent from La Plata, the seat of the archbishopric to Condo to take sworn testimony from the parish priest. Vejarano had refused to obey a series of orders from Doctor Peroches and other visitadores, claiming repeatedly that it was never the custom for a priest to go the chapel of Saint Bárbara to say Mass, that they had won their license for their cofradía through deception, that the only reason the Indians had founded the chapel and cofradía was to avoid Mass, and that they were drinking, dancing, singing and committing incest at their chapel. The bottom line was that Vejarano refused to walk out to the chapel of Saint Bárbara and say Mass for the Indians. With the whole array of officials against him, one would think that Vejarano would back down, obey the higher authorities, and just go out to the chapel and say Mass. But instead he intensified his argument, adding new evidence, that 57 ABAS, CCE no. 5020 fol., 1v; my translation. 58 T. Hampe Martínez, “La Biblioteca del Arzobispo Hernando Arias de Ugarte; Bagaje Intellectual de un Prelado Criollo (1614)”, Thesaurus 42/2 (1987) 337–61. 59 Draper, Arzobispos.

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contrary to the decrees of Trent, the cofradía was not reporting their financial accounts to the archbishopric.60 Vejarano claimed that the members of the cofradía had begged alms amounting to over a thousand pesos, a very large sum of money, which they concealed from the ecclesiastic officials so that they could use the money to get drunk. Despite the Chiris’ consistent attempts to present themselves as good Christians through the use of Tridentine discourse, Vejarano insisted that they were secret idolaters.61 But the Chiris were on firmer ground regarding the decrees of Trent than was Vejarano. They now pointed out that “old Indians” in their chapel-hamlet of Santa Bárbara de Culta were “without the sacrament of confession and have died without it, and without hearing Mass”.62 Their emphasis on the sacraments rang true to diocesan authorities.63 Not only the sacraments, but their dedication to Santa Bárbara also appeared sincere to officials. Trent had confirmed the veneration of saints and the Chiri brothers worked to make sure their devotion was carried out correctly.64 They had followed the time-consuming and expensive procedure to establish their chapel. They had obtained the license and constitution, and bought at their own expense the necessary ornaments. Undoubtedly, the Chiri brothers were aware that without the proper ornaments, and license, their priest would be prohibited from coming to their chapel or saying Mass for them. The same archbishop who confirmed the Chiris’ chapel had forbidden a priest to say Mass in another nearby indigenous hamlet because it was not furnished appropriately.65 Among the listed ornaments the Chiris had purchased were a chalice and a paten, along with a white altar cloth (a corporal) and a veil of litmus blue taffeta with which to cover them. For the priestly vestments they had purchased a silk maniple, stole, chasuble, and a linen cloth for the priest to wipe his hands during the sacrifice of the Mass. They also had silver cruets for water and hand cloths for the lavatory of the chapel. Finally, they had purchased a taffeta pennant with the insignia of Santa Bárbara and emblazoned with a silver cross. If the Chiris followed Borromeo’s instructions, this would have been a very large, nearly one and a half meter square fringed banner on a wooden pole over two meters long. This was the banner that the Chiris carried as they marched across the archdiocese begging alms in the name of Santa Bárbara.66 60 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.740. 61 Compare the pathbeaking study by Hanks on the spread in the sixteenth century of what he terms Maya reducido, Maya language inflected with the language of reducción. Hanks, Converting Words. 62 ABAS, CCE n. 5020, fol. 3r. 63 For Trent’s confirmation of the sacraments of confession, extreme unction and the Mass, see Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.703, 710, and 774–6. 64 Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.774–6. 65 AGI, Charcas 91, n. 11 (1634). 66 Civil authorities sought to curtail native Andeans carrying pennants, ANB, Mizque, 1637 #4.

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This ritual act would have helped create the religious, social, economic, and emotional ties to the community growing out of the formal legal framework of license and constitution. In creating their cofradía and chapel the Chiris were laying the groundwork for a new parish and a new town. Decrees at Trent had provided that new parishes could be created, even over the objections of the parish priest if “parishioners can only come to receive the sacraments and attend divine offices with great inconvenience, because of distance or inaccessibility…”67 The Chiris repeatedly affirmed that people in their hamlet were without the sacraments because of the difficulty of traveling to Condo. At the same time, the cofradía dedicated to Santa Bárbara also provided a form of fictive kinship that bound members together. Within a short time, the hamlet would also gain civil offices of town council. Together, the cofradía and town Council would provide the basis for outsiders to become full members of the community. By participating in the religious and civil offices people native Andeans brought Santa Bárbara de Culta into being as a town.68 The people of Santa Bárbara de Culta were not alone in doing this; by the early seventeenth century three licensed saints’ chapels and annexes had been carved out of Condo’s jurisdiction by indigenous petition to authorities. One of these became the town of Santa Bárbara de Culta (the others are still-extant Veracruz de Cacachaca and Nuestra Señora de la Concepción de Cahuayo). Today, people in Santa Bárbara de Culta give credit to the saint as the founder of their town.69

67 “in quibus ob locorum distantiam sive difficultatem parochiani sine magno incommodo ad percipeinda sacramenta et divina officia audiencia accedere non possunt…”, Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.729. 68 T. Saignes, “Indian Migration and Social Change in Seventeenth-Century Charcas”, in Ethnicity, Markets, and Migration in the Andes: At the Crossroads of History and Anthropology (Durham, NC: Duke University, 1995) 167–95. The linked civil and religious offices of cabildo and cofradía are known as the “fiesta-cargo system”. When the Andean civil and religious structures merged is a matter of debate but clearly the groundwork was laid in the sixteenth century. The classic work is J.K. Chance/W.B. Taylor, “Cofradías and Cargos: An Historical Perspective on the Mesoamerican Civil-Religious Hierarchy”, American Ethnologist 12/1 (February 1985) 1–26. On the Andes, see O. Celestino/A. Meyers, Las Cofradías en el Perú, Región Central (Frankfurt: Vervuert, 1981); F. Fuenzalida Vollmar, “Estructura de la Comunidad de Indígenas Traditional; una Hipótesis de Trabajo”, in J. Matos Mar (ed.), Hacienda, Comunidad y Campesino en el Perú (Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1976) 219– 63; P. Charney, “A Sense of Belonging: Colonial Indian Cofradías and Ethnicity in the Valley of Lima, Peru”, The Americas 54/3 (1998) 379–407. 69 Abercrombie, Pathways, 272.

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An Eighteenth-century Coda: “God is only in heaven” The Tridentine Catechisms lavished attention on teaching Indians what idolatry was; the sun and moon were no longer to be revered as gods, no object made by man should be taken as a god. Just as the Chiri brothers had carefully used the language of Trent and Tridentine Catholicism to legally establish their chapel and cofradía, later native Andeans learned their catechism well. Too well in fact, as their knowledge of the catechism moved them toward a Protestant-sounding critique of their priest as an idolater when he attempted to persuade them the Eucharist bread was the body of Christ. This case, more than one hundred years after the Chiris founded their devotion to Santa Bárbara, comes from the town of San Pedro de Totora, in the same region of the Viceroyalty of Peru as Santa Bárbara de Culta. One of the earliest notices of problems in Totora came from a panicked report sent by the parish priest Eusebio Daza y Arguelles on 1 August 1757. He reported that on Corpus Christi (a moveable feast celebrated 9–12 June in 1757) and, again, on the town’s patron saint’s day, San Pedro, (29 June) the leading members of the town council of Totora, accompanied by the standard bearer of the festival, called together all the people of the town. Led by their town council members, the townspeople came to the priest’s house armed. The assembly explained to the priest, in very loud and upset voices that they don’t have to carry out any fiesta because God is only in heaven and that in the church there is nothing more than some saints of wood and that although he had told them that the monstrance was the Holy Lord, [they claimed] that it wasn’t the Lord but only a piece of glass and he told them that Our Lord Jesus Christ was in the consecrated host but they said that couldn’t be because it [was a piece of bread] that had been made by the sacristan.70

The priest responded by excommunicating the leaders of this group, four brothers named Garcia, all of whom had held or were holding various offices within the town council and the parish’s confraternities. The excommunication order did not stop the Garcia brothers or other Totorans; it only served to inflame them. On four separate occasions when the priest posted the excommunication order on the doors of the Totora church, the Garcias or their wives tore down the papers.71 An investigation into the priest’s accusations was conducted in January 1758. Testimony points to the women of Totora who were active in church offices as being the leaders behind the critique of the priest’s activities. They were the ones who claimed that the people had been “tricked” because the priest wanted “to 70 ANB, EC 1758 #136 fol. 3v–4r; my translation. 71 ANB, EC 1758 #136, fol. 19r–23 and fol. 29–33.

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take their money.” The testimony further asserted that they claimed, as taught by Tridentine Catechism, that the images in their Church were of “paste and they ought not to be adored because God is in heaven”. When the priest attempted to “explain Christian doctrine to them” or the mysteries of the Eucharist, they refused to believe him, that “it was all a lie”.72 The irony here is that early Spanish missionaries had condemned what they regarded as Andean idolatry (worship of inanimate objects such as the sun, the moon and the stars). Here Andeans turned the Catholic condemnation of idolatry back on the Spaniards by rejecting idolatry in a more radical form. If God is only in heaven, he could not be in those idols inside the Church.73 No doubt the priest had also tried to explain, using Aristotelian language of essences and species (or accidents), why the host still looked and tasted like bread even when, after it was consecrated, God was really present there in substance. That explanation appears to have fallen on deaf ears in much the same way it did for many schismatics in Europe.

Conclusion The decrees of the Council of Trent sought to reform the Church in part by strengthening episcopal authority over diocesan priests, and almost as an afterthought, over lay confraternities. Following the Council, a new Tridentine Catechism was composed in an effort to insure the faithful truly understood their faith. Meanwhile, the traditions growing out of Tridentine Christianity sought greater orthodoxy. Although the Council of Trent made no mention of the evangelization of the New World, the decrees of the Council, the discourse arising from those decrees and ultimately, Tridentine Catholicism would all impact the New World. But that impact was not a one-way street. New World peoples, along with their priests and bishops, were co–creators of Early Modern Catholicism. Was Vejarano sincere in his pursuit of the Chiri brothers for idolatry or was he himself trying to avoid some of the burdens imposed by Trent? Were the Chiris ‘good’ Christians? Certainly, the Chiris practices in honor of Saint Bárbara would 72 ANB, EC 1758 #136, fol. 39–44, fol. 33v–39, and fol. 2r–5r; my translations. Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, Tanner/Alberigo (ed.), 2.695. 73 The “Catecismo Mayor, para los que son mas capaces” after asking and confirming that “the sun, moon, the stars” are not God, but his creations, clarifies the nature of saints’ images thusly: “P[regunta], Pues porque los Christianos adoran las imagenes de palo, y metal, si es malo adorar los Idolos? R[espuesta]. No adoran los Christianos las imagenes de palo y metal, por si mismas, como los idolatars, ni piensen que en ellas mismas ai virtud, y divinidad, mas miranda lo que espresentan, adoran a Iesu Christo en la Cruz y su imagen, y reverencia a N. Señora la Virgen Maria, y a los otros Santos que estan en el cielo pidiendo su favor: y las mismas imagenes reverencian, no por lo que son, sino por lo que representan.” D. Torres Rubio, Arte de la Lengua Aymara (Lima, 1616).

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have been heterodox. But the Chiris had learned to couch their demand for their chapel and cofradía using the language of the Council of Trent in a way that the Church hierarchy could not ignore. Framing the new chapel as a way to make certain the people had access to the sacraments allowed the Chiris to remain in their newly created town. On the other hand, the Garcia brothers repeated word for word the catechism they had been taught, but elided the accusations that they had denied transubstantiation with their claim that “God is only in heaven”. And by the mid-eighteenth century, priests’ accusations of idolatry largely fell on deaf ears. Neither higher ecclesiastical officials nor Spanish bureaucrats felt compelled to investigate this type of priestly claim very closely. In those one hundred and some odd years, theologies had merged and a colonial synthesis of religion had come into being. This colonial Andean synthesis had its origins at least in part in the decrees of the Council of Trent and in the early Tridentine Catechisms, and when priests imbued with a new sense of reform and orthodoxy sought to convert indigenous people. But indigenous people, also borrowing from Tridentine reform, sought to construct their own Christianity.

Bibliography Archival sources Buenos Aires, Archivo General de la Nación (AGNA). Seville, Archivo General de las Indias (AGI), Charcas. Sucre, Archivo National de Bolivia (ANB), Correspondencia, Audiencia de Charcas Mizque, Expedientes Coloniales (EC). Sucre, Archivo y Biblioteca Arquieiocesanos (ABAS), Causes Contra Eclesiasticos (CCE).

Edited Sources El Tercer Concilio Limense y la Aculturación de los Indígenas Sudamericanos: Estudio Crítico con Edición, Traducción y Comentario de las Actas del Concilio Provincial Celebrado en Lima Entre 1582 y 1583, F.L. Lisi (ed.) (Salamanca: Universidad de Salamanca, 1990). Libro de Visitas de Santo Toribio Mogrovejo, 1593–1605, Benito, J.A. (ed.) (Lima: Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 2006). Toledo de, F., Disposiciones Gubernativas para el Virreinato del Perú (Seville: Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Monte de Piedad y Caja de Ahorros de Sevilla, 1986).

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Fuenzalida Vollmar, F., “Estructura de la Comunidad de Indígenas Traditional; una Hipótesis de Trabajo”, in J. Matos Mar (ed.), Hacienda, Comunidad y Campesino en el Perú (Lima: Instituto de Estudios Peruanos, 1976) 219–63. Gómez Rivas, L., El Virrey del Perú Don Francisco de Toledo (Toledo: Instituto Provincial de Investigaciones y Estudios Toledanos, Diputación Provincial, 1994). Góngora, M., Studies in the Colonial History of Spanish America (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University, 1975). Haliczer, S., The Comuneros of Castile: The Forging of a Revolution, 1475–1521 (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin, 1981). Hampe Martínez, T., “La Biblioteca del Arzobispo Hernando Arias de Ugarte: Bagaje Intellectual de un Prelado Criollo (1614)”, Thesaurus 42/2 (1987) 337–61. Hanke, L./Rodríguez, C. (ed.), Los virreyes españoles en América durante el gobierno de la Casa de Austria (Madrid: Atlas, 1978). Hanks, W.F., “Authenticity and Ambivalence in the Text: A Colonial Maya Case”, American Ethnologist 13/4 (November 1986) 721–44. Hanks, W.F., Converting Words: Maya in the Age of the Cross (Berkeley, CA: University of California, 2010). Hyland, S., The Jesuit and the Incas: the Extraordinary Life of Padre Blas Valera, S.J. (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan, 2003). Kagan, R.L./Marías, F., Urban Images of the Hispanic World, 1493–1793 (New Haven, CT: Yale University, 2000). MacCormack, S., “‘The Heart Has Its Reasons’: Predicaments of Missionary Christianity in Early Colonial Peru”, Hispanic American Historical Review 65/3 (1985) 443–66. Mannheim, B., The Language of the Inka Since the European Invasion (Austin, TX: University of Texas, 1991). Maravall, J.A., Las Comunidades de Castilla: Una Primera Revolución Moderna (Madrid: Revista de Occidente, 1963). Melvin, K., “The Globalization of Reform”, in A. Bamji/G.H. Janssen/M. Laven (ed.), The Ashgate Research Companion to the Counter-Reformation (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Group, 2013) 435–51. Merluzzi, M., Politica e Governo Nel Nuovo Mondo: Francisco de Toledo Viceré del Perù, 1569–1581 (Rome: Carocci, 2003). Mills, K., “Bad Christians in Colonial Peru”, Colonial Latin American Review 5/2 (1996) 183–218. Mills, K., Idolatry and Its Enemies Colonial Andean Religion and Extirpation, 1640–1750 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University, 1997). Mumford, J., Vertical Empire: The General Resettlement of Indians in the Colonial Andes (Durham, NC: Duke University, 2012). Nader, H., Liberty in Absolutist Spain: the Habsburg Sale of Towns, 1516–1700 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University, 1990). Nalle, S.T., God in La Mancha: Religious Reform and the People of Cuenca, 1500–1650 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University, 1992). O’Malley, J.W., Trent and All That: Renaming Catholicism in the Early Modern Era (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, 2000). Orta, A., Catechizing Culture: Missionaries, Aymara, and the ‘New Evangelization’ (New York: Columbia University, 2004).

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Owensby, B.P., Empire of Law and Indian Justice in Colonial Mexico (Stanford, CA: Stanford University, 2008). Parker, G., The World is Not Enough: The Imperial Vision of Philip II of Spain (Waco, TX: Baylor University, 2000). Pérez, J., La Revolución de las Comunidades de Castilla 1520–1521 (Madrid: Siglo Veintiuno de España, 1998). Puente Brunke de la, J., Encomienda y Encomenderos en el Perú Estudio Social y Político de una Institución Colonial (Seville: Diputación Provincial, 1992). Ramírez, S.E., The World Upside Down: Cross-Cultural Contact and Conflict in SixteenthCentury Peru (Stanford, CA: Stanford University, 1996). Ramos, G., Death and Conversion in the Andes: Lima and Cuzco, 1532–1670 (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame, 2010). Saignes, T., “Indian Migration and Social Change in Seveenth-Century Charcas”, in B. Larson/O. Harris/E. Tandeter (ed.), Ethnicity, Markets, and Migration in the Andes: At the Crossroads of History and Anthropology (Durham, NC: Duke University, 1995) 167– 95. Scott, H.V., “A Mirage of Colonial Consensus: Resettlement Schemes in Early Spanish Peru”, Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 22/6 (2004) 885–99. Taylor, G., El sol, lu luna y las estrellas no son Dios: la evangelización en quechua (siglo XVI) (Lima: Instituto Francés de Estudios Andinos/Fundo Editorial de la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 2003). Tineo, P., “La Evanglización de Perú en las Instrucciones Entregadas al Virrey Toledo (1569–1581)”, in A. Pazos/J.I. Saranyana (ed.), Evangelización y Teología en America Siglo XVI (Pamplona: Servicio de Publ. de la Univ. de Navarra, 1990) 273–95.

About the Authors

Els Agten is a staff member at the RC Diocese of Hasselt (Belgium) and parttime researcher at the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, KU Leuven, Belgium. Morgane Belin is a PhD Student at the Department of History, Faculty of Arts, University of Namur, Belgium. Robert Bireley († 2018) was Professor (Emeritus) of History at Loyola University Chicago, USA. Xavier Bisaro is Professor of Musicology, at the Centre d’Études Supérieures de la Renaissance, Université François-Rabelais de Tours, France. Emidio Campi is Professor Emeritus of Church History and former Director of the Institute of Swiss Reformation Studies, University of Zürich, Switzerland. Leonardo Cohen is Assistant Professor at the Department of Middle East Studies and the African Studies Program at Ben Gurion University of the Negev, Be’er Sheva, Israel. Sanja Cvetnic´ is Professor of Renaissance and Baroque Art, at the Department of Art History, Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, University of Zagreb, Croatia. Fabrizio D’Avenia is Assistant Professor of Early Modern History at the Department of Cultures and Societies, University of Palermo, Italy. Ellénita de Mol has finished the PhD degree program at the Department of Art History, Université Libre de Bruxelles, Belgium.

302

About the Authors

Philippe Denis is Professor of History of Christianity at the School of Religion, Philosophy and Classics, University of KwaZulu-Natal, Pietermaritzburg, South Africa. Simon Ditchfield is Professor of Early Modern History at the Department of History, University of York, UK. Ignasi Fernández Terricabras is Associate Professor of Early Modern History at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, Spain. Pierre-Antoine Fabre is Professor of History of Religious Institutions at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, Paris, France. Heinz Finger is Director of the Cologne Cathedral Library and Professor of Medieval and Renaissance History at Heinrich-Heine-Universität Düsseldorf, Germany. Wim François is Research Professor of Early Modern Church and Theology, Research Unit of History of Church and Theology, Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, KU Leuven, Belgium. Günter Frank is Extraordinary Professor of Philosophy at the Karlsruhe Institute of Technology (University) and Director of the Europäische Melanchthon-Akademie Bretten, Germany. José J. García Hourcade is Associate Professor for History and Humanities at the Catholic University of Murcia, Spain. Joris Geldhof is Professor of Liturgical Studies and Sacramental Theology at the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, KU Leuven, Belgium. Antonio Gerace is a Postdoctoral Research Fellow at the Research Unit of History of Church and Theology, Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, KU Leuven, Belgium. Marianne C.E. Gillion is a Postdoctoral Researcher at the Department of Musicology at KU Leuven, Belgium. Tom Hamilton is a Junior Research Fellow at Trinity College, University of Cambridge, UK.

About the Authors

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Gustaaf Janssens is Professor Emeritus of Archival Science at the Faculty of Arts, KU Leuven and Honorary Director of the Archives of the Royal Palace at Brussels, Belgium. Nicole Lemaitre is Professor Emeritus of History at the Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne, France. Gerald MacDonald is Docent for Ethics and Transcultural Nursing at the Protestant College for Geriatric Nursing in Essen, Germany. Antoine Mazurek is an Associate Research Fellow at the Centre d’Études de Sciences Sociales du Religieux, École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, Paris, France. Querciolo Mazzonis is Assistant Professor of History of Christianity at the Faculty of Media Studies, University of Teramo, Italy. Walter Melion is Asa Griggs Candler Professor of Art History at Emory University, Atlanta, USA. Federica Meloni is a PhD Student at the University of Modena and Reggio Emilia and Research Fellow at the Fondazione per le scienze religiose Giovanni XXIII, Bologna, Italy. John O’Malley is University Professor, specialized in the history of religious culture in early modern Europe, in the Theology Department at Georgetown University, USA. Tomásˇ Parma is Assistant Professor of Church History at the Saints Cyril and Methodius Faculty of Theology, Palacký University Olomouc, Czech Republic. Irène Plasman-Labrune is an Associate Postdoctoral Researcher at the Centre de Recherche en Histoire Européenne Comparée, Université Paris-Est-Créteil, France. S. Elizabeth Penry is Assistant Professor of History and Latin American and Latino Studies at Fordham University, New York, USA. Vasyl Popelyastyy is a PhD Student at the Research Unit of History of Church and Theology, Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies, KU Leuven, Belgium and

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About the Authors

Lecturer at the Department of Liturgical Studies, Theology and Philosophy Faculty at Ukrainian Catholic University. Camilla Russell is Conjoint Lecturer in Early Modern European History at the University of Newcastle Australia, and Publications Editor, Institutum Historicum Societatis Iesu (IHSI), Rome. Paolo Sachet is a Research Fellow at the Università della Svizzera Italiana, Lugano, Switzerland and a Visiting Lecturer at the University of Milan, Italy. Violet Soen is Professor of Early Modern Religious History and Chair of the Research Group Early Modern History, at the Faculty of Arts, KU Leuven, Belgium. Tanja Trsˇka is a Senior Research Assistant at the Department of Art History, Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences, University of Zagreb, Croatia. Soetkin Vanhauwaert is a PhD Student at the Faculty of Arts, KU Leuven and Assistant Conservator at the University Archives & Art Collections of the same university, Belgium. Andrea Vanni is Assistant Professor of Early Modern History at the University of Roma Tre, Italy. Hélène Vu Thanh is Assistant Professor of Modern History at the University of Bretagne-Sud, France. Günther Wassilowsky is Professor of Church History at the Johann Wolfgang Goethe-Universität Frankfurt am Main, Germany. Haruko Nawata Ward is Professor of Church History at Columbia Theological Seminary, USA. Christian Wiesner is University Assistant at the Institute of Church History and Patrology, Katholische Universität Linz, Austria.

Contents of Volumes 1 and 2

Volume 1 Between Trent, Rome and Wittenberg Wim François/Violet Soen 450 Years later. Louvain’s Contribution to the Ongoing Historiography on the Council of Trent

Setting the Stage Robert Bireley (†) The Religious Movements of the Sixteenth Century as Responses to a Changing World John W. O’Malley What Happened and Did Not Happen at the Council of Trent Günther Wassilowsky The Myths of the Council of Trent and the Construction of Catholic Confessional Culture

Trent, the Bible, and Liturgy Els Agten/Wim François The Council of Trent and Vernacular Bible Reading: What Happened in the Build-Up to and during the Fourth Session (1546)?

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Contents of Volumes 1 and 2

Wim François/Antonio Gerace Trent and the Latin Vulgate: A Louvain Project? Joris Geldhof Trent and the Production of Liturgical Books in its Aftermath Vasyl Popelyastyy The Post-Tridentine Theology of the Sacrament of Penance on the Basis of the Rituale Romanum (1614) Antoine Mazurek Réforme tridentine et culte des saints en Espagne: liturgie romaine et saints ibériques

Trent, Evangelism and Protestantism Camilla Russell Dangerous Friendships: Girolamo Seripando, Giulia Gonzaga, and the Spirituali in Tridentine Italy Emidio Campi The Council of Trent and the Magisterial Reformers Günter Frank Melanchthon und das Konzil von Trient Gerald MacDonald Martin Chemnitz’ Examen Decretorum Concilii Tridentini (1566–1573): A Cornerstone in the Construction of Confessional Europe

The Roman Centre and the Implementation of the Council of Trent Paolo Sachet Privilege of Rome: The Catholic Church’s Attempt to Control the Printed Legacy of the Council of Trent Federica Meloni Le rôle de la Sacrée Congrégation du Concile dans l’interprétation de la réforme tridentine

Contents of Volumes 1 and 2

307

Epilogue John W. O’Malley The Council of Trent and Vatican II About the Authors Contents of Volumes 2 and 3 Index of Names Index of Places

Volume 2 Between Bishops and Princes Bishops, Seminaries and Religious Orders Nicole Lemaitre L’idéal pastoral de réforme et le Concile de Trente (XIVe–XVIe siècle) Heinz Finger Das Konzil von Trient und die Ausbildung der Säkularkleriker in Priesterseminaren während der Frühen Neuzeit Christian Wiesner Die Rezeption des Tridentinums durch die Konzilskongregation am Beispiel der Residenzpflicht – Ein Werkstattbericht José J. García Hourcade Les visites pastorales et l’application du Concile de Trente au diocèse de Carthagène (Espagne) Morgane Belin Pastoral Reform in the Diocese of Namur Following the Council of Trent: From Norms to Applications (1559–1666) Tomásˇ Parma La lente réception du Concile de Trente en Moravie Tanja Trsˇka Bisogno di buona regola: Lodovico Beccadelli and Conciliar Discipline in Renaissance Ragusa

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Contents of Volumes 1 and 2

Andrea Vanni The Order of the Theatines between Carafa’s Inquisition and Borromeo’s Diocesan Reform Querciolo Mazzonis The Council of Trent and Women’s Active Congregations in Italy

Church and Politics Ignasi Fernández Terricabras The Catholic Reformation and the Power of the King: Implementation of the Decrees of the Council of Trent in the Absolute Monarchies Violet Soen The Council of Trent and the Preconditions for the Dutch Revolt (1563–1566) Gustaaf Janssens Le duc d’Albe et l’exécution des décrets du Concile de Trente aux Pays-Bas: raison d’État et dévouement religieux en temps de guerre (1567–1573) Fabrizio D’Avenia Political Appointment and Tridentine Reforms: Giannettino Doria, Cardinal Archbishop of Palermo (1608–1642) Irène Plasman-Labrune Question disciplinaire ou question politique: le Concile de Trente face aux revendications du roi de France sur l’exclusion des clercs étrangers (1562) Tom Hamilton The Impact of Jacques Gillot’s Actes du Concile de Trente (1607) in the Debate Concerning the Council of Trent in France Philippe Denis Tridentinism in Question: Edmond Richer and the Renewal of Conciliarism in the Early Seventeenth Century About the Authors Contents of Volumes 1 and 3 Index of Names Index of Places

Index of Names

Abraham the Great of Kidunja 133 Acosta, José de 285 Agresti, Livio 33 Albert VII (Archduke of Austria) 94 Alberti, Giuseppe 119 Algardi, Alessandro 128 Almeida, Manuel de 257–261, 264, 266– 268, 271, 273 seq. André de Oviedo 262, 269 Anna, Baldassare d’ 136 seq. Anthony of Padua 121 Anthony the Abbot 132 Arias de Ugarte, Hernando 291 Árpád, Ladislaus I of Hungary 127 seq. Árpád, Stephen I of Hungary 128 Arriaga, José de 286 Arsenius the Deacon 133 August (Elector) of Saxony 72, 294 Augustine 134 Avont, Pieter van 96, 108 seq., 112 seq. Ayala, Martin Pérez de 19, 25 Barberini, Francesco 128, 135 Baronio, Cesare 198 seq. Barradas, Manuel 258, 260, 262, 265, 272, 274 Barreto, Emmanuel 237 Beccadelli, Lodovico 154, 307 Becket, Thomas 75 Bernini, Gian Lorenzo 135 Bizozeri, Simpliciano 118, 124 Bonafous, Louis-Abel de 145 Borghese, Scipione 194 seq. Borja, Francisco de 132

Boxer, Charles 209 Borromeo, Carlo 44, 147, 149, 202–204, 286, 288, 292, 307 Braccio, Nicola (Bralich, Nicola) 122 Brigitte of Sweden 123 Buddha 241 seq., 249 Campi, Pietro Maria 160, 301, 306 Canisius, Peter 94, 132 Cano, Melchior 40, 82, 202 Carafa, Gian Pietro (see also Paul IV) 307 Cardella, Lorenzo 124 seq. Casas, Bartolomé de las 281 Cassius, Bartholomaeus (Kasˇic´, Bartol) 126, 135 Catherine of Alexandria 137, 233 seq., 241, 251 seq. Cattaneo, Rocco 203 Cerqueira, Luís 209, 211, 213–216, 220– 228, 251 Charlemagne 16 Charles V (Charles Quint, Emperor) 278– 281 Charles VIII (King) of France 155 Charles IX (King) of France 188 Chiri, Diego 287–296 Chiri, Pedro 287–296 Clement VIII (Aldobrandini, Ippolito) 31 seq., 277 Collaert, Jan II 34 Correia, Francisco 212 Cortona, Pietro da 135 Couros, Matheo de 224 Coxcie, Michel 111 seq.

310 Dalmatin, Herman 123 Dalmazzo, Enrico 201 Daza y Arguelles, Eusebio 294 Diego of Alcalà 199 Dioscorus of Alexandria 260 Doria, Giannettino 308 Duchet, Claude 187 Dumont, Henry 145 Duval, André 147, 149, 215 seq., 221 Eck, Johann 111 Edward VI (King) of England 75 Eisenhart, Johannes 127 seq. Elizabeth (mother of St. John the Baptist) 96, 98, 105, 108, 112 Ephrem the Syrian 133 Epictetus and Astion, the monastic martyrs 133 Erdo˝dy, Thomas II 125 Espinosa, Diego de 279, 281 Fasilädäs 261–263, 267, 269, 272 Ferdinand I (Emperor) of Habsburg 117, 124 seq., 147 Ferdinand II (King) of Aragon 191 Fernandes, António 218, 265 Fernández Navarrete, Domingo 268 Fétis, François-Joseph 148 Fiammeri, Giovanni 33 seq. Francisco de Toledo 281–283 Francis I (King) of France 155 Francis of Sales 94 Francis Xavier 132, 145, 200, 209, 236, 301 Franco, Girolamo 9, 201, 278 Frankapan, Bernardin 118 Gallemart, Johannes 202 Gasca, Pedro de la 281 Gebizon 128 George II Drashkovich 124, 126 Gerson, Jean 153 Gillot, Jacques 308 Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina 168 Gómez, Pedro 242, 281 Gonzaga, Giulia 306 Gonzaga, Luigi (Aloysius) 132

Index of Names

Goto, John Soan de 132 Gregory the Great 70, 160 Gregory VII (Hildebrand of Sovana) Gregory XIII (Boncompagni, Ugo) 168 seq., 199, 212, 226 Guardi, Francesco 138 seq. Guardi, Gian Antonio 137 seq. Guerrero, Pedro 280

128

Haudion, Nicolaas de 84–86 Helenus of Alexandria 133 Henry VIII (King) of England 75, 259 Herodias 86 Hieronymus, Eusebius Sophronius (Jerome) 31, 117 Hilarion of Gaza 133 Hiljic´, Grgo 139 Hosius, Stanislas 154 Ignatius of Loyola 38, 132, 257 Innocent VIII (Cybo, Giovanni Battista) 191 Isabella Clara Eugenia of Austria 94 Isabella I (Queen) of Castile 191 Isidore Agricola 200 Isidore of Seville 153 Jacobus de Voragine (Giacomo da Varazze) 110, 235 John IV 118 John XXII (Jacques Duèze) 147, 153 John of Nepomuk 134 John of Saint Facundo 134 John the Baptist 69, 71–75, 77–88, 96, 105, 112, 133, 140 Julius II (Giuliano della Rovere) 106 Kant, Immanuel 22 Kisaï, Jacques 132 Kostka, Stanislas 132 Laínez, Giacomo (Diego) 38, 234 Le Plat, Josse 147 Le Saive, Jean-Baptiste 112 Le Vasseur, Jacques 155 Leal Vejarano, Gonzalo 289, 291

311

Index of Names

Lessius, Leonard 213 L’Estoile, Pierre de 221 Lobo, Jerónimo 272, 274 Louis XI (King) of France 155 Louis XIV (King) of France 195 Luca, Giovanni Battista de 126 Lucas, Franciscus ‘Brugensis’ (Lucas, Francis ‘of Bruges’) 41, 185 Luna, Frederic of 188 Luposignoli, Mihovil 121–123 Luther, Martin 85, 123, 197, 213, 217 Macarius the Great of Egypt 133 Maderno, Carlo 135 Mainardi, Girolamo 201 Malchus 133 Mansi, Gian Domenico 147, 150–152 Marin, Louis 15, 17 Martin, Gregory 186 Martins, Pedro 214 Mary, mother of Jesus 36–40, 43, 45, 93, 95, 121, 123, 138–140, 165, 245 Massarelli, Angelo 188, 201 Matos, Diego de 265, 293 Maxentius 241, 243 Medici, Caterina de’ 12 seq. Medici, Cosimo I de’ 154 Mehmed II 135 Melanchthon, Philippus 302, 306 Menas of Egypt 133 Mendes, Afonso 258–265, 267–274 Méndez de Tiedra, Gerónimo de 287, 290 Mercury 246 Merisi, Michelangelo ‘Caravaggio’ 107 Michael the Archangel 119–121 Miculich, Alexander Ignatius 127 Miki, Paulo 132 Mittendorff, Jeremias 96, 101, 104, 106 seq., 109, 113 Mogrovejo, Toribio Alfonso de 286, 290 Molanus, Johannes (van der Meulen, Jan) 70 seq., 88, 99, 110 seq. Monson, Craig 145–147, 149 seq., 154, 156, 159 seq. Morais, Sebastião de 214

Morales, Ambrosius (Morales, Ambrosio de) 23, 223 More, Thomas 261, 263, 269, 274 Morone, Giovanni 9 seq., 14, 16, 23, 187 seq. Moses the Black 133 Moyses (Moses) 162 Muhammad 121, 123 Nadal, Jerónimo 11 seq., 26, 31–33, 35–38, 40–43, 46–50, 53–68 Naito¯, Julia 247 Neri, Filippo 198, 200 Nuñez de Haro y Peralta, Alonso 204 Nutius, Martinus II 31 seq. Oda, Nobunaga 241 Ôtomo, Yoshishige 214 Oviedo, André de 262, 269 Pachomius the Great 133 Páez, Gasparo 274 Páez, Pedro 272 Palafox y Mendoza, Juan 203 Paleotti, Gabriele 70 seq., 82 seq., 88, 126, 133 seq., 150 Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi da 145, 148, 159, 168 seq. Pamphili, Cinzio 201 Paphnutius of Thebe 133 Pasio, Francisco 220 Passeri, Bernardino 33–36, 39–44, 46 seq., 55–58, 61, 65, 68 Paul III (Farnese, Alessandro) 193, 199 Paul IV (Carafa, Gian Pietro) 13 Paul V (Borghese, Camillo) 169, 194 seq., 227, 291 Paul of Tarsus 197, 263 Paul of Thebes, the First Hermit 132 Paul the Simple of Egypt 132 seq. Pérez, Martin de Ayala 19, 25 Peroches, Pasqual 290 seq. Petitjean, Bernard Thadée 239 seq. Philip II (King) of Spain 188–191, 194, 278, 280–281 Philip III (King) of Spain 263

312 Pithou, Pierre 155 Pie II (Piccolomini, Enea Silvio) 155, Pius IV (Medici, Giovanni Angelo de’) 124, 148, 189, 193, 200, 280 Pius V (Ghislieri, Michele) 31, 125, 160, 197, 283, 285 Pius IX (Mastai Ferretti, Giovanni Maria) 252 Pius XI (Ratti, Ambrogio Damiano Achille) 271 Pizarro, Gonzalo 281 Plantin, Christopher 197 Pole, Reginald 14, 76 Porta, Ardicino della 165, 167 seq. Potel, François-André 145 Pourbus, Frans I 95 seq., 100 Pozzo, Andrea 204 Quiñones, Claudio Fernández de, Count of Luna 188 Quiroga, Vasco de (Bishop of Michoacán) 280 Rangger, Johannes Baptista 133 seq. Richard, Charles-Louis 145, 161, 168 seq. Richer, Edmond 308 Ritter, Paulus (Vitezovic´, Paulus) 118 Robert of Ketton 123 Rodrígues, Francisco 263 seq. Romano, Bonaventura 161, 193, 198 Romuald (founder of Camaldolese Order) 134 Rovere, Giulio Feltrio della 148 Rudolf II (Emperor) of Habsburg 124 seq Rubens, Peter Paul 108 Ruffo, Vincenzo 147–149 Salmeron, Alfonso 13 Sarpi, Paolo 15, 105, 193, 196 Sartorius, Davidus 94 Sforza, Pallavicino 15 Simeon Stylite the Elder 133 Sirleto, Guglielmo 16, 23 Sixtus IV (Rovere, Francesco della) 39 Sixtus V (Peretti di Montalto, Felice) 194, 199

Index of Names

Skocˇibusˇic´, John [Matthew] the Elder 140 Strozzi, Giovanni 154 Suarez, Francisco 105 Suinimir, Demetrius (Zvonimir, Dmitar) 128 Surius, Laurentius (Surius, Lorenz) 240 Surin, Jean-Joseph 13 Teresa of Avila, 127, 200 Theodosius of Antioch 133 Theodosius the Cenobiarch 133 Thomas II Erdo˝dy 125 Thomas of Villanova 94, 127 Tokugawa, Ieyasu 215, 241, 243, 247 Toyotomi, Hideyoshi 215, 241, 243 Urban VIII (Barberini, Maffeo) 271

128, 135,

Valignano, Alessandro 209, 211–215, 220, 223 seq., 226–228, 236, 242 Valle, Juan del 280 Vázquez, Gabriel 222 seq. Vicente To¯in (Fo¯in; Ho¯in) (Vicente, Vilela) 240 Vieira, Sebastián 251 Vincent de Paul 94 Vitelli, Vitellozzo 149 Vrhovac, Maximilianus 125 Wagenschön, Franz Xaver 119 Wälättä, Gyiorgis 273 Wegman, Rob 149, 154 Wierix, Antoon II 31 seq., 49, 62 Wierix, Hieronymus 34–36, 41, 59, 64, 66 seq. Wierix, Jan 34 seq., 68 Ximénez, Jacobus Yo¯ho¯, Paulo

32

240

Zoilo, Annibale 168 seq. Zumárraga, Juan de 280

Index of Places

Aarschot 96, 108–111 Alcalá de Henares 290 Alexandria 137, 233–235, 241, 251 seq., 260, 262, 266, 274 Amakusa 222–224 America 194, 203 seq., 210, 234, 279–284, 286 Amiens 72, 85 Antwerp (Antwerpen/Anvers) 12, 31, 33, 108 Argentina 140, 281, 285 Arima 198, 215, 222–224 Augsburg 12, 171, 198 Autun 154 Avignon 154 Basel 151–153, 154–156., 270 Bern 214 Bohemia 119, 235 Bolivia 278, 285, 287 Bologna 189 Bordeaux 150 seq. Bosnia 117, 135 seq., 140 Bourges 151 seq. Bruges 84, 160 Brussels (Bruxelles/ Brussel) 12 Cambrai 150 Castile 279 Cavalese 119 Chile 281 China 33, 204, 210, 268 Cologne 12, 151, 154

Constance (Konstanz) 152 seq., 155 seq., 193, 270 Croatia 117 seq., 124–128, 132, 134 seq., 140 Cuenca 279 Cuzco 281 Däbrä Libanos 258 Dalmatia 117 seq., 121, 123 seq., 128, 134, 136, 140 Denmark 259 Dillingen 198 Dubrovnik (see also Ragusa) 132 Embrun 150 England 75, 235, 245, 259 Ermland 154 Ethiopia 257–274 Florence 172 Fojnica 135, 139 seq. France 14, 16, 75, 87, 148, 187 seq., 190, 195, 209, 235, 259, 280 seq. Genoa 161 Germany 75, 190, 235, 259, 281 Goa 236 Gorgora 258 Gotô 224 Götzens near Innsbruck 133 Granada 245, 280 Graz 198

314 Herzegovina 117 Hirado 217, 224 Holy Roman Empire

Index of Places

48

India 33, 204, 209, 221, 233 seq., 260, 269, 273 Ingolstadt 94 Italy 72, 87, 148, 160, 162, 170, 190, 192– 194, 200, 281 Japan 198, 209–228, 233 seq., 236, 239– 242, 245, 247, 251 seq., 259 Jerusalem 35, 106 Jülich 12 Kachtem 83–86, 89 Kalocsa 124 Kraljeva Sutjeska 135 seq., 139 seq. Kresˇevo 135–137 Kyoto 209, 246 seq. La Plata 278, 287 seq., 290 seq. Lasta 266 Lepoglava 132–134. Liège 12 Lille 22 Lima 203, 269, 281, 285 seq., 290 seq. Litícˇ near Jatromeˇrˇ 119 Littisch (Litícˇ near Jatromeˇrˇ) 119 Lombardy 203 Loreto 148 Lorraine 188 Louvain (Leuven) 12, 69, 71 seq., 233, Low Countries (the Netherlands) 31, 69, 72–75, 77, 83, 87 Lyon 154 Maastricht 12 Macau 212, 214, 236 Madrid 200 Mainz 12, 154 Meaux 155 Mechelen (Malines) 12, 75, 77, 112, 150 seq. Melun 190 Mexico 150, 192, 197, 203 seq., 280

Milan 118, 147, 150 seq., 188 seq., 198, 202, 286 Miyako 209, 215 Moravia 198 Munich (München) 12, 170–171 Nagasaki 200, 214–216, 219, 222, 224, 226, 237, 251 Naples 192, 195 Narbonne 150 Netherlands (Low Countries) 70, 72, 75, 188, 259 New Spain 203 Nicaea (Council of) 268 Normandy 235 Notthinham 75 Noyon 155 Nubia 273 Nuestra Señora de la Concepción de Cahuayo (Bolivia) 293 Nuremberg (Nürnberg) 118 Ômura 215, 222–224 Osijek 119, 121, 132 Ottoman Empire 117, 126, 128, 132, 135, 140 Oudenaarde 96 Padua 121 Papal State (see also Vatican) 192, 194, 196 Paris 12–14, 19 seq., 25, 155, 187, 190, 193, 203, 239, 252, 271 Pécs 124 Peru 277 seq., 281 seq., 285, 289 seq., 294 Petric´evac near Banja Luka 138 Petrovaradin 132 Philippines 212, 226 seq., 247 Poissy 25 Poland 134, 190, 203 Portugal 190–192, 257, 263, 269 Pozˇega 132 Prague 198 Reims 150 seq., 154 Rhineland 235 Rijeka 132

315

Index of Places

Rimini 75, 123 Rome (Rom) 12 seq., 26, 85, 107, 110, 117, 128, 132, 135, 148, 169, 175, 186 seq., 189–200, 204, 211, 225 seq., 241 (Roman Empire), 241 Rouen 235 Russia 235 Saint-Germain 17, 22, 25 Saint-Quentin 12 Salzburg 154 San Pedro de Condocondo (Bolivia) 288 San Pedro de Totora (Bolivia) 294 Santa Bárbara de Culta (Bolivia) 287–289, 292–294 Sens 154 seq. Sheffield 162–164 Shiki 215 Sinai, Mount 235, 251 Sisak 125 Solin near Split 128 Spain 16, 72, 87, 188–192, 197, 235, 277– 284, 290 Split 121, 123, 140 Ston 45, 75 Sweden 123, 235, 259 Tesero 119 Toledo 281–285, 287 seq. Tournai 12 Tours 151, 154

Trent (Council of) 9, 11–17, 19–22, 25, 27, 36–41, 44, 46, 49, 69 seq., 73, 77 seq., 82 seq., 85–87, 89, 93 seq., 100 seq., 105, 113, 117, 119, 124–126, 140, 145–148, 150, 153–156, 159–160, 162, 164, 168– 170, 172, 175–177, 185–194, 196, 198– 204, 209–218, 220–225, 227, 233 seq., 242, 251 seq., 261–264, 268–271, 273, 277–283, 285–296 Trier (Trèves) 12 Turin 160 seq. Ulm 12 Utrecht 75 Valenciennes 12 Varazˇdin 132 Vatican (see also Papal State) 9, 16, 169, 185 seq., 199, 201, 237 Venice 85, 117, 136, 140, 160, 163, 169, 175, 188 seq., 237 Veracruz de Cacachaca (Bolivia) 293 Verona 189 Vienna 107, 119, 125, 198 Wales 235 Wezemaal 96, 99, 101, 104, 113 Zagreb 124, 127 seq., 132, Zamora 279