Transregional Reformations: Crossing Borders in Early Modern Europe [1 ed.] 9783666564703, 9783525564707

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Violet Soen / Alexander Soetaert /  Johan Verberckmoes / Wim François (eds.)

Transregional Reformations Crossing Borders in Early Modern Europe

Academic Studies

61

Refo500 Academic Studies Edited by Herman J. Selderhuis In Co-operation with Christopher B. Brown (Boston), Günter Frank (Bretten), Bruce Gordon (New Haven), Barbara Mahlmann-Bauer (Bern), Tarald Rasmussen (Oslo), Violet Soen (Leuven), Zsombor Tóth (Budapest), Günther Wassilowsky (Frankfurt), Siegrid Westphal (Osnabrück).

Volume 61

Violet Soen/Alexander Soetaert/ Johan Verberckmoes/Wim François (eds.)

Transregional Reformations Crossing Borders in Early Modern Europe

Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht

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. © 2019, 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 978-3-666-56470-3

Contents

Abbreviations

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Alexander Soetaert, Violet Soen, Johan Verberckmoes & Wim François Crossing (Disciplinary) Borders: When Reformation Studies Meet Transregional History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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I. Transfer and Exchange Jonas van Tol The Rhineland and the Huguenots: Transregional Confessional Relations During the French Wars of Religion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Barbara B. Diefendorf Localizing a Transregional Catholic Reformation: How Spanish and Italian Orders Became French . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Michel Boeglin Crossing Boundaries: The Reception of Reformed Doctrines in Spain During the Reign of Emperor Charles V . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Gábor Ittzés Why Departed Souls Cannot Return: Transregional Migration of a Reformation Idea in the Sixteenth Century . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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II. Translation and Transmission Alexandra Walsham Religious Ventriloquism: Translation, Cultural Exchange and the English Counter-Reformation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123

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Contents

Alexander Soetaert Transferring Catholic Literature to the British Isles: The Publication of English Translations in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai (c. 1600–50) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157 Zsombor Tóth “What do you Read my Lord? Words, Words, Words…”: A Case Study on Translations and Cultural Transfers in Early Modern Eastern Europe . 187 Graz˙yna Jurkowlaniec Printed Images Crossing Borders: An Allegory of the Catholic Church and its Dissemination in Late Sixteenth-Century Europe . . . . . . . . . . . . 205

III. Mobility and Exile Kajsa Brilkman Boundaries Transcended: Student Mobility, Clerical Marriage and Translations in the Life of the Swedish Reformer Olaus Petri . . . . . . . 245 Violet Soen Containing Students and Scholars Within Borders? The Foundation of Universities in Reims and Douai and Transregional Transfers in Early Modern Catholicism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267 Timothy J. Orr “Even if Fire were Lighted”: Jan Hus and the Decision to Flee or Remain . 295 Johannes M. Müller ‘Exile Theology’ Beyond Confessional Boundaries: The Example of Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315 Christiaan Ravensbergen Language Barriers to Confessional Migration: Reformed Ministers from the Palatinate in the East of the Netherlands (1578) . . . . . . . . . . . . . 333 Notes on Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 363 Index of Names

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 367

Index of Places . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 373

Abbreviations

ADB Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie (56 vol.; Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1875–1912). ARCR A. F. Allison/D.M. Rogers, The Contemporary Printed Literature of the English Counter-Reformation between 1558 and 1640 (2 vol.; London: Scolar Press, 1989– 94). BCJ C. Sommervogel (ed.), Bibliothèque de la Compagnie de Jésus (12 vol.; Brussels: Schepens, 1890–1960). BPal Bibliotheca Palatina: Druckschriften / Stampati Palatini / Printed Books, microfiche edition, ed. L. Boyle/E. Mittler (Munich: Saur, 1995). BR H. Gunneng, Biskop Hans Brasks registratur. Textutgåva (Samlingar utgivna av Svenska fornskriftsällskapet 85; Uppsala: Svenska fornskriftsällskapet, 2003). DBA Deutsches biographisches Archiv I–III, microfiche edition (Munich: Saur, 1999– 2002), also available online in WBIS. EEBO Early English Books Online (https://eebo.chadwyck.com). HO II Stanislaus Hosius, Operum tomus secundus, ed. Stanisław Reszka (Cologne: Cholinus, 1584). LW Luther’s Works, ed. J. Pelikan/H.T. Lehmann (55 vol.; Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1957–1986). NPNF1 Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: A Select Library of the Christian Church, Series I, ed. Philip Schaff (14 vol.; repr. Peabody: Hendrickson, 1995). ODNB Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. OPSS Olaus Petri, Samlade skrifter af Olavus Petri, ed. B. Hesselman (4 vol.; Uppsala: Sveriges kristliga studentrörelses förlag, 1914–1917). PIBA W. Audenaert, Prosopographia Iesuitica Belgica Antiqua: a Biographical Dictionary of Jesuits in the Low Countries 1542–1773 (4 vol.; Leuven: Filosofisch en Theologisch College van de Sociëteit van Jezus, 2000). VD16 Verzeichnis der im deutschen Sprachbereich erschienenen Drucke des 16. Jahrhunderts (www.vd16.de). VD17 Das Verzeichnis der im deutschen Sprachraum erschienenen Drucke des 17. Jahrhunderts (www.vd17.de). WA D. Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesammtausgabe (73 vol.; Weimar: Böhlau, 1883–2009).

Alexander Soetaert, Violet Soen, Johan Verberckmoes & Wim François

Crossing (Disciplinary) Borders: When Reformation Studies Meet Transregional History

This volume invites Reformation scholars to incorporate recent advances in transnational and entangled history into their own field of research, a crossover which has not yet been explored to its full potential. Some of the hesitation can be explained by the traditional emphasis on cities and states in Reformation history. On the one hand, urban history, more than any other field of historical scholarship, has drawn attention to the importance of cities as centers for religious reformations during the Early Modern Era. Inspired by Bernd Moeller’s 1962 classic Reichsstadt und Reformation, numerous case studies presented the Reformation (and eventually the Counter Reformation) as the outcome of complex local power struggles between magistrates and citizens, in which urban and clerical elites, literate citizens, and city dwellers both collaborated and collided.1 On the other hand, the study of Church-State relations, boasting of an even older academic pedigree, has significantly shaped the historiography of the Reformation. An important aspect of the now critically received Konfessionalisierungparadigm, first presented in the 1970s, stresses the far-reaching Church-State collaboration in both Protestant and Catholic regions and highlights the role of princely courts in capital cities, while downplaying developments on the peripheries of state power.2 The ensuing focus on cities and capitals prompted 1 B. Moeller, Reichsstadt und Reformation (Schriften des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte 180; Gütersloh: Mohr, 1962). Seminal examples include: P. Benedict, Rouen during the Wars of Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981); A. Lottin, Lille, citadelle de la Contre Réforme? 1598–1667 (Dunkerque: Westhoek-Éditions, 1984); G. Marnef, Antwerp in the Age of Reformation: Underground Protestantism in a Commercial Metropolis 1550–1577 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996). 2 T. Brockmann/D.J. Weiss (ed.), Das Konfessionalisierungsparadigma. Leistungen, Probleme, Grenzen (Bayreuther Historische Kolloquien 18; Münster: Aschendorff Verlag, 2013); U. LotzHeumann, “Confessionalization”, in M. Laven/A. Bamji/G.H. Janssen (ed.), The Ashgate Companion to the Counter-Reformation (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013) 33–53 and P. Marshall, “Confessionalization, Confessionalism and Confusion in the English Reformation”, in T. Mayer (ed.), Reforming Reformation (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013), 43–64; P. Büttgen/C. Duhamelle (ed.), Religion ou confession. Un bilan franco-allemand sur l’époque moderne (XVIe– XVIIIe siècles) (Paris: Maison des Sciences de l’homme, 2010).

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studies of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century reformations to identify what happened within territorial circumscriptions at a local or regional level; as an alternative, this volume opts to move beyond these boundaries. Recently, calls to decenter the historiography of early modern reformations and to offer alternative entangled histories have caused scholars to modify urban and state perspectives.3 The focus on the Wittenberg-Zürich-Geneva triad of Protestant churches and the Catholic Church’s Rome-Madrid axis has been deconstructed in favor of a cross-confessional, multi-layered, and multi-actor analysis of early modern Christianity.4 Moreover, as witnessed by the growing number of studies devoted to religious mobility, religion was not confined to the territorial boundaries of states and cities.5 Even if urban and state authorities consistently tightened their control over ecclesiastical institutions and clerical leadership, they were limited in their capacity to monitor and manage the persons, goods, ideas and technologies circulating in and beyond their territorial circumscriptions. Therefore this collection seeks to focus on the scope, contingencies, and outcomes of cross-border exchange. This volume offers a selection of papers presented at the fifth annual RefoRCconference, hosted by KU Leuven in May 2015, which questioned how the concept of ‘transregional history’ could be useful to decenter and reinterpret the Reformation era.6 Transregional history functions to some extent as an early modern equivalent to the strand of ‘transnational history’ practiced by modern historians, while taking its main inspiration from an histoire croisée: inspired by 3 S. Ditchfield, “Decentering the Catholic Reformation: Papacy and Peoples of the Early Modern World”, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 101 (2010) 186–208; G. Marcocci, “Too Much to Rule: States and Empires across the Early Modern World”, Journal of Early Modern History 20 (2016) 511–25. 4 See for instance: J. Machielsen, Martin Delrio: Demonology and Scholarship in the CounterReformation (Oxford: British Academy/Oxford University Press, 2015) or the special issue on ‘Withdrawal and Engagement in the Long Seventeenth Century’, with several case studies taken from various regions in Europe in the Journal of Early Modern Christianity 1.2 (2014) as well as A. Bamji/G. H. Janssen/M. Laven (ed.), The Ashgate Research Companion to the CounterReformation (Farnham/Burlington: Ashgate, 2013) for a similar view on Catholic religion. 5 C. Roll/F. Pohle/M. Myrczek (ed.), Grenzen und Grenzüberschreitunge. Bilanz und Perspektiven der Frühneuzeitforschung (Frühneuzeit-Impulse 1; Köln/Weimar/Wien: Böhlau, 2010); H. P. Jürgens/T. Weller (ed.), Religion und Mobilität: zum Verhältnis von raumbezogener Mobilität und religiöser Identitätsbildung im frühneuzeitlichen Europa (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz. Abteilung für abendländische Religionsgeschichte. Beiheft 81; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010). 6 The conference was organized within the framework of the KU Leuven-funded BOF-project OT/13/033: ‘The Making of Transregional Catholicism: Print Culture in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai, 1559–1659’ (promotors V. Soen and J. Verberckmoes, and dr. Alexander Soetaert as researcher); project’s website to be found at www.transregionalhistory.eu. The database built during this project can be searched through: https://www.arts.kuleuven.be/ nieuwetijd/english/odis/ICC_search.

Crossing (Disciplinary) Borders: When Reformation Studies Meet Transregional History 11

advances in global history, it emphasizes contact, transfer and exchange, translation and transmission, and mobility along and across changing and unstable boundaries in early modern Europe, a continent composed of fractured states and regions.7 At the Leuven conference, leading experts elaborated on the theme of ‘transregional reformations’ in relation to their own field of research, while participants presented short papers that engaged with the subsequent discussion on how cross-border movements shaped early modern reformations. Covering a geographical space that ranges from Scandinavia to Spain and from England to Hungary, the selected chapters in this volume apply the transregional method to a vast array of topics, such as the history of theological discussion, knowledge transfer, pastoral care, visual allegory, ecclesiastical organization, confessional relations, religious exile, and university politics. Rather than princes and urban governments steering religion, Europe’s early modern reformations emerge as events shaped by authors and translators, publishers and booksellers, students and professors, exiles and refugees, and clergy and (female) members of religious orders crossing borders.

I.

Transfer and Exchange

The volume starts by showing how transfer and exchange beyond territorial circumscriptions or proto-national identifications shaped many sixteenth-century reformations. Despite obvious tendencies to strengthen city- and statecentered churches during the Early Modern Period, religious reform increasingly depended on the transregional exchanges that took place beyond urban limits and state borders. During the past few decades scholars have raised many questions concerning the validity of the confessionalization model for regions beyond the Holy Roman Empire and its exceptional relationship between Church(es) and State. In other regions, support from abroad, rather than local power struggles, provide a better explanation for contingent outcomes.8 The 7 J. Duindam, “Early Modern Europe: Beyond the Strictures of Modernization and National Historiography”, European History Quarterly 40 (2010) 606–623; M. Werner/B. Zimmermann, “Beyond Comparison: Histoire Croisée and the Challenge of Reflexivity”, History and Theory, 45.1 (2006) 30–50. M. Middell/K. Naumann, “Global History and the Spatial Turn: From the Impact of Area Studies to the Study of Critical Junctures of Globalization”, Journal of Global History 5 (2010) 149–170. For a more detailed discussion on the merits of transregional history as a methodology for the study of early modern history, see: V. Soen/B. De Ridder/A. Soetaert/ W. Thomas/J. Verberckmoes/S. Verreyken, “How to do Transregional History: A Concept, Method and Tool for Early Modern Border Research”, Journal of Early Modern History 21 (2017) 343–364. 8 C. H. Parker, Faith on the Margins: Catholics and Catholicism in the Dutch Golden Age (Cambridge Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2008); B. Kaplan et al. (ed.), Catholic Com-

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chapters of Jonas van Tol, Barbara Diefendorf, Michel Boeglin, and Gábor Ittzés analyze how elites, clerics, professors, and theologians helped to steer the course of the early modern reformations in transgressing territorial boundaries. In a first chapter, Jonas van Tol examines the French Wars of Religion and their aftermath from the perspective of what happened along and across the borders of the Kingdom of France. Rather than continuing to comparatively analyze Franco-German international and diplomatic relations, he carefully argues for the importance of a transregional analysis of the Wars of Religion that instead focuses on the whole Rhineland. Giving parallel attention to political and religious developments in both France and the Empire helps to explain when and why German aristocrats decided to intervene in the French Wars of Religion, or inversely, when and why they did not. Thus, Van Tol demonstrates that the German Elector Palatine Friedrich III’s famous conversion to Calvinism, which caused new divisions within the imperial Lutheran party, was in fact inextricably related to contemporary events in France. Focusing on the immediate aftermath of the French Wars of Religion, Barbara Diefendorf shows that cross-border exchanges between Italy and Spain were formative in the crystallization of seventeenth-century French Catholicism. While anti-Italian and anti-Spanish sentiments peaked during the religious turmoil of the sixteenth century, these feelings paradoxically led to an increasing interest in the forms of Catholic renewal promoted by religious orders such as the Capuchins and the Discalced Carmelites. Even though wealthy patrons generally granted and facilitated the new foundation of convents in France, they were nevertheless initially inhabited by Italian and Spanish friars and nuns. When the religious orders eventually recruited local novices, tensions broke out between the Spanish and Italian religious clinging to the original ethos of their order and their French benefactors. In a final reflection, Diefendorf asks to what extent the waning number of Italian and Spanish religious in some provinces forced the Capuchins and Discalced Carmelites to deviate from the founding models and become French Catholics. The next two chapters argue that the circulation of both ideas and persons beyond borders helped to shape the Protestant Reformation. Michel Boeglin studies how Spanish elites had adopted the ideas and insights of Luther and other German reformers from the earliest stages of the Reformation. Humanists such as Juan de Valdés (c. 1500–40) and Constantino de la Fuente (1502–60) developed and appropriated German theologies within the Spanish (and wider Mediterranean) context, despite the ‘national assumption’ that the Reformation failed munities in Protestant States: Britain and the Netherlands c. 1570–1720 (Manchester/New York: Manchester University Press, 2009); A. Walsham, Catholic Reformation in Protestant Britain (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014).

Crossing (Disciplinary) Borders: When Reformation Studies Meet Transregional History 13

to establish itself on the Iberian Peninsula. The publications of the two humanists followed both the current political developments within the Holy Roman Empire and the Papacy’s subsequent reactions; thus, these Spanish works should be understood as a part of a pan-European continuum, rather than as isolated texts published on the margins of the continent. Gábor Ittzés shows how Protestant theologies traveled widely, and how, in this context, books and treatises published across the Holy Roman Empire acted as pivotal components to this process. Ittzés deals with the rather specific Reformation ‘idea’ that departed souls can return in forms visible to man’s earthly senses. This idea, developed in the mid-sixteenth century by such Lutheran theologians as the prominent Philip Melanchthon (1497–1560) and the lesserknown Melchior Specker (fl. 1554–69) from Strasbourg, was appropriated and popularized both within the wider literature on ars moriendi and in theological reflection on the soul’s post-mortem state, even if it would later be rejected by mainstream theology. The emphasis on books as vectors of mobility leads to interpretations that are explored throughout the remainder of this volume.

II.

Translation and Transmission

The second part of this volume is devoted to the acceleration of cultural transfer that resulted from the newly-invented printing press, by translation as well as transmission of texts and images. In the earliest years of printing, translated devotional texts stemming from the late Middle Ages proved to be the key to spiritual reinvigoration. Showcasing the widespread vitality of Rheno-Flemish mysticism, the many printed editions of Thomas a Kempis’ (1380–1471) Imitation of Christ and Ludolph the Carthusian’s (d. 1378) Life of Christ serve as two exemplary texts that were translated from Latin into vernacular languages and that underscore how the printing press functioned as an agent of transmission of religious ideas across boundaries. The advent of the Reformation era only enhanced the importance of translations for religious life and devotion, connecting regions and languages in a number of surprising ways. As the essays of Alexandra Walsham, Alexander Soetaert, Zsombor Tóth and Graz˙yna Jurkowlaniec demonstrate, translation and transmission between vernaculars and Latin (which functioned as the common mediating language) directly affected developments in both the Catholic and Protestant churches and confessions. In recent years, the flourishing field of translation studies has emphasized the distinctive process of translating a text.9 The act of translation mobilizes scholars 9 P. Burke/R. Po-chia Hsia (ed.), Cultural Translation in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press/European Science Foundation, 2007).

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and amateurs to pursue goals that transcend their specific linguistic enterprise. Translation involves both negotiation with the host language, an exchange of ideas, and a compromised outcome; it is decontextualization followed by recontextualization. Attending to the production, distribution, and readership of translations leads to a more sophisticated understanding of the crossing of cultural and state boundaries. In entangled cultures, translations change how these cultures work. When applied to religious cultures and the Reformation, translation studies, although viewed to be of primary importance, still await further analysis, especially in regard to transregional history. The four essays that comprise the second part of this volume deal with this method of interpreting Reformation in texts and images. In the first two chapters of this section, the authors address the importance of translations in the vernacular for early modern English Catholicism. The fate of English Catholicism is no longer understood as being insular, but emblematic of a wider transregional context of opposing reformations in early modern Europe. Alexandra Walsham challenges a traditional English insular perspective by interrogating the religious texts that moved from the continental mainland to the British Isles. She addresses a typology of Catholic books translated into English that contain a variety of works covering topics such as controversy, catechisms, and the devotional treatises of crucial authors like Luis de Granada and François de Sales. Walsham considers translation as a positive and creative process for adaptation, dialogue, and compromise that enabled cultural interaction and cross-fertilization across the Channel, while demonstrating that some of the continental Catholic texts were also adapted for and directed to non-Catholic readership on the British Isles. Analysing the same corpus of English Catholic translations, Alexander Soetaert points to the extent to which interactions between English Catholics residing on the continent and their host societies helped to shape the texts. Soetaert closely monitors the publication of both English and French translations in those continental towns where English Catholics gathered or regularly passed through for religious and educational purposes, such as Douai and Saint-Omer in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai. Establishing a striking connection between the publication of translations in English and French, he suggests that the Cambrai region became the single most important hub for the transfer of French, Italian, and Spanish religious literature into England. The remainder of the volume’s second section explores the transformative dimensions of the translation of texts and images in territories that are usually considered to be on Europe’s margins. Zsombor Tóth, for example, questions how translations of English Puritan texts emerged in Hungary and Transylvania. Since the local intellectual elites there appear to have had a very limited command of the English language, Tóth first highlights the importance of Latin as an

Crossing (Disciplinary) Borders: When Reformation Studies Meet Transregional History 15

intermediary language in translating English Puritan literature. By elaborating the case of István Matkó, he suggests that Eastern European translators made the English originals fit within local contexts. He also demonstrates that the reception of English Puritanism was a complex process of transfer, translation, and rewriting. Art historian Graz˙yna Jurkowlaniec follows the extraordinary journey across Europe of Typus Ecclesiae, an innovative representation of the Church that originated in Warmia, Prussia (now in northern Poland). The Polish Cardinal Stanislaus Hosius played a key role in the distribution of the image, as he had copies printed in Italy and sent to members of noble and royal families and religious leaders throughout Europe. Whether the Cardinal sent the copies for politico-diplomatic reasons or for religious instruction (or both), he always sought to strengthen the position of the Catholic Church vis-à-vis the ‘heretics’. Jurkowlaniec carries out a careful inquiry into the actors involved in this process of transregional transfer and the various political and religious interests that were at stake.

III.

Mobility and Exile

The third and final part of this volume examines the importance of mobility and exile in causing transregional reformations. Traditionally, the exile dimension of religious migration has figured prominently in the historiography of the Early Modern Era.10 The significance of the experience of dislocation within Calvinism led Heiko Oberman to coin the well-known concept of the ‘Reformation of the Refugee’, arguing that exile was crucial to the development of Reformed churches and their doctrine, thus establishing a distinct ‘exile theology’.11 Due to their smaller numbers, Catholic refugees have been historically neglected, but a series of new studies have recently shed light on their particular experiences.12 Most 10 Jürgens/Weller (ed.), Religion und Mobilität; J. Spohnholz/G. K. Waite (ed.), Exile and Religious Identity, 1500–1800 (London: Pickering & Chatto 2014). 11 H.A. Oberman, “Europa afflicta: The Reformation of the Refugees”, in P. A. Dykema (ed.), John Calvin and the Reformation of the Refugees (Travaux d’humanisme et Renaissance 464; Genève: Droz, 2009) 177–94. First published in Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 83 (1992) 91–111. 12 For an overview of Catholic refugee communities, see: B. Braun, “Katholische Glaubensflüchtlinge: eine Spurensuche im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit”, Historisches Jahrbuch 130 (2010) 505–76 and Id., “Katholische Konfessionsmigration im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit – Stand und Perspektiven der Forschung”, in Jürgens/Weller, Religion und Mobilität, 75–112. Recent volumes and case studies on this subject include: R. Descimon/J.J. Ruiz Ibáñez, Les ligueurs de l’exil: le refuge catholique français après 1594 (Seyssel: Champ Vallon, 2005); L. Chambers/T. O’Connor (ed.), Forming Catholic Communities: Irish, Scots, and English College Networks in Europe, 1568–1918 (Catholic Christendom, 1300–1700; Leiden: Brill 2017)

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notably, Geert Janssen’s recent study on Catholic exiles during the Dutch Revolt established that dislocation had a significant impact on the Counter-Reformation in the Low Countries, as he claims that Catholics sharpened both their religious ideas and identities during exile and became increasingly militant. Adapting Oberman’s aforementioned term, Janssen has coined this process the ‘Counter-Reformation of the Refugee’, positing that a ‘Catholic International’ existed alongside a ‘Calvinist International’.13 Nicholas Terpstra uses the fate of religious refugees to propose an alternative history of the Reformation, arguing that the pursuit of a greater purity was increasingly influential within late-medieval Christian communities, resulting first in the large-scale expulsion of Jews and Muslims and then of fellow-Christians from the Iberian peninsula.14 Even so, religious mobility included a wide array of patterns and motivations, including pilgrimage, study, pastoral care, grand tours and, probably most farreaching, voluntary or involuntary migration. The wider pattern of cross-border movements in the Reformation era form the backbone of the contributions of Kajsa Brilkman, Violet Soen, Timothy Orr, Johannes Müller and Christiaan Ravensbergen. Collectively these authors examine the connection between transregional mobility and the formation of religious identities. The experience of both individual and group border crossings had wide-ranging repercussions: forced to mediate between the culture they left behind and their new host society, migrants and exiles became vectors of newly-embodied identities and beliefs. This volume’s last section highlights the importance of academic mobility and intellectual networks for both the Lutheran and the Catholic Reformation. Two essays argue that early modern religious migration and exile often relied on previous patterns of pilgrimage or academic peregrination. Kajsa Brilkman reconsiders the Swede Olaus Petri’s student years at Wittenberg and their later impact on his efforts as Scandinavia’s foremost reformer. She dismisses the idea of a direct or immediate transfer of Lutheran thought between Wittenberg and Stockholm, yet underlines how Petri’s evolving views on marriage – embodied by being a cleric and marrying a local bride and then defending this choice in print –

and C. Bowden/J.E. Kelly (ed.), The English Convents in Exile, 1600–1800: Communities, Culture, and Identity (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013); V. Soen, “Exile Encounters and Cross-Border Mobility in Early Modern Borderlands. The Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai as a Transregional Node (1559–1600)”, Belgeo–Belgian Journal of Geography 2/2015 (online 15 July 2015). 13 G. Janssen, “The Counter-Reformation of the Refugee: Exile and the Shaping of Catholic Militancy in the Dutch Revolt”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 63 (2012) 671–92; Id., The Dutch Revolt and Catholic Exile in Reformation Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014). 14 N. Terpstra, Religious Refugees in the Early Modern World: An Alternative History of the Reformation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015).

Crossing (Disciplinary) Borders: When Reformation Studies Meet Transregional History 17

were the result of his prior academic mobility and his willingness as an individual to adapt and translate Reformation ideas in practice and print. Violet Soen focuses on the foundation of new universities in the borderlands between France and the Habsburg Low Countries during the mid-sixteenth century, as two institutions of higher education, one in French Reims and the other in Habsburg Douai, opened a mere fifteen years apart. Both universities originated from the newly-felt need to contain students and scholars within the borders of their respective states in order to prevent ‘contagion’ by the ‘heretic’ neighbor/enemy. In an unanticipated outcome, the Wars of Religion caused students and scholars to flee across those same borders, in order to find a safe haven at the ‘foreign’ institution. As a result, Catholic refugees from the British Isles eventually attended both borderland universities, which sparked further cross-border solidarity between Catholic elites. Despite the ‘proto-nationalist’ discourse of the foundational bulls of the universities of Reims and Douai, academic transfer and mobility helped to create a ‘transregional Catholicism’ in the Franco-Habsburg borderlands. The next two chapters offer interesting perspectives on Oberman’s thesis. Reconsidering the case of Jan Hus (1369–1415), Timothy Orr investigates why the prominent Czech reformer chose to remain a member of his community. Orr suggests that even during times of persecution remaining at home was actually a much more common choice than exile, and therefore advocates that Reformation history should pay greater attention to the idea of ‘remaining’, in addition to the theologies of martyrdom and exile. Johannes Müller focuses on the particular case of Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert (1522–90), a well-known artist and writer from the Low Countries, who never had an academic theological education and is therefore often considered to be a ‘lay theologian’. Müller argues that Coornhert’s rather unorthodox views had been shaped by successive periods of banishment. These punishments turned him into an anti-confessional Christian believer, who never broke with the Catholic Church, but deplored the divisions that had grown between various Christian churches. Consequently, he developed a rather personal spiritualism. Hence, Müller urges the reader to abandon the concept of ‘exile theology’ as a typical Reformed phenomenon and refrain from identifying it as a mere process of radicalization. The final chapter to this volume reconstructs the 1578 emigration of Reformed preachers from the Palatinate to the Low Countries, and, more particularly, to the eastern province of Guelders (Gelderland or Gelre). Christiaan Ravensbergen describes how after the death of the Elector Palatine Friedrich III in 1576, the Lutheran succession caused the forced departure of several hundred Reformed professors, ministers and schoolmasters. Local Reformed patrons in and around Dutch Guelders decided to attract some of these exiles from the Palatinate in

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order to provide ministers for their ongoing Protestantization of the province. However, these encountered only limited success: language problems began soon after the arrival of the German ministers, as many were unable to address their new communities in Dutch. Although most studies overlook such language problems, Ravensbergen demonstrates how this type of barrier was a serious obstacle to confessional migration.

IV.

Periphery and Borderlands

Focusing on the process of ‘crossing borders’ in peripheries and borderlands, all chapters contribute to the de-centering of religious reform in early modern Europe.15 As a result, marginal regions figure prominently alongside central ones. Actually, a distinction between center and periphery in terms of Reformation strategies increasingly seems misleading. Boeglin reminds us that Luther’s ideas, as well as those of many other German reformers, circulated in humanist circles on the Iberian peninsula shortly after 1520, showing that Spain was by no means on the fringes of the ongoing religious debate. Covering the same pivotal era, Brilkman alleges that Sweden was well-connected to the German-speaking lands through an intensive book trade, even if contemporary Scandinavia constituted the periphery of European book production. Ittzés, starting his analysis in Strasbourg rather than Wittenberg, explains how Lutheran beliefs concerning departed souls changed through border-crossings within the Holy Roman Empire. Focusing on Catholic iconography, Jurkowlaniec traces the Typus Ecclesiae’s impressive spread from the Baltic coast and Polish regions, first moving northward towards Sweden and then south and west towards Italy, France, the Low Countries, and Portugal. With respect to Central Europe, Tóth argues that Puritanism was not merely transposed from England to Hungary and Transylvania during the second half of the seventeenth century, but followed its own distinct course of development. Finally, Walsham and Soetaert use English translations of Catholic texts to question Anglocentric visions that for a long period have shaped the historiography of religious print culture in the British Isles. While giving due attention to peripheries, this volume also highlights the central role of borderlands as hotbeds of religious experiments in the Early Modern Period.16 Discussing the Rhineland as a natural division between the 15 H. Louthan/G. Murdock (ed.), A Companion to the Reformation in Central Europe (Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition 61; Leiden: Brill, 2015); T. Ó hAnnracháin, Catholic Europe, 1592–1648: Centre and Peripheries (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015). 16 Case studies on the reformation in borderlands include: B. Forclaz, “La Suisse frontière de

Crossing (Disciplinary) Borders: When Reformation Studies Meet Transregional History 19

Empire and France, Van Tol argues that this region did not constitute a clearly delineated border, but a frontier resulting from successive warfare. He understands the Rhineland as a multilingual zone, influenced by both Paris and the centers of imperial power, and asks how the proximity of France helped to shape the relations between Lutherans within the Empire. Soen and Soetaert shift their attention towards France’s border with the Low Countries. The newly-established Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai of 1559 was designed to incorporate the French-speaking provinces more closely into the Habsburg Low Countries. Nonetheless, the dismembered Ecclesiastical Province of Reims still constituted an important point of reference within the sacred landscape, spurring mobility between the universities of Douai and Reims during the Wars of Religion. Similar to the Rhineland, this border region proved to be a hub of mobility and cultural transfer between not only the Low Countries and France, but also the European mainland and the British Isles, even though it was a border region that frequently turned into a theatre of war throughout the Early Modern Period. Ravensbergen offers another perspective in his work on Guelders, a region in the east of the emerging Dutch Republic that has been largely neglected in studies of confessional migration in favor of the coastal provinces of the Low Countries, such as Holland and Zeeland. Together, the chapters on peripheries and borderlands suggest the hypothesis that areas ‘in between’ centers, though often subject to warfare and looting, actually functioned as channels of transregional contacts, transfer, translation, and mobility that effectively changed the course of early modern reformations. Such a perspective is valuable since it shows that the better-known vertical relations between centers and peripheries were accompanied by rather unexpected horizontal connections, linking regions that have long been viewed as having little importance to wider historical developments. By locating change outside the centers of state and urban power, the essays in this volume contend that regions on the geographical, political, and historiographical periphery made significant, and often surprisingly innovative, contributions to the Protestant and Catholic Reformations in the Early Modern Era. For that reason, it is the

catholicité? Contre-Réforme et Réforme catholique dans le Corps helvétique”, Schweizerische Zeitschrift für Religions- und Kulturgeschichte 106 (2012) 567–83; P. Denis (ed.), Protestantisme aux frontières: la réforme dans le Duché de Limbourg et dans la Principauté de Liège (16e–19e siècles) (Aubel: Gason, 1985); W. Monter, Witchcraft in France and Switzerland: the Borderlands during the Reformation (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1976); R. Esser, “Upper Guelders’ Four Points of the Compass: Historiography and Transregional Families in a Contested Border Region between the Empire, the Spanish Monarchy and the Dutch Republic”, in B. De Ridder/V. Soen/W. Thomas/S. Verreyken (ed.), Transregional Territories: Crossing Borders in the Early Modern Low Countries and Beyond (Habsburg Worlds 2; Turnhout: Brepols, forthcoming).

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conviction of the editors that Europe’s peripheries and borderlands deserve a more central place in Reformation studies.

Acknowledgements The editors wish to express their warmest thanks to KU Leuven’s Research Council, which funded their initial ventures into the transregional dynamic of the reformations in early modern Europe. Both the Research Group of Early Modern History at the Faculty of Arts and the Research Unit of History of Church and Theology at the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies have been extremely supportive of research into the religious history of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In addition, the Research Foundation Flanders (FWO) and KU Leuven’s Doctoral School of Humanities and Social Sciences provided indispensable financial support for inviting both senior and junior scholars to this scholarly meeting. The Leuven conference would not have been possible without the appreciated support of prof. dr. Herman Selderhuis and Karla Apperloo of RefoRC, who contributed in bringing together Reformation scholars from across the world. The editors cordially thank Capilla Nova and Het Danshuis, the board of Saint Michael’s church, and Alumni Leuven for their fruitful collaboration in organizing a music and dance performance of Orlandus Lassus’ Lagrime di San Pietro. As always, the Maurits Sabbe Library of the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies kindly supported us in hosting a temporary exhibition with rare books. Our colleagues and collaborators at KU Leuven, especially Els Agten, Bram De Ridder, Antonio Gerace, Luke R. Murray, Szilvia Sziráki, and Sophie Verreyken did a tremendous job of providing logistical support throughout the conference. Finally, the editors wish to thank all who assisted in the preparation of this volume, especially the anonymous reviewers for their constructive comments and suggestions, Bert Tops for compiling the indices and dr. Ryan McGuinness for editing the English. We thank the publishing house Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht in Göttingen and the general editor of the Refo500 Academic Series, prof. dr. Herman Selderhuis, for having accepted our volume. We wish our readers an enjoyable and fruitful experience and hope that the book will inspire them to further explore the interesting topic of transregional reformations.

Bibliography Bamji, A./Janssen, G. H./Laven, M. (ed.), The Ashgate Research Companion to the CounterReformation (Farnham/Burlington: Ashgate, 2013).

Crossing (Disciplinary) Borders: When Reformation Studies Meet Transregional History 21

Benedict, P., Rouen during the Wars of Religion (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981). Bowden, C./Kelly, J. E. (ed.), The English Convents in Exile, 1600–1800: Communities, Culture, and Identity (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013). Braun, B., “Katholische Glaubensflüchtlinge: eine Spurensuche im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit”, Historisches Jahrbuch 130 (2010) 505–76. Braun, B., “Katholische Konfessionsmigration im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit – Stand und Perspektiven der Forschung”, in H. P. Jürgens/T. Weller (ed.), Religion und Mobilität: zum Verhältnis von raumbezogener Mobilität und religiöser Identitätsbildung im frühneuzeitlichen Europa (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz. Abteilung für abendländische Religionsgeschichte. Beiheft 81; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010). Brockmann, T./Weiss, D. J. (ed.), Das Konfessionalisierungsparadigma. Leistungen, Probleme, Grenzen (Bayreuther Historische Kolloquien 18; Münster: Aschendorff Verlag, 2013). Burke, P./Po-chia Hsia, R. (ed.), Cultural Translation in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press/European Science Foundation, 2007). Büttgen, P./Duhamelle, C. (ed.), Religion ou confession. Un bilan franco-allemand sur l’époque moderne (XVIe–XVIIIe siècles) (Paris: Maison des Sciences de l’homme, 2010). Chambers, L./O’Connor, T. (ed.), Forming Catholic Communities: Irish, Scots, and English College Networks in Europe, 1568–1918 (Catholic Christendom, 1300–1700; Leiden: Brill 2017). Denis, P. (ed.), Protestantisme aux frontières: la réforme dans le Duché de Limbourg et dans la Principauté de Liège (16e–19e siècles) (Aubel: Gason, 1985). De Ridder, B./Soen, V./Thomas, W./ Verreyken, S. (ed.), Transregional Territories: Crossing Borders in the Early Modern Low Countries and Beyond (Habsburg Worlds 2; Turnhout: Brepols, forthcoming). Descimon, R./Ruiz Ibáñez, J. J., Les ligueurs de l’exil: le refuge catholique français après 1594 (Seyssel: Champ Vallon, 2005). Ditchfield, S., “Decentering the Catholic Reformation: Papacy and Peoples of the Early Modern World”, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 101 (2010) 186–208. Duindam, J., “Early Modern Europe: Beyond the Strictures of Modernization and National Historiography”, European History Quarterly 40 (2010) 606–23. Esser, R., “Upper Guelders’ Four Points of the Compass: Historiography and Transregional Families in a Contested Border Region between the Empire, the Spanish Monarchy and the Dutch Republic”, in B. De Ridder/V. Soen/W. Thomas/S. Verreyken (ed.), Transregional Territories: Crossing Borders in the Early Modern Low Countries and Beyond (Habsburg Worlds 2; Turnhout: Brepols, forthcoming). Forclaz, B., “La Suisse frontière de catholicité? Contre-Réforme et Réforme catholique dans le Corps helvétique”, Schweizerische Zeitschrift für Religions- und Kulturgeschichte 106 (2012) 567–83. Janssen, G., “The Counter-Reformation of the Refugee: Exile and the Shaping of Catholic Militancy in the Dutch Revolt”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 63 (2012) 671–92. Janssen, G., The Dutch Revolt and Catholic Exile in Reformation Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014).

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Jürgens, H. P./Weller, T. (ed.), Religion und Mobilität: zum Verhältnis von raumbezogener Mobilität und religiöser Identitätsbildung im frühneuzeitlichen Europa (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz. Abteilung für abendländische Religionsgeschichte. Beiheft 81; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010). Kaplan, B. et al. (ed.), Catholic Communities in Protestant States: Britain and the Netherlands c. 1570–1720 (Manchester/New York: Manchester University Press, 2009). Lottin, A., Lille, citadelle de la Contre Réforme? 1598–1667 (Dunkerque: Westhoek-Éditions, 1984). Lotz-Heumann, U., “Confessionalization”, in M. Laven/A. Bamji/G. H. Janssen (ed.), The Ashgate Companion to the Counter-Reformation (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013) 33–53. Louthan, H./Murdock, G. (ed.), A Companion to the Reformation in Central Europe (Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition 61; Leiden: Brill, 2015). Machielsen, J., Martin Delrio: Demonology and Scholarship in the Counter-Reformation (Oxford: British Academy/Oxford University Press, 2015). Marcocci, G., “Too Much to Rule: States and Empires across the Early Modern World”, Journal of Early Modern History 20 (2016) 511–25. Marnef, G., Antwerp in the Age of Reformation: Underground Protestantism in a Commercial Metropolis 1550–1577 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996). Marshall, P., “Confessionalization, Confessionalism and Confusion in the English Reformation”, in T. Mayer (ed.), Reforming Reformation (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013) 43–64. Middell, M./Naumann, K., “Global History and the Spatial Turn: From the Impact of Area Studies to the Study of Critical Junctures of Globalization”, Journal of Global History 5 (2010) 149–170. Moeller, B., Reichsstadt und Reformation (Schriften des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte 180; Gütersloh: Mohr, 1962). Monter, W., Witchcraft in France and Switzerland: the Borderlands during the Reformation (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1976); Ó hAnnracháin, T., Catholic Europe, 1592–1648. Centre and Peripheries (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015). Oberman, H. A., “Europa afflicta: The Reformation of the Refugees”, in P. A. Dykema (ed.), John Calvin and the Reformation of the Refugees (Travaux d’humanisme et Renaissance 464; Genève: Droz, 2009) 177–94 (first published in Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 83 (1992) 91–111). Parker, C. H., Faith on the Margins: Catholics and Catholicism in the Dutch Golden Age (Cambridge Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2008). Roll, C./Pohle, F./ Myrczek, M. (ed.), Grenzen und Grenzüberschreitunge. Bilanz und Perspektiven der Frühneuzeitforschung (Frühneuzeit-Impulse 1; Köln/Weimar/Wien: Böhlau, 2010). Soen, V., “Exile Encounters and Cross-Border Mobility in Early Modern Borderlands. The Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai as a Transregional Node (1559–1600)”, Belgeo– Belgian Journal of Geography 2/2015 (online 15 July 2015). Soen, V./De Ridder, B./Soetaert, A./Thomas, W./Verberckmoes, J./Verreyken, S., “How to do Transregional History: A Concept, Method and Tool for Early Modern Border Research”, Journal of Early Modern History 21 (2017) 343–364. Spohnholz, J./Waite, G. K. (ed.), Exile and Religious Identity, 1500–1800 (London: Pickering & Chatto 2014).

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Terpstra, N., Religious Refugees in the Early Modern World: An Alternative History of the Reformation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015). Walsham, A., Catholic Reformation in Protestant Britain (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014). Werner, M./Zimmermann, B., “Beyond Comparison: Histoire Croisée and the Challenge of Reflexivity”, History and Theory, 45.1 (2006) 30–50.

I. Transfer and Exchange

Jonas van Tol

The Rhineland and the Huguenots: Transregional Confessional Relations During the French Wars of Religion

The French Wars of Religion were conflicts with a strong transregional dimension. They were sparked in part by ideas developed beyond France, most notably in Strasbourg and Geneva, and shaped by foreign actors. News and rumours about the French wars, in turn, reverberated around Europe and had profound consequences on events in the Netherlands, the Empire, and beyond. Refugees from France left their mark – culturally, economically, and intellectually – throughout Protestant Europe.1 Despite all of this, the historiography of the Wars of Religion has traditionally centred on the national dimensions of the conflict. Historians have for instance focused on the rise and decline of the Huguenot party, the effect of Calvinism on French society, the transformation of the traditional nobility, and the eventual resolution of the civil war in the Edict of Nantes.2 More recently, the regional and local impact of the conflict has also been the subject of extensive research.3 Work on the place of the wars in a wider European context has overwhelmingly focused on the international rather than the transregional. In other words, the study of the relations between France and other countries, as manifested, for example, in diplomatic 1 G. Murdock, Beyond Calvin, The Intellectual, Political and Cultural World of Europe’s Reformed Churches, c. 1540–1620 (Houndmills: Palgrave, 2004) 31–52; O.P. Grell, “Merchants and Ministers: the Foundation of International Calvinism”, in A. Pettegree/A. Duke/G. Lewis (ed.) Calvinism in Europe, 1540–1620 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994) 258–59; O.P. Grell, Brethren in Christ, A Calvinist Network in Reformation Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). 2 See amongst others J.H.M. Salmon, Society in Crisis: France in the Sixteenth Century (London: Methuen, 1979); H. Daussy, Le parti huguenot, chronique d’une désillusion (1557–1572) (Geneva: Droz, 2014); J. Mariéjol, La Réforme et la Ligue: l’Édit de Nantes, 1559–1598 (Paris: Tallandier, 1983); D. Crouzet, Les guerriers de Dieu, La violence au temps des troubles de religion (vers 1525 – vers 1610) (Seyssel: Champ Vallon, 1990). 3 See for instance: D. Potter, War and Government in the French Provinces, Picardy 1470–1560 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993); S. Carroll, Noble Power during the French Wars of Religion, the Guise Affinity and the Catholic Cause in Normandy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); B. Diefendorf, Beneath the Cross: Catholics and Huguenots in Sixteenth-Century Paris (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991).

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traffic, has overshadowed interest in developments that transcended borders and affected borderlands.4 The relative neglect of the transregionality of the French Wars of Religion does not match sixteenth-century interpretations of the conflict. Contemporary observers were acutely aware of the place of the wars in the wider European context. They attributed blame to foreign powers, sought succour beyond the borders of France, and cultivated international confessional connections. This chapter aims to illuminate one important but problematic transregional dimension: the relationship between German Protestants and French Huguenots. In particular, the Protestant princes of the Rhineland played a central role, engaging in the wars in France through diplomacy and military intervention.5 After discussing the existing historiography on German intervention, this chapter will examine the various factors that shaped this particular transregional confessional connection.6 It will be demonstrated that the changing relations between Protestants within the Holy Roman Empire, and, in particular, the conversion of Elector Palatine Friedrich III, had a profound impact on German attitudes towards the Huguenots and, by extension, on the course of the French Wars of Religion.

I.

The Rhineland Princes and the French Wars of Religion

The border region between France and the Holy Roman Empire, including Alsace, Lorraine, and the German Rhineland, was extraordinarily permeable, even by early modern standards. Debates about the nature of this complex region and its inhabitants were common among sixteenth-century scholars, many of whom 4 Examples of works with a strong focus on the international dimension of the Wars of Religion are: L. Romier, Les origines politiques des Guerres de Religion (Geneva: Slatkine-Megariotis Reprints, 1974) and N.M. Sutherland, The Massacre of St Bartholomew and the European Conflict, 1559–1572 (London: Macmillan, 1973). 5 I use the term ‘Rhineland’ to describe the border region between France and the Holy Roman Empire, including the lands between the Meuse and the Rhine and the lands directly east of the Rhine, including the Margraviate of Baden, the Electoral Palatinate, and parts of the Duchy of Württemberg. 6 The use of the term ‘German’ is problematic. There was no German state and the princes studied in this paper cultivated a cosmopolitan noble identity. Yet, beginning in the fifteenth century onwards, there was an ever-closer association between the Holy Roman Empire and a German identity (the Empire was regularly referred to as ‘The Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation’). Moreover, the Imperial princes routinely referred to themselves as “the German Electors and princes” (“die Teutschen Chur und Fürsten”): Stuttgart, Hauptstaatsarchiv Stuttgart (HStASt) A 71 Bü 920, fol. 56 a. Therefore, I have also chosen to use the term ‘the German princes’ when referring to the princes of the German-speaking part of the Holy Roman Empire.

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developed a strong interest in the ancient origins of peoples, states, and languages.7 These debates acquired a political dimension when they engaged with the issue of ‘natural borders’.8 Clear natural demarcations, such as rivers, were often used to determine the precise location of a border. In the case of France and the Empire, however, theorists disputed whether the Rhine or the Meuse constituted this ‘natural border’.9 The origins of this dispute can be found in the division of Charlemagne’s inheritance in 843, which, in addition to France and the Holy Roman Empire, created the kingdom of Middle Francia between the Rhine and Meuse.10 In the sixteenth century, both France and the Empire claimed the strip of land between the two rivers. The French king, Henri II, actively pursued this claim and in 1552, with the aid of a number of Lutheran imperial princes, seized the Trois-Évêchés: Toul, Metz, and Verdun.11 Thus, France and the Empire were, in practice, not separated by a limite, a clear linear border, but by a frontière, a zonal border prone to war (faire la frontière).12 This zone was multilingual, as equally susceptible to cultural and intellectual influences from Paris as from the centres of imperial power, and home to large numbers of migrants and religious refugees.13 Urban centres such as Strasbourg were particularly cosmopolitan and home to scholars and theologians from across the continent.14 The Rhineland’s aristocracy also looked west as much as east, relying on France for the education of their children and for patronage opportunities.15 Though nominally members of the nobility of the Holy Roman Empire, the Rhineland princes also maintained an important stake in the governance of

7 H. Kloft, “Die Germania des Tacitus und das Problem eines deutschen Nationalbewußtseins”, Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 72 (1990) 93–114. 8 R. Babel, Deutschland und Frankreich im Zeichen der Habsburgischen Universalmonarchie (1500–1648) (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2005) 166–80. 9 Potter, War and Government, 266. 10 Babel, Deutschland und Frankreich, 166–68. 11 F.J. Baumgartner, Henry II, King of France 1547–1559 (Durham N.C.: Duke University Press, 1988) 146–59. 12 Potter, War and Government, 267. 13 Babel, Deutschland und Frankreich, 105–22; B. Vogler, “Les contacts culturels entre Huguenots français et Protestants palatins au 16e siècle”, Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français 115 (1969) 29–42. 14 M. Greengrass, The French Reformation (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987) 21; T.A. Brady, Protestant Politics: Jacob Sturm (1489–1553) and the German Reformation (Atlantic Highlands N.J.: Humanities Press, 1995) 104–41; H.J. Cohn, “The Early Renaissance Court in Heidelberg”, European History Quarterly 1 (1971) 313. 15 Vogler, “Les contacts culturels”, 29–42; B. Vogler, “Le rôle des Électeurs Palatins dans les Guerres de Religion en France (1559–1592)”, Cahiers d’Histoire 10 (1965) 52; M. Langsteiner, Für Land und Luthertum: die Politik Herzog Christoph von Württemberg, 1550–1568 (Cologne: Böhlau Verlag, 2008) 14.

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France.16 Many of them owned land on the fringes of France, shared family ties with the French aristocracy, or had spent prolonged periods of time in this country. A number of influential Rhineland noblemen, including the Elector Palatine and Duke Christoph of Württemberg, even held important positions at the French Court.17 The intensity of the connection between France and the Rhineland reached new heights in 1552, when the theatre of the Habsburg-Valois Wars shifted from Italy to the Franco-Imperial frontier. Rather than pitting the Rhineland princes against the French monarchy, their shared antipathy towards the Habsburgs brought the two parties closer together and into a formal alliance.18 French interest in the cultivation of good relations with the Protestant princes of the Rhineland was given further importance by their control over the recruiting grounds for German Landsknechte and Reiters, some of Europe’s finest mercenaries.19 When the 1562 Massacre of Vassy led to the outbreak of the French Wars of Religion, the Protestant princes of the Rhineland were directly brought into the conflict by the efforts of both warring parties, who were vying for diplomatic, financial, and military support, as well as access to the mercenary markets.20 Though the German Protestant princes were heavily involved in the conflict from the very beginning, they rejected the idea of military intervention until the outbreak of the Second War in 1567. The Second and Third Wars, fought between 1567 and 1570, saw the climax of German involvement. During these years four major military campaigns into France were launched from the Rhineland. The first was conducted by Johann Casimir, son of the Reformed Elector Palatine Friedrich III.21 The compatibility of Casimir’s Reformed religion with the Huguenots’ beliefs makes this campaign the easiest to explain. The second, led by

16 Their interest in France was not dissimilar to that of the seventeenth-century princes étrangers, studied by Jonathan Spangler: J. Spangler, “Les Princes Étrangers: Truly Princes? Truly Foreign? Typologies of Princely Status, Trans-nationalism and Identity in SeventeenthCentury France” (conference paper, Noblesses et Nations, Paris, 22–24 May 2013); J. Spangler, “A Lesson in Diplomacy for Louis XIV: The Treaty of Montmartre, 1662, and the Princes of the House of Lorraine”, French History 17 (2003) 225–50. 17 J. van Tol, Germany and the Coming of the French Wars of Religion: Confession, Identity, and Transnational Relations (Unpublished PhD thesis: University of York, 2016) 59–60. 18 J. Pariset, Les relations entre la France et l’Allemagne au milieu du XVIe siècle (Strasbourg: Istra, 1981) 127–65; Baumgartner, Henry II, 147–48. 19 D. Potter, Renaissance France at War: Armies, Culture and Society, c. 1480–1560 (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2008) 131–35. 20 See my PhD thesis for a detailed discussion of French diplomacy in the Rhineland during the first decade of the French Wars of Religion: van Tol, Germany and the Coming of the French Wars of Religion, 134–78. 21 Briefe des Pfalzgrafen Johann Casimir mit Verwandten Schriftstücken, ed. F. von Bezold (3 vol.; München: Rieger, 1882–1903) 1.17–34; Vogler, “Le rôle des Électeurs”, 61.

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William of Orange and his brother, Louis of Nassau, was the most international.22 Though initially intended to stir up a full-scale revolt in the Netherlands, his manoeuvring in Brabant was without success. In line with an earlier treaty between Orange and the Huguenot leadership, he instead decided to attempt to ease the “unbearable suffering of the poor besieged Christians in France”.23 After this French adventure had also stalled, William and Louis joined the Lutheran Wolfgang of Zweibrücken, who in 1569 fulfilled his longstanding ambition of joining the Huguenots on the battlefield.24 Though Wolfgang died during his march through France, his forces still managed to join the Huguenot army. Shortly after, the Peace of Saint-Germain-en-Laye was signed. These three missions contrast strongly with the fourth, in which Margrave Philibert of Baden joined his fellow-Lutheran Johann Wilhelm of Saxe-Weimar in his effort to support the French Catholic army with a regiment of Reiters.25 The religious identities of the protagonists of these missions introduce a number of questions about their motives that are not adequately answered in the existing historiography. Why did a Lutheran prince such as Wolfgang of Zweibrücken see the plight of the Huguenots as a cause worth fighting for when his co-religionist, the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, took up arms against them? Was the religious language used to underpin these campaigns merely a pretext employed to hide more cynical and self-serving motives? Whereas a number of historians since the nineteenth century have unravelled the diplomatic exchanges leading up to the campaigns and carefully mapped the progress of the German forces, they have not systematically examined the intellectual and religious context in which these decisions to intervene were made.26 Without obvious confessional loyalties underpinning at least three out of four campaigns, the religious di22 P.J. van Herweden, Het verblijf van Lodewijk van Nassau in Frankrijk, hugenoten en geuzen, 1568–1572 (Assen: van Gorcum, 1932) 23–30; M. Weis, “‘Les Huguenots et les Gueux’: des relations entre les calvinistes français et leurs coreligionnaires des Pays-Bas pendant la deuxième moitié du XVIe siècle”, in Y. Krumenacker/O. Christin (ed.), Entre calvinistes et catholiques: les relations religieuses entre la France et les Pays-Bas du Nord (XVIe–XVIIIe Siècle) (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2010) 1–29. 23 “das unleidlich Elendt der armen betrangten Christen in Franckreich”: Herweden, Het verblijf van Lodewijk van Nassau, 24. 24 Herweden, Het verblijf van Lodewijk van Nassau, 46–58. 25 A. Krieger, “Philibert, Markgraf von Baden-Baden”, Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie 25 (1887) 739–41. 26 F.W. Barthold, Deutschland und die Hugenotten, Geschichte des Einflussen der Deutschen auf Frankreichs Kirchliche und Bürgerliche Verhältnisse von der Zeit der Schmalkaldischen Bundes bis zum Gesetze von Nantes, 1531–1598 (Bremen: Verlag von Franz Schlodtmann, 1848); K. Hahn, Herzog Johann Wilhelm von Weimar und Seine Beziehungen zu Frankreich (Jena: Gustav Fischer, 1907); van Herweden, Het verblijf van Lodewijk van Nassau; J. Ney, “Pfalzgraf Wolfgang, Herzog von Zweibrücken und Neuburg”, Schriften des Vereins ƒür Reformationsgeschichte 29 (1911) 1–124; W. Platzhoff, Frankreich und die Deutschen Protestanten in den Jahren 1570–1573 (Munich: Oldenburg, 1912).

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mension has largely been downplayed. Lacking clear motives, the actions of the princes are often attributed to opportunism. Assessing the Palatine campaign, Bernard Vogler discerns a very stark contrast between the pious Elector and his self-serving son: The Palatine interventions in the affairs of France were the work of two surprisingly dissimilar characters, and yet very representative of the sixteenth century, at once austere and brutal: the Elector Friedrich III, called the Pious, ardent disciple of reform, and his son Johann Casimir, bad boy and jolly fellow, in search of adventure.27

Vogler makes a similar argument about Wolfgang of Zweibrücken, describing him as “an adventurer without political ideas”.28 Johann Wilhelm’s mission has been explained in similar terms. Gregor Richter describes the Duke as an opportunist primarily interested in furthering his “concrete political interests”.29 Though a taste for adventure and a desire to display their military prowess may have played a role in their decision to embark on a military campaign, this cannot fully explain the variety of responses to the outbreak of war that could be found among the Protestant nobility of the Empire. Instead, we have to look more closely at the complexities of the confessional landscape within the Holy Roman Empire, as well as in France, in order to make sense of the sometimes confusing religious dimension of these campaigns. The German princes’ interpretations of the Wars in France were firmly rooted in their own religious identities, which were more complex than simply Lutheran or Reformed. Moreover, these identities, and their resulting vision of France, were shaped by events that were unfolding within the Empire in the 1560s.

II.

German Understandings of the French Wars of Religion

The French Wars of Religion were not understood in either eschatological or ideological terms within Germany, but as murky and morally ambiguous conflicts. Accusations of covert actions, hidden motives, and the use of religious justifications as a pretext for pursuing political betterment can be found 27 “Les interventions palatines dans les affaires françaises seront l’œuvre de deux personnages étonnamment dissemblables, et pourtant si representatives de ce XVIe siècle à la fois austere et brutal: l’Electeur Fréderic III, surnommé le Pieux, ardent disciple de la Réforme, et son fils Jean-Casimir, mauvais garçon et joyeux drille en quête d’aventures”: Vogler, “Le rôle des Électeurs Palatins”, 54. 28 “un adventurier sans idées politiques”: Vogler, “Le rôle des Électeurs Palatins”, 62. 29 “handfeste politischen Interessen”: G. Richter, “Württemberg und der Kriegzeug des Herzogs Johann Wilhelm von Sachsen nach Frankreich im Jahr 1568”, Zeitschrift für Württembergische Landesgeschichte 26 (1967) 254.

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throughout both contemporary explanations and historical interpretations.30 As is often the case in civil wars, the lack of natural allegiances beyond direct factional or familial circles forced the warring parties to embark on extensive and elaborate campaigns of justification. Because of their perceived influence, longstanding ties with France, and control of the mercenary markets, the Rhineland nobility were among the most important targets of these propaganda efforts. The importance of the Rhineland and the magnitude of French events together ensured that a steady stream of news, rumours, and polemical texts flowed from France into the Holy Roman Empire. This information, however, was always manipulated, translated, edited, or otherwise adapted to suit the purpose of those who provided it. Ties between the noble houses of the Rhineland and France predated the outbreak of the Wars of Religion and were used by individuals from the region to stay informed about the latest developments. This interaction was greatly aided by the ability of many Rhineland noblemen to read and write French.31 Throughout the first decade of the Wars of Religion, the princes of Württemberg, the Palatinate, and Hesse, for example, continually corresponded with their French peers, including Condé, Coligny, the Guise brothers, and Catherine de’ Medici.32 Germans in France also provided information through correspondence. Jean Philippe of Salm, for instance, served as a mercenary captain in the French royal army and shared his insights into the nature of the conflict with his peers in the Rhineland.33 Besides these informal networks, the warring parties in France established formal diplomatic ties within the Empire. French diplomats toured the courts of the German princes, especially those in the Rhineland. Among these envoys were prominent members of the Huguenot party, such as 30 Both sides accused each other of covering up the true motives behind their actions in the Wars of Religion. For Catholic accusations of the Huguenots’ covert agenda, see: François II to Philipp of Hesse, 17 March 1559: Marburg, Hessische Staatsarchiv Marburg (HStAM) 3, 1843, fol. 87–88. For a good example of the language used by Protestants to describe the perceived Catholic conspiracy, see: Newe Zeittung von Franckreich unnd Niderlandt. Christlichen und hochwichtige gründe und ursache[n]/ Warumb die Teutschen kriegsleut die Christen inn Franckreich und Niderlandt nicht verfolgen helffen/ oder auff einige weise sich zu iren feinden wider sie gestellen sollen. Allen Ehrlichen, unnd Frommen Teutschen zu einem newen Jar geschenckt (s.l.: s.n., 1568). 31 Christoph of Württemberg and Friedrich III, for example, both learned fluent French at the French court, while Wilhelm of Hesse studied the language in Strasbourg. Langsteiner, Für Land und Luthertum, 13–14; W. Ribbeck, “Wilhelm IV., Landgraf von Hessen”, Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie 43 (1898) 32; van Tol, Germany and the Coming of the French Wars of Religion, 60–62. 32 See for instance: HStASt A 71; Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, Kurfürsten von der Pfalz, mit Verwandten Schriftstücken, ed. A. Kluckhohn (2 vol.; Braunschweig: C.A. Schwetschte und Sohn, 1868/1870); HStAM 3, 1851. 33 Jean-Philippe of Salm to Friedrich III, 25 August 1562: Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, ed. Kluckhohn, 1.329–30.

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François de Coligny d’Andelot, brother of Gaspard de Coligny, and the famous theorists François Hotman and François Baudouin.34 The French crown also dispatched a number of prominent individuals, most notably Bernardin Bochetel, the Bishop of Rennes.35 Heidelberg, the most important city in the Reformed Palatinate, served as a centre for the dissemination of information about France. Huguenot diplomats used the court of the Elector Palatine as the starting point for their journeys into the Empire and the city’s printing presses churned out a considerable number of pro-Huguenot pamphlets in German.36 These pamphlets were specifically written for a German readership and, though they echoed many of the arguments common in French polemic, also often warned of the consequences of the French Wars of Religion for the Rhineland. German pamphlets arguing for the Catholic cause were less numerous, but were still effective in countering the Huguenot narrative.37 Pamphlets about France were often presented as impartial and factual reports. They explicitly claimed to be accurate and trustworthy and, in many cases, quoted eyewitnesses, provided detailed accounts of battles, and included German translations of French treaties and proclamations.38 For the careful reader, however, their polemical tone must have been obvious. Together, the informal peer networks, diplomatic activity, and printed pamphlets constituted a body of information that was rich, but unreliable. German 34 Friedrich III to Christoph of Württemberg, 20 July 1562: Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, ed. Kluckhohn, 2.318; D.R. Kelley, François Hotman, a Revolutionary’s Ordeal (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973) 99–167. 35 Charles IX to the princes of Germany, 1 November 1567: Paris, Bibiothèque Nationale de France (BnF), Manuscrits français 15918, fol. 21. 36 C. Zwierlein, “Une propaganda huguenote internationale: le début des Guerres de Religion en France perçues en Allemagne, 1560–1563”, in J. Foa/P. Mellet (ed.), Le bruit des armes mises en formes et désinformations en Europe pendant les Guerres de Religion (1560–1610) (Paris: Honoré Champion, 2012) 397–415; C. Zwierlein, “The Palatinate and Western Europe, 1555– 1563”, in C. Strohm/J. Stievermann (ed.), The Heidelberg Catechism: Origins, Characteristics, and Influences, Essays in Reappraisal on the Occasion of its 450th Anniversary (Gütersloh: Gütersloh Verlaghaus, 2015) 171. 37 There was no uniform Catholic party in France during the French Wars of Religion. The monarchy and influential Catholic noblemen (and later, the Catholic League) on many occasions steered different courses. However, they did share an interest in preventing the formation of close ties between the Huguenots and German Protestants. For the purpose of this chapter, it is thus possible to speak of Catholic pamphlets or Catholic diplomatic activity. The precise origin of many of these pamphlets is unclear. The activities of Catholic diplomats were in most cases directed by Catherine de’ Medici. 38 A good example: Newe warhafftige Zeitung aus Franckreich, Nemlich das Edict unnd Erklerung des Durchleuchtigen und Christlichen Fürsten und Herrn/ Herrn Carlen des Namens des 9. Von Wegen der fridshandlung und hinlegung de Empöru[n]g so gegenwertige zeit zwüschen seiner königlichen würden und dem hochgebornen Printzen von Conde sampt seinen mitverwanten wider in gemeltem königreich entstanden und eingrissen, Auß dem französichen trewlich und fleissig verdolmetscht, (s.l: s.n., 1568).

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consumers of news concerning France were of course worried about its accuracy,39 but much of the information provided was, in the first place, intended to build a support base in the Rhineland, making accuracy subservient to polemics. French efforts to win favour among the German princes already started before the outbreak of war in 1562. Henri II had adopted a policy of wooing the Rhineland princes as part of his anti-Habsburg campaign. The French tempered anti-Protestant rhetoric, promoted the idea of a General Council of the Church, which would involve Lutherans, and welcomed many Germans, who served in France’s army and accepted French pensions. Following Henri’s death in 1559 this policy was continued by Antoine de Bourbon, who built up good contacts with both the German Protestant princes, and Charles de Lorraine. These contacts led to discussions about German involvement at the Colloquy of Poissy in 1561.40 In response to this, both the Elector Palatine and the Duke of Württemberg dispatched theological embassies to France.41 Even after the failure of Poissy Cardinal Charles de Lorraine and his brother, the Duke of Guise, continued to court the Lutheran Duke of Württemberg, which led to a meeting between them in the Alsatian town of Saverne in 1562. The House of Guise was a cadet branch of the House of Lorraine and had deep roots in the Empire, which strengthened ties with the Duke of Württemberg and other German princes.42 At Saverne, the Cardinal downplayed the differences between his own beliefs and those of Christoph, arguing that “I confide only in Jesus Christ; I know well that not the mother of our Lord, nor the saints can aid me; I also know well that I cannot be saved by my good works, but by the merits of Jesus Christ”, to which Württemberg replied: “I hear this with joy; the Lord wants to keep you in this confession”.43 Though this move has often been interpreted as an attempt to drive a wedge between the German Lutherans and the French Reformed Protestants, it 39 A. Schäfer, “The Acquisition and Handling of News on the French Wars of Religion: The Case of Hermann Weinsberg” in J. Raymond/N. Moxham (ed.), News Networks in Early Modern Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2016) 701–2. 40 D. Nugent, Ecumenism in the Age of the Reformation: the Colloquy of Poissy (Cambridge MA.: Harvard University Press, 1974) 59. 41 G. Bossert, “Die Reise der Württembergische Theologen nach Frankreich im Herbst 1561”, Württembergische Vierteljahreshefte für Landesgeschichte 8 (1899) 351–412. 42 S. Carroll, Martyrs & Murderers, The Guise Family and the Making of Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009) 21–4. 43 “Je me confie uniquement en Jésus-Christ; je sais bien que ni la mère de notre Seigneur, ni les saints ne peuvent m’être en aide; je sais bien aussi que je ne pais être sauvé par mes bonnes œuvres, mais par les mérites de Jésus-Christ … j’entends avec joie; le Seigneur veuille vous maintenir dans cette confession.”: A. Muntz (ed.), “Entrevue du Duc Christophe de Würtemberg avec les Guise, a Saverne, peu jour savant le Massacre de Vassy, 1562. Relation autographe du Duc de Würtemberg”, Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français 4 (1856) 187.

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is likely that the position articulated by Lorraine was reflective of the views of the evangelical-Gallican wing of the French Catholic Church.44 Both theological encounters underlined the complexity of transregional confessional relations between France and the Empire. At a time when the presence of the German theologians in France accentuated the rifts between Reformed Protestant and Lutherans, the Guise brothers sought to bridge the seemingly unbridgeable divide between Catholicism and Lutheranism, thus further disrupting any sense of a clear-cut Catholic-Protestant opposition. The courting of the Lutheran nobility of the Rhineland by both Catholics and Huguenots continued with increased intensity after the outbreak of violence in March 1562. Within months of the Massacre of Vassy, two conflicting accounts of this pivotal event, one by the Catholic Duke of Guise and the other by an anonymous Huguenot writer, were sent to Christoph of Württemberg.45 Whereas the Huguenot writer attributed the bloodshed to a Catholic hatred of everything Protestant, the Duke was at pains to communicate that the congregation was not attacked because they were Protestant, but because they broke the king’s laws. These contrasting interpretations of the massacre are characteristic of the ways in which the opposing parties explained the Wars of Religion. Huguenot justifications essentially consisted of two elements. The first underlined the Huguenots’ obedience and the second their piety. Using the traditional trope of the evil councillor, the Huguenot leader, the Prince of Condé, argued that he acted solely to defend his own position and that of the king against the political ambitions of rival families, especially the Guise family.46 It is clear from the German princes’ correspondence that the Huguenot diplomats were keen to stress at every opportunity that their actions should not be described as a reprehensible rebellion against the king, but much more as “a permissible natural defence against his enemy, the Cardinal of Guise and his adherents”.47 Moreover,

44 S. Carroll, “The Compromise of Charles de Lorraine: New Evidence”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 54 (2003) 469–83; L. Racaut, “The Sacrifice of the Mass and the Redefinition of Catholic Orthodoxy During the French Wars of Religion”, French History 24 (2009) 20–39; A. Tallon, “Le Cardinal de Lorraine au Concile de Trente”, in Y. Bellenger (ed.), Le mécénat et l’influence des Guises. Actes du colloque organisé par le Centre de Recherche sur la Littérature de la Renaissance de l’Université de Reims et tenu à Joinville du 31 mai au 4 juin 1994 (et à Reims pour la journée du 2 juin) (Paris: Honoré Champion, 1997) 331–34. 45 Anonymous account of the Massacre at Vassy, 1562, Nouvelle collection des mémoires pour server a l’Histoire de France, depuis le XIIIe siècle jusqu’a la Fin du XVIIIe, ed. J.F. Michaud/ J.J.F. Poujoulat (Paris: Imprimerie d’Édouard Proux, 1839) 6.472–3; “François de Guise to Christoph of Württemberg, 17 March 1562”, Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français 24 (1875) 212–17. 46 R.M. Kingdon, Geneva and the Coming of the Wars of Religion in France, 1555–1563 (Geneva: Droz, 1956) 107. 47 “ein sträfliche Rebellion wider den König, sondern vielmehr eine erlaubte natürliche De-

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they were adamant “that the Prince of Condé, the Admiral, and the other allies had not wished for anything more than the peace, and the maintenance of the Royal edicts”.48 The second element of Huguenot justification was often phrased in Biblical and sometimes even apocalyptic language. The polemic used in many of the proHuguenot pamphlets underlined the religious nature of the struggle and emphasized that the wars pitted the idolatrous Catholics against the righteous Protestants. The tone of these pamphlets contrasts strongly with that of their diplomatic correspondence. Whereas the Huguenots’ letters speak of the constitutional privileges of the princes of the blood and the restraint of Condé and his party, many pamphlets invoke an epic struggle between good and evil. A favoured rhetorical device employed by the pamphlet writers was the use of classical or biblical archetypes of evil. In a pamphlet justifying the Conspiracy of Amboise, the writer not only likens Charles de Guise to Tarquinius Superbus, but also states that “the Cardinal of Lorraine is Amaziah, the priest of Bethel, who was held in high regard by King Jeroboam”.49 These examples powerfully reflect the Huguenot grievances towards the leaders of the Catholic party: the Cardinal of Lorraine, like the last King of Rome, not only behaved as a murderous and power-hungry tyrant, but also as a false prophet, misleading the King and blinding him to the truth of the religion of the Huguenots. The essence of the messages presented by French royal diplomats was that the Huguenots’ attempts at justification were nothing more than a cloak intended to cover up their seditious and rebellious political ambitions. Throughout the first three wars, the Catholic envoys routinely described the Huguenot faction as “rebellious subjects”.50 In a letter to Charles IX, Elector Palatine Friedrich III complained about the insistent claims of the royal ambassadors, “that the action of my lord the Prince and his party was nothing else but a horrible rebellion against their King, and that they want to deprive [him] of the crown, and that my lord the Prince wanted to make himself king”, allegations which the Elector fension wider ihre Feinde, den Cardinal Guise und seine Adhärenten”, Friedrich III to August of Saxony, 12 December 1567: Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, ed. Kluckhohn, 2.150. 48 “das der Printz von Conde, der Ammiral, und die andere Ire mit und buntsverwanten nichts hohers gewunscht alls den fridden, unnd handthabung des koniglichen Edicts.” Gaspard de Coligny and François de Coligny d’Andelot, September 1563: HStAM 3, 1854, fol. 35. 49 “als Tarquinii Superbi” “der Cardinal von Lotheringen seye Amazia dem Priester zu Bethel / der bey dem König Jeroboam in grosser würde unnd ansehen war …”: Kurze beschreibung des Aufflauffs/ so sich newlich in Franckreich zu Ambosen/ wider deren von Guysze Regierung/ von dem Frantzösischen Adel in dem Mertzen/ des yetzlauffenden sechsigsten jars erhaben hatt. Darbey aycg angeschenckt/ Das offentlich auszschreiben beider Königreich Engellandt/ und Franckreich gemelter von Guyss Regierung betreffende (s.l.: s. n., 1560) fol. 4 v°. 50 “subjects Rebelles”: Charles IX to the ambassadors of Hesse, January 1568: BnF, Manuscrits français 15918, fol. 210.

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dismissed as mere “rumours”.51 In emphasizing the Huguenots’ sedition, the Catholic narrative directly played to common Lutheran perceptions of Reformed Protestantism. In Lutheran circles, it was not uncommon to refer to Reformed Protestantism as “the Zwinglian sect”.52 Often, no distinction was made between the Reformed religion and the many movements of the Radical Reformation. Sedition and a disregard for the social and political order were widely seen as integral components of the beliefs of the Reformed. Thus, the Catholic message was likely to strike a chord with a section of the German Lutherans. The contrasting narratives that were presented with so much vigour to German audiences ensured that princes of the Rhineland viewed the conflict with considerable confusion. Whether the wars were fought for the rights and privileges of the nobility, for the future of Protestantism, or for political ambition was significant, since any ambiguity meant that the princes were more likely to trust their own ideas and preconceptions about the nature of religious conflict. In order to understand the reception of these narratives, it is therefore important also to study the intellectual and religious context in which they were interpreted.

III.

Lutheran Divisions

The outbreak of the French Wars of Religion challenged the simple and stark differentiation between Catholic, Lutheran, and Reformed Protestants that is not only articulated in much of the historiography on the Reformation, but also in sixteenth-century documents, such as the Peace of Augsburg.53 The debate about the place of Lutheranism in relation to these two other confessions was no longer theoretical, but had very real consequences. Moreover, the answer to this question was also shaped by a number of non-religious factors, such as a concern for the protection of cordial relations with the French monarchy, the danger of Catholic reprisals, and the prospect of the violence spilling over into the Rhineland. The debate centred on two questions. First, were the doctrinal differences between Lutheranism and Reformed Protestantism so significant that

51 “que le faict de Monsr le Prince & les siens nestoit aultre chose qu’une horrible rebellion contre leur Roy, et quils vous vouliens oster la couronne, et que Monsr le Prince se vouloit faire Roy” “bruict” Friedrich III to Charles IX, 19 January 1568: BnF, Manuscrits français 15918, fol. 189–90. 52 “der zwinglianischen Secte”: Christoph of Württemberg and Wolfgang of Zweibrücken to Friedrich III, 24 August 1561, Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, ed. Kluckhohn, 1.196. 53 For a more extensive discussion of intra-Lutheran divisions and their impact on German understandings of the French Wars of Religion, see: van Tol, Germany and the Coming of the French Wars of Religion, 89–133.

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they could not be bridged or overcome? Second, could Reformed Protestantism be respectable or was it essentially a religion for the seditious and the disorderly? The debates that these questions provoked were rooted within the larger conflict between Gnesio-Lutherans and Philippists that had been causing rifts within German Lutheranism since the late 1540s. The dispute centred on the question of which parts of Lutheran theology constituted its essence and which were adiaphora, or non-essential and negotiable.54 The Gnesio-Lutherans, who regarded themselves as defenders of true Lutheran theology, adopted a much narrower and stricter definition of Lutheran orthodoxy than their Philippist opponents. The dispute between Philippists and Gnesio-Lutherans directly impacted the relations between German Lutherans and the Huguenots. The Philippists’ broad definition of Lutheran orthodoxy, and especially their flexibility on the doctrine of the Eucharist, made them look somewhat more favourably on the Huguenots. A pamphlet printed in 1568 articulates the grounds for regarding the Huguenots as the Lutherans’ co-religionists. It lists reasons for supporting the Reformed Protestants, who suffered persecution at the hand of Catholic regimes, in both France and the Netherlands. It also argues for the compatibility of the two major branches of Protestantism by downplaying the most important theological point of contention, the nature of the Eucharist: Third, they have the same religion and faith as the Germans, they also have the same foe, the Antichrist, who persecutes them cruelly, that therefore the Germans in no way with a good conscience can help them being persecuted. And even if they in one single point or opinion concerning the matter of the Supper think differently from the Germans, the poor people just do not know better, and are without doubt in their hearts desirous for the truth.55

This attitude was shared by a number of Lutheran princes. The Lutheran Wolfgang of Zweibrücken, whose lands lay between the Moselle and the Rhine, felt a strong affinity with French Protestants and pushed for doctrinal reconciliation until the mitigation of the immediate Catholic threat. Christoph of Württemberg 54 B. Nischan, “Germany after 1550”, in A. Pettegree (ed.), The Reformation World (London: Routledge, 2000) 388–89. 55 “Zum dritten / so haben sie dieselbige Religion und glauben wie wir Teütschen / sie haben auch eben den selbigen feindt / der sie auffs graussamerst verfolger / den Antichrist / das derwegen die Teütschen in keinem wege sollen noch mit guttem gewissen sie verfolgen helffen können. Und ob sie gleich inn einem einigen punct oder maynung die Matery vom Abendtmal betreffend / anders dann die Teutschen halten / so wissen doch die armen leut nicht besser / und seind ohne zweiffel der warheit von hertzen begierig.”: Newe Zeittung von Franckreich unnd Niderlandt. Christlichen und hochwichtige gründe und ursache[n]/ Warumb die Teutschen kriegsleut die Christen inn Franckreich und Niderlandt nicht verfolgen helffen/ oder auff einige weise sich zu iren feinden wider sie gestellen sollen. Allen Ehrlichen, unnd Frommen Teutschen zu einem newen Jar geschenckt (s.l.: s.n., 1568) fol. 3 v°.

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was more hostile to Reformed Protestantism, but still hoped and expected that exposure to Lutheran doctrine would bring the Huguenots into the fold. On the other side of the argument, we find a number of Lutheran princes who were unequivocal in their rejection of the religion of the Huguenots. Of these princes, Johann Wilhelm of Saxony-Weimar is the best example. Both in private correspondence and in a pamphlet published in his name, Johann Wilhelm firmly puts the Reformed Protestants in the camp of the radical sects. In doing so, he underlined both their doctrinal errors and their tendency to overturn the social and political order: Although we are now noticing, that for some time here and there, among high and low estates, clerical and secular persons, in the Empire of the German nation, also amongst the members of our true Christian religion, similarly amongst our own subjects and associates, there are all sorts of contradicting opinions concerning the current warlike uproar in France, in particularly it is being said, that [the conflict] … is about the Christian religion, and its suppression, we can give this no credence … Instead we have learned, from the account given to us by the King’s Majesty and on top of that from a large number of decrees, which the King’s Majesty had published during the growing unrest … and then … had called out publicly and which came to us first in French and then in the German language …, that it is purely a rebellion …, which has been put in place by the subjects against the authority established by God.56

This explicit statement clearly underlines the Duke’s uncompromising attitude towards Reformed Protestants in France, the Netherlands, and the Empire. This position contrasts sharply with the outlook of Wolfgang of Zweibrücken and other Lutherans who empathized with the plight of the Huguenots, leading to fierce debates amongst the Princes of the Augsburg Confession.

56 “Wiewol wir nun vermercken/ Dass jetziger zeyt hin und wider/ bey hohes unnd nidrigen Standes Geistlichen und Weltlichen Personen/ im Reich Deutscher Nation/ auch bey den Verwandten unserer waren/ Christlichen Religion/ Dessgleichen bey unsern selbst unterthanen/ und zugehörigen/ von allerhand ungleicher meinunge/ jetzigen Frantzöschischen Kriegs empörunge/ Sonderlich aber davon geredet wird/ Ob es … umb die Christliche Religion/ und derselben vertrückunge/ zu thun sey/ So können wir doch demselben keinen glauben zusetzen/ … So haben wir doch/ auss dem bericht/ welche uns die Kön. W. derwegen thun/ und darüber auss etzlichen vielen Mandaten/ die ire Kön. Wirde/ unter entstandener unruhe… unnd denn … aussruffen lassen/ Die uns in Französischer/ und dann in die deutsche Sprach … zukommen … vernommen/ dass es ein lauter Rebellion … sey/ Welche von den unterthanen/ gegen ire von Gott geordente Obrigkeit/ … angestellet wirdet/”: Johann Wilhelm of Saxe-Weimar, Ausschreiben. Des Durchlauchtigen Hochgebornen Fürsten unnd Herrn, Herrn Johans Wilhelmen Hertzogen zu Sachssen. An seiner F. G. Getrewe Landschafft von Prelaten, Graffen, Herrn, Ritterschafft und Stedte, Seiner F. G. jtzigen zugs in Franckreich, unnd warumb die Könnigliche Wirde doselbst Seine F. G. Auff sonderbare benentliche ausziehunge unnd vorbehaltunge derselben Dienstbestallunge, auch Ehren unnd Glimpffs wegen nicht vorlassen können (Weimar: s.n., 1568) 4.

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Friedrich III and the Huguenot Cause

These debates were also to a large extent shaped by another momentous event. At the same time as the Wars of Religion broke out in France, the Elector Palatine Friedrich III caused quite a stir amongst his Protestant peers. His conversion from Lutheranism to Reformed Protestantism, and the subsequent transformation of the Palatinate’s religious constitution, threatened severely to disrupt the fragile peace in Germany. The 1555 Peace of Augsburg, although always intended to be a temporary measure, allowed the Lutheran princes the freedom to consolidate the Reformation within their territories. However, the peace only allowed Catholicism and Lutheranism in the Empire, explicitly excluding the Palatinate’s new religion. Presented with the new reality of a Reformed Palatinate, the princes were forced to rethink the relation between Lutheranism and Reformed Protestantism. Friedrich III’s conversion was the result of a gradual process. His father and predecessor Ottheinrich (1502–59) had recruited theologians from different confessional backgrounds for his university at Heidelberg. Among these were the French scholar Pierre Boquin, a former lecturer at the Strasbourg Academy, and Peter Dathenus, both prominent Calvinists.57 The diversity of Heidelberg’s faculty of theology not only provoked intense internal disputations, but was also a cause for concern amongst Friedrich’s Lutheran peers. Hieronymus Gerhard, theologian and advisor to Christoph of Württemberg, warned that at His Grace’s university in Heidelberg there are two false professors, who without shame and openly defend Zwinglianism, as well as a number of preachers, who, because of [their membership of] the aforementioned sect, were expelled by other princes.58

Convinced that as magistrate he held religious as well as secular responsibilities, Friedrich took it upon himself to resolve the theological disputes that were being fought out at his university. Allegedly, the Elector engaged in intensive Bible study to determine the validity of the two conflicting positions, earning him the epithet ‘the Pious’. He concluded “that one does not receive the body and blood of Christ corporally with the mouth, but spiritually”, thus supporting the Re-

57 V. Press, Calvinismus und Territorialstaat, Regierung und Zentralbehörden der Kurpfalz, 1559–1619 (Stuttgart: Ernst Klett Verlag, 1970) 240; B. Thompson, “The Palatine Church Order of 1563”, Church History 23 (1954) 344. 58 “das bey irer churf. G. universität zu Heydelberg sich zwen welsche professores halten, so Zwinglianismum ungeschent und offentlich verteidigen, desgleichen etliche predicanten, so von wegen gemelter secten bey abderb christlichen fursten nicht gedult”: Hiernonymus Gerhard to Christoph of Württemberg, 9 March 1559: Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, ed. Kluckhohn, 1.28.

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formed interpretation of the nature of the Eucharist.59 Friedrich’s personal conversion had far-reaching consequences for his territories. Following the common pattern of the princely reformations, he oversaw the institutional and doctrinal transformation of the Church in the Palatinate in the early 1560s.60 Initially, the reaction of Friedrich’s Lutheran peers was overwhelmingly negative. Christoph of Württemberg, for instance, wrote to Wolfgang of Zweibrücken in March 1563: It is now common knowledge that in the Palatinate in both schools and churches the Zwinglian or Calvinist teachings on the Lord’s Supper have prevailed … however, they (the Protestant princes) have, out of Christian love and good friendship and kinship, not failed to indicate what damage to body and soul, land and people, temporally and eternally, will result from this.61

Württemberg was very clear as to what the political consequences of Friedrich’s conversion would be: “Therefore is Calvinism, as also all other sects that contradict the Augsburg Confession, excluded from the religious peace.”62 The conversion of the Palatinate represented a fundamental departure from the way in which Reformed Protestantism had previously made headway in the Empire. Before the 1560s, the spread of Zwinglianism and Calvinism had primarily been confined to a few theologians, small groups in the Rhineland, and cities near the Swiss border, keen to promote their civic liberties and independence.63 Lutheranism had been the religion associated with the respectable and orderly princely reformations that had dominated German Protestantism. This dichotomy between the characters of the two largest forms of Protestantism perpetuated Lutheran contempt for Reformed Protestantism. Christoph’s use of the word ‘sect’ to describe Calvinism is telling. The term encapsulates many of the Lutheran assumptions about the nature of Reformed Protestantism, emphasizing the contrast between the Lutheran princely refor59 “das man den leyb und das blut Christi nit leyplich mit dem mund entpfahe, sonder gaystlich”: Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, ed. Kluckhohn, 1.311–2. 60 Thompson, “The Palatine Church Order”, 144–49. 61 “es ist communis vox et fama, das in der Pfalz bei der schul und kirchen der Zwinglisch oder Calvinisch leer de cena domini die oberhand gewonnen hab. … jedoch haben sie [die christlichen chur und fursten] aus christlicher lieb auch gueter freundschaft und verwandtnus nicht underlassen sollen, S. L. anzuzaigen, was derselben hieraus fur nachtail an leib und seel, land und leuten zeitlich und ewig begegnen möchte”: Christoph of Württemberg to Wolfgang of Zweibrücken, 8 March 1563, Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, ed. Kluckhohn, 1.379. 62 “Zu den ist Calvinismus wie auch alle andere secten wider die Augspurgische confession von der religionsfrieden aussgeschlossen.”: Christoph of Württemberg to Wolfgang of Zweibrücken, 8 March 1563, Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, ed. Kluckhohn, 1.379. 63 H. Schilling, Religion, Political Culture and the Emergence of Early Modern Society (Leiden: Brill, 1992) 218; T.A. Brady, Turning Swiss, Cities and Empire, 1450–1550 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985) 184–221.

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mations, which carefully preserved the social and political order, and the disorderly Reformed movements. These assumptions were confirmed by news of rebellious events involving Reformed Protestants in France and the Netherlands, such as iconoclastic riots and public acts of resistance.64 The outright rejection of Reformed Protestantism, as had been articulated in the Peace of Augsburg, was relatively easily maintained as long as this contrast remained. However, the conversions of Prince-Elector Friedrich III, one of the foremost Protestant aristocrats of the Empire, radically changed this dynamic. The status of Friedrich and the importance of the Palatinate ensured the continued cooperation between the new Reformed territory and its Lutheran neighbours. Despite mounting pressure and the repeated reiteration of the threat that the Palatinate would “be excluded from the Augsburg Confession and removed from the religious peace”, Friedrich remained an integral member of the community of Protestant princes. The conversion of the Palatinate had profound consequences for German perspectives of France. Firstly, the Elector himself, with unremitting intensity, championed the cause of what he called “the oppressed Christians” in France.65 Whilst downplaying the doctrinal difference separating German Lutherans and French Reformed Protestants, Friedrich presented a moral case for aiding the Huguenots. He embraced the religious explanation of the Wars of Religion, arguing that the sole cause of the turmoil was Catholic determination to exterminate the Protestant religion. He was therefore particularly troubled by the fact that many of his Lutheran peers seemed to be buying into the Catholic interpretation and questioning the Huguenots’ true motives. Friedrich strongly criticized the Lutherans’ unwillingness to back the French Protestants. For instance, he wrote to Wilhelm of Hesse that it is much more troublesome to learn that Your Grace has allowed yourself to be convinced that you do not labour and act against the [true] religion when you support the extermination of the Calvinists, as if their religion is contrary to the Augsburg Confession and our religion is not much more in all and the most important points in agreement with the same.66

He also maligned the tendency of Lutherans to get bogged down in squabbles over theology, whilst their co-religionists were being put to the sword on their doorstep. Though doctrinal purity was of course important, he argued, the 64 P.M. Crew, Calvinist Preaching and Iconoclasm in the Netherlands, 1544–1569 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978) 142; Salmon, Society in Crisis, 136–37. 65 “Betrangten Christen”: BnF, Manuscrits français 15918, fol. 37. 66 “Viel beschwerlicher is es zuvernemmen, das E. L. sich bereden lassen, sie ziehen und handlen nit wider die religion, wann sie die calvinisten auszurotten understehen, gleich als ob ir religion der A. C. entgegen und nit viel mehr in allen und fürnembsten hauptpunkten unsers christlichen glaubens mit derselben … übereinstimmte”: Friedrich III to Wilhelm of Hesse, 6 March 1568, Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, ed. Kluckhohn, 2.197.

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professing of the Gospel under severe duress was a more significant expression of faith. Friedrich wrote to the Duke of Saxe-Weimar that “I can easily believe that they [the Huguenots] are more serious than we Germans, since they persist [in their faith] under persecution, which is not the least of trials”.67 The Elector also warned that the Catholic aggression on display in France could easily spill over into the Rhineland. It was the intention of the Catholic powers of Europe, he argued, to exterminate Protestants throughout the continent.68 Cooperation with the Huguenots was thus necessary for the preservation of Protestantism in the Empire, as well as in France. Secondly, the nature of the Palatinate’s Second Reformation directly challenged German Lutheran perceptions of Reformed Protestantism. In response to fierce criticism from his peers, the Elector Palatine defended himself with confidence and flair. He took great issue with the terms used to describe his religious identity. For example, in a letter to Wilhelm of Hesse, Friedrich denied “that we are Calvinist, or how you call it”, adding “that we never have and never will bear witness to Calvin or any other human, but only to the one infallible foundation that is Jesus Christ”.69 In doing so, he underlined their shared Christianity and, by extension, their common struggle against the forces of the Antichrist in Rome. With varying levels of success, Friedrich managed to de-escalate rising tensions between himself and the Lutheran princes of the Empire. More importantly, he succeeded in preventing the political isolation of the Palatinate and, throughout the 1560s and 1570s, in maintaining cordial and productive relationships with his Lutheran peers.70 Friedrich’s conversion contradicted much of the stereotypical understanding of Reformed Protestantism. Rather than an uncontrolled and chaotic reformation from the bottom up, the conversion of the Palatinate followed the pattern of Germany’s other princely reformations, including the creation of a new catechism and church order, and the adaptation of the school curricula.71 There was no sign of sedition or social unrest. Thus, the example of the Palatinate not only refuted Lutheran suspicions, but also tentatively opened doors to increased Lutheran-Reformed cooperation.

67 “So kan ich leychtlich glauben, das inen mehr Ernst sehe als uns Deutschen, demnach sie in der persecution, welches nit die geringste prob ist, bestanden”: Friedrich III to Johann Friedrich of Saxony, 9 November 1561, Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, ed. Kluckhohn, 1.210. 68 Friedrich III to Wilhelm of Hesse, 16 October 1567: Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, ed. Kluckhohn, 2.105. 69 “das wir calvinistisch wie sie es nennen … sein möchten” “das wir niemalen zu Calvino oder enichen menschen, sonder zu dem einigen unfelbarn fundament Jhesu Christo … bekant und noch bekennen”: Friedrich III to Wilhelm of Hesse, 10 March 1567: Briefe Friedrich des Frommen, ed. Kluckhohn, 2.11. 70 Nischan, “Germany after 1550”, 393. 71 Thompson, “The Palatine Church Order”, 339–54.

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Friedrich’s conversion and the consequent need for Lutherans to determine their position vis-à-vis the Reformed Palatinate gave a new dimension to both the tensions within Lutheranism and to debates about the relationship between German Lutherans and French Reformed Protestants. It further politicized the debates, which, before 1560, had primarily been the domain of theologians.72 It also brought together the Protestant princes and their advisors at a number of colloquies and conventions. At these meetings, the princes aimed to determine their collective response to a Reformed Palatinate. The Naumburg Convention of January 1561, for example, constitutes one such gathering, where the princes specifically intended to resolve disputes about the Eucharist. Moreover, they also addressed the question of France. The princes in attendance at Naumburg, in an effort to establish some common ground, agreed to send the Huguenot leadership copies of the Augsburg Confession with the hope that their adoption of Lutheran doctrine would make cooperation significantly easier. Meetings such as the one at Naumburg illustrate the way in which discussions about France were integrated into the controversy surrounding Friedrich’s conversion.73 The differences of interpretation amongst Lutherans about the Palatinate question had far-reaching consequences. The Protestant princes of the Empire determined their position towards the conflict in France based on their precise understanding of the nature of the relationship between Lutheranism and Reformed Protestantism. Emphasizing the common ground between the various Protestant confessions, the Elector Palatine, his son Casimir, and their kinsman Wolfgang of Zweibrücken regarded the plight of the Huguenots as part of a broader religious struggle. The Duke of Württemberg and both Philip and Wilhelm of Hesse took a more moderate position, at once sympathetic towards the suffering of Reformed Protestants in France and the Netherlands, but cautious about the social and political implications of their struggle. Placing the Huguenots firmly in the camp of the radical sects, Johann Wilhelm of SaxeWeimar was the most articulate of the Lutherans who were fiercely opposed to cooperation with the Reformed. This variety of interpretations helps to explain the seemingly inexplicable nature of German Protestant interventions in France. Far from being entirely divorced from religious or political considerations, the missions of Casimir, Wolfgang, and Johann Wilhelm were firmly rooted within

72 Theological disputations were a common feature of the mid-sixteenth century, especially in the Holy Roman Empire. The participation of the princes in these debates gave them a distinct political dimension. M. van Veen, “Religieus schermvechten. Dopers-gereformeerde disputaties in de zestiende eeuw” in V. Soen/P. Knevel (ed.), Religie, hervorming en controverse in de zestiende-eeuwse Nederlanden (Maastricht: Shaker Publishing, 2013) 85. 73 The two issues were also addressed at the 1564 Colloquy of Maulbronn and the 1566 Diet of Augsburg. Nischan, “Germany after 1550”, 393.

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the broader debates that were being fought out within German Protestantism at the time of the outbreak of the French Wars of Religion. These divisions severely hampered the effectiveness of the German Protestant response to the unfolding crisis. Though German Lutherans sometimes worked together in putting diplomatic pressure on the French monarchy, it was clear that their message did not represent all German Protestant princes.74 Their forceful calls for more religious freedoms for the Huguenots must have lost much persuasiveness as a result of the equally strong-worded expressions of support presented by the Margrave of Baden and the Duke of Saxe-Weimar.75 In military terms, the efforts of the German Lutheran princes who decided to intervene were all but cancelled out, or at least mitigated, by their compatriots and co-religionists fighting for the opposing party. Moreover, the questions about the legitimacy of the Huguenot cause that were posed by both Catholic diplomats and Gnesio-Lutherans resulted in confusion amongst all but their most ardent advocates and led to a delay in pro-Huguenot interventions until the Second War.

Conclusion German participation in the French Wars of Religion has overwhelmingly been studied as part of diplomatic history. As a result, the scholarship has not been sensitive enough to the diverse religious and political landscape of the Holy Roman Empire. This international, rather than transregional, approach has focused exclusively on the interaction between the French and German aristocracy, while ignoring the confessional and political backgrounds that shaped many princes’ actions. It is important to consider the different ways in which the French Wars of Religion were interpreted within the Empire in order to gain a deeper understanding of why the Protestant princes of the Rhineland either abstained from or became involved in these conflicts. The most important of the factors that shaped the German perspective on France was the debates about the relationship between Lutheranism and Reformed Protestantism.

74 A good example is the collective diplomatic mission dispatched to France by Württemberg, Zweibrücken, Hesse, and Baden-Durlach in 1563: HStASt A 71 Bü 920, fol. 42. 75 Johann Wilhelm assured Charles IX of his intention to “secure and maintain your crown” by “suppressing the rebels” and Philibert in a pamphlet reprimanded the King’s “disobedient subjects” “secourir sa couronne et la maintenir” “reprimer les Rebelles”: BnF, Manuscrits français 15544, fol. 49–50; “ungehorsame underthanen”: C. Zwierlein, Discorso und Lex Dei, Die Entstehung neuer Denkrahmen in 16. Jahrhundert und die Wahrnehmung der Französischen Religionskriege in Italien und Deutschland (Göttingen: Vandenbroeck & Ruprecht, 2003) 676–77.

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At the time of the outbreak of the Wars of Religion, the princes of the Rhineland were occupied with one particular development that directly challenged the political and religious status quo: the conversion of the Palatinate. Friedrich’s continued membership of the group commonly referred to as the Princes of the Augsburg Confession had significant consequences for the relationship between German Lutherans and French Huguenots. Firstly, the Second Reformation of the Palatinate, which closely followed the model of other princely reformations, challenged the stereotypical Lutheran understanding of Reformed Protestantism. Secondly, the Huguenots had found in Friedrich their most influential and committed advocate inside the Empire. Friedrich’s championing of the Huguenot cause was built on the firm belief that, despite some differences in theological opinion, most notably interpretations concerning the nature of the Eucharist, Lutherans and Reformed Protestants were in essence co-religionists. This position was also adopted by a number of Friedrich’s Lutheran neighbours, the most important of which was the Duke of Zweibrücken. The Palatinate’s conversion came to serve as a link between the Huguenot question and the wider inter-Protestant tensions that had been playing out inside the Empire for more than a decade. The dispute between the Gnesio-Lutherans and the Philippists over which parts of doctrine were essential and which adiaphora acquired a very practical dimension. At the meetings called to address the Palatinate’s new religion three questions intersected. Questions about the nature of orthodoxy, the prospect of theological reconciliation, and the duty of co-religionists to support each other shaped the debates concerning both the direction of Lutheranism within the empire and the best course of action vis-à-vis France. The consequence was a divided Protestant party. Johann Wilhelm of SaxeWeimar strongly rejected the idea that Lutherans and Reformed Protestants should be regarded as co-religionists. On the other end of the spectrum we find Wolfgang of Zweibrücken, whose arguments sound very similar to those put forward by Friedrich. He downplayed the differences between Lutheranism and Reformed Protestantism and pushed the matter of doctrinal rapprochement forward in order to address the more pressing emergency of Catholic violence. In the years 1568 and 1569, these two German princes found themselves fighting on opposing sides in France. This has led historians to argue that the princes were motivated by material gain or adventure. I argue that this is not the case and underline the importance of theological differences within confessional groupings. An important factor in determining allegiance and motive was transregional connections. Due to their proximity to France, the Rhineland princes were particularly likely to become embroiled in the Wars of Religion. The Rhineland was a thick religious soup and its borders porous. Policy-makers were influenced by news, rumours, and propaganda from France, as well as events and developments closer to home. This mix of French and German factors together shaped

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their understandings of the Wars in France and strongly influenced their subsequent actions.

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Barbara B. Diefendorf

Localizing a Transregional Catholic Reformation: How Spanish and Italian Orders Became French

The Wars of Religion delayed the spread of Catholic reform movements in France but also made the country a prime target for reformed religious orders eager to fight heresy by their vibrant message of spiritual renewal and the example of their saintly lives. Although some French orders reformed themselves from within – the Dominicans in particular come to mind – friars and nuns from Italy and Spain played key roles in sparking a Catholic revival in France. In order to succeed in this, they needed to adapt themselves to local circumstances and values. At the same time, they needed to maintain the high standards of discipline and strict obedience that characterized their reforms and drew admiring audiences to them. This chapter focuses on two key bearers of militant reform, the Capuchins and the Discalced Carmelites of Teresa of Avila’s reform, as they negotiated the sometimes conflicting demands of fidelity and adaptation to local contexts. There are obvious differences between the two groups. Members of a reformed Franciscan congregation, Capuchin friars arrived from Italy at the height of the religious wars and cultivated a special reputation as preachers, even though only a small minority of friars took on this vocation. Carmelite nuns, by contrast, were strictly cloistered contemplatives and arrived from Spain in 1604, during a period of peace. Anti-Spanish feeling ran high at the time, and King Henri IV admitted only the female branch of the order, while denying entry to their male counterparts and superiors.1 The institutional structures for the two groups thus also differed, with the Capuchins remaining subject to the authority of a superior general in Rome, while the Carmelites had French secular priests as their superiors. Both situations invited conflict, but of different sorts. One other key difference: although members of both groups viewed France as a country rife with heresy and identified themselves as ardent defenders of the true faith, they had 1 J.J. Ruiz Ibáñez, “El reino de Francia”, in J.J. Ruiz Ibáñez (ed.), Las vecindades de las Monarquías Ibéricas (Madrid: FCE, 2013) 136–37 on French “Hispanophobia” during the reign of Henri IV.

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very different weapons with which to fight. The Capuchins took to the pulpit and eventually the streets, while the Carmelites, as an enclosed female order, could only, following Teresa’s example, offer their prayers and the example of their strictly observant lives. Despite – or perhaps because of – these obvious differences, the parallels between the strategies that the Capuchins and Carmelites adopted in adjusting to their new circumstances make for a rewarding subject of inquiry. Members of both orders initially arrived without speaking the local language, convinced that the example of their mortified lives would in itself serve as a drawing card.2 In addition to learning new communication skills, they needed to learn to manoeuvre in complex and shifting political situations, both within their orders and more broadly. Most importantly, they needed to adjust to new cultural expectations and to decide just what constituted core values that needed to be retained and what could be sacrificed to please lay patrons and ecclesiastical superiors. After sketching out the ways in which the initial members of both foreign orders adjusted to their new circumstances, the essay uses debates between nuns of the first and second Carmelite convents in France to show how opinions could differ on the proper balance to maintain between adaptation and fidelity. In tracing these processes of adaptation, it is important not to overemphasize, but also not to ignore, the xenophobic outbursts that sometimes emerged in moments of crisis. Propagandists in France’s religious conflicts had deliberately cultivated a heightened national consciousness whose unfortunate by-product was a residue of negative stereotypes of groups derided as foreign, or ‘nonFrench’. Italians were the first to suffer from these stereotypes, as animosity directed against Catherine de Medici coalesced in the image of the ‘devious’ and ‘unprincipled’ Italian. Anti-Italianism gave way in the 1580s to anti-Hispanism, as Philip II’s intervention in France’s internal quarrels was increasingly feared, and the ‘cruel’ and ‘arrogant’ Spaniard replaced the ‘devious’ and ‘unprincipled’ Italian as the negative reflection of the bon François to whom the publicists wished to appeal.3 The power of these negative stereotypes faded after Henri IV 2 Chroniques de l’ordre des Carmélites de la réforme de Sainte Thérèse depuis leur introduction en France (5 vol.; Troyes: Anner-André, 1846–1865) [hereafter: Chroniques des Carmélites] 1.119 and 122; Paris, Bibliothèque franciscaine provinciale des Capucins (BFPC), “Recueil chronologique des choses qui concernent la fondation et le progrès de la Province des Capucins d’Aquitaine, ou de Tolose. Fait par le Commandement du R. P. Emanuel de Beziers provincial de la mesme Province, en l’année 1694”, 12. 3 M. Yardeni, La conscience nationale en France pendant les Guerres de Religion (1559–1598) (Leuven: Éditions Nauwelaerts, 1971); M. Yardeni, Enquêtes sur l’identité de la ‘Nation France’ de la Renaissance aux Lumières (Seyssel: Champ Vallon, 2004), especially chapters 1, 2, and 18; H. Heller, Anti-Italianism in Sixteenth-Century France (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2003); and Ruiz Ibáñez, “El reino de Francia”, 121–45.

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brought France into a new era of peace and stability and devout Catholics fostered a new appreciation for Spanish and Italian religious writings and practices.4 The Carmelites brought to France as a direct consequence of this new appreciation of Spanish piety would nevertheless discover, as the Italian Capuchins had before them, that negative attitudes toward people or practices viewed as foreign could still re-emerge at emotionally charged moments in the process of making these Italian and Spanish orders French.

I.

Modelling a Visible Sanctity

In a society torn by confessional strife, reformed religious orders sought to demonstrate Catholic truths through the visible sanctity of their members’ lives. Penitential piety and strict observance of the rule were replies to critics of church decay and living lessons in works righteousness. Male and female orders nevertheless modelled holiness differently. Reformed friars could display their ragged habits and mortified bodies in streets, as they went about their work, begged for alms, or took part in public processions. Capuchin chroniclers stress the edifying impact of the friars’ rough habits and the effect of their obvious austerities.5 The calculated nature of this display is evident in the comment of one chronicler, who describes one of the order’s first French preachers as presenting “an exterior rendered fleshless by fasting and austerities, by hair shirts, and by the frequent scourging that he undertook to attract a favourable attention from his auditors”.6 By contrast, members of reformed women’s orders such as the Carmelites appeared in public only briefly before hiding their lives behind the high walls of their cloisters. Even in the festive processions of women and girls that accompanied them into their new convents, they presented the public only the sight of the heavy veils that signified their inward-looking detachment from the world. And if they also engaged in bodily mortifications, the results of their fasting, hair shirts, and scourging were visible only to their sisters in the cloister. Not everyone appreciated the new style of piety. Some Parisians initially scorned and even assaulted the ragged Capuchins, coming to value them only 4 B. Diefendorf, “Entre la Ligue et les dévots: les ultra-catholiques français face à la paix de Vervinsˮ, in J.-F. Labourdette/J.-P. Poussou/M.-C. Vignal (ed.), Le Traité de Vervins (Paris: Presses de l’Université de Paris-Sorbonne, 2000) 431–53; S. Brunet, “¿Una religiosidad hispánica en Francia y en Europa en los siglos XVI y XVII?ˮ, in Ruiz Ibáñez, Las vecindades de las Monarquías Ibéricas, 375–402, and É. Suire, “La place des auteurs espagnols dans l’hagiographie française de l’âge moderneˮ, Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France 90 (2004) 131–46. 5 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF), Manuscrits français 25046: “Eloges historiques de tous les grands hommes et les illustres religieux Capucins de la Province de Parisˮ, 5. 6 BnF, Manuscrits français 25046, 19–20.

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after witnessing the tireless service they offered during a 1580 epidemic of plague.7 The crowd that gathered to watch the Carmelites’ procession into their Paris convent also included mocking pranksters.8 The second foundation, at Pontoise, proceeded smoothly, but the third, in Dijon, sparked outright hostility among the local populace. It was, however, the Spanish origins of the founding nuns and not the character of their piety that generated the protests. National sentiment ran strong this near the border with Spanish-controlled FrancheComté.9 The austere new orders appealed first, it seems, primarily to elites – to people whose comfortable lives allowed them to admire the voluntary embrace of poverty in a way that people forced by circumstance to wear rags and go hungry could not. Their patrons and supporters, and a good share of their initial recruits, came from the upper reaches of French society. The Capuchins’ Paris house was a royal foundation; the Carmelites’ was sponsored by a princess of royal blood and later enjoyed significant patronage from two queens of France. Later houses most often also had distinguished founders, who gave land and money for building convents but also helped procure the official permissions and local cooperation needed to smooth the way for the foundation. Elite patronage was thus essential to the orders’ rapid spread – and both groups did expand with startling rapidity.10 By 1650, the Carmelites had 59 houses in France. The Capuchins, whose houses did not require the same level of endowment, grew even more quickly and by mid–century had divided themselves into 10 French provinces, with 42 houses in the Paris province alone.11 Most of these provinces split off from the original foundations in Paris and Lyon when they grew to an unwieldy size. The province of Toulouse, by contrast, was founded in 1582 by eighteen friars sent directly from Rome. Encompassing Languedoc and Aqui-

7 I frati cappuccini: documenti et testimonianze del primo secolo, ed. C. Cargnoni (5 vol.; Perugia: EFI, 1988–1993) 4.90–1; Z. Boverio/A. Caluze, Les annales des frères mineurs capucins (2 vol.; Paris: Pierre de Bats, 1677) 2.736. 8 Pierre de L’Estoile, Journal pour le règne de Henri IV et le début du règne de Louis XIII, ed. L.R. Lefèvre/A. Martin (3 vol.; Paris: Gallimard, 1948–60) 2.170. 9 Chroniques des Carmélites, 2.240: “Dès qu’on eut appris que ces mères étaient dans la ville, le peuple s’insurgeant, n’écoutant aucune observation, criant que cette institution venait d’Espagne, qu’il fallait empêcher l’établissement et chasser les Espagnoles”. See also Paris, Archives nationales, L 1046, no. 56, p. 6: Responses of Marie de La Trinité Hannivel. On the development of ‘national sentiment’ in French cities and provinces, see Yardeni, Enquêtes sur l’identité de la ‘Nation France’, chapter 2. 10 B. Diefendorf, Penitence to Charity: Pious Women and the Catholic Reformation in Paris (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004) 60–61 and 113–16 on the appeal of the Capuchins and Carmelites to French elites and the orders’ rapid spread. 11 Chroniques des Carmélites, 1.261; BnF, Manuscrits français 6451: “Manuel de la province de Paris à l’usage du Père Dominique de Paris, secretaire”.

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taine, the province had 52 friaries and mission houses after 50 years and, with Paris, will be the focus of my interest here.12 Protestantism had made its deepest inroads in south-western France. Nearly a third of the 1200 Reformed churches existing in France on the eve of the Wars of Religion were located in this area.13 This was what drew the Italian friars to it. The fight against heresy constituted their mission but also complicated their lives. The Wars of Religion, which repeatedly troubled all of France between 1562 and 1598, wracked the Southwest again between 1620 and 1629. The wars lasted longer but were also fought more fiercely here than in most other parts of the kingdom, with endemic fighting between locally-raised troops persisting between periods of outright war. It was also in this part of France that the wars first became a threesided struggle, with moderate Catholics favouring a political resolution to the quarrels allying with Protestants against radical Catholics insistent on the total annihilation of heresy. This posed special problems for the Capuchins, who had patrons on both sides of the Catholic divide. It also strained their relations with Rome, pitting the friars’ natural militancy against their superior’s strict orders not to take part in French politics. This testing of the friars’ vow of obedience was to play an important role in making this Italian order French. The Carmelites also found their vow of obedience tested in the French foundations, but the tensions here were internal to the order and political only in the sense that they resulted from the anti-Spanish feelings that had caused nuns to be brought from Spain without the friars they considered their rightful superiors. Tensions over the order’s proper governance nevertheless played a direct role in making the Spanish order French. And if Carmelites and Capuchins struggled to remain obedient while adapting to their new terrain, members of both orders also found their vow of poverty tested by the very generosity with which their new hosts welcomed them.

II.

Testing the Vow of Poverty

This is perhaps best exemplified by the Capuchins’ arrival in Toulouse, where the First President of Parlement and other local elites had arranged a “very comfortable and rather commodious” college for the friars’ use. The Capuchins’ provincial superior took one look at the gift and promptly ordered one of the brothers to reduce the size of the buildings to conform to the “humility and 12 Calculation based on BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”. 13 Based on the maps in S. Mours, Les Églises Réformées en France, tableaux et cartes (Paris: Librairie Protestante, 1958); see also M. Holt, The French Wars of Religion, 1562–1629 (2nd edn.; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005) 30–33.

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poverty” required of their profession. It was important, he said, that first foundations serve as models for those that followed. Besides, he added, “the French are naturally given to liking their houses fitting and spacious”, and it would be “dangerous” not to discourage this tendency from the start.14 The provincial was so insistent on this reduction in size that the brothers adopted measurements even smaller than those set out in the original constitutions. The chapel that resulted quickly proved too small for the eager audiences that arrived and, along with the friary’s residential quarters, had to be enlarged within two years. Despite these problems, the friars continued to follow such strict standards on size that a visiting superior general scolded them in 1600 for “an exactitude” that had “gone beyond reason”. Their buildings were, he said, “maimed, abject, and in need have change”.15 Finding a happy median nevertheless proved difficult. The Toulouse friary had to be remodelled again in 1615, having once more become too small. The rebuilding had scarcely been completed when the superior general, relying on hearsay, denounced its “grandeur” as an “excess against poverty” and punished everyone connected to the project. He even deprived Toulouse of the novitiate that had always been there, so that novices would not live in such unseemly luxury. To his credit, the general came to recognize that the judgment was unfair and returned the novitiate to Toulouse within a few years.16 The events nevertheless offer a good reminder of both the Capuchins’ stringent definition of poverty and the demand for obedience in all aspects of Capuchin life. Toulouse was not the only Capuchin province where the friaries were initially built too small. The same was true in Paris, even for the house built by royal gift in the faubourg Saint-Honoré. The chapel initially built on the site was so small that it had to be almost immediately replaced. The second church, completed in 1586, was also soon too small, and a third was begun just fifteen years later. As the Capuchins enlarged their churches with gifts from wealthy donors, the poverty they displayed became more symbolic than real. The friars followed Italian tradition in decorating their altars with fresh flowers and erecting large crosses of natural wood in place of the precious ornaments and elaborate crucifixes that graced other churches in the era. The demand for simplicity did not, however, stop the Paris friars from acquiring paintings by such great seventeenth-century artists as Charles Le Brun, Eustache Le Sueur, and Laurent de la Hyre. The didactic character of the works is doubtless what made them acceptable.17 14 15 16 17

BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”, 9–11. BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”, 19 and 120. BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”, 293–94, 305–6, 309, 311, and 315. J. Mauzaize, “Une fondation royale de l’ancien Paris: Le couvent des capucins de la rue SaintHonoré”, Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire de Paris et l’Ile de France 112 (1985) 53–57 and 76–82.

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The Carmelites also faced a dilemma in reconciling the setting their French donors provided them with the Teresian ideal of poverty. Instead of the small, humble convent the Spanish mothers had hoped to find, they encountered a refurbished gothic priory with a massive church and a dormitory wing housing 48 nuns.18 This was four times the size that Teresa had originally intended for the Spanish Carmels and more than twice the twenty-nun limit she later imposed in order to keep the houses small and poor.19 The French founders, it seems, envisioned the Paris Carmel as the mother house for the new French order and had prepared the way for this by securing permission for the greater size in the papal bull authorizing the foundation.20 They wanted to have enough nuns to send out to make new foundations. They also wanted to give the convent a high social profile, so as to attract the patronage of elites whose gifts might help in the subsequent expansion of the order. The Parisian founders did not, however, consult the Spanish mothers about these plans; they simply presented them with a fait accompli. In a private letter sent back to Spain, prioress Ana de Jesús described the new convent as not at all in keeping with the saint’s ideas. Rather it resembled everything she hated in traditional religious life. “Teresa would have accepted it”, she added, only because “it was built by secular persons who were as pious as they were ignorant”. In addition to finding the convent too large, Ana found it too grand. She described its church as having “ten chapels, each of which resembles the most sumptuous of churches down there [in Spain]”.21 It is significant, then, that when a second house was founded at Pontoise just three months later, the Spanish mothers deliberately departed from the new Parisian model to ensure that the new foundation matched their own vision of an 18 The same buildings had been offered to the Capuchins for a novitiate two years earlier and turned down as unsuitable. E. Raunié, Épitaphier du vieux Paris (13 vol.; Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1890–2000) 2.147. 19 Teresa of Avila, “Book Called the Way of Perfection”, in The Complete Works of St Teresa of Jesus¸ ed. E. Allison Peers (3 vol.; London: Sheed and Ward, 1946) 2.9; J. Bilinkoff, The Avila of Saint Teresa: Religious Reform in a Sixteenth-Century City (Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 1989) 130–31. 20 The papal bull authorizing the convent says that it is to have only a prioress and fourteen nuns at the start and “a greater number after it has acquired the means and resources for this”, thus leaving open the question of how quickly and how large it might grow. “Bulle ‘In supremo’, 13 novembre 1603”, in S.-M. Morgain, Pierre de Bérulle et les Carmélites de France (Paris: Cerf, 1995) 495. On the social profile of the order’s Parisian founders, see Diefendorf, From Penitence to Charity, 76–80; also C. Renoux, “Madame Acarie ‘lit’ Thérèse d’Avila au lendemain de l’Édit de Nantes”, in B. Hours (ed.), Carmes et carmélites en France du XVIIe siècle à nos jours. Actes du colloque de Lyon (25–26 septembre 1997) (Paris: Cerf, 2001) 117–54. 21 J.-B. Ériau, L’ancien Carmel du faubourg Saint-Jacques, 1604–1792 (Paris: J de Gigord/ A.Picard, 1929) 83, citing Ana de Jesús’s letter of 8 March 1605. See also Diefendorf, From Penitence to Charity, 107.

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authentic Teresian Carmel. Limiting the size of the house, they dedicated it to Saint Joseph, for whom they would have named the Paris house had they not been pre-empted in this by the French founders, who insisted on dedicating it to the Incarnation22. Keeping the Pontoise Carmel poor was not a problem. The foundational gift was small, and making ends meet was always difficult.23 The Pontoise nuns nevertheless made a virtue of this, representing as it did one of their claims to Teresian authenticity, a subject to which this essay will return.

III.

Testing the Vow of Obedience

It is necessary first to say something more about the problem of obedience for the six Spanish nuns brought to France in 1604 to make the French foundation. The Spanish sisters, it seems, thought that the subordination to French secular priests that they had accepted as a condition of the foundation was only temporary; they would again have Carmelite priests as their superiors in spiritual matters when the male order was admitted to France. When the French superiors sought a papal bull two years later to preserve and perpetuate their authority over both spiritual and temporal affairs, the latent conflicts between the Spanish nuns’ understanding of true Teresian ideals and the superiors’ ideas of what the French order needed inevitably surfaced.24 In fact, the Spanish mothers’ ability to shape the new order was compromised from the beginning by the fact that only two of the six spoke French. The first French novices had been chosen by the superiors before their arrival with the help of a devout lay woman, who continued to come into the convent to instruct the novices and discuss spiritual matters with them in a way the Spanish mothers could not.25

22 Chroniques des Carmélites, 3.121. The decision to name the Paris house the Incarnation is usually attributed to Pierre de Bérulle and is consistent with his theological inclinations, but I have found no conclusive evidence that he was solely responsible for the choice. 23 Pontoise, Carmel de Pontoise, Archives du Carmel de Pontoise (ACP): “Histoire generalle du monastere de St-Joseph des Carmélites de la ville de Pontoyse, fondé le seisiesme jour de Janvier 1605 … et de toutes les choses les plus memorables qui y sont arrivées depuis jusqu’en l’an 1680”, 139. See also Chroniques des Carmélites, 3.141–42, 146, and 151, among other references to financial difficulties. 24 Morgain, Pierre de Bérulle, 189–90 and 199–200. By contrast, A. Vermeylen, Sainte Thérèse en France au XVIIe siècle (1600–1660) (Leuven: Publications universitaires de Louvain, 1958) 268–69, plays down the notion of a real quarrel between Bérulle and the Spanish mothers but adds that Ana de Jesús was hostile to secular directors well before the entry of the Carmelite fathers into France and especially reproached Bérulle “de soumettre les religieuses à une doctrine spirituelle et à un ‘esprit’ qui reflétaient d’advantage, assurait-on, leurs inclinations propres que la tradition inaugurée par la réformatrice d’Avila”. 25 Diefendorf, From Penitence to Charity, 106–7.

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Early chronicles praise the Spanish nuns for the zeal with which they oversaw the novices’ activities and credit the Holy Spirit with ensuring that they were perfectly understood, despite the language gap.26 And yet an intimate understanding of the novices’ innermost feelings necessarily remained outside their reach. This increased the attachment some of the novices felt for their French superiors, who played a more active role in their spiritual development than would have been the case in Spain, where a novice would only rarely have encountered the order’s male superiors. It also allowed the superiors to influence the convent’s affairs in an intimate and ongoing way, and not just during periodic visitations. One of the superiors in particular seized the opportunity to shape French practices to his liking. This was Pierre de Bérulle, who oversaw the Paris convent’s financial affairs and served as the nuns’ confessor, in addition to his position as superior.27 He intervened in minor matters, adding a third day to the Spanish nuns’ twice-weekly communion, for example, and insisting that the French sisters wear their heavy outer veils except when engaging in manual labour, though this had never been the Spanish practice. Real problems occurred, however, when he insisted to Ana de San Bartolomé, the second (and last) Spanish prioress in Paris, that he understood the Rule as well as she did. She says in her memoirs that he refused to accept that “the Rule and Constitution should be one and the same thing here and there” and told her “that Spain was one thing and France another”.28 For Ana, this was a denial of the very reason she had come from Spain. The quarrel over the order’s government played an important part in this conflict. Three of the Spanish nuns had departed for the Habsburg Netherlands when they learned that the French superiors were attempting to make their control over spiritual affairs permanent. Ana de San Bartholomé had stayed but then accused Bérulle of poisoning the French nuns against her out of fear that they would join her in wanting Carmelite superiors. She says he told them, “Don’t disclose your souls to the Mother [Ana]; her spirit does not suit you. She is a foreigner and, what is more, Spanish”.29 We cannot know whether Bérulle actually spoke in such explicitly anti-Spanish terms. Ana recorded these reminiscences only after moving to the Habsburg Netherlands in 1611; they may be coloured by subsequent disagreements with Bérulle. It is nevertheless clear from convent chronicles that the French had strong ideas about Spanish character, or le génie espagnol, and that such ideas tended to be bluntly expressed in moments of

26 Chroniques des Carmélites, 1.127 and 2.127–9. 27 Chroniques des Carmélites, 1.124 and 135. 28 Ana de San Bartolomé, “Autobiographía de Amberes”, in Obras completas, ed. J. Urkiza (Burgos: Editorial Monte Carmelo, 1998) 401. 29 Ana de San Bartolomé, “Autobiographía de Amberes”, 395–96.

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stress.30 And whatever words were used, the undercurrent of conflict over just how faithful the French Carmelites should remain to Spanish practices was clearly real, as was Ana’s sense that, in Paris at least, fidelity was a losing battle. Unlike the Carmelites, only one of whose six Spanish nuns remained in France after Ana de San Bartholomé’s departure, Italian Capuchins continued to play an important role in France for more than fifteen years in the case of Paris and twelve in the case of Toulouse. But here too, ongoing tensions over issues of governance ultimately resulted in changes in leadership. The Paris province fractured soonest and most completely. All of the superiors of both the province and the Paris house were Italian until 1590, when a political crisis divided the province and resulted in the expulsion of its Italian members. The root of the quarrel lay in the increasingly vociferous support that some French friars were giving the radical Catholic faction known as the ‘Holy League’, which rose up against King Henri III and expelled him from his capital in 1588. When Henri III was assassinated in August 1589 and the Protestant Henri of Navarre claimed the throne as Henri IV, the large majority of French Capuchins became enthusiastic supporters of the League. When their Italian superiors tried to temper the tone of their preaching and forbade their participation in public displays of militancy such as processions of the Holy League, they went into active rebellion against them.31 Seizing control of the Paris house, the rebels wrote to Rome to demand that the Italians leave the province and cease to have any say in its government. When Roman superiors replied by sending a commissioner general with censures and expulsion orders, the rebels drove him out with threats. When the commissioner then sought support from the papal vice-legate in Paris, they turned the ardently pro-League populace against him – and against any other Italian friars daring to show themselves in the city. According to the commissioner general, the French friars were motivated by “an already old hatred of the Italians” and wanted to expel them so as to remain themselves “the masters, occupying all of the offices and exercising absolute power over the province’s government”.32 The hint of old resentments is suggestive; it is, moreover, clear that by late 1590 the quarrel between French and Italian Capuchins in Paris was irreparable. Despite the vice– legate’s attempts to negotiate a compromise, the commissioner general, provincial superior and Italian friars departed Paris in December 1590. An Italian well known to the Paris brothers served briefly as interim superior in the mid1590s; he was the last Italian to hold office either the Paris house or the province 30 Chroniques des Carmélites, 1.22–23 and 128. 31 Godefroy de Paris, Les Frères mineurs capucins en France: Histoire de la Province de Paris (2 vol.; Paris: Bibliothèque franciscaine provinciale, 1937–1939) 1.105–7. 32 Godefroy de Paris, Les Frères mineurs capucins, 1.114–25 (quotes from 122).

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as a whole.33 It is telling, moreover, that a recent Capuchin historian credits the French interim superior who preceded him not only with restoring the liturgical life that had all but lapsed during the crisis but also with introducing a new ceremonial and ordinances for celebration of the mass. These measures, he says, “erased the last traces left in the liturgical life of the young province by the Italian colonizers”.34 In Capuchin memory, this expulsion thus appears to mark a decisive moment in the process of becoming French – at least for the Paris province. The political divisions that marked the era of the Holy League also strained relations among the Capuchins of Toulouse, though less precipitously and less irrevocably than was the case in Paris. The situation in Languedoc was complicated by the fact that Lower Languedoc remained in royalist hands throughout the League, while Upper Languedoc was a bastion of radical Catholicism. The royalist governor of Lower Languedoc had founded two of the Capuchin houses there, and the Leaguer sympathies of the French friars conflicted not only with the superiors’ orders to stay out of politics but also with the respect they thought the friars owed their founder.35 Capuchins in Upper Languedoc were, of course, also supposed to stay out of politics, but the Italian superiors who remained in charge of friaries there had little incentive to enforce this policy, especially when the province’s governor, Henri, duc de Joyeuse, was a former Capuchin who had taken off his habit and belted on a sword to lead the League’s army in Southwestern France in 1592. When distinguished theologians came to the Toulouse friary, where Henri (then known as Brother Ange) was staying, to try to persuade him that it was God’s will that he take up his aristocratic family’s military tradition and carry on the League’s fight in the South, the friary’s Italian superior did not oppose the idea and said only, “He is of age; let him speak for himself” (John 9:21). Ange/Henri’s reluctant agreement to trade his habit for a sword was subsequently approved by his provincial superior, the order’s general in Rome, and even the pope.36 All apparently agreed that leading the war against heresy from the battlefield was not dabbling in politics but a divine mission. New difficulties arose in Lower Languedoc, in Béziers, when royalist magistrates, who had fled Toulouse and set up a royalist Parlement-in-exile there, 33 BnF, Manuscrits français 6451: Manuel de la province, lists Luc de Laterza as commissaire générale only for 1595–96, but Godefroy de Paris, Les Frères mineurs capucins, 1.152–3 and 172–3, first dates his appointment to 1593 and then to 1594. 34 Godefroy de Paris, Les Frères mineurs capucins, 1.142. There is no indication that the author viewed this loss with regret. As the book was published in 1939, contemporary events might have influenced his view of Italians as ‘colonizers’. 35 BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”, 36 and 59. C. Douais, Capucins et Huguenots dans le Languedoc sous Henri IV, Louis XIII et Louis XIV (Lyon: Librairie Vitte & Perrussel, 1888) 18, concludes from the superiors’ censures that the Capuchins were “ceaselessly” attacking such moderate Catholics as Montmorency from the pulpit and in their daily conversations. 36 BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”, 47 and 49–50.

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ordered the Capuchins to pray publicly for King Henri IV after his 1593 conversion. The convent’s superior, an Italian, refused on the ground that the pope had not yet absolved the king. When the Parlement’s first president then threatened to banish the order, the friars quietly snuck out of town to seek shelter in the one convent in Lower Languedoc that remained in a League-controlled city. Italian and French friars stood together then, in Languedoc, in defying secular authorities who demanded proof of loyalty to a king they still considered a heretic.37 The conflict was only resolved two years later, when the Capuchins’ superior general ruled that there was less harm in praying for the king when constrained to do so than in abandoning friaries and churches. Even after their return to Béziers, though, the Capuchins made it clear that they would pray for Henri IV “only for appearance’s sake” until word arrived of his absolution.38 Despite the public face of solidarity maintained by the brothers in Lower Languedoc, as French membership grew in the province of Toulouse so too did “seeds of division” with the Italians. The province’s chronicler treats this as natural, saying that “it is rare for people of different nations to live together without displaying the repugnance and antipathies that even the most mortified of men fail to entirely vanquish”. In contrast to Paris, however, the Italian friars in the Toulouse province departed voluntarily, offering the excuse – not without validity – that they wanted to return to their homeland. According to the chronicles, their departure greatly pained their French brethren; the province was “still too young to do without the care of the fathers who had given birth to it”.39 Perhaps the Roman leadership recognized this, for it sent the Toulouse province five Italian priests and four lay brothers just a year later.40 Also in contrast to Paris, then, Italians continued to play important roles in the Toulouse province in the years that followed, and the province continued to pride itself on being a direct daughter of Rome.41

37 BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”, 50–54. The incident is recounted at length in Douais, Capucins et Huguenots, 21–41. 38 BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”, 59–67, 73–75, and 91–92. Most of the Capuchins elsewhere in France, who had received the same order, continued to hold out (Godefroy de Paris, Les Frères mineurs capucins, 1.184). 39 BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”, 70–72. The fact that a number of these same Italians had just been elected to leadership roles in the province also shows a continued confidence in them quite unlike the revolt that took place in Paris. 40 BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”, 75. 41 I base this judgment on a close reading of the “Recueil chronologique” but have not attempted to quantify the number of offices held by Italian, as compared with French, members over time.

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Becoming French

How did these quarrels and changes in leadership affect the longer-term development of the Capuchins and Carmelites? Are there signs, for example, that Capuchins in the Paris province, which expelled its Italian members in 1590, became ‘more French’ than the Toulouse province, which did not? The answer depends on what we mean by becoming ‘more French’ but must nevertheless be answered in the negative. The Paris province may have included proportionately fewer Italians than Toulouse by the late sixteenth century, but it was never exclusively French and included, for example, such prominent English Catholic refugees as Benet Canfield. Nor is there evidence that the Paris brothers’ spiritual formation, which drew on a wide range of sources, was somehow more French in orientation than would have been the case with Capuchins elsewhere.42 All in all, if we bracket the period of rebellion during the League, the Paris Capuchins appear to have conformed obediently to the dictates handed down by their closely governed order. It is, moreover, clear from the sources that French Capuchins found ready tools for their expansion in the devotional practices and spirituality of their Italian founders. The conflicted situation in France may have encouraged the development of some minor variations on certain practices inherited from Italy, but for the most part it is fidelity and not adaptation that strikes the eye. As in Italy, the French Capuchins expanded from their initial base in a province largely by securing invitations for their best preachers to give Advent or Lenten sermons in targeted towns. They then capitalized on the enthusiasm generated by the sermons to persuade locals to establish a friary. Once this base had been established, they made good use of preaching but also of participatory religious activities – including processions, pilgrimages, and forty-hour prayers – to cultivate popular piety and encourage a renewal of faith.43 Already well developed during the Capuchins’ rapid spread through the Italian peninsula, these practices served well in the new French setting and ultimately helped to spark a Catholic revival. One practice that deserves special mention on account of the way it was modified in France is the foundational ceremony known as ‘planting the cross’. This traditional practice, also used in other religious orders, of ceremonially placing a cross where the altar of a new church was to stand was particularly highly developed in the Capuchins’ Toulouse province, where it served as a way of publicizing the new order but also as a demonstration of anti-Protestant militancy. The cross was a contested symbol in the context of France’s religious wars. 42 J. Mauzaize, Histoire des Frères mineurs capucins de la province de Paris (1601–1660) (2 vol.; Blois: Éditions Notre-Dame de la Trinité, 1965) 2.823–53. 43 Mauzaize, Histoire des Frères mineurs capuchins, 2.823–53.

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French Protestants viewed the cross, like relics, saints’ images, and the doctrine of the Real Presence, as a mark of Catholic idolatry. Huguenots tore down thousands of crosses in religious riots and in their ‘cleansing’ of Catholic churches seized in the wars. Viewed by Protestants as a necessary purification, this iconoclasm was, from the Catholic perspective, a blasphemous denial of Christ’s sacrifice and its promise of redemption, and they replied to Protestant destruction of crosses by reinforcing their allegiance to this symbol. They attached white crosses to their hats as an identifying mark in riots, wore them on their sleeves in the wars, and swore to erect a thousand new crosses for every one the Huguenots tore down.44 Planting the cross to mark a new religious foundation may have been a traditional gesture, but it was also a rallying cry for Catholic militancy and perceived as such by those on both sides in France’s religious wars. In Italy, planting the cross was often incorporated into the ceremony for laying the first stone for a new church.45 In France, planting the cross became a separate and highly ritualized ceremony in which the Capuchins carried a heavy wooden cross as much as ten or twelve feet tall from the cathedral or another prominent local church to the site chosen for the new friary and erected it there. The first stone for the church might be laid several weeks or as much as several years later and occasioned a separate ceremony. This was partly out of necessity; the financial and political troubles caused by France’s civil and religious wars often resulted in a significant gap between the time when the site was acquired for a new friary and the moment when building could begin. But even when they could not yet build, French Capuchins found the ceremonial planting of the cross an ideal way of introducing themselves to a new town, and the ceremonies became increasingly elaborate, incorporating more and more of the local community, with time. Participants always included the bishop or his delegate and the key donors or their representatives. City officials, canons and religious from other orders, and members of local confraternities frequently took part as well. The processions often had a musical accompaniment, incorporating hymns but also trumpets and drums. By the early seventeenth century, more martial sounds might also ring out, with the firing of muskets or cannons.46 It is no coincidence that the ceremonies for planting the cross became more militant in character, with beating drums, blaring trumpets, and musket blasts, at 44 On the wearing of white crosses in riots, see B. Diefendorf, Beneath the Cross: Catholics and Huguenots in Sixteenth-Century Paris (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991) 81, 104, and 106. See also B. Diefendorf, Planting the Cross: Catholic Reform and Renewal in Sixteenth- and Seventeenth-Century France (New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019). 45 Sisto da Pisa, Storia dei cappuccini toscani: con prologomeni sul-Ordine francescano et le sue riforme, (2 vol.; Florence: Tipografia Barbèra, 1906–1909) 1.121, 163, and 215. 46 BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”, 180, 185, 228, 234, 279, 299 and 300.

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a moment when religious tensions were on the rise and each side was accusing the other of violating the Edict of Nantes. Events in Montpellier in 1609 almost certainly contributed to this new militancy. This was the first Protestant-controlled city in which the Capuchins founded a friary in Languedoc, and the foundation was fiercely opposed by the city’s Huguenot population, which considered the introduction of a new Catholic religious order a violation of the Edict of Nantes. When Montpellier’s reforming bishop ignored the protests and organized a procession to plant the cross for the new foundation, armed Protestants first attempted to block the procession and then came back in the night to tear the newly planted cross down.47 Montpellier was an exceptional case; the Capuchins made no further attempts to found friaries in Protestant-dominated cities for more than ten years. The anger sparked by these events nevertheless spilled over to Catholic-dominated areas and helps explain the increasingly martial air of the processions, with armed local residents – even militia companies – escorting the cross and musket shots punctuating the celebrations.48 Although the ceremony of planting the cross thus took on a special prominence in France, the ritual cannot be described as distinctively ‘French’ in character. In addition to its obvious origins in the traditional ceremonies for founding a new friary, the French ceremony may have more distant roots in a Capuchin-initiated ritual that took place in Pavia in 1537, at a moment in the Habsburg-Valois wars when the city feared a siege by French armies. A Capuchin preaching in the city is said to have responded to the fears by taking up a great wooden cross and walking through the city’s streets and public squares calling out “penitence, penitence”. A crowd came out to follow him as he returned to the cathedral, where he allegedly delivered an exhortation encouraging people to expiate their sins through the sacrament of penance and come take part in fortyhour prayers. According to Capuchin annals, the Pavians soon learned that the French king had decided not to besiege the city and, rejoicing, resolved to found a Capuchin friary, the first in the new province of Genoa.49 The point here is not that the French Capuchins would have known about this particular procession of the cross; we cannot know if this was the case. It is rather that Italian Capuchins had half a century’s experience of improvising dramatic and affective public rituals before they came to France, where these tools were put to good use to encourage a Catholic spiritual revival, but also to wage war against heresy. The French Carmelites of course also rooted themselves in the traditions the Spanish mothers were brought to teach. They were, however, somewhat freer to innovate than the Capuchins were because of their independence from Spanish 47 BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”, 209–11. 48 BFPC, “Recueil chronologique”, 180 and 234. 49 Caluze, Annales, 258.

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control. The French founders made changes from the beginning because they envisioned the Paris Carmel of the Incarnation as the mother house for the new French order and wanted both to have enough nuns to send out to make new foundations and to attract the patronage of elites whose gifts might permit the founding of new houses. To these ends, the French founders more than doubled the size of the initial foundation and enlarged the convent again when the initial 48 cells proved insufficient. And while they agreed in principle with Teresa’s desire to free up the nuns from the social obligations that she had seen to result from aristocratic patronage and control, their desire to cultivate elites’ benevolence encouraged them to allow French aristocrats to visit the cloister in ways that Teresa surely would not have approved.50 The changes introduced by the founders in Paris did not, however, go uncontested. When a second house was created at Pontoise in 1605, its founding nuns deliberately sought to adhere more rigorously to the Spanish model. In both their chronicle and their art, the nuns at Pontoise depicted themselves as direct daughters of Spain. Their chronicle, still held in manuscript in the convent’s archives, devotes 135 pages to the pre-history of the Carmelites in France but only a single page to the Paris foundation that preceded theirs.51 It connects Pontoise directly to Spain through an extended narrative of the attempts that Jean de Brétigny, the convent’s first spiritual director, made to introduce the Spanish Carmelites to France in the 1580s and 1590s, when the country was still embroiled in civil war. Brétigny’s fluency in Spanish made him the favoured confessor and confidant of the Spanish mothers, and especially of Ana de San Bartolomé, the first prioress at Pontoise. A lay sister through her earlier religious career, Ana was given the black veil of a choir nun when the French superiors decided to make her prioress at Pontoise. Ana was chosen over the other Spanish nuns on account of her personal connection to Saint Teresa. The Pontoise nuns took great pride in this connection, and it formed an important element in their claim to have been nurtured in authentically Teresian ways. As their chronicle puts it, Divine providence had ordered through all Eternity that this little convent … should have the joy and grace to have as its first prioress she who, having been the inseparable companion of our Blessed Mother Teresa in all of her foundations and thereby imbibed the milk of her doctrine, was more fit than any other to establish there the original spirit of the order’s reform, having received it from the source.52

Ana de San Bartolomé spent only nine months at Pontoise before being called back to Paris. Her outsized role in Pontoise memory owes more to claims of a direct Spanish heritage than to a long period of leadership there. It was, never50 Diefendorf, From Penitence to Charity, 113–14. 51 ACP, “Histoire generalle”, 140–41. 52 ACP, “Histoire generalle”, 141.

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theless, a very active nine months, during which Ana gave the habit to fourteen girls.53 Biographical notes in this and other chronicles frequently credit these nuns with imbuing the sisters they trained at the convents they went on to found with the same “original spirit of the order”.54 Another of the Spanish mothers, Isabel de San Pablo, became prioress at Pontoise on Ana’s departure. Born in Antwerp, Isabel spoke fluent French, and her formation of her daughters at Pontoise was considered so important that the convent’s manuscript chronicle devotes eight pages to enumerating the practices she inculcated in them.55 Isabel was followed in turn by the order’s first French prioress, Marie de la Trinité d’Hannivel. A niece of Jean de Brétigny, Marie spoke perfect Spanish and had often served as translator and secretary to the Spanish mothers, whose teachings she was thought to have perfectly imbibed.56 Marie went on to serve as prioress of eight other convents before her death in 1647 and is credited in several of their chronicles with schooling her daughters in strict ‘Spanish ways’.57 The Paris convent of the Incarnation was of course also initially headed by Spanish nuns, and the importance of their teachings is not overlooked in the convent’s chronicle.58 Adherence to Spanish traditions nevertheless plays a less important role here than it does for Pontoise. There is, conversely, more discussion of how Spanish traditions were adapted to French needs and circumstances. These changes are justified with reference to the order’s need to expand throughout France but also to cultural differences between France and Spain. The Paris chronicle, for example, describes the Spanish mothers’ practice of carrying their distaffs with them into mass, as well as the joyous cries with which they punctuated their prayers, as “very foreign to French tastes”.59 The chronicle praises the Spanish mothers, but they do not dominate its early narrative in the way they do for Pontoise. The central figure is rather Madeleine de Saint-Joseph, the convent’s first French prioress, chosen to replace Ana de San Bartolomé in 1608. The leadership that Madeleine exercised over the next three decades was considered so saintly that the convent began proceedings for her beatification just ten years after her death in 1637. Included in this testimony is a sister’s claim that the convent experienced a great “renewal of grace” when Madeleine was elected as prioress.60 The convent was just four years old at the time, and yet 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60

ACP, “Histoire generalle”, 165. ACP, “Histoire generalle”, 165, 481, 496, 501–2, 539–40. ACP, “Histoire generalle”, 193–201. Chroniques des Carmélites, 3.418–19. Chroniques des Carmélites, 3.426 and 430–1. Chroniques des Carmélites, 1.127. Chroniques des Carmélites, 1.128–30. See also Diefendorf, From Penitence to Charity, 108–9. Pontoise, Carmel de Pontoise, Archives du Carmel de Clamart: “Extractum seu Transsumptum ex originalibus Attestationibus circa vita sanctitatum & miracula ancillae Dei

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Madeleine’s election is depicted as a kind of new beginning – a French beginning, perhaps? In keeping with the Incarnation’s self-representation as the hub of the order, its chronicle narrates the foundation of all subsequent French houses, whether or not they were founded directly from Paris. It places considerable emphasis on the visits of queens and princesses, the gifts received from wealthy patrons, and the professions of socially prominent nuns. The narrative does reveal a certain ambivalence about these aristocratic connections, stressing the reluctance with which the Carmelites accepted the visits to which their most generous donors felt entitled as founders or patrons and emphasizing how careful they were to ensure that the visits did not disrupt the silence of the cloister.61 It nevertheless gives a more prominent place to the convent’s interactions with the secular world than does the chronicle for Pontoise, which, conversely, places more emphasis on the convent’s isolation and the joy the nuns experienced at being alone with their sisters. This theme is evident in the narrative of the first night the novices spent in their new convent but is also illustrated in allegorical fashion in a painting that still hangs in the Pontoise cloister and illustrates the passage in the final chapter of Teresa of Avila’s Foundations in which she describes what a pleasure it is for nuns making a new foundation to find themselves “at last in a cloister which can be entered by no one from the world”.62 Conceived by one of Pontoise’s nuns and entirely original in its iconography, the work is one of a number of paintings commissioned for the convent that employ a unique iconography to claim a privileged place for Pontoise in the French Carmelite order.63 Inventories of the art belonging to the Paris convent suggests that the Incarnation too possessed paintings connected to Carmelite history, and yet far more of its art consisted of enormous canvases illustrating traditional biblical themes painted by same famous artists whose paintings hung in the Capuchin church. The nave of the Carmelites’ church was lined with a dozen paintings by such artists as Charles Le Brun, Philippe de Champaigne, and Laurent de La Hyre.64 The church at Pontoise was too small for such paintings, which measured as much as four meters tall, but the nuns there were also reluctant to encourage sumptuous gifts they thought out of keeping with religious poverty. Marie de

61 62 63 64

Matris Magdalena a Ste Joseph [1647]”; vol. 1, testimony of Charlotte de Harlay (Soeur Marie de Jésus), p. 422. See also Chroniques des Carmélites, 1.148. Chroniques des Carmélites, 1.154. Chroniques des Carmélites, 3.126–28; and Teresa of Avila, “Book of the Foundations”, in The Complete Works, ed. Peers, 3.203. C. Olivereau (ed.), Les collections du Carmel de Pontoise: un patrimoine spirituel à découvrir (Paris: Créaphis, 2004), especially 21–27 and 32. Ériau, L’ancien Carmel du Faubourg Saint-Jacques, 94–106.

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Saint-Joseph Fournier, one of the convent’s first French prioresses, initially declined the gift of a large painting that a wealthy benefactor intended for the church choir on the ground that Teresa had opposed the placing of ‘gilded art’ in her churches. Marie later accepted the gift on the direct order of her superiors, who told her she was being “overly scrupulous”, and it does seem that Teresa rejected the elaborate gilded frames common in the era as incompatible with poverty but not the images they contained, which she found useful for stimulating prayer.65 Madeleine de Saint-Joseph had a still more positive view of art. Believing that it served to edify the faithful but also to celebrate God’s glory, she encouraged the artistic commissions that, in time, made the church of the Incarnation one of the most richly decorated in all of Paris.66 Because she saw the church as a temple to God’s glory, she did not share Teresa’s scruples about lavish decoration. The Incarnation’s chronicle gives a detailed narrative of the church’s interior, describing the “remarkably ornate” grille on the balustrade, the “superb and magnificent” columns of black and green marble, the gilded capitals and crucifix, and other aspects of its rich décor.67 Unfortunately, the church was destroyed at the time of the Revolution, so nothing remains, but clearly the atmosphere there was very different from the little church where the Pontoise nuns still worship.

V.

Fidelity and Adaptation

It would be easy to conclude from these differences that the Pontoise nuns did, as they claimed, preserve an authentic Teresian heritage that was sacrificed in the Parisian convent’s perceived need to be large, rich, and accommodating of the wealthy benefactors whose gifts were necessary to the order’s spread. But the problem is not that simple. The Incarnation’s nuns would have insisted that they clung firmly to the principles of Teresa’s reform in all of the areas that mattered – in their spirituality, in their reclusive and ascetic lives, and in their strict observance of the constitutions and the rule. They would have insisted – the chronicle does insist – that the privileges given aristocratic donors were carefully regulated, so that they were not allowed to disturb the silence of the cloister. And they would have insisted that their sumptuous church was intended to glorify God and not to attract the wonder of its human visitors. They would have pointed to Madeleine de Saint-Joseph’s instructions for training novices and her letters to 65 Chroniques des Carmélites, 3.215–16. 66 Y. Rocher (ed.), L’art du XVIIe siècle dans les Carmels de France. Musée du Petit Palais, 17 novembre 1982–15 février 1983 (Paris: Petit Palais, 1982) 151. 67 Chroniques des Carmélites, 1.155–7.

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prioresses of other convents and said, doesn’t this show that the true spirit of Teresa’s reform is alive and well here?68 My argument is thus that Pontoise represents a different vision of Teresa’s reform, not that it represents a truer one. In its small size and poverty, the little convent at Pontoise was indeed closer in form and appearance to the Carmelite convents Teresa founded in Spain than was Paris’s Carmel of the Incarnation, which grew to house sixty or seventy nuns at a time.69 But where did the true heart of the reform lie? In the buildings and resources, or in the conduct of the nuns? These are not simple questions; ‘fidelity’ is inevitably a truth claim and not an objectively established fact. From the beginning, the nuns at Pontoise used the claim to be perfect daughters of Spain to establish an independent identity for themselves. When tensions developed over questions of government within the French order, they used these claims to stake out the high moral ground in opposition to the Paris nuns, even accusing them at one point of being “daughters of the Court, who have kept the spirit of domination and all of their worldly friendships beneath their veils”.70 These quarrels take us beyond the scope of this essay, but also remind us that ‘becoming French’ could be a highly charged accusation and not the simple product of a natural evolution that occurred when foreign orders settled in France. Becoming French involved conscious choices and resistance to or acceptance of change. There was no single model for adaptation. The Capuchins used frequent visitations to enforce strict allegiance to the letter and spirit of their constitutions, but this did not prevent them from innovating at the local level in order to attract new audiences and win them over to their message of repentance and faith. The order experienced conflict – and even revolt – during the Wars of the Holy League. And yet a strong common vision allowed the French Capuchins to be easily reintegrated into the congregation once the situation causing the conflict was resolved. The French Carmelites, by contrast, broke from Spanish control to establish a more locally governed order. The break institutionalized certain possibilities for change but also allowed conflicting visions to emerge in a way they could not in the more centralized Capuchin hierarchy. Moreover, because the French Carmelites had three superiors instead of just one, these conflicting visions were easily perpetuated and passed on. 68 Madeleine de Saint-Joseph, Avis de la venerable mere Madeleine de S. Joseph, pour la conduite des novices (Paris: A. Vitré, 1672); Madeleine de Saint-Joseph, Lettres spirituelles, ed. P. Sérouet (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1965). 69 At least 66 nuns resided in Paris’s convent of the Incarnation in 1661 (Chroniques des Carmélites, 1.282). 70 Jeanne de Jésus Séguier, Lettres à son frère, chancelier de France (1643–1668), ed. B. Hours (Lyon: Centre André Latreille, 1992) 94: Letter of 20 October 1661 from Jeanne de Jésus Séguier, prioress at Pontoise, to her brother, Pierre Séguier, chancellor of France.

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What we can generalize from this is perhaps first that it is dangerous even to attempt generalizations. Each religious order that spread beyond its native borders necessarily acclimated itself in different ways to its new surroundings. Institutional structures, formal rules and informal practices, but also the character of patrons, superiors, and new recruits all came into play. So, more obscurely, did the ideas of national character that influenced the way these parties interacted and their willingness to compromise in pursuit of a common end.

Bibliography Archival Sources Paris, Archives nationales de France, L 1046: Carmélites de Paris. Paris, Bibliothèque franciscaine provinciale des Capucins de Paris (BFPC): “Recueil chronologique des choses qui concernent la fondation et le progrès de la Province des Capucins d’Aquitaine, ou de Tolose. Fait par le Commandement du R. P. Emanuel de Beziers provincial de la mesme Province, en l’année 1694”. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF), Manuscrits Français 6451 and 25046. Pontoise, Carmel de Pontoise, Archives du Carmel de Clamart: “Extractum seu Transsumptum ex originalibus Attestationibus circa vita sanctitatum & miracula ancillae Dei Matris Magdalena a Ste Joseph” [1647]. Pontoise, Carmel de Pontoise. Archives du Carmel de Pontoise (ACP): “Histoire generalle du monastere de St-Joseph des Carmélites de la ville de Pontoyse, fondé le seisiesme jour de Janvier 1605 … et de toutes les choses les plus memorables qui y sont arrivées depuis jusqu’en l’an 1680”.

Printed and Edited Sources Ana de San Bartolomé, “Autobiographía de Amberes”, in Obras completas, ed. J. Urkiza (Burgos: Editorial Monte Carmelo, 1998). I frati cappuccini: documenti et testimonianze del primo secolo, ed. C. Cargnoni (5 vol.; Perugia: EFI, 1988–1993). Chroniques de l’ordre des Carmélites de la réforme de Sainte Thérèse depuis leur introduction en France (5 vol.; Troyes: Anner-André, 1846–1865). Jeanne de Jésus Séguier, Lettres à son frère, chancelier de France (1643–1668), ed. B. Hours (Lyon: Centre André Latreille, 1992). L’Estoile, Pierre de, Journal pour le règne de Henri IV et le début du règne de Louis XIII, ed. L.-R. Lefèvre/A. Martin (3 vol.; Paris: Gallimard, 1948–60). Madeleine de Saint-Joseph, Avis de la venerable mere Madeleine de S. Joseph, pour la conduite des novices (Paris: A. Vitré, 1672).

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Madeleine de Saint-Joseph, Lettres spirituelles, ed. P. Sérouet (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1965). Teresa of Avila, “Book Called the Way of Perfection”, in The Complete Works of St Teresa of Jesus, ed. E. Allison Peers (3 vol.; London: Sheed and Ward, 1946).

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Olivereau, C. (ed.), Les collections du Carmel de Pontoise: un patrimoine spirituel à découvrir (Paris: Créaphis, 2004). Raunié, E., Épitaphier du vieux Paris (13 vol.; Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1890–2000). Renoux, C., “Madame Acarie ‘lit’ Thérèse d’Avila au lendemain de l’Édit de Nantes”, in B. Hours (ed.), Carmes et carmélites en France du XVIIe siècle à nos jours. Actes du colloque de Lyon (25–26 septembre 1997) (Paris: Cerf, 2001) 117–54. Rocher, Y. (ed.), L’art du XVIIe siècle dans les Carmels de France. Musée du Petit Palais, 17 novembre 1982–15 février 1983 (Paris: Petit Palais, 1982). Ruiz Ibáñez, J.J., “El reino de Francia”, in J.J. Ruiz Ibáñez (ed.), Las vecindades de las Monarquías Ibéricas (Madrid: FCE, 2013) 121–45. Sisto da Pisa, Storia dei cappuccini toscani: con prologomeni sul-Ordine francescano et le sue riforme (2 vol.; Florence: Tipografia Barbèra, 1906–1909). Suire, É., “La place des auteurs espagnols dans l’hagiographie française de l’âge moderneˮ, Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France 90 (2004) 131–46. Vermeylen, A., Sainte Thérèse en France au XVIIe siècle (1600–1660) (Leuven: Presses universitaires de Louvain, 1958). Yardeni, M., Enquêtes sur l’identité de la ‘Nation France′ de la Renaissance aux Lumières (Seyssel: Champ Vallon, 2004). Yardeni, M., La conscience nationale en France pendant les guerres de Religion (1559–1598) (Leuven: Éditions Nauwelaerts, 1971).

Michel Boeglin

Crossing Boundaries: The Reception of Reformed Doctrines in Spain During the Reign of Emperor Charles V

Towards the end of his life, when Charles V learnt that the canon of Seville Cathedral, Constantino de la Fuente, had been arrested upon suspicion of Lutheranism in 1558, he was said to have cried out: “if Constantino is a heretic, then he is most assuredly a great heretic”.1 This exclamation expressed his considerable surprise at discovering that his former chaplain had tricked practically all members of the court and Church while propagating heresy from the very pulpit. However, the question of the reception of the Reform in Castile can neither be reduced solely to the existence of Nicodemite circles, to borrow a term that was coined by Calvin in the sixteenth century to refer to the Protestants who secretly professed their confession in Catholic territories, nor to the cases of those who had chosen exile in order to openly live their faith. Indeed, this issue is also related to the history of many circles that developed a sensibility close to the Reformers. In the fifteenth century, Castile’s civil wars and the ambitions of neighbouring kingdoms had kept it at a distance from the main European schools of thought. Yet, since the reign of Isabelle I of Castile (1451–1504) and her husband, Ferdinand II of Aragon (1452–1516), ‘the arts of peace’ (A. de Nebrija) and intellectual life were able to blossom. At this moment, the great works of the devotio moderna received a warm welcome, particularly among converted Jews. Since the mid-fifteenth century, the Iberian Peninsula, home to the largest Jewish community in Medieval Europe, had become a battleground for cristianos viejos (Old Christians) and conversos, or cristianos nuevos (New Christians). Subjected to segregation and pugnacious ostracism within Castilian society, these newlyconverted Christians sought, within the Gospel, a legitimacy that the statutes of blood purity denied them within both society and sometimes even the Church itself.2 1 Prudencio de Sandoval, Vida del Emperador Carlos V, Part II (Valladolid: Sebastián de Canas, 1606) lib. 33, fol. 5. 2 Alonso de Cartagena’s Defensorium unitatis christianae (1449) or fray Alonso de Oropesa’s

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In the sixteenth century, Spain was by no means on the fringes of the confessional debate that was shaking Europe.3 When Charles of Ghent was crowned king in 1516, Spain became implicated in the struggle against Lutheran Reform that took shape in the northern territories of the Crown and of the Empire. Moreover, in the Peninsula, at the very time when Luther was challenging the Pope, the appearance of the Alumbrado movement, proclaimed heretical in 1524, was seen by the Catholic hierarchy to be a threat that was sufficiently serious to justify arresting its instigators. These Alumbrados, or Illuminated, were laymen whose ideas converged with those of the Reformers on certain points, insofar as they rejected hierarchy, clerical superiority, and the role of the sacraments, while extolling the union of the soul with God and inspiration through the state of grace.4 In many ways, they resembled the radical wing of the early German Reformation.5 The conventicles of Illuminated, in certain respects, advocated a layman’s popular mysticism and included a large majority of Jewish descendants. Among them were many conversos, who found within these non-institutional religious practices, marked by a keen feeling of divine grace, the expression of what they considered to be a more authentic religious sensitivity than that of the Catholic Church. And, although there were no established early links between

Lumen ad revelationem gentium (1500) are representative of it as well as Talavera’s Católica impugnación (1487). See S. Pastore, Una herejía española: Conversos, alumbrados e Inquisición (1449–1559) (Madrid: Marcial Pons, 2010 [1st ital. ed. 2004]), in particular 43–48, 74–79. See also F. Márquez Villanueva, De la España judeoconversa (Barcelona: Belaterra, 2006) 229–44 and S.B. Schwartz, All Can Be Saved: Religious Tolerance and Salvation in the Iberian Atlantic World (New Haven, CT: Yale UP, 2008) 36–45. 3 The reception of Erasmus’ works as well as of the main works of the devotio moderna or the contribution of Spanish scholars to different European universities confirm this. Marcel Bataillon’s Erasme et l’Espagne (1937) has shown how close was Spain to the European debate of ideas in the very beginning of the sixteenth century: Érasme et l’Espagne, ed. C. Amiel (3 vol.; Genève, Droz, 1991 [1937]), see esp. vol. 1. His study questioned the vision of a Spanish specificity inherited from philosophers Maeztu and Unamuno and from Américo Castro’s view on the history of Spain, that he developed in España en su historia (1948). About some aspects of this historiographic debate, see e. g. J. Pérez, Isabel y Fernando: los Reyes Católicos (Nerea: Madrid, 2001). 4 For a general view on Alumbrados, see A. Hamilton, Heresy and Mysticism in SixteenthCentury Spain. The Alumbrados (Cambridge: James Clarke & Co, 1992); Pastore, Una herejía española; A. Selke, “El iluminisimo de los conversos y la Inquisición. Cristianismo interior de los alumbrados: resentimiento y sublimación”, in J. Pérez Villanueva (ed.), La Inquisición española, nueva visión, nuevos horizontes (Madrid: Siglo XXI, 1980) 617–36. 5 G.H. Williams, The Radical Reformation (Kirksville: Truman State University Press, 1992 [1962]) 109–35. See also R. E. McLaughlin, “The Radical Reformation”, in R. Po-Chia Hsia (ed.), The Cambridge History of Christianity vol. 6: Reform and Expansion 1500–1660 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007) 37–55; E. Cameron, The European Reformation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991) 326–36.

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the Alumbrados and Protestant doctrine, the influence of the reformed writings on some members of the Alumbrados’ inner circle after 1525 is quite perceptible.6 In the wake of the Diet of Worms, an edict that incriminated the possession, sale, or printing of the works of Luther was adopted on April 1521.7 However, the works of Luther were effectively passed around in intimate circles and amongst clerics whose curiosity was aroused. This is testimony that a religious sensitivity had been developing since the fifteenth century and was expressed by certain conversos authors. Within the framework of this volume, which is dedicated to the models of Catholic and Protestant Reformation and the transfer of culture and knowledge within a cross-border and transregional framework, it is interesting to study the case of the Spaniards, who, through their written works, managed to support and disseminate throughout Castile – circumventing the watchful eye of the Holy Office – the doctrines and positions of the Reformers, and to grasp the scope of this enterprise and its significance. Two authors are of primary interest in this respect: Juan de Valdés (1509–1541) and Constantino de la Fuente (1505?–1559), both of whom were the descendants of converted Jews, shaped by Erasmian ideals, and bore the same desire to revive the evangelical spirit of the first apostles. Generally presented as Erasmians, Alumbrados, or secret Protestants who intended to spread Reformed doctrines in Spain,8 their works and religious positions actually reflect their participation in the genuine confessional debate on religious matters, as well as their strong feelings on the idea of justification by faith, which was also defended by many conversos.

6 See Pastore, Una herejía española; M. Boeglin, Réforme et dissidence religieuse en Castille au temps de l’Empereur. L’affaire Constantino de la Fuente (1505?–1559) (Paris: Honoré Champion, 2016) 53–59, 65–73. 7 A. Redondo, “Luther et l’Espagne, 1520–1536”, Mélanges de la Casa de Velázquez 1 (1965) 121– 22. 8 About the Illuminist influence and Erasmianism, see Bataillon, Erasme, 1.105–19, 368–93. J.C. Nieto in his Juan de Valdes and the Origins of the Spanish and Italian Reformation (Geneva: Droz, 1970) considers the exclusive Alumbrado influence on the young Valdés before his exile to Naples, but later he totally changed his perspective in El Renacimiento y la otra España. Visión cultural socioespiritual, (Genève: Droz, 1997). M. Menéndez Pelayo, in his Historia de los heterodoxos españoles (2 vol.; Madrid: Editorial católica, 1965 [1880–82]) presented both as secret Protestants, in particular Constantino de la Fuente, following in this aspect the Jesuit historiography of the seventeenth century (2.66–74). Recently, G. Civale presents also the preacher Constantino de la Fuente as a representative of Nicodemitic attitudes in Seville: “Con secreto y disimulación”: Inquisizione ed eresia nella Siviglia del secolo XVI (Naples: Edizioni scientifiche italiane, 2007) 164–70. An interesting analysis on the religious attitude of Valdés in M. Firpo, Juan de Valdés and the Italian Reformation (Abingdon/New York: Routledge, 2016).

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Juan de Valdés’ Diálogo de doctrina cristiana: The Expression of a New Sensitivity

In 1529, a Diálogo de doctrina cristiana (Dialogue of Christian Doctrine) was printed by Miguel de Eguía in Alcalá de Henares.9 The author, while remaining anonymous, introduced himself as a clergyman and referred to Erasmus no fewer than seven times.10 However, the Diálogo was not merely an Erasmian catechism; it also drew on German Reformation sources.

1.

Luther, Under the Guise of Erasmian Catechism

The Diálogo was the early work of Juan de Valdés, son of a Cuencan alderman, Hernando de Valdés, who strongly opposed the Holy Office’s actions against Jewish descendants within the city.11 Juan was the twin brother of Charles V’s counsellor, Alfonso, and in 1524–1525, he was at Escalona within the service of the marquis of Villena, a fallen aristocrat who had gathered a court of Erasmians and Alumbrados. Juan attended the sermons of the Alumbrado Pedro Ruiz d’Alcaraz, with whom he talked at length, as emphasised in certain statements from the trial of the heretical movement’s leader. In 1528, Juan de Valdés was studying ‘artes liberales’ at Alcalá de Henares, as described in a letter that the young humanist wrote to Erasmus and in which he admitted to reading a great deal.12 At that time, he was no doubt writing his Diálogo de la doctrina cristiana, which was published in Alcalá a year later. His publisher, Miguel de Eguía, who also published the first translation of Erasmus’ works in Spain, was to be accused of loyalty to the Alumbrados shortly after.13 The dialogue staged the Hieronymite, Fray Pedro de Alba, Archbishop of Granada. He was the disciple and successor of Fray Hernando de Talavera, a man who had undertaken an evangelization campaign that targeted the particularly 9 Juan de Valdés, Dialogo de doctrina christiana, nuevamente compuesto por un religioso (Alcalá de Henares: Miguel de Eguía, 1529). 10 In the section about the books in the Diálogo…, the Enchiridion is presented like a salutary reading as well as other Erasmian dialogues. Juan de Valdés, Diálogo de doctina cristiana in Diálogos. Escritos espirituales. Cartas, ed. Á. Alcalá (Obras completas 1; Madrid: Turner, 1997) 133. 11 See Miguel Jiménez Monteserín’s article “Juan de Valdés” in I.J. García Pinilla (ed.), Aspectos de la disidencia religiosa en Castilla-La Mancha en el siglo XVI (Toledo: Almud, 2013) 159–97. 12 Letter from Erasmus to Juan de Valdés, 1 March 1528: Valdés, Obras completas, 1.1013. 13 R.M. Pérez García, La imprenta y la literatura espiritual castellana en la España del Renacimiento, 1470–1560: historia y estructura de una emisión cultural (Somonte-Cenero Gijón: Treas, 2006) 191–92.

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committed new converts.14 The choice of such a figure revealed the tremendous admiration felt by the author with regard to somebody who defended the equality of new and old christians. Antronio, who argued against the archbishop in the dialogue, represented the ignorant and uncultivated priest and personified popular wisdom that bordered on the grotesque. The third participant in the dialogue was Eusebio, the defender of spiritual religion, whose name is reminiscent of the old wise man in Erasmus’ Senile Colloquium and of the host in Convivium Religiosum. However, as underlined by Marcel Bataillon, although he borrowed the commentary of the credo from the colloquium Inquisitio de fide (1524), Juan de Valdés had turned his catechism into a bold work by doing away with the introduction and the conclusion of the Erasmian opuscule.15 Indeed, upon composing a dialogue, the intention of Erasmus was to put the credo into the mouth of an excommunicated Lutheran so that he might comment on it in order to reach purely Christian conclusions. These statements were likely to highlight the possible points of convergence between Rome and the Reformers; they suggested that Luther’s disciples should rally behind the Church and refrain from any religious quarrel. In young Valdés’ work, the ignorant rustic was no longer the rough Lutheran depicted by Erasmus, but a Catholic vicar with neither stature nor distinction. Here the roles were cleverly reversed and the dialogue indirectly highlighted the limits of Catholic religiosity, pleading for a spiritual cult to match God’s precepts, while repositioning the Word of Christ at the centre of its considerations. However, rather than using Erasmus, Valdés chose to include in his dialogue a number of passages directly translated from Luther, Œcolampadius, and Melanchthon, while taking care, for obvious reasons, to conceal his sources.16 In the Diálogo, there was no trace of the cutting remarks against monks or the worship of relics that were so common in Erasmus’ works. Without a doubt, these had been removed to avoid disserving its intention. However, the doctrinal core of Valdesian Christianity was already developed in detail: the law of love that inspired Creation and God’s commandments, the key role of righteous faith, the categoric nature of the Ten Commandments as compared to the ancillary nature of those of the Church, and the aspiration for inner perfection. Thus, to serve this 14 Pastore Una herejía, 75–77. 15 See Marcel Bataillon’s introduction to the Diálogo de doctrina cristiana de Juan de Valdés (facsimile edition of the 1529 edition; Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade, 1925). About the Colloquies see also F. Bierlaire, “Chapitre V. La bataille des Colloques: Piété chrétienne et réforme de l’Église”, in Les Colloques d’Érasme. Réforme des études, réforme des mœurs et réforme de l’Église au XVIe siècle (Liège: Presses universitaires de Liège, 1978). 16 C. Gilly, “Juan de Valdés, traductor y adaptador de escritos de Lutero en su Diálogo de Doctrina christiana”, in L. Lopez Molina (ed.), Miscelánea de estudios hispánicos: homenaje de los hispanistas de Suiza a Ramón Sugranyes de Franch (Montserrat: Publicacions de l’Abadia de Montserrat, 1982) 85–106.

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purpose, Valdés drew both from Erasmus and from the sources of the German Reformation. From Luther, young Valdés took the idea that if one was to spiritualise the Decalogue commandments, they all joined in the demand for infinite love17. When Antronio resisted following the precepts which, as he saw it, applied only to Perfects, the archbishop retaliated: “Yes, of course, to Perfects, meaning Christians and not the unfaithful”18, implying that perfection was attainable by any believer who accepted the law of the Gospel in its entirety. The divine law demanded perfection and could be attained by man through the strict application of its precepts. The strict and complete application of the Law of God, a fundamental part of Lutheran theology, permeated the spirit of Valdés’ work. Similarly, when presenting the seven cardinal sins and the pater noster, Valdés once again drew inspiration from Luther, translating whole passages written by the Wittenberg monk, particularly when he commented on Saint Paul and the opposition between the Gospel and the Law.19 We might presume that, in Luther, Valdés was seeking the most complete expression possible of an inner religion that allowed his soul to blossom. However, as stated by Carlos Gilly, this end could be achieved simply by reading Luther. In annotating and translating the works of the German Reformers for publication in Spain, Valdés ran great risks. What were his motivations? Beyond the desire to find a suitable expression of an intense religious feeling in Luther, which he could have achieved simply by reformulating the main points, the author seems to suggest that ideas from the Reformed should exist within Catholicism in order to reveal the areas of agreement.20

17 Valdés translated different sections of Luther’s works of 1518, in particular Decem praecepta Wittenbergensi praedicata populo: see Gilly, “Juan de Valdés, traductor”, 90–91, 97–99. 18 Valdés, Diálogo, 1.35. 19 C. Gilly, “Juan de Valdés”, 98–99. About the sources of Juan de Valdés, see also J. Heep, Juan de Valdes, seine Religion – sein Werden – seine Bedeutung. Ein Beitrag zum Verständnis des spanischen Protestantismus im 16. Jahrhundert (Leipzig: Heinsius, 1909) 163–70, in particular on Valdés doctrine of reconciliation and justification and the possible influence of German Reformers on him. See also F.A. James III, “Valdés and Vermigli. Crossing the Theological Rubicon”, in C. Moser/P. Opitz (ed.), Bewegung und Beharrung: Aspekte des reformierten Protestantismus, 1520–1650 (Leiden: Brill 2009) 117–33. See also F. Luttikhuizen, Underground Protestantism in Sixteenth Century Spain. A Much Ignored Side of Spanish History (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2016). 20 Gilly, “Juan de Valdés”, 104–5. S. Seidel Menchi, “Le traduzioni italiane di Lutero nella prima meta del Cinquecento”, Rinascimento 17 (1977) 31–108.

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The Expression of Castilian Irenicism

In 1530, upon the eve of the Diet of Augsburg, during which Melanchthon’s written Confession was presented to the Emperor, Juan de Valdés’ decision to publish his work was far from coincidental. His brother, Alfonso, an imperial secretary, had played a key role in the defence and diffusion of Erasmus’ works throughout Spain, and worked closely with Melanchthon in the hope of seeing the beginnings of an agreement between the Roman and Reformed parties. Since the Diet of Worms, Alfonso de Valdés had been arguing for the urgent need to hold a sínodo general, called by the Pope, to prevent the inevitable from occurring. Eight years later, following the 1529 Diet of Speyer, despite protests on behalf of the Reformed party, a possible agreement between the Christians became tangible. Indeed, the Diet of Augsburg, held in 1530, brought the hope of a rapprochement between the two parties, for which Alfonso de Valdés tirelessly strove to gain the Emperor’s support.21 During the Diet, Cardinal and general inquisitor Fray García de Loaysa came around to his views, as well as those of Mercurino Gattinara, by inviting Charles V to reach an agreement with the Reformers. This was a sign of the will of the chancellery to find a solution in order to appease Germany, at least for strategic purposes.22 On both sides, in the fraction most open to discussion, people were working hard to highlight certain areas of agreement between the Reformed party and the Roman Church. Within this setting of a quest for a common pathway, the Diálogo de doctrina cristiana could not have been more timely in its defence of a form of Christianity that was close to the Gospel and showed Erasmian leanings, at least in appearance. In the continuation of a sensitivity that had prevailed among a number of conversos since the mid-fifteenthth century, and characterised by its Pauline undertones – a keen sense of grace and christo-centricity that reduced the mediation of saints – Juan de Valdés had found the expression of a diffuse feeling that was to flourish within Alumbrado circles and among the many Evangelists accused of Lutheranism in subsequent decades.23 The support received by the author from many teachers at the University of Alcalá de Henares, both in terms of publishing and for the re-publication of the dialogue, was proof of the as21 Letter to Peter Martyr d’Anghiera, 31 Agust 1520: F. Caballero, Conquenses ilustres (4 vol.; Madrid: Imprenta del Colegio Nacional, 1868–75), vol. 4: Alonso y Juan de Valdés, appendix 2, 292–98. Letter probably written later and backdated by the author: see Bataillon, Erasme, 1.120. 22 C. Gutiérrez, “La política imperial de Carlos V en los primeros coloquios alemanes”, Estudios eclesiásticos 76–77 (1946) 162. See also G. Bagnatori, “Cartas inéditas de Alfonso de Valdés sobre la Dieta de Augsburgo”, Bulletin Hispanique 57 (1955) 356–62. 23 S. Pastore, Una herejía, 257–65; M. Laura Giordano, “‘La ciudad de nuestra conciencia’: los conversos y la construcción de la identidad judeocristiana (1449–1556)”, Hispania sacra 125 (2010) 43–91.

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cendancy of Irenicist conceptions within the academic center. Despite the uproar caused by the first edition, the general inquisitor, Manrique, through his representative, Sancho Carranza de Miranda, made the editorial commission suspend the work and demanded that the most glaring passages be removed and the book immediately reprinted.24 The Diálogo’s debt towards the German Reformers confirmed, firstly, within Castile and the University of Alcalá de Henares – a centre for the intellectual education of the political and ecclesiastical elite – the extent to which, from 1525– 30, the books of the German Reformers circulated among student and teacher communities, as revealed several years later in Juan de Vergara’s trial.25 Secondly, the choices made by Valdés confirmed its author’s eclectic mind: despite what he borrowed from the Wittenberg Reformer, other key elements of Lutheran theology, such as the strong feeling of sin or the denial of free will, were lacking in the Valdesian Dialogue. Thirdly, the points of convergence with the most open fraction of the Reformation were apparent: a return to the spirit and the texts of the Gospel (Valdés included three sections from Matthew in the appendices of his Dialogue, translated into the Roman language from the Greek original and not from the Vulgate), a sacramental reduction that only kept Baptism and the Eucharist,26 and the categoric nature of the Ten Commandments. The case of the Diálogo de doctrina cristiana demonstrated just how open Alcalá de Henares was to both the autochtone reformed influences of Spain, which were particularly expressed through Alumbradismo, and an interest in the doctrinal position of many Reformers. This leaning was expressed not only among certain students, but also within the faculty. At a time when the chancellery was seeking to convince the Pope of the absolute need to call a Council, certain Castilians who were close to Erasmus and the Evangelists, and who saw in Luther the admirable expression of a powerful feeling of grace in the continuation of peninsular currents that refused papal authority, were working to disseminate this religious tendency.27 The deferment of the Valladolid conference in 1527 had created a climate that was favourable to the diffusion of Erasmian ideas within Castile, particularly among the circles that continued to hope for a 24 See: J.E. Longhurst, “Alumbrados, erasmistas y luteranos en el proceso de Juan de Vergara”, Cuadernos de Historia de España 27 (1958) 116; Bataillon, Erasme, 1.392–93. 25 The administrative correspondence of the Inquisition shows that since the beginning of the 1520s, Luther books were caught: e. g. in Valencia (1521), San Sebastián (1523), Granada (1525): see Redondo, “Luther et l’Espagne”, 127. On the Protestant books given to the court by J. de Vergara, see Bataillon, Erasme, 1.474. 26 The Sacrament of Penance did not appear explicitly as a sacrament in Valdés dialogue: Valdés, Diálogo, 1.90–93. 27 See the trial of Pedro Martínez de Osma some decades before: I. Iannuzzi, “La condena a Pedro Martínez de Osma: ‘ensayo general’ de control ideológico inquisitorial”, Investigaciones Históricas. Época moderna y contemporánea 27 (2007) 11–46.

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concord between the Christians and who could relate to a number of points within the reformed doctrines. The Diálogo initiative, far from being a solitary moment of genius by its young author, was in all likelihood supported and protected by several members of the Toledo bishopric, of Alcalá University, and even of the Inquisition Council. However, new driving forces were at work within the Inquisition and the wave of trials towards the end of the 1520s confirmed the victory of a suspicious faction concerned about compromises over the Roman doctrine. Starting from 1529, the first convictions of the Alumbrados were to affect both a number of Erasmians and those in favour of a rapprochement with the Reformed, and obliged the group of clerics to break up. The arrests within the Alumbrados circles redounded upon several members of the University, hastening their departure, as was the case for Juan de Valdés. He found exile in Naples, where he continued to develop his religious leanings, causing certain cardinals, such as Reginald Pole, Gasparo Contarini and Jacopo Sadoleto, clerics, like Bernardino Ochino, and even anti-Trinitarians to rally around him.28 In Castile, the inquisitorial repression forced figures such as Juan del Castillo, Pedro de Lerma, Mateo Pascual, Juan Gil, Francisco Vargas, and Contantino de la Fuente to leave Alcalá de Henares while the power struggles that were at work within the Council of the Inquisition played against Manrique, who preferred to leave the court and return to his diocese. In 1534, the death of Alonso Fonseca de Ulloa, Archbishop of Toledo and defender of the Erasmian cause within the Peninsula, was to significantly reduce the leeway of the circles that leant towards an interiorized Christianity.

II.

De la Fuente and the Quest for an Evangelical Ideal in Castile

Some fifteen years later, however, Constantino de la Fuente once again put quill to paper and revived the same leaning in a dialogue that borrowed much from the Diálogo de la doctrina cristiana. De la Fuente was in Alcalá de Henares at the time when Juan de Valdés moved among the university’s humanist circles. In 1543, just after the failure of the Diet of Regensburg, De la Fuente published a Summary of Christian Doctrine (Suma de doctrina cristiana), in the form of a dialogue.29 Valdés’ spirit shone through in many ways, both in the sacramental economy and the pre-eminence of the Gospel in the categoric nature of the commandments. De 28 See M. Firpo, Entre alumbrados y ‘espirituales’: estudios sobre Juan de Valdés y el valdesianismo en la crisis religiosa del ‘500 italiano (Madrid: FUE, 2000 [1st italian ed., 1990]). 29 Suma de doctrina christiana en que se contiene todo lo principal y necessario que el hombre christiano deue saber y obrar (Seville: Juan Cromberger, 1543).

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la Fuente had been appointed as the cathedral’s preacher by the General Inquisitor and the Archbishop of Sevilla, Alonso Manrique, at the time when the prelate nominated former members of the Alcalá de Henares faculty, such as Juan Gil, alias doctor Egidio, and Francisco de Vargas, within his diocese. Between 1543 and 1548, De la Fuente wrote a number of ascetic and religious doctrinal works before serving as a chaplain for Prince Philip during his journey to Northern Europe that lasted until 1552. He was a lettered man, who had been introduced at court within the entourage of the Spanish nobleman Per Afán Enríquez de Ribera Portocarrero. De la Fuente, generally known as Doctor Constantino, showed great interest in confessional debate, as demonstrated by the large number of works on religious controversy recorded in the inventory of his official library, drawn up when it was placed under lock and key by the Inquisition.30 To these must be added the books of Calvin, Luther, Zwingli and Bucer, all of which the Inquisition found hidden in one of his friend’s houses following his arrest.31 Doctor Constantino’s work probably represented one of the most original attempts, following the Diet of Regensburg, to conciliate the requirements of Rome with leanings that largely stemmed from Augustinianism and were characterized by a powerful inclination for justification by faith.32 Begun on the day after the Diet of Regensburg, during which both Christian parties had reached an agreement on the question of justification, his works gave an account of an ecclesiology that was specific to the uncertain times ahead.

1.

Ecclesiology

De la Fuente’s catechism on the Church was founded on a broad definition of the latter, forged from an opposition between the universal Church and the Church of the righteous. Its major characteristics already seemed to be set down in the Summary of Christian Doctrine, published in 1543. Yet, it was in the treaty that appeared five years later, Christian Doctrine, commonly known as Doctrina grande de Constantino,33 that this ecclesiology was defined in detail. 30 K. Wagner, El doctor Constantino Ponce de la Fuente. El hombre y su biblioteca (Seville: Diputación, 1979). 31 T. López Muñoz, La Reforma en la Sevilla del s. XVI (2 vol.; Seville: Eduforma, 2011) 2.227–30. 32 W.B. Jones, Constantino Ponce de la Fuente. The Problem of the Protestant Influence in Sixteenth Century Spain (2 vol.; unpublished PhD Thesis, Vanderbilt University, 1965) 1.160– 69. 33 We will use the edition Constantino de la Fuente, Doctrina christiana en que esta comprehendida toda la informacion que pertenece al hombre que quiere seruir a Dios. Por el Doctor Constantino. Parte primera delos artículos dela fe (Antwerpen: Johannes Steelsius, 1554).

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Reaching back to the definition of Augustine’s Church, Constantino used the vision, often defended by the Evangelists, of a Church permeated by the Spirit of God.34 The Ecclesia was first and foremost a community, in line with the definition of the term as used in the Old Testament. The universal Church was formed by men who had placed their trust in God, who joined in a single faith, and who practiced the same sacraments: they were public members (miembro público) of the Church, as their confession of faith, the ceremonies, and the use of the sacraments was open and known.35 There was only one Church, dedicated to the service of God for a single, Catholic, and universal purpose, that gathered together the community of men who acknowledged its doctrine and were inspired by the Spirit of God.36 As did Erasmus, Doctor Constantino returned to the medieval idea of the mystic body, which stemmed from the Augustinian tradition. But, as in Zwingli and Calvin, this body was free of hierarchy. God-Christ was head of the Church. He led the way to redeem mankind, which he sanctified with his blood and which was inspired by the Spirit.37 Inclusion within the same community was formalized by baptism and maintained through the administration of a similar series of sacraments. They marked a belonging to the Church, despite the distance that separated the different communities of believers. For De la Fuente, this Church was formed of two parts, or two bodies: those who were in communion with the Spirit of God and the others, the dead. The authentic members of the Church were men whose faith had been revived by love, thus becoming living and sanctified members through the effusion of the Holy Spirit.38 Doctor Constantino wrote: “within this small and holy Church gather the righteous who, through grace and the forgiving of their sins, are joined with the head of the body and, through their great and true charity, are joined with each other, forming a single body and helping each other”.39 This meant that this “small and holy” Church, as he defined it, existed and evolved on the fringes of the external or visible Church, which identified itself with the Roman Church, at least implicitly, according to his words. The true Church, that of the righteous, was the real bride of Christ, with whom it would reign for eternity,40 an idea that 34 J. Ramón Guerrero, Catecismos españoles del siglo XVI. La obra catequética del Dr Constantino Ponce de la Fuente (Madrid: Instituto Superior de Pastoral, 1969) 254–59. 35 De la Fuente, Doctrina cristiana, fol. 264 r° and 265 v°. 36 Ibid., fol. 262 v°. 37 G. Philips, “L’influence du Christ-Chef sur son Corps mystique suivant saint Augustin”, Augustinus magister, Actes du congrès international augustinien (2 vol.; Paris: Etudes augustiniennes, 1954–55) 2.805–15. 38 De la Fuente, Doctrina cristiana, fol. 264 r°–v°. 39 Ibid., fol. 266 r°-v°. 40 Ibid., fol. 266 v°.

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had already been underlined in Valdés’ Diálogo. The Paulinian image of the bride prepared to receive her husband, drawn from the Song of songs, was borrowed by the preacher to allude to this holy Church that promised a life with Christ in accordance with his law.41 The Church was composed of a mix of firm and moderate believers. On the one hand, there were those who, although baptized, were content to passively abide by the external obligations of the faith without actually putting it into practice. On the other hand, there were those who were called to Salvation. All confessed to the same faith and the same doctrines and practiced the same sacraments.42 In a comparison that was dear to his heart, Constantino likened it to the threshing floor on which the good seed and the chaff were mixed together, or to a net that catches both good and bad fish from the sea,43 both of which emphasized that there were inevitably a few dead or rotten bodies among the many healthy ones. The vision of the Church developed by Constantino included a dual opposition between the universal and holy Church on the one hand, and the visible and authentic Church on the other. This distinction recalls the Reformed writings and, more particularly, Zwingli’s definition of the Church. The alignment with the Zürich leader was obvious. The distinction between the universal and the invisible (or, for Constantino, holy) Church was Zwinglian, as was that between purely ‘convenience’ believers and the righteous who formed the holy Church destined to become the spotless bride of Christ “without stain or wrinkle”. We may note how close this definition was to the ideal of a pneumatic community, presented by the Zürich reformer in 1524 in Adversus Hieronymum Emserum, canonis missae adsertorem Antibolon.44

2.

The Communion of Saints and the Sacraments

Moreover, the very concept of the communion of saints, as defined by De la Fuente, closely resembled that which was defended by Luther. In the Doctrina cristiana, the communion of saints was interpreted not in its primary sense as a communion of holy things, but in a secondary sense, as understood by the Reformation, as the communion between those who were holy. De la Fuente’s definition of the holy Church, meaning the Church of the righteous, thus defined the sense and the scope of the notion of the community of saints that represented 41 42 43 44

Ibid., fol. 267 r°. Ibid., fol. 266 r°. Ibid. Huldrych Zwingli, Adversus Hieronymum Emserum canonis missae adsertorem Antibolon (Zürich: Chr. Froschauer 1524).

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a point of solidarity among members of this community. The Church of the righteous was the holy Church; and the communion of saints merged with this holy Church, whose “members are victoriously united among themselves … all share in the same benefits and the same graces and show, towards each other, a magnanimity so great and so broad that nothing comes between them”.45 This was a far cry from the Catholic position that interpreted the communion of saints as the transcending link that joined living and dead believers within a single mystical body, with Christ at its head, which helped to establish the solidarity of a single life.46 Despite the very different opinions that reigned among the Fathers of the Church, this solidarity stretched beyond the militant Church to the triumphant Church, as well as to the suffering Church, and involved an exchange of special relationships between the three. Regarding the sacraments, De la Fuente’s position was a continuation of Valdés’, but, be it in number or in conception, the author also took the 1530 Augsburg Confession into account. As in Melanchthon, De la Fuente did not retain seven sacraments, but only those mentioned by God: Baptism, Eucharist and, henceforth, Penance. In both the Summary and the catechism, the author apologised for not covering all of the sacraments due to a lack of time. In the Doctrina cristiana or Doctrina grande, he promised to do so in his future work, but failed to further develop the question. Behind this selection, supposedly made in order to get straight to the most essential points, resided the implicit desire to differentiate between the sacraments instituted by Christ and those instituted by the Church, the administration of the latter being secondary, from his point of view. Through the first sacrament, Baptism, man received a new spiritual being and gained a transcendant destiny, as he was henceforth an integral part of Christ’s body. However, the interest of De la Fuente’s view lies in the two other sacraments, which were points of friction among the Reformers themselves and, above all, between the Reformers and the Roman Curia. The Sacrament of the Altar was raised to the rank of sacrament of divine institution, according to the same concept that prevailed among certain Reformers. For De la Fuente, the Eucharist was the recollection and representation of the death and Passion of Christ, as he had already explained in the dialogue Summary of Christian Doctrine.47 However, at no point in his treaties did he mention the Transubstantiation, the actual presence of Christ in the Host, or the necessary presence of the priest during the sacrament. 45 De la Fuente, Doctrina cristiana, fol. 268 r°–v°. 46 See e. g. Pierre Boulenger, Institution chrestienne (Paris: Pierre Nivelle, 1558) fol. CXCVI v°– CXCVII r°. 47 Constantino de la Fuente, Suma de doctrina cristiana (1543), ed. L. Usoz y Río (Madrid: R.A.E, 1863) 225; See also its Catecismo cristiano (1547), same edition, 351.

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The third and last sacrament mentioned by Constantino was Penance. Although the baptized believers had been given a new life, they were not free from the temptation of sin and confession afforded them the possibility of absolution. In the Summary, as in the Confession of a sinner, Constantino, both in the way in which he set things out and in the content of the pertaining parts, was more concerned with the psychological process operating within the penitent that guided him to grace, than the absolution of sins, penance, or the good works needed to earn the Lord’s forgiveness. The author used the term minister instead of priest or confessor, which aroused suspicion. Moreover, his silence regarding repentance (even the systematic omission of the term) and absolution also caused certain censors of the faith to doubt the orthodoxy of the Castilian’s conception of the sacrament.48 The question of the sacramental nature of confession had been a subject of great controversy among the evangelists for decades. For Luther, confession played an essential role in the life of the Church and he had figured among its most ardent defenders. This was especially true after Andres Rudolph Bodenstein Karlstadt stated in 1522 that the only absolution required by faith was to be found in the Last Supper, or when Zwingli argued in 1523 that only God could forgive us our sins and that expecting forgiveness from a creature in the name of God was pure idolatry. Luther perceived this to be contrary to the fundamental theme of salvation by grace. Moreover, he saw it to be void of any visible, divinely instituted sign. He nevertheless remained favorable to the practice of private confession, as he explained in his 1518 Sermo de pœnitencia. In 1531, in the wake of Luther’s teachings, Melanchton defined both confession and ordination as sacraments. Similarly to Luther, Melanchton considered that the promise of absolution was directly granted to the individual by the pastor during the private confession and that this, alongside the Last Supper, represented the best form of absolution provided by the Church. The Augsburg Confession also acknowledged the sacramental nature of confession.49 This was the position that Constantino appeared to share, as he did not seem to support Calvin’s more stringent view on the question. The Genevan reformer indeed considered, on the basis of patristic studies, that confession appeared very tardily as a sacrament and saw it as a formidable tool of papal tyranny.

48 Madrid, Archivo Histórico Nacional, Sección Inquisición, Legajo 4444 exp. 49. 49 Twelfth article of the Augsburg Confession.

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Inner Christianity and the Dissimulation of Discord

By both following Erasmus and willingly seeking among the German Reformers the expression of a strong faith that refused to put up with Roman ritualism, but was unhappy about the faction, Constantino de la Fuente, as had Valdés, laid down the groundwork for a confession that was more in line with the ideals of the Gospel. The salient points were loyalty toward the evangelical spirit, a sacramental doctrine reduced to those instituted by Christ, conviction in the continuation of the Paulinism defended by a number of conversos, and the incapacity of man to attain salvation solely though his own merits. Behind the strict silence maintained by the two authors on overzealous worship and the idiosyncrasy of ritual ceremonialism, Juan de Valdés certainly did not encourage the believer to break up with the institutional Church, but to instead develop an inner Christianity and to offer worship that would truly please the Lord. The question had been similarly raised among the first Reformers. The “small and holy” Church, that of the true believers, as defined by De la Fuente, was surrounded by a papal Church that had warped Christ’s message. Hiding and dissimulating one’s beliefs was wise. But, although forgoing certain rites was, in itself, a ‘sign of heresy’ according to the Catholic authorities, was it permitted to the believer to comply with its requirements in order to pretend and to simulate that which was unfounded, such as the worshipping of pictures, relics and saints, or the adoration of the holy sacrament? It was obvious that within Catholic territory, failing to attend mass came with the risk of being accused of holding the things of faith in contempt by the ecclesiastic and inquisitorial authorities. Calvin quickly stigmatised the attitude of the Nicodemites, exhorting believers to distance themselves from the ‘papal synagogue’ within small, secret communities. The only alternative he could offer believers was exile or, indirectly, martyrdom for those who made themselves known in Catholic territory. The attitude to adopt with regard to this, as suggested by De la Fuente, rather than Valdés, seemed to be quite close to that of Bucer. Far more aware of the difficulties faced by Reformed communities in ‘papal’ territory, Martin Bucer had, perhaps in reply to Calvin’s 1537 Epistolae duae, analysed the actual religious liturgical aspect of the question in his Consilium theologicum privatim conscriptum50, which was probably published on the eve of the Diet of Regensburg, in 1541.51 Unlike Calvin, for whom the mystery of the Last Supper was destroyed by the Catholic Mass – the reason why true 50 Martin Bucer, Consilium theologicum privatim conscriptum, ed. P. Fraenkel (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1988). 51 F. Higman, “Bucer et les nicodémites”, in C. Krieger/M. Lienhard (ed.), Martin Bucer and Sixteenth Century Europe (Leiden/New York: E.J. Brill, 1993) 645–58.

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believers were not to attend service – Bucer considered that the believer could attend and strike a balance without necessarily forgoing his conscience by participating in a ‘papal’ ceremony. For Bucer, Mass still carried the core of the Last Supper, but the saints and the relics were not to be revered. Moreover, if the papal Church was part of the universal Church, it was not possible to separate one from the other. Faithful to an ecumenical conception of Christianity, despite the religious strife, the Alsatian rejected the idea of schism with horror, even if this meant indulging in the subtleties that so exasperated his opponents in order to find some agreement between the parties. Valdés’ dialogue, similarly to Constantino’s books, responded to a comparable concern to find, within the Gospel, the true meaning of the Christian religion that had been adulterated by medieval scholasticism. Their works remained silent on many points of discord with the Roman Church, especially those of De la Fuente in the 1540s, which were written and published at a time when the calling for an ecumenical council to confirm the progress of dogma was constantly being put off. However, the theologian invited the true believer to comply with the universal Church’s ceremonialism and with the visible customs of faith, despite the excess and superstition with which the services sometimes brimmed. It was also a conciliatory attitude, similar to that of Bucer, that predominated his theological positions when he encouraged believers, without separating from their Church, to turn away from false devotional exercises and to allow themselves to be guided towards a simpler conception of faith that was more respectful of Christ’s message.

Conclusion Upon the eve of the Diet of Augsburg, Juan de Valdés’ dialogue on catechism had opportunely given body to a powerful and diverse religious current within the Iberian Peninsula. At the beginning of the 1540s, when Doctor Constantino started writing, the hope of reaching an agreement with the Reformers remained tangible, despite the failing of the Diet of Regensburg, within the Catholic groups open to inter-faith dialogue, among the Italian spirituali, within circles of the imperial chancellory, and even among some groups within the Roman Curia. These direct or indirect borrowings from Reformed authors reflect the transregional circulation of reformed texts and doctrines during the first half of the sixteenth century and their reception in a country where many concurrent projects of church reform had flourished. But since the end of the 1540s, the positions had irremediably hardened. In 1559, the Primate of Spain, Bartolomé de Carranza de Miranda, whose work on catechism, Comentarios sobre el catecismo cristiano, was suspected of heresy in

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Castile, was imprisoned, leading to a case that was to have a tremendous impact.52 During his trial, first held by the Spanish Holy Office before being transferred to the Roman Curia, the inquisitors accused him of owning a number of notebooks of his own writing with suggestive titles, such as De spiritu et littera, De libertate christiana, De regno Christi spirituali and De justificatione et pœnitentia, and filled with content that was even more suspect considering certain propositions. The prelate refrained from giving his Castilian judges the name of the true author of these works, Philipp Melanchthon. He did this to avoid giving them a lead that would have been risky, as a number of the works belonging to the prelate of Toledo, in particular those on catechism, were scattered with passages inspired by the German Reformation and by Juan de Valdés.53 The times, however, were no longer favorable to inter-faith dialogue. When Erasmus was declared auctor damnatus primae classis, the supporters of a religious concord, or an inflection of the dogma, were relegated to the fringes of heresy; the violence of the 1559 public burnings in Valladolid and Seville, Spain’s ‘two capitals’, crudely demonstrated this through the execution of dozens of men and women of all conditions, from simple craftsmen to members of the Church and eminent members of the court.

Bibliography Archival Sources Cuenca, Archivo Catedral Conquense, Secretaría: Libros 47–48–49–50: Acts of the Chapter of Cuenca (1557–60). Madrid, Archivo Histórico Nacional, Sección Inquisición, Legajo 4444 exp. 49: censorship. Madrid, Archivo Histórico Nacional, Sección Inquisición, Legajos 2075 and 2942–2943: administrative correspondence. Madrid, Archivo Histórico Nacional, Sección Inquisición, Libros 572–575: administrative correspondence. Madrid, Archivo Histórico Nacional, Sección Universidades, Libros 396–397: Graduates of Alcalá de Henares. Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional de España, Ms 9175, fol. 258 ro: Auto de fe of Seville, 22 December 1560. Rome, Archivum Romanum Societatis Iesu, Section Hispania, F. 442–443: Letter of Gonzalo Gonzalez about the auto de fe of Seville, 22 December 1560. Seville, Biblioteca Capitular Colombina, Secretaría, Libros 12–25 (1530–56): Acts of the Chapter of Seville. 52 J.I. Tellechea Idígoras, Melanchthon y Carranza: préstamos y afinidades (Salamanca: Universidad Pontificia, 1979) 27–31. 53 Ibid., 146.

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Printed and Edited Sources Bucer, Martin, Consilium theologicum privatim conscriptum, ed. P. Fraenkel (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1988). Calvin, Jean, Institution de la religion chrestienne (Geneva: Michel du Bois, 1541) – USTC 4754/French Books 8431. De la Fuente, Constantino, Catecismo cristiano (1547), ed. L. Usoz y Río (Madrid: R.A.E, 1863). De la Fuente, Constantino, Doctrina christiana en que esta comprehendida toda la informacion que pertenece al hombre que quiere seruir a Dios. Por el Doctor Constantino. Parte primera delos artículos dela fe (Antwerpen: Johannes Steelsius, 1554) – USTC 440468/Iberian Books 15066. De la Fuente, Constantino, Suma de doctrina cristiana (1543), ed. L. Usoz y Río (Madrid: R.A.E, 1863). De la Fuente, Constantino, Suma de doctrina christiana en que se contiene todo lo principal y necessario que el hombre christiano deue saber y obrar (Seville: Juan Cromberger, 1543) – USTC 348331/Iberian Books 15056. Sandoval, Prudencio de, Vida del Emperador Carlos V, Part II (Valladolid: Sebastián de Canas, 1606). Valdés, Juan de, Diálogo de doctina cristiana in Diálogos. Escritos espirituales. Cartas, ed. Á. Alcalá (Obras completas 1; Madrid: Turner, 1997). Valdés, Juan de, Dialogo de doctrina christiana, nuevamente compuesto por un religioso (Alcalá de Henares: Miguel de Eguía, 1529) – USTC 344557/Iberian Books 18873. Valdés, Juan de, Dialogo de doctrina christiana, ed. M. Bataillon (facsimile edition of the 1529 edition; Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade, 1925). Zwingli, Huldrych, Adversus Hieronymum Emserum canonis missae adsertorem Antibolon (Zürich: Chr. Froschauer 1524) – USTC 609343/VD 16 Z 787.

Secondary Sources Bagnatori, G. “Cartas inéditas de Alfonso de Valdés sobre la Dieta de Augsburgo”, Bulletin Hispanique 57 (1955) 353–74. Bataillon, M., Erasme et l’Espagne (3 vol.; Genève, Droz, 1991 [1937]). Bierlaire, F., Les Colloques d’Érasme. Réforme des études, réforme des mœurs et réforme de l’Église au XVIe siècle (Liège: Presses universitaires de Liège, 1978). Boeglin, M., Réforme et dissidence religieuse en Castille au temps de l’Empereur. L’affaire Constantino de la Fuente (1505?–1559) (Paris: Honoré Champion, 2016). Boeglin M./Fernández Terricabras, I./ Kahn, D. (ed.), Reforma y disidencia religiosa. La recepción de la Reforma en la Península Ibérica en el siglo XVI (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez, 2018). Caballero, F., Conquenses ilustres (4 vol.; Madrid: Imprenta del Colegio Nacional, 1868–75). Cameron, E., The European Reformation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991). Civale, G.,“Con secreto y disimulación”: Inquisizione ed eresia nella Siviglia del secolo XVI (Naples: Edizioni scientifiche italiane, 2007).

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Firpo, M., Entre alumbrados y ‘espirituales’: estudios sobre Juan de Valdés y el valdesianismo en la crisis religiosa del ‘500 italiano (Madrid: FUE, 2000 [1st italian ed., 1990]). Firpo, M., Juan de Valdés and the Italian Reformation (Abingdon/New York: Routledge, 2016). Gilly, C., “Juan de Valdés, traductor y adaptador de escritos de Lutero en su Diálogo de Doctrina christiana”, in L. Lopez Molina (ed.), Miscelánea de estudios hispánicos: homenaje de los hispanistas de Suiza a Ramón Sugranyes de Franch (Montserrat: Publicacions de l’Abadia de Montserrat, 1982) 85–106. Giordano, M. L., “‘La ciudad de nuestra conciencia’: los conversos y la construcción de la identidad judeocristiana (1449–1556)”, Hispania sacra 125 (2010) 43–91. Gutiérrez, C., “La política imperial de Carlos V en los primeros coloquios alemanes”, Estudios eclesiásticos 76–77 (1946) 155–74. Hamilton, A., Heresy and Mysticism in Sixteenth-Century Spain. The Alumbrados (Cambridge: James Clarke & Co, 1992). Heep, J., Juan de Valdes, seine Religion – sein Werden – seine Bedeutung. Ein Beitrag zum Verständnis des spanischen Protestantismus im 16. Jahrhundert (Leipzig: Heinsius, 1909). Higman, F., “Bucer et les nicodémites”, in C. Krieger/M. Lienhard (ed.), Martin Bucer and Sixteenth Century Europe (Leiden/New York: E.J. Brill, 1993) 645–58. Iannuzzi, I., “La condena a Pedro Martínez de Osma: ‘ensayo general’ de control ideológico inquisitorial”, Investigaciones Históricas. Época moderna y contemporánea 27 (2007) 11–46. James III, F.A., “Valdés and Vermigli. Crossing the theological Rubicon”, in C. Moser/P. Opitz (ed.), Bewegung und Beharrung: Aspekte des reformierten Protestantismus, 1520– 1650 (Leiden: Brill, 2009) 117–33. Jiménez Monteserín, M., “Juan de Valdés”, in I.J. García Pinilla (ed.), Aspectos de la disidencia religiosa en Castilla-La Mancha en el siglo XVI (Toledo: Almud, 2013) 159–97. Jones, W.B., Constantino Ponce de la Fuente. The Problem of the Protestant Influence in Sixteenth Century Spain (2 vol.; unpublished PhD Thesis, Vanderbilt University, 1965). Longhurst, J.E., “Alumbrados, erasmistas y luteranos en el proceso de Juan de Vergara”, Cuadernos de Historia de España, 27 (1958) 102–65. López Muñoz, T., La Reforma en la Sevilla del s. XVI (2 vol. Seville: Eduforma, 2011). Márquez Villanueva, F., De la España judeoconversa (Barcelona: Belaterra, 2006). McLaughlin, R. E., “The Radical Reformation”, in R. Po-Chia Hsia (ed.), The Cambridge History of Christianity, vol. 6: Reform and Expansion 1500–1660 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007) 37–55. Menéndez Pelayo, M., Historia de los heterodoxos españoles (2 vol. Madrid: Editorial católica, 1965 [1880–82]). Nieto, J.C., El Renacimiento y la otra España. Visión cultural socioespiritual, (Geneva: Droz, 1997). Nieto, J.C., Juan de Valdes and the Origins of the Spanish and Italian Reformation (Geneva: Droz, 1970). Pastore, S., Una herejía española: Conversos, alumbrados e Inquisición (1449–1559) (Madrid: Marcial Pons, 2010 [1st ital. ed. 2004]).

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Pérez García, R.M., La imprenta y la literatura espiritual castellana en la España del Renacimiento, 1470–1560: historia y estructura de una emisión cultural (SomonteCenero Gijón: Treas, 2006). Pérez, J., Isabel y Fernando: los Reyes Católicos (Nerea: Madrid, 2001). Philips, G., “L’influence du Christ-Chef sur son Corps mystique suivant saint Augustin”, Augustinus magister, Actes du congrès international augustinien (2 vol.; Paris: Etudes augustiniennes, 1954–55). Ramón Guerrero, J., Catecismos españoles del siglo XVI. La obra catequética del Dr Constantino Ponce de la Fuente (Madrid: Instituto Superior de Pastoral, 1969). Redondo, A., “Luther et l’Espagne, 1520–1536”, Mélanges de la Casa de Velázquez 1 (1965) 109–65. Schwartz, S.B., All Can Be Saved: Religious Tolerance and Salvation in the Iberian Atlantic World (New Haven, CT: Yale UP, 2008). Seidel Menchi, S., “Le traduzioni italiane di Lutero nella prima meta del Cinquecento”, Rinascimento 17 (1977) 31–108. Selke, A., “El iluminisimo de los conversos y la Inquisición. Cristianismo interior de los alumbrados: resentimiento y sublimación”, in J. Pérez Villanueva (ed.), La Inquisición española, nueva visión, nuevos horizontes (Madrid: Siglo XXI, 1980) 617–36. Tellechea Idígoras, J.I., Melanchthon y Carranza: préstamos y afinidades (Salamanca: Universidad Pontificia, 1979). Wagner, K., El doctor Constantino Ponce de la Fuente. El hombre y su biblioteca (Seville: Diputación, 1979). Williams, G.H., The Radical Reformation (Kirksville: Truman State University Press, 1992 [1962]).

Gábor Ittzés*

Why Departed Souls Cannot Return: Transregional Migration of a Reformation Idea in the Sixteenth Century

In the middle of the sixteenth century, Philipp Melanchthon (1497–1560) affirmed the appearance of ghosts not only through bookish knowledge, but also through his personal experience. He writes in the closing chapter ‘On the Immortality of the Human Soul’ of his immensely popular commentary on Aristotle’s De anima, And the pagan writers expressly say that they are convinced that the souls of men survive after death, since it is most certain that many ghosts wander about everywhere, and often are heard and seen, and often even talk with men. And examples need not be taken just from books. I have seen some myself, and known many trustworthy men who affirmed that they had not only seen ghosts but have even spoken with them at length.1

Departed souls can return in forms perceptible to the senses, Melanchthon argues, and ghosts prove the immortality of the soul. His tone is clearly approving. He not only accepted ghosts as real and understood them as the souls of the dead, but he also had a positive evaluation of apparitions.2 That view was eventually overturned over the next generation or two, as Lutheran scholars developed a substantial doctrine on the soul’s immortality in the latter part of the sixteenth century. During this process, ideas moved back and forth across territorial borders within the Empire (and occasionally beyond), from Saxony to Strasbourg, Hessen to Brandenburg, and the Danubian region to * To keep the bibliography within manageable limits, I usually provide full descriptive data only for the editions I actually cite. References to further editions of the same work are limited to the unique VD16 numbers (Verzeichnis der im deutschen Sprachbereich erschienenen Drucke des 16. Jahrhunderts, www.vd16.de). All Bible quotations are from NRSV. 1 Philipp Melanchthon, On the Soul, abridged English translation of Liber de anima in A Melanchthon Reader, ed. R. Keen (New York: Peter Lang, 1988) 286–87. 2 Keith Thomas’ generalisation (Religion and the Decline of Magic: Studies in Popular Belief in Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century England [New York: Oxford University Press, 1999], 588– 90) about a strict and uniform rejection of ghosts by the early Reformers has rightly been challenged, see P. Marshall, “Deceptive Appearances: Ghosts and Reformers in Elizabethan and Jacobean England”, in H. Parish/W.J. Naphy (ed.), Religion and Superstition in Reformation England (Manchester/New York: Manchester University Press, 2002) 188–89.

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the Baltic coast.3 As these ideas spread, they underwent significant changes. On the one hand, they were gradually moulded, their specific content more or less modified as they moved towards standardisation; on the other, they became established in the sense of acquiring widespread consensus. In what follows, I will explore how scepticism about the value of apparitions gained ground among German Lutherans and how it spread across territorial borders, eventually covering all Lutheran lands in the Empire. I will trace, through the authors’ biographical sketches, both the movement of people and, through a reconstruction of the printing history of the works, the movement of the books on the level of editions.4 My analysis is based on a corpus which consists, for the most part, of texts that are both textually and thematically interrelated.5 This, in turn, often allows for an analysis of very specific changes between different stages of the story.

I.

Melchior Specker, Vom Leiblichen Todt

In 1560, an all but forgotten theologian from Strasbourg, Melchior Specker (fl. 1554–1569),6 published in his university city a 600-page florilegium under the title of Vom Leiblichen Todt, in which he gathered a wealth of material on death and dying, burial, and the soul’s post-mortem state.7 He arranged what he had combed from both the Bible and Latin and Greek Church fathers, as well as medieval and sixteenth-century theologians and historians, into thematic chapters. Chapter 9 of part 3 is devoted to the question whether the souls of the righteous can appear on earth and, if so, in what shape.8 Typographically, chapter 3 The books occasionally also crossed linguistic borders (esp. into Low German and Danish), which may coincide with more significant political borders, as well. I will register those moves, but will not provide further analysis. 4 A different approach, well worth pursuing, would be to examine the circulation of individual volumes. 5 While space does not permit me to present the philological arguments for later authors’ dependence on their predecessors, I will briefly indicate such indebtedness and provide references to substantial discussions of those connections, which I have offered elsewhere. 6 We have scant evidence about his life, see Deutsches biographisches Archiv I–III, microfiche edition (Munich: Saur, 1999–2002) [hereafter: DBA] I.966.317, II.595.158. 7 Melchior Specker, Vom Leiblichen Todt (Strasbourg: Samuel Emmel, 1560) – VD16 S 8169, microfiche edition in Bibliotheca Palatina: Druckschriften / Stampati Palatini / Printed Books, microfiche edition, ed. Leonard Boyle/Elmar Mittler (Munich: Saur, 1995) [hereafter: BPal] F3819–20. The book was published two more times in Strasbourg (1560: VD16 S 8170; 1571: VD16 S 8171). 8 “Das IX. Capitel. An Spiritus Iustorum poßint hominibus apparere in hoc mundo, & qua forma appareant. Ob die Seelen vnnd Geyster der gerechten/hie auff erden erscheynen mögen /vnd in was gestalt sie erscheynen vnd gesehen/ vnd erkennn warden” (Specker, Vom Leiblichen Todt, 275 v°).

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9 is divided into four units. It starts with Judas Maccabeus’ dream of Onias and Jeremiah (2 Macc. 15:12–16).9 The passage is cited as evidence of whether souls can appear. The first section further contains the appearance of Moses and Elijah on the Mount of transfiguration – quoted after Luke 9:30–3,10 but referenced in all three synoptic gospels – after which Specker comments, These witnesses clearly show that the souls of the righteous may appear at God’s behest and command and how they appear and are recognised. However, since we have no other examples, we should henceforth disregard such appearances and be satisfied with the sure Scriptures.11

The chapter thus begins with two biblical prooftexts that souls can appear. Specker obviously accepts their import, yet proceeds to dismiss the whole phenomenon, despite its biblical base, with the rather weak argument that the foundation is not substantial enough. Note that the reliability of 2 Maccabees is not questioned; nor is it problematized that Onias and Jeremiah appear in a dream. Two apparently solid scriptural witnesses are dismissed simply because they, when taken together, did not reach critical mass. By the same logic, the translation of Enoch (Gen. 5:24) or Elijah (2 Kings 2:11) may equally be challenged, although Specker would not be prepared to admit that conclusion. The next unit in Vom Leiblichen Todt has a double heading – ‘Augustine’s opinion of the appearance of martyrs’ and ‘In the book On Care to Be Had for the

9 “What he [Maccabeus] saw was this: Onias, who had been high priest, a noble and good man, of modest bearing and gentle manner, one who spoke fittingly and had been trained from childhood in all that belongs to excellence, was praying with outstretched hands for the whole body of the Jews. Then in the same fashion another appeared, distinguished by his gray hair and dignity, and of marvelous majesty and authority. And Onias spoke, saying, ‘This is a man who loves the family of Israel and prays much for the people and the holy city – Jeremiah, the prophet of God.” Jeremiah stretched out his right hand and gave to Judas a golden sword, and as he gave it he addressed him thus: ‘Take this holy sword, a gift from God, with which you will strike down your adversaries.’” 10 “[Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white.] Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, ‘Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah’ – not knowing what he said.” 11 “Dise zeügnuß zeygen offentlich an/das die seelen der gerechten/auß Gottes geheyß vnd gebott/ erscheynen mögen/ vnnd wie sie erscheynen / vnnd erkennen werden. Dieweyl wir aber keyn andere exampel haben/sollen wir hinfürt auff solche erscheynungen nichts halten / vnd vns lassen an der gewissen schrifft vernu˚gen” (Specker, Vom Leiblichen Todt, 275 v°–276 r°).

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Dead’12 – and there follows a passage from sections 19–20 of that work on the special status of martyrs. While Augustine leaves it in doubt whether they do and can personally appear, that option is not yet altogether excluded, although he certainly dismissed the notion that this could happen to ordinary mortals.13 The double heading of the Augustine passage is significant because the next excerpt, ‘On the gospel for Epiphany,’14 may easily be taken to be from the Church Father as well. Neither the work nor the author is further identified, but it is in fact a long quotation, with ellipses, from Luther’s 1522 Weihnachtspostille.15 Luther offers several arguments or prooftexts to counter the appearance of souls. The first is Abraham’s denial of the rich man’s request (Luke 16:27–31);16 then comes the Old 12 “Augustini meynung von der erscheynung der Martyrer” and “Jn lib. de cura pro mortuis gerenda” (Specker, Vom Leiblichen Todt, 276 r°). 13 “We are not to think then, that to be interested in the affairs of the living is in the power of any departed who please, only because to some men’s healing or help the Martyrs be present: but rather we are to understand that it must needs be by a Divine power that the Martyrs are interested in affairs of the living, from the very fact that for the departed to be by their proper nature interested in affairs of the living is impossible. Howbeit it is a question which surpasses the strength of my understanding, after what manner the Martyrs aid them who by them, it is certain, are helped; whether themselves by themselves be present at the same time in so different places, and by so great distance lying apart one from another, either where their Memorials are, or beside their Memorials, wheresoever they are felt to be present: or whether, while they themselves, in a place congruous with their merits, are removed from all converse with mortals, and yet do in a general sort pray for the needs of their suppliants, (like as we pray for the dead, to whom however we are not present, nor know where they be or what they be doing,) God Almighty, Who is every where present, neither bounded in with us nor remote from us, hearing and granting the Martyrs’ prayers, doth by angelic ministries every where diffused afford to men those solaces, to whom in the misery of this life He seeth meet to afford the same, and, touching His Martyrs, doth where He will, when He will, how He will, and chiefest through their Memorials, because this He knoweth to be expedient for us unto edifying of the faith of Christ for Whose confession they suffered, by marvellous and ineffable power and goodness cause their merits to be had in honor. A matter is this, too high that I should have power to attain unto it, too abstruse that I should be able to search it out; and therefore which of these two be the case, or whether perchance both one and the other be the case, that sometimes these things be done by very presence of the Martyrs, sometimes by Angels taking upon them the person of the Martyrs. I dare not define”: Nicene and PostNicene Fathers: A Select Library of the Christian Church, Series I, ed. Philip Schaff (14 vol.; repr. Peabody: Hendrickson, 1995) [hereafter: NPNF1] 3.549. 14 “Vber das Euangelium an der heyligen drey König tag” (Specker, Vom Leiblichen Todt, 276 v°). 15 D. Martin Luthers Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe (73 vol.; Weimar: Böhlau, 1883–2009) [hereafter: WA] 10I/1, 587.3–590.12. 16 “The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.’ But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ He said, ‘Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house – for

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Testament law against seeking advice from the dead.17 The lack of scriptural examples of the saints turning to departed souls is the third point. Skipping a good deal of Luther’s text, Specker offers Isaiah 8:19–20,18 a passage closest to the Deuteronomistic prohibition, as supporting evidence, but lest ‘consulting their gods’ should be misunderstood as legitimisation of some private revelation, Luther brings the Lukan scene (Luke 16:29) to bear on its interpretation and limits the rightful means of such consultation to the Scriptures. Notably, the reformer does not altogether deny the appearance of ghosts, but gives advice on how to counter them when they come one’s way: Therefore how and where[ver] a spirit comes to you, ask it not whether it is evil or good, but only throw this word promptly and scornfully in its face, “They have Moses and the prophets.” It will soon feel what you mean. If it is good, it will only like you all the better because you keep its, and your, God’s word so freely and joyfully; if it is not good as all are that rumble, it will soon say goodbye.19

Here, Luther admits that good spirits might appear, although later in the text, he also concedes that there is “no example ever heard or read in Scripture of such spirits and their being, therefore it should be scorned and avoided surely like the devil’s ghost.”20 Lutherans eventually came to build around the nucleus of this latter position. The last section of Specker’s chapter, on Saul’s visit to the medium at Endor (1 Sam. 28:7–20),21 shows how theological thinking developed around this issue.

17 18 19

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I have five brothers – that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ He said, ‘No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’” “No one shall be found among you … who consults ghosts or spirits, or who seeks oracles from the dead. For whoever does these things is abhorrent to the Lord” (Deut. 18:10–12). “Now if people say to you, ‘Consult the ghosts and the familiar spirits that chirp and mutter; should not a people consult their gods, the dead on behalf of the living, for teaching and for instruction?’ surely, those who speak like this will have no dawn!” “Drumb wie und wo dyr eyn geyst tzukompt, ßo frage nur nichts, ob er boß oder gut sey, sondern stoß ihm nur frisch ditz wortt kurtzlich und vorechtlich ynn die naßen: Habent Mosen et prophetas, ßo wird er bald fulen, was du meynist. Ist er gutt, ßo hatt er dich nur deste lieber drumb, das du deyniß und seynis gottis wortt ßo frey und froelich furist; ist er nitt gutt, wie sie alle sind, die do polltern, ßo wirt er bald ade sagen” (WA 10I/1, 587.9–14). “Es ist kein exempel yhe gehort noch geleßen ynn der schrifft von solchen geystern und yhrem weßen, drumb sey es tzuuorachten und meyden als eyn teuffelsgespenst gewißlich” (WA 10I/1, 588.8–10). “Then Saul said to his servants, ‘Seek out for me a woman who is a medium, so that I may go to her and inquire of her.’ His servants said to him, ‘There is a medium at Endor.’ So Saul disguised himself and put on other clothes and went there, he and two men with him. They came to the woman by night. … Then the woman said, ‘Whom shall I bring up for you?’ He answered, ‘Bring up Samuel for me.’ When the woman saw Samuel, she cried out with a loud

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The section consists of three parts.22 The first has no editorial pointers, but is actually taken from the middle of Luther’s aforementioned passage,23 where a large portion is skipped before the Isaiah reference. The reformer makes three points, all of which concern the interpretation of Samuel’s appearance as a fake vision, although he does not explicitly say that it was the devil appearing in the prophet’s stead. The conclusion is first drawn from the fact that the conjuration is against God’s law. What is implied is that, dead or alive, a true servant of God, like Samuel, would definitely not be a part of such a monstrous crime. The third point considers that the sorcerer cannot have power over the saints held in God’s hand. This is the logical complement to the previous observation, namely, that Samuel could not have been forcefully dragged from his restful abode against his will. In the middle of the passage, Luther reflects on Scripture’s silence on the actual truth of the matter, for the Bible simply speaks of Samuel appearing and does not clarify that it is a false spirit. Luther, probably again thinking of Luke 16:29, suggests that this omission is to keep us on our toes and to show that clairvoyance is strictly outlawed by God’s irrefutable word. The second part of the last section of Specker’s chapter is much easier to identify, for it has its own accurate heading, but it in fact does not deal with Saul’s Endor visit at all; it does not even contain an allusion to Samuel. It is an extended and almost continuous quotation from the third section of Chrysostom’s twentyeighth sermon on the Gospel of Matthew, though its number is not given.24 In the original context, the Church father argues against a view that the souls of the dead are turned into demons.25 Two details of his reasoning are especially significant.

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voice; and the woman said to Saul, ‘Why have you deceived me? You are Saul!’ The king said to her, ‘Have no fear; what do you see?’ The woman said to Saul, ‘I see a divine being coming up out of the ground.’ He said to her, ‘What is his appearance?’ She said, ‘An old man is coming up; he is wrapped in a robe.’ So Saul knew that it was Samuel, and he bowed with his face to the ground, and did obeisance. Then Samuel said to Saul, ‘Why have you disturbed me by bringing me up?’ Saul answered, ‘I am in great distress, for the Philistines are warring against me, and God has turned away from me and answers me no more, either by prophets or by dreams; so I have summoned you to tell me what I should do.’ Samuel said, ‘Why then do you ask me, since the Lord has turned from you and become your enemy? The Lord has done to you just as he spoke by me; for the Lord has torn the kingdom out of your hand, and given it to your neighbor, David. Because you did not obey the voice of the Lord, and did not carry out his fierce wrath against Amalek, therefore the Lord has done this thing to you today. Moreover the Lord will give Israel along with you into the hands of the Philistines; and tomorrow you and your sons shall be with me; the Lord will also give the army of Israel into the hands of the Philistines.’ Immediately Saul fell full length on the ground, filled with fear because of the words of Samuel.” Specker, Vom Leiblichen Todt, 277 r°–8 v°. WA 10I/1, 588.11–9, cf. n. 15, above. NPNF1 10.191–2, on Matt. 8:23–4. This time his focus is on children killed by sorcerers ostensibly to enslave their souls, but in his sermons on the parable of Lazarus and Dives, he made the same point, in defence of martyrs,

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First, he cites a handful of biblical prooftexts,26 and, even more importantly, he employs a binary logic that seems to answer the whole question. In short, the souls of the righteous are in God’s hand; those of the wicked are not allowed to return, as we learn from the Lukan parable. This conclusion is surely welcome to Protestant thinkers preoccupied with the rejection of purgatory, often argued by their Catholic opponents with an appeal to souls returning from it and requesting the assistance of the living.27 If we compare Specker’s citation with Chrysostom’s original on the first point, however, we will find that the Church father’s text is slightly modified. At certain points in his reasoning, he had offered a few rational arguments. Those lines are nonetheless passed over in silence in the sixteenth century, and clauses like “it stands not to reason” or “nor is the reason hard to see” are replaced with an affirmation that we can draw the given conclusion from the biblical witness. Chrysostom’s meaning is not thereby radically transformed or falsified, but the presentation certainly makes him appear to be a closer ally of the evangelical cause than his unaltered text would seem to imply. By not mentioning Samuel, Chrysostom cannot affirm that his image is a devilish pretence, but he makes a similar point in connection with the strangled children’s alleged souls: “it is not the spirit of the dead that cries out, but the evil spirit that feigns these things in order to deceive the hearers.”28 Specker’s chapter is concluded with a short reflection – typographically marked off, and probably of his own authorship – on the foregoing passages, where he adds a couple of further prooftexts29 and articulates the thesis more pointedly than any of his sources: “Let everyone therefore beware that they should not take such wandering and errant spirits for the souls of the dead but for the devil himself. … [Before] the last day surely no souls will any more appear here.”30 This is the nucleus of the new consensus at which Specker ultimately arrives before he is finished with the topic. His short chapter neatly encapsulates the emergence of this new orthodoxy. The sources and prooftexts he cites, the arguments he highlights, and the problematic issues he raises will repeatedly resurface in subsequent texts.

26 27 28 29 30

with respect to those dying a violent death. St. J. Chrysostom, On Wealth and Poverty (Crestwood: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1984) 41; cf. NPNF1, 10.191 n. 8. Wis. 3:1; Luke 16:27–8, 12:20; Acts 7:59; Phil. 1:23; Gen. 15:15 and parallels. Cf. J. Le Goff, The Birth of Purgatory (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984) 177–81, 243; Marshall, “Deceptive Appearances”, 188; Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic, 587–89. NPNF1, 10.191. Rev. 20:12–15 and Jude 14–15. “Darumb hüte sich jederman/ das er solche wandlende[!] vnnd jrrende Geyster / nicht für Seelen der Abgestorbenen halte / sondern fur den Teuffel selbs. … Hie zwischen dem Jungsten tag würt gewißlich keyn Seele mehr erscheinen” (Specker, Vom Leiblichen Todt, 278 r°).

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Johannes Garcaeus, Jr, Sterbbüchlein

Part of Specker’s significance lies in the fact that his work, published in Strasbourg, must have reached distant corners of the Empire, for it was appropriated by several later authors. One of them was Johannes Garceaeus, Jr (1530–1574), whose Sterbbüchlein31 was printed in Wittenberg in 1573.32 The oldest extant copies of the work come from that edition. It is likely, however, that the book was actually published prior to that date, and the earlier edition, probably from 1568, must be considered the editio princeps of this work.33 Johannes Garcaeus, Sr was a friend of Melanchthon’s, and his son went to study with the Praeceptor in Wittenberg,34 where, a few years before his untimely death, he also earned a doctorate of theology.35 With him, we are thus back in the heartland of the Lutheran Reformation. Indeed, three of the four editions of the Sterbbüchlein were printed in Wittenberg, while the fourth came out of Nuremberg.36 Unlike Vom Leiblichen Todt, Garcaeus’ treatise is dedicated in its entirety to the Zwischenzustand. The roughly 300-page octavo volume is divided into 25 chapters of unequal length, the fourteenth of which deals with the question “whether the souls and spirits separated from the body reoccupy their tent before the Last Judgment and can again appear, be seen and recognised here on earth”.37 Garcaeus begins where the Strasbourger left off,38 with the thesis that souls cannot return before the last day, which immediately gives him occasion to reflect on the expected resurrection of both the righteous and the damned. When he (re)turns to the actual topic of the chapter a couple of pages later, he admits the story of Jesus’ transfiguration as the only scriptural instance. The possibility 31 G. Ittzés, “Text and Subtext: Johannes Garcaeus’ Sterbbüchlein and Melchior Specker’s Vom Leiblichen Todt: A Study in Early Modern Literary Borrowing”, in German Life and Letters 68 (2015) 335–55. 32 Johannes Garcaeus, Jr, Sterbbüchlein Darin Von den Seelen/ jrem ort/ stande/ thun und wesen / aller Menschen/bis an den Jüngsten tag … warhafftiger bericht (Wittenberg: Peter Seitz, 1573) – VD16 G 461; microfiche edition in BPal F720–1. 33 Ittzés, “Text and Subtext”, 337–38 and L.N., “Garcaeus (Gartz), Johann”, in L. Noack/J. Splett (ed.), Mark Brandenburg mit Berlin-Cölln 1506–1640, vol. 4 of Bio-Bibliographien: Brandenburgische Gelehrte der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. L. Noack (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2009) 145. 34 For his biography, see L.N., “Garcaeus”, 136–40; Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie (56 vol.; Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1875–1912) [hereafter: ADB] 8.370–1 and DBA, I.368.362–77, II.427.379–80, III.280.391. 35 Cf. K.G. Appold, Orthodoxie als Konsensbildung: Das theologische Disputationswesen an der Universität Wittenberg zwischen 1570 und 1710 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004) 167. 36 Of those, only the 1573 and the 1577 (VD16 ZV 65408) Wittenberg editions are still extant; cf. Ittzés, “Text and Subtext”, 338–39. 37 “Ob die Seelen vnd Geister vom Cörper getrennet / wider jre Hütten einnemen/für dem letzten gericht/vnd hie auff Erden widerumb erscheinen/gesehen vnd erkennet mügen werden” (Garcaeus, Sterbbüchlein, L4 v°). 38 For his chapter on apparitions, see Garcaeus, Sterbbüchlein, L4 v°–M3 v°.

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of Moses and Elijah coming back from purgatory is dismissed with a sneer, 2 Maccabees 15 is simply passed over in silence, and Saul’s story is likewise ignored throughout the chapter. Garcaeus brings biblical witnesses to his claim.39 He moves on to reference Plato’s concept of purer souls rising upwards, while those of lesser people remained terrestrially-bound and could appear as ghosts,40 only to juxtapose God’s word (Wis. 3:1 and Acts 7:59)41 to “these philosophical dreams”.42 This is a significant departure from his teacher, Melanchthon, who used the same Platonic notion to affirm that pagan philosophers could also rightly see the immortality of the soul.43 Having assembled biblical evidence, Garcaeus proceeded to find patristic support. First, he used a shorter paraphrase from chapter 57 of Tertullian’s De anima,44 followed by three quotations from Chrysostom. Tertullian specifically negates a disembodied return of the soul, as the biblical miracle stories of raising dead people were obviously in the forefront of his mind. There, he suggests, the body serves as tangible proof of divine power. Nonetheless, the return of the soul to its former abode as a – under special circumstances – legitimate option that must be taken into account is a new element in the sixteenth-century discussion. The first of Garcaeus’ Chrysostom citations is already familiar from homily 28. His German translation is the same as Specker’s, including the abridgement and the interpolation that helps shift the focus to sola scriptura.45 He appends a shorter, sufficiently scriptocentric, quotation from the fourth sermon on Lazarus and Dives, as well as a brief citation from another of the Homilies on Matthew,46 before he repeats Specker’s final thesis, including its prayerful conclusion. So far, we have seen an intensification of the argument for the emerging consensual view. What is unexpected, however, is that more than a fifth of Garcaeus’ chapter is still left, which he filled with a series of appearance stories, introduced as evidence of devilish deception. Even more astonishingly, they are all contemporary accounts, not only taken from evangelical authorities, but also personally experienced by prominent evangelical figures. The hero of the first is 39 2 Sam. 12:23, Ps. 88:11, Job 7:9–10, Sir. 38:11, and Phil. 1:23. 40 Plato, Phaedo, 80c–81e in Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, Phaedo, Phaedrus, trans. H.N. Fowler (Cambridge/London: Harvard University Press/Heinemann, 1953) 193–403 [57a–118a]. 41 “But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment will ever touch them’; ‘While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, ‘Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.’” 42 “… diesen Philosophischen trewmen” (Garcaeus, Sterbbüchlein, L6 v°). 43 Melanchthon, On the Soul, 286; see the quotation at the beginning of this chapter. 44 Tertullian, A Treatise on the Soul, in Ante-Nicene Fathers: Translations of the Writings of the Fathers down to AD 325, ed. A. Roberts/J. Donaldson (10 vol.; repr. Peabody: Hendrickson, 1995) 3.234. 45 Cf. Specker, Vom Leiblichen Todt, 278 r°; Garcaeus, Sterbbüchlein, L7 v°–8 r°; and NPNF1, 10.191–2; Garcaeus adds some further extra text here. 46 Garcaeus, Sterbbüchlein, L8 v°–M1 r°; cf. Chrysostom, On Wealth, 85–86 and NPNF1, 10.85.

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Nikolaus von Amsdorf, to whom two devils in the shape of noblemen dictate a letter, which he later handed over to the elector.47 Garcaeus’ source is undoubtedly Luther, whose Table Talk he follows almost verbatim both here and in the third anecdote. Moreover, its provenance is more meticulously related, as Elector John Frederick recounted it to the reformer.48 The story tells of a man to whom his deceased wife, or a devil in her shape, came back. Not only did she resume her wonted household duties, but they had children together – until the husband broke his promise and, bursting out swearing, caused the woman to disappear, only leaving her clothes behind. Between those two stories comes a third, of Melanchthon’s aunt, disseminated in print by Master Philipp himself. It is of the classical ‘proof of purgatory’ type. Accompanied by a Franciscan monk, the deceased husband comes back to the widow to instruct her to endow masses for him.49 Garcaeus does not interpret the stories, but lets them stand on their own. We are never told what was in Amsdorf ’s letter, although it should be available in the electoral archives. A fairly long discussion on the problem of the devil’s children that follows the third episode in Table Talk is cut out, while the reasons as to why exactly cursing should drive a devil away are never discussed. Even the obviously needed defence against the false teaching of purgatory is withheld. Instead of explaining what was actually wrong with the appearances – none of which hurt anybody, while the wife even did some good – Garcaeus spends the last paragraph of the chapter maintaining that they are horrendous examples of how the devil can afflict people. That, I think, is a sign of the strength of the interpretive matrix within which the stories are situated. We could surely reflect on what might be termed, at least by twenty-first century standards, the superstition of the Lutheran intellectual elite,50 but that would still not explain why Garcaeus, a member of that elite, was not afraid of supplying grist to the Catholic mills by using these stories. Even though he appears as superstitious to modern readers, he cannot be accused of crypto-Catholicism. If we give him credit for not being utterly inconsistent, we must conclude that, whatever their face value, the strange anecdotes were, for him, true episodes in a long history of devilish deceit. For him (and probably for the authorities whom he quotes), that was the value of the 47 Garcaeus, Sterbbüchlein, M1 v°. 48 See Table Talk #3676 (1530): D. Martin Luthers Werke: Tischreden (6 vol.; Weimar: Böhlau, 1912–1921) 3:517.1–6 (cf. 515.26–32) for the first, and 517.16–37 for the third anecdote. 49 Garcaeus, Sterbbüchlein, M1 v°–2 r°. For similar anecdotes, this time about angels, borrowed in part from Melanchthon and cited by Garcaeus, see R.K. Rittgers, The Reformation of Suffering: Pastoral Theology and Lay Piety in Late Medieval and Early Modern Germany (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012) 209. 50 R.W. Scribner, “Incombustible Luther: The Image of the Reformer in Early Modern Germany”, in Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany (London/ Ronceverte: Hambledon, 1987) 323–53 remains a classical treatment of the phenomenon.

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stories. If this is true, it serves, in turn, as a measure of the strength of their theological reinterpretation of the world. A modern mind would challenge the narratives at a phenomenological level. They are not true; if not downright trumped up, their reality is merely imaginary. This was not the case for sixteenthcentury authors. They deny neither the phenomenon itself nor that it has a metaphysical reality. What they took issue with was the kind of metaphysical reality behind it, that is, the interpretations offered by the Catholic Church. To Lutherans, they are devils, not souls, as no other interpretation is consistent with biblical faith.

III.

Basilius Faber, Tractetlein von den Seelen der Verstorbenen

Contemporarily to Garcaeus, Basilius Faber (1520–1576) also published a tract on departed souls. It was appended to a larger book on the last things.51 Like the Sterbbüchlein, the Tractetlein also tacitly appropriates much of Specker’s structure, argument, and material,52 providing further evidence that the Strasbourger’s book had reached Saxony by the late 1560s.53 Faber is still remembered as one the foremost educators in sixteenth-century Saxony – an accomplishment not to be underestimated, given that prominence in this field is measured against the achievement of figures like Melanchthon. Faber was a layperson, but his Gnesio-Lutheran commitment cost him his position as school master in Quedlinburg in 1570.54 Next to Melanchthon’s De anima, the Tractetlein proved to be the second greatest publication success. It went through as many as a dozen and a half editions by the early seventeenth century,55 most of which were printed in 51 Basilius Faber, Tractetlein von den Seelen der Verstorbenen / vnd allem jhrem zustand vnd gelegenheit, in Christliche/nötige vnd nützliche vnterrichtungen/von den letzten hendeln der Welt (Leipzig: Hans Steinmann/Ernst Vögelin, 1572) Y1 r°–c5 v° – VD16 ZV 23365, microfiche edition in BPal F2433–5. 52 G. Ittzés, “The Legacy of a Strasbourg Preacher: Melchior Specker’s Vom Leiblichen Todt as an Unknown Source of Basilius Faber’s Tractetlein von den Seelen der Verstorbenen”, in Journal of Early Modern Christianity 3 (2016) 239–69. 53 In fact, there may have been a reverse movement of books, as well. The posthumous reprint of Specker’s work in 1571 (cf. n. 7, above) may have been prompted by copies from the early editions of Garcaeus’ Sterbbüchlein and Faber’s Tractetlein finding their way to Strasbourg and suggesting that there was still commercial potential in the original material. 54 For his biography, see, e. g., ADB, 6.488–90; DBA, I.301.103–5, 553.372–3; II.348.45–9; III.228.21. 55 For its publication history, see Ittzés, “The Legacy”, 241–42, 260–61 and R.B. Barnes, “Prophetic Pedagogy: Basilius Faber (ca. 1520–1575) and Evangelical Teaching on the Last Things”, in Historical Reflections/Réflexions historiques 26 (2000) 271–72 and P.V. Brady, “Notes on a Preacher’s Repertory: Ambrosius Taurer’s Bußruffer (1596)”, in Modern Language Review 66 (1971) 828.

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Leipzig.56 Since Duke Maurice’s acquisition of vast tracts of land along with the Electorate from Ernestine Saxony in 1547, Leipzig had belonged to the same constituency of the Empire as Wittenberg. With a Low German version issued in Hamburg in 1591,57 however, the new teaching surely transitioned into a new region, which importantly marked the crossing of a linguistic boundary. The penultimate eighth chapter focuses on the possible return of departed souls. Faber stays rather close to Specker, although he rearranges some of the material he borrows from Vom Leiblichen Todt. Faber’s point of departure is his thesis that souls cannot appear on earth. He presents the point with reference to Augustine’s position, probably alluding to Specker’s quotation from De cura.58 The backbone of this three-part chapter is built on some extended quotations.59 He moves the long Chrysostom passage to the fore, rightly sensing that its place under the heading of Samuel’s appearance, which it does not address, is somewhat odd. His translation, including the interpolation, is the same as Specker’s. He also adopts the short commentary, excluding the prayer, that follows at the end of the Strasbourger’s chapter.60 The second large block is Luther’s retort against ghosts,61 again using the same ellipses as Specker does in Vom Leiblichen Todt. Specker’s double heading, however, must have misled Faber, for he puts Augustine’s name over the passage. He summarily repeats the central claim, after which he considers apparent biblical counterevidence. 2 Maccabees 15 is rendered insignificant via its status as a ‘vision’62 which, – most likely through Luke 1, verse 2263 against the background of verses 11–20 – consists of angels, hence making it of divine origin. There is nothing objectionable to Jeremiah appearing in a divinely-inspired dream. It is a measure of the metaphysical realism of the age that an ontological distinction is not drawn between Samuel appearing to a wakeful Saul and Jeremiah appearing in a dream to Judas. On the transfiguration, Faber comments that it is “another thing and not put in Scripture in order that one should ground on it the appearance of souls or should confirm it thereby.”64 He is honest enough to face the difficulty of the

56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64

VD16 F 34–46; ZV 5561, 19060, 23365–6; VD17 12:101959P. VD16 F 47. Cf. n. 13, above. For chapter 8, see Faber, Tractetlein, b7 r°–c3 v°. Faber, Tractetlein, b8 v°; cf. Specker, Vom Leiblichen Todt, 278 r°–v° and Garcaeus, Sterbbüchlein, M1 r°. Cf. n. 15, above. “Gesichte” (Faber, Tractetlein, c2 v°). “When he [Zechariah] did come out, he could not speak to them, and they realized that he had seen a vision in the sanctuary.” “So ist die erschenung Mose vnd Helia auff dem berge Thabor Matth 17. vnd Luc. 9. auch ein

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passage. The theological framework of interpretation is definitely stronger than the uncomfortable evidence, but he is at a loss for actual arguments to reconcile the discrepancy, merely stating the desired conclusion, without being able to show how he reached it. Finally, 1 Samuel 28 is explained in two paragraphs, both of which sound quite Luther-like, but I have not been able to locate the source of the first. It may perhaps be Faber’s attempt at an extended paraphrase of the last part of the shorter quotation from Luther’s Weihnachtspostille, which has obviously influenced the second paragraph, although it offers no hint of alien authorship.65 Faber presents two familiar arguments from Specker’s Luther, but slightly elaborates on them. First, the devil, let alone a sorcerer, has no power to rend righteous souls from their resting place in God’s hand. Secondly, he develops Luther’s explanation of why Scripture fails to mention that the ghost is not really Samuel; namely, because both Saul and the medium mistake it for him. What these arguments prove is given as a forgone conclusion at the outset: it “is easy to understand that the reawakening of Samuel is but a sheer phantom of Satan’s.”66 In the course of the chapter, Faber thus moves from a general denial of souls appearing as ghosts to the further affirmation that what does appear is the devil. His treatment is not only more concise than Garcaeus’, but also more coherent than either of the other two authors. Nevertheless, the difficulty posed by biblical evidence, especially the transfiguration, is not yet convincingly resolved in every detail.

IV.

From Andreas Musculus to David Chyträus

While perhaps no other Lutheran author engages the matter in as much detail as the previous three, several other writers took a stab at the issue in the latersixteenth century. Five years after the first edition of Vom Leiblichen Todt, and at the opposite end of the Empire from Strasbourg, Andreas Musculus (1514–1581) wrote what is to my knowledge the first treatise by a German Lutheran author exclusively on the soul’s post-mortem state. The Gelegenheit/Thun vnd Wesen der Verstorbenen was published in Frankfurt an der Oder,67 where Musculus was a

ander ding / vnd nicht darumb in die Schrifft gesetzet / das man daraus die erscheinung der verstorbenen gründen/oder sie damit bestätigen sol” (Faber, Tractetlein, c2 v°). 65 WA 10I/1, 588.14–18, cf. n. 23 above. 66 “… ist nu leichtlich zuuerstehen/ das die aufferweckung Samuelis / … ein lauter gespenst des Sathans ist” (Faber, Tractetlein, c2 v°–3 r°). 67 Andreas Musculus, Gelegenheit/Thun vnd Wesen der Verstorbenen/von jrem Abschied an/aus diesem Leben/bis zum eingang/nach gehaltenem Jüngsten Gericht/zum ewigen Leben

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professor of theology. A staunch Gnesio-Lutheran and a leading controversialist of his age, he became Superintendent of Brandenburg and later an author of the Formula Concordiae.68 The Gelegenheit treats eschatological issues from death to the Last Judgment in a series of ten questions, the third of which includes a discussion of the possible return of departed souls. The heart of Musculus’ answer to the problem is Chrysostom’s homily on Matthew 8.69 It is preceded by a brief statement of his thesis, which argues that “dead souls – once they have come to the place where they are ordered by God – also remain there until Judgement Day, and they do not return, are not seen, and do not interact with [living] people.”70 He argues the point ex silentio. He offers no scriptural prooftexts except for those embedded in the patristic passage, but squarely denies that the Bible contained any witnesses to the contrary. Instead, as the short commentary on Chrysostom, which rounds off his third question, reveals, he is also convinced that it is the devil himself that appears in the shape of souls: “Therefore one should take such spirits for nothing, for phantoms of the devil and for fraud, yea, for the devil himself.”71 He does not bother to provide an in-depth explanation on how this thesis applies to the various biblical episodes that opponents might wish to cite as evidence in their favour, but we might have a shrewd guess in light of the general thesis. As for Chrysostom’s sermon, Musculus’ translation differs from Specker’s. He skips the beginning and moves right on to scriptural prooftexts. Interestingly, however, he also leaves out the rational arguments and, though marking the ellipsis, includes an emphasis on biblical witnesses that is very similar to those in Specker and his closest followers. While his own argument is void of scriptural prooftexts, the most important loci72 appear here indirectly in the Chrysostom citation. Although more limited in scope and detail than Specker, Musculus not

68

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(Frankfurt an der Oder: Johann Eichorn, 1565) – VD16 M 7151, microfiche edition in BPal F522–3. In 1574, it was reissued in Dresden (VD16 ZV 11302). On his life and work, see F. Weichert, “Andreas Musculus (1514–1581)”, in G. Heinrich (ed.), Theologen = vol. 5. of W. Ribbe (ed.), Berlinische Lebensbilder (Berlin: Colloquium, 1990) 17– 28. He has good coverage in standard handbooks as well, e. g. ADB, 23.93–4; DBA, I.878.399– 404, II.931.188–96, III.652.101–4, 1041.72–4. See also E. Koch, “Andreas Musculus und die Konfessionalisierung im Luthertum”, in H.C. Rublack (ed.), Die lutherische Konfessionalisierung in Deutschland: Wissenschaftliches Symposion des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte 1988 (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1992) 250–70. Musculus, Gelegenheit, D3 v°–6 v°. “… die verstorbene Seelen / da sie ein mal an das Ort komen/dahin sie von Gott verordnet … auch alda bleiben bis zum Jüngste¯ tag/vnd nicht wider komen/sich sehen lassen/vnd mehr mit den leuten vmbgehen” (Musculus, Gelegenheit, D5 r°). “Darumb sol man solche jrr Geister für nichtes halten/als für Teufels gespenste vnd betriegerey/Ja für den Teufel selber” (Musculus, Gelegenheit, D6 r°–v°). Gen. 49:33; Luke 12:20, 16:19–31; Acts 7:59; Phil. 1:3.

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only voices key elements of the emerging consensus, but also articulates it more forcefully, while more directly connecting apparitions to the devil. In 1575, Martin Mirus (1532–1593), court preacher to the Elector of Saxony and another enemy of the Crypto-Calvinists, delivered a series of seven antiCatholic sermons at the Diet of Regensburg.73 He had them printed at Erfurt in 1590,74 and they were popular enough to be published again, posthumously, fifteen years later both there and in nearby Jena.75 More importantly, the text had been widely circulated in manuscript form since before its first printing.76 The first major topic in sermon 5 is the appearance of departed souls on earth. Like Garcaeus, Faber, and Musculus before him, Mirus also opens with the ‘no appearance’ thesis and supports this by citing David’s resolve upon his son’s death (2 Sam. 12:23) 77 and Sirach’s counsel of moderation in grief (Sir. 38:21),78 both familiar from Garcaeus,79 and the great chasm between Lazarus and the rich man (Luke 16:26).80 The latter marks a small shift from Abraham’s theologicallybased rejection towards the topographical and physical roadblocks to the soul’s return. Mirus’ discussion nevertheless centres on the story of Saul, which he offers as proof that ostensible souls are appearances of the devil. He approaches the text in an entirely unapologetic fashion. There is no hint that it might pose any difficulty. It is treated throughout as supporting evidence for his own cause. He enumerates four arguments, including those we encountered in Luther, namely that the whole conjuration is against God’s law and that the devil has no power over righteous souls. Saul’s admission that God is no longer with him and that he does not receive an answer from God (1 Sam. 28:15) further undercuts ‘Samuel’s’ credibility, but it is ultimately his own words that seal the verdict. The heart of Mirus’ reasoning is that his feet give the devil away. The words of the apparition seek nothing but to throw Saul into despair. ‘Samuel’s’ sermon contains no mention of Christ, God’s mercy, or the forgiveness of sins, but only focuses on God’s wrath. An incomplete Lutheran homily fixating only on the law, while withholding the gospel, is a sure sign by which to recognise the devil! All 73 For his biography, see ADB, 22.1 and DBA, I.848.152–58. 74 Martin Mirus, Sieben … Christliche Predigten Auff dem Reichstage zu Regenspurg gethan/als Anno 1575. vnser aller Gnedigster Keiser Rudolphus II. zum Reich erwehlet worden (Erfurt: Esaias Mechler, 1590) – VD16 M 5471. 75 VD17 39:131989T (Das Verzeichnis der im deutschen Sprachraum erschienenen Drucke des 17. Jahrhunderts, www.vd17.de). 76 G. Ittzés, “The Renewal of the Immortality Doctrine in the Reformation: The Case of Martin Mirus, Gregor Weiser, and Moses Pflacher”, in B.K. Hoppál (ed.), Theories and Trends in Religions and in the Study of Religion (Budapest: L’Harmattan, 2015) 64–68. 77 “But now he is dead; why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he will not return to me.” 78 “Do not forget, there is no coming back; you do the dead no good, and you injure yourself.” 79 Cf. n. 39, above. 80 Mirus, Sieben … Christliche Predigten, O4 v°–P1 v°.

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that remains is to transfer the logic to ostensible appearances undergirding the doctrine of purgatory. Although their message is apparently nice, they advocate the righteousness of good works and lure people away from Christ. The overarching logic is the same as in the Sterbbüchlein, but it is much easier to see here. Whereas Garcaeus was so immune to the false allure of the appearances’ seeming decency as not to deem it worthy of comment, Mirus spells out his reasoning. Moses Pflacher (c.1549–1589) came from the southwest of Germany like Specker, but only the most basic facts of his life are known.81 A native of Swabia, he studied theology in Tübingen, where he earned a doctorate a few years before his death, but he spent much of his professional life in the County of Ortenburg between the Danube and the Alps, with Augsburg and Kempten serving as his last two bases. A series of twelve sermons, originally preached in 1580–1581, was printed the next year under the title of Die gantze Lehr Vom Tod vnd Absterben.82 It was a bulky book of some 450 pages and must have enjoyed considerable popularity, as it went through an additional five editions over the next thirty years.83 The sermons spread throughout a wide range of territory in geographical terms, reaching Frankfurt am Main and Herborn in Hessen, Zerbst in Anhalt, and Leipzig in Saxony.84 Sermon 10, which clearly shows Mirus’ influence,85 deals with the post-mortem state of souls, and the question of apparitions is touched upon here in a short passage of a page and a half. Pflacher summarises the quintessential points without including major quotations from any other source.86 His fundamental argument is the excluded middle. Souls are either in heaven or in hell, so they cannot be seen on earth. He repeats the point three times in just over an octavo page. To the objection based on 1 Samuel 28, he responds that it is the devil. As evidence, he offers the fact that purgatory is founded on such appearances, but because souls are either in God’s hand or in hell, they must be the devil assuming their shape. His argument is somewhat circular; in fact, he completes two full cycles within forty lines, but this is a testimony to the fact that by the early 1580s the twofold thesis that souls cannot appear on earth and what appears thus must be the devil was so wellestablished that it could essentially stand on its own, without much argumentative scaffolding. It is just unthinkable for a Lutheran mind that it should be otherwise, for they could no longer avoid the papacy’s pitfall of purgatory. 81 On his life, see Ittzés, “Renewal”, 68–70; cf. DBA, I.952.422–5, III.1044.117–21. 82 Moses Pflacher, Die gantze Lehr Vom Tod vnd Absterben des Menschen ([Herborn:] Christoph Rab, 1589) – VD16 P 2388. 83 Ittzés, “Renewal”, 71. 84 VD16 P 2387 (Frankfurt am Main, 1582), 2388–9 (Herborn, 1589 and 1594), ZV 26401 (Zerbst, 1597); VD17 23:282339 A (Leipzig, 1603). 85 Ittzés, “Renewal”, 72–79. 86 Pflacher, Die gantze Lehr, 266–67.

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Further evidence of the manuscript circulation of Mirus’ Regensburg sermons is provided by Gregor Weiser’s (fl. 1577–1583) Christlicher Bericht/Von Vnsterbligkeit und Zustand der Seelen.87 The author was a village pastor who lived near Meißen, and whose name was saved from total oblivion by this very work, which was first published in Bautzen in 1583.88 The Christlicher Bericht is a compilation, like Vom Leiblichen Todt, but it is closer in form to Musculus’ Gelegenheit in that it treats the subject matter in Q&A format. Mirus’ homilies are copied into Weiser’s treatise in several large blocks, which makes the text rather repetitive. In addition to the frequent and substantial quotations, Weiser tends to offer his own answer to each question, but, in so doing, still heavily relies upon the cited sources. This is also the case with apparitions, which he discusses in the context of a critique of purgatory. Weiser naturally includes Mirus’ entire section, but he goes beyond his source in his own text.89 He dismisses the pro-purgatorial claim by citing the Lukan parable and Chrysostom’s homily on Matthew 8. Like Mirus, Weiser’s approach takes the middle-ground, for his texts clearly show that neither righteous nor damned souls have any business on earth. The Samualite objection is dismissed, as usual, but is now based on a sorcerer’s insufficient power. Weiser’s most original point is when he faces the difficulty posed by the transfiguration, in which he proposes a twofold argument to blunt its edge. First, he denies the validity of an induction from the particular to the universal, and, secondly, claims that both Moses and Elijah appeared in their resurrected body. On the one hand, this pulls the rug from under the feet of the pericope as evidence for the appearance of disembodied souls. On the other hand, it turns it into a foreshadowing of what will happen to all souls in heaven, and thus tames it by legitimising it. In the light of Weiser’s overall performance, I find it doubtful that those arguments would be of his own invention, although I have not been able to trace them to any definite source. Whatever their provenance, however, the main issue is that, by at least the penultimate decade of the sixteenth century, even the story of the transfiguration was being interpretively brought into line with the central tenets of the locus. In the early 1580s, yet another author engaged with this question. David Chyträus (1530–1600) was a towering figure of European significance, who exerted an influence that was felt from the Alps to Scandinavia. Stemming from Swabia and having completed studies in both Tübingen and Wittenberg, he 87 VD16 ZV 18596. I cite the second edition: Gregor Weiser, Christlicher Bericht/Von Vnsterbligkeit und Zustand der Seelen nach jhrem Abschied (Eisleben/Leipzig: Andreas Petri/ Henning Grosse, 1588) – VD16 W 1584. The book was issued once more by the same publishers in the same towns (VD16 W 1585). 88 VD16 ZV 18596. 89 Weiser, Christlicher Bericht, 73–87.

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travelled widely and ultimately took up residence in Rostock on the Baltic Sea.90 His two-volume De morte, et vita æterna was originally published in Latin in Wittenberg,91 but also became available in German by the beginning of the next decade.92 The translation also meant regional transition, as the new edition was printed in the intellectual centres of Brandenburg.93 The work went through several more editions in both languages, and evidently moved further north, as its publication places included Rostock.94 A Danish translation from 1591 further enhanced the transregional circulation of the work,95 making it accessible in the vernacular to a non-German-speaking reading public. Chyträus turns to the question of apparitions at the end of the opening chapter of volume two in the context of the immortality of the soul.96 That he should also begin with the affirmation of the negative thesis is only to be expected. His three prooftexts all correspond to Garcaeus’ list.97 Next, he addresses the usual dismissal of the Endor scene as counterevidence, followed by Chrysostom’s wellused standard quotation on the binary option for departed souls and by Augustine’s summary opinion, in which he regards apparitions as “portents of fallacious spirits”.98 Chyträus takes a somewhat different route from Garcaeus when he uses two contemporary anecdotes from Erasmus of Roman clergy 90 For his biography, see any major handbook, e. g., ADB, 4.254–6 and DBA, I.55.216–25, 190.315–80, 1427.22–32; II.97.277, 226.229–44; III.147.68–74. Cf. R. Keller, “David Chytraeus (1530–1600): Melanchthons Geist im Luthertum”, in H. Scheible (ed.), Melanchthon in seinen Schülern (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1997) 361–71 and S. Stuth/K.H. Glaser (ed.), David Chytraeus (1530–1600): Norddeutscher Humanismus in Europa: Beiträge zum Wirken des Kraichgauer Gelehrten (Ubstadt-Weiher: Regionalkultur, 2000). 91 David Chyträus, De morte, et vita æterna (Wittenberg: Johann Krafft, Sr [Heirs], 1581) – VD16 C 2652; and Altera pars Libelli Davidis Chytraei De Morte & vita æterna (Wittenberg: Johann Krafft, Sr [Heirs], 1582) – VD16 ZV 3328. 92 Chyträus’ position in the intellectual tradition I am mapping out here is difficult to establish. His immortality chapter is thematically so close to the Speckerian trajectory that it seems likely that he was familiar with it in some form, probably through Garcaeus’ work. On the other hand, evidence for his textual dependence is scant at best. He is also relatively late in the corpus, and the few works that were published after De morte show no clear sign of his influence. His place in the tradition certainly deserves careful analysis, but its fuller treatment must await another opportunity. 93 David Chyträus, Christlicher/Tröstlicher und in Gottes Wort gegründetter vnterricht. Vom Tode und Ewigen Leben (Berlin: Johann & Friedrich Hartman, 1590) – VD16 C 2655; and Christlicher, Tröstlicher und in Gottes Wort gegründter unterricht, vol. 2 (Frankfurt an der Oder: Johann & Friedrich Hartmann/Nikolaus Voltz, 1592) – VD16 C 2656. 94 VD16 C 2653–4 (Latin: Wittenberg, 1583 and 1590); ZV 3345 (Latin: Rostock, 1590) 3346 (German, vol. 2: Frankfurt an der Oder, 1591) 3358 (German: Frankfurt an der Oder, 1598). 95 David Chyträus, Om Døden oc det Evige Liff: En Herlig oc trøstelig Tractat (Copenhagen: Laurentz Benedicht, 1591). 96 Cf. Chyträus, Altera pars, E1 v°–3 v°; cf. Chyträus, Christlicher, 2.D5 r°–8 r°. 97 2 Sam. 12:23, Job 7:9–10, Sir. 38:21; cf. n. 39, above. 98 “… portenta fallacium spirituum” (Chyträus, Altera pars, E2 v°; cf. Chyträus, Christlicher, 2.D5 v°).

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staging fake appearances.99 He moves most visibly beyond his contemporaries, however, in the way that he presents what is probably his version of Luther’s argument in the Weihnachtspostille.100 He attributes such overriding significance to God’s prohibitive law that he is hypothetically willing to concede the truth of appearances101 – a concession other authors were not prepared to make. Even if souls can appear, we are not to consult with them. Chyträus’ bold move could take care of several difficulties presented by uncomfortable biblical pericopes, but he does not draw such conclusions, which might bear witness to the, by now, deep-seated Lutheran conviction of the theological impossibility of souls appearing on earth. Instead, Chyträus insists on the purity of doctrine by rejecting purgatory, which will be the subject matter of his next major investigation. Friedrich Roth (c.1548–1595), a little-known Superintendent of Arnstadt,102 published five funeral sermons in 1591.103 He had preached them over several months during the previous spring. They are exegetical homilies unpacking independent pericopes, yet the volume exhibits considerable thematic unity, focussing on death and post-mortem existence. The first sermon is based on Wisdom 3:1–5 and deals with the state of the righteous after death. The structure, in compliance with the conventions of the age, is tightly organised, and Roth reaches the problem of appearances in the application section of the second unit.104 It is important to register that he is not prooftexting a doctrinal point, but drawing out the theological implication of a Bible verse. That is, in a way, a fitting conclusion to my overview of the establishment of a later-sixteenth-century Lutheran consensus, for there is nothing inherent in the Wisdom text on the death of the righteous that would demand the conclusion that souls cannot appear on earth, even if the devil abuses their shape, like Samuel’s at Endor. That Roth finds all this in his chosen text is a clear sign that the core teaching of this chapter of the immortality locus had indeed been widely established by the last decade of the sixteenth century. The distance we have travelled in a little more than a generation shows up quite strikingly if we compare Roth’s performance with that of Matthias Tacius (fl. c.1530–1556), a village pastor in Saltza, near Magdeburg.105 In close temporal

99 Chyträus, Christlicher, 2.D6 r°–7 r°. 100 See p. 98, above. Chyträus also cites Luke 16:29, Isa 8:19–20, and Lev. 19:31, a parallel to Deut. 18:10–12. 101 Chyträus, Altera pars E2 v°; cf. Chyträus, Christlicher 2.D7 r°–v°. 102 Biographical information on him is extremely thin; cf. DBA, I.1058.265. 103 F. Roth, Fünff tröstliche vnd nützliche Predigten (Mühlhausen: Andreas Hantzsch/Otto von Riswick, 1591) – VD16 R 3218. The book was reprinted in the same place the following year (VD16 ZV 13377). 104 Roth, Fünff … Predigten, D1 r°. 105 Very little external evidence is available on him. He has no entry in the World Biographical

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proximity to Melanchthon’s Liber de anima, he preached a sermon on the immortality of the soul in 1554 and published it two years later.106 His piece is thematically organised and not exegetical in nature; it does not even touch on the problem of apparitions. In the mid-1550s it was still possible to offer a theological interpretation of the post-mortem state of the soul without any reference to the return of departed souls. By the end of the century, a discussion of apparitions, with a rather well-defined content, had become an indispensable feature of Lutheran teaching on the immortality locus.

Conclusion The methodology of the foregoing survey, following the migration of an idea from book to book and considering each work on the level of editions, surely places a limitation on the level of detail and depth of the potential generalisations we might draw in conclusion. Further research on extant copies of the works discussed here might significantly enhance our findings through an analysis of possessors’ notes and other evidence. Yet, an approach that has its focus on the transregional migration of ideas through authors, rather than individual volumes, has its justification. What travelled across borders were both books and people. But books are dead objects until they get picked up and read. Their significance lies in the fact that they can mediate ideas, which can travel equally well in the minds of people. This gives them life. The real question is not whether ideas move transregionally on the printed page or in grey cells, but what patterns they follow when they come to life in the minds of people. However fascinating and instructive it would be to map the circulation of individual books in substantial numbers, what ultimately matters on a larger scale is the circulation of living ideas. And that can be reconstructed by an analysis along the lines presented above, for it helps us see not only how and where ideas were disseminated, but also how and where they were received, appropriated, passed on, and perhaps transformed. By considering books on the level of editions, it becomes apparent that they usually crossed borders through their authors. This is by no means a strict rule, but the general tendency is that a new author, who wrote a new work, was usually the cause of ideas moving into a new territory. Moreover, a new edition of a given work is more likely to keep a work rooted in its original locality. Individual books Information System Online (Munich: Saur) (http://db.saur.de/WBIS). Born in Goslar, he studied in Wittenberg in the 1530s. 106 M. Tacius, Ein Predigt von der vnsterbligkeit der Seelen/vnd von jrem stande nach abeschiede von dieser Welt/ aufferstehung des fleisches vnd ewigem leben (Magdeburg: Ambrosius Kirchner, Sr, 1556) – VD16 T 44.

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certainly must have travelled across borders, but, on the level of editions, books tended to be more stationary than mobile. That is understandable since, as a rule of thumb, editions have to do with authors, and, unless they move or exert a supraregional influence, they will rarely (have the means to) seek out new publication opportunities in a distant land. Sometimes it is indeed the relocation or some other geographical transition of the printer that is responsible for the movement of the book between editions. By and large, however, an idea has the best chance to cross borders if it is picked up and reworked by a new author in a new territory. We have followed the spread of a particular (set of) idea(s) over almost all of the Lutheran lands in the Empire. Its movement had no distinct geographical direction; it travelled in a haphazard manner with a lot of toing and froing. If there was any sense of direction, it was from the centre outward. Wittenberg and Leipzig played a central role in the combined publication history of the works discussed, while books appeared on the edges of the Lutheran territories (ultimately spilling over the borders of the Empire) somewhat more gradually. In addition to geographical spread, this survey also describes a gradual standardisation of the new teaching. The back and forth movement is particularly significant in this regard because it ensures that time, not territorial location, was the key element in the maturation of the idea at hand. The change we have registered above in the content of the teaching is not regional, but temporal (historical) in nature. What we witness over time is the development of a fullbodied doctrine as part of an emerging transregional confessional culture. As teaching develops, it both expands and deepens. In the process, an increasing number of details become articulated, and acceptable positions become more clearly, and narrowly, defined. The emergent new teaching thus gets established both in the sense of spreading over all Lutheran lands and of being worked out in specific detail. What crossed borders and travelled through books from author to author were not simply ideas, but specific forms of argumentation and hermeneutic strategies, which ultimately strengthened the sense of an interpretive community far beyond the local level and contributed to the emergence of a transregional confessional culture.

Bibliography Printed and Edited Sources Chrysostom, St John, Homilies on the Gospel of St. Matthew, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers: A Select Library of the Christian Church, Series I, ed. Philip Schaff (14 vol.; repr. Peabody: Hendrickson, 1995), vol. 10.

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Chrysostom, St John, On Wealth and Poverty (Crestwood: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1984). Chyträus, David, Altera pars Libelli Davidis Chytraei De Morte & vita æterna: continens locos De Animarum Immortalitate et statu post corporis mortem. Purgatorio Animarum Pontificio. Fine Mundi et Resurrectione corporum. Extremo Ivdicio et Poenis Inferni aeternis (Wittenberg: Johann Krafft, Sr [Heirs], 1582) – VD16 ZV 3328. Chyträus, David, Christlicher / Tröstlicher und in Gottes Wort gegründetter vnterricht. Vom Tode und Ewigen Leben. Erstlich durch den Ehrwirdigen vnd Hochgelarten Herrn David Chytraevm, der heiligen Schrifft Doctorn, vnd Professorn zu Rosstock etc. in Lateinischer Sprach verfast / vnd an tag gegeben / Vnd von jhm jtzo auffs new vbersehen vnd gemehret / vnd auff desselbten erinnerung vnnd begeren mit bestem vleis verdeutscht. Durch Heinrich Räteln zu Sagan (Berlin: Johann & Friedrich Hartman, 1590) – VD16 C 2655 Chyträus, David, Christlicher, Tröstlicher und in Gottes Wort gegründter unterricht. I. Von Unsterbligkeit der Seelen und jhrem Zustand nach dem Leibstodt. II. Von dem Fegefewr. III. Vom Ende der Welt und Auferstehung der Todten. IIII. Vom Jüngsten Gericht. V. Von der Ewigen Marter und Pein der Gottlosen in der Helle. (Frankfurt an der Oder: Johann & Friedrich Hartmann/Nikolaus Voltz, 1592) – VD16 C 2656. Chyträus, David, De morte, et vita æterna (Wittenberg: Johann Krafft, Sr [Heirs], 1581) – VD16 C 2652. Chyträus, David, Om Døden oc det Evige Liff: En Herlig oc trøstelig Tractat: hvorudi alle Gudfryctige Mennisker undervises: Om det Evige Liff oc den Evige Fordømmelse: Desligeste om den Himmelske ære oc Glede (Copenhagen: Laurentz Benedicht, 1591). D. Martin Luthers Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe (73 vol.; Weimar: Böhlau, 1883–2009). Faber, Basilius, Tractetlein von den Seelen der Verstorbenen / vnd allem jhrem zustand vnd gelegenheit, in Christliche/nötige vnd nützliche vnterrichtungen/von den letzten hendeln der Welt. Auffs new zum fünfften mahl gemehret vnd gebessert (Leipzig: Hans Steinmann/ Ernst Vögelin, 1572) Y1 r°–c5 v° – VD16 ZV 23365, microfiche edition in BPal F2433–5. Garcaeus, Johannes, Jr, Sterbbüchlein Darin Von den Seelen/ jrem ort/ stande/ thun und wesen / aller Menschen/bis an den Jüngsten tag/aus Gottes wort vnd der lieben Veter Schrifften/ warhafftiger bericht (Wittenberg: Peter Seitz, 1573) – VD16 G 461, microfiche edition in BPal F720–1. Melanchthon, Philip[p], On the Soul, abridged ET of Liber de anima in A Melanchthon Reader, ed. R. Keen (New York etc.: Peter Lang, 1988) 239–89. Mirus, Martin, Sieben … Christliche Predigten Auff dem Reichstage zu Regenspurg gethan / als Anno 1575. vnser aller Gnedigster Keiser Rudolphus II. zum Reich erwehlet worden / etc. Dorinnen die furnemesten Artickel vnser waren Christlichen Religion ausführlich erkleret/ vnd die jrrige Meinung falscher Lehre vnd Abgötterey des Bapstums mit sattem Grunde widerleget worden (Erfurt: Esaias Mechler, 1590) – VD16 M 5471. Musculus, Andreas, Gelegenheit / Thun vnd Wesen der Verstorbenen /von jrem Abschied an / aus diesem Leben / bis zum eingang / nach gehaltenem Jüngsten Gericht / zum ewigen Leben (Frankfurt an der Oder: Johann Eichorn, 1565) – VD16 M 7151, microfiche edition in BPal F522–3. Pflacher, Moses, Die gantze Lehr Vom Tod vnd Absterben des Menschen/ in ein richtige ordnung Kurtz verfasset/ vnd gepredigt ([Herborn:] Christoph Rab, 1589) – VD16 P 2388.

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Plato, Phaedo in Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, Phaedo, Phaedrus, trans. H.N. Fowler (Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press/Heinemann, 1953) 193–403 [57a–118a]. Roth, Friedrich, Fünff tröstliche vnd nützliche Predigten. Die Erste. Auß dem dritten Capitel/des Buchs der Weissheit/ vom herrlichen Zustande der Gerechten nach diesem Leben. Die Ander. Aus dem 38. Cap. Esaiæ / wie sich ein jeder in diesen fehrlichen Leufften zu seinem sterbstündlein bereiten soll. Die Dritte. Auss dem 41. Capitel Syrachs / de comtemnenda morte, das man den Todt nicht fürchten soll. Die Vierdte. Vom Adiutorio Domini, aus dem 121. Psalm. Die Fünffte. Aus dem 14. [ ] Capitel Johannis/von den Ewigen himlischen Wohnungen / von dem rechten Wege zum Ewigen leben (Mühlhausen: Andreas Hantzsch/Otto von Riswick, 1591) – VD16 R 3218. Specker, Melchior, Vom Leiblichen Todt. Was er sey/waher er kom[m]e/vnd wie man sich darzu˚ bereyten solle/ Auch Von der Begräbniß vñ Begäncknussen/vnd wie man sich der Abgestorbenen halben trösten vnd halten solle. Jtem Von der Selen vnd jrem ort/ stand/ vnd wesen/biß auff den Jüngsten tag. Alles auß H. Schrifft/vnd der Vätter außlegung / fleyssig zu˚sam[m]en gebracht (Strasbourg: Samuel Emmel, 1560) – VD16 S 8169, microfiche edition in BPal F3819–20. Tacius, Matthias, Ein Predigt von der vnsterbligkeit der Seelen/vnd von jrem stande nach abeschiede von dieser Welt/ aufferstehung des fleisches vnd ewigem leben/ vber das Euangelium von des Obersten der Schulen Tochter/ Matthei ix. (Magdeburg: Ambrosius Kirchner, Sr, 1556) – VD16 T 44. Tertullian, A Treatise on the Soul in Ante-Nicene Fathers: Translations of the Writings of the Fathers down to ad 325, ed. A. Roberts/J. Donaldson, (10 vol.; repr. Peabody: Hendrickson, 1995) 3.181–235. Weiser, Georg, Christlicher Bericht/ Von Vnsterbligkeit und Zustand der Seelen nach jhrem Abschied/ Vnd letzten Hendeln der Welt. Sampt gründlicher vnd ausführlicher erklerung aus den Schrifften der Veter/ Jtem Herrn D.Matrini Lvtheri, Iohannis Mathesii, D.Martini Miri, vnd Iohannis Gigantis, Jn Frag vnd Antwort (Eisleben/Leipzig: Andreas Petri/Henning Grosse, 1588) – VD16 W 1584.

Secondary Sources Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie (56 vol.; Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1875–1912). Appold, K.G., Orthodoxie als Konsensbildung: Das theologische Disputationswesen an der Universität Wittenberg zwischen 1570 und 1710 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2004). Barnes, R.B., “Prophetic Pedagogy: Basilius Faber (ca. 1520–1575) and Evangelical Teaching on the Last Things”, Historical Reflections/Réflexions historiques 26 (2000) 269–83. Bibliotheca Palatina: Druckschriften / Stampati Palatini / Printed Books, microfiche edition, ed. Leonard Boyle/Elmar Mittler (Munich: Saur, 1995). Brady, P.V., “Notes on a Preacher’s Repertory: Ambrosius Taurer’s Bußruffer (1596)”, Modern Language Review 66 (1971) 826–31. Das Verzeichnis der im deutschen Sprachraum erschienenen Drucke des 17. Jahrhunderts (www.vd17.de).

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Deutsches biographisches Archiv I–III, microfiche edition (Munich: Saur, 1999–2002), also available online in WBIS. Ittzés, G., “Text and Subtext: Johannes Garcaeus’s Sterbbüchlein and Melchior Specker’s Vom Leiblichen Todt: A Study in Early Modern Literary Borrowing”, German Life and Letters 68 (2015) 335–55. Ittzés, G., “The Legacy of a Strasbourg Preacher: Melchior Specker’s Vom Leiblichen Todt as an Unknown Source of Basilius Faber’s Tractetlein von den Seelen der Verstorbenen”, Journal of Early Modern Christianity 3 (2016) 239–69. Ittzés, G., “The Renewal of the Immortality Doctrine in the Reformation: The Case of Martin Mirus, Gregor Weiser, and Moses Pflacher”, in B.K. Hoppál (ed.), Theories and Trends in Religions and in the Study of Religion: Selected Papers of the 10th Conference of the European Association for the Study of Religions (Budapest: L’Harmattan, 2015) 61–85. Keller, R., “David Chytraeus (1530–1600): Melanchthons Geist im Luthertum”, in H. Scheible (ed.), Melanchthon in seinen Schülern (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1997) 361– 71. Koch, E., “Andreas Musculus und die Konfessionalisierung im Luthertum”, in H.-C. Rublack (ed.), Die lutherische Konfessionalisierung in Deutschland: Wissenschaftliches Symposion des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte 1988 (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1992) 250–70. L.N. “Garcaeus (Gartz), Johann”, in L. Noack/J. Splett (ed.), Mark Brandenburg mit BerlinCölln 1506–1640, vol. 4 of Bio-Bibliographien: Brandenburgische Gelehrte der Frühen Neuzeit, ed. L. Noack (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2009) 136–50. Le Goff, J., The Birth of Purgatory (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984). Marshall, P., “Deceptive Appearances: Ghosts and Reformers in Elizabethan and Jacobean England”, in H. Parish/W.J. Naphy (ed.), Religion and Superstition in Reformation England (Manchester/New York: Manchester University Press, 2002) 188–208. Rittgers, R. K., The Reformation of Suffering: Pastoral Theology and Lay Piety in Late Medieval and Early Modern Germany (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012). Scribner, R.W., “Incombustible Luther: The Image of the Reformer in Early Modern Germany”, in Popular Culture and Popular Movements in Reformation Germany (London/Ronceverte: Hambledon, 1987) 323–53. Stuth, S./Glaser, K.-H. (ed.), David Chytraeus (1530–1600): Norddeutscher Humanismus in Europa: Beiträge zum Wirken des Kraichgauer Gelehrten (Ubstadt-Weiher: Regionalkultur, 2000). Thomas, K., Religion and the Decline of Magic: Studies in Popular Belief in Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century England (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999). Verzeichnis der im deutschen Sprachbereich erschienenen Drucke des 16. Jahrhunderts (www.vd16.de). Weichert, F., “Andreas Musculus (1514–1581)”, in G. Heinrich (ed.), Theologen = vol. 5 of W. Ribbe (ed.), Berlinische Lebensbilder (Berlin: Colloquium, 1990) 17–28.

II. Translation and Transmission

Alexandra Walsham*

Religious Ventriloquism: Translation, Cultural Exchange and the English Counter-Reformation

Scholarly study of the Protestant and Catholic Reformations has for too long been constrained within rigid national paradigms, but there are now promising signs of change. This essay contributes to a growing body of work that is extricating our understanding of these two parallel movements for Christian renewal from this straitjacket and exploring the myriad ways in which people, ideas, books, images and objects crossed political frontiers and confessional boundaries during the Early Modern Period. It does so by focusing upon the surprisingly neglected phenomenon of translation as a medium of religious communication. The many initiatives to translate texts from Latin and a range of foreign vernaculars into the English language were both an index and an agent of the lively forms of cultural exchange and cross fertilisation that accompanied and energised Europe’s twin Reformations. Translation is approached here as an apt metaphor for the dynamic circulation and creative adaptation of beliefs and practices around and beyond the Continent and as an emblem of how the intertwined impulses for institutional reform and evangelical awakening transcended borders and fostered transregional identities and solidarities. Translation was a vital motor of the Reformation in the British Isles, as it was elsewhere in Europe. It was the project of rendering the Bible in the vulgar tongue that brought the Lollards into conflict with the medieval Catholic Church and the desire to read William Tyndale’s English New Testament that inspired the earliest evangelicals to flirt with danger and defy the Tudor authorities. In the 1520s, the Henrician regime struggled to arrest the flow of Lutheran books in the vernacular across the Channel, condemning them as pestiferous carriers of the disease of heresy and ceremonially burning them on bonfires of vanities. After the break * I am grateful to Wim François and Violet Soen, the organisers of the fifth RefoRC conference in Leuven in May 2015, for the invitation to deliver a plenary lecture and to the editorial committee for their helpful comments on this essay. My initial interest in this topic was provoked by participation in a workshop on the ‘Textual Reformation’ organised by Jan Machielsen at the University of Oxford in September 2013 and I owe him particular thanks for setting me such a stimulating brief.

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with Rome and the declaration of the royal supremacy in 1534, translation became a state-sponsored enterprise: the preparation of approved versions of Scripture, the liturgy, and influential texts such as Desiderius Erasmus’s Paraphrases became a critical component of the programme to create a reformed nation, which in turn helped to fuel the growth of the burgeoning book trade.1 These official activities were accompanied by private initiatives: alongside the many ministers and schoolmasters who laboured to translate the works of John Calvin and other leading continental divines for English audiences as an extension of their preaching and teaching vocations were godly gentlemen and women who regarded this as a pious way of redeeming the time and of helping to plant the Protestant faith.2 For those who sought asylum in Swiss cities during the reign of Mary I between 1553 and 1558, translation and printing were crucial instruments of protest and resistance to the queen’s fervent effort to restore the nation to allegiance of Rome.3 Like other stranger communities, bilingual and polyglot religious refugees who settled in the Low Countries in the later part of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were similarly active in exploiting these allied tools as substitutes for preaching and as a means of participating in the public debates about the future shape of the Church of England.4 Subtly adapted as they made the passage into the vernacular, translated works provide a re1 For overviews of biblical and liturgical translation, see the contributions by L. Kelly, A. Taylor and D. Mackenzie in G. Braden/R. Cummings/S. Gillespie (ed.), The Oxford History of Literary Translation in English, vol. 2: 1550–1660 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010) 24–31, 121– 40, 141–54, 155–63. For Tyndale and early Reformation translation, see B. Cummings, “The Theology of Translation: Tyndale’s Grammar”, in J.T. Day/E. Lund/A.M. O’Donnel (ed.), Word, Church and State: Tyndale Quincentenary Essays (Washington DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1998) 36–59; B. Cummings, The Literary Culture of the Reformation: Grammar and Grace (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002). On Erasmus, see E.J. Devereux, “The Publication of the English Paraphrases of Erasmus”, Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 51 (1969) 348–67. More generally, see A. Pettegree, “Printing and the Reformation: The English Exception”, in P. Marshall/A. Ryrie (ed.), The Beginnings of English Protestantism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002) 38–59; F. Higman, “Ideas for Export: Translations in the Early Reformation”, in J.R. Brink/W.F. Gentrup (ed.), Renaissance Culture in Context: Theory and Practice (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1993) 100–13. 2 See F. Higman, “Calvin’s Works in Translation”, in A. Pettegree/A. Duke/G. Lewis (ed.), Calvinism in Europe, 1540–1620 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994) 82–99; M. White, “Renaissance Englishwomen and Religious Translations: The Case of Anne Lock’s Of the Markes of the Children of God (1590)”, English Literary Renaissance 29 (1999) 375–400; Protestant Translators: Anne Lock Prowse and Elizabeth Russell, ed. E. V. Beilin (Aldershot: Ashgate 2001). 3 A. Pettegree, Marian Protestantism: Six Studies (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1996), chapter 5, on the Latin polemic of the Marian exiles. 4 L. Rostenberg, The Minority Press and the English Crown: A Study in Repression, 1558–1625 (Nieuwkoop: B. De Graaf, 1971); K.L. Sprunger, Trumpets from the Tower: English Puritan Printing in the Netherlands, 1600–1640 (Leiden: Brill, 1994); A. Pettegree, Emden and the Dutch Revolt: Exile and the Development of Reformed Protestantism (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998).

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vealing lens through which to view the ‘reception’ of continental theology in Britain – a process that is increasingly conceived less in terms of passive absorption than active negotiation.5 As Francis Higman has commented, they illuminate “the colour refracted from the prism of the Reformation in each country”.6 Nor did traffic travel solely in one direction: the works of the famous Puritan theologian William Perkins, for instance, appeared in Dutch, French, German, Spanish, Hungarian, and Czech editions. As one contemporary noted in 1642, his books spoke “more tongues, then the Maker ever understood”.7 Together, the peregrinations of such texts help to correct the chronic insularity that continues to afflict the historiography of the English Reformation. The chief focus of this essay, however, is the role of translation in England’s Catholic Reformation. Research by Eamon Duffy and others has not just deeply unsettled the assumption that medieval Catholicism was moribund on the eve of the Protestant challenge in the sixteenth century; it has also directed growing attention towards the pioneering experimentation in religious rejuvenation overseen by Queen Mary and Cardinal Pole in the 1550s.8 We are beginning to recognise anew the vital role of both the academic exiles who settled in Leuven and Douai after Elizabeth’s accession in 1558 and the cathedral and parochial clergy deprived by her regime in the decades preceding the launch of the English mission by William Allen in the mid-1570s and the arrival of the first members of the Society of Jesus, Robert Persons and Edmund Campion, in 1580.9 It is no longer possible to see either the schism with Rome or the onset of the mission as marking quite as decisive a disjuncture in the history of English Catholicism as influential earlier work implied.10 Nevertheless, my interest here is in the clandestine phase of England’s Counter-Reformation: the era after its renewed proscription by the last Tudor monarch, during which lay and clerical members 5 P. Ha/P. Collinson (ed.), The Reception of Continental Reformation in Britain (Oxford: The British Academy, 2010). 6 Higman, “Ideas for Export”, 107. 7 Thomas Fuller, The holy state (Cambridge: Roger Daniel for John Williams, 1642) 92. On the translations of his work, see The Work of William Perkins, ed. I. Breward (Appleford, Abingdon: Sutton Courtenay Press, 1970) 106–7, 130, 613–32. 8 E. Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England 1400–1580 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991); Idem, Fires of Faith: Catholic England under Mary Tudor (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009). 9 See F. Smith, “The Origins of Elizabethan Recusancy Revisited”, Historical Journal 60 (2016) 301–32. 10 J. Bossy, The English Catholic Community 1570–1850 (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1975); C. Haigh, “The Continuity of Catholicism in the English Reformation”, in C. Haigh (ed.), The English Reformation Revised (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987) 176– 208. For an overview of the recent historiography, see my “In the Lord’s Vineyard: Catholic Reformation in Protestant Britain”, in Catholic Reformation in Protestant Britain (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014) 1–49.

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of this dispersed and pluralistic community experienced marginalisation, harassment, and persecution by the state and society at large. As I have argued elsewhere, printed books – the vast majority of which were printed on the continent and especially in Leuven, Douai and Saint-Omer – played a key part in the effort to reverse the Reformation, combat the Protestant heresy, win new devotees, and sustain the morale of those suffering from official and popular intolerance at home. Compensating for the irregular access of the laity to the clerical dispensers of spiritual guidance and sacramental grace, they functioned as ‘dumb preachers’ and facilitated the liturgical and ritual lives of those who adhered to this church under the cross. They were paradoxically both an instrument of control and indoctrination and a source of independence and autonomy that disrupted the normal order of hierarchical relations within the Church of Rome.11 Building on these insights, this essay is also a response to Simon Ditchfield’s call for us to ‘decentre’ the Counter-Reformation12 – to break down the dichotomies between universal and particular, centre and periphery that have bedevilled its interpretation, not least in England, where, until recently, the study of Catholicism has been a rather inward-looking cottage industry. By emphasising that British Catholics were eager participants in a global evangelical movement that stretched beyond Europe to the wider world, I shall underline the fluidity and mobility that were hallmarks of Catholic Reform in this period. Correcting the insularity of the long tradition of recusant history, I present translation as an emblem of the dynamically transregional character of English (and indeed Welsh, Scottish, and Irish) Catholicism. The word ‘translation’ had multiple meanings in the early modern period, as it does now. It refers to the action or process of turning a text from one language into another, but it is and was also used to denote physical movement, transportation and relocation: for example the translation of bishops to a different see, of sacred relics to distant or different churches and shrines, or of property from a testator to a legatee. Like us, contemporaries often deployed the term metaphorically and rhetorically, to indicate other forms of alteration and transmutation, including the transference of meaning itself. It had specifically religious connotations too. Some utilised it to describe the supernatural transportation of holy figures such as the prophet Enoch to heaven prior to death; others to signify the manner in which a believer was enraptured and taken into another realm of revelation. It was, furthermore, one of the many etymological registers for the concept of spiritual conversion, the turning of the soul away from 11 A. Walsham, “‘Domme Preachers?’ Post-Reformation English Catholicism and the Culture of Print”, Past & Present 168 (2000) 72–123. 12 S. Ditchfield, “Decentering the Catholic Reformation: Papacy and Peoples in the Early Modern World”, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 101 (2010) 186–208.

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error and evil towards the true God.13 As a concept, translation therefore had special resonance for a community that was “nomadic, experimental and interstitial” in character, was often itinerant rather than rooted in particular locations, and consisted of a floating diaspora in Britain, the Low Countries, France, Spain, Italy, Poland and in territories even further afield. Translation may also be treated as a species of ventriloquism, through which the voices of individuals in one context are harnessed to convey messages to constituencies in another. As a consequence, they acquire a different accent. This makes translation a particularly useful tool for probing cultural interaction and cross-fertilisation.14 It is best regarded not as an inferior and merely derivative activity, but rather as a creative process that involves accommodation, dialogue, and compromise and equal ratios of loss and gain on both sides. It involves the transfer of information across linguistic boundaries and the forging of hybrid subjectivities in the borderland between the host and target cultures. Ineluctably shaped by its ideological environment, it is never neutral or innocent. It thus offers compelling insights into the prejudices and priorities of the recipient as well as source society. Nor is its study assisted by the polarity between an ‘original’ authorial work and a ‘mere’ translation that now prevails. In a world in which Renaissance theories of imitation and emulation exercised profound influence and in which modern definitions of ‘plagiarism’ have no place, this is anachronistic and distracting. Instead we need to acknowledge a spectrum of hermeneutic practices incorporating paraphrase, commonplacing, adaptation, interpretation, editing, rewriting and de novo composition. Texts and their variant versions in other languages must be situated on this continuum and reconceived as an act of collusion between the writer and the translator.15 The shift from ‘loose’ medieval practices that sanctioned liberal alteration towards greater literalism, frequently attributed to the rise of the philological preoccupations and linguistic epistemology of humanism, should neither be celebrated as ‘progress’

13 See Oxford English Dictionary, s.n. ‘translation’ and ‘translate’ [http://www.oed.com; last accessed 22/10/2015]. 14 P. Burke/R. Po-chia Hsia (ed.), Cultural Translation in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), esp. P. Burke, “Cultures of Translation in Early Modern Europe”, 7–38. Translation is also a paradigm of the negotiation between the foreign country of the past and the present that is at the heart of the historical discipline itself. See R. Evans, “Translating Past Cultures?”, in R. Ellis/R. Evans (ed.), The Medieval Translator 4 (Exeter, 1994) 20–45, esp. 36. 15 See S. Bassnett, “When is a Translation Not a Translation?”, in S. Bassnett/A. Lefevre (ed.), Constructing Cultures: Essays on Literary Translation (Clevedon: Multilingual Matters, 1998) 25–40. See also S. Bassnett/A. Lefevre (ed.), Translation, History and Culture (London: Pinter, 1990); A. Lefevre, Translation, Rewriting and the Manipulation of Literary Form (London: Routledge, 1992).

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towards better practice nor overstated. It was prolonged, messy and fraught with much ambiguity.16 Translation has been the subject of a surge of interest and increasingly sophisticated scrutiny in recent years, as scholars recognise its significance as a site of linguistic encounter and as a crossroads of culture and knowledge, especially in the first two centuries after the advent of print.17 Earlier writers on the topic were primarily concerned with the mechanisms by which Renaissance ideas, texts and values filtered into England and carried a classical culture hitherto accessible only to those who read Latin and Greek to the unlearned. Approaching this as a patriotic process through and by which the prestige of English was enhanced and its vocabulary enriched, such scholars were concerned to trace how apology for the barbarity and coarseness of this ‘vulgar tongue’ gradually gave way to a rhetoric of conquest and to a celebration of its virtues as an expressive medium.18 Current work on translation, by contrast, questions our misguided tendency to project the hegemony of the vernacular back into the past and emphasises “the vibrant foreign presences inside English letters”.19 It underlines the instabilities engendered by the unprecedented linguistic and technological change that marked an era to which George Steiner’s phrase After Babel especially applies. It sees translation, in tandem with the book trade, as a critical agent in creating the very idea of ‘Europe’, in shaping a novel “economy of cultural commodities” and

16 F. Schurink (ed.), Tudor Translation (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2011) 4. See also D. Robinson, “The Limits of Translation” and W. Boutcher, “The Renaissance”, in P. France (ed.), The Oxford Guide to Literature in English Translation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000) 15– 20, 45–55 respectively. A useful anthology of contemporary extracts is N. Rhodes, with G. Kendal/L. Wilson (ed.), English Renaissance Translation Theory (London: Modern Humanities Research Association, 2013). A more teleological view is presented by M. Morini, Tudor Translation in Theory and Practice (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006). 17 A major resource that has facilitated this work is the database created by Brenda Hosington et al., Renaissance Cultural Crossroads [http://www.hrionline.ac.uk, last accessed 20 October 2015] as well as the ongoing work on the Universal Short Title Catalogue [http://www.ustc.ac. uk, last accessed 20 October 2015]. On the former, see B.M. Hosington, “The ‘Renaissance Cultural Crossroads’ Catalogue: A Witness to the Importance of Translation in Early Modern Britain”, in M. Walsby/G. Kemp (ed.), The Book Triumphant: Print in Transition in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 2011) 253–69. 18 See, for example, F.O. Matthiessen, Translation: An Elizabethan Art (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1931) 253–69; J.G. Ebel, “Translation and Cultural Nationalism in the Reign of Elizabeth I”, Journal of the History of Ideas 30 (1969) 593–602. 19 See A.E.B. Coldiron, Printers without Borders: Translation and Textuality in the Renaissance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015) 3, 6, and passim. See also Braden/Cummings/ Gillespie (ed.), The Oxford History of Literary Translation, vol. 2; Schurink (ed.), Tudor Translation; S.K. Barker/B.M. Hosington (ed.), Renaissance Cultural Crossroads: Translation, Print and Culture in Britain, 1473–1640 (Leiden: Brill, 2013). Other important recent work challenging the hegemony of English includes J. Gallagher, “Vernacular Language Learning in Early Modern England” (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 2015).

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in bringing “new transnational publics” into being.20 Growing awareness of the high percentage of English-language books that were translations (figures peak above 30% in the 1530s and 1570s, for instance) is beginning to challenge the stubbornly Anglocentric understanding of print culture in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries that we derive from the Short Title Catalogue.21 Constraints of space mean that this essay investigates only one dimension of translation: printed texts translated into English from Latin and foreign vernaculars. This is to omit a number of vital aspects of this enterprise, including translations into Latin and translations of texts in English into other languages. Most of the neo-Latin literature has been sadly overlooked, despite the fact that some of the most influential texts produced by English Catholic writers – such as Nicholas Harpsfield’s Dialogi Sex and Nicholas Sander’s De origine ac progressu schismatis Anglicani initially or indeed only circulated in Latin during this period.22 Of the 60 editions of Edmund Campion’s Rationes Decem that appeared prior to 1640 some 45 were in Latin; apart from a single version in English published in 1632, the remainder were in French, Dutch, Spanish, Italian, German, Czech, Polish, Hungarian.23 Together these categories of translation comprise the ‘export’ side of the market and they far outweigh the ‘import’ side: in their invaluable catalogues of the Contemporary Printed literature of the English Counter-Reformation, Anthony Allison and David Rogers list 1619 works in languages other than English and 932 works in English.24 Although translation was a lively component of the culture of scribal publication that flourished in 20 G. Steiner, After Babel: Aspects of Language and Translation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975). Recent contributions on this theme include J.M. Pérez Fernández/E. Wilson-Lee (ed.), Translation and the Book Trade in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), esp. “Introduction”, 18–20; B.M. Hosington (ed.), “Translation and Print Culture in Early Modern Europe”, Special Issue of Renaissance Studies 29 (2015), esp. “Introduction”, 5–18; and K. Newman/J. Tylus (ed.), Early Modern Cultures of Translation (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015). For a recent study of transculturalism as a wider phenomenon, see H. Hackett (ed.), Early Modern Exchanges: Dialogues between Nations and Cultures (Farnham: Ashgate, 2015). 21 See N. Rhodes, “Afterword”, in Pérez Fernández/Wilson-Lee (ed.), Translation and the Book Trade in Early Modern Europe, 224; A.W. Pollard/G.R. Redgrave, A Short Title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland and Ireland and of English Books Printed Abroad, 1475– 1640, revised and enlarged by W.A. Jackson/F.S. Ferguson/K.F. Pantzer (3 vol.; London: Bibliographical Society, 1976–1991). 22 Francis Young is currently investigating this subject. 23 Campian Englished. Or A translation of the Ten reasons ([Rouen]: [Jean Cousturier], 1632]). A. F. Allison/D.M. Rogers, The Contemporary Printed Literature of the English CounterReformation between 1558 and 1640: An Annotated Catalogue (2 vol.; Aldershot: Ashgate, 1989–1994) [hereafter ARCR], I, Nos. 135.1–193; II, No. 116. These catalogues are not confined to translations. 24 ARCR I and II. See also A.I. Doyle and T.A. Birrell’s reviews of these volumes in Recusant History 20 (1990) 145–8 and 22 (1994) 113–22 respectively.

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post-Reformation Catholicism, I shall largely sidestep those that appeared in manuscript. Nor is there room for more than passing mention of texts translated into the regional languages of Welsh, Scots and Irish Gaelic, and Cornish. The latter themselves were in a state of flux and retreat, challenged by drives towards political centralisation and Anglicisation which were complicated by the varied patterns of confessionalisation across the British Isles and by the participation of these linguistic communities in the wider process of religious ferment.25 It is also necessary to set to one side the knotty and complex question of the Douai-Reims translation of the Bible. As Gregory Martin conceded in his preface to the New Testament in 1582, its preparation was a concession to the circumstances in which the missionary priesthood found itself. This was a climate in which, as Cardinal Allen had acknowledged in a private letter a few years earlier, Catholics needed to have a weapon with which to combat the heretics at “their finger ends”. In this context, things that were not otherwise requisite or “wholy tolerable” were “profitable” and “medicinable” now. The annotations that surrounded the text and filled its margins reflected the anxiety of the clerical hierarchy about the dangers of misinterpretation and democratisation, while their fidelity to the Vulgate reflected their reverence for the version prescribed as orthodox by Trent.26 Itself an earlier translation into the lingua franca of Latin from Hebrew and Greek, ironically the latter was now only intelligible to an educated elite.27 As Daniel Cheely has demonstrated, Roman Catholicism’s stance in relation to the special case of the rendition of scripture in the vernacular and lay access to it has far more nuance and texture than has been appreciated hitherto.28 The heated polemical disputes in which Catholics engaged with Protestants about whether it was better to translate word for word, or sense for sense, should themselves be recognised as foreshadowing the theoretical debates

25 See P. Blank, “Languages of Early Modern Literature in Britain”, in D. Loewenstein/J.M. Mueller (ed.), The Cambridge History of Early Modern English Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002) 141–69; T. Ó hAnnracháin/R. Armstrong (ed.), Christianities in the Early Modern Celtic World (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), esp. T. Ó hAnnracháin, “Religious Acculturation and Affiliation in Early Modern Gaelic Scotland, Gaelic Ireland, Wales and Cornwall”, 13. Also F. Heal, “Mediating the Word: Language and Dialects in the British and Irish Reformations”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 56 (2005) 261–86. 26 The new testament of Jesus Christ, translated faithfully into English, out of the authentical Latin (Reims: Jean de Foigny, 1582), preface, sig. a2 r°–v°; The First and Second Diaries of the English College, Douay, ed. T.F. Knox (London: D. Nutt, 1878) xl–xli. See A. Walsham, “Unclasping the Book? Post-Reformation English Catholicism and the Vernacular Bible”, Journal of British Studies 42 (2003) 141–66. 27 See Rhodes (ed.), English Renaissance Translation Theory, 10. 28 D. Cheely, “Opening the Book of Marwood: Catholic Bibles and their Readers in Early Modern Europe” (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Pennsylvania, 2015).

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upon which the formal discipline of Translation Studies was erected in the twentieth century.29 The first category of translations for discussion comprises the works of the Church fathers and revered medieval monastic writers who had long since died – figures such as Augustine, Cyprian, Gregory the Great, St Benedict, St Bernard, and the Venerable Bede. In translating such texts, Catholic writers were consciously laying claim to Christianity’s disputed heritage: they were engaged in a battle for possession of the patristic past and in a bid to demonstrate the antiquity and unbroken continuity of the Church of Rome since the earliest centuries and since its first plantation in the British Isles.30 They deliberately invoked these ancient heroes as ‘indifferent reporters’ in the bitter debate over which version of contemporary Christianity embodied the truth in its apostolic purity. Prefaced by a plea to Elizabeth I to fulfil her destiny as defender of the faith and by a summary of the differences between the primitive and the “late pretended” Protestant churches, the Leuven exile Thomas Stapleton underlined the point that his 1565 translation of Bede’s history of the English Church was “no story of our owne devising, no late compiled matter” coloured by “partialitie”, but an account written by a man of unblemished integrity who had lived in a cloister from the age of seven and in a “quiet time, before these controversies which nowe so trouble Christendom were moved”. There could be no suspicion of partisanship, “no prejudice of favouring either side, no feare of affection or missejudgement to be gathered upon him”.31 Philip Woodward’s rendering of Gregory the Great’s Dialogues also invoked this famous pope as an impartial witness to the beliefs of the ancient Catholic Church. “What better umpiere in this cause can be had then he?” The critical factor here was that Gregory had lived within the 600 year period before Christianity had, according to Protestant polemicists, descended into

29 See Rhodes (ed.), English Renaissance Translation Theory, and other items cited in notes 15 and 16 above. 30 Among many examples, see St Augustine, A heavenly treasure of comfortable meditations and prayers, trans. Anthony Batt (Saint-Omer: John Heigham, 1624); St Bernard, A rule of good life, trans. Anthony Batt (Douai: Laurence Kellam, 1633); Gregory the Great, The second booke of the dialogues, trans. C. F. ([Douai]: [widow of Marc Wyon], 1638). See M. Vessey, “English Translations of the Latin Fathers, 1517–1613”, in I. Backus (ed.), The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West, from the Carolingians to the Maurists (2 vol.; Leiden: Brill, 1997) 1.775– 839, esp. 806–34. On Augustine, see A.S.Q. Visser, Reading Augustine in the Reformation: The Flexibility of Intellectual Authority in Europe, 1500–1620 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). 31 Bede, The history of the Church of Englande, trans. Thomas Stapleton (Antwerpen: John Laet, 1565), quotations at fol. 3 ro (sig. A3 r°), sig. *3 r°, 4 v°, fol. 2 r° (sig. A2 r°), fol. 3 r° (sig. A3 r°). See also P.J. Stapleton, “Pope Gregory and the Gens Anglorum: Thomas Stapleton’s Translation of Bede”, Renaissance Papers (2008) 15–34.

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corruption and darkness.32 Augustine was also a valuable weapon in the struggle against Protestantism, because he had been the most eloquent “tongue of [the] holy church” against “rebellious heretickes” and “schismaticks” in the late fourth and early fifth centuries.33 Catholic translators such as the Jesuit Anthony Hopkins produced their own versions to combat the Protestant appropriations of later medieval classics such as Thomas a Kempis’s Imitation of Christ.34 The Suffolk vicar Thomas Rogers defended the manner in which these were massaged to make them speak with Reformed accents by saying that had the original author lived “in these daies of light” rather than “the time of most palpable blindnes” he would have redressed the doctrinal errors in his text himself; Rogers’ own role was that of the “godlie corrector” of these offences and faults.35 In turn, the recusant translations provide a similarly transparent window onto their own theological imperatives. Stapleton’s Bede, for instance, casts humanist anxiety about ‘superstition’ into sharp relief. Concerned to vindicate the manifold miracles in his history from Protestant mockery, he deftly turned their charges of incredulity back against the martyr stories incorporated in John Foxe’s Actes and monuments, revealing a caution about manifestations of the supernatural that was only slowly and partially eclipsed by baroque enthusiasm.36 Translations of the Bible, Fathers and monastic writers involved transposition not merely from Latin to English, but also from the past to the present. But from movement in time, we must turn to movement in space – to the translation of texts by contemporary and living authors resident in other countries. Polemical works, many of them produced by the intellectual exiles who settled in Leuven, Douai and Reims in the 1560s, are one subset of this large category, from which three striking examples may be selected. One is Thomas Stapleton’s version of the German professor of theology at Ingolstadt, Frederick Staphylus’s Apologie on the topics of the true and right understanding of holy Scripture, the translation of the bible into the vernacular, and disagreement in doctrine among the Protestants. Dated 1565, it reveals how far the pressing questions and challenges facing 32 The dialogues of S. Gregorie, surnamed the great, trans. P[hilip] W[oodward] (Paris [Douai]: [Charles Boscard], 1608), preface to the reader, sig. c2 r°. 33 Augustine, Heavenly treasure, sig. A2 r°. 34 Thomas a Kempis, The following of Christ devided into foure bookes, trans. Anthony Hoskins ([Saint-Omer]: [English College Press], 1613). 35 Thomas a Kempis, Soliloquium animae. The sole-talke of the soule. Or a spirituall and heavenlie dialogue betwixt the soule of man and God … The fourth book of the Imitation of Christ, trans. Thomas Rogers (London: [R. Yardley and P. Short], sold by Andrew Maunsell, 1592) sig. A3 v°–4 r°. See D. Crane, “English Translations of the Imitatio Christi in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries”, Recusant History 13 (1975) 79–100. See also David Harrap, “The Phenomena of Prayer: The Reception of the Imitatio Christi in England (1438 – c.1600)”, unpublished PhD thesis (Queen Mary University of London, 2016). 36 See Bede, History, trans. Stapleton, 4–10.

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English Catholicism resonated with those in other parts of Europe. Stapleton hoped that Staphylus’s detection of Protestantism’s errors and of its scandalous internal dissensions would “profit many a Christen soule of my dere deceived countremen” and keep them “under the wing of our mother the Catholike church and geve no more eare to every new forged fantasie of seditious schismatikes”. His demonstration that “the doctrine of the new ghospellers, was nought els but their own traditions, their propre inventions, and privat imaginations” was grist to Stapleton’s mill, who augmented it with a tract of his own sharply castigating the first founders of this upstart heresy – Luther, Melanchthon, and especially Calvin. He deftly appropriated Staphylus’s attack to provide ammunition for his embattled Catholic brethren in England.37 Stapleton also translated Of the expresse worde of God (1567) by the eminent Polish cardinal and President of the Council of Trent, Stanislaus Hozyusz (Hosius), with whom he had studied in his youth and whose secretary was the noted English controversialist Nicholas Sanders. Finding himself (as it were) lost for words, Stapleton had decided to appropriate another’s and turn them into his “vulgar tounge” as a spiritual preservative “most necessary” for “health and savegarde in this perilous tyme”.38 Also envisaged as a “soverayne salve” for souls seduced by heresy, a second text by Hozyusz had appeared under the title The hatchet of heresies two years earlier, though this time the midwife was the law student Richard Shacklock.39 The third example, also published in 1565, is Lewis Evans’s edition of Willem Lindanus, bishop of Roermond’s Latin tables discovering the “rashe rablement of heretikes”. Dedicated provocatively to the Protestant archbishop of York, Edmund Grindal, this was designed to disabuse English ministers and laypeople of the “haynous errours, & hatefull heresies” by which they had been seduced. It was a “medicine, to heale their inward most grevous, and synfull sores”. Originally issued for the instruction and profit of the people of Guelders it could surely do equal good in England. Evans provocatively told Grindal that he should not “scorne … to be schooled at the handes” of his Catholic rival.40 Intended for readers on both sides of the confessional divide, these were texts that their translators were confident could effect the conversion of committed heretics. 37 Fridericus Staphylus, The apologie …to the late emperor Ferdinandus, &c (Antwerp: Hans de Laet, 1565), quotations at fol. 5 r°, 9 r°–v°, 11 v°. 38 Stanislaus Hozyusz, Of the expresse worde of God. A shorte, but a most excellent treatyse and very necessary for this tyme, trans. Thomas Stapleton (Leuven: Jan Bogard, 1567) sig. *2 r° and 4 v°. 39 Stanislaus Hozyusz, A most excellent treatise of the begynnyng of heresyes in oure tyme … The hatchet of heresies, trans. Richard Shacklock (Antwerpen: Gillis van Diest, 1565) sig. a7 r°. 40 Willem Lindanus, bishop of Roermond, Certaine tables sett furth … wherein is detected and made manifeste the doting dangerous doctrine, and haynous heresyes, of the rashe rablement of heretikes, trans. Lewis Evans (Antwerpen: Gillis van Diest, 1565) sig. A2 v°, E5 v°.

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If English Catholics were quick to recognise the relevance of belligerent works of controversy written by their co-religionists abroad, they also readily appropriated the printed catechisms that flowed from foreign presses in this period. The most famous of these were those prepared by the Jesuits Peter Canisius and Roberto Bellarmino, which not only found their way into multiple European tongues but were also translated for readers in Ethiopia, India, China and Japan.41 Canisius’s famous Certayne necessarie principles of religion or Summe of Christian doctrine appeared in several English vernacular versions. The first was the work of Laurence Vaux: although its preface acknowledged the influence of Canisius the extent of the debt has rarely been acknowledged. The second was in a tiny sextodecimo format and was probably printed in London in 1579: amplified and Englished by a certain T. I., it was designed to instruct “younglings” and those weak in faith.42 A later edition by Henry Garnet incorporated significant additions on the controverted questions of relics, pilgrimages, and pardons and indulgences. These were “either not touched at all, or not so throughly handled [in Canisius’s original text], as the necessity of our countrey doth require”. A further section on service and scripture in the vulgar tongue was omitted because of the “manifolde difficulties” of printing in a context of persecution. Garnet spoke of his Dutch colleague’s text as “a torch or candell” to guide the faithful in a time of darkness and described his own interpolations as “certaine little kindled sizes, to lighten some secrete corners which might otherwise annoy thee”, and as posy of flowers to repel “all manner of pestilential vapours, which in so unsavoury an aire thou maiest meete withall”. Replete with vicious attacks on those “first breeders” of heresy, Wyclif, Hus and Luther, this was a device for keeping the plague of heresy at bay. Garnet filled its margins with references to passages in Scripture and the Fathers so that readers had the relevant authorities to refute their adversaries directly at hand. In adapting it for use in England, he added, among other things, a sarcastic aside accusing his adversaries of hypocrisy in denouncing the miracles wrought by saints while simultaneously upholding the monarch’s hereditary power to heal by the royal touch.43 The title page of the 1639

41 See J. Brodrick, Saint Peter Canisius (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1963) 242–45. 42 Laurence Vaux, A Catechisme, or a Christian Doctrine Necessarie for Chyldren and the Ignorant People ([Leuven]: [John Fowler], 1568); Peter Canisius, Certayne Necessarie Principles of Religion, which may be Entituled, A Catechisme Conteyning all the Partes of the Christian and Catholique Faith (Douai [Londen]: Jean Bogard [William Carter, secret press no. 2], [1578–1579]). For a more detailed discussion of Canisius’s catechisms, see my “Wholesome Milk and Strong Meat: Peter Canisius’s Catechisms and the Conversion of Protestant Britain”, British Catholic History 32 (2015) 293–314. 43 Peter Canisius, A Summe of Christian Doctrine: Composed in Latin … With an Appendix of the Fall of Man & Justification, according to the Doctrine of the Councel of Trent … To which is Adjoined the Explication of Certaine Questions not Handled at Large in the Booke as shall

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edition, published by the English College Press at Saint-Omer, clearly displayed its credentials as an anti-Protestant text: it bore the words of Titus 3:10: “A man that is an Heretike, after the first admonition avoyd”.44 A Welsh edition appeared in two parts in 1609–11, while the Paris-based academic Adam King had produced a version in Lowland Scots in 1588. This included a long denunciation of the revised calendar of saints prefixed to Protestant bibles, designed to reveal “the malice and ignorance quhairby the Calviniane ministers” abused “the simple and unlearned peple”, and various prayers for the conversion of heretics to the holy Catholic kirk and the reclamation of the vineyard of Scotland from its devastation at the hands of the iconoclastic reformers.45 Both more important and more voluminous were devotional and liturgical works: the guides to private prayer, meditation, and spiritual perfection that were proliferating in the heartlands of Tridentine Catholicism. English translators harnessed a wide variety of European authors in the sixteenth century, notably the Spanish Dominican Luis de Granada, the Italian Jesuit Gaspar Loarte and his German counterpart, Jeremias Drexelius; in the seventeenth the centre of gravity shifted slightly to France and the writings of the Jesuit Louis Richeome and of Bishop François de Sales became especially popular and fashionable.46 None of these figures visited England, but they still became part of the mission to reclaim it from the clutches of Protestantism. Sales’ Introduction to a devout life first appeared in English in 1613, the work of John Yakesley (Yaxley), and was repeatedly reissued during the following decades.47 Translated by a former member of the Middle Temple Richard Hopkins and published in 1582 and 1586 respectively, Luis de Granada’s Of Prayer and Meditation and Memoriall of a Christian Life were other steady bestsellers. Encouraged by Thomas Harding,

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Appeare in the Table ([Printed secretly in England at Garnet’s first press, press no. 8, 1592– 1596]), quotations at p. 485, sig. *4 r°, *3 r°–v°, 662, 627–28. [Peter Canisius], A Summary of Controversies wherein the Chiefest Points of the Catholike Roman Faith are Compendiously and Methodically Explicated, by Way of Catechisme, against the Sectaries of this Age, trans. P. C. ([Saint-Omer]: [widow of Charles Boscard?], 1639). Peter Canisius, [Crynnodeb] o adysc Cristnogaul (Paris: 1609); Idem, Opus catechisticum … Sum ne grynodebo adysc Gristionogaul, ed. and trans. Rosier Smyth (Paris: Jean Laquehay, 1611); idem, Ane Catechisme or Schort Instruction of Christian Religion Drawen out of the Scripturs and Ancient Doctors …. With ane Kallendar Perpetuale … In the End ar Adjoined Certain Godlie Prayers and ane Schort Method Whairby Every Man may Exame his Conscience, ed. and trans. Adam King (Paris: Peter Hury, 1588) sig. i.viiij ro. The prayers are printed in separately paginated section entitled “Certane Devot prayers”, see esp. fol. 36 v°–37 v°. See ARCR, II, Nos. 270, 345–348.5, 426, 439–45 (Luis de Granada), 63–66, 269–70, 896–8 (Gaspar Loarte), 408.5, 690, 891 (Jeremias Drexelius); 165, 647–48, 870–75 (François de Sales); 2, 775 (Louis Richeome). François de Sales, An introduction to a devoute life, trans. J[ohn] Y[akesley] ([Douai]: John Heigham, 1613). See also W.C. Marceau, “Recusant Translations of Saint Francis de Sales”, Downside Review 114 (1996) 221–33.

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who believed that spiritual books of this kind were more beneficial to the cause than books of controversy, Hopkins’ endeavours were underpinned by his ardent conviction that the apocalypse was nigh and that it was vital to arm Christians against the temptations by which Satan would assail them in the last days. One principal sign of this was the spread of horrible sects and heresies, above all the Puritans. Luis de Granada’s austere penitential message, Hopkins believed, had particular relevance in a land infected with schism and heresy, and he saw fit to include the exhortation by Bernard de Fresneda, the Bishop of Cuenca, and privy councillor to Philip II, to the readers of the first Spanish edition, which recommended it as “good and holesome foode” to the faithful and as “so sweete and savorie honie combes”. Hopkins thus allowed his own audience to eavesdrop on an address made to Catholics living in the Habsburg kingdom whose ruler was busy planning an invasion of Protestant Britain.48 Hopkins’ edition of the Memoriall was set forth with a similar purpose; but like Garnet’s translation of Canisius it too was augmented with extra material tailored to the English context, with which he had been assisted by various learned divines. These concerned such contentious subjects as penitential satisfaction and sacramental confession and various cases of conscience, ranging from the taking of oaths, the reading of heretical books, the appointment of godparents, and the observance of holydays, to hunting, witchcraft, and the ‘abominable’ custom (imported from Germany) of drunken carousing. The distinction between Luis de Granada’s text and Hopkins’ additions was signalled by the size of the font in which they were printed, and in a later edition by the insertion of quotation marks in the margins.49 Another work by the Spanish Dominican on the love of God was incorporated in an omnibus edition of Six Spiritual Books published in Saint-Omer in 1611. Declaring that Luis de Granada discoursed “so divinely, that some heavenly Cherubim or Serpahin, seemeth rather to speak by his mouth, then a mortall man”, the translator turned his angelic voice into the English vernacular.50 Gaspar Loarte’s Exercise of Christian Life was translated by Stephen Brinkley under a pseudonym in 1579 and dedicated to the Society of Jesus as a 48 See Luis de Granada, Of prayer, and meditation. Wherein are conteined fowertien devoute meditations for the seven daies of the weeke, trans. Richard Hopkins (Paris: Thomas Brumeau, 1582) sig. b3 v°–8 r°, at b7 v°. For a fuller account, see my “Luis de Granada’s Mission to Protestant England: Translating the Devotional Literature of the Spanish Counter Reformation”, in T. Bela/C. Calma/J. Rzegocka (ed.), Publishing Subversive Texts in Elizabethan England and the Polish-Lithuanian Poland (Leiden: Brill, 2016) 129–54. 49 A memorial of a Christian life. Wherein are treated all such thinges, as appertayne unto a Christian to doe, from the beginninge of his conversion, until the end of his perfection, trans. Richard Hopkins (Rouen: George L’Oyselet, 1586) 262. 50 A treatise of the love of God, wherein consisteth the perfection of the Christian life, in Six spiritual books ful of marvellous pietie and devotion, comp. and trans. John Heigham (2nd edn.; Douai: John Heigham, 1611) 204.

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testimony of his zeal and devotion to this order. “[A] bird of your own brood pluckt out her natural plume, and … decked up with foreine fether”, the book was a detailed guide to daily devotions that proved to have equally wide and enduring appeal. Reissued at Rouen in 1584, it was adorned with the holy name of Jesus and supplemented by several prayers, including one to be said “when thou art called to professe thy faith, or to sustaine any kind of affliction for the same”.51 Such adaptations made it even more explicitly a source of comfort and solace to the beleaguered Catholics of England. The chief aim of such texts was to cultivate interior piety. They promoted forms of private meditation that belie, if not invert the stereotype of Protestantism as an individualistic religion and Catholicism as a predominantly corporate and communal one. Sometimes their tendency to promote religious internalisation was reinforced by entirely incidental factors. Louis Richeome’s Holy pictures of the mysticall figures of the most holy sacrifice and sacrament of the Eucharist (1619) lacked the images that had appeared in the original publication because the woodblocks were worn and defective. This had the effect of compelling its readers to visualise them in their own minds and imaginations, assisted by the verbal descriptions that had accompanied them.52 In recommending meditative retreat into an inner world the original authors of such works invoked stories such as the voluntary flight of the Holy Family out of Egypt, which provided recusants and religious migrants with a model of their own condition of literal and metaphorical exile.53 Whether they were physically dislocated from their native country or not, men and women who remained faithful to Rome must have found these books peculiarly pertinent in coping with their own situation. Turned into a dialogue between a hermit and a pilgrim about how to reach spiritual perfection, Alonso de Madrid’s Breefe methode dating from c. 1602–5 was prefaced by reflections about the “exile and vale of woes” into which all humans had been cast by the Fall of Man and as consequence of original sin.54 This too was a figure of the miseries suffered by Catholics persecuted by the English Protestant state. In this sense, confessional politics remained close to the surface in works of this kind: even as they supplied a place of mental refuge and 51 Gaspar Loarte, The exercise of a Christian life, trans. J.S. [Stephen Brinkley] ([Rouen]: [Fr. Persons’s press], 1584) sig. *2 v°, pp. 404–13. 52 Louis Richeome, Holy pictures of the mysticall figures of the most holy sacrifice and sacrament of the eucharist ([Printed secretly in England, press no. 18], 1619) sig. A2 r°–v°. 53 See, for example, François de Sales, Delicious entertainments of the soule, trans. Pudentiania Deacon (Douai: Gérard Pinchon, 1632) 28–52. On the metaphorical exile of recusant writers, see A. Shell, Catholicism, Controversy and the English Literary Imagination, 1558–1660 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999) chapters 5–6. 54 Alonso de Madrid, A breefe method or way teaching all sortes of Christian people, how to serve God in a moste perfect manner, trans. I.M. ([Printed secretly in England: press no. 13, between 1602–1605]) sig. A1 v°–2 r°.

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asylum from the tribulations and trials of being a member of a proscribed religion, they also functioned as a medium for prosecuting the polemical quarrels that were tearing Europe apart. The publication of devotional treatises of this type often entailed a second kind of translation: the transfer of monastic routines and regimens out of the cloister into the lay and secular world. This was a process, of course, that had many precedents in the pre-Reformation era: it was at the heart of the movement known as the devotio moderna. But, once again, it was a tendency that the circumstances in which English Catholicism found itself served to intensify. It is striking how frequently such books were said to have been originally prepared only as an act of personal piety or for the benefit of a select group of fellow religious men and women, but then published by order of their spiritual superiors. Many translators were professed members of the English houses in the Low Countries and France and their work may be seen as another arm of the mission of the written word. François de Sales’s Delicious Entertainments (1632) is a case in point. Translated by Pudentiana Deacon, a Benedictine nun in Cambrai, the text repeatedly addressed the “dear daughters” and “sisters” of the Frenchspeaking community in Annecy for which de Sales had originally written it. The publisher advised the lay reader to either skip over passages that pertained to those who had taken vows or apply these to themselves “with some little chaunge”.55 The popularity of such books suggests that the rhythms of monastic piety were widely mimicked in Catholic households – a surmise that is backed up by the hagiographical lives written about recusant ladies and gentleman like Dorothy Lawson and Lady Magdalen Montagu.56 A rule of good life translated by Anthony Batt, a Benedictine monk of the community Dieulouard in Lorraine, was likewise initially a private exercise intended for the eyes of virgins and other religious women of his order. But it too escaped the convent walls and crossed the Channel to inspire the beleaguered English Catholic laity who “aspire[d] to Christian perfection” behind the closed doors of their homes.57 The private introspection fostered by spiritual books like Michael Walpole’s translation of The lyf of the mother Teresa of Jesus (1611) was not without its ambiguities and hazards. Advertised as “very profitable for all vertuous and deuout people, and for all those that are desyrous to be such”, the original dedication to the prioress and sisters of the Discalced Carmelites of Madrid 55 François de Sales, Delicious entertainments, sig. a¯3 r°. 56 See William Palmes, The Life of Mrs Dorothy Lawson, of St Anthony’s, near Newcastle-uponTyne, ed. G.B. Richardson (Newcastle-upon-Tyne: G.B. Richardson, 1855); An Elizabethan Recusant House Comprising the Life of the Lady Magdalen Viscountess Montague (1538– 1608), ed. A.C. Southern (London: Sands and Co, 1954). 57 St Bernard of Clairvaux, A rule of good life, trans. Batt. See title page and dedication to Frances Gawen.

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warned readers that “the interiour conversation of the soul with God … may be an occasion of daunger, in which they are deceyved; for … the devil doeth sometimes transfigure himself into an Angell of light”. Written by the book’s official licenser, this epistle described the process by which he had compared unauthorised copies (which “varyed not a little, eyther by the negligence of the writers, or els by audacity, & error”) with the original manuscripts and reduced them “to their proper purity”, declaring it “an exceeding great presumption to make any mutation in those things, which were written by her, in whose breast God lived”.58 The work of censorship must be understood as a form of translation itself. In areas such as Italy and the Iberian peninsula in which it operated, it inspired authors to alter, expurgate and ‘translate’ their works themselves. It promoted a process of reflection and vigilance that resulted in “subtly calibrated interventions and rewritings”.59 A not insignificant number of foreign Catholic works were simultaneously translated on both sides of the confessional divide. Several of the items already mentioned had Protestant counterparts. ‘Perused’ and ‘purged’ of their popish elements by Reformed writers, they managed to secure licences and to circulate freely in orthodox circles. The most celebrated example is Edmund Bunny’s bowdlerised version of Robert Persons’ Book of Resolution, which was itself inspired by Gaspar Loarte’s Exercise and owed much of its structure, language and imagery to Luis de Granada’s Libra Llamado Guia de Peccadores (1556).60 Bestselling books by Luis de Granada, François de Sales, and Jeremias Drexelius (notably his Angel-Guardian’s Clock) were appropriated in the same way.61 They supplied a glaring gap in the existing market, of which some Reformed ministers were acutely conscious themselves. The precocious output and superior productivity of their enemies in the production of devotional texts was a source of 58 The lyf of the mother Teresa of Jesus; foundresse of the monasteries of the descalced or barefooted Carmelite nunnes and fryers, of the first rule, trans. W.M. [Michael Walpole] (Antwerp: Henry Jaye, 1611), title page, sig. **3 r°–v°, **2 v°–3 r°. 59 See S. Munari, “Translation, Re-writing and Censorship during the Counter-Reformation”, in Pérez Fernández/Wilson-Lee (ed.), Translation and the Book Trade, 185–200, at 197. See also G. Caravale, Forbidden Prayer: Church Censorship and Devotional Literature in Renaissance Italy (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011). 60 Edmund Bunny, A booke of Christian exercise appertaining to resolution, that is, shewing how that we should resolve our selves to become Christians indeede (London: [J. Windet], 1585). See B. Gregory, “The ‘True and Zealous Service of God’: Robert Parsons, Edmund Bunny, and The First Booke of the Christian Exercise”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 45 (1994) 238–68; V. Houliston, “Why Robert Persons would not be Pacified: Edmund Bunny’s Theft of The Book of Resolution”, in T.M. McCoog (ed.), The Reckoned Expense: Edmund Campion and the Early English Jesuits (Rome: Institutum Historicum Societatis Iesu, 2007) 209–32. 61 On the latter, see J.M. Blom, “A German Jesuit and his Anglican Readers: The Case of Jeremias Drexelius”, in G.A.M. Janssens/F.G.A.M. Aarts (ed.), Studies in Seventeenth-Century English Literature, History and Bibliography (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1984) 41–51.

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embarrassment to Puritan preachers like Stephen Egerton, who admitted that the lack of Protestant guides for “the certaine and daily direction of a Christian” was a weakness which “the Papists cast in our teeth”.62 Some thought that, if electively edited, Catholic books could help to redress the perceived spiritual impoverishment from which some pastors thought that their own congregations were suffering. Divines such as Robert Abbot defended the act of collecting “gold” from these “dunghills” for the purpose of “furnishing the temple of the Lord”.63 As John Yamamoto-Wilson has remarked, the tendency of modern scholars to describe this enterprise as a form of literary or textual ‘piracy’ reflects a misunderstanding of the nature of authorship in this society, as well as of the flexibility and expansiveness of the category of translation in early modern England.64 At the same time, however, the contemporary allegations of theft and mutilation to which they gave rise arguably assisted in recasting the meaning of these categories of textual production. These parallel Reformed and Catholic versions emphasise the blurred and porous nature of the boundary between the denominations in post-Reformation England. This interface was further complicated by typographical devices designed to disguise the identity of popish books, such as anonymity, false imprints and innocent sounding titles. Camouflaged in this way, many fell into the hands of unsuspecting Protestants. Indeed, likening themselves to industrious bees which collect wholesome nectar and honey from the same blossom from which the spider sucks poison and venom, the translators of such texts often anticipated a religiously mixed audience.65 The imagined communities of their readerships not merely straddled the Channel and territorial borders, but confessional ones too. Translations of this type reinforce Anthony Milton and Alison Shell’s observations about the ambiguities of anti-Catholicism and the complexities of censorship in early modern England.66 They also reveal how these discourses and 62 Richard Rogers, Seven treatises, containing such direction as is gathered out of the holie scriptures, leading and guiding to true happiness, both in this life, and in the life to come: and may be called the practise of Christianitie, trans. Stephen Egerton (London: Henry Ballard for Walter Burre, 1603), epistle “To the Christian Reader” (sig. A3 r°). See also E.K. Hudson, “The Catholic Challenge to Puritan Piety, 1580–1620”, Catholic Historical Review 77 (1991) 1–20; A. Shell, “Spiritual and Devotional Prose”, in Braden/Cummings/Gillespie (ed.), The Oxford History of Literary Translation, 2.418–30; J.R. Yamamoto-Wilson, “The Protestant Reception of Catholic Devotional Literature in England to 1700”, Recusant History 32 (2014) 67–89. 63 Robert Abbott, The second part of the defence of the reformed Catholicke (London: [Richard Field for] George Bishop, 1607) 982. 64 See especially J.R. Yamamoto-Wilson, “Robert Persons’s Resolution (1582) and the Issue of Textual Piracy in Protestant Editions of Catholic Devotional Literature”, Reformation and Renaissance Review 15 (2013) 177–98. 65 For example, Bede, History, trans. Stapleton, fol. 3 v°. 66 A. Milton, “Licensing, Censorship and Religious Orthodoxy in Early Stuart England”, Historical Journal 41 (1998) 625–51; idem, “A Qualified Intolerance: The Limits and Ambiguities

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disciplinary processes could exacerbate tensions and frictions within the Church of England itself. When an unexpurgated version of Yakesley’s translation of Francis de Sales’ Introduction to a Devout Life appeared from a mainstream press in 1637, it became a focus of Puritan anxiety about the innovations introduced by William Laud, Archbishop of Canterbury from 1633, whose policies to restore the beauty of holiness were construed by godly Protestants as a covert plan to reintroduce popery. Condoning the publication of popish texts of this kind was among the crimes for which Laud was indicted at his trial in 1644 and executed early in 1645.67 Two final categories of translation deserve attention in the final pages of this essay. One is the genre of histories and collections of miracles of celebrated continental shrines. Published as a spirited riposte to Protestant claims that such wonders had ceased and as proof that the truth of Catholicism was endorsed by extraordinary divine interventions, such books linked English devotees to their patron saints with their brethren overseas. The Brussels-based priest, Robert Chambers, prefaced Philips Numan’s register of the Virgin Mary’s miracles at Montaigu (or Scherpenheuvel) with a long dedication to James I, appealing to the memory of his murdered mother, Mary Queen of Scots, and urging him to extend toleration to his Catholic subjects, together with an address to his reader declaring that the “heavenly signes” attested in the text should sustain them through their trials as members of a minority faith.68 T.P.’s English version of Orazio Torsellino’s Historie of our B. Lady of Loreto (1608) was similarly prepared for “the well-fare of our distressed Countrey”, to present to the eyes of the people of “this out-cast and abandoned Iland” a “Paradise” that was an “infallible refuge and harbour of security” in their time of tribulation.69 In rendering these texts in English, translators were not merely catering for wealthy recusants who had the leisure and money to undertake sacred expeditions to see them; they were also enabling literate Catholics of lesser means to undertake vicarious pilgrimages to places renowned for their holiness across Christendom. They were metaphoriof Early Stuart Anti-Catholicism”, in A. F. Marotti (ed.), Catholicism and Anti-Catholicism in Early Modern English Texts (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1999) 85–115; A. Shell, “Catholic Texts and Anti-Catholic Prejudice in the 17th-century Book Trade”, in R. Myers/M. Harris (ed.), Censorship and the Control of Print in England and France 1600–1910 (Winchester: St Paul’s Bibliographies, 1992) 33–57. On censorship, see also A. Hunt, “Licensing and Religious Censorship in Early Modern England”, in A. Hadfield (ed.), Literature and Censorship in Renaissance England (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2001) 127–46. 67 N.W. Bawcutt, “A Crisis of Laudian Censorship: Nicholas and John Okes and the Publication of Sales’ An Introduction to a Devout Life in 1637”, The Library 7th series, 1 (2000) 403–38. 68 Philippe Numan, Miracles lately vvrought by the intercession of the glorious Virgin Marie, at Mont-aigu, nere vnto Siché in Brabant, trans. Robert Chambers (Antwerp: Arnold Conings, 1606). 69 Orazio Torsellino, The history of our B. Lady of Loreto, trans. T. P. ([Saint-Omer]: [English College Press], 1608) sig. *7 r°–v°, *5 r°, **1 v°.

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cally transporting their readers to sites at which stupendous miracles repeatedly occurred. In this respect, it is particularly striking to find a set of three broadsides translated into English, Lowland Scots and Welsh from an Italian text by Pietro Teramano summarising the “miraculous origin and translation” of the Virgin’s shrine (or the “wondrus flittinge” of her kirk).70 The linguistic journeys traced by the texts that were subsequently written about the Holy House neatly parallel its own migration from Nazareth to Ancona, via Croatia, not to mention the mobility of the beleaguered British Catholic communities themselves.71 This was partly a function of their marginal and minority status, but it is also a testament to and an index of the portability that marked Catholicism in the early modern Atlantic world more generally, as Karin Vélez has shown. Published in translation, printed texts celebrating places of special sanctity enabled the faithful to participate vicariously in the spiritual benefits of visiting them and linked them with their coreligionists scattered across the globe.72 They may be seen as counterparts to the practice of translating material relics of saints and martyrs which gathered pace in this era of religious renewal and turmoil, not least the relocation of remains from the Roman catacombs and other Counter-Reformation heartlands to fill the vacuum left in territories where heresy had once prevailed.73 A last set of translations further underlines the degree to which the English Counter-Reformation book culture had global as well as European dimensions. These are texts, drawn from the Jesuit annual letters and other ‘authentical’ reports, about the sufferings of Catholic missionaries and converts in Japan following the crucifixions at Nagasaki in 1597 and the expulsion of the Jesuits in the early seventeenth century. The interest of English readers in these martyrological narratives both reflected and cemented a strong sense of affinity with the experiences of their coreligionists in East Asia. W.W., the gentleman who translated one of these books in 1619 did so “by reason of the great likenesse and similitude betwixt their case and yours”: the afflictions of the Christian in70 Pietro Teramano, The miraculous origin and translation of the Church of our B. Lady of Loreto (Loreto, 1635); The wondrus flittinge of the kirk of our B. Ledy of Loreto (Loreto: Francesco Serafini, 1635); Dechreuad a rhyfedhus esmudiad yr Eglvvys yr Arglvvydhes Fair o Loreto (Loreto: Francesco Serafini, 1635). 71 See L. Corens, Confessional Mobility and English Catholics in Counter-Reformation Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2018). 72 See K. Vélez, The Miraculous Flying House of Loreto: Spreading Catholicism in the Early Modern World (Princeton: Princeton University Press 2018). 73 See, among others, S. Ditchfield, “Martyrs on the Move: Relics as Vindicators of Local Diversity in the Tridentine Church”, in D. Wood (ed.), Martyrs and Martyrologies (Studies in Church History 30; Oxford: Blackwell, 1993) 283–94; T. Johnson, “Holy Fabrications: The Catacomb Saints and the Counter Reformation in Bavaria”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 47 (1996) 274–97.

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habitants of this island nation, “in a manner Antipodes to us” struck a chord with those suffered by people who had abandoned heresy and schism at home.74 A second printed in 1630 celebrated the reciprocal relationship between Japan and Europe: it was from the latter that the former had first received the light of the Roman Religion, only to return it “back againe with interest, & increase, adorned with glorious victories … to drive away the darknesse of heresy, that overshads some part of thy dominions”. The Catholics of England “who live in the happie danger of being partakers of the like crownes”, had “speciall cause to behold” this Palme-tree of Christian Fortitude translated, and planted on English soil.75 The entry of these inspiring stories of the Japanese martyrs into the vernacular was the consequence of a long and meandering chain of communication. One set was carried from Japan to the Philippines in manuscript, before being sent to Spain, where it was printed in Madrid and Seville, eventually finding its way into Dutch and French. Initially published in Mexico (“in the West Indies”), another reached Spain, from whence it was sent on by a friend of the English translator.76 Once again the geographical movement of these texts finds an echo in their linguistic transpositions. Travelling in the opposite direction to the translations of spiritual classics imported and produced by missionaries in the New World and Far East, they illustrate the point that early modern Catholicism was a culture in perpetual motion.77 They also reinforce recent work that has underlined the complex and encompassing evangelical and information networks that linked the agents of and participants in spiritual renewal around the world.78 Before closing, three overarching themes must be highlighted. The first is the need to recognise translators as ‘cultural amphibians’ and mediators.79 These were polygot figures who straddled several worlds (Latin and vernacular, domestic and foreign) and had the capacity to cross territorial and sometimes confessional boundaries. Many of those who played a critical part in transmitting textual matter from Italy, Spain, Germany, Poland, and Japan to their compa74 Pedro Morejon, A briefe relation of the persecution lately made against the Catholike Christians, in the kingdome of Iaponia, trans. W. W. ([Saint-Omer]: [English College Press], 1619) 6–7. 75 João Rodriguez, The palme of Christian fortitude. Or the glorious combats of Christians in Iaponia ([Saint-Omer]: [widow of Charles Boscard], 1630) sig. *3 v°, *4 r°, *6 v°–7 r°. 76 The theater of Iaponia’s constancy, trans. William Badduley ([Saint-Omer]: [English College Press], 1624) 28. 77 See W.J. Farge, The Japanese Translations of the Jesuit Mission Press, 1590–1614: De Imitatione Christi and Guía de Pecadores (Lewiston, NY: Edward Mellen Press, 2002). 78 See especially L. Clossey, Salvation and Globalization in the Early Jesuit Missions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). 79 See A.E.B. Coldiron, “Cultural Amphibians: Translation, Early Print and the Comparative New Historicism”, Yearbook of Comparative and General Literature 51 (2003–4) 43–58; S. Bassnett, “The Translator as Cross-Cultural Mediator”, in K. Malmkjaer/K. Windle (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Translation Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011) 94–107.

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triots were migrants – men and women in self-imposed exile, whose mobility challenges and modifies static models of a Catholic community confined within the British Isles and emphasises its diasporic quality.80 A significant number were men and women in holy orders: individuals who had left their homeland to seek spiritual refuge in convents and monasteries or to enter colleges to be trained as missionaries and their own command of the vernacular sometimes became less than perfect after many years abroad. As John O’Malley and others have stressed, cultural and linguistic adaptation was an intrinsic element of the Jesuit strategy of conversion.81 And for Benedictine nuns and monks like Anthony Batt and Alexia Gray, a member of the religious house of Our Blessed Lady the Perpetual Virgin Mary in Brussels, translation was a form of religious evangelism and political activism, a manifestation of their conviction that by dislocating and dissociating themselves from Protestant England they might nevertheless contribute to the restoration of the Church of Rome.82 Alongside these religious émigrés were lay exiles such as Richard Verstegan and John Heigham, who settled in the Low Countries and poured their energies into subverting the English ecclesiastical establishment through the written and printed word.83 A merchant, publisher, and book smuggler, Heigham was also an adept translator and controversialist who collaborated with local printers in Saint-Omer and, on one occasion, employed the press of the Jesuit College.84 Richard Hopkins is another, whose role in bringing Luis de Granada’s works to English eyes and ears must be seen as an aspect of his collaboration with William Allen and other leading figures in the Habsburg Low Countries to overthrow Elizabeth’s regime: at his death in 1596 he was in receipt of a Spanish pension.85 Translation was a task regarded as compatible with female modesty and virtue, but for women like Elizabeth Cary, Lady Falkland, a married convert eager to help 80 On which, see Corens, Confessional Mobility. On the importance of exile in Catholic renewal, see more broadly, G.H. Janssen, “The Exile Experience”, in A. Bamji/G.H. Janssen/M. Laven (ed.), The Ashgate Research Companion to the Counter-Reformation (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013) 73–90, in addition to his study of The Dutch Revolt and Catholic Exile in Reformation Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014). 81 J. O’Malley, The First Jesuits (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993). 82 Alexia Gray translated The rule of the most blissed Father Saint Benedict patriarke of all munke (Gent: Joos Dooms, 1632). For the activism of nuns, see C. Walker, Gender and Politics in Early Modern Europe: English Convents in France and the Low Countries (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2003), esp. chapter 4. On Batt, see D. Rogers, “Anthony Batt: A Forgotten Benedictine Translator”, in Janssens/Aarts (ed.), Studies, 171–93. 83 For Verstegan, see P. Arblaster, Antwerp and the World: Richard Verstegan and the International Culture of Catholic Reformation (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2004). 84 See A. F. Allison, “John Heigham of S. Omer (c.1568–c.1632)”, Recusant History 4 (1957–8) 226–42; P. Arblaster, “Heigham, John”, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography Online Edition [hereafter: ODNB], accessed 14 Sept 2013. 85 See G.M. Murphy, “Hopkins, Richard”, in ODNB, accessed 15 Feb 2015.

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turn scholars at Oxford and Cambridge, it also gave them a voice. It allowed them to make an oblique and coded ideological intervention. Cary’s 1630 version of a political work by the French Cardinal Du Perron was a dangerous entrée into polemical debates that remained potentially explosive.86 Secondly, it is illuminating to reflect upon how Catholic contemporaries conceived of translation and the manner in which they approached this task. Their dedicatory epistles and prefaces deploy a range of metaphors.87 They regard these works as weapons, shields, and swords, invoke them as legal arbiters, and describe them in medical terms as counterpoisons and prophylactics against the venom and plague of heresy.88 Some use the language of dress to encapsulate their endeavours and speak of vesting the words of foreign saints and worthies in vernacular “robes” or cladding “an infant of a Spanish descent” in “English Attyre”. For others translated texts are like “a hive of sacred honie-combes” full of “sweet and heavenlie counsel”.89 And if they often insist upon the literal accuracy of their expositions this is because they are concerned to let the unvarnished ‘truth’ shine through and speak for itself and to evade the charges of falsification liable to be levelled against them by their enemies. Confessionalism as well as humanist philological rigour must be recognised as a critical agent in the emergence of the ideal of the invisible translator – the translator who remains true to the original text and does not taint or corrupt it with an alternative agenda. In this sense the origins of the gold standard to which modern translators strive to adhere lie in the polemical controversies of the Reformation era.90 Finally, it is necessary to underline the significance of translation in the forging of connections across time and space and between individuals and communities. A study of their dedications reveals the intricate network of ties of obligation and affection that linked exiles with their lay relatives and with gentry, noble and royal patrons at home. These bound the members of families, religious communities, and confraternities with each other. In the process of being both 86 The reply of the most illustrious Cardinall of Perron, to the answeare of the most excellent king of Great Britaine, trans. Elizabeth Cary (Douai: Martin Bogard, 1630). On women as translators, see D. Clarke, “Translation”, in L. Lunger Knoppers (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Early Modern Women’s Writing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009) 167–80. 87 See A.E.B. Coldiron, “Commonplaces and Metaphors”, in Braden/Cummings/Gillespie (ed.), The Oxford History of Literary Translation, 2.109–17; Morini, Tudor Translation, chapter 2. 88 As the examples cited above show. 89 See Bernard of Clairvaux, A hive of sacred honie-combes containing the most sweet and heavenly counsel, trans. Anthony Batt (Douai: Peter Auroy, for John Heigham, 1631) sig. *3 r° and title-page; Antonio de Molina, A treatise of the holy sacrifice of the masse, and excellencies therof, trans. I. R. ([Saint-Omer]: [English College Press], 1623) sig. *2 v°. 90 This resonates with recent work on the relationship between confessionalism and erudition. For an overview, see D. Levitin, “From Sacred History to the History of Religion: Paganism, Judaism, and Christianity in European Historiography from Reformation to Enlightenment”, Historical Journal 55 (2012) 1117–60.

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written and read, translations (like books in general) helped Catholics to transcend the tyranny of distance, to participate in the movement to renew Christianity, and to implant it in remote reaches of the extra-European world. Often hidden behind the cloak of anonymity or cryptic abbreviation, translators presented these texts to their dedicatees as precious presents, gifts, and tokens of love and respect. Anthony Batt directly compared the labour he had undertaken in translating Johannes Trithemius’s Three-fold mirror of man’s vanitie and miserie (1633) with an act of intercession on behalf of Anne Arundel, for “the happie consummation of your soule in all goodness and glorie”.91 In return, they frequently asked to be kept in the prayers of the recipients. When the Jesuit Michael Walpole bestowed his translation of Pedro de Ribadeneyra’s life of Ignatius Loyola on Anne Vaux in 1616, he spoke warmly of her devotion and zeal towards the “Children” of his Society “living in our afflicted Country”; told the story of a miracle wrought by reading this piece of hagiography; and entreated her to remember him in her private intercessions. The printer of another tract urged the “Christian and Religious Reader” who found profit in it to “pray for the translatresse”.92 In this way, translations may be seen an intrinsic part of the Catholic economy of salvation. E.H., the translator of Drexelius’s The angelguardian’s clock dedicated it to his own celestial guardian as well as to the “right and most vertuous ladie, WA”, while The History of our Blessed Lady of Loreto was presented as an act of abeyance to that most merciful mother of mercy the Virgin herself.93 Some texts, such as The devotion of bondage (1634), attributed to the Jesuit Martin Couvreur, even carried special pardons and indulgences themselves. Like the medieval books of hours studied so sensitively by Virginia Reinburg, they need to be seen as part of an archive and library of prayer.94 If these books strengthened relationships between the scattered members of the English Catholic community, they also served as intermediaries between the realms of heaven and earth, the living and dead. Translation, then, has proved a revealing lens through which to inspect the transregional dimensions of the Catholic Reformation and the capacity of the texts it engendered to cross territorial and confessional boundaries with relative 91 Johannes Trithemius, A three-fold mirror of man’s vanitie and miserie, trans. Anthony Batt (Douai: Laurence Kellam, 1633) sig. a¯2 v°. 92 Pedro de Ribadeneyra, The life of B. Father Ignatius Loyola, author, and founder of the Society of Jesus, trans. M[ichael] W[alpole] ([Saint-Omer]: [English College Press], 1616) sig. A2 r°–6 v°; François de Sales, Delicious entertainments, sig. a¯2 v°–3 r°. 93 Jeremias Drexelius, The angel-guardian’s clock, trans. E. H. (Rouen: Nicolas Courant, [1630]) sig. A2 r°–v°, A3 r°–5 v°; Torsellino, History of our B. Lady of Loreto, sig. *2 r°. 94 [Martin Couvreur], The devotion of bondage. Or an easy practice of perfectly consecrating ourselves to the services of the B. Virgin, trans. I. W. ([Saint-Omer]: [English College Press], 1634) 5–6; V. Reinburg, French Books of Hours: Making an Archive of Prayer, c. 1400–1600 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012).

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ease. This preliminary overview had endeavoured to cast fresh light upon aspects of the culture of persuasion created by the advent of Protestantism and its religious repercussions which contest the presence of a rigid iron curtain between Wittenberg, Geneva, Canterbury, and Rome. By describing how religious books produced for one environment were transposed for another context and climate, it has underlined the dynamic, collaborative, and transregional character of Catholic and Counter-Reformation in this period. Reflecting the complex interplay of universal priorities and local impulses which shaped the movement in Europe and its mission fields overseas, the examples analysed here also attest to the resilience and vibrancy of diasporic Catholic communities that are conventionally situated on the historiographical margins. They illuminate the key contribution made by exiles who ambidextrously straddled cultures and societies and unsettle the nationalist paradigms and insular visions that have constrained our understanding of both Catholic and Protestant Christendom in this period. If the condition of being a harassed, hunted and scattered minority was a significant stimulus to experimentation with the medium of print, it was also a filip to what I have described as a kind of religious ventriloquism. It inspired clergy and laypeople to transcend the linguistic barriers that divided them from Catholics in other lands – to rise above and tame the Babel of voices and to engage in vigorous and creative cultural exchange. In the process, it contributed to recasting assumptions about the very concept of translation itself.

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Vélez, K., The Miraculous Flying House of Loreto: Spreading Catholicism in the Early Modern World (Princeton: Princeton University Press 2018). Vessey, M., “English Translations of the Latin Fathers, 1517–1613”, in I. Backus (ed.), The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West, from the Carolingians to the Maurists, (2 vol.; Leiden: Brill, 1997) 1.775–839. Visser, A.S.Q., Reading Augustine in the Reformation: The Flexibility of Intellectual Authority in Europe, 1500–1620 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). Walker, C., Gender and Politics in Early Modern Europe: English Convents in France and the Low Countries (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2003). Walsham, A, “Luis de Granada’s Mission to Protestant England: Translating the Devotional Literature of the Spanish Counter Reformation”, in T. Bela/C. Calma/J. Rzegocka (ed.), Publishing Subversive Texts in Elizabethan England and the Polish-Lithuanian Poland (Leiden: Brill, 2016) 129–54. Walsham, A., “‘Domme Preachers?’ Post-Reformation English Catholicism and the Culture of Print”, Past & Present 168 (2000) 72–123. Walsham, A., “In the Lord’s Vineyard: Catholic Reformation in Protestant Britain”, in Catholic Reformation in Protestant Britain (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014) 1–49. Walsham, A., “Unclasping the Book? Post-Reformation English Catholicism and the Vernacular Bible”, Journal of British Studies 42 (2003) 141–66. Walsham, A., “Wholesome Milk and Strong Meat: Peter Canisius’s Catechisms and the Conversion of Protestant Britain”, British Catholic History 32 (2015) 293–314. White, M., “Renaissance Englishwomen and Religious Translations: The Case of Anne Lock’s Of the Markes of the Children of God (1590)”, English Literary Renaissance 29 (1999) 375–400. Yamamoto-Wilson, J.R., “Robert Persons’s Resolution (1582) and the Issue of Textual Piracy in Protestant Editions of Catholic Devotional Literature”, Reformation and Renaissance Review 15 (2013) 177–98. Yamamoto-Wilson, J.R., “The Protestant Reception of Catholic Devotional Literature in England to 1700”, Recusant History 32 (2014) 67–89.

Alexander Soetaert*

Transferring Catholic Literature to the British Isles: The Publication of English Translations in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai (c. 1600–50)

Recent studies on early modern translations have mostly focussed on one particular kingdom or language zone. Over the past few years, several volumes have highlighted the importance of translations on either the French or British literary culture during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, yet they neglect to link up or even compare the evolutions occurring simultaneously in both countries.1 However, putting the many contributions together leaves the impression that the increasing popularity of translations was less a distinctly French or British phenomenon than an evolution that characterized the whole of Christianity and, consequently, took on global dimensions.2 This is especially evident from the publishing history of well-known early modern best-sellers, such as Amadis de Gaule or Don Quixote, which were quickly translated into many vernacular languages and reached a geographically diverse readership.3 The spread of these chivalric romances was certainly aided by the efforts of early modern publishers, * The research for this chapter has been conducted as a part of my doctoral project on Catholic literature and transregional exchange in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai, funded by the KU Leuven Research Council. A more elaborate Dutch version of this text is included in my doctoral dissertation as Chapter 7. I am grateful to Alexandra Walsham, Violet Soen and Johan Verberckmoes for their comments on earlier versions of this text. 1 C. Brucker (ed.), Traduction et adaptation en France à la fin du Moyen Age et à la Renaissance (Paris: Honoré Champion, 1997); J. Balsamo/V. Castiglioni Minischetti/G. Dotoli (ed.), Les traductions de l’italien en français au XVIe siècle (Paris: Hermann/Fasano: Schena, 2009); F. Schurink (ed.), Tudor Translation (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2011); G. Schmidt (ed.), Elizabethan Translation and Literary Culture (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2013); S. Barker/B.M. Hosington (ed.), Renaissance Cultural Crossroads: Translation, Print and Culture in Britain, 1473–1640 (Leiden: Brill, 2013). 2 One can think, for instance, of the role the Habsburg Low Countries played in spreading translations across the Spanish Empire, as discussed in C. Pistor/L. Behiels/W. Thomas, “Translation as an Instrument of Empire: the Southern Netherlands as a Translation Center of the Spanish Monarchy, 1500–1700”, Historical Methods 47 (2014) 113–27. 3 See, A. Pettegree, “Translation and the Migration of Texts”, in T. Betteridge (ed.), Borders and Travellers in Early Modern Europe (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007) 113–28 and R. Chartier, La main de l’auteur et l’esprit de l’imprimeur. XVIe–XVIIe siècle (Paris: Gallimard, 2015), esp. Chapter III: “Traduire”.

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who were always searching for editorial successes. Moreover, the publication of translated religious texts was also often backed by the structures of the Catholic, Lutheran, or Reformed churches and their powerful cross-border networks. Their often universal, and therefore easily transferable, religious subjects further enhanced their potential for transregional exchange by means of translation. Even if the translations of religious texts have thus far not received much scholarly attention, they do continue to remind historians that the translation histories of various European countries are inextricably connected and related to the religious developments marking the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Translations are often considered as the foremost testimonies to cross-border contacts and transfers, but, by making subdivisions along national lines, presentday research paradoxically perpetuates the paradigms of national historiographies. The important limitations of this approach become increasingly apparent when studying border regions such as the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai, which from 1559 encompassed the five predominantly French-speaking dioceses in the south of the Habsburg Low Countries.4 The province bordered on France in the south, as well as on several territories of the German Empire (Liège, Luxemburg) in the east. In the west, it stretched to the English Channel, which provided easy access to the British Isles. Since the historic province has been dispersed between modern-day France and Belgium since the late seventeenth century, its prolific contribution to composing, publishing, and distributing translations of Catholic books has hardly been noticed. Thus, Cambrai offers an exceptionally intriguing case for translation history, as local presses produced hundreds of such works in two distinct vernacular languages. Not surprisingly, almost 380 French translations were published in the region between 1600 and 1650. During the same period, however, presses in the university town of Douai and the bishop’s town of Saint-Omer produced an additional 181 English translations, a total that greatly exceeded the number made in Antwerp, Paris, or anywhere else.5 Both towns may be considered among the most important continental strongholds for English, Scottish and Irish Catholics, as they hosted 4 The province included the Archdiocese of Cambrai and the suffragan sees of Saint-Omer, Arras, Tournai, and Namur. In political terms, the province gathered the counties of Artois, Hainaut, and Namur, the Cambrésis, the Tournaisis, the southern parts of the County of Flanders (the castellanies of Lille-Douai-Orchies and a part of the castellany of Kortrijk) and the Duchy of Brabant (Halle), and the few parts in the west of the Duchy of Luxembourg belonging to the diocese of Namur. 5 All figures are derived from the Impressa Catholica Cameracensia (ICC) database of religious books published in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai between 1559 and 1659. The database can be accessed through https://www.arts.kuleuven.be/nieuwetijd/english/odis/ICC_ search. Since the database is limited to religious genres, the figures in this article will not include non-religious editions. The amounts mentioned always refer to the number of editions, not to the number of distinct titles translated into French or English.

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several English, Irish, and Scottish institutions, while offering the facilities to develop a massive printing programme for English Catholic literature.6 In recent years, Alexandra Walsham and Mary Hardy have written several papers on the surprising popularity of writers such as the Spanish Dominican Luis de Granada, the French bishop François de Sales, and the Netherlandish Jesuit Peter Canisius in the British Isles. Both Walsham and Hardy observed that the spread of these books was not restricted to English or Scottish Catholic communities, but also eventually reached Protestant circles.7 In her chapter from this volume, Alexandra Walsham has depicted some of the more general characteristics of English Catholic translations and stressed the importance of these editions in keeping English Catholics informed of the most recent Catholic books available in continental Europe. Of course, this chapter will frequently cite the same authors, translators and publishers as Walsham, but it also takes a very different perspective. Instead of evaluating the translations within a single English and Scottish environment, the following paragraphs will explain the literary interest of English-speaking Catholics by pointing to contemporaneous tendencies on the continent, while using the Cambrai province as a case-study. The central question will be to what extent the English editions published in the region mirrored the simultaneously issued French editions, or – to put it differently – how the geographical mobility of English Catholics influenced their 6 For an overview of the English colleges, convents and seminaries in the Cambrai province, see P. Guilday, The English Catholic Refugees on the Continent 1558–1795 (Leuven: Bureaux du Recueil, 1914); C. Bowden/J.E. Kelly (ed.), The English Convents in Exile, 1600–1800: Communities, Culture and Identity (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013); L. Chambers/T. O’Connor (ed.), Forming Catholic Communities: Irish, Scots, and English College Networks in Europe, 1568– 1918 (Leiden: Brill, 2017); T. McInally, The Sixth Scottish University. The Scots Colleges Abroad: 1575 to 1799 (Leiden: Brill, 2011). 7 A. Walsham, “Wholesome Milk and Strong Meat: Peter Canisius’s Catechisms and the Conversion of Protestant Britain”, British Catholic History 32 (2015) 293–314; Id., “Luis de Granada’s Mission to Protestant England: Translating Devotional Literature of the Spanish Counter Reformation”, in T. Bela/C. Calma/J. Rzegocka (ed.), Publishing Subversive texts in Elizabethan England and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth (Leiden: Brill, 2016) 129–54; M. Hardy, “The Seventeenth-Century English and Scottish Reception of Francis de Sales’ An Introduction to a Devout Life”, British Catholic History 33 (2016) 228–58. Some older contributions on English Catholic translations are: A. F. Allison, English Translations from the Spanish and Portuguese to the Year 1700 (London: Dawsons of Pall Mall, 1974); Id., “New Light on the Early History of the Breve Compendio. The Background to the English translation of 1612”, Recusant History 4 (1957) 4–17; D. Crane, “English Translations of the Imitatio Christi in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries”, Recusant History 13 (1975) 79–100; W.C. Marceau, “Recusant Translations of Saint Francis de Sales”, Downside Review 114 (1996) 221–33. On some of the English translators, see: A. F. Allison, “The Writings of Fr. Henry Garnet, S.J. (1555–1606)”, Biographical Studies 1 (1951) 7–21; Id., “An Early-Seventeenth-Century Translator: Thomas Everard, S.J. A Study of the Bibliographical Evidence”, Biographical Studies 2 (1953) 188–215 and J. Evetts Secker, “Henry Hawkins, S.J., 1577–1646: a Recusant Writer and Translator of the Early Seventeenth Century”, Recusant History 11 (1971) 237–52.

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continental publication programme. The first section of this chapter provides some general remarks on both the French and English corpus of translations published in the province, while later paragraphs focus on the province’s intermediary role in transferring Spanish, French, and local authors’ books to the British Isles.

I.

French and English Translations in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai

At first sight, the corpora of French and English translations published in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai before 1650 appear to be totally different from those that came later. To start with, almost twice as many French translations were published in the first half of the seventeenth century than English. The first translations into French date from the late 1560s, although from 1590 a sharp increase in publications can be discerned.8 During the last decades of the sixteenth century, English translations of Catholic books by Spanish, Italian or Dutch authors were printed in Antwerp, Leuven, Paris, Rouen, or clandestinely in England, but not in the Cambrai province.9 This may initially seem surprising, as English Catholics had found refuge in the university town of Douai since the 1560s. In fact, the future cardinal William Allen founded an English College in 1568 that was to serve as a training school for priests sent on the English mission. Yet, the first English editions in Douai were published no earlier than 1603, with the first translations following the year after. This was the result of a more general shift in the centre of English Catholic book production from Antwerp, Leuven, Paris, Reims and Rouen to Douai and Saint-Omer, which also contained an English Jesuit College since 1593.10 Thus, while the publication of French

8 For a complete analysis of the French translations published within the Cambrai province, see Chapter 6 of my dissertation: A. Soetaert, Katholieke literatuur en transregionale uitwisseling in de kerkprovincie Kamerijk (1559–1659) (2 vol.; unpublished PhD-dissertation, KU Leuven, 2017) 1.199–233. 9 See, for instance, A. F. Allison/D.M. Rogers, The Contemporary Printed Literature of the English Counter-Reformation Between 1558 and 1640 (2 vol., London: Scolar Press, 1989–94) [hereafter: ARCR], Nos. 462, 887–888 (Peter Canisius), 160 (Diego de Estella), 63–65, 269, 866– 898 (Gaspar Loarte), 345, 439–440 (Luis de Granada), 700–701 (Jeronimo Osoria da Fonseca) and 100 (Antonio Possevino). On the translations printed clandestinely in England, see: T. McCoog, “‘Guiding Souls to Goodness and Devotion’: Clandestine Publications and the English Jesuit Mission”, in T. Bela/C. Calma/J. Rzegocka (ed.), Publishing Subversive Texts in Elizabethan England and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth (Leiden: Brill, 2016) 99. 10 On this evolution, see: Soetaert, Katholieke literatuur en transregionale uitwisseling, 1.158– 165.

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translations reached an initial peak around 1600, the first translation into English had yet to be printed. Furthermore, it should be noted that French and English translations were not aimed at the same audiences. It is most telling that only one of the 181 English translations, Luis de Granada’s Memorial of Christian life, which could be purchased from Balthazar Bellère in 1615, appears in the extensive bookshop catalogues issued by several Douai booksellers in the first half of the seventeenth century.11 Indeed, most of the copies of the English editions were clearly destined for readerships across the Channel and for that reason distributed – i. e. smuggled – there by the English themselves.12 This particular situation also explains why up to sixty percent of all English translations were printed on either the press that the Jesuits had installed in their college at Saint-Omer around 1608 (the so-called English College Press) or by the Kellams, a family of English origin that had settled in Douai five years earlier.13 For the remaining seventy translations, English Catholics collaborated with local printing houses, which simultaneously issued translations into French. Even if the divide between the production of French and English books was not absolute from a commercial point of view, a fundamental difference must be kept in mind. While French translations were mostly the result of a careful editorial choice made by local printers who had assessed the demands of the continental book market, the initiative for translations into English was always taken by English Catholics, who often ordered a specific edition with a local 11 Thesaurvs Bibliothecarivs Siue Cornvcopiae librariae Bellerianae – Svpplementvm decimvm (Douai: Balthazar Bellere, 1618) sig. G. For other catalogues, see: Indicis librorvm qvos Ioannes Bogardvs bibliopola Dvaci venales habebat mense febrvario 1618. Pars prima (Douai: Jean Bogart, 1618); Hortvlvs Bibliothecarivs continens Florentissimos flores Librariae Petri Borremans (Douai: Pierre Borremans, 1614). The catalogue by Bellere has been discussed in A. Labarre, “Les catalogues de Balthazar Bellère à Douai, 1598–1636”, Gutenberg-Jahrbuch 55 (1980) 150–54. 12 A concise history of the smuggling of Catholic books across the Channel and their spread across England has been given in L. Rostenberg, The Minority Press and the English Crown: a Study in Repression 1558–1625 (Nieuwkoop: De Graaf, 1971), see esp. chapters II, III, IV, VII, VIII and X. Some of the copies, however, were acquired by the libraries of English convents on the continent, as Caroline Bowden has recently demonstrated: “Building Libraries in Exile: The English Convents and Their Book Collections in the Seventeenth Century”, British Catholic History 32 (2015) 343–82. 13 For more on the College Press, see M.J. Walsh, “The Publishing Policy of the English College Press at Saint-Omer, 1608–1759”, in K. Robbins (ed.), Religion and Humanism: Papers Read at the Eighteenth Summer Meeting and the Nineteenth Winter Meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society (Oxford: Blackwell, 1981) 239–50 and C.A. Newdigate, “Notes on the Seventeenth-Century Printing Press of the English College at Saint Omer”, The Library 10 (1919) 179–90, 223–42. On the Kellam firm, see A.E.C. Simoni, “The Hidden Trade-Mark of Laurence Kellam, Printer at Douai”, Ons geestelijk erf 64 (1990) 130–43; Rostenberg, The Minority Press, 129–31 and A. Soetaert/H. Wyffels, “Beyond the Douai-Reims Bible: the Changing Publishing Strategies of the Kellam Family in Seventeenth-Century Douai”, The Library (forthcoming).

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printer and paid for the production costs themselves. In this instance, local printers merely had to print a given book, without having to bother with its subsequent sale. As such, considerably different dynamics governed the production of French and English translations within the Cambrai province. Perhaps the most striking difference between English and French books is the paucity of translations from Italian into English. As I have demonstrated elsewhere, translations from Italian constituted a remarkably popular genre in the Cambrai province. In the period between 1559 and 1659, Italian was the second most important source language, accounting for 27 % of all translations into French, a quantity that was only exceeded by Latin.14 Among translations into English, Italian only came fourth, with a significantly lower share of 17 %. For the English corpus, translations from the Italian were exceeded by those from Latin (35 %), Spanish (25 %) and even French (20 %). In the period between 1604 and 1610, Italian books were still more popular than Spanish, although this switched during the following decade when translations from Spanish increased dramatically, peaking in the early 1620s. Thus, while the share of Spanish (and to a lesser extent French) grew over the years, Italian gradually declined. The fact that translations from the Italian were comparably underrepresented in the English corpus was mainly due to the absence of two genres: letters sent from the Catholic missions in Asia and books written by Italian Capuchins. Over the course of the first half of the seventeenth century, as many as fifteen letters from the Jesuit missions in Japan, China, and India, translated from Italian into French, were issued in the Cambrai province. By contrast, not a single one was (separately) published in English. In addition, only two English translations can be linked to the Capuchin order: the life of the French Duke and Capuchin Henri de Joyeuse and a controversial treatise by the Italian friar Valeriano Magni. None of the books by Mattia Bellintani, Alessio Segala, or Bernardino da Balbano – all going through several French editions within the Cambrai province – were likewise issued in English.15 This may be explained by the absence of an English branch of the Capuchin order. Inversely, orders that maintained a strong presence in the region, such as the Jesuits, Benedictines, and Franciscans, can be connected to nearly eighty percent of all English translations published before 1650.

14 On French translations from the Italian, see my “Translating and Distributing Italian religious Literature in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai (late 16th, early 17th century)”, Incontri. Rivista Europea di studi Italiani 30 (2015) 29–40. 15 An English translation of the Italian Capuchin Alessio da Salo, however, was printed by Jean Cousturier in Rouen in 1639 (ARCR, II, No. 275). Presses in the same town produced English editions of two works by William Fitch, an English Capuchin better known under his religious name Benet of Canfeld or Benoît de Canfeld (ARCR, II, Nos. 275–77).

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Besides these apparent differences, some interesting similarities can also be identified. In fact, while translations into English were first published in 1604, the golden age of French and English translations strikingly coincided during the first decades of the seventeenth century. In the 1610s and 1620s, for example, an average of five translations a year came out in both French and English. Furthermore, for both corpora, a majority of the translations had a connection to the Jesuit order, either by author, translator, or subject of the work. For the English, I have been able to list 61 English Catholics that composed translations printed in Douai and Saint-Omer. The Jesuits were by far the most represented with a total of 24 translators, distantly followed by laypeople (16), secular clerics (9), Benedictines (7), Franciscans (4) and a single Carthusian.16 Thus, the Society of Jesus clearly dominated the publication of both French and English translations. The most important similarity, however, was that the same books often almost simultaneously came out in both French and English within the Cambrai province. In 1612, for example, Laurence Kellam – the founder of the aforementioned Kellam press in Douai – was granted a printing privilege for a book by the Spanish Jesuit Diego Álvarez (1560–1620) that allowed for the production of the original Latin text (published earlier that year in Lyon), as well as a French and English translation. The Latin edition was issued the following year and a French translation, composed by the local Jesuit Jean Du Jardin (1565–1644), came out in 1616.17 For reasons that remain unclear, an English translation never materialized. Still, this printing privilege suggests a close connection between the circulation of Catholic books on the continent and in the British Isles, with the Cambrai province playing a key role in the transregional transfers between Spain, France, the Low Countries, and the British Isles. The following paragraphs will further explore to what extent the publication of English translations not only mirrored the Catholic book production within the Cambrai province, but was also heavily influenced by it. This will first be evaluated for Spanish and French books, and subsequently for books originating from the Cambrai region itself.

16 For a full analysis on the translators involved and their backgrounds, see: Soetaert, Katholieke literatuur en transregionale uitwisseling, 1.241–45. 17 Diego Álvarez de Paz, De qvotidiana virtvtvm exercitatione, siue de vita religiose institvenda libellvs, (Douai: Laurence Kellam, 1613); Id., Traicté de l’exercice iovrnalier des vertvs (Douai: widow Laurence Kellam, 1616). The printing privilege, given to Kellam on 13 November 1612 by the Jesuit Provincial Jean Herren, states: “ad six proximos annos imprimere, ac liberè diuendere possit, Latinè, Galicè, siue Anglicè æditum.”

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Meditations, Saint’s Lives, and Chronicles from the Iberian Peninsula

As has been noted before, Spanish was the most important vernacular source language within the corpus of English translations printed in the Cambrai province, exceeding both French and Italian. In total, 46 editions of Spanish translations came out in Douai and Saint-Omer during the first half of the seventeenth century. In this period, Spain still counted among the dominant political powers in the world, and represented one of the most important centres for the Catholic Reformation. The political and religious influence also resonated on a literary level, with Spanish (religious) literature going through a golden age, the so-called Siglo de Oro. Even in France, Spain’s foremost enemy, Spanish books were ubiquitous and largely appreciated.18 For many English Catholics, the Spanish-Habsburg monarchy was their sole refuge, as well as their most loyal and generous (albeit badly paying) financier. Both the Iberian peninsula and the Habsburg territories in the Low Countries were home to an increasing number of English, Irish and Scottish Catholic colleges, convents, and seminaries, many of which were founded in the name of Philip II himself. The very tight connection between Spain and its monarchy established the idea that English Catholics were entirely hispaniolized, an accusation not only formulated among their Protestant opponents, but also by some of their fellow believers, especially those opposing the increased Jesuit influence within their community.19 It is hardly surprising that many of those composing English translations from the Spanish had indeed stayed in one of the English institutions on the Iberian peninsula for some time. Still, it is striking that most of their translations were published in Douai and Saint-Omer, rather than in Madrid, Seville, or Valladolid. The role played by the Cambrai province in the transfer of Spanish religious literature is most evident in the example of the Meditaciones de los mysterios de nuestra santa fé by the Jesuit Luis de La Puente (1554–1624), one of the most frequently printed Spanish authors in the region. The six-volume Meditaciones elaborated on the sinfulness of human nature, the life, passion, and resurrection

18 A. Guillausseau, “Unanimité ou uniformité? Les hagiographies espagnoles post-tridentines: des modèles de sainteté aux modèles d’écriture”, Mélanges de la Casa de Velázquez 38 (2008), Online edition (accessed 23 December 2015), esp. paragraphs 23–4. See also: J.-D. Mellot, “La librairie rouennaise et le livre hispanique (fin XVIe siècle-fin XVIIe siècle)”, in La Normandie et le monde ibérique: Cahiers du CRIAR 15 (1995) 49–69 and C. Mazouer (ed.), L’âge d’or de l’influence espagnole: la France et l’Espagne à l’époque d’Anne d’Autriche 1615–1666. Actes du colloque du CMR 17 (Bordeaux, 25–28 janvier 1990) (Mont-de-Marsan: Éditions interuniversitaires, 1991). 19 C. Highley, Catholics Writing the Nation in Early Modern Britain and Ireland (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008) 151–59, 166–75.

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of Christ, and the Holy Trinity. The book was first published in Valladolid in 1605, before being translated into many vernaculars and printed all over Catholic Europe.20 Four years after the first edition, the Douai printer Balthazar Bellère provided for a French translation composed by Antoine de Balinghem (1571– 1630).21 This local Jesuit alternately resided in the colleges of Tournai and Douai and numbered among the most prolific writers of the Cambrai province during these years. Previously, Balinghem had translated some of the Jesuit letters from the Asian missions, as well as the life story of the Italian Jesuit Ludovico Gonzaga, into French. The translation of the Meditaciones was apparently his first from Spanish, but was, nevertheless, an instant success.22 In the dedication letter to the second part – issued some months after the first – the Jesuit proudly noted that the latter had been “autant recherché pour son utilité et rareté, qu’ait aucun autre depuis longues années” and that it had been “débitée sur peu de mois”.23 Still, he never translated the remaining volumes of the Meditaciones, even if this had been the plan from the start.24 Starting in 1611, Bellère began to reprint a translation first published in Paris and composed by René Gaultier, avocat-général in the Grand Council of the French king. This last translation endured until the mid1630s, going through at least thirty editions in Douai alone.25 20 For his popularity in France, see: H.-J. Martin, Livre, pouvoirs et société à Paris au XVIIe siècle (1598–1701) (2 vol.; Genève: Droz, 1969) 1.140–41. 21 Luis de La Puente, Meditations des mysteres de nostre saincte foy […] Premiere/Seconde partie (Douai: Balthazar Bellere, 1609). The six voluminous parts of the book were usually issued distinctly. Thus, while the first part had been issued in 1609, it would take until 1611 for the sixth part of the Meditations to be made available in a Douai edition. For other translations and editions, see: C. Sommervogel (ed.), Bibliothèque de la Compagnie de Jésus (12 vol.; Brussels: Schepens, 1890–1960) [hereafter: BCJ] 3.1743–1809. 22 On Balinghem, see: W. Audenaert, Prosopographia Iesuitica Belgica Antiqua: a Biographical Dictionary of Jesuits in the Low Countries 1542–1773 (4 vol., Leuven: Filosofisch en Theologisch College van de Sociëteit van Jezus, 2000) 1.71; BCJ, 1.831–41 and E. Lamalle, “Balinghem (Antoine de)”, in Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie ecclésiastiques (31 vol.; Paris: Letouzay et Ané, 1912–) 1.387–88. 23 Luis de La Puente, Meditations des mysteres de nostre saincte foy […] Seconde partie (Douai: Balthazar Bellere, 1609) *3 r°. 24 Awaiting the completion of volumes three through six, the tables of these parts were already included in the original table of contents, “à fin que tu [the Catholic reader] voys, pour le moins en gros, les richesses spirituels, que l’on te va preparant”: Luis de La Puente, Meditations des mysteres de nostre saincte foy […] Premiere partie (Douai: Balthazar Bellere, 1609) Bb 4 r°. 25 In addition to Bellere’s many reprints, the Arras printer Guillaume de La Rivière started issuing an abridged version in 1615, composed by the Spanish Jesuit Nicolás de Arnaya (1557– 1623) and translated into French by Bernard Laugar, a French Franciscan of the Observance: Luis de La Puente, Meditations sur les mysteres de la foy (Arras: Guillaume de la Rivière, 1615). An English translation of the Arnaya edition was composed by the English Jesuit Thomas Everard and printed on the English College Press of Saint-Omer in 1624: Luis de La Puente, Meditations vpon the mysteries of our faith ([Saint-Omer: English College Press], 1624),

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In 1610, only a year after Balinghem’s translation of the Meditaciones had been issued, an English edition also appeared in Douai.26 Apart from the ecclesiastical approbations, the English translations included all sections present in the French version of the previous year. The English translator, the Jesuit Richard Gibbons (1547/53–1632), had resided in Valladolid for quite some time, but was removed to Rome and subsequently to the Low Countries in 1595, following a series of severe incidents with fellow English members of the order.27 By 1610, Gibbons was lecturing at the local Jesuit college of Douai, colloquially known as Anchin College. In the meantime, he had emerged as a prolific writer and translator. As such, it would be surprising that he was not acquainted with Balinghem, who was also adept in the apostolate of the pen, but lived in nearby Tournai. Balinghem’s translation project possibly even inspired the English Jesuit, but it might have been the other way around, as well. It is clear, however, that Balinghem and Gibbons almost simultaneously translated the Meditaciones into their own tongue, thereby fostering its early circulation among French- and English-speaking readerships respectively. In comparison, the first Latin edition only came out in 1612, while Dutch and German translations did not materialize before the mid-1610s.28 A further similarity between Balinghem and Gibbons was that they both only translated the first two parts of La Puente’s book. While the French translation was completed by the Parisian official Jacques Gaultier, John Heigham finally finished an English translation in 1619.29 Little is known about Heigham’s early life, but he must have settled in Douai by 1604 at the latest. In 1613, he moved to Saint-Omer, which, since the start of the College Press five years before, had significantly strengthened its contribution to the production of Catholic books in English. Meanwhile, he married Marie Boniface, a native lady from Arras. Until

26 27

28 29

ARCR, II, No. 259. For more on this version, see also: Allison, “An early seventeenth-century translator”, 200–1, 214 (n. 18). Luis de La Puente, Meditations vppon the mysteries of our holy faith […] The first part ([Douai: Charles Boscard], 1610), ARCR, II, No. 351 and Id., Meditations vppon the mysteries of our holie faith […] The second part ([Douai: Pierre Auroy] 1610), ARCR, II, No. 352. For more on Gibbons, see: T. McCoog, English and Welsh Jesuits 1555–1650 (London: Catholic Record Society, 1994–95) 190–91; Id., The Society of Jesus in Ireland, Scotland, and England, 1589–1597: Building the Faith of Saint Peter upon the King of Spain’s Monarchy (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012) 217–19 and T. Cooper (rev. T.H. Clancy), “Gibbons, Richard (1547/1553– 1632)”, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography Online Edition [hereafter: ODNB], accessed 27 Sept 2015; BCJ, 3.1404–408; ARCR, Nos. 342–58. See Short Title Catalogus Vlaanderen (STCV) 3153252 for the Dutch translation and Das Verzeichnis der im deutschen Sprachraum erschienenen Drucke des 17. Jahrhunderts (VD 17) 12:104869C and 12:104488M for the Latin and German translations. Luis de La Puente, Meditations vpon the mysteries of our holie faith (2 vol.; Saint-Omer: [Charles Boscard], 1619), ARCR, No. 424. Heigham added “A preface vnto all deceaued Protestants”.

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the mid-1630s, Heigham published an impressive 82 editions in English.30 Some of these were written by Heigham himself, while many others were either edited or translated by him from Latin, French, Dutch, Italian or Spanish. Typographical evidence suggests that Heigham was not a printer, but usually turned to local printing businesses in Douai and Saint-Omer. Even if his name does not appear on the title-page of the English editions of 1610, it is likely that he was already involved at this early stage, for the translations were printed by Charles Boscard and Pierre Auroy, Heigham’s preferred printers.31 Heigham’s frequent and tight contacts with the local book world in his expatriate environment put him in a very good position to survey developments in continental book production. It appears that he used this valuable intermediary position to determine which books he should issue in English. In 1625, for example, he issued an English translation of the life of the Spanish Franciscan abbess Juana de la Cruz (1481–1534), originally written by the fellow-Franciscan Antonio Daza (d. 1640).32 In this case, the book was not translated by Heigham, but by Francis Bell (1590–1643), who, as a Franciscan friar during these years, was confessor to the English Poor Clares of Gravelines, to whom he dedicated the translation.33 A French version of Juana’s life was published only three years earlier by Pierre de Rache at Lille.34 The front matter of the French and English editions was completely different, but both shared an equal number of chapters and, on a typographic level, similar title-pages. Earlier, Heigham had also been involved in the publication of an English translation of a chronicle of the Franciscan order, composed by William Cape.35 30 This number has been calculated from the editions mentioned in ARCR. 31 A. F. Allison, “John Heigham of S. Omer (c. 1568–c. 1632)”, Biographical Studies 4 (1958) 228– 32. See also: Rostenberg, The Minority Press, 123–29 and P. Arblaster, “Heigham, John (b. c. 1568, d. in or after 1634)”, in ODNB, accessed 27 Sept 2015. The fact that the first part of Gibbons’s translation was printed by Boscard, while the second was printed by Auroy may be due to move of the first to Saint-Omer during the year 1610. 32 Antonio Daza, The historie, life, and miracles, extasies and reuelations of the blessed virgin, sister Ioane, of the Crosse (Saint-Omer: John Heigham [pr. Charles Boscard], 1625), ARCR, II, No. 52; A. F. Allison, “Franciscan Books in English, 1559–1640”, Biographical Studies 3 (1955) 30. 33 On Bell, see: Allison, English Translations From the Spanish and Portuguese, 195. 34 Antonio Daza, Histoire, vie et miracles, extases, et revelations de la bien hevrevse vierge, soevr Ieanne de la Croix (Lille: Pierre de Rache, 1622). 35 Marcos da Silva, The chronicle and institution of the order of the seraphicall father S. Francis (Saint-Omer: John Heigham [pr. Charles Boscard], 1619), ARCR, II, No. 117; Allison, “Franciscan Books”, 27, 44–7. For more on this translation, see J. Goodrich, “‘Ensigne-Bearers of Saint-Clare’: Elizabeth Evelinge’s Early Translations and the Restoration of English Franciscanism”, in M. White (ed.), English Women, Religion and Textual Production, 1500– 1625 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011) 92–93. According to Antony Allison, who could not identify William Cape with certainty, he was a member of “a family which went abroad for religion’s sake in the early years of the seventeenth century and settled at S. Omer [and which] had close

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The book, written by Marcos da Silva (also Mark of Lisbon, d. 1591), a member of the order and bishop of Porto, was originally published in Portuguese. The English translation originated from a French version by a certain D. Santeul, based on an earlier Italian translation.36 Santeul’s translation, which already dated from 1600 and was frequently reissued in Paris had not yet been printed in the Cambrai province by 1618. Nonetheless, the chronicle was certainly circulating in the region by that year, as it was still mentioned in the catalogue of the Douai bookseller Jean Bogart.37 Thus, in this case, neither John Heigham nor William Cape came across a local edition of the book, but possibly found it through the activities of local booksellers who had maintained close commercial relationships with nearby France.38 Moreover, it appears that books were not always transferred directly from the Iberian peninsula to the British Isles, but sometimes made unexpected detours via Italy, France, and, finally, the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai.

III.

The Transfer of Devout Humanism to the British Isles

Following the Spanish example, French religious literature also experienced a revival in the early decades of the seventeenth century. One of the new currents in vogue was the so-called devout humanism (humanisme dévot), first defined by Henri Bremond in his Histoire littéraire du sentiment religieux en France (1916) as a more practical and popular adaptation of the older Christian humanism that was intended to reach a broader readership among the Catholic faithful. According to Bremond, François de Sales (bishop of Geneva), Jean-Pierre Camus ties with the English Franciscans and with the Poor Clares of Gravelines […] and also with the family of Viscount Montague, the friend and patron of the English Franciscans” (47). Cape was possibly assisted in translating by the English Franciscan friar Christopher Davenport (in religion Franciscus a Sancta Clara), who dedicated the book to the English Poor Clares of Gravelines. 36 The Italian translation, in its turn, was based on an earlier Spanish version. In the epistle dedicatory, it is made clear that the book was translated “fro[m] French wherin it was impressed to our vulgar tounge” (A2 r°). The previous route of the text is also clear from the title-page of the Parisian edition: Marcos da Silva, Chronique et institution de l’ordre du P. S. François … composée premièrement en portugais par R. P. Marco de Lisbone et en espaignol par le R. P. Diego de Navarre, puis en italien par Horace d’Iola, maintenant en français par D.S. (Paris: Guillaume Chaudière, 1600). 37 Indicis librorvm, Ee 2 r°. For more on this catalogue, see: H. Vanhulst, “The music in the Index librorum … prima pars of Jean Bogard (Douai, 1618)”, in R. Rasch (ed.), The Circulation of Music in Europe 1600–1900. A Collection of Essays and Case Studies (Berlin: Berliner Wissenschafts-Verlag, 2008) 87–106. 38 I have elaborated on these important cross-border relationships in my “Printing at the Frontier. The Emergence of a Transregional Book Production in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai (c. 1560–1659)”, De Gulden Passer 94 (2016) 137–63.

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(bishop of Belley) and the Jesuits Louis Richeome and Étienne Binet can be considered as the leading writers of this innovative literary genre.39 Similarly to Spanish works, the English translations from French usually did not originate from the country of origin (i. e. France), but from the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai. The College Press of Saint-Omer, for example, took the lead in issuing translations of works by fellow-Jesuits, such as Nicolas Caussin and the aforementioned Binet and Richeome.40 Normally, editions printed on this press did not bear any imprint.41 Yet, for translations from French, a Paris imprint was often added, which represented a deliberate choice by the directors of the press. It appears that the English Jesuits aimed at creating the impression that the books had been directly transferred from France. Although they were printed at SaintOmer, Paris was still considered as the most logical place of publication for the translations of Binet, Caussin, and Richeome. The contribution of the Cambrai province to the transfer of French literature to the British Isles is most clearly illustrated by the case of the Introduction à la vie devote, François de Sales’s (1567–1622) most influential book. The Introduction was one of the many French books that were not only sold, but also reprinted in the French-speaking parts of the Low Countries. Operating beyond the borders of the Kingdom of France, printers there were not bound to the limitations of the French privilege system. They did not have to await the expiration of the printing privilege to proceed with a re-issue, as was theoretically the case for their competitors in Paris, Lyon, Rouen or elsewhere in France. As a result, many books from France’s most popular authors were swiftly reprinted within the Cambrai province. In regard to the Introduction, first printed in Lyon in 1609, and subsequently reissued in 1609 and 1610, Guillaume Bauduyn and Balthazar Bellère published reprints in Arras and Douai respectively.42 In the

39 H. Bremond, Histoire littéraire du sentiment religieux en France depuis la fin des guerres de religion jusqu’à nos jours, ed. A. Cantillon et al. (5 vol.; Grenoble: Millon, 2006). On the current of devout humanism, see the introduction to this edition by Sophie Houdard, esp. 37–8, 49–50 40 See: ARCR, II, Nos. 390, 400, 402, 775. Other French authors who had works printed on the College Press were Cardinal Jacques Davy du Perron (ARCR, II, No. 163.3) and the writer and playwright Jean Puget de La Serre (ARCR, II, No. 392). 41 Typographical evidence, however, has made possible the identification of more than 200 editions printed on the College Press. On the exemption of the press to print imprints and diocesan approbations in its editions, see: A. F. Allison, “Leonardius Lessius and his English Translator”, in S. Roach (ed.), Across the Narrow Seas. Studies in History and Bibliography of Britain and the Low Countries (London: The British Library, 1991) 92 and Walsh, “The Publishing Policy”, 241. 42 François de Sales, Introdvction a la vie devote (Arras: Gilles Bauduyn, 1610); Id. (Douai: Balthazar Bellere, 1610). It concerns two distinct editions of the same text, but it remains unclear which one was the first. For a more detailed discussion of the editorial history of this book, see: Soetaert, “Printing at the Frontier”, 150–52.

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following two decades, the book was reissued at least eleven times in the university town, making it one of the best-selling local book productions. In 1613, an English translation of the Introduction was likewise printed at Douai by Gérard Patté at the request of John Heigham, whose involvement is no surprise.43 The first edition must have been an instant success, for in the same year another typographically different print run came off Pierre Auroy’s press.44 The name of the English translator was initially veiled under the initials I.Y., which have since been identified as those of John Yakesley (or Yaxley) on the basis of a London edition from 1637.45 Little is known about Yakesley, except that he lived in Cambrai as a priest around 1630.46 In a dedicatory letter to Anne Roper, great-granddaughter of Sir Thomas More, the translator explained why he had translated the recent book by François de Sales. He thought the Introduction of great value because it would benefit “many souls in our poor distressed country [i. e. England]: which more than any other country stands in need of such good books, for counter poisons against so many venomous writings, as worldly and fantastical heads daily publish.”47 In a recent article on the reception of the Introduction in England and Scotland, Mary Hardy has considered this phrasing as a reference to the great number of polemical treatises that had been issued from the Protestant side in previous years. She indicated that the book, with its focus on an inner form of devotion, had a great appeal to English and Scottish Catholics, who often were deprived of spiritual care by priests. As Hardy also points out, the book also later appealed to Protestants, as it likewise offered them an answer to their spiritual and devotional needs.48 43 François de Sales, An introduction to a deuoute life (Douai: John Heigham [pr. Gerard Patté], 1613), ARCR, II, No. 870. This translation includes all chapters of the French editions, but leaves out a short foreword to the reader in which the author explains what has been changed in the second edition. In contrast to the French editions, the English edition includes a section entitled “The commvnication of Doctovr Thavlervs with a poore beggar”, which has been translated from original work by the fourteenth-century Dominican theologian Johann Tauler. 44 François de Sales, An introduction to a deuoute life […] The 2. edition (Douai: John Heigham [pr. Pierre Auroy], 1613), ARCR, II, No. 871. 45 François de Sales, An introduction do a devoute life (London: William Brooks [pr. Nicholas and John Okes], 1637), STC 11321, ESTC S1687. For more on this edition, see N.W. Bawcut, “A Crisis of Laudian Censorship: Nicholas and John Okes and the Publication of Sales’ An Introduction to a Devout Life in 1637”, The Library, 7th series, 1 (2000) 403–38. 46 The Douay College Diaries: Third, Fourth and Fifth 1598–1654, with the Rheims Report 1579– 80, ed. E.H. Burton/T.L. Williams (Leeds: Whitehead, 1911) 286, 293. 47 François de Sales, An introduction to a devout life (1st edn.) 5. Anne Roper (1587–1647) was the daughter of Sir William Roper of Well-Hall, Eltham; William was a son of Thomas Roper, who, in his turn, was the son of Margaret More, daughter of Sir Thomas. Anne Roper was married to Sir Philip Constable of Everinghem. 48 Hardy, “The Seventeenth-Century English and Scottish Reception of Francis de Sales”, 235– 36, 257. See also: Marceau, “Recusant Translations of Saint Francis de Sales”.

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However, the popularity of the Introduction à la vie devote was not limited to just the British Isles. The book was also widely appreciated by Catholic readers on the continent, who lived in completely different religious and political settings. Thus, in addition to the apparent benefits the book would bring to his fellowcountrymen, Yakesley also prefaced his translation by pointing to the remarkable success the book had encountered in continental Europe in only a few years. He stated that “no book whatsoever hath been in so short a time, so often, and in so many places reprinted; none by so many man, and those of so great judgment […] so much commended.”49 Such a statement makes it very likely that Yakesley was already living on the continent by 1613, where he closely followed the latest developments in local book production. Besides the inherent merits to Catholic spirituality that the Introduction offered, Yakesley also likely hoped that a translation in his native language would benefit from the book’s great popularity among continental readers. By consequence, English became the first vernacular into which François de Sales’ book was translated, with Latin, Dutch, German, Spanish and Italian versions following between 1614 and 1621.50 Once again, the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai had formed the vital link in the transregional transfer of Catholic literature to the British Isles. In 1630, another book by François de Sales, the Traité de l’amour de Dieu, came out in English in Douai.51 In this case, the translation was composed by Miles Car, a pseudonym for Miles Pinkney (1599–1674), who had resided in the university town since 1618. Following his studies at the English College of Douai, Pinkney was ordained in Cambrai and became procurator of the college until the mid-1630s.52 At the time of its initial publication in English, the Traité was not a new book, as the original French edition dated back to 1616 and it had since been reprinted several times in both Douai and nearby Lille.53 Yet, in a dedicatory letter, Pinkney stated that the book had not previously fallen into his hands, which is unlikely, as he had already lived in Douai for twelve years.54 Nevertheless, the fact that the title-page noted that the translation was the eighteenth edition

49 François de Sales, An introduction to a devout life (1st edn.) 4. 50 For an overview of these translations, see: V. Mellinghoff-Bourgerie/F. Mellinghoff, Bibliographie des écrivains français, 30: François de Sales (Roma: Mermini, 2007) 193, 339, 374, 446, 462. 51 François de Sales, A treatise of the loue of God (Douai: Gerard Pinchon, 1630), ARCR, II, No. 647. 52 J. Bergin, “Pinkney, Miles [Thomas Carre] (bap. 1599, d. 1674)”, in ODNB, accessed 25 Sept 2015. 53 François de Sales, Traicté de l’amovr de Diev (Douai: Marc Wyon, 1617). 54 François de Sales, A treatise of the loue of God, a3 r° (dedicatory letter to Lady Elizabeth Dormer).

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overall of the Traité clearly positioned it in line with the many French editions printed over the previous fifteen years.55 Following the English translation of the Traité, Miles Pinkney began to follow the developments in French religious literature more closely. In the early 1630s, Pinkney composed several English translations of books by Jean-Pierre Camus (1584–1652), a pupil of François de Sales, who, until his resignation in 1628, acted as bishop of Belley, a small town to the east of Lyon. Much like his mentor, Camus developed into one of the most successful French-language writers of his time, which also resulted in a continuous flow of editions into the Cambrai province.56 In the early 1630s, Marie Vanderpiet, widow of the Douai printer Marc Wyon (d. 1630), specialized in (re)printing books written by the former bishop. Since his resignation, Camus had become one of the protagonists of the so-called querelle des réguliers. In some of his books, he fiercely attacked the practices and privileges of the regular clergy, which quickly brought him into open conflict with the Capuchins and Jesuits. In order to appease the quarrel, Richelieu forbade Camus to publish his works, which finally drove him to Douai – a town just across the northern border of France – to have his controversial texts printed.57 His Crayon de l’éternité, for example, was first issued at Douai in 1631.58 Even if the former bishop had become a very controversial figure, Pinkney did not hesitate to swiftly compose an English translation of this book, entitled A draught of eternity, to be printed by Marie Vanderpiet.59 It must be noted, however, that the English priest refrained from translating the most offensive of Camus’s works, such as La mendicité légitime and Les justes quêtes des orders réguliers, both of which also came off the presses of the Wyon firm. By contrast, Pinkney translated the Luitte spirituelle, a book issued in Paris in 1631, into English, but it was 55 I have not been able to trace all of the previous French editions. However, the Douai edition of 1625 is presented as the fifteenth, cf. François de Sales, Traicté de l’amovr de Dieu (Douai: Marc Wyon, 1625). 56 For a recent account on Camus, see the thematic issue of Dix-septième siècle (no. 251, 2011) containing the proceedings of the “Journées internationales Jean-Pierre Camus” held in Belley, 17–19 September 2009. A list of most of his books can be found in J. Descrains, Bibliographie des œuvres de Jean-Pierre Camus, évêque de Belley (1584–1652) (Paris: Société d’étude du XVIIe siècle, 1971). 57 On the bishop’s involvement in this conflict, see: C. Chesneau, Le père Yves de Paris et son temps (1590–1678) (2 vol.; Paris: Société d’histoire ecclésiastique de la France, 1946). The full story of Camus addressing Douai printers has been told in my dissertation: Soetaert, Katholieke literatuur and transregionale uitwisseling, 1.117–22. 58 J.-P. Camus, Crayon de l’éternité (Douai: Widow Marc Wyon, 1631). 59 J.-P. Camus, A draught of eternitie (Douai: Widow of Marc Wyon, 1632), ARCR, II, No. 644. Pinkney added a dedication to Anne Arundell, wife of the first Baron of Arundell of Wardour, but left out the foreword entitled “A Diev eternel” from the French version, as well as a section called “Qvelqves advis av lectevr,” which had been included at the end of the French edition. The original preface by Camus was paraphrased by Pinkney and reduced to three pages with the heading “A word to the Reader”.

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apparently never published by the widow Wyon. Thus, the presses in Douai not only guaranteed the further circulation of Camus’s works within his homeland, but established its place within the libraries of English Catholics.60 Of course, the Cambrai province did not entirely monopolize the production of English translations from the French. Some books were still printed in Paris and Rouen, or on secret presses in England. But even in these cases, an occasional link to the region can be found. In 1618, for example, The interior occupation of the soul, a book originally written by the French Jesuit Pierre Coton (1564–1626), was clandestinely printed in England.61 The original French edition was issued in Paris in 1609, but it was not reprinted in Douai until 1617.62 Surprisingly, the English edition bore a fictitious Douai-imprint, suggesting that it was inspired by the French reprint issued there the previous year and that the university town was the most obvious place to print such a book. A second example concerns the emblem book Le cœur dévot by Étienne Luzvic (1567–1640), who was a member of the Jesuit order too. In 1634, an English translation, composed by Henry Hawkins (c. 1577–1646), a fellow-Jesuit, was printed in Rouen. However, it had not been based on the original Paris-edition of 1626, but on a Latin one by Charles Musart (1582–1653), issued in Douai the following year.63 Thus, rather than translating the original French text, Hawkins preferred working from the Latin version originating from Douai. The fact that editions in the Cambrai province provoked English versions elsewhere demonstrates how this region represented the nexus of several channels of literary exchange and how its location near the French border was central to the spread of innovative religious literature from France during the early decades of the seventeenth century.

60 J.-P. Camus, A spirituall combat (Douai: Widow of Marc Wyon [Marie Vanderpiet], 1632), ARCR, II, No. 645. The original French edition was published by the Parisian printer Sébastien Huré. 61 Pierre Coton, The interiour occupation of the soule (Douai, 1618 [pr. secretly in England]), ARCR, II, No. 1. 62 Pierre Coton, Occvpation d’vne ame devote (Douai: Balthazar Bellere, 1617). Since the approbation and printing privilege in this edition are dated 1609 and 1610 respectively, it is possible that the book had already been printed around 1610, although I have found no trace of this edition. 63 Etienne Luzvic, Cor deo devotum (Douai: Balthazar Bellere, 1627). This Latin translation followed a reprint of the original French text: Etienne Luzvic, Le coeur devot (Douai: Balthazar Bellere, 1627). See also, K.J. Höltgen, “Henry Hawkins: a Jesuit Writer and Emblematist in Stuart England”, in J.W. O’Malley et al. (ed.), The Jesuits II. Cultures, Sciences, and the Arts 1540–1773 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2006) 600–26.

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Novelties from the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai

English Catholics, however, did not only show interest in the most famous names of Spanish and French religious literature. In fact, books written by less-known authors from the Cambrai province were often translated into English as swiftly as those by Luis de La Puente, François de Sales, or Jean-Pierre Camus. This, for example, explains the existence of English translations of a book by François de La Croix (1583–1644), the rector of Anchin College in Douai in the early 1620s, who was subsequently appointed provincial of the Gallo-Belgian Jesuit province twice.64 In 1622, La Croix published a small book entitled Hortulus marianus, offering a compendium of the devotion to the Virgin Mary.65 As can be deduced from the title, the Jesuit conceived his book as a garden and subdivided it in five blooming flower beds, viz. violets, roses, lilies, hyacinths and sunflowers. For example, the third chapter, called lilies, dealt with the Ave Maria, the rosary, and the Office of Our Lady, while the fifth chapter, called sunflowers, indicated how the faithful should follow Mary in poverty, chastity, and humility. The use of garden metaphors must have been very appealing to Catholic readerships throughout Europe, as the book was quickly reprinted in Ingolstadt (1624), Luxemburg (1627), Cologne, and Paris (both 1631), and was translated into French (1623), Dutch (1623) and German (1625), with additional editions following until the middle of the eighteenth century.66 As a part of this Europeanwide spread, an English translation, composed by John Wilson (1575–c. 1645), the long-time head of the College Press at Saint-Omer, came out in 1626 and was subsequently reprinted in 1631.67 To a large extent, the Hortulus marianus’ success was indebted to both the powerful cross-border networks of the Society of Jesus and the increasing popularity of the Marian sodalities that the order had founded all over Europe and for which La Croix’s book must have served as a kind of manual.68 For English Catholics, starting such a sodality would have been exceedingly difficult, except within the walls of their continental institutions. Yet, even without regular 64 On La Croix, see: PIBA, 1.253; BCJ, 2.1688. 65 François de La Croix, Hortvlvs marianvs siue Praxes uariae colende Beatissimam V. Mariam (Douai: Balthazar Bellere, 1622). 66 For an overview of most of these editions, see: BCJ, 2.1688–91. 67 François de La Croix, The little garden of our B. Lady. Or, diuers practicall exercices in her honour ([Saint-Omer: English College Press], 1626), ARCR, II, No. 814; Id., The little garden of our B. Lady. Or diuers practicall exercises in her hounour ([Saint-Omer: English College Press], 1631), ARCR, II, No. 815. 68 For a recent discussion of the importance of these sodalities, see: G. Janssen, The Dutch Revolt and Catholic Exile in Reformation Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014) 84–7, 150. See also: L. Châtellier, “Les premières congrégations mariales dans les pays de langue française”, Revue d’histoire de l’Église de France, 75 (1989) 167–76.

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priestly assistance, the clear structure and pedagogical approach chosen by La Croix could contribute to the broadening devotion of the Virgin Mary within their home country. Moreover, the Hortulus marianus was not the only book on that topic printed by the College Press. In 1634, an edition entitled The devotion of the bondage also came off this press, translated by John Wilson as well.69 The original text was composed in French by the Jesuit Martin Couvreur (1576–1648), a confidant of bishop Christophe de France of Saint-Omer, committed to catechising the local youths in the bishop’s town.70 Both examples demonstrate how, inspired by the examples in their continental environments, English Jesuits sought to strengthen Marian devotions within the Catholic communities of the British Isles. In addition to the manuals on Marian devotion, catechetic literature by local authors also drew the attention of English Catholics. In 1622, the Jesuit Philippe d’Outreman (1585–1652) first published Le vray chrétien catholique, which, in all later editions, was entitled Le pedagogue chrétien.71 The first edition, printed by Charles Boscard in Saint-Omer, was followed by more than a hundred editions in French, as well as versions in Latin, Dutch, German and even Bisaya, an indigenous language of the Philippines.72 Preceding this wide circulation, and following within a year of the editio princeps, John Heigham translated the book into English and turned to Boscard to print it.73 It is likely that Heigham came across the manuscript through his contact with the printer, which would depict the nuance of the aforementioned Jesuit networks. In any case, the English publisher almost immediately thought the book of great value for his fellowcountrymen and decided to make an English translation. In his book, Philippe d’Outreman dealt with all aspects essential to the Catholic faith, including the doctrine on sin and penance, prayer, and good 69 Martin Couvreur, The deuotion of the bondage. Or an easy practice of perfectly consecrating our selues to the seruice of the B. Virgin ([Saint-Omer: English College Press], 1634) ARCR, II, No. 813. 70 For more on Couvreur, see: BCJ, 2.1594–7 and G. Coolen, “Saint-Omer. Le Collège Wallon (1568–1762)”, in P. Delattre (ed.), Les établissements des Jésuites en France depuis quatre siècles: répertoire topo-bibliographique (5 vol.; Enghien: Institut supérieur de théologie, 1940– 57) 4.793–88, on 836, 839–40, 846, 871–72. 71 Philippe d’Outreman (also Oultreman), Le vray chrestien catholiqve: ov la maniere de viure Chrestiennement (Saint-Omer: Charles Boscard, 1622). For biographical details, see: PIBA, 2.181. 72 For the succession of editions and translations, see: BCJ, 6.31–36. 73 Philippe d’Outreman, The true Christian catholique or The maner how to liue Christianly (Saint-Omer: [Charles Boscard], 1622). This version counts an equal number of chapters and nothing seems to have been added when compared to the French edition. However, Heigham left out the two ‘spiritual songs’ which abridged and concluded the first and second books (204–7 and 447–56 in the original French edition of 1622). The editor was likely either unable or unwilling to translate these songs into English.

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works. Each paragraph started with a summary of the official doctrine of the Church on a certain point, which subsequently was illustrated by a great many examples, mostly taken from Scripture and the lives of saints. To a certain extent, the interest in the book was similar to that experienced by Peter Canisius’ (1521– 1597) catechism, which was available in an English translation by Henry Garnet (1555–1606) and supplemented with numerous references to Scripture and the Church Fathers. As such, the catechism was helpful for the instruction of Catholic doctrine, as well as for teaching one how to fight Protestantism.74 However, Outreman’s book was not a catechism in the narrow sense of the word, as it was not composed of a sequence of questions and answers. In fact, the Jesuit conceived of his text as a livre du maître, helping priests and catechists with their teachings.75 As a result, Le vray chrétien must be seen as an addition to Canisius’s catechism, reissued by Heigham in the same year, rather than as an alternative. Indeed, The true Christian Catholic – as the translation was entitled – would prove to be a great help to catechists instructing the Catholic faithful on the British Isles, even in the absence of a priest.76 It would be wrong, however, to assert that English Catholics were exclusively interested in books by Jesuit authors living in the Cambrai province. In 1635, the Douai printer Martin Bogart issued an edition entitled The history of the angelical virgin glorious S. Clare, an English translation of a French book by François Hendricq (fl. 1631), which was issued four years earlier in Saint-Omer.77 The Franciscan friar based his history on the information found in the chronicles of his order, the writings of the thirteenth-century Franciscan Bonaventura, and the more recent work done by the English Franciscan historiographer Luke Wadding (1588–1657). Although the English translation was published anonymously, it has often been attributed to Elizabeth Evelinge (1596/97–1668), a member of the English Poor Clare community at Aire-sur-la–Lys, a small town southeast of Saint-Omer.78 While the original French edition counted 56 chap74 Walsham, “Wholesome Milk and Strong Meat”, 309–11. 75 O. Henrivaux, “Méthodes catéchistiques aux XVIe–XVIIIe siècles dans les diocèses de Cambrai, Namur, Tournai et Liège”, Lumen Vitae 36 (1981) 74–5. 76 For the importance of books to the English Catholic communities often deprived of priests, see: A. Walsham, “Dumb Preachers: Catholicism and the Culture of Print”, in Catholic Reformation in Protestant Britain (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014) 235–70. 77 [F. Hendricq], The history of the angelicall virgin glorious S. Clare (Douai: Martin Bogart, 1635), ARCR, II, No. 773. For a discussion of the book, see the introduction of the recent facsimile edition: Elizabeth Evelinge, I, ed. F. Korsten (Farnham: Ashgate, 2002) x–xiv. For the French original, see: François Hendricq, Vie admirable de Madame S. Claire fondatrice des pauures Clairisses (Saint-Omer: widow Charles Boscard [Jeanne Burée], 1631). 78 The translator’s identity is still subject to debate. While Antony Allison (“Franciscan Books”, 48–9) has raised the possibility that the translation was a collaborative work between Evelinge and a fellow-sister of the same convent, Catherine Bentley (1591–1569), Jaime Goodrich has recently argued that the translation was most likely the work of Evelinge alone, but that she

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ters, the English translation only included 55. For an unclear reason, chapter 24, dealing with the church of Portiuncula – where St. Clare professed in 1222 and Francis of Assisi died four years later –, was left out of the translation.79 In addition, the brief history of the Poor Clare convent of Saint-Omer, to which Hendricq was confessor, was also not included.80 This is surprising since the history of that community, which had originally lived in Veere in Zeeland, was likewise one of flight and exile, a theme that one would expect to have strongly appealed to an English Catholic readership. In addition to these striking omissions, the English translator added a new section of more than fifty pages. Although the preface stated that the translation was “totally out of the R. F. Francis Hendriques’s,” the translator had already changed his mind by page sixteen and wrote: I have thought good here for the better satisfying the curiosity and devotion of the Pious Reader to insert distinct character the first chapter; which the author of the History of the 3. & 20.1. [sic] Martyrs of the Order beatified by the Pope Urban the VIII. with 3. of the Society of Jesus, all crucified in Japonia, which the Author I say of that history (printed at Doway) prefixed to his work, in regard, it doth briefly and compendiously record and point out some of the most memorable and Apostolical acts of his Order, and chiefly those enacted in these later ages in both the East and West Indies.81

While no title or author was explicitly named, this description clearly refers to La vie et mort de vingt-trois martyrs de l’ordre de S. François, a book written by the local Recollect Franciscan Samuel Buirette (fl. 1647).82 The first edition – indeed printed at Douai – dated from 1628 and was immediately a success. A month after the first print run, consisting of 1,250 copies, the printer only had one hundred copies left, which necessitated the printing of a second edition.83 The account of

79 80 81 82

83

refused to take public authorship: Goodrich, “‘Ensigne-Bearers of Saint Clare’”, 86–87. For the history of the convent at Aire, see: C. Bowden, “Les clarisses anglaises d’Aire-sur-la–Lys (1629–1701): stratégies d’une survie”, Études franciscaines 5 (2012) 263–82. Hendricq, Vie admirable, 169–78: “Chapitre XXIV. De la dignité de l’Eglise de nostre Dame des Anges & des Indulgences de Portiuncula”. Ibidem, 339–48. [Hendricq], The history of the angelicall virgin […] S. Clare, 16. This section continues until p. 72. [Samuel Buirette], La vie et mort de vingt-trois martyrs de l’ordre de S. François, et de trois Iesvites, tous crucifiez & transpercez de lance au Iapon (Douai: Pierre Auroy, 1628). Little is known about Buirette, except that he was a Recollect friar who functioned as guardian in Binche (c.1628) and Hesdin (c.1632), preached in Valenciennes (c.1632) and was confessor to the Poor Clares at Bruges in the late 1640s. See E.-H.-J. Reusens, “Buirette (Samuel)”, in Biographie nationale (Brussels, 1872) 3.151, the references to older biographical dictionaries there and the title-pages of several of Buirette’s publications. [Samuel Buirette], La vie et mort de vingt-trois martyrs de l’ordre de S. François, et de trois Iesvites, tous crucifiez & transpercez de lance au Iapon […] Seconde edition (Douai: Pierre Auroy, 1628) †6 r.

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the Catholic martyrs of Asia appealed to readers all over the Catholic world. Recently, however, Alexandra Walsham has written on the specific English interest in Japanese martyrs by pointing to “a sense of affinity between these two island nations, connected with the afflictions they suffered for the Catholic faith”.84 Nevertheless, as has been noted before, translations concerning the Asian missions were comparatively underrepresented within the corpus of English works published within the Cambrai province. Thus, in this case, the English translator, most probably the Poor Clare Elizabeth Evelinge, brought together two of the most successful French editions on Franciscan topics recently published in Saint-Omer and Douai. Although she lived in an enclosed community, she still appears well-informed on book production in the Cambrai province, possibly through contacts with local houses of her order or even through direct contacts with the local book world. It is also possible that Francis Bell (1590–1643), a confessor to the Poor Clares of Gravelines (where Evelinge had lived earlier) and a translator of Spanish works, contributed to the publication of the English edition of Hendricq’s and Buirette’s works. Since 1630, Bell was the superior of the English Franciscan convent in Douai.85 The connection with that convent is all the more likely since the translation was printed by Martin Bogart, who, after the English Franciscans had failed to establish their own press, was regularly working for them around 1635.86 If Evelinge was indeed the translator, her good command of French enabled her to not only provide English translations to her fellow-sisters, but also to reach a readership across the Channel, thereby contributing to the transregional transfer of Catholic literature from the continent to the British Isles.87

Conclusions Despite the apparent differences concerning chronology, the importance of the various source languages and the intended readership between the corpora of French and English translations published within the Cambrai province, many books were eventually made available in both French and English. In many instances, the publication of a French translation appears to have inspired an English one, as has been illustrated for the books by Luis de La Puente, François de Sales, and several local authors from the Cambrai province. Yet, there is often 84 85 86 87

Walsham, “Wholesome Milk and Strong Meat”, 296. On Bell and his translations, see: Allison, English Translations From the Spanish, 195. Allison, “Franciscan Nooks”, 19–20. According to Jaime Goodrich, Evelinge’s translations even contributed to the “contemporary efforts to restore English Franciscanism and to reclaim England as a Catholic nation”: “‘Ensigne-Bearers of Saint Clare’”, 99.

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a lack of firm evidence supporting a causal connection between the French and English editions. Nevertheless, it is clear that English Catholics swiftly noticed the most innovative and promising books printed within their continental host society and subsequently decided to translate them into their native tongue. In selecting books for translation, polyglot translators, editors, and publishers, such as Richard Gibbons, Miles Pinkney and even the Poor Clares of Aire, were inspired by those already published or circulating within the Cambrai province. Even if English and Scottish Catholics did not manage to publish as many editions of translations as their host society, they still provided a representative sample of the leading continental devotional and spiritual currents. However central the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai has been in the transfer of continental Catholic literature to the British Isles, it should be kept in mind that the cases discussed above were part of a phenomenon with a much wider geographical outreach. Publishing translations of the books by Luis de La Puente, François de Sales, or even Philippe d’Outreman was neither particularly English, nor distinctly French or German. Over time, books originally written in Italian, Spanish and French were translated into many vernacular languages and read all over the Catholic world. Still, if Cambrai was just one link in a chain of transregional exchanges, it must have represented a vital one for English Catholics. It was in this border region, belonging to the Habsburg Low Countries, but bordering France, the Holy Roman Empire, and the English Channel, that the networks of English Catholics convened, that their channels of literary transfers came together, and that most of the English translations were printed. In addition to studying the translations produced in Europe’s foremost typographic centres and fragmenting translation history along national lines, a transregional perspective – looking beyond the same manifold borders the translations crossed – will bring greater insight into the function of literary transfers, the role of interlocutors, and the importance of intermediary regions such as the Cambrai province.

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Soetaert, A./Wyffels, H., “Beyond the Douai-Reims Bible: the Changing Publishing Strategies of the Kellam Family in Seventeenth-Century Douai”, The Library (forthcoming). Soetaert, A., “Printing at the Frontier. The Emergence of a Transregional Book Production in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai (c. 1560–1659)”, De Gulden Passer 94 (2016) 137–63. Soetaert, A., “Translating and Distributing Italian Religious Literature in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai (late 16th, early 17th century)”, Incontri. Rivista Europea di studi Italiani 30 (2015) 29–40. Soetaert, A., Katholieke literatuur en transregionale uitwisseling in de kerkprovincie Kamerijk (1559–1659), unpublished PhD-dissertation, KU Leuven, 2017. Sommervogel, C. (ed.), Bibliothèque de la Compagnie de Jésus (12 vol.; Brussels: Schepens, 1890–1960). Vanhulst, H., “The music in the Index librorum … prima pars of Jean Bogard (Douai, 1618)”, in R. Rasch (ed.), The Circulation of Music in Europe 1600–1900. A Collection of Essays and Case Studies (Berlin: Berliner Wissenschafts-Verlag, 2008) 87–106. Walsh, M.J., “The Publishing Policy of the English College Press at Saint-Omer, 1608– 1759”, in K. Robbins (ed.), Religion and Humanism: Papers Read at the Eighteenth Summer Meeting and the Nineteenth Winter Meeting of the Ecclesiastical History Society (Oxford: Blackwell, 1981) 239–50. Walsham, A., “Dumb Preachers: Catholicism and the Culture of Print”, in Catholic Reformation in Protestant Britain (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014) 235–70. Walsham, A., “Luis de Granada’s Mission to Protestant England: Translating Devotional Literature of the Spanish Counter Reformation”, in T. Bela/C. Calma/J. Rzegocka (ed.), Publishing Subversive Texts in Elizabethan England and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth (Leiden: Brill, 2016) 129–54. Walsham, A., “Wholesome Milk and Strong Meat: Peter Canisius’s Catechisms and the Conversion of Protestant Britain”, British Catholic History 32 (2015) 293–314.

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“What do you Read my Lord? Words, Words, Words…”: A Case Study on Translations and Cultural Transfers in Early Modern Eastern Europe

Any interpretive attempt to evaluate how early modern English Puritanism brought about the emergence of Hungarian Puritan culture and literacy demands a sound historiographic examination. For reception proper seems a multifaceted cultural, social, and literary phenomenon that transmitted not only a set of clearly defined theological doctrines, but patterns of conduct, texts, and scribal habits as well. Moreover, the act of translation functioned as a cultural transfer that inevitably had to be adjusted, applied, and accommodated to the particular needs of the receivers. Thus, the influence of English Puritanism had consisted of a great number of cultural, intellectual, and literary impulses that were specifically incorporated into contemporary Hungarian Calvinist devotion. In order to grasp the essence of this complex transfer of cultures and languages, especially when considering the early modern Hungarian Calvinist Church’s attempts to incorporate Romanian communities, one must challenge the traditional centre/periphery approach. Though historical writing since the 1970s has repeatedly contested the validity of this explanatory scheme, the scholarship on Puritanism has invariably insisted that England’s and New England’s theological visions, as opposed to those held by the Dutch, Hungarian and Transylvanians, which are generally classified as mere replications, represented the religion’s exclusive centre. The concept of a ‘transatlantic approach’ has clearly suggested that while Puritan England and New England embodied the centre, any other non-English Puritan discourse, whether Dutch or Hungarian, belonged on the periphery.1 Accordingly, Graham Murdock has pointed to Hungarian Calvinism as standing at the frontier of the European Reformation. The frontier-theory, 1 Francis J. Bremmer argues that Puritanism is, first of all, an English and American heritage. Therefore, the so-called transatlantic approach places these two at the centre of the historiography and methodology of Puritan studies: F.J. Bremmer, Puritanism. A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009) 97–107. The passive acceptance of this casts continental, and especially Hungarian, Puritanism into a secondary role, as illustrated by the edited volume: Á. Kovács/B. Levente Baráth (ed.), Calvinism on the Peripheries: Religion and Civil Society in Europe (Budapest: L’Harmattan, 2009).

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even if it was conceived as a device of historical writing, clearly reinforces the conviction of the existence of a centre and a distant periphery.2 Opposing this claim, I personally believe that either Hungarian Calvinism, in general, or Puritanism, in particular, went through its own, original development, which, after an initial period of impact, was far more complex than the ‘periphery’ or ‘peripheral’ explanatory pattern could possibly render.3 Furthermore, I consider that when one applies the centre-periphery narrative pattern to the history of Hungarian or Transylvanian Puritanism, one produces a simplistic and superficial overall image that unjustly ignores the specific regional contexts and determining factors that helped to shape Puritanism within the aforementioned regions and cultures. Accordingly, my paper proposes a case study that highlights this criticism by revealing the deficiencies of the scholarship on Hungarian Puritanism. Furthermore, my work suggests that evaluating the reception of English Puritan devotional literature is a far more complex task than some simplistic attempts to reconstruct connections or track down English authors, texts, their alleged Hungarian translators, and vice versa. I shall argue that deciphering the process of reception as cultural transfers and complex translations imposes the need for producing a sound contextual explanation sustained by a sophisticated textual archaeology.4 My conclusion establishes that the reception of English Puritanism was nurtured by translations that not only transferred influential texts from one language and culture to another, but that also recreated these texts and entangled them in new contexts and functions in order to lay the foundation of a native tradition.

2 G. Murdock, Calvinism on the Frontier, 1600–1660: International Calvinism and the Reformed Church in Hungary and Transylvania (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000). 3 From a historiographical perspective, I try to apply Peter Burke’s thesis of the so called ‘decentred Renaissance’ to the reception of English Puritanism in Eastern Europe. Burke argues that the reception of Renaissance should be interpreted as an “active process of assimilation and transformation, as opposed to a simple spread of classical Italian ideas.”: P. Burke, The European Renaissance. Centres and Peripheries (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998) 3–5. For a more detailed discussion of this issue in the context of cultural transfers and translations, see: P. Burke, Languages and Communities in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); P. Burke/R. Po-chia Hsia (ed.), Cultural Translation in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). 4 I propose a comparative close reading of the English and Hungarian texts complemented by a contextualizing historical explanation.

“What do you Read my Lord? Words, Words, Words…”

I.

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The Perspective of Hungarian Scholarship

The purpose of this section is to establish some of the relevant historical contexts and illustrations that render an account of the process of reception and cultural transfer involved in the translations. The reception of English Puritanism in early modern Hungarian culture has traditionally been regarded as a chapter in the history of cultural contacts.5 Scholars of various disciplinary affiliations agree that the efforts of disparate disciplines, such as ecclesiastical history or literary history, should converge on some relevant issues, like the cultural history of peregrination, book history, and, in particular, the reception of the Puritan theological authorities. William Perkins and William Ames were regarded as two representatives whose influence proved to be particularly determinant in the development of Hungarian Puritanism. Based on this approach, the standard procedure was to concentrate on those Hungarian individuals who had visited England, had certain knowledge of English, and translated or compiled texts that belonged to the English or Latin corpus of Puritan theology and devotional literature.6 Therefore, the Calvinist theologian Pál Medgyesi (1604–1663) qualifies as a classic example, as he represents an ideal pretender to the status of the first Hungarian Puritan author. Medgyesi commenced studying theology in Leiden as early as 1630, before traveling to Cambridge in the fall of that year. His stay was rather short, as he already turned up in Debrecen by the end of 1631. However, the fact that he was a peregrinus academicus had a positive influence on his career as a clergyman. His social promotion is testified by the fact that he became the court chaplain of Prince György I Rákóczi in 1638. He subsequently remained in the entourage of the princely family, as he faithfully served the prince’s mother, Zsuzsánna Lorántffy, until the end of her life. After Lorántffy’s death, Medgyesi was ordained as a priest and served at Sárospatak until his death. All in all, Medgyesi has justly been regarded as one of the founding fathers of Hungarian Puritanism. He was the author of a couple of translations from English to Hungarian;7 amongst the most significant of these translations was Lewis Bayly’s 5 P. Berg, Angol hatások tizenhetedik századi irodalmunkban [English Influences on the Hungarian Literature during the Seventeenth Century] (Budapest: Országos Egyetemi Nyomda, 1946); J. Bodonhelyi, Az angol puritanizmus lelki élete és magyar hatásai [The Spirituality of English Puritanism and its Influences on Hungary] (Debrecen, Pannonia Nyomda, 1942); I. Ágoston, A magyarországi puritanizmus gyökerei [The Roots of the Hungarian Puritanism] (Budapest: Kálvin Kiadó, 1997). 6 J. Zoványi, Puritánus mozgalmak a magyar református egyházban [Puritan Movements in the Hungarian Reformed Church] (Budapest: Magyar Protestáns Irodalmi Társaság, 1911). 7 Pál Medgyesi, Het napoki edgyüt beszelgetesek … [Conversations Lasting Seven Days] (Debrecen: Fodorik Menyhard, 1637); Pál Medgyesi, Lelki A Be-Ce … [Spiritual Alphabet] (Gyulafehérvár: Székesi Mihály, 1645).

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work, The Practice of Piety (1611).8 Medgyesi’s translation became a great success; it went through seven consecutive editions between 1636 and 1692.9 Besides the English translations, the spread of Puritan thought was also nurtured by the reception of texts which had either been written in or translated into Latin. Hence, the process of reception through the mediation of Latin gained outstanding significance, as translating from Latin to Hungarian proved to be a much simpler task than from English to Hungarian. Thus, the most important works from both William Ames and William Perkins were edited in Latin, translated, and either reedited or compiled into the works of Hungarian theologians by the end of the seventeenth century.10 In addition, a Latin edition of Amesius’s Medulla was printed by Stephanus Töltési in Debrecen.11 Having enumerated the main cultural and linguistic contexts that purportedly secured the transfer of Puritan-minded theological and devotional texts, it still remains a major challenge to deal with those cases in which neither the authors nor the English sources of the Hungarian translations have been revealed. Furthermore, there are some disturbing contradictions regarding the level of English proficiency acquired by early modern Hungarians, as well as in the methods and textbooks used in early modern Hungary and Transylvania for teaching English. Apart from a few superficial surveys,12 Hungarian scholarship does not possess a convincing explanation for this strange situation. It appears that some early 8 Pál Medgyesi, Praxis Pietatis [The Practice of Piety] (Debrecen: Fodorik Menyhért, 1636). 9 After the editio princeps (Debrecen, 1636) six consecutive editions followed in 1638, 1640, 1641, 1643, 1677, 1678. For an online survey of these editions, see: http://www.eruditio.hu/ lectio/mokka-r. 10 István Telki-Bányai, Angliai Puritanismus [English Puritanism] (Utrecht: Vasberg János, 1654); István Szentgyörgyi, Jo cselekedetek gyemant koeve [The Diamond of Good Deeds] (Kolozsvár: Veresegyházi Mihály, 1678); Guilelmus Amesius, De Conscientia, Et Ejus Jure, vel Casibus. Libri Quinque. Editio Novissima (Debrecen: Stephanus Töltési, 1685); György Martonfalvi, Sz. I. M. D. és a’ Debreczeni Collegium Professora Taneto és Czafolo Theologiaja [A Theology to Teach and Refute] (Debrecen: Rosnyai János, 1679); [William Perkins], Ama Szent Iras feitegetesben hatalmas és igen tudos doctornak, G. Perkinsusnak A lelki-ismeretnek akadekirol írott drága szép tanításának elso˝ könyve… [A Translation Of That Great Scholar and Exegete, G. Perkins’s Superb Book about the Cases of Conscience] (Amsterdam: Johannes Janssonius, 1648); János T. Iratosi, Az ember eletenek bodogul valo igazgatasanak modgyáról [Of the Method of Happily Living] (Lo˝cse: Brever Lörintz, 1637); János C. Kecskeméti, Catholicvs reformatvs [A Reformed Catholic] (Kassa: Joannes Festus, 1620). 11 Guilielmus Amesius, Medulla Theologica, Editio Novissima. Ab Avthore Ante obitum recognita & variis in locis aucta. Debrecini, Per Stephanum Töltesi (Debrecen: Stephanus Töltési, 1685). 12 György Gömöri argues that the so-called tutorial system had been implemented within the Hungarian reformed colleges. Thus, students could have learned English during these individual meetings with the tutors. Furthermore, he claims that János Tolnai Dali and György Krizbai taught English in private for some of their outstanding students. G. Gömöry, “Angolnyelv–tanítás a 17. századi Magyarországon és Erdélyben [Teaching English in the Seventeenth Century in Hungary and Transylvania]”, Iskolakultúra 8 (2002) 102–6.

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modern Hungarians were able to translate English texts into Hungarian, which were then printed, without ever having visited England. Before examining the details of this contradiction, we need to first establish some relevant contexts.

II.

English as a Foreign Language in early modern Hungarian Culture

This section complements the survey of those contexts that shed light on the transfer of Puritan devotional literature to early modern Hungarian culture. Despite the consistent number of early modern texts translated from English to Hungarian, Hungarian scholarship cannot provide satisfactory explanations regarding the teaching and learning of English in both early modern Royal Hungary and the Principality of Transylvania. Indeed, it is particularly discouraging that there was no such subject or discipline as English language in the curricula of early modern Hungarian colleges. Still, the secondary literature rather vaguely claims that English had been taught at some of the early modern Protestant colleges in Alba Iulia or Debrecen. Nonetheless, the first HungarianEnglish and English-Hungarian dictionaries were not published until 1860.13 Yet, one cannot exclude the possibility that there might have been manuscripts, glossaries, or annotated English-Latin and Latin-English dictionaries to which certain Hungarian terms might have been manually added. Unfortunately, no such manuscript or annotated print has survived.14 A further discouraging fact is that, apart from two exceptions, there were no textbooks or printed grammar books that could have been used for learning English. The two exceptions, however, were rather unusual textbooks that proposed the learning of English through Latin. This meant that one who was not versatile in Latin would surely be unable to learn English through this method. Accordingly, Paulus Jászberényi’s bilingual work15 overtly promoted this method by praising the efficiency of the book: “Being very useful for gentlemen, lawyers, and young Clerks, and all others:

13 G. Dallos, Angol-magyar és magyar-angol szótár. I. Angol-magyar rész [Hungarian–English and English–Hungarian Dictionary. I. Hungarian–English Section] (Pest: Ráth Mór, 1860). 14 For a chronological survey on the development of Hungarian dictionaries and grammar books see J. Melich, “A magyar szótárirodalom [The Corpus of Hungarian Dictionaries]”, Nyelvtudományi Közlemények 37 (1907) 22–51; I. Sági, “A magyar szótárak és nyelvtanok könyvészete [The Bibliography of Hungarian Dictionaries and Grammar Books]”, Magyar Könyvszemle 28 (1921) 96–140. 15 Paulus Jászberényi, Fax Novae Linguae Latine … A New Torche to the Latine Tongue (London: Nathaniel Brooke, 1664).

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either for Englishmen that desire to better their Knowledge in the Latine Tongue, or for Strangers to learn and speak English.”16 The famous theologian, György Csipkés Komáromi, revered for his Puritan inclinations, published another book in the same year. He was a student in England and was therefore able to assess the practical value of a good textbook. In response, he wrote Anglicum Spicilegium.17 Again, Latin was considered to be the mediating language without which, according to contemporary convictions, a foreign language could not be effectively learned. It remains a mystery as to whether these books, with their strong connection to Latin, could have offered a reliable knowledge of English. Furthermore, it is difficult to determine whether this method was efficient and made possible the translation of long and difficult English texts. Regardless, even though there were, according to our knowledge, no English textbooks, Medgyesi and his fellow companions not only managed to spend a considerable amount of time in England, but also read and translated books. The conclusion from this brief survey is that major ambiguities, due to the lack of relevant sources, still obstruct our view on how English had been taught and learned in early modern Royal Hungary and the Principality of Transylvania. In particular, the period before 1664 appears to be a total mystery, as there are no data referring to how or who taught or learned English. Yet, it coincides with the production of one the most influential translations, Pál Medgyesi’s Praxis pietatis (1636), which originated from Lewis Bayly’s Practice of Piety. Additionally, those Hungarian translators who apparently never travelled to England and, at least theoretically, might have learned the language in the Reformed schools they had attended in early modern Royal Hungary and Transylvania pose a further challenging perspective.

III.

The Curious Case of István Matkó Kézdivásárhelyi

Having revisited some of the relevant intellectual, cultural, literary, and linguistic contexts pertaining to the process whereby English Puritan theology and devotional literature had been transferred to early modern Hungarian culture, this section focuses on the unique case of a specific Hungarian translator. István Kézdivásárhelyi Matkó (1625–1693) has captured the attention of literary historians with his unusual command of languages. After studying in Kolozsvár and Gyulafehérvár, he learned Hebrew, Greek, and, allegedly, English. Moreover, besides Hungarian and Latin, he was also apparently able to write and speak in 16 Jászberényi, New Torch, A1. 17 György Csipkés Komáromi, Anglicvm Spicilegium (Debrecen: Georgius Karancsi, 1664).

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Romanian. Having been involved in the Hungarian Calvinist missions sent to the Romanians,18 Matkó attempted to translate the New Testament into Romanian in 1681, though this enterprise remained unfinished.19 However, there is no reliable knowledge supporting the hypothesis that he might have spent some time at either a foreign university, or in England. Therefore, we need to define him as a talented domidoctus, who acquired an excellent education solely in the Calvinist educational institutes of Transylvania. He commenced his career as a Calvinist priest at Felso˝bánya as early as 1660, before moving to Zilah in 1668. He finally established himself in Cluj in 1682, where he would stay until the end of his life in 1693. Matkó was an ardent Calvinist, who proved his commitment to his church during the 1660s, when he engaged in a long religious debate with the Jesuit Mátyás Sámbár. In addition, he also translated two English devotional books of Puritan content. Despite the lack of sources referring to his knowledge of the English language, we should credit Matkó with these translations, for he himself claimed authorship in the prefaces of the aforementioned works.20 It is his first translation, published in 1666, that constitutes the focus of interest for this case study.21 Matkó’s work seems to be a conduct book, one that intended to promote a genuine Puritan practice of piety. It set forth the general and special rules that contributed to the imitation of godliness. Despite the lacking sources referring to its contemporary reception, it is remarkable, I believe, that a Romanian version of this text had also been produced. Ioan Zoba, also referred to as Ioan Popa,22 a Romanian priest and printer often charged with Filo-Calvinism and benefiting from the consistent support of the Prince of 18 For the efforts of the Calvinist Princes of Transylvania to attract Orthodox priests and Romanians in general to Calvinism, see M. Cra˘ciun, “Building a Romanian Reformed Community in Seventeenth-Century Transylvania”, in M. Cra˘ciun/G. Ovidiu/G. Murdock, (ed.), Confessional Identity in East-Central Europe (Aldershot: Ashgate 2002) 99–120; I. Keul, Early Modern Religious Communities in East–Central Europe Ethnic Diversity, Denominational Plurality, and Corporative Politics in the Principality of Transylvania (1526–1691) (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2009) 193–96. 19 J.V. Ecsedy, “Cirill betu˝s könyvnyomtatás a 17. századi Erdélyben [Printing in Cyrillic Characters in Transylvania during the Seventeenth Century]”, Magyar Könyvszemle 110 (1994) 173. 20 István Kézdivásárhelyi Matkó, Kegyes cselekedetek Rövid Ösvenykeje [A Short Path to Godly Deeds] (Szeben: Szenci Ábrahám, 1666); Idem, Kegyes lelkeket idvességre tápláló Mennyei Éloe Kenyér: Avagy az Ur Vacsorájával jól éloeknek, a’ Jesus Christus szent Testével és Vérével való igaz koezoesueléseknek Sz. irás szerint való jó módgya és rendes úttya [Nurturing Heavenly Bread for Pious Souls or The Use of the Holy Supper] (Kolozsvár: Veresegyházi István, 1691). 21 István Kézdivásárhelyi Matkó, Kegyes cselekedetek Rövid Ösvenykeje [A Short Path to Godly Deeds] (Szeben: Szenci Ábrahám, 1666). 22 For a detailed account of Ioan Zoba’s life and career see: I. Mircea/B. Gudor/A. Dumitran, “Noblet¸e prin cultura: Ioan Zoba din Vint¸/Noblesse par la Culture: Ioan Zoba din Vint¸”, Apulum 37 (2000) 11–21.

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Transylvania, Michael I. Apafi,23 had translated Matkó’s Hungarian text to Romanian and published it in 1685. The book was printed in Cyrillic characters and is a mere translation of Matkó’s Hungarian version.24 In addition, Matkó’s Hungarian text was republished anew in 1762.25 All of these contextual details, however, are just complementing a conundrum related to the unrevealed source, or sources of Matkó’s, translation. He, rather disappointingly, confined his explanation about the English source, or sources, of his translation to two useful remarks, but did not reveal the original(s). The long title of his book contains a rather significant sentence that reads: “… [it was] compiled and translated from English for the benefit of those longing for the practice of piety.”26 In addition, he again mentioned the act of translation in the dedicatory letter of his booklet: “… I have translated this ‘little Path’ from English to the language of our nation.”27 Although Matkó twice mentioned the act of translation, he clearly refrained from pointing to the English text, or texts, upon which he relied. All in all, the ambiguity of Matkó’s statements suggests two valid alternatives regarding how and what he might have translated and compiled. Firstly, the construction “compiled and translated” may well denote that Matkó relied upon at least two texts, and that his translation was also the result of a compilation. Yet, one cannot utterly dismiss the possibility that Matkó used one single text, presumably a longer and more complex one, that he had compiled out of it his own Hungarian version. He could have only prepared a partial translation that covered some disparate sections of a long text tailored to the aims and functions of the implied Hungarian audience. As this latter alternative appears to be the more plausible one, I intend to give credit to it and will use it as a starting point for my argumentation. A further argument sustaining this course of action is the case of the aforementioned Pál Medgyesi, who translated Lewis Bayly‘s Practice of Piety in an almost identical manner. Medgyesi first prepared a partial translation entitled 23 A. Dumitran, “Entre orthodoxie et réforme – l’appartenance confessionnelle de l’archiprȇtre Ioan Zoba din Vint¸”, in M. Cra˘ciun/G. Ovidiu (ed.), Ethnicity and Religion in Central and Eastern Europe (Cluj: University Press, 1995) 136–48; D.A. Vanca, “Correcting Assumptions of Filo–Calvinism at Ioan Zaba’s Books”, European Journal of Science and Theology 9 (2013) 33–55. 24 Ioan Zoba, KARARE prea scurta Pre fapte bune indreptatoare [A Very Short Path to Godly Deeds] (Gyulafehérvár: 1685). This is a very rare print, for a bibliographic description see: I. Bianu/N. Hodos¸ (ed.), Bibliografia romaneasca veche. 1508–1830 [The Bibliography of Early Modern Romanian Print, 1508–1830] (Bucuresti: Atelierele Socec &Co., 1907) 487. 25 István Kézdivásárhelyi Matkó, Kegyes cselekedetek Rövid Ösvenykeje [A Short Path to Godly Deeds] (Nagykároly: 2 Sz. N. P. I., 1762). 26 Matkó, Kegyes cselekedetek, A1. 27 Matkó, Kegyes cselekedetek, A5.

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Scala Coeli28 and published it together with another Hungarian devotional work.29 When he concluded the translation of the whole text, which took him four more years, he decided to publish it under the title of Praxis Pietatis. In both cases, I believe, it is significant that the translators as the authors of the Hungarian versions decided to truncate the original English text by adjusting it to either the needs of an implied readership or for their own purposes. Medgyesi’s case constitutes a significant antecedent that makes Matkó’s procedure even more credible. Finally, as Matkó had never visited England and did not have the chance to practice his English, he presumably might have had some difficulties in translating lengthy and complex texts, especially those abundant in sophisticated theological concepts and technical terms. Therefore, it is more likely that he created an abridged Hungarian version that compiled various sections or disparate passages into a more or less coherent text. Advocating the idea that Matkó had likely first selected and compiled disparate passages of one single English text, before translating and rearranging them into a coherent Hungarian text, brings us to the most important question, namely, what was the English source of Matkó’s translation? The difficulty in providing a precise answer lies in the rather general character of the Hungarian text. In its most basic form it is a compilation of all the popular Puritan commonplaces of the times regarding how to live a godly life. Still, a thorough textual analysis suggests that the Hungarian text contains consistent passages from John Downame’s A Guide to Godlynesse.30 John Downame’s (1571–1652) spiritual profile as a revered Puritan divine and much acclaimed author fits very well into the range of Matkó’s theological interests.31 Moreover, Downame’s discourse as a practitioner of the genuine theologia practica promoted by Puritans was very much akin to Matkó’s religious conduct and spirituality. As Downame’s book had first been published in 1622 and reedited in 1629, it is possible that by the time Matkó finished his translation in 1666, it could have easily become so popular that even Hungarian students 28 Pál Medgyesi, Scala Coeli avagy egynehany, bizonyos ido˝kre alkalmaztatott, istenes elmelkedesek es buzgo Imadsagok, mellyek az kegyes Eletnek, Angliai nyelven irattatot Praxisabol, szedegettetek [Scala Coeli, or Some Godly Meditation Adjusted to a Particular Time Complemented with Some Devote Prayers Compiled from the Praxis Written in English] (Debrecen: Fodorik Menyhart, 1632). 29 Pál Medgyesi, Szent Agoston Vallasa [The Creed of Saint Augustine] (Debrecen: Fodorik Menyhart, 1632). 30 John Downame, A guide to godlynesse or a Treatise of a Christian life shewing the duties wherein it consisteth, the helpes inabling & the reasons parswading vnto it ye impediments hindering ye practise of it, and the best meanes to remoue them whereunto are added diuers prayers and a treatise of carnall securitie by Iohn Douname Batcheler in Diuinitie and minister of God’s Word (London: Christopher Meredith, 1622). 31 For an assessemnt of John Downame’s significance see. R.J. Peterson, Unity in Diversity: English Puritans and the Puritan Reformation, 1603–1689 (Leiden: Brill, 2014) 89–152.

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visiting English universities might have acquired copies of it and brought it to back to Transylvania. Downame’s impressive work is arranged into six books and further refined into 147 chapters, which results in an impressive 961 octavo page text. The paramount aim of this spectacular text, as Randall J. Pederson rightly observed, was to promote godliness and stir devotion.32 Accordingly, Downame’s generous discourse established the duties and the implied rules to be followed and was complemented by rich illustrations justifying these claims. Furthermore, he also added additional passages dealing with theological issues, such as the person and attributes of God, faith, and salvation. This diversified and rather diffuse content was structured into six books. The first Book contained the preface; Book II set forth the main parts and principle duties; Books III and IV covered the daily exercises and the properties; and Book V and VI surveyed the benefits, means, and difficulties of undertaking a godly life. Furthermore, Matkó’s book imitated the genre of the early modern catechism that had been written in the form of a dialogue, during which the poignant questions of an aspirant to pious life were answered by a godly person, probably a Puritan divine. Hence, the book acted as a collection of rules to be followed that could be defined as either generales regulae or speciales regulae. The aforementioned distinction set up a framework that provided coherence to this longlasting, but rather unrealistic and monotonous, conversation. It is almost certain that Matkó deliberately attempted to compose a simplified version that could accommodate the needs and possibilities of a rather different Hungarian readership in terms of religiosity and literacy. Accordingly, he utterly ignored book one and book six, and, instead, concentrated on books two and three, which contain the main parts and daily exercises of a godly life, reworking them into 44 questions and answers. He solely relied upon Downame’s Book V, which enumerated the benefits and means for achieving a godly life, to elevate the concept of Christian watchfulness33 and make it the preeminent duty of every godly person. While Downame insisted on the multifaceted exploration and description of this duty throughout four chapters (Book V, chapter 9–12),34 Matkó resolutely grasped its essence in a couple of enlightening sentences. He claimed that watchfulness, just like prayer, had to be uninterrupted and continuous at all times.35 The thought originated from Downame’s more complex discourse:

32 For an evaluation of Downame’s Guide in the context of English Puritanism, see Peterson, Unity in Diversity, 113–15. 33 Downame, Guide, 505–12. 34 Downame, Guide, 505–28. 35 Matkó, Kegyes cselekedetek, 3.

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In all which respects, we are to keepe a carefull watch ouer our selues in all places, when we are at home, and when we are abroad; when we are alone, and when we are in company; … No time exempted from the Christian warfare, nor secure and safe from the assaults of our spiritual enemies. And therefore we must continually stand upon our guard and keepe our watch, that we be at no time unfit for any of these purposes…36

Matkó argued that being and staying alert covered all aspects of life. He explained: “Your watchfulness must be concerned with all your thoughts, words, actions, conduct, drinking, eating, dressing, undertaking, expenses and keeping the Sabbath holy.”37 This rule, in Matkó’s formulation, appears to be a distilled excerpt from Downame’s complex and detailed discourse. He dedicated the whole third chapter of Book V to the issue of how to determine and organize the rules to be observed. Indeed, in section 4, entitled, That we must observe an order in doing these duties & avoid confusion he formulated: “As such, and so much time for Prayer, Meditation, Reading, and other religious exercises; such, and so much for the duties of our calling, recreations, and civill imployments; for sleeping, waking, rising, going to bed, eating and drinking.”38 Having established watchfulness as the major duty of a godly person, Matkó proceeded to the delineation of both the general and special duties of a Puritan and their implied rules. Once again, Matkó borrowed the criterion of this differentiation from Downame, who relied upon a similar dichotomy in Book III,39 while also expressing further reflections related to it, which were not incorporated into Matkó’s account. However, according to Matkó’s understanding, general duties implied a set of rules to be observed and strictly adopted. Reworking the pertinent chapters of Downame’s Book III,40 Matkó established that general rules concerned an individual’s conduct, such as his/her behaviour in society, moderate consummation of food or drinks, dedication to work and a laborious lifestyle, prosperity, dressing, and, finally, leisure time or recreation. For instance, when establishing a dressing code for godly people, Matkó clearly followed Downame’s directions of Book III, chapter 34, section 4, titled, Of the right use of apparell.41 Matkó warned his readers that dressing was meant to serve practical purposes, such as hiding and protecting a naked body. He also added that everyone should be moderate in dressing, respecting the social status he or she had gained and, most importantly, to avoid the temptation of vanity.42 In Downame’s more elaborate discourse, he wrote: 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Downame, Guide, 522. Matkó, Kegyes cselekedetek, 4–6. Downame, Guide, 462. Downame, Guide, 163. Downame, Guide, 163–401. Downame, Guide, 354–56. Matkó, Kegyes cselekedetek, 30.

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And first let us know, that we must use our apparell to those right ends for which they were ordained, that is, for necessity of nature to couer our nakednesse, and to keepe vs from the iniuries of the weather, and for comlinesse, ornament, and sober delight. I which respect those who professe Christianity, must carefully auoid in the vse of their apparell, pride and vain glory, of which there is little cause, if wee consider their originall; which was to hide our shame, the fruit of our sinne…43

In a similar way, when reflecting on how godly people should spend their leisure time, Matkó closely observed Downame’s recommendation from Book III, chapters 21 and 22, both of which focused on ‘recreation’.44 Accordingly, Downame defined ‘lawful recreation’ as: And first we will speak of recreation; which is an intermission of our labours, and spending of conuenient time in some delightful exercise, for the refreshing of our mindes and bodies, that their vigour and strength being repaired, wee may more cheerefully returne to our callings, and performe duties of them with more ability.45

Taking this definition as a starting point, Matkó asserted: “Your concern must be to occupy your leisure time (recreatio) solely with decent and honest preoccupations.” Matkó seemingly managed to compress a teaching that Downame had elaborated throughout two chapters and twelve pages into one single assertion. Yet, it is remarkable that in Matkó’s translation, the Latin equivalent (recreatio) of the English word ‘recreation’ is added in brackets to the Hungarian text. Besides the fact that this once again testifies to the fact that Downame’s text constituted the source for Matkó’s translation, the inclusion of the Latin recreatio as a technical term in the middle of a Hungarian sentence sheds an intriguing light upon the process of translation. It seems to me that Matkó, in the spirit of his time, had learned his English language skills through the mediation of Latin. When confronted with a special English term, he felt the need to also add the Latin equivalent in order to provide a clear meaning to his translation. He could have employed the Hungarian word for the Latin recreatio which is, according to Molnár Szenczi’s dictionary meg-uyhodás,46 meaning regeneration, to his translation, but preferred to add the Latin version. The likely explanation is that he compiled this source by using the established practice of translating English texts into Hungarian. The aforementioned Pál Medgyesi once again represents a relevant antecedent, for Medgyesi accomplished something analogous in his translation of Bayly’s Practice of Piety. Medgyesi not only added the Latin equivalent of the construction of ‘practice of piety’ in brackets, but also replaced the English title with its Latin version, praxis pietatis. Therefore, similarly to 43 44 45 46

Downame, Guide, 354. Downame, Guide, 262–67 and 269–74. Downame, Guide, 263. Albert Molnár Szenczi, Dictionarium Latinoungaricum (Noribergae: Hutter Elias, 1604) Hh1 ro.

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Matkó’s solution, Medgyesi, when translating Bayly’s English text into Hungarian, considered using a Hungarian title instead of a Latin one. Both cases, I believe, are significant examples of the mediated multilingual and multicultural character of early modern translation as a form of cultural transfer. Still, I believe, that in Matkó’s case there was a preoccupation to remain faithful to the source of the translation. Thus, the enclosed Latin term’s function was to strengthen the connection between translation and original. However, when pointing out the special rules, Matkó defined those instructions that would regulate the exercise of a godly life and piety in not only the public sphere, such as in churches, but also in the domestic intimacy sphere of the household. To accomplish this, he abridged chapter 7 from Downame’s Book II,47 and posited a long list of social actors with their pertinent duties.48 Thus, starting from the members of a nuclear family, before moving on to other people related to the household, the community, and the local magistracy, including the priests, he exhibited a laconically formulated, but detailed, picture of early modern society and the ideal conduct of its members. Additionally, Matkó enumerated those rules that helped improve attending church and catechizing at home. Reformulating Downame’s robust text from Book V, chapter 5, Matkó lucidly delineated the tasks before and after attending service at church, as well as outlining how one should behave during the sermon itself. He was very interested in warning his readers about the devastating consequences of falling asleep while in church and proposed a remedy for that: One should picture that God Himself is attending the service and can see those, who scandalously fall asleep instead of listening to his words, for they are bored or preoccupied by silly reveries. One should also bear in mind that with this behaviour they offend the preacher and set a deplorable example for others. Moreover, they should remember that they would please with this conduct only the Satan and offend God.49

Nonetheless, Matkó, as an experienced preacher, was certainly aware that keeping people attentive in church depended on the quality and nature of the sermon. Accordingly, he touched on the issue of the good sermon, as well. Downame also expressed his opinion “that the Word must bee preached powerfully and plainly”50 in a distinct section of Book V, chapter 5. Having gained inspiration from both this passage and his own experience, Matkó formulated a truly remarkable ideology: A sermon was good if not only enchanted your ears, but would touch your heart or made you cry. Furthermore, it was effective, if you started hate your most intimate sin and you 47 48 49 50

Downame, Guide, 123–28. Matkó, Kegyes cselekedetek, 54–88. Matkó, Kegyes cselekedetek, 103–04. Downame, Guide, 484–86.

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commenced expiate your God hoping to be forgiven for the merits of your saint redeemer.51

The concluding part of Matkó’s booklet covered the issue of catechising and the importance of sharing or reading the word of God.52 Matkó’s arguments correspond to lengthy passages in Downame’s Book III, chapter 31,53 although, he once again shortened and simplified the long English text. Apparently, all of the major issues elaborated by Matkó unmistakably reciprocate to chapters or passages in Downame’s book. Of course, Matkó often abridged the text as opposed to Downame’s more detailed treatment of relevant issues. It is here that Matkó’s revealing statement, “compiled and translated”, acquires a poignant significance. A comparison of the two texts endorses the fact that their discourses originate from a similar tradition, as teaching about how to achieve a godly life had certainly constituted the central theme of Puritan devotion. Still, Matkó was not preoccupied with treating his readership to extended passages of theological argumentations for the sake of exposing an up-to-date Puritan standpoint regarding issues such as maintaining a good conscience. Downame dedicated significant space to its elaboration, yet Matkó utterly avoided it, although the Puritan teaching of the ‘cases of conscience’ was already known in early modern Hungarian circles due to the reception of William Perkins’s books.54 Moreover, a Hungarian translation of Perkins’s seminal work had already been published in Amsterdam as early as 1648.55 Therefore, it is possible to conclude that when working with Downame’s Guide, Matkó had deliberately adopted a certain style and genre that came closest to his interests and the expectations of an implied readership, a choice that decisively influenced the manner and the function of his translation.

Conclusion My paper demonstrates why the reception of English Puritanism should be defined as a complex process of translations and transfers. Each translated text should be subjected to a detailed examination, as many of them reveal hidden connections to various contexts. In view of this development, the significance of 51 52 53 54 55

Matkó, Kegyes cselekedetek, 105. Matkó, Kegyes cselekedetek, 106–10. Downame, Guide, 328–39. William Perkins, The whole treatise of the cases of conscience (Cambridge: John Legat, 1608). [William Perkins], Ama Szent Iras feitegetesben hatalmas és igen tudos doctornak, G. Perkinsusnak A lelki-ismeretnek akadekirol írott drága szép tanításának elso˝ könyve … [A Translation Of That Great Scholar and Exegete, G. Perkins’s Superb Book about the Cases of Conscience] (Amsterdam: Johannes Janssonius, 1648).

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Matkó’s case is really outstanding, as, at least to our present knowledge, he never left Transylvania, yet managed to learn English to such an extent that he was able to translate at least two English Puritan texts. He is the embodiment of the socalled domidoctus individual, an original type of intellectual whose Puritanism stemmed from English tradition, but who was also further influenced by native contexts. The primary significance of his translation, apart from the fact that it depicts the Puritan pattern of conduct envisaged by an influential author such as Downame, consisted in the fact that it brought about the development of a genuine Hungarian Puritan devotional literary tradition. One should bear in mind that the Romanian version of Matkó’s text, published in 1685, was solely the translation of a Hungarian Puritan devotional work with no connection whatsoever to English sources. Thus, Hungarian Puritan devotional literature may well have commenced with the imitation and translation of English patterns, but it evolved at such an escalating pace that it soon produced its own original discourse. As we have seen, a Romanian translation does testify to this conclusion. Downame’s English work, when combined with its Hungarian and Romanian versions, exposes an impressive perspective on the transregional transmission of early modern texts, as well as the emergence of literary traditions that were complemented by scribal habits of often unexpected inventiveness. This case study may well have only revealed a partial view of how English Puritanism through its mysterious agents like Matkó, had influenced such distant communities as the Calvinist Romanians. Yet, it provides solid arguments that sustain a master narrative about the literary and cultural movement of western thought to eastern locations in a manner that was far more complex than the traditional centre and periphery cliché would suggest.

Bibliography Printed and Edited Sources Amesius, Guilelmus, De Conscientia, Et Ejus Jure, vel Casibus. Libri Quinque. Editio Novissima (Debrecen: Stephanus Töltési, 1685). Amesius, Guilielmus, Medulla Theologica, Editio Novissima. Ab Avthore Ante obitum recognita & variis in locis aucta. Debrecini, Per Stephanum Töltesi (Debrecen: Stephanus Töltési, 1685). Downame, John, A guide to godlynesse or a Treatise of a Christian life shewing the duties wherein it consisteth, the helpes inabling & the reasons parswading vnto it ye impediments hindering ye practise of it, and the best meanes to remoue them whereunto are added diuers prayers and a treatise of carnall securitie by Iohn Douname Batcheler in Diuinitie and minister of Gods Word (London: Christopher Meredith, 1622).

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Iratosi, János T., Az ember eletenek bodogul valo igazgatasanak modgyáról [Of the Method of Happily Living] (Lo˝cse: Johannes Janssonius, 1637). Jászberényi, Paulus, Fax Novae Linguae Latine … A New Torche to the Latine Tongue (London: Nathaniel Brooke, 1664). Kecskeméti, János C., Catholicvs reformatvs [A Reformed Catholic] (Kassa: Joannes Festus, 1620). Kézdivásárhelyi Matkó, István, Kegyes cselekedetek Rövid Ösvenykeje [A Short Path to Godly Deeds] (Szeben: Szenci Ábrahám, 1666). Kézdivásárhelyi Matkó, István, Kegyes lelkeket idvességre tápláló Mennyei Éloe Kenyér: Avagy az Ur Vacsorájával jól éloeknek, a’ Jesus Christus szent Testével és Vérével való igaz koezoesueléseknek Sz. irás szerint való jó módgya és rendes úttya [Nurturing Heavenly Bread for Pious Souls or The Use of the Holy Supper] (Kolozsvár: Veresegyházi István, 1691). Komáromi Csipkés, György, Anglicvm Spicilegium (Debrecen: Georgius Karancsi, 1664). Martonfalvi, György, Sz. I. M. D. és a’ Debreczeni Collegium Professora Taneto és Czafolo Theologiaja [A Theology to Teach and Refute] (Debrecen: Rosnyai János, 1679). Medgyesi, Pál, Lelki A Be-Ce… [Spiritual Alphabet] (Gyulafehérvár: Székesi Mihály, 1645). Medgyesi, Pál, Het napoki edgyüt beszelgetesek … [Conversations Lasting Seven Days] (Debrecen: Fodorik Menyhard, 1637). Medgyesi, Pál, Praxis Pietatis [The Practice of Piety] (Debrecen: Fodorik Menyhért, 1636). Medgyesi, Pál, Scala Coeli avagy egynehany, bizonyos ido˝kre alkalmaztatott, istenes elmelkedesek es buzgo Imadsagok, mellyek az kegyes Eletnek, Angliai nyelven irattatot Praxisabol, szedegettetek [Scala Coeli, or Some Godly Meditation Adjusted to a Particular Time Complemented with Some Devote Prayers Compiled from the Praxis Written in English] (Debrecen: Fodorik Menyhart, 1632). Medgyesi, Pál, Szent Agoston Vallasa [The Creed of Saint Augustine] (Debrecen: Fodorik Menyhart, 1632). Perkins, William, The whole treatise of the cases of conscience (Cambridge: John Legat, 1608). [Perkins, William] Ama Szent Iras feitegetesben hatalmas és igen tudos doctornak, G. Perkinsusnak A lelki-ismeretnek akadekirol írott drága szép tanításának elso˝ könyve… [A Translation Of That Great Scholar and Exegete, G. Perkins’s Superb Book about the Cases of Conscience] (Amsterdam: Joannes Janssonius, 1648). Szenczi Molnár, Albert, Dictionarium Latinoungaricum (Noribergae: Hutter Elias, 1604). Szentgyörgyi, István, Jo cselekedetek gyemant koeve [The Diamond of Good Deeds] (Kolozsvár: Veresegyházi Mihály, 1678). Telki-Bányai, István, Angliai Puritanismus [English Puritanism] (Utrecht: Vasberg János, 1654). Zoba, Ioan, KARARE prea scurta Pre fapte bune indreptatoare [A Very Short Path to Godly Deeds] (Gyulafehérvár: Zoba Ioan, 1685).

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Secondary Sources Ágoston, I., A magyarországi puritanizmus gyökerei [The Roots of the Hungarian Puritanism] (Budapest: Kálvin Kiadó, 1997). Berg, P., Angol hatások tizenhetedik századi irodalmunkban [English Influences on the Hungarian Literature during the Seventeenth Century] (Budapest: Egyetemi Nyomda, 1946). Bianu, I./Hodos¸, N. (ed.), Bibliografia romaneasca veche. 1508–1830 [The Bibliography of Early Modern Romanian Print, 1508–1830] (Bucuresti: Atelierele Socec &Co., 1907). Bodonhelyi, J., Az angol puritanizmus lelki élete és magyar hatásai [The Spirituality of English Puritanism and its Influences on Hungary] (Debrecen: Pannonia Nyomda, 1942). Burke, P., The European Renaissance. Centres and Peripheries (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998). Burke, P., Languages and Communities in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). Burke, P./Po-chia Hsia, R. (ed.), Cultural Translation in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Cra˘ciun, M., “Building a Romanian Reformed Community in Seventeenth-Century Transylvania”, in M. Cra˘ciun/G. Ovidiu/G. Murdock (ed.), Confessional Identity in EastCentral Europe (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002) 99–120. Dallos, G., Angol-magyar és magyar-angol szótár. I. Angol-magyar rész [Hungarian– English and English–Hungarian Dictionary. I. Hungarian–English Section] (Pest: Ráth Mór, 1860). Dumitran, A., ”Entre orthodoxie et réforme – l’appartenance confessionnelle de l’archiprȇtre Ioan Zobda din Vint¸”, in M. Cra˘ciun/G. Ovidiu (ed.), Ethnicity and Religion in Central and Eastern Europe (Cluj: University Press, 1995) 136–48. Ecsedy, V.J., “Cirill betu˝s könyvnyomtatás a 17. századi Erdélyben [Printing in Cyrillic Characters in Transylvania During the Seventeenth Century]”, Magyar Könyvszemle 110 (1994) 155–76. Gömöry, G., “Angolnyelv–tanítás a 17. századi Magyarországon és Erdélyben [Teaching English in the Seventeenth Century in Hungary and Transylvania]”, Iskolakultúra 8 (2002) 102–6. Keul, I., Early Modern religious Communities in East–Central Europe Ethnic Diversity, Denominational Plurality, and Corporative Politics in the Principality of Transylvania (1526–1691) (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2009). Kovács, A./Levente Baráth, B. (ed.), Calvinism on the Peripheries: Religion and Civil Society in Europe (Budapest: L’Harmattan, 2009). Melich, J., “A magyar szótárirodalom [The Corpus of Hungarian Dictionaries]”, Nyelvtudományi Közlemények 37 (1907) 22–51. Mircea, I./Botond, G./Dumitran, A., “Noblet¸e prin cultura: Ioan Zoba din Vint¸/Noblesse par la Culture: Ioan Zoba din Vint¸”, Apulum 37 (2000) 11–21. Murdock, G., Calvinism on the Frontier, 1600–1660: International Calvinism and the Reformed Church in Hungary and Transylvania (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000). Peterson, R.J., Unity in Diversity: English Puritans and the Puritan Reformation, 1603–1689 (Leiden: Brill 2014).

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Sági, I., “A magyar szótárak és nyelvtanok könyvészete [The Bibliography of Hungarian Dictionaries and Grammar Books]”, Magyar Könyvszemle 28 (1921) 96–140. Vanca, A.D., “Correcting Assumptions of Filo–Calvinism at Ioan Zaba’s Books,” European Journal of Science and Theology 9 (2013) 33–55. Zoványi, J., Puritánus mozgalmak a magyar református egyházban [Puritan Movements in the Hungarian Reformed Church] (Budapest: Magyar Protestáns Irodalmi Társaság, 1911).

Graz˙yna Jurkowlaniec

Printed Images Crossing Borders: An Allegory of the Catholic Church and its Dissemination in Late Sixteenth-Century Europe

In the realm of the visual, the medium of print allows for the reproduction, multiplication and dissemination of certain compositions, be it a celebrated masterpiece, a venerated image or an illustrated broadsheet, which can then be translated into other works of art in different media.1 Therefore, in art history, studies on the reception of prints typically include an examination of the images, executed in various techniques, in order to locate scenes or single motifs taken from popular prints series or pattern books. Such comparisons demonstrate that the printed images produced in the Low Countries, Germany and Italy were not only widely disseminated throughout Europe, but also to the most distant places in Asia and America.2 It is also known that, at the dawn of the Reformation, illustrated Flugschriften, such as anticlerical pamphlets, circulated across borders, with Catholics responding through the dissemination of satirical prints aimed at the reformers and their adherents.3 Thus, in general terms, the act of reception is well-known. However, the specific routes of particular impressions across borders and the nexus of intentions and expectations between the commissioners, the authors, and the recipients usually remain obscure. In some instances, these are traceable through written sources, mostly letters, and in a few exceptional cases it is possible to compare interdependent visual material (painted, sculpted or engraved) with a literary source, which allows us to fully define the mechanisms of reception and adaptation of patterns. Among these rare exceptions is an allegoric depiction of the Roman Catholic Church known as Typus Ecclesiae Catholicae. 1 The research presented in this article has been generously supported by National Science Centre, Poland (project no. 2013/09/B/HS2/01444 and – with respect to Valadés (figs 6 and 9) – 2015/17/B/HS2/02469). The English translation was made by Zuzanna Sarnecka. 2 J.M. Massing, “Jerome Nadal’s Evangelicae Historiae Imagines and the Birth of Global Imagery”, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 80 (2017) 161–220. 3 See for instance: F. Stopp, “Der religiös-polemische Einblattdruck Ecclesia Militans (1569) des Johannes Nas und seine Vorgänger”, Deutsche Vierteljahrsschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Geistesgeschichte 39 (1965) 588–638.

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The earliest recorded example of this iconography is a central panel from a triptych dated to 1557 and preserved in Skolity in Warmia (Prussia, now in northern Poland) (fig. 1).4 On the main vertical axis of the painting, in the upper portion, is the Throne of Grace. Kneeling on both sides of the Crucified Christ, the Virgin Mary and Saint Andrew are depicted as intercessors, while behind them is a crowd of various saints holding a chain. The group is flanked by two cartouches with inscriptions explaining the painting. In the central part of the painting is a building supported by the figures of Christ and Saint Peter. Pedestals are decorated with the busts of six patriarchs and prophets from the Old Testament, while in the windows of the upper storey there are busts of four Fathers of the Western Church, and against the pillars are the figures of the twelve apostles. Above the archway, a towering row of popes leads to a pediment with the enthroned Ecclesia. To her left is a book with the seven seals and a man who, in his outstretched hand, holds seven stars. To her right is a seven-branched candelabrum on a pedestal and an altar with seven eyes. Ecclesia is dressed in a lay robe, but wears a tiara; in her right hand, she holds a phoenix and in her left an orb topped with a cross, while above her head is a dove of the Holy Spirit. In Ecclesia’s hands are the ends of the chain with ropes and keys hanging from its final links. The chain joins the Church on Earth with the heavenly crowd in the upper section of the painting. The ends of a second chain touch Ecclesia’s belt, linking it with six vessels held by the clergy, who stand on the line that divides the land from the sea. There are three streaks of blood coming from Christ’s wound. The middle streak flows into a chalice placed on the cover of a golden vessel resembling a baptismal font, directly above Ecclesia’s head. Catechumens, cleansed of their original sin and dressed in new, festive robes, walk towards the church. They enter as children clothed in white robes and leave as adults. The two side streaks of the blood of Christ flow into six remaining sacramental vessels, which are literally linked to the figure of Ecclesia. These vessels, resembling vases, are held by ministers (priests or bishops in the case of the ordination or the confirmation). Next to the clergymen with vessels are scenes depicting the administration of the sacraments. On the four corners of the sea surrounding the 4 T. Chrzanowski, “Typus Ecclesiae – Hozjan´ska alegoria Kos´cioła” in Sztuka Pobrzez˙a Bałtyku, Materiały Sesji Stowarzyszenia Historyków Sztuki, Gdan´sk, listopad 1976 (Warsaw: PWN, 1978) 275–99; T. Chrzanowski, Działalnos´´c artystyczna Tomasza Tretera (Warsaw: PWN, 1984) 47–8; G. Jurkowlaniec, “L’immagine della Chiesa nelle stampe di Tomasz Treter dedicate a Stanisław Hozjusz. Contributo polacco alla cultura artistica europea ai tempi della controriforma”, Atti dell’Accademia Polacca 2 (2011) 130–50; G. Jurkowlaniec, “Typus Ecclesiae catholicae – trydencka wizja Kos´cioła, jej geneza i recepcja”, in K. Kuczman/A. Witko (ed.), Sztuka po Trydencie (Cracow: Wydawnictwo AA, 2014) 23–38; G. Jurkowlaniec, Sprawczos´c´ rycin. Rzymska twórczos´c´ graficzna Tomasza Tretera i jej europejskie oddziaływanie (Cracow: Universitas, 2017).

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Fig. 1: Allegory of the Catholic Church, central panel of the triptych, Skolity, parish church, 1557 (photo: Graz˙yna Jurkowlaniec).

mainland emerge four fragments of ruins. These are pulpits for the preachers, who are dressed in long, black robes, carry books and perform vivid gestures. On the recto of the triptych’s wings are two representations of the standing Christ: one triumphant (the right wing) and one as the Man of Sorrows worshipped by a canon, who, thanks to an inscription and the coat of arms, can be identified as Jan

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Hanow, a canon of Warmia. In the bottom left corner is the date: AN(n)O D(omi)NI MDLVII (1557). On the verso of the wings are Saints Stephen and George. The triptych is recorded to have been in Skolity from at least the end of the nineteenth century.5 However, the local church was only built in 1709 and therefore the painting must originally have been displayed in a different location.6 It seems possible that the triptych was commissioned for the cathedral church of Frauenburg (now Frombork, northern Poland), a hypothesis supported by the inclusion of Saint Andrew, the patron saint of the Frauenburg Cathedral, in the Deesis group, instead of Saint John the Baptist. Furthermore, the painting’s donor, Jan Hanow, was assigned to the altar of Saint Stephen in the Frauenburg Cathedral and was subsequently buried in its vicinity, which would explain the decoration of the verso of the wings.7 The central panel of the triptych has a rich and complex iconography. In the past, it has been pointed out that the painting was created when Stanislaus Hosius was the bishop of Warmia, just a few years after he wrote Confessio fidei catholicae Christiana (first edited in Cracow in 1553, then in Dillingen and Mainz in 1557).8 Indeed, many elements from this text are included in the painting, but it is not possible to see it as a direct source for the composition and for the weaving together of all the motifs. In fact, various medieval iconographic formulae, which were disseminated through prints in the sixteenth century, as well as through other routes, are intertwined in the painting. The personification of Ecclesia seated on an edifice was a familiar motif in Christian iconography since the High Middle Ages, and, beginning in the fifteenth century, she was typically depicted wearing a tiara.9 Between the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the Church was often shown as an edifice surrounded by heretics. One example of this type of representation is a woodcut on a recto of the title page of Confutatio apologetici cuiusdam by Hieronymus Dungersheim (Leipzig: Stöckel, 1514), and signed as Typus Ecclesiae.10 5 A. Boetticher (ed.), Die Bau- und Kunstdenkmäler der Provinz Ostpreußen, vol. 4: Das Ermland (Königsberg: Teichert, 1894) 230–31. 6 G. Dehio/E. Gall/B. Schmidt, Handbuch der Deutschen Kunstdenkmäler, vol 7: Deutschordensland Preußen (Berlin: Deutscher Kunstverlag, 1952) 240–41. 7 J. Sikorski, “Kanonikat – ołtarz – grób. Obsada kanonikatów a przydział ołtarzy oraz kwestia pochówków w katedrze fromborskiej w XV–XVIIII wieku”, Komunikaty Mazursko-Warmin´skie 2 (2005) 191. 8 Chrzanowski, “Typus Ecclesiae”, 287–88. 9 G. Cavallo (ed.) Exultet. Rotoli liturgici del medioevo meridionale (Rome: Istituto poligrafico e zecca dello stato, Libreria dello stato, 1994) 103–4, 394. 10 T. Freudenberger, Hieronymus Dungersheim von Ochsenfurt am Main 1465–1540. Theologieprofessor in Leipzig. Leben und Schriften (Münster: Aschendorffsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1988) 54–78 and 163 (cf. passim, for further impressions on the title pages of various of Dungersheim’s writings).

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It shows the Church as a fortress surrounded by Jews, Turks, heretics and demons. In Christian iconography, the depiction of septenarius was a well-known motif. Present in the Skolity triptych, as in many other compositions, it should be interpreted as a reference to the Seven Sacraments. It was similarly common to indicate the wounds of Christ as a source of the sacraments. Special attention should be paid to illuminations and woodcuts showing the Man of Sorrows as a giver of the sacraments, among which a unique position is usually held by the Eucharist (for instance on the verso of a title page of Dungersheim’s Confutatio). However, in the painting from Skolity, the baptism is particularly prominent, and this is a reason why the visual source for this composition should be traced back to a different compositional type: representations of the crucified Christ as the source of the seven sacraments. In woodcuts used as full-page illustrations in both the German and Latin editions of Michael Helding’s Catechism, a tree trunk stems from a baptismal font, which continues upwards and forms a vertical part of the cross. The branches of this tree form six rounded medallions with scenes of the administration of the sacraments. The crucifix is also incorporated into the theme of the Throne of Grace. However, it is not merely the theme, but also the iconography of certain motifs that reveal this work’s similarity to the painting from Skolity. For instance, the bust of God the Father wearing a tiara and blessing with his right hand, while holding an orb topped with a cross in his left hand, is identical in the two compositions. German editions of Helding’s Catechism were printed in the 1550s by Franz Behem,11 a Mainz publisher, who also published Hosius’s Confessio in 1557.12 It is therefore possible that, by 1557, Hosius was already aware of the composition. He certainly knew of it by 1568, when an almost identical composition (with Polish, not the original German inscriptions) was included in the first Polish edition of the Catechism of the Council of Trent, published in Cracow on Hosius’s initiative (fig. 2).13 In 1569, Hosius left Warmia and went to Rome. He was accompanied by his two secretaries, Stanisław Reszka and Tomasz Treter, who were to play a key role in the reception of Typus Ecclesiae. It must remain conjectural whether they took with them a sketch made from the central panel of the triptych in Skolity. What is certain, however, is that this painting provided a model for engravings produced in Italy in the 1570s.14 The first engraved version of the Allegory of the Catholic Church was completed in 1573 and signed by the Roman artist Giovanni Battista 11 First edition: Michael Helding, Catechismus, Das ist Christliche Vnderweisung vnsgegründter Bericht… (Mainz: Behem, 1551) fol. CLV r°. 12 Stanislaus Hosius, Confessio catholicae fidei Christiana … (Mainz: Behem, 1557). 13 Katechizm albo nauka wiary i poboz˙nos´ci chrzes´cijan´skiej (Cracow: Szarfenberger, 1568). 14 See, Jurkowlaniec, “L’immagine della Chiesa”, 131–32 and Jurkowlaniec, “Typus Ecclesiae catholicae”, 23–24.

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Fig. 2: The crucified Christ as the source of the seven sacraments, woodcut, illustration in the Katechizm albo nauka wiary i poboz˙nos´ci chrzes´cijan´skiej (Cracow: Szarfenberger, 1568) (photo: Ossolineum, Wrocław).

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de’ Cavalieri (first state: Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional de España, Estampas, no 37 954; 52.6 × 39 cm15; second state – 1595 – fig. 3). This Roman print is signed at the top Typus Ecclesiae Catholicae ad instar brevis laicorum catechismi and is dedicated to Hosius. In cartouches placed in the upper part of the print appears the surname of Stanisław Reszka (Lat. Rescius, It. Rescio). The designer of the composition is not directly stated, but the initials S R and T T on a pedestal of the edifice should be understood as a reference to Stanisław Reszka and Tomasz Treter. The latter was also mentioned in written sources, including the correspondences between Hosius and the Portuguese bishop Jerónimo Osório from 157516 and in De atheismis et phalarismis evangelicorum, written by Reszka himself and published in 1596, in which he considered Typus Ecclesiae to be “opera Thomae Treteri delineatus”.17 Even though the Roman engraving is clearly based on the painting from Skolity, it is not a direct copy of the composition. Due to the mechanical transfer from the modello, most likely a drawing made from the painting, onto a printing plate, the positioning of some motifs was reversed in the final impression; for instance, the phoenix sits on the left hand, instead of the right, of Ecclesia. Consequently, if one wishes to retain the order of the Credo, the attributes of the Church, “one, holy, catholic,” should now be read from right to left and not from left to right. The compositional relationship between the persons of the Holy Trinity is loosened, while a figure of Saint Andrew in the Deesis group is substituted with John the Baptist, as typically shown in that context. The positions of other saints are also rearranged. Most importantly, the increased number of heretics, all identified with surnames and placed in the foreground, divides the composition into three planes rather than two. The defeat of the heretics becomes more prominent with only two figures, Luther and Calvin, emerging from the water on preaching pulpits, while the rest of the heretics are shown drowning whilst still clutching their books- symbols of the false doctrine. Many other motifs taken from the painting in Skolity have been identified in the print. For instance, in the upper part of the composition are cartouches with an inscription that has a similar opening: Typus unius Sanctae, Catholicae et 15 G. Llompart “Ecclesia Sponsa: Tres grabados manieristas”, Traza y Baza 5 (1974) 63–76; Jurkowlaniec, “L’immagine della Chiesa”, 131; Jurkowlaniec, “Typus Ecclesiae catholicae”, 23. 16 Stanislaus Hosius, Operum tomus secundus, ed. Stanisław Reszka (Cologne: Cholinus, 1584) [hereafter: HO II], 393; L. Bourdon, Jeronimo Osorio et Stanislas Hosius d’après leur correspondence (1565–1578) (Coimbra: Universidade de Coimbra, 1956) 88–89; Jerónimo Osório, Opera Omnia, vol. 2, Epistolografia, ed. S. Tavares de Pinho/A. Guimarães Pinto (Coimbra: Impensa da Universidade de Coimbra, 2015) Nos XL, XLII, XLVI. 17 Stanisław Reszka, De atheismis et phalarismis evangelicorum libri duo (Naples: Carlino & Pace, 1596) 601.

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Fig. 3: Tomasz Treter (inventor), Giovanni Battista de’ Cavalieri (engraver), Typus Ecclesiae catholicae, engraving 1595 (second state of the plate of 1573) (photo: Ossolineum, Wrocław).

Apostolicae Ecclesiae. However, in the print, the rest of the text has been altered by Reszka. The relation between the text and the image is not limited to the inscription on the engraving, as the print includes numbers that refer the viewer

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to a commentary, published separately and, at first, anonymously.18 Soon, the first edition of the print and the accompanying Explicatio was exhausted. An Italian translation of the commentary – this time identifying Reszka as its author – and dedicated to Hosius, was published in 1574,19 and a second nearly identical version of Typus Ecclesiae was also created (Florence, Gabinetto Disegni e Stampe degli Uffizi, stampe sciolte 277920; Milan, Civica Raccolta Stampe Bertarelli, S.P., m. 48–77;21 Cracow, Biblioteka Jagiellon´ska, kolekcja Jana Pone˛towskiego, box 149, no. 9041;22 – fig. 4). The slight changes between the two versions of the print included the substitution of Cavalieri’s signature with the inscription Venetiis apud Lucam Bertelleum 1574 and the omission of various details.23 The third, reduced, version of the engraving is undated (19 × 13.7 cm; Cracow, Biblioteka Jagiellon´ska, Oddział Starych Druków, Cim. 5750 – fig. 5).24 It must have been a direct model for the fourth version, known from one unsigned an undated impression in a collection of eleven engravings related to Diego Valadés (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Département des Estampes et de la photograpie AA-1, Valades, Diego – fig. 6).25 Eventually, in 1595, a second state of the print, designed in 1573 (fig. 3), was prepared for the aforementioned book, De atheismis et phalarismis evangel18 [Stanisław Reszka], Explicatio typi Ecclesiae Catholicae (Rome: Blado, 1573). A copy is preserved in the Biblioteca e Archivio del Capitolo metropolitano, Milan (2G-4–4/27). 19 Stanisław Reszka, Dichiaratione della Figura della Chiesa Catholica (Rome: Blado, 1574). A copy is preserved in the Biblioteka Jagiellon´ska, Cracow (Cim 0.718). 20 A. Omodeo (ed.), Mostra di stampe popolari venete del ‘500 (Florence: Olschki, 1965) 32; W. Brückner, Lutherische Bekenntnisgemälde des 16. bis 18. Jahrhundert. Die illustrierte Confessio Augustana (Regensburg: Schnell&Steiner, 2007) 41–42; U. Rozzo, La strage ignorata: i fogli volanti a stampa nell’Italia dei secoli XV e XVI (Udine: Forum, 2008) 19; U. Rozzo, “Il Typus Ecclesiae nella polemica tra protestanti e cattolici nel Cinquecento” in E. Ardissino (ed.), Visibile teologia: il libro sacro figurato in Italia tra Cinquecento e Seicento (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 2012) 72–76. 21 Llompart, “Ecclesia Sponsa”, 70; G. Palumbo, Speculum peccatorum. Frammenti di storia nello specchio delle immagini tra Cinque e Seicento (Naples: Liguori, 1990) 186–94. 22 Chrzanowski, “Typus Ecclesiae”, 277 (fig. 6 actually shows not the 1574 version, but the second state of Cavalieri’s print of 1595); E.-M. Bangerter-Schmid, Erbauliche illustrierte Flugblätter aus den Jahren 1570–1670 (Frankfurt a. M.: Lang, 1986) 249, No. 130. 23 Also the commentary was republished by Bertelli: Explicatio Typi Ecclesiae Catholicae (Venice: Bertelli, 1575). A copy is preserved in the Biblioteka Jagiellon´ska, Cracow (Kolekcja Jana Pone˛towskiego, box 149). 24 P. Hordyn´ski, “Grafika włoskiej proweniencji z kolekcji Jana Pone˛towskiego w Bibliotece Jagiellon´skiej”, in Amicissima. Studia Magdalenae Piwocka oblata (Cracow: Nomina Rosae, 2010) 219–20. 25 D. Iogna-Prat, “L’invention d’un espace chrétien au Nouveau Monde”, in Faire lien. Aristocratie, réseaux et échanges compétitifs: Mélanges en l’honneur de Régine Le Jan (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2015) 417–19; B. Jeanne, “Trajectoires ibériques, échappatoires romaines. Arpenter le coeur européen de la Monarchie catholique au second XVIe siècle”, Diasporas. Circulations, migrations, histoire 25 (2015) 22. I would like to warmly thank Magdalena Herman for bringing these publications to my attention.

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Fig 4: Tomasz Treter (inventor), Luca Bertelli (publisher), Typus Ecclesiae catholicae, engraving, 1574 (photo: Biblioteka Jagiellon´ska, Cracow).

icorum, by Reszka. The publication included a reprint of the Explicatio, preceded by a blank page with the note “Hic inseratur Typus Ecclesiae” (“here paste the

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Fig 5: Tomasz Treter (inventor), Typus Ecclesiae catholicae, engraving (photo: Biblioteka Jagiellon´ska, Cracow).

Typus Ecclesiae”) and a preface for the reader, where Reszka named Treter the author of the engraving and mentioned that Hosius sent the work “ad multos per

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Fig 6: Tomasz Treter (inventor), Typus Ecclesiae catholicae, engraving (photo: Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris).

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Orbem Christianos Principes”.26 Previous publications on the subject mentioned only two Church authorities in possession of Typus Ecclesiae, namely the bishop Jerónimo Osório and the cardinal Carlo Borromeo.27 However, a published volume of Hosius’s letters indicates other recipients of the print and encourages an examination of the complex issues of the reception of this particular design and the print’s inherent ideas. The earliest evidence of the dissemination of the print is a letter from 3 April 1573 to Charles de Lorraine, the archbishop of Reims, to whom Hosius sent several copies of the Typus Ecclesiae.28 For a better understanding of the context, some details on the political situation in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth are necessary. A period of interregnum began following the death of the last member of the Jagiellonian dynasty, King Sigismund Augustus (d. 7 July 1572). Among the most important candidates to the throne were the archduke Ernst von Habsburg, John III Vasa, the king of Sweden (who was married to Sigismund Augustus’s sister), and Henri de Valois, the prince of Anjou, brother to the French King Charles IX. The dissident noblemen were strongly against this last candidate, as the Saint Bartholomew’s Day massacre (23/24 August 1572) was still fresh in their memory. In January 1573, the convocation parliament set the date for the election of a new king for 6 April 1573 and signed Warsaw’s confederation act, which warranted a freedom of faith. On 3 April, three days before the election and the day when Hosius sent the Typus Ecclesiae to Charles de Lorraine, Jean de Monluc, the bishop of Valence, came to Warsaw. It was mainly due to his skilful diplomacy that on 10 May Henri de Valois was elected the king of Poland. When sending the print to Charles de Lorraine, Hosius asked him to share copies with other, mostly younger, members of the House of Guise. Hosius did not explicitly mention the current political situation in Poland, but sending the print to France at a crucial moment in the election could hardly have been 26 Reszka, De atheismis, 601. Copies with a pasted engraving can be found in Ossolineum Wrocław (XVI, Qu 2743); Biblioteka XX. Czartoryskich, Cracow (827 II cim); British Library, London (7.a. 12); Biblioteca universitaria, Genoa (SALA 1/MM/3.17); Biblioteca Oratoriana dei Girolamini, Naples (A 25 0140); Herzog August Bibliothek, Wolfenbüttel (A: 90 Theol.); Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Munich (4 Polem. 2486–1/2); Universitätsbibliothek, Regensburg (20/B782324). 27 E. Brocki, “Wiadomos´c´ o z˙yciu i pismach Tomasza Tretera, kanonika warmin´skiego”, Pamie˛tnik Galicyjski 1 (1821) 161–62; F. Hipler, “Die Biographen des Stanislaus Hosius”, Zeitschrift für die Geschichte und Alterthumskunde Ermlands 7 (1880) 113–76; F. Hipler, “Die Kupferstecher in Ermland”, Zeitschrift für die Geschichte und Alterthumskunde Ermlands 7 (1880) 339–56: J. Umin´ski, “Zapomniany rysownik i rytownik polski XVI wieku, ksia˛dz Tomasz Treter i jego Theatrum virtutum D. Stanislai Hosii”, Collectanea Theologica (Przegla˛d Teologiczny) 13 (1932) 13–59, Bourdon, Jeronimo Osorio, 4–46; Chrzanowski, “Typus Ecclesiae”, 280. 28 HO II, 345.

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coincidental. Immediately after the election, in early June, Hosius sent Reszka to Paris with recommendation letters to Charles IX, Charles de Lorraine and the king-elect himself. With the letter addressed to Henri de Valois, he enclosed the impression of the Typus Ecclesiae.29 It is possible that the print was an attempt to convince Henri to not sign Warsaw’s confederation act, as Hosius had explicitly advised on that matter in letters and in a set of guidelines prepared for Reszka.30 Meanwhile, in Venice, the preparatory work for the new edition of Hosius’s works was coming to an end.31 The publication had as an opening two letters dated from the 15 August. The first was addressed to Gregory XIII and the second was dedicated to Henri de Valois, with both speaking clearly against heresy. On 17 August, a delegation from Poland arrived in Paris and opened a new stage in the negotiations over the conditions of Henri’s coronation as the new king of Poland. On 10 September, a celebratory mass took place in the Parisian Cathedral and the king sworn pacta conventa. Towards the end of the month, he set off for Poland. Charles de Lorraine received him in Nancy and later travelled with Henri to the French border.32 In January 1574, Henri reached the borders of the Kingdom of Poland, and on 16 February entered Cracow.33 In a letter to Henri, sent from Rome on 27 February 1574, Hosius mentioned the Venetian edition of his works with the dedication to the ruler.34 In a different letter, dated only generally to 1574, the cardinal accused the king of rejecting the gifts he had sent to him earlier. At the same time, Hosius sent a gift Henri could not refuse, namely “imago Christi crucifixi cum breui quadam illius declaratione”.35 Tomasz Treter was identified as the one “qui pinxit & finxit” the work, to which I shall return. Hosius’s faith in Henri proved to be ill-judged. Soon after receiving news of the death of Charles IX, Henri left Cracow on the night of 18/19 of June 1574. He stayed at the imperial court in Vienna, and in July spent a few days in Venice, where he was ceremoniously received. On Hosius’s recommendation, Stanisław Reszka met with Henri and tried, unsuccessfully, to convince him to return to Poland. Similarly unsuccessful was the delegation from Poland, which met with 29 HO II, 346. 30 Z dworu Stanisława Hozjusza. Listy Stanisława Reszki do Marcina Kromera 1568–1582, ed./ trans. J.A. Kalinowska (Olsztyn: Os´rodek Badan´ im. W. Ke˛trzyn´skiego, 1992) 141–42; Stanisław Reszka , Stanislai Hosii … Vita (Rome: Tornieri, Zannetti, & Ruffinelli, 1587) 247. 31 Stanislaus Hosius, Opera omnia hactenus edita (Venice: Nicolino, 1573). 32 J.-J. Guillemin, Le Cardinal de Lorraine, son influence politique et religieuse au XVIe siècle (Paris: Joubert, 1847) 469–71. 33 A comprehensive account of the election has been provided by S. Orzelski, Bezkrólewia ksia˛g os´moro czyli dzieje Polski od zgonu Zygmunta Augusta r. 1572 az˙ do r. 1576 (Petersburg: Wolff, 1856) 1.188 and 206. 34 HO II, 383. 35 HO II, 385.

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the fugitive in Chambéry. Henri set off for Lyon, where he was greeted by Charles de Lorraine.36 Together they arrived in Avignon, where the archbishop of Reims suddenly fell ill; he died a few weeks later, and therefore could not crown Henri as the new king of France. However, the first recorded recipient of the Typus Ecclesiae still managed to contribute to the print’s reception before his death. Indeed, there are many indications that Charles de Lorraine followed Hosius’s instructions and had the impressions circulated among members of his family. It seems that the earliest accounts of reactions to the print should be associated with that particular environment. In 1573, the first (now lost) edition of Le Vray et naïf portrait de l’église catholique was published. A second edition (known in two copies) was published by Jean de Foigny, the publisher of the cardinal de Lorraine, in Reims in 1574.37 The publication includes an explanation of the image, which clearly points to the Typus Ecclesiae. On the title page, the author is identified as Nicolas Psaume, bishop of Verdun and one of the key figures of the Catholic Reformation in France, who remained in close contact with Charles de Lorraine. Psaume sent the publication to the archbishop of Reims between 1573 and 1574,38 although the dedication was addressed to his cousin, Henri’s sister, Claude de Valois, Duchess of Lorraine. The work dedicated to her was designed as a commentary on the allegoric representation of the Church. At the end of the publication was a hymn written by a canon of Reims, Nicolas Chesneau, called Querculus, who ascribed the design of the image to Hosius and a commentary to Psaume.39 In the dedication, Psaume did not explicitly point to himself as the author of the commentary, but wrote that his contribution was “mettre en lumière en termes françois l’explication” and included his name on the title page. The text is a French translation of Reszka’s Explicatio published anonymously in 1573, but, following sixteenth-century custom, Psaume claimed authorship of the text. It is not entirely clear to which image Psaume referred to in his translation of the commentary. The technique of the work is not described in his dedication, but he mentioned table, which may suggest a panel painting. Such a hypothesis seems to be supported by the location of the work in the Duchess’s private oratory and by a variety of terms used by Querculus (tabella, tabula, pictura, pictor, pinxit). However, it is also possible that the commentary simply referred to a 36 Guillemin, Le Cardinal de Lorraine, 474. 37 Edition and commentary: B. Ardura, “Nicolas Psaume et son portrait de l’Eglise”, Analecta Praemonstratensia 66 (1990) 232–53. 38 Lettres du cardinal Charles de Lorraine (1525–1574), ed. D. Cuisiat (Geneva: Droz, 1998) 660, No. 1242. 39 Ardura, “Nicolas Psaume”, gives both the Latin text and its translation. See also the corrections by D. Sacré, “De Nicolai Querculi carmine foede deturpato”, Humanistica Lovanensia. Journal of Neo-Latin Studies 40 (1991) 450–52.

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framed engraving that hung in the oratory. Taking into account the family alliances of Claude de Valois, the print that she placed in her private chapel could have been either a copy sent to Charles de Lorraine or the one addressed to Henri de Valois. One argument against the hypothesis that this work is a panel painting centres on the date of its dedication, 22 September 1573, which would imply that the work was executed in only a couple of months. The painting would have also had to slavishly replicate the composition, since the work in question, as mentioned by Psaume, even included the numbers related to the commentary. The aforementioned network of intertwined, if not always directly dependant, group of works and people is unusually consistent. The accounts of the reception of the Typus Ecclesiae in other countries, however, are less comprehensive, but also lead to interesting conclusions. An important trace takes us to Sweden in 1573, when it was ruled by King John III, another candidate to the Jagiellonian throne. Hosius believed in the possibility of converting Lutheran Sweden back to the Catholic Church. This issue emerged from various letters and became a subject of the diplomatic actions undertaken by the Swedish ambassador, Paolo Ferrari, at the papal court. It was also a source of concern for the Congregatio Germanica, which asked Hosius to monitor the situation in Sweden. The key role in the process of converting Sweden was to be played by the wife of John III, Catherine the Jagiellonian, who remained a Catholic, although her insistence on receiving communion under the two forms was highly controversial in ecclesiastical circles.40 In all likelihood, on 6 June 1573, Hosius sent an extensive letter to Catherine with similar, if not identical, content to the official document approved by the Congregatio Germanica on 18 May.41 The cardinal expressed his grief over the separation of Sweden from the Catholic Church, and he likened the role played by Catherine to that of Saint Monica in the life of Saint Augustine. He sent the queen copies of the letters addressed to her husband, and stressed that he was enclosing Typus Ecclesiae for the king, but that he would also wish to offer the print to her. Six months later, on 20 January 1574, Paolo Ferrari concluded his diplomatic mission in Rome. He left Italy with a series of letters from Pope Gregory XIII addressed to the members of the Swedish royal family, and a letter from Hosius that again was approved by the Congregatio Germanica on 29 December 1573. The letters included not only extensive doctrinal explanations, but were also 40 Literature: A. Eichhorn, Der ermländische Bischof und Cardinal Stanislaus Hosius, vol. 2: Sein Wirken als Cardinal (Mainz: Kirchheim, 1855) 449–54; H. Biaudet, Le Saint-Siège et la Suède durant la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle. Études politiques (Paris: Plon-Nourrit, 1907) 167, 278– 70. 41 HO II, 347–349, H. Biaudet, Le Saint-Siège et la Suède durant la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle. Notes et documents (Paris: Plon Nourrit, [1906]) 194 (documents Nos. 134 and 135).

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enriched with various gifts. John III received various books from the cardinal,42 Catherine was given devotional objects43 and their eight-year-old son, Sigismund Vasa, the prince of Finland, was presented with an impression of the Typus Ecclesiae in textiles and a small book, which was to entrench the young prince in the Catholic faith.44 To some extent, the act of sending copies of the Typus Ecclesiae to Sweden must have been part of a specific political agenda. In the 1570s, John III introduced religious reforms, criticised by Lutheran clergy as crypto-Catholic.45 The faith of the young prince of Finland was not merely a question of his personal choice, but a serious element in the politics of the country. John III, recognising that his son could rule over Protestant Sweden and Catholic Poland in the future, did not object to Sigismund’s exposure to the two types of religious education. This context is important for understanding the implications of sending Typus Ecclesiae to Sigismund in January 1574. As already mentioned, the letters to the Swedish royal family were approved by the Congregatio Germanica and, even if enclosing books, prints and other devotional objects was Hosius’s own initiative, those gifts undoubtedly also formed a part of the official diplomatic strategy. However, both John III and Hosius only partially succeeded in achieving their goals. Sigismund received the two crowns, but did not maintain them, as he remained a Catholic, but never managed to bring Sweden back to the Roman Catholic Church. Therefore, it is not surprising that the Typus Ecclesiae was not reproduced in Scandinavian paintings. The Congregatio Germanica had to face different challenges in German territories of the Holy Roman Empire, where the Reformation had already triumphed. In the spring and summer of 1573, Balthasar von Dernbach, a Benedictine abbot of Fulda, asked Rome to support his attempts to re-catholicise the city.46 What subsequently happened in Fulda, provides a case study for other German cities where the Catholic clergy acted within environments dominated 42 Reszka, the editor of the volume (HO II, 378), gives the date of the letters as 24 January; A. Theiner, Schweden und seine Stellung zum heiligen Stuhl unter Johann III, Sigismund III und Karl IX (Versuche und Bemühungen des heiligen Stuhles in den letzten drei Jahrhunderten die durch Ketzerei und Schisma von ihm getrennten Völker des Nordens wiederum mit der Kirche zu vereinen, vol. 1, part 1; Augsburg: Kollmann, 1838) 1.375: 25 January, and A. Grabowski, Staroz˙ytnos´ci historyczne polskie (Cracow: Czech, 1840) 2.226: 22 January, which has been regarded as most plausible by Biaudet, Le Saint-Siège et la Suède … Notes et documents, 72–75 (documents Nos. 227–30) and 237–41, n. 94. 43 Grabowski, Staroz˙ytnos´ci, 226. 44 HO II, 380–381. 45 M. Friedrich, “Johann III. von Schweden (1568–1592). Ein König im Spannungsfeld von Gegenreformation und Konfessionalisierung”, Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 109 (1998) 200–15. HO II, 385. 46 L. von Pastor, Geschichte der Päpste im Zeitalter der katholischen Reformation und Restauration. Gregor XIII. (1572–1585) (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1923) 543–48.

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by the Reformation. In February 1574, Dernbach finally received the support of the pope, who sent a letter on the abbot’s behalf to the emperor and to the Chapter of Fulda, and on 13 March 1574, Hosius sent a letter to the abbot of Fulda, in which he enclosed an impression of the Typus Ecclesiae.47 From a longterm perspective, this support proved unsuccessful and the social turmoil was only temporarily contained. However, the timing and the circumstances of sending the Typus Ecclesiae to Fulda should be emphasised. The Congregatio Germanica was also right in recognising that other representatives of the Roman Catholic Church were facing similar challenges fighting against the Reformation in the Empire. Hildesheim was another city with a Catholic clergy active in a Protestant milieu. Beginning in 1573, when the new bishop, Ernest of Bavaria, was appointed, the religious conflict in Hildesheim escalated. Over a decade later, a painting, which is still preserved in the cathedral, was painted following the design of Typus Ecclesiae. The work forms a central part of an epitaph for the canon Ernst von Wrisberg (died 1590), which was actually created during the donor’s lifetime (fig. 7).48 In previous literature, it was claimed that a source of the composition in this painting was the engraving published by Bertelli in Venice in 1574. However, various motifs seem to indicate that the painter based his work on Cavalieri’s version of 1573. The crucial evidence to support this claim is the inscription et apostolica on the edifice of the church, which corresponds with the inscription 7 APOSTOLICA in the engraving from 1573 and which was omitted in the 1574 version of the print. The painter of the painting in Hildesheim based his composition loosely on the Typus Ecclesiae and left out two cartouches with inscriptions at the top. He also altered the positions of Christ and Peter so that the edifice would rest on their shoulders rather than crush their torsos. Most importantly, the danger of falling into heresy is depicted more vividly in the discussed painting than in the print. In Cavalieri’s work, the figures emerging from the church were depicted as being dangerously close to the seashore, but they were clearly headed towards the sacraments. In the painting, the figures trip on the stairs and fall directly into the sea. In Hildesheim, the threat of falling into heresy was a primary concern of many Catholics, causing the painter to emphasise it more clearly. These concerns were expressed even more forcefully in a second paining from Hildesheim based on the Typus Ecclesiae, which was originally kept in Mary 47 HO II, 385. 48 U. Knapp (ed.), Ego sum Hildensemensis. Bischof, Domkapitel und Dom in Hildesheim 815 bis 1810 (Petersberg: Imhoff, 2000) 206; Brückner, Lutherische Bekenntnisgemälde, 41–42. On the wings are the scenes of the Nativity and the Resurrection of Christ.

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Fig. 7: Allegory of the Catholic Church, central panel of the epitaph of Ernst Wrisberg, Hildesheim, cathedral, before 1590 (photo: Graz˙yna Jurkowlaniec).

Magdalene’s Church, but is now only known from photographs (fig. 8).49 The design was based on Wrisberg’s epitaph rather than Cavalieri’s print. This hypothesis is supported by various alterations carried out by the local artist: for 49 Jurkowlaniec, “Typus Ecclesiae catholicae”, 35.

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instance, the figures of Christ and Saint Peter support the edifice, with Peter vertically holding up two keys. Similarly, the motif of figures stumbling on the stairs was adopted from the epitaph and developed even further, as not only laymen, but also members of the clergy are depicted as falling into the sea. In the 1570s, of all European countries, it is arguable that the Low Countries were most affected by the turmoil of the Reformation. Following the military victories of William of Orange, the government of the Duke of Alba was brought to an end, and his successor, Luis de Requesens y Zúñiga, was appointed governor of the Low Countries on 17 October 1573.50 However, the situation improved only temporarily, and after Requesens’s death on 5 March 1576, unpaid soldiers began plundering the land, with the Sack of Antwerp on 4 November 1576 serving as the most important symbol of this destruction. Before the ‘Spanish fury’, Jean Bellère published an illustrated edition of Peter Canisius’s Little Catechism in Antwerp, in which the motifs from the Typus Ecclesiae were used abundantly.51 The depiction of Ecclesia appears more than once in the catechism, and the chapter dedicated to the sacraments includes images of priests carrying liturgical vessels with the names of virtues and corresponding passages from the Bible inscribed on them.52 Unfortunately, I was unable to trace any direct evidence of Hosius sending the Typus Ecclesiae to Canisius, but their relationship between 1573 and 1574 is well documented. I am not aware of similar contacts between Hosius and Bellère, but the former remained in contact with various other publishers in Antwerp, including the most distinguished Plantin. Another example of the reception of the Typus Ecclesiae in the Low Countries is a panel painting dated to circa 1580, now in Utrecht (Museum Catharijneconvent). It is by far the most famous version of the composition, and was frequently reproduced and exhibited.53 This painting was based on Cavalieri’s 50 See also V. Soen, “Philip II’s Quest. The Appointment of Governors-General during the Dutch Revolt (1559–1598)”, The Low Countries Historical Review/Bijdragen en Mededelingen betreffende de Geschiedenis der Nederlanden 126 (2011) 3–29. 51 O. Braunsberger, Entstehung und erste Entwicklung der Katechismen des seligen Petrus Canisius aus der Gesellschaft Jesu (Freiburg in Breisgau: Herder, 1893) 156; F. Streicher (ed.), S. Petri Canisii Doctoris Ecclesiae Catechismi Latini et Germanici, vol. 1: Catechismi Latini (Rome: Pontificia Universitas Gregoriana, 1933–66) 74*–75*. 52 Streicher (ed.), Canisii Catechismi Latini, 251–54. See also: K.-A. Wirth, “Firmung”, in Reallexikon zur deutschen Kunstgeschichte (Munich: Beck 1987) 8.1357–58; Palumbo, Speculum peccatorum, 186–94, note 34; P. van Dael, “Two illustrated catechisms from Antwerp by Petrus Canisius”, in K. Goudriaan/J. van Moolenbroek /A. Tervoort (ed.), Education and Learning in the Netherlands, 1400–1600. Essays in Honor of Hilde de Ridder-Symoens (Leiden: Brill, 2004) 277–96; L.P. Wandel, “Catechisms: Teaching the Eye to Read the World”, in F. Dietz (ed.) Illustrated Religious Texts in the North of Europe, 1500–1800 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014) 63 and 68; L.P. Wandel, Reading Catechisms, Teaching Religion (Leiden: Brill, 2015) 334–36. 53 B. Knipping, “De muurschilderingen in de Galileërkerk te Leeuwarden”, De Vrije Fries 36 (1941) 52–70; G. Voorvelt, “De fresco-fragmenten van Leeuwarden en het Haarlemse paneel”,

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Fig. 8: Allegory of the Catholic Church, panel, formerly in Hildesheim, St Mary Magdalen church, after 1590 (photo: Niedersächsisches Landesamt für Denkmalpflege, Hannover).

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print from 1573, and not, as usually claimed, on the later version published by Bertelli in 1574. Once again, the inclusion of the inscription Et Apostolica on the church is of key importance, although the identification of the last pope in the row as Gregorius XIII papa is also significant. Both inscriptions correspond directly to those in Cavalieri’s print, but were not included in Bertelli’s version. One should also notice the letters S, R and T on the pedestal of the church, which are also missing in Bertelli’s version, that reference the initials S, R, T, T in Cavalieri’s print, where they commemorated Stanisław Reszka’s and Tomasz Treter’s role in the project. The Netherlandish artist repeated the initials only fragmentarily and most likely without understanding. To strengthen the point about the composition being based on Cavalieri’s, rather than Bertelli’s, work, it is important to notice a number of the heretics depicted drowning in the sea (interestingly, in the painting Zwingli is shown next to Calvin) and the inclusion of a cross behind Saint Andrew in the group of apostles acting as pillars of the Church. Both elements were borrowed directly from Cavalieri’s print. At the same time, the painter did alter various motifs. Similarly to the painting in Hildesheim, the busts of Christ and Peter supporting the church are reversed in comparison to how they were depicted in the print. Moreover, a bird held by Ecclesia cannot be identified as a phoenix because its feathers are black and it is not seated on a burning stake. This diversion from the original composition likely resulted from the painter only working with an impression that lacked colours. He also clearly did not read the inscriptions in the cartouches, which mentioned the phoenix. Essentially contemporaneous with the painting from Utrecht is arguably the most monumental example of the reworking of the print, namely a grand fresco from the Galileërkerk in Leeuwarden, Friesland, dated to the 1570s.54 The church itself was destroyed in 1940, and the painting has come to us in fragments, now in the local Fries Museum. What survived is the right hand side of the composition, with figures of saints and sacraments of marriage, the Eucharist and penance, De Vrije Fries 38 (1946) 67–85; E. M. Vetter, Die Kupferstiche zur Psalmodia Eucaristica des Melchior Prieto von 1622 (Münster: Aschendorffsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1972) 314; J.B. Knipping, Iconography of the Counter-Reformation in the Netherlands. Heaven on earth (Nieuwkoop: De Graaf, 1974) 2.376; Chrzanowski, “Typus Ecclesiae”, 276; S. Gieben, Christian Sacrament and Devotion (Leiden: Brill, 1980) 7; R.P. Zijp/M.L. Caron (ed.), Geloof en satire anno 1600 (Utrecht: Het Catarijneconvent, 1981) 20–24; Chrzanowski, Działalnos´´c, 47; C.A. Hoffmann (ed.), Als Frieden möglich war: 450 Jahre Augsburger Religionsfrieden (Regensburg: Schnell & Steiner, 2005) 408–10, cat. No. V.2; Brückner, Lutherische Bekenntnisgemälde, 41; A. Reiß (ed.), Calvinismus. Die Reformierten in Deutschland und Europa (Dresden: Deutsches Historisches Museum, 2009) 336–37, cat. No. VI.48. 54 Knipping, “De muurschilderingen”, 60; Voorvelt, “De fresco-fragmenten van Leeuwarden”. On the situation in Friesland and Leeuwarden: J. Spaans, “Welfare Reform in Frisian Towns. Between Humanist Theory, Pious Imperatives and Government Policy”, in T.M. Safley (ed.), The Reformation of Charity. The Secular and the Religious in Early Modern Period Poor Relief (Boston: Brill, 2003) 122–24.

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and a section with the partially preserved heads of heretics. Those areas allow us to assess that the fresco was closely based on the print’s design, but that some motifs were independently devised. For instance, the ministers holding sacramental vessels do not have facial hair, the form of the retables on the altars differs from that in the print, and the scenes of the administration of the sacraments were also altered. In the bottom-right corner, a head signed Calvinus designates the heretic, instead of the bust that appears over a preaching pulpit, as in the print. Above the head is a fragment of the inscription [Zwi]nglius, which identifies the figure with an important leader of the Reformation, one who was omitted from the engraved version of Typus Ecclesiae, but who significantly appeared in the previously discussed painting from Utrecht. This similarity seems to indicate that the Swiss Reformation was an important point of reference. In Switzerland, with its complex religious situation, the composition of the Typus Ecclesiae was also disseminated. Andreas Lussi, the son of Melchior Lussi, one of the leaders of the Swiss Counter-Reformation, commissioned a painting based on Cavalieri’s print, which is now in Nidwaldner Museum in Stans (Winkelriedhaus, HVNW 912; 125.5 × 87.5 cm).55 An artist repeated various motifs in great detail, such as the inscription 7 APOSTOLICA, the name of Gregory XIII, the letters S, R, T, T on the pedestal (this time copied accurately, even if without an understanding of what they stood for) and the numbers that in the original version referred to Reszka’s commentary. However, similarly to the Utrecht painting, there were also some changes made to it. The phoenix rests in the fire, but its feathers are white, and it therefore looks like another dove of the Holy Spirit (apart from those already painted above the head of Ecclesia and below the crucified Christ). The painter ignored the motif of chains linking the Church in heaven and on earth with the personification of Ecclesia and the sacraments. He also omitted the figures of heretics drowning in the sea. Cartouches are included in the painting, but at the bottom, and with entirely different inscriptions. As already mentioned, the Typus Ecclesiae was also sent to Jerónimo Osório, the last bishop of Silves, in Portugal. There is a record of him thanking Hosius in July 1573 for the gift and expressing his contentment after examining Ecclesiae typum.56 He also mentioned a learned priest from his milieu, who attempted to 55 H. Horat, Sakrale Bauten (Ars Helvetica: die visuelle Kultur der Schweiz 3; Disentis: Desertina, 1988) 123; H. Wicki, Staat, Kirche, Religiosität: der Kanton Luzern zwischen barocker Tradition und Aufklärung (Luzern: Rex, 1990) 203; D. Sieber, Jesuitische Missionierung, priesterliche Liebe, sakramentale Magie. Volkskulturen in Luzern 1563–1614 (Basel: Schwabe, 2005) 109. 56 Bourdon, Jeronimo Osorio, 44 and 82; Osório, Opera Omnia, 146.

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compose an explanatory song as a pendant to the print, which, when completed, Osório would send to Hosius. In May 1574, Hosius thanked the bishop for the song, which he liked, but, nevertheless, sent Osório another commentary to the Typus – certainly Reszka’s Explicatio.57 The gift was admired greatly by Osório, who, in a letter dated 18 January 1575, also thanked Hosius for two prints – the Typus Ecclesiae (now with the Explicatio) and a Typus Crucifixi.58 In a letter from April 1575, Hosius mentioned that he sent two engravings: “sanctissimae crucis atque per eam collectae Ecclesiae typi”, also to Sebastian of Portugal.59 The Typus Crucifixi (or Typus Crucis) sent along with the Typus Ecclesiae to Osório and the King of Portugal might have been identical with the above mentioned print offered to Henri de Valois in 1574. It also leads to yet another person involved in disseminating Treter’s designs: Diego Valadés. He was a Franciscan friar from Mexico, who travelled via France and Spain to Italy, stayed in Rome between 1575 and 1577 and in 1579 published in Perugia his most famous work: Rhetorica Christiana. Among its illustrations was the Allegory of the Sign of the Cross, copied after Treter’s design engraved by Cavalieri in 1574.60 Valadés must also have been familiar with the Typus Ecclesiae, as proved by the impression now preserved in Paris (fig. 6). The collection of eleven engravings referred to Valadés includes, besides the unsigned Typus Ecclesiae, various likewise unsigned compositions known from his Rhetorica Christiana, and an allegorical Crucifix as the source of the virtues, inscribed F(rater) D(iego) Valades Inventor (fig. 9). The latter engraving combines several popular motifs,61 but its composition is clearly rooted in the representations of the Crucifix as the source of the seven sacraments, first testified in Helding’s catechisms in the mid-sixteenth century (fig. 2), then, in the late 1560s, in Hosius’s milieu in Poland and only subsequently widespread in Italy, from where it was widely disseminated.62 The history of the reception given to the Typus Ecclesiae was first documented among the members of the House of Guise in 1573–74. In 1585, two engravings, 57 58 59 60

Osório, Opera Omnia, 156–58. HO II, 393, 1168–1169; Bourdon, Jeronimo Osorio, 88–89; Osório, Opera Omnia, 158. Osório, Opera Omnia, 164–66. C.T. Gallori, “Un’Allegoria del segno della croce tra Polonia, Italia e Messico”, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 55 (2013) 255–59. 61 See, G. Jurkowlaniec, “An Encyclopaedia of the Catholic Faith Dedicated to Mark Sittich von Hohenems IV: An Unknown Engraving by Natale Bonifacio and Gijsbert van Veen Republished by Giacomo Lauro”, Barockberichte 64 (2016) 75–76. 62 See G. Jurkowlaniec “The Crucified Christ as the Source of the Seven Sacraments. Patterns of Reception of a Sixteenth-Century Image on Both Sides of the Alps and on Both Sides of the Atlantic Ocean”, in Z. Sarnecka/A. Fedorowicz-Jackowska (ed.), Artistic Translations Between the Fourteenth and Sixteenth Centuries. International Seminar for Young Researchers. Proceedings (Warsaw: Institute of Art History, 2013) 187–209.

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Fig. 9: Diego Valadés (inventor), The crucified Christ as the source of virtues, engraving (photo: Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris).

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Fig. 10: Richard Verstegan, Typus Ecclesiae catholicae, engraving, 1585 (photo: Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris).

envisaged as a diptych, were published in Paris and dedicated in an accompanying letter to Henri de Guise, a nephew of Charles de Lorraine. The engravings were entitled Typus Ecclesiae Catholicae et signa ea cogniscitur and Typus Haereticae Synagogae et eiusdem proprietates, and juxtaposed characteristics of the Catholic and the Protestant Churches (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Département des Estampes et de la photographie, Qb 1585 [Qb 4], 33.8 × 49.5 cm – fig. 10).63 Both compositions include a centrally staged personification seated in a medallion and surrounded by four main characteristics, represented on four sides. The first engraving is more important for our further investigation. It shows the enthroned Ecclesia with a tiara on her head, while she holds a book in her right hand and two keys in her left. Above her is the dove of the Holy Spirit. Her characteristics are Antiquitas, Successio (which is a clear reference to the motif of the towering row of popes in the engravings by Cavalieri and Bertelli), Universalitas, and Concordia. Of course, there is nothing unusual in juxtaposing the image of Church with the heresy, and the phrase “Typus Ecclesiae” cannot

63 P. Arblaster, Antwerp and the World. Richard Verstegan and the International Culture of Catholic Reformation (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2004) 35, 44.

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point to a specific composition as a source of inspiration. However, the use of the uncommon motif of the towering row of popes could hardly be coincidental. The monogram RV on the engraved diptych points to Richard Verstegan, an English Catholic who left his native country, fleeing first to France and then to Rome. In France, English Catholics usually received support from the Guise family, from which Mary Stuart was a prominent descendant, rather than from Henry III, who was eager for good relations with Elizabeth.64 Verstegan came to France in April 1582 and immediately produced the Praesentis Ecclesiae Anglicanae Typus – a wall chart with six woodcuts with explanatory verses that presented the persecutions of Catholics in England.65 The publisher was Jean de Foigny (the aforementioned publisher of the cardinal Charles de Guise and subsequently of his nephew Louis II de Lorraine), who issued five editions in English in the early 1580s, including an English Catholic translation of the New Testament.66 In the early 1580s, the scenes from the Praesentis Ecclesiae Anglicanae Typus were included as illustrations in some editions of various books published in Italy, including Robert Parsons’s De persecutione Anglicana libellus67 and William Allen’s Historia del glorioso martirio;68 they also became a model for a series of engravings designed by Giovanni Battista de’ Cavalieri and accompanied Verstegan’s Descriptions, published first in Paris in 1583/84 (simultaneously in both Latin and French)69 and then in Rome in 1584.70 Verstegan stayed in the English College in Rome from 25 April 1584, and it was probably there that he designed his Typus Ecclesiae Catholicae and Typus Haereticae Synagogae.71 The question remains as to whether one of his models could have been Treter’s and Cavalieri’s Typus Ecclesiae of 1573, dedicated to 64 Arblaster, Antwerp and the World, 25–26. 65 The copy preserved in the library of Saint Edmund’s College, Ware, has been published by A.G. Petti, “Additions to the Richard Verstegan Canon”, Recusant History 8 (1966) 288–93; subsequently mentioned by A. Dillon, The Construction of Martyrdom in the English Catholic Community, 1535–1603 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2002) 123, n. 1; Arblaster, Antwerp and the World, 26; G. Kilroy, Edmund Campion. A Scholarly Life (Farnham: Ashgate 2015) 359–60. 66 J.-P. Fontaine, “Jean de Foigny, imprimeur à Reims de 1561 à 1586”, Travaux de l’académie nationale de Reims 168 (1989) 173–202; J.-P. Fontaine, “Jean de Foigny, imprimeur de la Sainte Ligue à Reims”, La Vie en Champagne 55 (2008) 33–35. 67 [Robert Parsons], De persecutione Anglicana libellus… (Rome: Ferrari, Grassi, 1582). 68 William Allen, Historia del glorioso martirio di sedici sacerdoti martirizati in Inghilterra per la confessione, & difesa della fede Catolica (Macerata: Martellini, 1583); Dillon, The Construction of Martyrdom, XI–XII. 69 Richard Verstegan, Descriptiones quaedam illius inhumanae et multiplicis persecutionis quam in Anglia propter fidem sustinent catholici Christiani ([Paris: 1583/84]); Briefve description des diverses cruautez que les Catholiques endurent en Angleterre pour le foy ([Paris: 1583/84]); Arblaster, Antwerp and the World, 32–33. 70 Richard Verstegan, Descriptiones quaedam illius inhumanae et multiplicis persecutionis, quam in Anglia propter fidem sustinent catholice Christiani (Rome: Zanetti, 1584). 71 Arblaster, Antwerp and the World, 34–35.

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cardinal Hosius. There is a wealth of evidence pointing to Hosius and members of his household establishing connections with English Catholics residing on the continent.72 Particularly well-documented is Hosius’s relationship with Nicholas Sanders and Alan Cope.73 At the same time as Verstegan’s sojourn in Rome, Hosius, Sanders and Cope had been dead for years, but Treter continued both his ecclesiastic career and artistic activity in the city,74 and remained on friendly terms with the English milieu. For instance, he must have visited the English College as a secretary to Andrew Báthory (nephew of King Stephen of Poland), who stayed in Rome in 1583/84. The visit took place on 14 May, when Báthory saw, among other things, wall paintings depicting the martyrs75 – a fresco cycle painted in San Tommaso di Canterbury by Niccolò Circignani in spring 1583.76 72 Hosius’s works were translated into English as early as the 1560s: Of the expresse worde of God, transl. Thomas Stapleton (Leuven: Bogard, 1567) and, more importantly, A most excellent treatise of the begynnyng of heresyes in oure tyme (Antwerp: Van Diest, 1565): “compiled by the Reuerend Father in God Stanislaus Hosius Byshop of Wormes [sic] in Prussia. To the moste renomed Prynce Lorde Sigismund myghtie Kyng of Poole, greate Duke of Luten and Russia, Lorde and heyre of all Prussia, Masouia, Samogitia &c.Translated out of Laten in to Englyshe by Richard Shacklock … and intituled by hym: The hatchet of heresies”. Hosius, bishop of Warmia, was mistakenly called bishop of Worms, but the book includes a woodcut presenting him as cutting the tree of ‘rebellion’. See also: A. Walsham, “Idols in the Frontispiece? Illustrating Religious Books in the Age of Iconoclasm”, in F. Dietz/A. Morton/ L. Roggen (ed.), Illustrated Religious Texts in the North of Europe 1500–1800 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014) 39–41; L.P. Buck, The Roman Monster: An Icon of the Papal Antichrist in Reformation Polemics (Kirksville: Truman State University Press, 2014) 191–94. 73 H. Zins, Polska w oczach Anglików, XIV–XVI wiek (Lublin: Wydawnictwo UMCS, 2002) 125– 31; Hosius’s close relationship with Alan Cope is documented in letters published by Andreas Patricius Nidecius [Andrzej Patrycy Nidecki], De ecclesia vera & falsa libri V (Cracow: Andrysowicz, 1585) ***2 r°–v°. 74 Treter was appointed canon of Santa Maria in Trastevere, which was Hosius’s titular basilica, in 1578/79 and was involved in several artistic undertakings in the 1580s as described by C. Bertelli, “Di un cardinale dell’impero e di un canonico polacco in Santa Maria in Trastevere”, Paragone 28 (1977) 89–107; Chrzanowski, Działalnos´c´ artystyczna, passim; G. Jurkowlaniec, “A Surprising Pair. The Tombstones of Cardinal Hosius and Cardinal Altemps’ son, Roberto, in the Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere in Rome”, in Artem quaevis alit terra. Studia professori Piotr Skubiszewski anno aetatis suae septuagesimo quinto oblate (= Ikonotheka, 19 [2006]) (Warsaw: WUW, 2006) 221–36; G. Jurkowlaniec, “Cult and Patronage. The Madonna della Clemenza, the Altemps and a Polish Canon in Rome”, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 72 (2009) 69–98. 75 Alberti Bolognetti nuntii apostolici in Polonia epistolarum et actorum pars III fasc. I (M. Jan. – Jun. 1584), ed. E. Kuntze (Monumenta Vaticana, tomus VII series Nuntiaturae Poloniae; Cracow: PAU, 1939–1948) No. 178; Stanisław Reszka, Diarium, 1583–1589, ed. J. Czubek (Archiwum do dziejów literatury i os´wiaty w Polsce 15, part 1; Cracow: Polska Akademia Umieje˛tnos´ci, 1915) 34. 76 On the paintings (unpreserved) by Circignani: L.H. Monssen, “Rex gloriose martyrum: A Contribution to Jesuit Iconography”, The Art Bulletin 63 (1981) 131; C.M. Richardson, “Durante Alberti, the Martyrs’ Picture and the Venerable English College”, Papers of the British School at Rome 73 (2005) 223–63; K. Müller-Bongard, “Konzepte zur Konsolidierung einer jesuitischen Identität. Die Märtyrerzyklen der jesuitischen Kollegien in Rom”, in E. Oy-

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This cycle was reproduced in a set of prints by Cavalieri, entitled Ecclesiae Anglicanae trophaea, published in 1584 and dedicated to Tomasz Treter.77 Interestingly, some editions of the Ecclesiae Anglicanae trophaea were supplemented with the set of Cavalieri’s prints based on Verstegan’s Praesentis Ecclesiae Anglicanae Typus and also included his descriptions.78 Both subjects – Catholic martyrs and allegories of the Catholic Church juxtaposed with heresy – recurred in subsequent Verstegan works that were printed in Antwerp in the late 1580s. In 1587 and 1588, Adriaen Huberti published two Latin and three French editions of Theatrum crudelitatum haereticorum nostri temporis / Theatre de(s) cruautez des hereticques de nostre temps,79 and in 1590 Plantin published a single-leaf print Speculum pro Christianis seductis.80 The latter aimed to contrast the Catholic Church and the three heresies – Lutheran, Calvinist and Anabaptist – included in the lower section of the page. In the representation of the Catholic Church, which dominates the upper section, the towering row of popes recurs to provide a link between the Church fighting on earth and triumphant in heaven. Finally, it is worth noting one final example of the Typus Ecclesiae’s reception: a votive painting commissioned in 1630 by Georg Hiltprand for the parish church in Grodków (Germ. Grottkau), Silesia (now in Poland, then “a pearl in the Bohemian crown” – fig. 11).81 Unlike the paintings from Hildesheim, Utrecht or Stans, which were based on the 1573 edition of the print, the work from Grodków was based on Bertelli’s 1574 version. This claim is supported by the lack of the inscription et apostolica on the church and the number and distribution of heretics drowning in the sea. This painting cannot be directly linked to Hosius or his milieu, but it proves that the very design, disseminated thanks to the Italian prints, was still popular in some regions.

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Marra/V.R. Remmert (ed.), Le monde est une peinture. Jesuitische Identität und die Rolle der Bilder (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2011) 153–76; C. Behrmann, Tyrann und Märtyrer: Bild und Ideengeschichte des Rechts um 1600 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015) 169. Recently: F. Pesci, in D. Cattoi/D. Primerano (ed.), Arte e persuasione. La strategia delle immagini dopo il concilio di Trento (Trento: Terni, 2014) cat. No. 6.1. Cavalieri’s other cycle, Ecclesie militantis triumphi, in which he reproduced Circignani’s frescoes from Santo Stefano Rotondo, was dedicated to Stanisław Reszka. The last engraving of this cycle, Crudelitas in catholicis mactandis, occasionally bears Cavalieri’s signature Ioa Baptista de’ Cauallerijs incidebat Romae Anno Domini 1584; C.L.C.E. Witcombe, Copyright in the Renaissance. Prints and the Privilegio in Sixteenth Century Venice and Rome (Leiden: Brill, 2004) 165 mentions a copy in the Vatican Library (Cicognara, VI, 2008, int 3). Arblaster, Antwerp and the World, 41–42. Ibidem, 44. Chrzanowski, “Typus Ecclesiae”, 276; Jurkowlaniec, “Typus Ecclesiae catholicae”, 35.

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Fig. 11: Allegory of the catholic Church, epitaph of Georg Hiltprand, Grodków, parish church, 1630 (photo: Graz˙yna Jurkowlaniec).

The Typus Ecclesiae, designed in the rather peripheral environment of Warmia, has a complex and meaningful composition. Thanks to Hosius’s entourage, the design, developed from a variety of northern sources, started crossing borders. First, it reached Rome, where it was translated by Giovanni Battista de’ Cavalieri using an Italian repertoire of forms, then to Venice, where the composition was

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republished by Luca Bertelli. Subsequently, the Italian engravings became vehicles for the dissemination of artistic models in several other countries. The success of Typus Ecclesiae owed greatly to Hosius’s practice of sending copies of the print to other clergymen. The cardinal was not sensitive to the arts; he did not make himself famous as a patron or as a connoisseur of the arts and remained oblivious to the ancient monuments of Rome.82 However, he apparently regarded the engravings as markers of the confessional identity and, particularly in 1573 and 1574, he often used them as auxiliary instruments for his political agendas. The social impact of the print was clear among members of the Church hierarchy and various royal or noble families. The engraving was given the title Typus Ecclesiae Catholicae ad instar brevis laicorum catechismi and provided with a commentary. Therefore, we have reason to assume that Treter and Reszka envisaged the catechetical function of the print. It is also most surprising that Hosius sent the Typus Ecclesiae to not only younger members of noble or royal families (as was the case with the House of Guise or Sigismund Vasa), but also to cardinals and bishops, none of whom required a lesson in basic religious principles. On the contrary, some of them were famous for the extent of their knowledge – as was Borromeo and Osório, who was called the Cicero of Portugal. However, the original scope planned by Treter and Reszka did not have to match Hosius’s agenda, who manifestly used the print as an opportunity to remain on friendly terms, despite the challenges, with various clergymen engaged in the counter-Reformation. Regardless of the specific goals of the designers, the direct addressee and other recipients of Typus Ecclesiae, the print soon became a collectable item. Jan Pone˛towski, abbot of Hradisko Monastery in Olomouc (Moravia), for example, owned two copies – one from 1574 and an undated version pasted onto the inside cover of a missal (fig. 4 and 5). The impression might arise that the Typus Ecclesiae reached all European countries. Yet, the geography of the translation of the Typus Ecclesiae proves perplexing, given the limited success of the print in two countries that should have been extremely interested in absorbing the model, namely Italy and the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. As mentioned by various scholars, Hosius did send the print to Carlo Borromeo, although it is difficult to indicate any artistic outcome of that gesture in Italy. The only example is one of the personifications in a fresco showing the Council of Trent in the Cappella Altemps in Santa Maria in Trastevere, Rome, which can be dated to the late 1580s. The striking similarities between the Ecclesia in the Typus Ecclesiae and the Ecclesia in the fresco are not difficult to explain (fig. 12). Treter, a canon of Santa Maria in Trastevere, was directly involved in devising the programme of the decoration of

82 Reszka, Stanislai Hosii … Vita, 283.

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Fig. 12: Pasquale Cati, Debates of the Council of Trent and Ecclesia surrounded by personifications, wall-painting in the Altemps Chapel, Rome, Santa Maria in Trastevere, c. 1589 (photo: Graz˙yna Jurkowlaniec).

the chapel,83 and it is not surprising that he would have referenced the print that he co-authored, even though this link was limited to adapting one central motif. By contrast, there is no record of Hosius sending impressions to Polish noblemen, and there is not one single example of a composition, even partially, inspired by the Typus Ecclesiae in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Thus, it seems that the Polish cardinal, who circulated the print among his colleagues and the rulers of European countries, did not consider it necessary for the composition to be known in Poland.

83 See n. 74.

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Bibliography Edited and Printed Sources Alberti Bolognetti nuntii apostolici in Polonia epistolarum et actorum pars III fasc. I (M. Jan. –Jun. 1584), ed. E. Kuntze (Monumenta Vaticana, tomus VII series Nuntiaturae Poloniae; Cracow: PAU, 1939–1948). Allen, William, Historia del glorioso martirio di sedici sacerdoti martirizati in Inghilterra per la confessione, & difesa della fede Catolica (Macerata: Martellini, 1583). Briefve description des diverses cruautez que les Catholiques endurent en Angleterre pour le foy ([Paris: 1583/84]). Helding, Michael, Catechismus, Das ist Christliche Vnderweisung vnsgegründter Bericht… (Mainz: Behem, 1551). Hosius, Stanislaus, A most excellent treatise of the begynnyng of heresyes in oure tyme (Antwerp: Van Diest, 1565). Hosius, Stanislaus, Confessio catholicae fidei Christiana … (Mainz: Behem, 1557). Hosius, Stanislaus, Of the expresse worde of God, transl. Thomas Stapleton (Leuven: Bogard, 1567). Hosius, Stanislaus, Opera omnia hactenus edita (Venice: Nicolino, 1573). Hosius, Stanislaus, Operum tomus secundus, ed. Stanisław Reszka (Cologne: Cholinus, 1584) Katechizm albo nauka wiary i poboz˙nos´ci chrzes´cijan´skiej (Cracow: Szarfenberger, 1568). Lettres du cardinal Charles de Lorraine (1525–1574), ed. D. Cuisiat (Geneva: Droz, 1998). Nidecius, Andrea Patricius [Andrzej Patrycy Nidecki], De ecclesia vera & falsa libri V (Cracow: Andrysowicz, 1585). Orzelski, S., Bezkrólewia ksia˛g os´moro czyli dzieje Polski od zgonu Zygmunta Augusta r. 1572 az˙ do r. 1576 (Petersburg: Wolff, 1856). Osório, Jerónimo, Opera Omnia, vol. 2: Epistolografia, ed. S. Tavares de Pinho/A. Guimarães Pinto (Coimbra: Impensa da Universidade de Coimbra, 2015). [Parsons, Robert], De persecutione Anglicana libellus… (Rome: Ferrari, Grassi, 1582). Reszka, Stanisław, De atheismis et phalarismis evangelicorum libri duo (Naples: Carlino & Pace, 1596). Reszka, Stanisław, Diarium, 1583–1589, ed. J. Czubek (Archiwum do dziejów literatury i os´wiaty w Polsce 15, part 1; Cracow: Polska Akademia Umieje˛tnos´ci, 1915). Reszka, Stanisław, Dichiaratione della Figura della Chiesa Catholica (Rome: Blado, 1574). [Reszka, Stanisław], Explicatio typi Ecclesiae Catholicae (Rome: Blado, 1573). [Reszka, Stanisław], Explicatio Typi Ecclesiae Catholicae (Venice: Bertelli, 1575). Reszka, Stanisław, Stanislai Hosii … Vita (Rome: Tornieri, Zannetti, & Ruffinelli, 1587). Verstegan, Richard, Descriptiones quaedam illius inhumanae et multiplicis persecutionis quam in Anglia propter fidem sustinent catholici Christiani ([Paris: 1583/84]). Verstegan, Richard, Descriptiones quaedam illius inhumanae et multiplicis persecutionis, quam in Anglia propter fidem sustinent catholice Christiani (Rome: Zanetti, 1584). Z dworu Stanisława Hozjusza. Listy Stanisława Reszki do Marcina Kromera 1568–1582, ed./ trans. J.A. Kalinowska (Olsztyn: Os´rodek Badan´ im. W. Ke˛trzyn´skiego, 1992).

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Fontaine, J.-P., “Jean de Foigny, imprimeur de la Sainte Ligue à Reims”, La Vie en Champagne 55 (2008) 33–35. Freudenberger, T., Hieronymus Dungersheim von Ochsenfurt am Main 1465–1540. Theologieprofessor in Leipzig. Leben und Schriften (Münster: Aschendorffsche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 1988). Friedrich, M., “Johann III. von Schweden (1568–1592). Ein König im Spannungsfeld von Gegenreformation und Konfessionalisierung”, Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 109 (1998) 200–15. Gallori C.T., “Un’Allegoria del segno della croce tra Polonia, Italia e Messico”, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz 55 (2013) 239–65. Grabowski, A., Staroz˙ytnos´ci historyczne polskie (Cracow: Czech, 1840). Guillemin, J.-J., Le Cardinal de Lorraine, son influence politique et religieuse au XVIe siècle (Paris: Joubert, 1847) 469–71. Hipler, F., “Die Biographen des Stanislaus Hosius”, Zeitschrift für die Geschichte und Alterthumskunde Ermlands 7 (1880) 113–76. Hipler, F., “Die Kupferstecher in Ermland”, Zeitschrift für die Geschichte und Alterthumskunde Ermlands 7 (1880) 339–56. Hoffmann, C.A. (ed.), Als Frieden möglich war: 450 Jahre Augsburger Religionsfrieden (Regensburg: Schnell&Steiner, 2005). Horat, H., Sakrale Bauten (Ars Helvetica: die visuelle Kultur der Schweiz 3; Disentis: Desertina, 1988). Hordyn´ski, P., “Grafika włoskiej proweniencji z kolekcji Jana Pone˛towskiego w Bibliotece Jagiellon´skiej”, in Amicissima. Studia Magdalenae Piwocka oblata (Cracow: Nomina Rosae, 2010) 217–22. Iogna-Prat, D., “L’invention d’un espace chrétien au Nouveau Monde”, in Faire lien. Aristocratie, réseaux et échanges compétitifs: Mélanges en l’honneur de Régine Le Jan (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2015) 401–20. Jeanne, B., “Trajectoires ibériques, échappatoires romaines. Arpenter le coeur européen de la Monarchie catholique au second XVIe siècle”, Diasporas. Circulations, migrations, histoire, 25 (2015) 25–44. Jurkowlaniec, G., “An Encyclopaedia of the Catholic Faith Dedicated to Mark Sittich von Hohenems IV: An Unknown Engraving by Natale Bonifacio and Gijsbert van Veen Republished by Giacomo Lauro”, Barockberichte 64 (2016), 69–81. Jurkowlaniec, G., “A Surprising Pair. The Tombstones of Cardinal Hosius and Cardinal Altemps’ son, Roberto, in the Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere in Rome”, in Artem quaevis alit terra. Studia professori Piotr Skubiszewski anno aetatis suae septuagesimo quinto oblate (= Ikonotheka, 19 [2006]) (Warsaw: WUW, 2006) 221–36. Jurkowlaniec, G., “Cult and Patronage. The Madonna della Clemenza, the Altemps and a Polish Canon in Rome”, Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 72 (2009) 69–98. Jurkowlaniec, G., “L’immagine della Chiesa nelle stampe di Tomasz Treter dedicate a Stanisław Hozjusz. Contributo polacco alla cultura artistica europea ai tempi della controriforma”, Atti dell’Accademia Polacca 2 (2011) 130–50. Jurkowlaniec, G., Sprawczos´c´ rycin. Rzymska twórczos´c´ graficzna Tomasza Tretera i jej europejskie oddziaływanie (Cracow: Universitas, 2017). Jurkowlaniec, G., “The Crucified Christ as the Source of the Seven Sacraments. Patterns of Reception of a Sixteenth-Century Image on Both Sides of the Alps and on Both Sides of

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the Atlantic Ocean”, in Z. Sarnecka/A. Fedorowicz-Jackowska (ed.), Artistic Translations Between the Fourteenth and Sixteenth Centuries. International Seminar for Young Researchers. Proceedings (Warsaw: Institute of Art History, 2013) 187–209. Jurkowlaniec, G., “Typus Ecclesiae catholicae – trydencka wizja Kos´cioła, jej geneza i recepcja”, in K. Kuczman/A. Witko (ed.), Sztuka po Trydencie (Cracow: Wydawnictwo AA, 2014) 23–38. Kilroy, G., Edmund Campion. A Scholarly Life (Farnham: Ashgate 2015) 359–60. Knapp, U., (ed.), Ego sum Hildensemensis. Bischof, Domkapitel und Dom in Hildesheim 815 bis 1810 (Petersberg: Imhoff, 2000). Knipping, B., “De muurschilderingen in de Galileërkerk te Leeuwarden”, De Vrije Fries 36 (1941) 52–70. Knipping, J.B., Iconography of the Counter-Reformation in the Netherlands. Heaven on earth (Nieuwkoop: De Graaf, 1974). Llompart, G., “Ecclesia Sponsa: Tres grabados manieristas”, Traza y Baza 5 (1974) 63–76. Massing, J.M., “Jerome Nadal’s Evangelicae Historiae Imagines and the Birth of Global Imagery”, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 80 (2017) 161–220. Monssen, L.H., “Rex gloriose martyrum: A contribution to Jesuit Iconography”, The Art Bulletin 63 (1981) 130–37. Müller-Bongard, K., “Konzepte zur Konsolidierung einer jesuitischen Identität. Die Märtyrerzyklen der jesuitischen Kollegien in Rom”, in E. Oy-Marra/V.R. Remmert (ed.), Le monde est une peinture. Jesuitische Identität und die Rolle der Bilder (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2011) 153–76. Omodeo, A. (ed.), Mostra di stampe popolari venete del ‘500 (Florence: Olschki, 1965). Palumbo, G., Speculum peccatorum. Frammenti di storia nello specchio delle immagini tra Cinque e Seicento (Naples: Liguori, 1990) 186–94. Pastor, L. von, Geschichte der Päpste im Zeitalter der katholischen Reformation und Restauration. Gregor XIII. (1572–1585) (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1923). Petti, A.G., “Additions to the Richard Verstegan Canon”, Recusant History 8 (1966) 288–93. Reiß, A., (ed.), Calvinismus. Die Reformierten in Deutschland und Europa (Dresden: Deutsches Historisches Museum, 2009). Richardson, C.M., “Durante Alberti, the Martyrs’ Picture and the Venerable English College”, Papers of the British School at Rome 73 (2005) 223–63. Rozzo, U., “Il Typus Ecclesiae nella polemica tra protestanti e cattolici nel Cinquecento” in E. Ardissino (ed.), Visibile teologia: il libro sacro figurato in Italia tra Cinquecento e Seicento (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 2012) 72–76. Rozzo, U., La strage ignorata: i fogli volanti a stampa nell’Italia dei secoli XV e XVI (Udine: Forum, 2008). Sacré, D., “De Nicolai Querculi carmine foede deturpato”, Humanistica Lovanensia. Journal of Neo-Latin Studies 40 (1991) 450–52. Sieber, D., Jesuitische Missionierung, priesterliche Liebe, sakramentale Magie. Volkskulturen in Luzern 1563–1614 (Basel: Schwabe, 2005). Sikorski, J., “Kanonikat – ołtarz – grób. Obsada kanonikatów a przydział ołtarzy oraz kwestia pochówków w katedrze fromborskiej w XV–XVIIII wieku”, Komunikaty Mazursko-Warmin´skie 2 (2005) 157–216.

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III. Mobility and Exile

Kajsa Brilkman

Boundaries Transcended: Student Mobility, Clerical Marriage and Translations in the Life of the Swedish Reformer Olaus Petri

In early 1525 a wedding took place in the Church of St. Nicholas in Stockholm, with Olaus Petri (1493–1552), a former Wittenberg student, as groom.1 The remarkable thing in this otherwise common event was that Petri had been a deacon since 1520, and had thus committed himself to a life of celibacy in order to serve God. By violating this vow of celibacy, Petri’s marriage attracted more attention than most standard weddings.2 Even if this marriage is well-known today, as Petri eventually became the main reformer in the newly emancipated Kingdom of Sweden, it has generally been viewed as a rather peripheral moment at the beginning of the Reformation in Scandinavia.3 This chapter will argue, however, that this marriage carries the key to understanding not only how the Reformation began in Sweden, but also how it was connected to other Reformation processes taking place beyond the borders of the Kingdom. Moreover, as this was the first reformatory act that King-elect Gustav Wasa endorsed, it also added to the further disintegration of the already highly-contested Kalmar Union, the four-

1 On Olaus Petri see C.F. Hallencreutz/S.-O. Lindeberg (ed.), Olaus Petri – den mångsidige svenske reformatorn. Nio föredrag om Olaus Petri (Skrifter utgivna av Svenska Kyrkohistoriska Föreningen 49; Uppsala: Svenska kyrkohistoriska föreningen, 1994); T. Rasmussen “Olaus Petri”, in I. Dingel/V. Leppin (ed.), Reformatorenlexikon (Darmstadt: Lambert Schneider, 2014) 207–14. I want to thank Violet Soen for her useful comments on and help with earlier drafts of this chapter; I thank Ryan McGuinness for carefully copy-editing this chapter. 2 E. Petersson/A. Sandén, “Den skandalöse diakonen i Stockholm. Olaus Petris giftermål som politisk manifestation”, in L. Runefelt/O. Sjöström (ed.), Förmoderna offentligheter. Arenor och uttryck för politisk debatt 1550–1830 (Lund: Nordic Academic Press, 2014) 75–87. 3 Å. Andrén (ed.), Sveriges kyrkohistoria. Reformationstid (Stockholm: Verbum Förlag AB, 1999) 33–34; K.B. Westman, Reformationens genombrottsår i Sverige (Uppsala: Almqvist och Wiksells boktryckeri, 1918) 222–26. An introduction to the Reformation in Scandinavia in English: O.P. Grell, “Scandinavia”, in A. Pettegree (ed.), The Early Reformation in Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992) 94–119. In K. Brilkman, “När och hur inleddes reformationen i det svenska riket? Ett kulturhistoriskt perspektiv på ett gammalt problem”, Scandia. Tidskrift för historisk forsking 82 (2016) 43–69, the wedding is analysed as an important symbolic practice that served as the introduction of the Reformation to the Swedish kingdom.

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teenth-century union of the Kingdoms of Denmark, Norway and Sweden that created new borders around Sweden.4 Traditionally, the fact that Olaus Petri studied in Wittenberg during the crucial period between 1516 and 1518 is seen as the single most important event in bringing the Reformation to Sweden. Much emphasis has been placed on how Olaus Petri became acquainted with the theology of Martin Luther, and then wrote pro-reform works of his own back in Stockholm.5 Yet, as this chapter will reveal, his work as a reformer in Sweden heavily depended on his experiences in crossing both territorial and mental borders, as well as his willingness to take advantage of the opportunity that the intraterritorial book market offered. His Stockholm wedding underscores this. Rather than identifying Olaus Petri as ‘a Swede’ who went to ‘Germany’, this contribution uses the methodology of transregional history to show how Petri acted across and beyond both territorial and linguistic borders in order to create new meanings and spark historical transitions.6 As his wedding shows, Olaus Petri adapted what he had learned and experienced in Wittenberg, but also drew upon arguments he had received through the many reform-minded prints circulating throughout Europe. Publishing a tract titled A small lesson on marriage (Een liten vnderuisning om Echtenskapet) in Stockholm three years later, he deliberately referenced his own wedding to advocate his marriage and to propagate clerical marriage, while also using the only local print shop to spread his ideas.7 Hence, not only was it his own decision to travel between Sweden and Wittenberg and to use new methods of reform-minded propaganda to spread his ideology, but it was also his ability to innovatively expand the possibilities that the evolving European book market 4 H. Gustafsson, Gamla riken, nya stater. Statsbildning, politisk kultur och identiteter under Kalmarunionens upplösningsskede 1512–1541 (Stockholm: Atlantis, 2000); L.-O. Larsson, Kalmarunionens tid. Från drottning Margareta till Kristian II (Stockholm: Rabén Prisma, 1997). 5 This is the dominant interpretation of Olaus Petri’s stay in Wittenberg; see for example: S. Ingebrand, “Olavus Petri – reformatorn”, in C.F. Hallencreutz/S.-O. Lindeberg (ed.), Olaus Petri – den mångsidige svenske reformatorn. Nio föredrag om Olaus Petri (Skrifter utgivna av Svenska kyrkohistoriska föreningen 49; Uppsala: Svenska kyrkohistoriska föreningen., 1994) 13–15; Westman, Reformationens genombrottsår, 161–62; O. Czaika, “Luther, Melanchthon und Chytraeus und ihre Bedeutung für die Theologenausbildung im schwedischen Reich” in H.J. Selderhuis/M. Wriedt (ed.), Konfession, Migration und Elitenbildung. Studien zur Theologenausbildung des 16. Jahrhunderts (Leiden: Brill, 2007) 53–83. 6 V. Soen/B. De Ridder et al., “How to do Transregional History. A Concept, Method and Tool for Early Modern Border Research”, Journal of Early Modern History 21 (2017) 343–64. 7 O. Petri, Een liten underuisning om echteskapet hwem thz lofligit är eller ey, ther grundeliga bewijsat warder at prestmen må wara j echteskap, och sedhen fölier ther epter een liten formaning till till biscoper och prelater medh theres clerekrij her j Swerige (Stockholm: Kungliga tryckeriet, 1528). The text is edited in Olaus Petri, Samlade skrifter af O. Petri, ed. B. Hesselman (4 vol.; Uppsala: Sveriges kristliga studentrörelses förlag., 1914–1917) [hereafter: OPSS] 1.443– 71.

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created that should henceforth be used to explain how the Reformation started in Sweden.

I.

Crossing Territorial and Mental Borders to Study

Born in the Swedish town of Örebro in 1493, Petri’s decision to study in Wittenberg meant crossing the territorial borders of two composite states, the Swedish kingdom within the Kalmar Union and the Holy Roman Empire. He matriculated at the University of Wittenberg in the summer of 1516, graduated in February 1518, and came back to Sweden in 1519 with the aspiration of obtaining a position in either the Church or the State.8 Since the Middle Ages, Scandinavian students had travelled south to the European universities in order to obtain an education, so Olaus Petri had just followed the old routes of trade and intellectual exchange.9 Even after the first university of the Kalmar Union had been founded in Uppsala in 1477, the learned elite in the Swedish kingdom continued to favour an education in the humanist tradition as taught at Italian and German universities.10 Petri, the son of a smith, was, like many other young men of the era, hoping to use his university education to improve his condition. But things did not work out as the young man must have imagined them when he left Sweden in 1516. Instead of earning a quick degree and then moving on to a long ecclesiastical career, he was enticed by the ideas of Luther, a theology that the Papacy would eventually identify as heretical.11 Following a common pattern of student mobility and migration, Petri arrived at Wittenberg during a crucial historical moment, as Luther’s Reformation had just started. Current historiography, however, questions the idea of a clear reformatory breakthrough by Luther in the years 1513–1518, but instead strongly 8 C. Callmer, Svenska studenter i Wittenberg (Skrifter utgivna av Personhistoriska samfundet 17; Stockholm: Personhistoriska samf., 1976) 14; Album Academiae vitebergensis ab a. ch. 1502 usque ad a 1602, ed. K.E. Förstemann (3 vol.; Leipzig: Lipsiae Tauchnitz, 1841) 1.62; O. Petri, Olavus Petri – Självbiografiska anteckningar (Örebro: Jubileumskommittén Olaus Petri, 500 år, 1993) 6–7. 9 O. Czaika, David Chytræus und die Universität Rostock in ihren Beziehungen zum schwedischen Reich (Schriften der Luther-Agricola-Gesellschaft 51; Helsinki: Luther-Agricola-Gesellschaft, 2002) 70–83. 10 S. Lindroth, Svenska lärdomshistoria. Medeltiden, reformationstiden (Stockholm: Norstedts, 1989) 126–37, 187–91. 11 R. Bäumer/E. Iserloh/H. Tüchle (ed.), Lutherprozess und Lutherbann. Vorgeschichte, Ergebnis, Nachwirkung (Katholisches Leben und Kirchenreform im Zeitalter der Glaubensspaltung, 32; Münster: Aschendorff, 1972); P. Fabisch/E. Iserloh, Dokumente zur Causa Lutheri, 1517–1521, vol. 1–2 (Corpus catholicorum 42; Münster: Aschendorff, 1988); V. Soen, “Arise, O Lord (Exsurge Domine)”, in: M. Lamport (ed.), Encyclopedia of Martin Luther and the Reformation (2 vol.; Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2017) 1.38–39.

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emphasize that the Reformation evolved through a complicated process of communication.12 One example was the promotion of Bartholomäus Bernhardi – who will turn out to be an important agent in staging the Reformation later on in this chapter – in September 1516, which sparked a discussion among the professors Andreas Karlstadt, Nikolaus von Amsdorf and Johannes Dölsch about the ideas developed by Martin Luther. Thus, there was no core to the Reformation during Petri’s stay in Wittenberg; rather, it was an evolving framework of interpretation and debate among local theologians, including (but not exclusive to) Luther.13 Equally important were actions organized by the University of Wittenberg’s students that were intended to support their professor(s) of theology; for example, they organized book burnings (even of the papal bull) and dressed up as the Pope to ridicule him. The students were the first lay people to get caught up in the theology of the Reformation and their actions played a crucial role in its spread. The students identified with Luther and the other scholars in Wittenberg, creating a strong bond with their professors.14 Olaus Petri probably attended the first performative event that communicated the ideas of the reformers. In March 1518, the Wittenberg students burned the ‘106 theses’ of Konrad Wimpina, professor of theology in Frankfurt an der Oder, and Johann Tetzel, the commissioner of indulgences in the dioceses of Magdeburg and Halberstadt. The ‘106 theses’ were a direct response to Luther’s attack on indulgences in October 1517. Tetzel’s publication was on sale in Wittenberg, and students gathered as many as 800 copies in order to perform a symbolic public execution of them in the Main Square. The students made use of the tradition of eliminating heresy by burning it at the stake, and, through this act, communicated their opinion that Wimpina’s 12 For Example: T. Kaufmann, Geschichte der Reformation (Frankfurt am Main: Verlag der Weltreligionen, 2009); T. Kaufmann, Der Anfang der Reformation. Studien zur Kontextualität der Theologie, Publizistik und Inszenierung Luthers und der reformatorischen Bewegung (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012); V. Leppin, Die fremde Reformation. Luthers mystische Wurzeln (Munich: C.H. Beck, 2016); H. Schilling, Martin Luther. Rebell in einer Zeit des Umbruchs (Munich: Beck, C.H. 2012); N. Krentz, Ritualwandel und Deutungshoheit. Die frühe Reformation in der Residenzstadt Wittenberg (1500–1533) (Spätmittelalter, Humanismus, Reformation 74; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014). V. Leppin, “Zuspitzung und Wahrheitsanpruch – Disputationen in den Anfängen der Wittenberger reformatorischen Bewegung”, in H.J. Selderhuis/E.-J. Waschke (ed.), Reformation und Rationalität (Göttingen/Bristol, CT: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015): Hence, as Volker Leppin writes, “the Reformation was a reform movement within the medieval church, but presented itself as the only possible reform of the church, and due to the development it also became the sole alternative to the Roman church”: Leppin, “Zuspitzung und Wahrheitsanspruch”, 44. 13 J.-M. Kruse, Universitätstheologie und Kirchenreform. Die Anfänge der Reformation in Wittenberg 1516–1522 (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für europäische Geschichte Mainz 187; Mainz: von Zabern, 2002) 78–112. 14 Kaufmann, Der Anfang der Reformation, 185–260.

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and Tetzel’s theses were actually heretical.15 Although there are no records of who participated in this event, the densely compacted urban space of Wittenberg all but ensures that Olaus Petri took part in the book burning: Wittenberg was a small town with about 2,000 inhabitants and one main street leading from the Augusteum, through the Main Square, and to the Castle.16 Petri shared these experiences with other young men who studied at the newly-founded university in Saxony. Several Scandinavian students were also enrolled at the university, among them Peder Brask, the first Swede to matriculate, and the Dane Joachim Rönnow. Together with Petri, another Swede, Olaus Bröms, also matriculated and later became the king’s treasurer.17 What these students experienced in Wittenberg was not just an introduction to the theology of the Wittenberg reformers; they were also exposed to the idea of using public events as a means of enforcing the Reformation. During the early years of this movement, the repertoire of events widened to include practices such as demonstratively eating during Lent, refusing to pay tithes, leaving monastic orders, disrupting sermons, and jointly singing Reformation songs. These actions helped to communicate the thoughts of the reformers to an audience, but at the same time created meaning that would help to shape the Reformation.18 Some of the students in Wittenberg, such as Petri’s fellow student Bartholomäus Bernhardi, indeed became important agents of the early Reformation, but others had ambiguous attitudes towards a reform movement that often did not affect them. For example, of the seven young men from Hamburg who matriculated in Wittenberg during the years 1516–1519, only one became an evangelical preacher, working in Rostock and Riga, while the others did little to spread the ideas of the Wittenberg reformer within their home city, even if they worked for the church.19 Studying at the Leucorea was obviously not a redemptive experience for every student, at least not at the beginning of the Reformation. Rather, it required an individual choice to follow in the footsteps of Martin Luther. At the same time, there is also no obvious link between being a reformer and having studied in Wittenberg. Several of the preachers who regarded themselves as part of a reform movement, including the Stralsund reformers Christian Ketelhut and Georg von

15 Kaufmann, Der Anfang der Reformation, 187–88. 16 H. Junghans, Wittenberg als Lutherstadt (Berlin: Union Verlag, 1979) 73–75. 17 M.S. Lausten, Die heilige Stadt Wittenberg. Die Beziehungen des dänischen Königshauses zu Wittenberg in der Reformationszeit (Schriften der Stiftung Luthergedenkstätten in SachsenAnhalt 10; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2010) 107; H.V. Gregersen, Reformationen i Sønderjylland (Skrifter udgivne af Historisk samfund for Sønderjylland 63; Aabenraa: Historisk samfund for Sønderjylland, 1986) 49–53. Album I, 61–62. 18 Kaufmann, Geschichte der Reformation, 324–64. 19 R. Postel, Die Reformation in Hamburg 1517–1528 (Quellen und Forschungen zur Reformationsgeschichte 52; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Vlg-Haus Mohn, 1986), 181–82, 332–48.

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Ückermünde, the Rostock reformer Joachim Slüter, and the Hamburg reformers Johann Meyer and Johann Fritze, did not study in Wittenberg.20 When Petri left Wittenberg in 1519, the transformative process that would end up in what we call the Reformation had only just begun. Hence, previous historiographical conclusions that argue that Petri heard the ideas of Luther during the crucial year of 1517 and then transferred these ideas to Sweden cannot be confirmed in a straightforward manner. To become a reformer, he must have stayed in contact with the reform movement and would have had to continually participate in the theological discussion. Unfortunately, there are no extant letters from Olaus Petri, so we cannot tell whether he stayed in contact with his former peers, and he is never mentioned by Luther.

II.

Performing the Reformation Through Marriage

Upon returning to Sweden in 1519, Petri was appointed as secretary to Matthias Gregersson, the Bishop of Strängnäs, meaning that his university education abroad did end up providing him with a much anticipated ecclesiastical position. Yet, the Swedish Church was under attack during this period and became especially weakened after the Stockholm bloodbath, where Gregersson and Vincent Henningsson, Bishop of Skara, together with many other nobles and citizens, were executed by the Danish king Christian II in November 1520 in an attempt to establish his power over the Kalmar Union and to prevent Sweden from leaving it.21 Afterwards, there was much uncertainty as to the authority of Gustav Trolle, the Archbishop of Uppsala, as he had been one of the leading persons behind the bloodbath, but had afterwards fled to Denmark. The newly-elected archbishop Johannes Magnus, at the time in Rome, was not confirmed by the Pope, since his predecessor Trolle was still alive.22 Hence, starting in 1521, there was a vacuum of authority within the church: out of seven dioceses in the Swedish Kingdom, only two had a present bishop by 1523. The other bishops had died, been murdered, or were absent from the kingdom. The two bishops still in charge were Ingmar Petri in Växjö, who at the time seemed to be old and inactive, and Hans Brask, the 20 J. Schildhauer, Soziale, politische, und religiöse Auseinandersetzungen in den Hansestädten Stralsund, Rostock und Wismar im ersten Drittel des 16. Jahrhunderts (Abhandlungen zur Handels- und Sozialgeschichte 2; Weimar: Verlag Herman Böhlaus Nachfolger, 1959) 93–98; G. Bosinski, Das Schrifttum des Rostocker Reformators Joachim Slüter (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1971) 30–31; Postel, Die Reformation in Hamburg, 205, 370. 21 Andrén, Sveriges kyrkohistoria, 18–27; Larsson, Kalmarunionens tid, 439–48. 22 A. Nilsson, Johannes Magnus and the Composition of Truth. Historia de omnibus Gothorum Sueonumque regibus (Lund: Lund University, Centre for Languages and Literature, 2016) 39– 41.

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bishop in Linköping, who had been educated at the universities of Greifswald and Rostock.23 Brask, over the coming years, would become the leading force in the Swedish church. Moreover, Gustav Wasa, whose father also had been killed in Stockholm, had emerged as the leader of the uprising against King Christian II and was elected as king of Sweden in 1523.24 Sceptical from the beginning about the thoughts of the reformers like Luther and Petri, Gustav Eriksson Wasa had, however, discovered the opportunities inherent in their arguments during the 1520s and supported the Reformation within the Swedish kingdom.25 It was in this context that Petri abandoned standard practices in 1522, when Hans Brask first accused him of preaching in a ‘Lutheran’ manner, which only resulted in Petri attempting a variety of other methods in order to further spread his ideas.26 Brask promptly threatened Petri with excommunication. Thus, his experiences in Wittenberg had not served as an easy path to a career in the Swedish Church; rather, Olaus Petri, in the eyes of the bishop, had become a troublemaker who had compromised the true faith. Regardless, King-Elect Gustav Eriksson Wasa arranged for him to move from Strägnäs to Stockholm in 1524 and appointed him as the secretary of the town council with the obligation to preach in the Great Church, the Church of St Nicholas. From this position, Petri introduced and tried to establish the Reformation in Sweden, while supporting the attempts of Wasa to not only break away from the Kalmar Union, but from the Old Church, as well. Out of all the possible methods used to spread the Reformation, Petri most clearly engaged with staging clerical marriages, culminating with his own wedding in 1525 to Christina Michaelsdottir, daughter of a Stockholm town citizen.27 Christina was five years older than Olaus and lived until 1561. The couple would have two children, Elisabeth, born in 1526, and Reginald, born in 1527.28 During the 1520s, clerical marriages had become one of the most efficient and highprofile performative events in which to show one’s support for the reform movement.29 In the spring of 1521, the first wedding in breach of the vow of 23 Andrén, Sveriges kyrkohistoria, 23. 24 L.-O. Larsson, Gustav Vasa – landsfader eller tyrann? (Stockholm: Prisma, 22005). Gustav Eriksson Wasa was crowned in 1528. 25 K. Brilkman, Undersåten som förstod. Den svenska reformatoriska samtalsordningen och den tidigmoderna integrationsprocessen (Skellefteå: Artos, 2013). 26 P. Stobaeus, Hans Brask. En senmedeltida biskop och hans tankevärld (Skellefteå: Artos, 2008) 146–47; Westman, Reformationens genombrottsår, 161–73. 27 Petersson/Sandén, “Den skandalöse diakonen i Stockholm”, 76. 28 C.F. Hallencreutz/S.-O. Lindeberg, “Inledning” in C.-F. Hallencreutz/S.-O. Lindeberg (ed.), Olaus Petri – den mångsidige svenske reformatorn. Nio föredrag om Olaus Petri (Skrifter utgivna av Svenska kyrkohistoriska föreningen 49; Uppsala: Svenska kyrkohistoriska föreningen, 1994) 11–12.; H. Schück “Några småskrifter af Olaus Petri”, Samlaren 9 (1888) 23. 29 On clerical marriage during the Reformation: M. E. Plummer, From Priest’s Whore to Pastor’s

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celibacy took place in the region of Wittenberg by the aforementioned Bartholomäus Bernhardi, a former fellow student of Petri, in Wittenberg.30 Although he was not the first priest to marry, his marriage nevertheless marks the starting point in the act of breaking clerical celibacy to show one’s affinity with the Wittenberg reform movement. A few weeks later, two other former students from Wittenberg, Jacob Seidler, a priest in Glashütten, and Balthasar Zeiger, the priest of Vatterode, who had both professed celibacy, also married.31 Seidler and Zeiger were promptly arrested and faced considerable pressure to leave their wives. Weddings such as these resulted in extensive theological debate, a large-scale production of pamphlets, and some very spectacular matrimonial ceremonies, such as Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt’s, the professor of theology in Wittenberg, in January 1522.32 Within a few years, all of the leading reformers got married. Martin Luther married the former nun Katarina von Bora in the summer of 1525, some months after Olaus Petri. Clerical celibacy had been an integral part of the late medieval Church and its accompanying theology. A life without sexual relations was a trait that divided the clergy from the laity. At the same time, there was a never-ending criticism of compulsory clerical celibacy.33 Within a few short years, this criticism became a cornerstone in the argumentation of the reform movement, but there was always more to the denunciation of compulsory clerical celibacy than just criticism of the low morals of priests, monks, and nuns; rather, it was a way of criticizing both the doctrine and the whole structure of the medieval church. Breaking vows of

30 31

32

33

Wife. Clerical Marriage and the Process of Reform in the Early German Reformation (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012); H.L. Parish, Clerical Marriage and the English Reformation (Farnham: Ashgate, 2000); M. E. Plummer, “Clerical Marriage and Territorial Reformation in Ernestine Saxony and the Diocese of Merseberg in 1522–1524”, Archiv fu¨r Reformationsgeschichte 98 (2007) 45–70. Plummer, From Priest’s Whore, 51. Jakob Seiger matriculated in Wittenberg on 24 October, 1520, Album I, 99. See also U. Bubenheimer, “Streit um das Bischofsamt in der Wittenberger Reformation 1521/22. Von der Auseinandersetzung mit den Bischöfen um Priesterehen und den Ablaß in Halle zum Modell des evangelischen Gemeindebischofs; Teil 1”, Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte 104 (1987) 166. Bubenheimer assumes Zeiger matriculated in Wittenberg in 1503, “Streit um das Bischofsamt”, 190. On the debate about clerical celibacy during the Reformation: S.E. Buckwalter, Die Priesterehe in Flugschriften der frühen Reformation (Quellen und Forschungen zur Reformationsgeschichte 68; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 1998); S. Hendrix, “Luther on Marriage”, Lutheran Quarterly 14 (2000) 335–50; B. Moeller, “Wenzel Lincks Hochzeit. Über Sexualität, Keuschheit und Ehe in der frühen Reformation”, Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 97 (2000) 317–42. On Karlstadt: U. Bubenheimer/S. Oehmig (ed.), Querdenker der Reformation. Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt und seine frühe Wirkung. [Wissenschaftliches Kolloquium, Karlstadt am Main, 24. bis 27. September 1998.] (Würzburg: Religion und KulturVerlag, 2001). For a recent overview of the European discussions of celibacy, see H.L. Parish, Clerical Celibacy in the West, c. 1100–1700 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010).

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celibacy became important in the enforcement of the Reformation because it was a highly visible challenge to established doctrine that was transported to a larger audience through public action and events. The church historian Bernd Moeller writes that “no other act was so suitable as a clerical marriage to concretely demonstrate the new faith; it functioned as a ‘signal’”.34 The act required a clear individual decision and commitment to the reform movement because it could not be misinterpreted. In contrast to rumours that someone preached ‘Lutheran’ or ‘Evangelical’ sermons – accusations that were difficult to pin on anyone – breaking the vow of celibacy represented an unmistakable stance. It was also a concrete act manifesting the ideas of the reformers. The often abstract theological concepts were translated into something everyone could understand. The aim was also to provoke the leaders of the Church and to attract attention. In this sense, the marriages created a platform for arguments in favour of the Reformation. Central to achieving this goal was that marriages were public events – several famous guests often took part in the festivities and pamphlets were often published in connection to these weddings.35 This turned the weddings into ‘advertisement for the Reformation’,36 while also serving as motivation for other clerics in the region to marry. Karlstadt’s aforementioned marriage clearly had this as one of its goal.37 There are no sources from eyewitnesses to Petri’s wedding, but Brask wrote that the marriage had taken place “in the presence of the congregation”.38 The public nature of the weddings meant that the respective bishops were forced to act and somehow show their disapproval as important opponents to this new practice. This in turn gave reformers the opportunity to argue in favour of marriage and thereby create a platform to further spread their ideas. The marriages of Bernhardi, Seidler, and Zeiger show the importance of the support of territorial princes as a significant element enabling married priests to resist the authority of the Bishop. At the same time, the territorial prince could perform his role as a protector of the reformer. In the case of Bernhardi, who was under the episcopal jurisdiction of Albrecht of Brandenburg, Archbishop of Mainz, Frederick the Wise, the territorial prince, nevertheless claimed that his first priority was to protect the Christian church and that this was the case with Bernhardi and his marriage. Thus, Frederick did not turn 34 Moeller, “Wenzel Lincks Hochzeit”, 324. Original quotation: “daß keine andere Handlung sich zur konkreten Demonstration des neuen Glaubens so gut eignete wie die Eheschlißung eines Klerikers; sie erlangte ‘Signalfunktion’”. 35 Buckwalter, Die Priesterehe. 36 Kaufmann, Geschichte der Reformation, 341. 37 Plummer, “Clerical Marriage”, 49. 38 H. Gunneng, Biskop Hans Brasks registratur. Textutgåva (Samlingar utgivna av Svenska fornskriftsällskapet 85; Uppsala: Svenska fornskriftsällskapet., 2003) [hereafter: BR] 377. Original quotation: “in facie ecclesie”.

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Bernhardi over to Albrecht.39 This also exposed the failure of ecclesiastic authority to respond to the reformers. Several of the features of clerical weddings – to spark public attention, to manifest the ideas of the reformers, to create a platform for further propaganda, and to provoke conflict within the church – can be found in Petri’s wedding. First of all, Petri managed to attract attention. He wrote that “[i]n the year 1525, on the Sunday before Septuagesima, matrimony was celebrated between me and my wife Christina. All papists protested against this, since I was a deacon”.40 Stockholm belonged to the Uppsala Archdiocese, which in theory made Archbishop Johannes Magnus responsible for punishing Petri.41 However, the reaction instead came from his former opponent, Hans Brask, the Bishop of Linköping. Brask wrote to Johannes Magnus that this marriage represented a huge scandal.42 To the elected king, Gustav Eriksson Wasa, he wrote that “there is much talk in the country about the marriage of Master Olaus”. One might doubt that a lot of common folk actually talked about the event, but Brask expressed his own aversion in this way. He further wrote that Petri, because of the marriage, would be excommunicated by canon law.43 Much remains obscure about the public response to Petri’s wedding, although we know that the marriage might have served as an example to others. For example, Petrus Gregorij, the one-time monk of the diocese of Skara, became the first evangelical minister in Segerstad, marrying a former nun in 1528.44 Although Petri’s marriage is the first clerical marriage that took place in the Swedish kingdom, he was not the first cleric to break the vow of celibacy in the Nordic territories. Peder Särkilax, who had studied in Rostock and Leuven – and it is assumed in Wittenberg – had brought a wife with him when he came back to Finland in 1523/1524. In Turku, this was considered a sign that the ideas of the Wittenberg reformers had influenced Särkilax.45 Clerical marriages were also used as performative events to provoke and force the Reformation in other places around the Baltic Sea; for example, in Hamburg Johann Meyer performed the first clerical marriage in 1525, while the evangelical priests Johann Fritze and 39 Plummer, From Priest’s Whore, 58–59. 40 OPSS, 4.563; Petri, Självbiografiska anteckningar, 7, original quotation: “Anno domini MDXXV in sabbato septuagesime celebrate sunt nuptie inter me Olavum Petri et conjugem meam Christinam, omnibus papistis reclamantibus eo quod fuerim diaconus”. 41 Nilsson, Johannes Magnus, 39–41. 42 BR, 379. 43 BR, 377. 44 J.W. Warholm, Skara stifts hedarminne, I (Munkedal: Munkreklam, 1984) 391. 45 K. Häkkinen, Spreading the Written Word. Mikael Agricola and the Birth of Literary Finnish (Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2015) 25–6, 38; S. Heininen, Die finnischen Studenten in Wittenberg 1531–1552 (Schriften der Luther-Agricola-Gesellschaft. Serie A 19; Helsinki: Metamer Oy, 1980) 20.

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Joachim Zegenhagen simultaneously arranged their weddings for the winter of 1527/1528. Other examples appear in the Danish kingdom.46 All of these men had, as far as we know, not studied in Wittenberg by the time of their wedding. The same is true for a couple of other reformers around the Baltic Sea, such as Claus Mortensen in Malmö or Joachim Slüter in Rostock.47 In this sense, Petri was a rather atypical figure in the Baltic area, as he was an early reform-minded Wittenberg student that believed in Luther’s work and used a wedding to provoke and push the Reformation agenda. However, such a comparison requires additional research. Several of the clerical marriages in Wittenberg took place in the presence of princes; Andreas Karlstadt, for example, invited other professors, as well as the Elector Frederick III of Saxony, to his wedding.48 Yet, whether Gustav Eriksson Wasa was invited, or had even heard about Petri’s plan in advance, cannot be confirmed. The King-elect, in Uppsala at the time of the wedding, replied to a letter from Brask in which he wrote that he had spoken with Petri about the matter, but that he himself had only been informed about the event afterwards. All that is certain is that the King-elect considered it important to point out to Brask that he had not been involved and that he had not known about the event in advance, but, at the same time, had made a radical decision by supporting clerical marriage. This lenient approach was a typical feature of the politics of the elected King,49 as manoeuvring in a complicated political landscape without causing conflicts was part of his strategy to keep himself in power. Hence, Petri’s wedding forced political and ecclesiastical authorities to act. The king’s protection of the Stockholm wedding was the first time he officially took a stand in favour of the reform movement, and his actions exposed the difficulties that the Swedish bishops had in responding to and maintain authority over ecclesiastic matters. The king also stressed that he had been informed that there were “many such marriages abroad”, and that he had relied upon this argument to protect Petri and allow his marriage.50 The statement reveals not only a knowledge about the power of clerical marriages in the early Reformation in German territories, but also further stresses that the wedding in Stockholm was connected to other clerical marriages throughout Northern Europe. To understand this connection, 46 Postel, Die Reformation in Hamburg, 276; S. Neuhaus, Reformation och erkännande. Skilsmässoärenden under den tidiga reformationsprocessen i Malmö 1527–1542 (Lund: Centrum för teologi och religionsvetenskap, Lunds universitet, 2009) 236–37. 47 G. Johannesson, Den skånska kyrkan och reformationen (Lund: Gleerup, 1947) 159–60; Bosinski, Joachim Slüter, 20–21. 48 Kaufmann, Geschichte der Reformation, 343. 49 Gustafsson, Gamla riken, nya stater. 50 Konung Gustaf den förstes registratur (29 vol.; Handlingar rörande Sveriges historia. Första serien; Stockholm: Riksarkivet, 1864–1916) 2.85–6, original quotation: “at vtlendis skeer nw mong swadan giptermol.”

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it is crucial to consider Petri’s experiences in Wittenberg and how he made use of them back in Sweden.

III.

Engaging with the European Book Market

Personal experience of events such as the burning of the ‘106 theses’ by the students of Wittenberg in 1518 does not entirely explain why Olaus Petri opted to stage a clerical wedding. He was likely encouraged in his bold performative act after tapping into the intraterritorial book market that facilitated the easy and rapid spread of Luther’s ideas across borders. Although Swedish book production was small at the time, its book trade functioned efficiently.51 In his monograph on transnational print culture between 1450 and 1525, Wolfgang Undorf writes that “for decades efficient book trading systems […] ensured that Scandinavia was supplied with a good range of high quality books from Germany and Italy”.52 Regardless of its somewhat isolated geographic location, Scandinavia was not on the European intellectual periphery at the beginning of the sixteenth century, but was well-integrated into the European book market. During the first half of the 1520s, books with reform-minded content would have been imported informally through private and illegal channels.53 Yet, it is obvious that someone like Hans Brask had access to several works by and against Luther, which he regularly quotes in his letters. The fact that Petri also had access to the works of the reformers becomes clear through his later tracts on the theme of clerical marriage.54 In 1528, Petri published Een liten vnderuisning om Echtenskapet (A small lesson on marriage) in Stockholm and a second edition appeared only a year later.55 In 1528, Petri also edited three additional texts dealing with clerical

51 A. Pettegree, The Book in the Renaissance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011) 65–90. 52 W. Undorf, From Gutenberg to Luther. Transnational Print Cultures in Scandinavia 1450– 1525 (Leiden: Brill Nijhoff, 2014) 65. An informative work on the book market and Reformation in the Swedish Kingdom is O. Czaika, “Buchdruck und Reformation in Schweden und Finnland. Einheimische Drucke, Transfer und Importe, Sammlungen” in T. Kaufmann/E. Mittler (ed.), Reformation und Buch. Akteure und Strategien frühreformatorischer Druckerzeugnisse (Bibliothek und Wissenschaft 49; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2016) 281– 301. 53 Undorf, From Gutenberg, 85–87. 54 S. Ingebrand, Olavus Petris reformatoriska åskådning (Studia doctrinae Christianae Upsaliensia 1; Uppsala: Gleerup, 1964). 55 O. Petri, Een liten underuisning om echteskapet hwem thz lofligit är eller ey, ther grundeliga bewijsat warder at prestmen må wara j echteskap, och sedhen fölier ther epter een liten formaning till till biscoper och prelater medh theres clerekrij her j Swerige (Stockholm: Kungliga tryckeriet, 1528). The text is edited in OPSS, vol. 1. Edition of 1528: I. Collijn, Sveriges

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marriage, among other themes.56 Although the printer remained anonymous, Petri’s tracts were printed at the royal print shop, then the only active printing house in the Swedish kingdom. It had been established in 1525–1526 by Gustav Eriksson Wasa, as he moved the press from Uppsala to Stockholm. Simultaneously, the print shop in the diocese of Linköping, where Hans Brask had allowed the printing of anti-Lutheran texts, was closed.57 Within years, Petri would come to dominate the production of books in the Swedish kingdom. He wrote, for example, pamphlets on the falseness of monastic vows, published on his dispute with Peder Galle, and took part in translating the New Testament and the Bible into Swedish in 1526 and 1541 respectively.58 In arguing for clerical marriage, Petri enlisted arguments common in other texts published on the matter during the 1520s. The most important and widely spread texts were written by Erasmus, Luther, Karlstadt, and Zwingli. Stephen E. Buckwalter, who has analysed the reformers’ arguments for clerical marriage, lists almost 20 works that were created during the years 1520–1525. Luther’s An den christlichen Adel was the most important text for the early spread of the critique of compulsory celibacy, and represented an integral part of reformatory propaganda.59 Many pamphlets arguing for the validity of specific clerical marriages also flourished.60 It is impossible to know exactly how many of these texts Petri read, but a close study of both Een liten vnderuisning om Echtenskapet and the contemporary literature reveals how he continued to receive, or at least read, the works of the reformers even after leaving Wittenberg. Een liten vnderuisning om Echtenskapet contains three parts: the first deals with marriage as part of divine creation; the second highlights who can get married; and the third argues that man cannot forbid marriage for anyone. The text is an independent work, but it has important similarities to Luther’s Vom ehelichen Leben from 1522. In the Swedish National Bibliography this interdependence between Een liten vnderuisning om Echtenskapet and Vom ehelichen Leben has not yet been noticed.61 Luther originally wrote his text in German and

56

57 58 59 60 61

bibliografi intill år 1600, Bd I 1478–1530 (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksells, 1934–1938) 348–49 and re-edition of 1529: Collijn, Sveriges bibliografi I, 362 The books are: O. Petri, Een Christelighen formaning til clerekrij…, (Stockholm: Kungliga tryckeriet, 1528; (Anonymous author), Een liten boock om Sacramenten… (Stockholm: Kungliga tryckeriet, 1528); O. Petri, Een liten boock j huilko closterleffwerne forclarat warder… (Stockholm: Kungliga tryckeriet, 1528). All edited in OPSS, vol. 1. H. Schück, Den svenska förlagsbokhandelns historia, vol. 1 (Stockholm: Norstedts, 1923) 46– 55. For Petri’s work, see OPSS, vol. 1–4. Buckwalter, Die Priesterehe, 64. Buckwalter, Die Priesterehe, 133–284. Collijn, Sveriges bibliografi I, 348–9; H. Holmquist, Svenska kyrkans historia. Bd 3, Reformationstidevarvet, 1521–1611. D. 1, Den katolska svenska kyrkoprovinsens omgestaltning till

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offered a compressed set of the most common arguments for clerical marriage. The text was published eleven times during 1522 and 1523, including once in Hamburg.62 Although organized differently, Petri took his main arguments from Luther, meaning that Luther’s text probably crossed the Baltic. This work is also divided into three parts, in which he rejects the restriction of canon law, deals with grounds for divorce, and writes about godly marriage. Luther (and Petri) strongly emphasized that marriage was a part of divine creation and that its spiritual benefits far outweighed celibacy because of its concomitant dangers. Luther wrote that sexuality was “a nature and disposition”63 and oppression led to “fornification, adultery, and secret sins”.64 Three types of humans have the gift to be able to resist the sexual impulse: those that God created without sexual desire; those who have been robbed of the ability to have sex by fellow man; and those who truly possess the gift of chastity.65 Other borrowed elements reveal that Petri worked very closely with Luther’s text when writing Een liten vnderuisning om Echtenskapet, especially when discussing the limbs that God gave humans,66 or humans who do not feel sexual desire.67 The close interdependence between Petri’s Een liten vnderuisning om Echtenskapet and Luther’s Vom ehelichen Leben cannot be rejected, but there are also parts of Petri’s work that cannot be found in Luther’s. Petri, for example, argues that marriage is not only decreed by God, but that the early Christian church had enjoined clerical marriage and that the contemporary church should follow the same standards. Petri proceeds to recall decisions at councils and tells his readers that the bishops at the (first) Council of Nicaea wanted to forbid

62 63

64 65 66 67

en egenartad svensk evangelisk kyrka, 1521–1572, 182. This further stresses Otfried Czaika’s belief that the sixteenth century collection in the National Bibliography must be reworked, O. Czaika, “Then Swenska Psalmeboken 1582. Avsnitt 2. Det andra exemplaret”, Biblis 77 (2017) 64–66. Buckwalter, Die Priesterehe, 111 footnote 81. Luther’s Works, ed. J. Pelikan/H.T. Lehmann (55 vol.; Muhlenberg Press: Philadelphia, 1957– 1986), vol. 45 [hereafter: LW 45], 18 , original quotation: “eyngepflantzte natur und artt”; D. Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesammtausgabe (73 vol.; Weimar: Böhlau, 1883–2009) vol. 10/2, 276 [hereafter: WA 10/2]; Compare with: “jnplantadhe benägenheet lost och wilie”, OPSS, 1.448, and “natwrligh jnplantat natwr aff gudhi”, OPSS, 1.456. LW 45, 18, originalbra quotation: “hurereh, ehebruch und stummen sund”; WA 10/2, 276; Compare with: “nödhgat them til hoor, bolerij och annat oreenligheet”, OPSS, 1.465. LW 45, 19–21; WA 10/2, 278–9; Compare OPSS, 1.450–1. “Es ist eyn eyngepflanzte natur und artt eben so wol als die glidms die dazu gehoeren”, WA 10/ 2, 276; LW 45, 18; Compare with: “För ty sådan lost wilie är gudz ädhela creatur, them jnplantat jw så kraffteligha som the naturligha ledhamoot som ther til höra…”, OPSS, 1.448. “Die ersten aber, die Christus aus mutter leibe verschnitten geporn nennet, das sind, die man Impotentes heist, die von natur odder sonst mangel am leib haben”, WA 10/2, 278; LW 45, 19; Compare with: “The förste äre the ther snörpte äre, som är så födde äre aff theres moders lijff, thet är the man plägar kalla figidos eller impotentes, them gudh sielff vndantagit och så skapat them att the äre oskickelige ther til aff en kald natwr”, OPSS, 1.450–1.

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clerical marriage, but Bishop Paphnutius rejected this, claiming that such a decision would provoke fornication within the church.68 The council assessed the proposal and decided to follow the advice of Paphnutius.69 This historical argument was first brought into the debate on clerical marriage by Luther in 1520 in Epistola divi Hulderichi. The text was a republished pamphlet against compulsory celibacy first written during the eleventh century. Luther found the arguments suitable for the reform movement and published the historical document together with a new preface.70 The story about Paphnutius was retold in Luther’s De votis monasticis, first published in Wittenberg in 1521,71 and in Andreas Karlstadt’s Apologia, first published in Strasbourg in 1521.72 Karlstadt’s text was a defence of Bernhardi’s marriage and it became one of the most important tracts for the spreading of the ideas of clerical marriage, since it was published everywhere from Paris to Königsberg. It was used as an instruction for priests intending to break the vows of celibacy and prepared them to defend their action.73 It is, of course, not possible to tell whether Petri used all three of these texts, although the story of Paphnutius shows that he did not have access to just a single text from the reformers that he then translated into Swedish; rather, he had worked with a couple of texts and out of them formulated his own arguments. For example, the story of Paphnutius is supplemented with information on Scandinavian church history, as Petri relates how a former apostolic nuncio had tried to regulate clerical marriage in Sweden.74 As this brief analysis of Petri’s Een liten vnderuisning om Echtenskapet shows, he took ideas from the reformers and ‘translated’ them into a Swedish context. Hence, the wedding in 1525 was not used as a means of attracting attention or as an act of provocation, but instead served as the inspiration for an intense theological examination of the reformers’ arguments on clerical marriage. Petri, however, was not the only person in Sweden with access to these works, as the arguments of Bishop Brask, Petri’s primary challenger, also show that he had read Luther. Petri’s role in the spread of the Reformation cannot be solely understood as a result of either his time in Wittenberg, or his reading of Luther (and the other reformers). Rather, these two preconditions were interlinked: Petri’s years in Wittenberg resulted in his personal experience as a religious activist and helped 68 Petri calls him Paffnicius. 69 OPSS, 1.456–7. 70 Buckwalter, Die Priesterehe, 74. The story was known to the theologians of the time and could be found in medieval works on church history (Buckwalter, Die Priesterehe, 74, footnote 94). 71 Buckwalter, Die Priesterehe, 105. 72 Buckwalter, Die Priesterehe, 95, footnote 95. 73 Bubenheim, “Streit um das Bischofsamt”, 188–90. 74 OPSS, 1.461.

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to develop a personal connection to Luther that made it possible for him to integrate the reformer’s arguments with his own. This, in turn, taught him how to use social events as a means of communicating the Reformation to a broader audience.

Conclusions This essay has argued that the Reformation in the Swedish Kingdom began as a direct result of Petri’s early crossing of territorial and mental borders, as well as his willingness to formalize the break with the Catholic Church through a performative act and printed texts that both explained and justified his actions. Hence, in a sense, his 1525 wedding was a result from him crossing mental and territorial borders, and it became the first event that communicated the Reformation to a broader audience in Sweden and represented a direct starting point for the Reformation. This also shows that Petri, through both his wedding and his publications, actively engaged with different methodologies of propagating the Reformation, while adapting them to the local context in which he lived. First, Petri crossed the border into the Holy Roman Empire to obtain an education. At this stage, the border represented to Petri the opportunity and the possibility of a career in the Church. In Wittenberg, he came in contact with the evolving Reformation through lectures and teaching at the young university. He also experienced how successfully the arguments of the reformers were communicated to a larger audience through performative events. We have no sources that tell about Petri’s experiences in Wittenberg, but there are documents showing how the students identified and bonded with their professors. Once back in Sweden, Petri became secretary to the Bishop of Strängnäs, but things did not go as he had planned. His years of study in Wittenberg had not just given him the degree that he needed to attain a position within the Swedish Church, but by crossing the border twice – once to Wittenberg, and then back to Sweden – he had become susceptible to the ideas of the reform movement. The new ideas that came from Wittenberg in the 1520s were considered dangerous by the local Swedish church and state authorities, as Petri would discover in 1522. Crossing the territorial border at this stage meant that he also traversed the mental border between the ‘old’ and ‘new’ faith. This transition in thought gave him another opportunity; located a considerable distance from Wittenberg, and with no local competitors, Petri became the leading reformer in the new independent Kingdom of Sweden and actively worked to spread the ideas of the reformers.75 75 Compare to the students in Callmer, Svenska studenter, 14–15.

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Through the supply of imported books, Petri continued to read the reformers and thus gathered arguments and developed his thinking, even at a distance from Wittenberg. At this point, the border meant that he was no longer at the centre of theological debate, but he had internalized the arguments posed by the many clerics who had decided to break their vows of celibacy. Following in their footsteps, Petri’s marriage contributed to the new political configuration of Sweden and represented the first reform-minded action that King-elect Gustav Eriksson Wasa openly endorsed. Moreover, the King-elect also allowed him to use the new (and only operational) printing shop in Stockholm to further elaborate his teachings on marriage. Thus, his 1525 wedding to Christina Michaelsdottir shows that Petri had learned how to make use of what he had experienced in Wittenberg, as well as the possibilities that existed within the evolving European book market, two factors which help to better explain how the Reformation arrived in Sweden.

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liten formaning till till biscoper och prelater medh theres clerekrij her j Swerige (Stockholm: Kungliga tryckeriet, 1528). Petri, O., Samlade skrifter af Olavus Petri, ed. B. Hesselman (4 vol.; Uppsala: Sveriges kristliga studentrörelses förl., 1914–1917).

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Printing) (Bibliothek und Wissenschaft 49; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2016) 281– 301. Czaika, O., “Then Swenska Psalmeboken 1582. Avsnitt 2. Det andra exemplaret”, Biblis 77 (2017) 60–6. Fabisch, P./Iserloh, E. (ed.), Dokumente zur Causa Lutheri, 1517–1521, vol. 1–2 (Corpus catholicorum 42; Münster: Aschendorff, 1988). Gregersen, H.V., Reformationen i Sønderjylland (Skrifter udgivne af Historisk samfund for Sønderjylland 63, Aabenraa: Historisk samfund for Sønderjylland, 1986). Grell, O.P., “Scandinavia” in A. Pettegree (ed.), The Early Reformation in Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992) 94–119. Gustafsson, H. Gamla riken, nya stater. Statsbildning, politisk kultur och identiteter under Kalmarunionens upplösningsskede 1512–1541 (Stockholm: Atlantis, 2000). Haendler, G., “Die Ausbreitung der Reformation im Ostseeraum und Johannes Bugenhagen”, Kyrkohistoriska Årsskrift 83 (1983) 30–41. Häkkinen, K., Spreading the Written Word. Mikael Agricola and the Birth of Literary Finnish (Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2015). Hallencreutz, C.F./Lindeberg, S.-O. (ed.), Olaus Petri – den mångsidige svenske reformatorn. Nio föredrag om Olaus Petri (Skrifter utgivna av Svenska Kyrkohistoriska Föreningen; Uppsala: Svenska kyrkohistoriska föreningen, 1994). Hallencreutz, C.F./Lindeberg, S.O. (ed.), “Inledning”, in C.F Hallencreutz/S.-O. Lindeberg (ed.), Olaus Petri – den mångsidige svenske reformatorn. Nio föredrag om Olaus Petri (Skrifter utgivna av Svenska kyrkohistoriska föreningen 49; Uppsala: Svenska kyrkohistoriska föreningen, 1994) 5–12. Heininen, S. Die finnischen Studenten in Wittenberg 1531–1552 (Schriften der LutherAgricola-Gesellschaft Serie A 19; Helsinki: Metamer Oy, 1980). Hendrix, S. “Luther on Marriage”, Lutheran Quarterly 14 (2000) 335–50. Holmquist, H., Svenska kyrkans historia. Bd 3, Reformationstidevarvet, 1521–1611. D. 1, Den katolska svenska kyrkoprovinsens omgestaltning till en egenartad svensk evangelisk kyrka, 1521–1572 (Stockholm: Svenska kyrkans diakonistyrelses bokförlag, 1933). Holze, H./Czaika O. (ed.), Migration und Kulturtransfer im Ostseeraum während der Frühen Neuzeit (Stockholm: Kungliga biblioteket, 2012). Ingebrand, S., “Olavus Petri – reformatorn” in C.F Hallencreutz/S.-O. Lindeberg (ed.), Olaus Petri – den mångsidige svenske reformatorn. Nio föredrag om Olaus Petri (Skrifter utgivna av Svenska kyrkohistoriska föreningen 49; Uppsala: Svenska kyrkohistoriska föreningen, 1994) 13–30. Ingebrand, S., Olavus Petris reformatoriska åskådning (Studia doctrinae Christianae Upsaliensia 1; Uppsala: Gleerup, 1964). Johannesson, G., Den skånska kyrkan och reformationen (Skånsk senmedeltid och renässans 1; Lund: Gleerup, 1947). Junghans, H., Wittenberg als Lutherstadt (Berlin: Union Verlag, 1979). Kaufmann, T., Der Anfang der Reformation. Studien zur Kontextualität der Theologie, Publizistik und Inszenierung Luthers und der reformatorischen Bewegung (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2012). Kaufmann, T., Geschichte der Reformation (Frankfurt am Main: Verlag der Weltreligionen, 2009).

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Krentz, N., Ritualwandel und Deutungshoheit. Die frühe Reformation in der Residenzstadt Wittenberg (1500–1533) (Spätmittelalter, Humanismus, Reformation 74; Tübingen Mohr Siebeck, 2014). Kruse, J.-M., Universitätstheologie und Kirchenreform. Die Anfänge der Reformation in Wittenber 1516–1522 (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für europäische Geschichte Mainz 187, Mainz: von Zabern, 2002). Larsson, L.-O., Gustav Vasa – landsfader eller tyrann? (Stockholm: Prisma, 22005). Larsson, L.-O., Kalmarunionens tid. Från drottning Margareta till Kristian II (Stockholm: Rabén Prisma, 1997). Lausten, M.S., Die heilige Stadt Wittenberg. Die Beziehungen des dänischen Königshauses zu Wittenberg in der Reformationszeit (Schriften der Stiftung Luthergedenkstätten in Sachsen-Anhalt 10; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2010). Leppin, V., “Zuspitzung und Wahrheitsanpruch – Disputationen in den Anfängen der Wittenberger reformatorischen Bewegung”, in H.J. Selderhuis/E.-J. Waschke (ed.), Reformation und Rationalität (Göttingen/Bristol, CT: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2015) 41–57. Leppin, V., Die fremde Reformation. Luthers mystische Wurzeln (München: Beck, C. H., 2016). Moeller, B., “Wenzel Lincks Hochzeit. Über Sexualität, Keuschheit und Ehe in der frühen Reformation”, Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 97 (2000) 317–42. Neuhaus, S., Reformation och erkännande. Skilsmässoärenden under den tidiga reformationsprocessen i Malmö 1527–1542 (Lund: Centrum för teologi och religionsvetenskap, Lunds universitet, 2009). Nilsson, A., Johannes Magnus and the Composition of Truth. Historia de omnibus Gothorum Sueonumque regibus (Lund: Lund University, Centre for Languages and Literature, 2016). Parish, H.L., Clerical Celibacy in the West, c. 1100–1700 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010). Parish, H.L., Clerical Marriage and the English Reformation (Farnham: Ashgate, 2000) Petersson, E./Sandén, A., “Den skandalöse diakonen i Stockholm. Olaus Petris giftermål som politisk manifestation” in L. Runefelt/O. Sjöström (ed.), Förmoderna offentligheter. Arenor och uttryck för politisk debatt 1550–1830 (Lund: Nordic Academic Press, 2014) 75–87. Petri, O., Olavus Petri – Självbiografiska anteckningar (Örebro: Jubileumskommittén Olaus Petri, 500 år, 1993). Plummer, M. E., “Clerical Marriage and Territorial Reformation in Ernestine Saxony and the Diocese of Merseberg in 1522–1524”, Archiv fu¨r Reformationsgeschichte 98 (2007) 45–70. Plummer, M. E., From Priest’s Whore to Pastor’s Wife. Clerical Marriage and the Process of Reform in the Early German Reformation (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012). Postel, R., Die Reformation in Hamburg 1517–1528 (Quellen und Forschungen zur Reformationsgeschichte 52; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Mohn, 1986). Rasmussen, T., “Olaus Petri”, in I. Dingel/V. Leppin (ed.), Reformatorenlexikon (Darmstadt: Lambert Schneider, 2014) 207–14. Schildhauer, J., Soziale, politische, und religiöse Auseinandersetzungen in den Hansestädten Stralsund, Rostock und Wismar im ersten Drittel des 16. Jahrhunderts (Ab-

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handlungen zur Handels- und Sozialgeschichte 2; Weimar: Verlag Herman Böhlaus Nachfolger, 1959). Schilling, H., Martin Luther. Rebell in einer Zeit des Umbruchs (München: Beck, 2012). Schück, H., Den svenska förlagsbokhandelns historia, vol. 1. (Stockholm: Norstedts, 1923). Schück, H., “Några småskrifter af Olaus Petri”, Samlaren 9 (1888) 5–26. Soen, V./De Ridder, B. et al., “How to do Transregional History. A Concept, Method and Tool for Early Modern Border Research”, Journal of Early Modern History 21 (2017) 343–64. Soen, V. “Arise, O Lord (Exsurge Domine)”, in: M. Lamport (ed.), Encyclopedia of Martin Luther and the Reformation (2 vol.; Lanham, Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2017) 1.38–39. Stobaeus, P., Hans Brask. En senmedeltida biskop och hans tankevärld. (Skellefteå: Artos, 2008). Undorf, W., From Gutenberg to Luther. Transnational Print Cultures in Scandinavia 1450– 1525 (Library of the Written Word 37; Leiden: Brill Nijhoff, 2014). Warholm, J.W., Skara stifts herdaminne, I, (Munkedal: Munkreklam, 1984). Westman, K.B., Reformationens genombrottsår i Sverige (Stockholm: Svenska kyrkans diakonistyrelses bokförlag, 1918).

Violet Soen

Containing Students and Scholars Within Borders? The Foundation of Universities in Reims and Douai and Transregional Transfers in Early Modern Catholicism

This chapter examines the spectacular rise in the foundation of universities in sixteenth-century Europe from the perspective of local borderlands and peripheries. Most studies of the history of universities in this era have predominantly focused on an urban or a national context,1 and have therefore understood early modern developments in higher education as a direct result of the confessionalisation process and its increased Church-State collaboration.2 This work, however, offers a transregional perspective by analyzing coinciding and competing dynamics in areas bisected by political and ecclesiastical borders. As such, it makes clear that the foundation of sixteenth-century universities responded not only to the necessities of centralized confessional states and their churches, but also to the dynamics present within their insecure borderlands and the wider world.3 Hence, borderland universities mattered in the geography of early modern Christian Europe to a much greater extent than has been previously argued.

1 T. Amalou/B. Noguès (ed.), Les Universités dans la ville XVIe–XIIIe siècles (Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2013). To cite one of the most influential interpretations of this Church-State collaboration, Heiko Oberman famously argued for a ‘German connection’, where competing Catholic, Lutheran, and Calvinist universities and colleges provided the intellectual infrastructure that brought together confessionally-divided territories and principalities. H.A. Oberman, “University and Society on the Threshold of Modern Times: the German Connection”, in J.M. Kittelson/P.J. Transue (ed.), Rebirth, Reform and Resilience. Universities in Transition, 1300–1700 (Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press, 1984) 30– 35. 2 K. Schreiner, “Konfessionsgebundene Wissenschaft. Konfessionseide an Hohen Schulen der Frühen Neuzeit”, in R.C. Schwinges (ed.), Universität, Religion und Kirchen (Basel: Schwabe, 2011) 305–41 and W. Frijhoff, “Universiteit en religie, staat en natie in de zestiende eeuw: een comparatieve benadering”, in W.P. Blockmans/H. van Nuffel (ed.), Staat en Religie in de 15e en 16e eeuw – État et religion aux XVe et XVIe siècles (Brussels: H. van Nuffel, 1986) 121–41. 3 V. Soen/B. De Ridder/A. Soetaert/W. Thomas/J. Verberckmoes/S. Verreyken, “How to do Transregional History: a Concept, Method and Tool for Early Modern Border Research”, Journal for Early Modern History 21 (2017) 343–64.

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By the middle of the sixteenth century, two new academic institutions of higher education emerged within a short fifteen year period on the frontier between France and the Burgundian-Habsburg Low Countries: first, a university in French Reims was founded between 1548 and 1554, while another university opened only 150 kilometers to the west in Spanish Habsburg Douai, between 1559 and 1562.4 Rather than only explaining how these university foundations contributed to early modern state formation and confessionalisation by gradually separating the French County of Champagne and the Habsburg County of Flanders, this chapter argues that academic life continued to transcend the Franco-Habsburg border and helped establishing transregional transfers in early modern Catholicism. Moreover, it also shows how a simple comparative undertaking can be transformed into an exercise in transregional history by focusing on mobility around and across borders.

I.

A Catholic Offensive

The emergence of universities in both Reims and Douai placed these two cities into what Willem Frijhoff has coined as the broader ‘Catholic offensive’ of university foundations in the Early Modern Era.5 This energetic remodeling of Catholic education started with a humanist impulse at the end of the fifteenth century, and would continue unabated until the last few years of the seventeenth century.6 By the end of the 1530s, however, this movement was challenged by a similar ‘Protestant offensive’, which obviously started at a later date, but peaked much earlier.7 All early modern confessions quickly understood that the education would become a crucial source and asset for determining religious truth and acquiring the true faith. Within early modern Catholicism, the Tridentine reform decrees specifically stressed the importance of education and pastoral 4 Since both cities are currently located in France, they figure in S. Guenée, Bibliographie de l’histoire des universités françaises des origins à la revolution (2 vol.; Paris: Picard, 1978–1981) 2.146–70 (Douai), and 2.369–78 (Reims). Thus, Douai is sometimes qualified (and counted) as being founded as a sixteenth-century university in France, though it should not. Douai became a French territory after Louis XIV besieged the city successfully in 1667–68. 5 W. Frijhoff, “Patterns”, in H. De Ridder-Symoens (ed.), A History of the University in Europe, Volume II: Universities in Early Modern Europe (1500–1800) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996) 43–110, 71. A list and map of all foundations can be found on pp. 87–105; also, P.F. Grendler, “The Universities of the Renaissance and Reformation”, Renaissance Quarterly 2004 (57) 1–42 describes the differences between ‘southern’ and ‘northern’ institutions from 1400 until 1625 and offers a map on p. 5, though with some inaccuracies (for our purpose, both Reims and Douai are lacking). 6 P. Burke, “The Reform of European Universities in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries”, CRE-Information 62 (1983) 59–68. 7 N. Hammerstein, “Universitäten und Reformation”, Historische Zeitschrift 258 (1994) 339–57.

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training for its clergy, whether at universities or seminaries. The Council also required that university students pledge their allegiance to its own confessional creed as eventually codified in the 1564 Professio Fidei.8 While the new universities of Reims and Douai were institutionally modeled after their medieval predecessors in Paris and Leuven respectively, and were thus arranged with curricula and degrees centered on faculties and colleges, Trent confessionalized their function from the very beginning.9 Similarly, Reims and Douai were at the vanguard of implementing the three other novel types of higher education that fitted within the ‘Catholic offensive’: reformed convent-based learning institutions, ‘Tridentine’ diocesan great seminaries (once heralded as the only Tridentine invention) and, above all, an ever-growing number of Jesuit colleges. Beginning in the middle of the century, newly-established teaching centers emerged and blossomed within the many monastic houses of Reims and Douai. An important seminary for future priests was established in Reims by 1564 and a similar house was founded in Douai in 1568. In the same year, the Jesuits also established the famous Collège d’Anchin in Douai, which was later authorized to provide elementary courses on philosophy and theology for the university curriculum. In Reims, a Jesuit college started in 1606, and came to be incorporated into the university four years later.10 Thus, by the advent of the seventeenth century, Reims and Douai, both of which were cities that had previously maintained only modest roles in higher education, now had emerged as important centers of Catholic instruction. Even if humanism created a clear incentive for an increased international mobility among scholars and students, intensifying the medieval peregrinatio academica, Catholic elites considered it a much safer strategy to keep students within their own borders and to control the orthodoxy of their own educational 8 S. Merkle, Das Konzil von Trient und die Universitäten (Würzburg: Universitäts-druckerei, 1905). The alleged anti-university tone of the Council fathers was more of a nineteenth century projection than an actual fact: H. Finger, “Das Konzil von Trient und die Ausbildung der Säkularkleriker in Priesterseminaren während der Frühen Neuzeit”, in W. François/ V. Soen (ed.), The Council of Trent: Reform and Controversy in Europe and Beyond (3 vol.; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2018) 1.33–60; D. Lines, “Papal Power and University Control in Early Modern Italy: Bologna and Gregory XIII”, The Sixteenth Century Journal 44 (2013) 663–82; P.F. Grendler, “The University of Bologna, the City, and the Papacy”, Renaissance Studies 13 (1999) 475–85. 9 H. De Ridder-Symoens, “Management and Resources”, in De Ridder-Symoens (ed.), A History of the University in Europe, 154–208, 157–58. 10 H. Beylard, “Douai. Le Collège d’Anchin (1568–1764)” in P. Delattre (ed.), Les établissements des Jésuites en France depuis quatre siècles: répertoire topo-bibliographique (5 vols.; Enghien: Institut supérieur de théologie, 1940–57) 2.173–269. Contemporarily to the establishment of the universities of Reims and Douai, the Jesuits founded colleges in Messina (1548), Milan (1556), Prague (1556), Rome (1556), and Évora (1558), while the Dominicans founded schools in Almagro (1550), Tortosa (1551) and Orihuela (1552).

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institutions. After the start of the Reformation, large-scale identification processes turned inhabitants of ‘the other nation’ into ‘natural heretics’, mixing traditional chauvinism with the new fight against heterodoxy.11 Hence, Philip of Spain’s 1559 prohibition against students studying at universities outside of his royal territories was considered a logical step to preserve the unity of faith within his worldwide composite monarchy.12 These proscriptions were also implemented in the Spanish Habsburg Low Countries, where students no longer had any (legal) choice but to study at either Leuven in Brabant or Dole in the Franche-Comté.13 In the Kingdom of France, the contemporary embryonic tendencies to contain students within borders initially materialized when the Parliament of Paris issued an arrêt prohibiting students from studying abroad on 19 January 1603, a statute that eventually became codified as royal law in 1629.14 As a result, early prescriptions by both Kings and their councils would fragment academic culture along confessions and states, and the institutional provisions, such as those in Reims and Douai, were a clear translation of these new ambitions.15 However, in order to better place these universities within the concrete dynamics of the borderlands, it is helpful to first offer a brief narrative of the foundational processes of both the University of Reims in Champagne and the University of Douai in (Walloon) Flanders.

11 Instrumentalizing widespread early modern xenophobia, by 1558 the Inquisition in the Spanish Kingdoms would develop a very powerful arsenal of arguments to prove that the French estrangero was heretical by nature: B. Haan, “L’affirmation d’un sentiment national espagnol face à la France du début des guerres de religion”, in A. Tallon (ed.), Le sentiment national dans l’Europe méridionale aux XVIe et XVIIe siècle (France, Espagne, Italie) (Madrid: Casa de Velázquez, 2007) 75–90, 80–81. 12 H. De Ridder-Symoens, “Mobility”, in H. De Ridder-Symoens (ed.), A History of the University in Europe, 416–48. 13 The prohibition was reiterated in 1570. In 1582, the Brussels councils also forbade Habsburg subjects to leave royal territory to study in the ‘rebel’ provinces, especially at the University of Leiden, a school that was newly founded and patronized by the insurgent Prince William of Orange. According to the narrative of the local 1582 prohibition, the University of Leiden only wanted to spread heresy, some of which was more dangerous than others: Brussels, Algemeen Rijksarchief, Papiers d’Etat et de l’Audience (hereafter: AGR, PEA) 1146: Ordinance of 26 March 1582, sine folio. The prohibition was expanded in 1587 to prevent parents from allowing their children to learn crafts or trades in rebel territory, as the Councils feared negative repercussions towards Catholicism. AGR, PEA 1146: Ordinance 2 July 1587, sine folio, both mentioned by N. Simon, “The Council of Trent and its Impact on Philip II’s Legislation in the Habsburg Netherlands (1580–1598)”, in V. Soen/D. Vanysacker/W. François (ed.), Church, Censorship and Reform in the early modern Habsburg Netherlands (Turnhout: Brepols, 2017) 197–212. 14 P. Vandermeersch/H. De Ridder-Symoens, “Verbod op studiereizen in de Spaanse Nederlanden”, Spiegel Historiael 31 (1996) 172–78. 15 Frijhoff, “Patterns”, 53.

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A Guise University

Even though France had championed the establishment of institutions of higher learning during the later Middle Ages, the dialectics of progress made the Kingdom a relative latecomer to the ‘Catholic offensive’: by 1500, universities and colleges were already spread throughout both central and peripheral provinces, and could even be found in cities that were not significant in either size or scale.16 With its location in the northeast province of Champagne, the new University of Reims added to the already fragmented picture of universities across the Kingdom. The mainly rural province had originally proved to be an important node of trade through its annual fairs, but its medieval peak had long passed. Rather, since the late fifteenth century, the County of Champagne had turned into a theater of war between the French King, the rulers of the bordering independent Duchy of Lorraine-Bar, the imperial Prince-Bishopric of Liège, and the Habsburg Low Countries. The lack of a university in Reims – despite being the metropolitan see of an impressive ecclesiastical province17 – can be explained by the fact that its cathedral school already functioned as a center of learning and its Collège de BonsEnfants provided a form of higher education in the liberal arts for future clergy (with Jean Gerson as its most famous student).18 Another reason might have been its relative proximity to Paris, which, since the twelfth century, had housed one of the first European universities and, since the beginning of the fifteenth century, maintained an associated Collège de Reims.19 Towards the beginning of the six16 Cities such as Cahors or Angers could serve as an example. W. Brulez, Cultuur en getal. Aspecten van de relatie economie-maatschappij-cultuur in Europa tussen 1400 en 1800 (Amsterdam: Nederlandse vereniging tot beoefening van de sociale geschiedenis, 1986) 22– 23. As an exception to the European rule, only a few academic institutions would be added during the Ancient Regime. In fact, only Reims was founded as a ‘common’ university (Nîmes, however, started in 1539, but never received papal endorsement, while Nice, erected in 1559, served as a similar institution for juris consultants); the foundation of universities in Douai (1559) and Pont-à-Mousson (1572) should not be counted, as they were founded in Habsburg and Lorraine territories respectively. Now also B. Noguès, “Perdre ou gagner une université. Les enjeux locaux de la géographie universitaire française”, in Amalou/Noguès (ed.), Les Universités dans la ville, 51–79. 17 P. Desportes/P. Bony, Diocèse de Reims (Fasti Ecclesiae Gallicanae: répertoire prosopographique des évêques, dignitaires et chanoines de France de 1200 à 1500, 3; Turnhout: Brepols, 1998), esp. “Notice institutionnelle”, 3–22; V. Beaulande (ed.), La province ecclésiastique de Reims: quelles réalités? Journée d’études de l’université de Reims, 9 novembre 2007, published in Travaux de l’Académie de Reims 178 (2008) 263–412. 18 E.-E. Cauly, Histoire du collège des Bons-Enfants de l’Université de Reims, depuis son origine jusqu’à ses récentes transformations (Reims: Michaud, 1885) 191 shows how this institution would be eventually integrated within the University of Reims. 19 H. Lacaille, “Étude sur le collège de Reims à Paris (1412–1763)”, Travaux de l’Académie Nationale de Reims 104 (1899) 1–250.

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teenth century, the Reims Archbishop Robert Briçonnet, Chancellor of France, launched the idea of a new university in order to ‘repopulate’ his metropolitan city in decay, and to boost a reform of Catholicism. This proposal was dismissed when it came before the city magistrate, which preferred implementing other incentives that would help the local drapery economy. Briçonnet’s successor, and relative, lost the same battle over the same arguments.20 By the middle of the sixteenth century, then, the energetic archbishop Charles de Lorraine (1525–74) succeeded where his predecessors had failed.21 He exploited his position as a member of the Lorraine-Guise family, which had emerged as an ascending power at the French court and in the home County of Champagne, where they served as governors and bishops.22 Eager to boost humanist education and patronize the arts and letters, the twenty-three year old archbishop considered an Academia Remensis both as a necessary ‘ornament’ to the city and as an institutional anchor for family politics within the province.23 20 Guenée, Bibliographie, 2.369–70; Desportes, Diocèse de Reims, “Notice 804: Robert Briçonnet”, 215–16 and “Notice 1047: Guillaume Briçonnet”, 216–17. 21 C. Michon, “Les richesses de la faveur à la Renaissance: Jean de Lorraine (1498–1550) et François Ier”, Revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine 50 (2003) 34–61 shows how the episcopal appointment was part of a greater family scheme. The Cardinal of Lorraine remains a very controversial figure within the historiography, yet he lacks a modern up-to-date biography. His correspondence has been edited in Lettres du cardinal Charles de Lorraine (1525–1574), ed. D. Cuisiat (Travaux d’humanisme et Renaissance 319; Genève: Droz, 1998), which provides a good introduction and overview of the literature. Some more recent articles on his activities include: B. Pierre, “Le cardinal-conseiller Charles de Lorraine, le roi et sa cour au temps des premières guerres de Religion”, Parlement[s], Revue d’histoire politique 6 (2010) 14–28; P. Benedict, “From Polemics to Wars: The Curious Case of the House of Guise and the Outbreak of the French Wars of Religion”, Historein 6 (2006) 97–105. 22 Stuart Caroll has written a splendid overview on the family’s fortune in the sixteenth century: S. Caroll, Martyrs and Murders, the Guise family and the making of Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), and for the later period J. Spangler, The Society of Princes. The Lorraine-Guise and the Conservation of Power and Wealth in Seventeenth-Century France (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009). For better understanding the ascension of the family: D. Crouzet, “Capital identitaire et engagement religieux: aux origines de l’engagement militant de la maison de Guise ou le tournant des années 1524–1525”, in J. Fouilleron/G. Le Thiec/H. Michel (ed.), Sociétés et idéologies des temps modernes. Hommage à Arlette Jouanna (2 vol.; Montpellier: Université de Montpellier III, 1996) 2.573–89. 23 J. Balsamo, “Le cardinal de Lorraine et l’Academia Remensis”, in C. Mouchel/C. Nativel (ed.), République des Lettres, république des Arts. Mélanges offerts à Marc Fumaroli de l’Académie française (Travaux d’humanisme et Renaissance 445; Genève: Droz, 2008) 13–36; J. Balsamo, “Ronsard et l’éloge du cardinal de Lorraine”, in A. Génétiot (ed.), L’Eloge lyrique (Nancy: Presses universitaires de Nancy, 2009) 63–80. Similar patterns of patronage, university foundations and religious orders can be found in P.F. Grendler, The University of Mantua, the Gonzaga and the Jesuits, 1584–1630 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2009); Y. Bellenger, Le mécénat et l’influence des Guises: actes du colloque organisé par le Centre de Recherche sur la Littérature de la Renaissance de l’Université de Reims et tenu à Joinville du 31 mai au 4 juin 1994 (Colloques, congrès et conférences sur la Renaissance 9; Paris: Champion, 1997).

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The Franco-Habsburg Peace treaty of Crépy-en-Laonnais, signed in 1544, created the conditions necessary to found a university, while Reims represented a proper location, as it was located far enough from the center of conflict to make academic life plausible during the inevitable future wars. Seizing the momentum of his first sacre on 26 July 1547, the archbishop convinced the new king, Henri II, to consent to his university scheme.24 Heading off to Rome as the French minister for Italian affairs and to receive a cardinal’s hat, Charles subsequently managed to obtain Pope Paul III’s permission in return for support for the recently convened Council of Trent. The dispositio in the papal bull of 5 January 1548 mentioned the humanist inspiration to study both ancient languages and the Bible (stressing the previous excellent results of the Collège des Bons-Enfants in this respect), as well as the need for its students to serve an active Church.25 Discussing the ‘real’ motives behind the university’s foundation, older literature tends to primarily focus on the cardinal’s humanist convictions as a former student of Collège de Navarre and the University of Paris, where he also served as protector of the Collège royal. Recent literature has pointed to his role as moyenneur and interlocutor between Catholics, Lutherans, and Calvinists, but the archbishop actually used the university as a counter-strategy against the spread of Calvinism in his own ‘backyard’.26 Hence, the Faculty of Theology, which opened in 1554, developed as the university’s most important section, and provided educated clergy according to the ‘needs of the time’.27 After the closure of the Council of Trent in 1563, the Cardinal quickly erected a new seminary in Reims, being the first to open such an institution in post-Tridentine France. Henceforth, both the university and the seminary would serve as the cenacle where the cardinal would find his closest collaborators for his reform plans and 24 Having secured royal approbation, the city rewarded the young archbishop lavishly on the occasion. Cauly, Bons-Enfants, 195 lists all gifts. 25 G. Marlot, Metropolis Remensis Historia (vol. 1: Lille: Nicolas de Rache, 1666; vol. 2: Reims: Le Lorain, 1679), translated as Histoire de la ville, cité et université de Reims (4 vol.; Reims: Jacquet, 1843–46) 4.313–20. See also Abbé Portagnier, “L’enseignement dans l’archidiocèse de Reims depuis l’établissement du christianisme jusqu’à sa proscription”, Travaux de l’Académie nationale de Reims 59 (1875) and 60 (1876) 99–140 gives a detailed description of the foundation process. 26 The Cardinal’s politics and religious ideas have received much attention after the influential T. Wanegffelen, Ni Rome, Ni Genève: des fidèles entre deux chaires en France au XVIe siècle (Bibliothèque littéraire de la Renaissance. Série 3, 36; Paris: Champion, 1997); also see M. Turchetti, “Une question mal posée: la confession d’Augsbourg, le cardinal de Lorraine et les moyenneurs au Colloque de Poissy en 1561”, Zwingliana 20 (1993) 53–101, and S. Caroll, “The Compromise of Charles Cardinal de Lorraine: New Evidence”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 54 (2003) 469–83; L. Racaut, “The Sacrifice of the Mass and the Redefinition of Catholic Orthodoxy during the French Wars of Religion”, French History 24 (2009) 20–39; Marlot, Histoire de la ville, cité et université de Reims, 4.309–11. 27 E. Cauly, “L’ancienne Faculté de Théologie de Reims”, Travaux de l’Académie nationale de Reims 103 (1898) 151.

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where he educated the future clergy for the ecclesiastical province in his Hinterland.28 The foundational bull hinted at changing regional dynamics in student mobility: the new university sought to attract young men from France, Lorraine, the Bishopric of Trier, and its ‘neighboring provinces’, continuing the medieval tradition of cross-border exchange. In the papal bull, at least, France’s boundaries held little importance, as the conventional recruiting radius of 50 to 100 kilometers mattered more than the borders of the Kingdom of France, the Ecclesiastical Province of Reims, or the limits of the city. Clearly, the University of Reims desired to compete with Paris, which then attracted the largest share of students from both Picardy and Champagne in France, from the Duchy of Lorraine and from Hainaut, Tournai and Artois in the Habsburg Low Countries.29 Leaving the promising tone of the bull aside, the Cardinal of Lorraine primarily sought to recruit students from France and Lorraine, a move that underlined how family and regional politics could effortlessly intertwine. The welcoming tone shown towards Habsburg students was reasonable: the archbishop was metropolitan over the bishoprics of Thérouanne until 1553 and Cambrai, Tournai, and Arras until 1559, most of which territories the Emperor had by then loosely aggregated into a personal union. Yet, the Guise family was very much involved in the planning of war against the Emperor in both Paris and Rome, underlining how non-existing borders in the ecclesiastical sphere could become all important in the political one.30 Due to the Guise affiliations of the archbishop and to the militant character of the Faculty of Theology, the university eventually became a stronghold for the ultra-Catholic League, which sought to pre-empt Henry IV’s ascension to the French Crown. During the last few years of his life, the cardinal helped the Duke 28 J. Balsamo, “Le cénacle rémois du cardinal de Lorraine: littérature, théologie et politique (1548–1574)”, in E. Mosele (ed.), Il principe e il potere. Il discorso politico e letterario in Francia nel Cinquecento, actes du colloque, Vérone, 18–20 mai 2000 (Fasano: Schena, 2002) 99–113. 29 J.K. Farge, “Was Paris a Regional or an International University in the Era of the Renaissance?”, in M. Bideaux/M.-M. Fragonard (ed.), Les échanges entre les universités européennes à la Renaissance. Colloque international organisé par la Société Française d’Etude du XVIe siècle et l’Association Renaissance-Humanisme-Réforme. Valence, 15–18 mai 2002 (Travaux d’humanisme et Renaissance; Genève: Droz, 2003) 62–63; L. Brockliss, “Patterns of Attendance at the University of Paris 1400–1800”, The Historical Journal 21 (1978) 513–44, reprinted in D. Julia/J. Revel (ed.), Les universités européennes du XVIe au XVIIIe siècle. Histoire sociale des populations étudiantes (Recherches d’histoire et de sciences sociales 17–18; 2 vols.; Paris: École des hautes études en sciences sociales, 1989) 2.487–526. 30 By 1559, with the erection of new bishoprics in the Low Countries, the Ecclesiastical Province of Reims had to share its jurisdiction with Cambrai, a newly-erected ecclesiastical province: M. Dierickx, De oprichting der nieuwe bisdommen in de Nederlanden onder Filips II (1559– 1570) (Antwerpen: Standaard, 1950).

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of Lorraine, his kinsman, to secure a foundational bull for a University of Pont-àMousson in 1572. Here, the Jesuits were immediately given the power to organize the Faculties of Theology and Arts. The inaugural lectures were given on 22 November 1574, a month before the Cardinal’s death.31 A year earlier, he had made a last vigorous call to reform all universities in France in order to counter the Reformation. As such, the University of Reims, and later that of Pont-àMousson, engaged in the religious strife of the era and area, preferring theology over law and preparing the local Catholic clergy for its duties in the fractured borderlands in and around France.32

III.

A Frontier University

Even though universities located on the other end of the political divide were thought of as ‘forbidden land’, they often originated under quite similar circumstances. In fact, the balances of power preceding the 1559 foundation of the University of Douai were remarkably comparable on an urban, regional, and state level to those already sketched out for Reims. The city’s prosperity similarly relied on draperies, with its countryside housing a substantial number of protocapitalistic firms producing cloth, yet the local economy faced hard times by the middle of the sixteenth century. Located in Walloon Flanders (a French-speaking semi-province with its own institutions belonging to the wider Dutch-speaking County of Flanders), Douai was perceived as part of the military buffer zone during the Habsburg-Valois Wars.33 As with Reims, Douai was far enough inland 31 M. Pernot, “Le cardinal de Lorraine et la fondation de l’université de Pont-à-Mousson”, in L’université de Pont-à-Mousson et les problèmes de son temps. Actes du colloque organisé par l’Institut de recherche régionale en sciences sociales, humaines et économiques de l’Université de Nancy II (Nancy 16–19 octobre 1972) (Annales de l’Est. Mémoires 47; Nancy: Université de Nancy II, 1974) 45–66. 32 A. Bozon, “Fonctions et fonctionnement des communautés de curés: le cas des villes épiscopales de la province ecclésiastique de Reims au temps de la Réforme catholique”, Revue d’Histoire de l’Eglise de France 93 (2007) 323–42 ; K. Gibbons, “No Home in exile? Elizabethan Catholics in Paris”, Reformation 15 (2010) 115–31. 33 C. Dehaisnes, “Documents inédits sur les origines de l’Université de Douai (1531–1534)”, Souvenirs de Flandre wallonne 2 (1862) 177–92 and 3 (1864) 59–75, here: 2 (1862) 187: In the enquiry written for the Emperor, it is feared that Douai “est assez de frontière” and that French students, in times of war, could easily spy for the enemy from within the university. Still, Douai was technically not on the border like Artois or Hainaut; the wider semi-province of Walloon-Flanders, or Flandre Gallicante, consisted of the three French-speaking cities of Lille, Orchies, and Douai, while these were the administrative centres for their more rural châtellenies. The French king claimed royal rights to the province of Flanders as a whole based on the rather obscure clauses of a dowry treaty from 1369. Although the King would renounce his suzeraineté in Flanders and Artois in the Treaty of Cambrai in 1529, Walloon Flanders, as Wim Blockmans explains, remained a cordon sanitaire for Flandre Flamingante:

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that the university did not have to deal with the day-to-day repercussions of raids or other forms of military violence, but it could discourage students from the periphery of the Habsburg Low Countries to study across borders. In its numerous solicitations for the establishment of a university (1531, 1538, and 1552), the city magistrate of Douai tried to exploit similar political and economic arguments as the Briçonnet bishops and the Cardinal of Lorraine: a university would keep students in place, and boost commerce and consumption. The language question served to reinforce the argument to stop cross-border mobility: students de la langue thioise (middle Dutch) should no longer go to France to learn French. The attractions of other university towns, such as Paris and Orléans, were literally mentioned.34 Competing with Lille, Maubeuge, Tournai, Valenciennes, and Mons, the city stopped lobbying for a university after the Franco-Habsburg peace treaty of Le Cateau-Cambrésis in 1559. The magistrate was more concerned at this time with the lodging of licensed troops within its city walls and citadel. As such, it ironically validated Leuven’s old argument against Douai, that it was “a border city, limitrophe and perilous, where it was better to house a gendarmerie than learning, what requires a peaceful and tranquil place, without danger of war or enemies”.35 Hence, the immediate initiative for the new university did not derive from the city magistrate; rather, it emerged from amongst the Leuven intelligentsia, most notably Jean de Vendeville, then a successful law professor at the university.36 Unlike Charles de Lorraine, Vendeville was not of high noble birth, but belonged to an ennobled city patriciate able to maximize the profits of university education and royal service. In advocating his plan for a new university in the Frenchspeaking borderlands, he relied upon personal experience and conviction: born in Walloon Flanders, and studying in both France and the Low Countries, VenW. Blockmans, “La position du comté de Flandre dans le Royaume à la fin du XVe siècle”, in B. Chevalier/P. Contamine (ed.), La France de la fin du XVe siècle: renouveau et apogée: économie, pouvoirs, arts, culture et conscience nationales (Paris: CNRS, 1985) 77–78. 34 H. De Ridder-Symoens, “Brabanders aan de rechtsuniversiteit van Orleans (1444–1546): een socio-professionele studie”, Bijdragen tot de geschiedenis 61 (1978) 195–347; Farge, “Was Paris a Regional or an International University?”. The students stemming from the dioceses of Arras, Tournai, Cambrai, and Thérouanne accounted for only twenty students, or less than two percent of the school’s enrollment for the period between 1493–1590. 35 “une ville frontière, limitrophe, périlleuse, où mieulx convient gendarmerie que estude, qui requiert lieu paisible en repos, sans dangier de guerres ou ennemys”, mentioned in Dehaisnes, “Documents inédits”, Souvenirs de Flandre wallonne, 3 (1864) 66. 36 V. Soen, “Vendeville (Venduillius), Jean de”, Nationaal Biografisch Woordenboek 20 (2011) 1105–9; V. Soen, “The Loyal Opposition of Jean Vendeville (1527–1592): Contributions to a Contextualized Biography”, in D. Vanysacker/P. Delsaerdt/J.-P. Delville/H. Schwall (ed.), The Quintessence of Lives. Intellectual Biographies in the Low Countries, presented to Jan Roegiers (Turnhout/Leuven: Brepols, 2010) 43–62; see also the older biography of A. Possoz, Mgr. Jean Vendeville, évêque de Tournai 1587–1592 (Lille: Lefort, 1862).

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deville counted as one of the many students who crossed political borders for their education: his parents first sent him to Menen in Flanders Flamingante to learn Latin and Dutch and, at the age of fifteen, he attended the University of Paris, where he learned Greek and improved his Latin, while taking courses in jurisprudence. After a short period of professional practice as procureur in Arras, he chose to defend a doctorate at Leuven in 1553 and was appointed Professor of Civil Law in 1556. Vendeville utilized his contacts and their patrons in Brussels to successfully convince Philip II of the necessity of a university in the Frenchspeaking borderlands.37 During this process, religious imperatives came to supersede the earlier political and economic arguments: Vendeville, like Charles de Lorraine, considered education as one of the more effective methods for counteracting heresy. Against the backdrop of his own experiences within the borderlands, the law professor pointed out that he considered the lack of knowledge in regard to different vernacular languages as a reason why Catholic conversions slowed down. Despite their very distinct social profile, both Lorraine and Vendeville considered education to be one of the most concrete and effective measures at countering the spread of the Reformation and spurring Tridentine Catholicism. There has been much speculation as to why exactly Douai became the preferred site for a university, especially since the city magistrate was more preoccupied with the burden of lodging soldiers. The plan eventually fitted within the wider scheme of the ongoing episcopal reorganization of the Habsburg Low Countries, in which the King tried to realign outdated medieval ecclesiastical divisions with contemporary political boundaries. This reorganization in 1559 anticipated a high density of bishoprics in the French-speaking provinces, keeping the existing ones in Arras, Saint-Omer, and Tournai, while adding a new one in Namur. The bishopric of Thérouanne, located on the contested border and completely destructed by the Emperor in 1553, was forfeited. These bishops came under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Cambrai, who lost a significant territory and jurisdiction, but gained a promotion as an archbishop on equal footing with his counterpart in Reims, his former metropolitan. Habsburg authorities preferred not to place the new university in the cities where episcopal

37 In fact, this represented an ‘old boys’ network of students from the Leuven humanist law professor Gabriel Mudeaus, who reached out to the Frisian councillors Viglius and Hoppers at the Brussels court: J. Papy, Recht uit Brecht: de Leuvense hoogleraar Gabriel Mudaeus (1500–1560) als Europees humanist en jurist (Brecht: Gemeente Brecht, 2011); R. Robaye, “Droit romain en Belgique: oeuvres et bibliographie de Gabriel Mudée”, Revue international des droits de l’Antiquité 30 (1983) 193–205; H. De Vocht, Gabriël Van der Muyden (Antwerpen: Vlijt, 1940), and R. Dekkers, Het humanisme en de rechtswetenschap in de Nederlanden (Antwerpen: De Sikkel, 1938) 97–143.

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sees had been planned, leaving Douai to emerge as a qualified host location for providing another symbolic signpost in the military buffer zone against France.38 In practice, the contemporary 1559 peace treaty of Le Cateau-Cambrésis concluded with France once again smoothened the possibility of students living in the borderlands to go study in either Paris or Orléans. Equally, itinerant Calvinist preachers could now freely cross borders and emigrant students from Geneva eventually returned, often entering the Low Countries through the gateways of Picardy and Champagne.39 Thus, Vendeville’s two main arguments, that emigration could be prevented by establishing a new university in this border region and that Calvinist conversions could be pre-empted by educating the local clergy, had finally found support. To further boost his 1559 decree forbidding his Habsburg subjects from studying at universities other than those in either Leuven or Dole, Philip II offered henceforth a third legal option in Douai. The foundation of the University of Douai was eventually confirmed by a papal bull of 31 July 1559 (reissued by Pius IV on 6 January 1560); Philip II’s patent letters from 19 January 1561 reinforced the decision.40 The University of Leuven, the only university in the Low Countries since its establishment in 1425, had long opposed a second university in the French-speaking south out of fear of losing its monopoly, privileges, prestige, and students. Nonetheless, the statutes and structure of Douai were modelled on the example of Leuven, and both institutions were subject to similar regulations and visitations from the authorities in Brussels. In time, Douai came to be considered a ‘royal institution’ in ways that Leuven would never experience, with clear influence and control coming from the Spanish Habsburg government.41 38 By then, both Tournai and Valenciennes had already established negative reputations for housing protestants and had fallen out of the race for a university: A. Lottin/P. Guignet, Histoire des provinces françaises du Nord, de Charles Quint à la Révolution (Arras: Artois Presses Université, 2006). This strategy correlated with the Habsburg decision not to locate a bishopric in Leuven, as it already housed a university, and instead opted for Mechelen as center of the ecclesia Belgica. 39 P. M. Crew, Calvinist Preaching and Iconoclasm in the Netherlands, 1544–1569 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978). 40 Older studies include: G. Cardon, La fondation de l’Université de Douai (Paris: Félix Alcan, 1892); H.-R.-J. Duthilloeul, De l’Université de Douai, de son Académie, de sa Faculté des Lettres (Douai: A. d’Aubers, 1855); and J. Laloup, “Douai, fille de Louvain”, Revue nouvelle 22 (1966) 175–86. See also: S. Castelain, “L’université de Douai au XVIe siècle, un corps privilégié à la conquête de sa juridiction”, Les Épisodiques 10 (2004) 7–14. One author has even contextualized the foundation of this university as the University of Leuven’s first ‘separation’ (preceding the more painful separation between Leuven and Louvain-la-Neuve in 1968): E. van Uffel, “Leuven en Douai, de ‘splitsing’ van 1562”, Wetenschappelijke Tijdingen 24 (1964–65) 473–80. 41 S. Castelain, “The University of Douai. From Judicial Independence to Assimilation With Royal Justice (1562–1749)”, in G. Martyn/R. Vermeir/C. Vancoppenolle (ed.), Intermediate Institutions in the County of Flanders in the Late Middle Ages and the Early Modern Era

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The University also received a clear Counter-Reformation outlook. In the inaugural speech of 5 October 1562, François Richardot, the Bishop of Arras, pointed to the need for education in a clear echo of Tridentine dispositions.42 Vendeville, who relocated to Douai as its first Royal Professor of Law, would attract Jesuits to foresee the theological and pastoral training of young men. The new order was very keen to establish a college in Douai, especially after they met fierce opposition in Leuven and failed to affiliate themselves with the University. In Douai, the erection of the College d’Anchin went relatively smoothly, despite the classic conflicts over precedence and privileges. The Faculty of Theology became the school’s driving force, preparing clergy for their duties in pastoral care.43 Hence, the comparisons between Reims and Douai suggest remarkable similarities in borderland dynamics, while also emphasizing the importance of the ‘Catholic offensive’ in the foundation of contemporary universities.

IV.

Transregional Transfers

Over the last few years, transregional history has developed into a valuable tool for studying both early modern borders and borderlands, as well as the mobility and transfers in these zones sui generis. In this chapter, the word ‘borders’ has been used up to this point as it appeared in sixteenth-century sources, that is, as a synonym for a frontier zone where war was imminent: faire la frontière meant as much as going to war, and borderlands were continuously associated with military undertakings. Hence, Leuven professors could reasonably claim that the frontier city of Douai was less a place of study than a place defined by martial activities. However, the concept of transregional history invites one to go further than thinking of ‘the’ or ‘a singular’ border linked to differentiation, state formation and war; rather, it invites us to find out how borders were in fact negotiated by a variety of actors and at many different levels, creating hybrid situations that were far more complex than the literature leads us to believe. As such, transregional history allows us to follow historical actors as they crossed borders (or not) and to find out where, when, how, and to whom which border mattered. With the universities of Douai and Reims situated on the same border, but in opposite political and ecclesiastical camps, they form an ideal case study (Studia 135; Brussels: Algemeen Rijksarchief, 2012) 167–75; N. Hammerstein, “Relations with authority”, in H. De Ridder-Symoens (ed.), A History of the University in Europe, 146. 42 Bref recueil et récit de la Solemnité faicte à l’entrée et consécration de l’Université faicte et érigée en la ville de Douai (Douai, Jean Boscard, 1563; USTC 19276). 43 Cardon mentions six hundred students already in attendance within three months after its opening. Cardon, Fondation, 320, 370.

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for examining the multiple positions and negotiated borders within the political and religious landscape of early modern Europe.44 As the establishment of two new universities around the Franco-Habsburg border seemed to have answered a need for higher education in the field of theology and law, both quickly attracted significant numbers of students, thus altering academic mobility on a provincial scale.45 The absence of matricules in both Reims and Douai make it difficult to track individual students, but some indirect evidence hints at the regional provenance of the student population. As anticipated, most students in Reims stemmed from France and Lorraine, so that a nation de France and a nation de Lorraine was organized at the new Faculty of Arts. Some students also crossed over from the Holy Roman Empire, although less came than was expected (beginning in 1574, these German students were somehow naturally redirected to the geographically closer Pont-à-Mousson). It is also clear that the Parisian Collège de Reims lost much of its attraction, so it is safe to conclude that the basic scheme of Charles de Lorraine seemed to have worked. In its first century of existence, the university successfully recruited students for the Faculties of Arts and Theology, while the Faculties of Medicine and Law seemed to have been plagued by recurrent financial and logistic shortfalls.46 Hilde de Ridder-Symoens’ impressive reconstruction of the Douai student population documents how this university equally succeeded in its recruitment in both the French-speaking and other southern provinces of the Habsburg Low Countries, mainly the Hinterland of (Walloon) Flanders, Hainaut, Artois and Namur. During the Dutch Revolt in the second half of the sixteenth century, however, students came from cities across all of the so-called Seventeen Provinces in the Low Countries, including those well beyond the 50–100 kilometer recruitment radius. This had several reasons. First, a crisis at the University of Leuven, due to an unfortunate combination of war and pestilence, fostered a 44 See: Soen/De Ridder et al., “How to do Transregional History”. More concretely for the Franco-Habsburg borderlands, see: V. Soen/Y. Junot/F. Mariage (ed.), L’identité au pluriel. Jeux et enjeux des appartenances autour des anciens Pays-Bas, XIVe–XVIIIe siècles (Revue du Nord, Hors-série, collection Histoire 30; Villeneuve-d’Ascq ; Université Charles-de-GaulleLille 3, 2014): Troisième partie: “Identités au-delà des frontières”. 45 O. Sauvage, “L’âge d’or des libraires douaisiens sous les archiducs”, in C. Bruneel/J.-M. Duvosquel/P. Guignet/R. Vermeir (ed.), Les ‘Trente Glorieuses’. Pays-Bas méridionaux et France septentrionale. Aspects économiques, sociaux et religieux aux temps des archiducs Albert et Isabelle (Brussels: Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, 2010) 249–58. 46 Balsamo, “Le cardinal de Lorraine”, 19–20. In the second half of the seventeenth century, however, the Faculty of Medicine would serve as a new attraction for international students, mainly from England and the Low Countries: H. De Ridder-Symoens, “The Mobility of Medical Students from the Fifteenth to Eighteenth Centuries: The Institutional Context”, in O.P. Grell/A. Cunningham/J. Arrizabalaga (ed.), Centres of Medical Excellence? Medical Travel and Education in Europe, 1500–1789 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010) 47–89, 63 and 88 (appendix 7).

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temporal affluence of students.47 Secondly, the emergence of Calvinist city regimes from 1577 onwards, made students from the northern provinces of Frisia and Groningen travel willingly more than 500 kilometers to study legally on Habsburg soil. Thirdly, even after the emergence of the Dutch Republic, with its equally harsh prohibitions on studying abroad and the high fines imposed upon those who did so, Catholic students continued to travel south to the Habsburg Low Countries (with students and professors from the city of Utrecht forming a surprising, but significant, minority).48 Finally, Jesuit pupils, associated with the Collège d’Anchin, formed a substantial part of the student population, though the order seems to have stood quite aloof and was not always forthcoming in recommending Douai over Leuven.49 Only a handful of students from the Holy Roman Empire studied in Douai, and usually did so as a sort of stop over on the route between Paris and Germanic lands. From this perspective, the universities in both Reims and Douai appear to have provided intellectual bulwarks on the border and complemented the military citadels erected on the same frontier lines, inevitably placing university leaders in a position to actively participate in patterns of early modern state formation. While the Kings of both Spain and France tried to keep students within their borders, their normative prescriptions and prohibitions seemed to have had limited success at doing so. Located on the same Franco-Habsburg frontière – frequently mentioned as the source of all evil – the two universities actually sparked more cross-border movement than designed for. On the one hand, this continued the pre-1559 situation, where both cities belonged to the same ecclesiastical province of Reims before Philip’s bishopric reform tore them apart, and were tied by pilgrimage and trade routes. On the order hand, the contemporary Wars of Religion that took place in both the Low Countries and France 47 J. Pollmann, Religious Choice in the Dutch Republic (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1999) 42–45; D. Lanoye/P. Vandermeersch, “The University of Louvain at the End of the Sixteenth Century: Coping with Crisis?”, History of Universities 20 (2005) 81–107. 48 C. Lenarduzzi, “De religieuze spagaat van katholieke studenten in de Republiek rond 1600”, De Zeventiende Eeuw 31 (2015) 267–83. 49 H. De Ridder-Symoens, “Étude du rayonnement national et international d’une université sans livres matricules: le cas de l’université de Douai (1559–1795)”, in M. Bideaux/M.M. Fragonard (ed.), Les échanges entre les universités européennes, 45–60; H. De RidderSymoens, “L’évolution quantitative et qualitative de la pérégrination académique des étudiants néerlandais méridionaux de la Renaissance à l’époque des Lumières”, in M. Kulczykowski (ed.), Pérégrinations académiques. IVème Session scientifique internationale, Cracovie, 19–21 mai 1982 (Zeszyty naukowe Uniwersytetu Jagiellonskiego 870; Cracow: Uniwersytet Jagiellon´ski, 1989) 87–97. See also: S. Zijlstra, “Studying Abroad: the Student Years of Two Frisian Brothers at Cologne and Douai, 1582–1593”, in K. Goudriaan/J. Molenbroek/A. Tervoort (ed.), Education and Learning in the Netherlands, 1400–1600: Essays in Honour of Hilde De Ridder-Symoens (Brill’s studies in intellectual history 123; Leiden: Brill, 2004) 297– 313.

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created unstable and insecure borders, and cities on the borderline frequently switched between Catholic and Calvinist regimes. Even when borders formally existed in bulls and laws, they did not necessarily do so in early modern intellectual and religious communities. The new impetus for Catholic Reform, both from the Council of Trent and from other nodes, meant that new centers and peripheries could still be configured. Rather than operating as inflexible lines on paper, borders were malleable. Douai, for example, attracted François Baudouin, the influential humanist lawyer and historian who was also one of Charles de Lorraine’s protégées at that time. Born in Arras in 1520, Baudouin had first studied in Leuven and then moved to Paris, much in line with the cross-border patterns outlined above. Subscribing to the very scenario most feared by Habsburg authorities, it was in the French capital that he became a supporter of Calvin’s teachings. Moving to Geneva, he gradually started to question the growing radicalism of Calvin and Beza, instead sharing the ecumenical and pacifying teachings of the spiritualist Joris Cassander, a Dutchman then living in imperial Cologne. During the Colloquy of Poissy in 1561, Baudouin, as moyenneur, tried to reconcile the Catholic and Calvinist delegations. Yet, his reconciliation with the Catholic Church during a carefully staged ceremony before the Archbishop of Cambrai, and his subsequent appointment at the University of Douai in 1563, provided a direct blow to both the French moyenneurs looking for a via media and the Calvinists crossing the border to preach in the Habsburg provinces. This conversion in Douai, aimed at an audience in both France and the Low Countries alike, represented a cautious victory for the Counter-Reformation.50 Later in the French and Dutch Wars of Religion, transregional transfers in the other direction also served the Catholic cause. The above mentioned League against Henri IV, largely patronized by the Guise family, used cross-border resources in the Habsburg Low Countries in order to achieve its aims back in France. The presses in Douai and the wider ecclesiastical province printed pamphlets for the ultra-Catholic cause (or re-printed Parisian editions), reconfirming the function of borderlands as zones of smuggle and contrebande.51 The ligueurs de l’exil were welcomed into the region, and although most of them never settled permanently, they took home their exile experience. In this context, Jean Boucher (1548–1646) probably stands out as the most famous Leaguer in exile, preferring never to return to France. He had studied and lectured in both 50 M. Turchetti, Concordia o tolleranza? François Bauduin (1520–1573) e i « Moyenneurs » (Travaux d’humanisme et Renaissance 200; Genève: Droz, 1984); V. Soen/L. Hollevoet, “Le Borromée des anciens Pays-Bas? Maximilien de Berghes, (arch)évêque de Cambrai et l’application du Concile de Trente (1564–1567)”, Revue du Nord n° 419 (2017) 41–65. 51 A. Soetaert, Katholieke literatuur en transregionale uitwisseling in de kerkprovincie Kamerijk (1559–1659) (unpublished PhD-thesis, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 2017), 93–97.

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Reims and Paris, and eventually relocated to the Habsburg Low Countries in 1594, turning into a very active approbatory for the local book market.52 As a result, the Franco-Habsburg borderlands became a sort of microcosm in which lessons for the ‘Universal Church’ of the Counter-Reformation were drawn from a patchwork of encounters along, across, and beyond these borders and boundaries.

V.

Exile Movements

Even more visibly, Catholic exiles fleeing the British Isles for the continent disrupted the discourse of ‘students within borders’.53 As his niece was Mary Queen of Scots, Charles of Lorraine became involved in hosting these exiles from the onset; yet, the rulers of the Habsburg Low Countries soon patronized most of the fleeing Catholic clergy from across the Channel.54 The English religious diaspora mattered, especially for the young University of Douai. The city magistrate and Vendeville convinced English professors from Leuven and Paris to relocate to Douai, so that they could be closer to their patria. These attempts succeeded, as professors like Richard Smyth and Thomas Stapleton helped to establish the reputation of the university for the next three centuries.55 Moreover, when Vendeville met the future Cardinal William Allen in Douai, they joined forces to turn the city into an important anchor for Catholicism throughout north-western Europe. Travelling together to Rome, they received permission to found a college for the training of missionary priests. For his efforts, Allen obtained a professorship, bonding the college and university together, while the newly estab-

52 R. Descimon/J.J. Ruiz Ibañez, Les Ligueurs d’exil. Le refuge catholique français après 1594 (Seyssel: Champ Vallon, 2005); Soetaert, Katholieke literatuur en transregionale uitwisseling, 149–52. 53 V. Soen, “Exile Encounters and Cross-Border Mobility in Early Modern Borderlands. The Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai as a Transregional Node (1559–1600)”, Belgeo. Revue Belge de Géographie – Belgian Journal of Geography 2 (2015): published online 15 July 2015. 54 L. De Frenne, “Professions, prêtres et pensions. Les réfugiés catholiques aux Pays-Bas méridionaux sous l’adminstration des archiducs Albert et Isabelle (1598–1621/1633)”, Bruneel/ Duvosquel/Guignet/Vermeir (ed.), Les ‘Trente Glorieuses’, 107–25; P. Arblaster, “The Southern Netherlands Connection: Networks of Support and Patronage”, in B. Kaplan/ B. Moore/H. van Nierop/J. Pollmann (ed.), Catholic Communities in Protestant States: Britain and the Netherlands ca. 1570–1720 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2009) 123–38. 55 J.A. Löwe, “Richard Smyth and the Foundation of the University of Douai”, Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis 79 (1999) 142–69; W. François, “Thomas Stapleton, controversetheoloog tussen Engeland en de Nederlanden”, in V. Soen/P. Knevel (ed.), Religie, hervorming en controverse, in de zestiende-eeuwse Nederlanden (Herzogenrath: Shaker Publishing, 2013) 37–64.

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lished English College rapidly expanded to include 120 pensionaries less than a decade later.56 The same English group also sought patronage from the Reims Archbishop across the border, tapping into the English-Scottish connections of his family particularly, but also revitalizing the old trade, travel and peregrination routes towards Champagne.57 When in March 1578 a coup in Douai expelled the Jesuits, Theatines, and English exiles as ‘partisans of the enemy’ (at that time, read: the King of Spain), William Allen moved his English college to Reims, with overt support from the Cardinal.58 As a side-effect of this move, Jean de Foigny, a local printer from Reims, published the English Catholic New Testament, rather than John Fowler in Douai, who might have initially been contacted for the job.59 In 1593 they returned to Douai “comme a raison des troubles regnans presentement 56 H. De Ridder-Symoens, “The Place of the University of Douai in the Peregrinatio Academica Britannica”, in J.M. Fletcher/H. De Ridder-Symoens (ed.), Lines of contact. Proceedings of the Second Conference of Belgian, British, Irish and Dutch Historians of Universities held at St. Anne’s College Oxford 15–17 September 1989 (Studia Historica Gandensia 279; Gent: Universiteit Gent. Opleiding geschiedenis, 1994) 21–34; R. Lechat, Les refugiés anglais dans les Pays-Bas espagnols durant le règne d’Elisabeth (1558–1603) (Leuven: Bureaux du Recueil, 1914); A. Haudecœur, La conservation providentielle du catholicisme en Angleterre ou histoire du Collège anglais: Douai (1568–1578), Reims (1578–1593), Douai (1593–1793) (Reims: Dubois-Poplimont 1898); F. Fabre, “Le collège anglais de Douai, son histoire héroïque”, Revue de littérature comparée 10 (1930) 201–29; L. Trenard, “Collèges anglais, écossais, irlandais dans les Pays-Bas français (1568–1793)”, in Actes 95e Congrès national des sociétés savantes, Reims, 1970. Section Histoire moderne et contemporaine. 1: Histoire de l’enseignement de 1610 à nos jours (Paris: Bibliothèque nationale, 1974) 501–36. Later on, Allen was appointed as a Professor of Controversy in Douai in 1571, a position that solidified the bonds between the English College and the university. I thank Dr. Alexander Soetaert for this curious detail, retrieved from accounts of the university made by Paul Du Mont, and preserved in the Archives municipales de Douai, 1 NC 1484, Comptes pour le paiement des professeurs, 1563– 1564, 1566, 1571, 1573. 57 J. Balsamo, “L’Université de Reims, les Guise et les étudiants anglais”, in Bideaux/Fragonard (ed.), Les échanges entre les universités européennes, 318; L. Brockliss, “The University of Paris and the Maintenance of Catholicism in the British Isles, 1426–1789: A Study in Clerical Recruitment”, in Julia/Revel (ed.), Les Universités européennes du XVIe au XVIIIe siècle, 2.577–616. 58 Cf. the contemporary problems in Artois: C. Hirschauer, “Les troubles d’Artois de 1577– 1578”, Bulletin de l’institut historique belge de Rome 2 (1912) 45–60; F. Duquenne, “Des ‘républiques calvinistes’ avortées? La contestation des échevinages à Douai et Arras en 1577 et 1578”, in M. Weis (ed.), Des villes en révolte: les républiques urbaines aux Pays-Bas et en France pendant la deuxième moitié du XVIe siècle (Studies in European urban history (1100–1800) 23; Turnhout: Brepols 2010) 53–63. 59 V. Soen/A. Soetaert/J. Verberckmoes, “Verborgen meertaligheid. De katholieke drukpers in de kerkprovincie Kamerijk (1560–1600)”, Queeste. Journal of Medieval Literature in the Low Countries 22 (2015) 62–81; A. Soetaert, Katholieke literatuur en transregionale uitwisseling, 134–35; Balsamo, “L’Université de Reims”; A. Walsham, “Unclasping the book? Post-Reformation English Catholicism and the Vernacular Bible”, Journal of British Studies 42 (2003) 141–66.

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en France” in order to protect the university from the troops of Henri IV.60 The second part of the English bible, the Old Testament, was ultimately printed by the English printer Laurence Kellam in Douai in 1609.61 Hence, the Douai-Rheims Bible (or, more accurately, the Rheims-Douai Bible) proved to be the most tangible evidence of the two-way traffic between Douai and Reims. Likewise, the remarkable biography of William Gifford (1557/8–1629) serves to depict the transregional transfers between Leuven/Douai, on the one hand, and Reims/Pont-à-Mousson on the other, as well as highlighting the important mediating role of the English College. Leaving Oxford in exile around 1573, Gifford proceeded to Leuven, but left the University some years later, after an outbreak of pestilence swept through the city. Having initially chosen Paris as his preferred destination, he was invited by Allen to join the English College then in Reims, where he taught theology and, while enjoying Guise patronage, defended his doctorate in 1584 at Pont-à-Mousson. After Allen’s death, and with the English College back in Douai, he was invited to move again to Habsburg lands and was made dean of the collegiate church of Saint-Pierre in Lille. After his peregrinatio from Leuven, Reims, and Pont-à-Mousson, Gifford became a staunch advocate of Douai, even convincing the English Benedictines to open another college there, but his diplomatic activities in England turned him into a persona non grata of the Habsburg Archdukes Albert and Isabella.62 Banished from the Low Countries in 1606, he again traveled across the border to Reims, where he was welcomed and patronized by the newly appointed Cardinal de Guise, made rector of the university, and entered into the Benedictine order under the name of Gabriel de Sainte-Marie. Promoted in 1618 to act as the coadjutor of the Reims archbishop, 60 Douai, Archives municipales, Registre aux mémoires, 1575–1605, BB 13: Ernst of Mansfelt to the city magistrate of Douai, 14 January 1593, fol. 205 r°. I again thank Alexander Soetaert for this reference. M.W. Konnert, Local Politics during the French Wars of Religion: the Towns of Champagne, the duc de Guise, and the Catholic League, 1560–95 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006); M.W. Konnert, Civic Agendas and Religious Passion: Châlons-sur-Marne during the French Wars of Religion, 1560–1594 (Kirksville, MO: Sixteenth Century Publishers, 1997); J. Bossy, “Rome and the Elizabethan Catholics: A Question of Geography”, The Historical Journal 7 (1964) 139–40. 61 G. Janssen, “The Counter-Reformation of the Refugee. Exile and the Shaping of Catholic Militancy in the Dutch Revolt”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 63 (2012) 671–92; K. Gibbons, “A Reserved Place? Catholic Exiles and Contested Space in Later Sixteenth-Century Paris”, French Historical Studies 32 (2009) 33–62. 62 Pope Clemens VIII tried to make him an intermediator in the ongoing negotiations between England and the papacy L. Hicks, “The Exile of Dr William Gifford from Lille in 1606”, Recusant History 7 (1964) 214–38; Y. Chaussy, Les bénédictins anglais réfugies en France au XVIIe siècle (1611–1669) (Paris: Lethielleux, 1967) 8, 17–21; T. McCoog, The Society of Jesus in Ireland, Scotland, and England, 1589–1597: Building the Faith of Saint Peter upon the King of Spain’s Monarchy (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012) 270. See also: A. Lottin, Lille, citadelle de la Contre-Réforme? 1598–1668 (Villeneuve-d’Ascq: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion, 2013) 103, n. 13.

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Gifford took the archiepiscopal see himself in 1623, but died some six years later.63 Hence, the universities of Douai and Reims, as well as the English College that repeatedly switched back and forth between the two cities, became infrastructural strongholds that frequently enabled transregional transfers across borders.

Conclusion Borderland universities mattered in the geography of early modern Europe: they facilitated both an increasingly important Church-State collaboration within the borders of emerging states and fostered transregional transfers beyond them through the continued mobility of students and scholars. Comparing, as this chapter did, the mid-sixteenth-century foundations of the Catholic universities of Reims and Douai, established along the same contested border, unravels how these processes could become heavily dependent on each other, even if they are usually studied separately. Hence, borderland universities both challenged and enhanced earlier existing patterns of cross-border exchange for either educational or religious imperatives. The foundations of the Universities of Reims and Douai responded to similar societal developments: they were established in adjacent regions that were reconfigured as borderlands in the growing state formation of the sixteenth century, and that were struggling to maintain the economic vitality that they had acquired in the previous centuries. During this novel era of changing relationships between political and ecclesiastical centres and peripheries, governments wanted to discourage any further scholastic border-crossing in order to keep young men on native soil. Along with these long-term governmental imperatives to buttress borders with universities, the short-term lobbying of local Catholic elites aimed to pre-empt possible student contact with the Reformation abroad, and reinforce orthodoxy at home by training its intelligentsia. As a result, both universities provided the infrastructural answer to the early modern prohibitions on studying abroad, a practice already prominent within the Spanish Habsburg Low Countries since 1559, and under consideration throughout the rest of Europe. In borderlands such as French Champagne and Habsburg Flanders, universities became markers of the increasing Church-State collaboration tying centre and peripheries together. 63 M. E. William, “Gifford, William (1557/8–1629)”, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography Online Edition [hereafter: ODNB], accessed 27 Sept 2015, accessed 2 May 2012; A. Haudecoeur, “William Gifford, dit Gabriel de Sainte-Marie de l’ordre de Saint-Benoît, 87e archevêque de Reims”, Travaux Academie Nationale de Reims, 103 (1897–1898) 291–313; Balsamo, “L’Université de Reims”, 320–21.

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While borderland universities were set up to prevent students from studying abroad, their impact on the ground was a very different one.64 As this chapter contends, the Universities of Reims and Douai created new routes of exchange and communication, adding to the older established cross-border patterns of trade, peregrination, and warfare. This development was even reinforced by the contemporary influx of Catholic refugees from the British Isles and the crossborder solidarity of the Catholic elites and princes who hosted them. As Reims and Douai became laboratories for both Catholic militancy and redefining orthodoxy within and beyond established boundaries, a two-way intellectual and infrastructural traffic emerged between two institutions that were never designed for this purpose. Contemporary events, especially those tied to the Wars of Religion, thus altered the aims codified within the foundational bulls. Future research should integrate and compare the University of Pont-à-Mousson (which will likely reveal more triangular transfers, such as in case of William Gifford), while extending it to similar borderland universities (such as those in Cologne, Duisburg, and Harderwijk). As in many other instances, the religious troubles of the sixteenth century twisted the logic of confessional states, making comparative history intersect with transregional history.

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Soen, V./De Ridder, B./Soetaert, A./Thomas, W./Verberckmoes, J./Verreyken, S., “How to do Transregional History: a Concept, Method and Tool for Early Modern Border Research”, Journal for Early Modern History 21 (2017) 343–64. Soen, V./Junot, Y./Mariage, F. (ed.), L’identité au pluriel. Jeux et enjeux des appartenances autour des anciens Pays-Bas, XIVe–XVIIIe siècles (Revue du Nord, Hors-série, collection Histoire 30; Villeneuve-d’Ascq; Université Charles-de-Gaulle-Lille 3, 2014). Soen, V./Soetaert, A./Verberckmoes, J. “Verborgen meertaligheid. De katholieke drukpers in de kerkprovincie Kamerijk (1560–1600)”, Queeste. Journal of Medieval Literature in the Low Countries 22 (2015) 62–81. Soen, V./Hollevoet, L., “Le Borromée des anciens Pays-Bas? Maximilien de Berghes, (arch)évêque de Cambrai et l’application du Concile de Trente (1564–1567)”, Revue du Nord n° 419 (2017) 41–65. Soetaert, A., Katholieke literatuur en transregionale uitwisseling in de kerkprovincie Kamerijk (1559–1659) (unpublished PhD-thesis, Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, 2017). Spangler, J., The Society of Princes. The Lorraine-Guise and the Conservation of Power and Wealth in Seventeenth-Century France (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009). Trenard, L., “Collèges anglais, écossais, irlandais dans les Pays-Bas français (1568–1793)”, in Actes 95e Congrès national des sociétés savantes, Reims, 1970. Section Histoire moderne et contemporaine. 1: Histoire de l’enseignement de 1610 à nos jours (Paris: Bibliothèque nationale, 1974) 501–36. Turchetti, M., “Une question mal posée: la confession d’Augsbourg, le cardinal de Lorraine et les moyenneurs au Colloque de Poissy en 1561” Zwingliana 20 (1993) 53–101. Turchetti, M., Concordia o tolleranza? François Bauduin (1520–1573) e i « Moyenneurs » (Travaux d’humanisme et Renaissance 200; Genève: Droz, 1984). Van Uffel, E. “Leuven en Douai, de ‘splitsing’ van 1562”, Wetenschappelijke Tijdingen 24 (1964–65) 473–80. Vandermeersch, P./De Ridder-Symoens, H., “Verbod op studiereizen in de Spaanse Nederlanden”, Spiegel Historiael 31 (1996) 172–78. Walsham, A., “Unclasping the book? Post-Reformation English Catholicism and the Vernacular Bible”, Journal of British Studies 42 (2003) 141–66. Wanegffelen, T., Ni Rome, Ni Genève: des fidèles entre deux chaires en France au XVIe siècle (Bibliothèque littéraire de la Renaissance. Série 3, 36; Paris: Champion, 1997). William, M. E., “Gifford, William (1557/8–1629)”, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography Online Edition, accessed 2 May 2012. Zijlstra, S., “Studying Abroad: the Student Years of Two Frisian Brothers at Cologne and Douai, 1582–1593”, in K. Goudriaan/J. Molenbroek/A. Tervoort (ed.), Education and Learning in the Netherlands, 1400–1600: Essays in Honour of Hilde De Ridder-Symoens (Brill’s studies in intellectual history 123; Leiden: Brill, 2004) 297–313.

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“Even if Fire were Lighted”: Jan Hus and the Decision to Flee or Remain

The story of Jan Hus has been used in many circumstances. It has been a tool in national and religious polemics wielded by priests and dictators alike. Hus’ martyrdom has served many purposes and many masters, but the whole arc of his life has often been overlooked in favor of his final weeks spent at the Council of Constance. Yet, there exists a long story before these final moments. The primary goal of this work is to explore the ways in which the decision to remain in the face of persecution in early modern Europe can influence the direction of scholarship on subjects surrounding the topic of religious persecution in relation to flight through an examination of Hus’ relationship with the Bohemian people and his decision to attend the Council of Constance. Remaining is the decision of an individual or group, prompted by the threat or enacting of persecution, to publically represent their religious beliefs and practices in such a way as to faithfully adhere to the confessional precepts with which they associated and their broader ideological community and also a willingness to face the repercussions of doing so. It frequently stands in juxtaposition to exile, martyrdom, and Nicodemism. The emphasis found in this work on distinguishing martyrdom and exile from remaining is not an attempt to ignore the historical reality of the correlation between these occurrences, but rather stems from the need to have a distinct methodological approach to the subject of exile and remaining that is not overly dependent upon already established methodologies regarding martyrs and martyrdom. The development of a distinct category of ‘remaining’ will help distinguish these fields even further. 26 July 2015 marked the six hundredth anniversary of the burning of Jan Hus at the Council of Constance. Yet there seems to be surprisingly little new interest in Hus and his movement. Much of this undoubtedly has to do with the fact that Hus falls at a rather unique intersection of historical interest. Studies of the Council of Constance often present Hus as little more than a footnote in their explorations of the broader societal and religious issues plaguing fifteenth century Europe. The date of the council and Hus’ death also falls between late medieval and early modern history. This complicated placement within the

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chronology of Western Europe often leaves Hus as a closing figure in the twilight of the medieval Church or as a prelude to the Reformation. Indeed, one of the primary problems with the field of Hussite studies is that, barring a surprisingly slim number of recent works, Hus and his movement have remained mired in confessional history.1 For, at least, the past hundred years Hus has served as propagandistic figure being appropriated for a variety of confessional and ideologically-biased histories.2 Most notably, the infamous Italian dictator, Benito Mussolini, wrote a monograph on Hus as Mussolini saw him as a paragon of free thought in opposition to the Roman Catholic Church.3 The relationship of Hus’ life to the Reformation, and Christian religion more broadly speaking, while significant, may actually have negatively influenced the amount of scholarship on him. It also certainly seems as if the five hundredth anniversary of the Reformation has eclipsed the anniversary of Hus’ death. While both the five hundredth and five hundred and fiftieth anniversaries of his death elicited a surge of scholarly interest on Hus’ life and death, no such swell of interest was forthcoming after this, apparently, inauspicious anniversary in 2015. There have been attempts to draw greater attention to the figure of Hus, but these have not generated the same interest that previous anniversaries have. However, there have been a few recent attempts to reconsider the figure of Jan Hus. This chapter represents one such endeavor through an examination of Hus’ decision to remain and to face death study while simultaneously elucidating how Hus’ reli-

1 There are a number of biographical works available on Hus. Older but mostly reliable works include: E.J. Kitts, Pope John the Twenty-Third and Master John Hus of Bohemia (New York: AMS Press, 1978); E.H. Gillett, The Life and Times of John Huss: Or, The Bohemian Reformation of the Fifteenth Century (New York: AMS Press, 1978). The best modern treatment of Hus is a three-part work, the first of which is: T.A. Fudge, Jan Hus: Religious Reform and Social Revolution in Bohemia (New York: I.B. Tauris, 2010). In regard to terminology surrounding Hus and Bohemia, Fudge notes that “The Term ‘Bohemian’ came to signify ecclesiastical disobedience and heretical depravity from the time of Hus on the term Bohemus more specifically signified hereticus in European public opinion. And the term Hussitae remained equally pejorative. Six-hundred years later it need not carry the same connotation.” Fudge, Jan Hus, 148. 2 C.C. Anderson, The Great Catholic Reformers: From Gregory the Great to Dorothy Day (New York: Paulist Press, 2007); M. Frassetto, The Great Medieval Heretics: Five Centuries of Religious dissent (New York: BlueBridge, 2008). As the titles of these two works, published only a year apart, imply, Hus’ status as ‘reformer’ or ‘heretic’ is still debated. His classification as such is indicative of the ways in which scholarship is still grappling with who Jan Hus was but, perhaps inadequately, is doing so through ideologically and confessionally laden terms. 3 For an English version of the original 1913 publication, see B. Mussolini, John Huss (New York: A. & C. Boni, 1929). Mussolini eventually went on to attempt to suppress his own work after his Concordat with the Roman Catholic Church in 1929. For more information, see P. Helan, “Mussolini Looks at Jan Hus and the Bohemian Reformation”, Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice 4 (2002) 309–16.

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gious, national, and civic communities, and his duties and obligations to those communities, influenced his decision to remain. There are other terms that may encompass the significance of remaining: standing, staying, etc., but it is a mindset which rejects both flight and recantation. At its core, remaining is the perpetuation of identity within an individual in relationship to a broader community. It is the decision to maintain or reclaim an identity which could be threatened by the process of exile – as identity is frequently dependent upon a larger community – and to eschew the possibility of dissembling one’s religious identity through Nicodemism. This chapter will elucidate the concept of remaining through the life of Jan Hus. Hus’ decision to attend the Council of Constance as a representative of his city and his nation is the embodiment of choosing to remain.4 Hus’s decision to remain serves as a prelude to Reformation and his decision to attend the Council of Constance created a template for remaining that would be imitated over the course of the Reformation by many, including Martin Luther.5 The response of the Catholic Church to Hus’ dissent at the Council of Constance and the ‘nationalistic’ fervor which Hus’ martyrdom engendered among the Bohemian people also marks a shift in the way in which civic and national communities interacted with religious authority, broadly conceived, at the popular level. It is my contention that Hus’ life embodied the decision to remain. When faced with excommunication and an Interdict by the pope, he fled to the countryside surrounding Prague. However, when it became clear that his flight was threatening his relationship with his congregation in the city, as well as the authority of the Bohemian crown, Hus chose to return to the city and to ideologically remain with his community by standing before the pope in defense of his ideas, his congregation, and his nation. I believe Hus’ remaining was a statement that his religious ideals were compatible with the community with which he identified; that his beliefs did not make him an outcast from his city because they were incompatible with those of his congregation and the Bohemian 4 Debate about the origins of nationalism are long standing and rarely reach as far back as the late-medieval period. However, Hus does serve as representative of the way in which a nascent sense of national identity can be detected well before most theories of nationalism choose to formally recognize the sentiment as such. For more on the possibility of being able to speak of an identifiable nationalism in the medieval period see: P.J. Geary, The Myth of Nations: The Medieval Origins of Europe (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003); J.R. Strayer/C. Tilly/ W.C. Jordan, On the Medieval Origins of the Modern State (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005). 5 The comparisons between Martin Luther and Jan Hus are often commented upon by early modern religious historians and, while often overdone, there are significant reasons to connect these two figures on the issue of flight. For more on Luther’s wrestling with the decision of whether to flee or remain, see T.J. Orr, “Junker Jörg on Patmos”, Church History and Religious Culture 95 (2015) 435–56.

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people, but because the Pope, an outside force, was attempting to impose a theological system upon Prague that served to further the monarchical structure of the Roman Catholic Church rather than one that, in the eyes of Hus, actually represented the beliefs of the Bohemian people. Thus, it is possible that Hus’ greatest theological statement was delivered not with his death but with his decision to remain and declare himself a representative of his congregation and city and thereby affirm his membership in his community despite the claims of the papacy to the contrary. In this way, Hus is also illustrative of the need to shift some of the emphasis in the study of persecution away from martyrdom. Martyrs are fascinating subjects but their study has been for too long on their act of dying.6 Almost none of the approximately 5,000 men and women executed for religious reasons in the sixteenth century chose to die, but they almost all chose to remain.7 This also challenges the common type in exile studies that seeks to frame exile as a form of martyrdom.8 Exile is a different experience than the threat of execution and our study of it should reflect that. Hus chose to remain. His decision to do so cost him his life, but it came from a place of exceptional complexity and it warns that there are no simple categories that can define exiles or martyrs. Thus, it is my argument that Jan Hus knew with some certainty that he would die at the Council of Constance and deliberately chose remaining over continued flight as he saw this as the decision that was best for his congregation, his city, and his nation. Through this, I will also illustrate the decision to remain and the significance of community in that decision. Hus shows that, while remaining may actually be a returning or a going, the term represents an internal narrative of 6 Part of the reason for this success has to be the fascination with martyrs that has existed throughout the ages because of the ideologically power in their act of dying for their beliefs. More recently, in academic literature, this focus may be due to the success of B.S. Gregory Salvation at Stake: Christian Martyrdom in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999). Gregory’s work is a monumental undertaking that examines why early modern individuals died and killed for their beliefs. The book’s success and its cross-confessional and transnational emphasis have made it the first reference point for most scholars exploring responses to persecution in the Early Modern Period. The desire to shift away from martyrs is not meant to disparage what Salvation at Stake has done but to acknowledge its thoroughness in treating of martyrdom while saying almost nothing of remaining and exile. 7 Gregory, Salvation at Stake, 6. 8 It must be noted that the tendency to equate exile and martyrdom was actually quite common among early modern exiles. This correlation is also noted as early as the 8th century in the Irish text the Cambrai Homily, which discusses different kinds of martyrdom including traditional (red) martyrdom in which the individuals dies for their beliefs but also an ascetic internal (white) martyrdom in which the individual finds martyrdom in a renunciation and separation from worldly pleasures, company, and desires. What is more, these categories can be seen even in the understanding of sixteenth century religious figures – as one mid–century Huguenot song put it, “Either flee, maintain, or die / That’s what Christ teaches you, Christians.” Taken from Gregory, Salvation at Stake, 156.

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belonging more than any particular geographic fact. Finally, the deliberate choice Hus made to remain created a template for this decision and its implications which would carry over into the sixteenth century and serve as harbinger of a new age of religious persecution with the advent of the Reformation.

I.

Who was Jan Hus?

Not much is known of Hus’ early life, but by twenty-four he had earned his Bachelor of Arts from the University of Prague, he earned a Master’s degree at twenty-seven, and was ordained a priest before his thirty-first birthday. At some point during his studies, Hus was introduced to the English writings of John Wyclif and admired the Englishman’s calls for reform in the Church, particularly insofar as it regarded the life of the clergy. Hus preached frequently against the practice of simony, the abuse of clerical authority to gain secular power, and the clergy’s private ownership of wealth.9 Later in life he often signed his letters as: “an unprofitable priest of Christ.”10 Perhaps most significantly, Hus was also a Bohemian Czech. This is a crucial point in understanding Hus’ decision to remain. Hus was, from the very beginning, part of a movement that extended beyond his own religious reforms. His message was generated in a ‘national’ context, propagated by authorities interested in nationalistic reform, and received by individuals and communities steeped in national sentiment.11 His 9 Hus’ criticisms of clerical wealth and their involvement in secular governance were based on those put forward by Wyclif. For a detailed study of how Hus understood the church and the role of the clergy within it see: M. Spinka, John Hus’ Concept of the Church (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1966). Spinka also demonstrates how Hus appropriated, and occasionally deviated from, Wyclif. 10 For several examples, see Jan Hus, The Letters of John Hus (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1972) 74 and 117. Unless otherwise noted, all citations of Hus’ letters come from this translation. In order to provide the most information on each letter the citation will contain the date and recipient of the letter as well as the page location. 11 The use of the term ‘national’ here must, admittedly, be called into question. Civic identities often exerted themselves as much more powerful influences in the Late Medieval and Early Modern Eras. However, given the reaction of the Bohemian nation, not merely the city of Prague, after the death of Hus at the Council of Constance, it seems probable that this was, indeed, an instance of nationalist sentiment expressing itself in the conflict with Germans within the city. This is supported by F. Sˇmahel “The National Idea, Secular Power and Social Issues in the Political Theology of Jan Hus”, in F. Sˇmahel/O. Pavlicek (ed.), A Companion to Jan Hus (Leiden: Brill, 2015) 214–53. Sˇmahel clearly sees nationalistic influences at work in Hus’ early life though he does question the degree to which these remained an influence as Hus drew closer to Constance. As will be demonstrated, it seems Hus retained very strong ideological connection to his fellow Czechs and to the Bohemian Crown and his attendance at the council was not a submission of his nationalistic interests to his religious ones, as Sˇmahel suggests, but that the two worked cooperatively in Hus’ actions.

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appeals to the Bohemian Crown were more than just a desperate attempt to secure the protection of local authority, but a declaration of shared national identity. His death would spark a nearly twenty-year conflict that had both religious and national interests at its heart. Hus’ own story is wrapped up in the story of a nation and often his role has been used to only as a part of that larger narrative. However, it is equally as possible that the story of the Bohemian nation can be used to better understand Hus. After his ordination and appointment to the city of Prague and its university, Hus’ preaching for the reform of the Church became increasingly popular in the city and throughout Bohemia. His ceaseless criticism of the papacy seemed to find a receptive audience among those who were most dissatisfied with the continued schism of the office following the Babylonian Captivity. Among those happy to hear Hus’ message were Wenceslaus, King of the Romans, Sigismund, King of Hungary and heir to the Holy Roman Empire, and even Zbyneˇk Zajíc of Hazmburk, the Archbishop of Prague who named Hus the official preacher to the clergy. However, as Hus’ popularity spread so too did word of his message and both Pope Innocent VII and Gregory XII took steps to silence Hus – mostly directly through the condemnation of Wyclif. While Hus followed the lead of King Wenceslaus and agreed to surrender the writings of Wyclif and publicly condemn him, his preaching remained offensive enough that he was also officially condemned by Gregory’s rival, Antipope Alexander V, after the Council of Pisa.12 Even as Hus was facing criticism from the papacy, he remained in favor throughout Prague and with King Wenceslaus and was named rector of the University of Prague in 1402. Even at this stage, Hus’ career was part of a larger national movement taking place within the city of Prague and across the nation of Bohemia. Hus’ nomination to the position was part of an attempt by Wenceslaus to make the University of Prague a national institution of Bohemia by granting Bohemian inhabitants rights not given to the Germans and Poles who attended and worked at the university.13 The Decree of Kutná Hora in 1409 was the pinnacle of this movement. The Decree gave the Bohemian party of the university, led by Hus, three votes and left the other national parties with only one apiece. This unsurprisingly angered almost all of the non-Bohemian scholars, particularly the Germans, and led to their departure. Hus, in all likelihood, spearheaded the movement that supported the Decree and it may have been Hus himself who took the idea to the King.14 12 The biographical information on Hus was assembled utilizing the above mentioned biographies of Hus. In the case of any discrepancies, Fudge’s work was given priority. 13 Fudge, Jan Hus, 14. 14 Ibidem, 99.

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It is important to note that the Decree of Kutná Hora was not only an attempt to gain power merely for the sake of power on the behalf of certain individuals but was part of a larger conflict specifically designed to increase the power of Czech nationals in the city of Prague. The city had, over the past twenty years, become increasingly nationalized as demonstrated by its attempts to oust the ‘other’ from within its midst. In 1389, over 3,000 Jews had been massacred within the city and, following that, the conflict between the German Old Town and the Czech New Town within the city reached such a volatile point that a moat was constructed between the two.15 It also was not an accident that Hus was at the head of the Czech party that led the university to do its part in exiling non-Czechs from the city. Hus had, prior to his appointment as rector, undertaken a significant revision of the Czech language through the Orthographia Bohemica and begun a translation of the Bible into the Czech language.16 Hus’ appointment as rector was part of a larger conflict taking place within the city of Prague and Hus demonstrated his Czech loyalties with his translation project and confirmed them with the enactment of Kutná Hora. This exodus of non-Bohemians from the university increased both religious and national pressures against Hus as many of those who fled bore a personal grudge against Hus and carried it with them to the ear of Pope Alexander. These academic exiles bore fresh news of Hus’ sympathy for Wyclif to the Pope who in turn issued a Papal Bull against Wyclif in Prague and ordered again the surrender of his writings.17 This time, Hus refused. In his refusal, Hus made the decision to remain and declared his commitment to his religious teachings but also his allegiance to the Bohemian Crown and its program of nationalist interest at the university. With the backing of the king, Hus officially appealed to Pope Alexander and, when it became clear that Hus would not submit, Pope Alexander ordered Hus to appear before his court. Fearing for his life, Hus refused the summons and remained in Prague as the preacher at the Bethlehem Chapel. In response, Pope Alexander excommunicated Hus and his followers and placed the city of Prague under Interdict. The Interdict did not completely stop services in Prague as Hus and those who supported him continued to administer the sacraments. However, there were enough priests who opposed Hus that a significant portion of the city 15 Ibidem, 21–25 16 There is some debate regarding the authorship of the Orthographia Bohemica as the work was published anonymously, but most scholarship widely accepts Hus as the author and the project certainly fits in Hus’ vision of himself and his national community. The primary goal of the project was to standardize the Czech language and make it more accessible at both the academic and popular levels. 17 Although it was Alexander that would officially excommunicate Hus, this declamation of Wyclif ’s writings in Bohemia was issued by Gregory XII.

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was successfully denied the sacraments. The legitimacy of the sacraments administered by those priests also seemed to be a concern among the nobility. Herein lies the heart of Hus’ decision to remain and his navigation of the dilemma of flight. To spare Prague the dangers of the Interdict, Hus fled to the countryside in 1412. Hus was not truly in hiding in the countryside but rather stayed in the manors and castles of a number of Bohemian nobles who were friendly to his cause. Though threatened, Hus was not in immediate danger as there was no significant military force in the area able to enact his arrest, particularly as he still enjoyed the support of most of the Bohemian nobility. Rather, his flight was designed wholly to lift the Interdict from the city of Prague. But the choice to do so clearly shook his confidence and called into question the nature of his duty as a priest while simultaneously placing the Bohemian crown in a difficult position. For Hus, as for religious exiles throughout the Early Modern Period, the choice to flee came with a significant sense of guilt. However, before discussing Hus’ attitude during his temporary exile it is necessary to understand the motivations which brought Hus to his decision.

II.

Choosing to Flee

Before his flight into the countryside, Hus wrote a letter to the Cardinals of the Church, in which he attempted to explain to them his situation and seemed desirous to garner favor among them, probably in an attempt to have support when and if he should face charges before the pope. In this letter, Hus boldly stated, “The lord Jesus is my witness that I am innocent of those charges of which my adversaries accuse me. Nevertheless, I am ever ready before the university of Prague, all the prelates and all the people who have heard me and to whom I appeal, to render full account of my faith which I hold in my heart and confess by word and in writing, even if fire were lighted during the hearing.”18 This quote illustrates two themes that were present in Hus’ letters as early as 1410. The first is that Hus was utterly and entirely convinced that his teachings and beliefs were orthodox. Hus can only be described as stubborn and self-assured. But, to some extent, he had good reason. His preaching against the corruption of the church was only exacerbated by the questionable position of the papal office in the early fifteenth century. Beginning in 1409, three popes contended for the tiara.19 The slew of accusations and excommunications that followed are difficult to fully 18 1 September 1411: Letter to the Cardinals, 58 19 For more on the Western or Papal Schism, following the Avignon Papacy, see: M. Gail, The Three Popes: An Account of the Great Schism – When Rival Popes in Rome, Avignon and Pisa Vied for the Rule of Christendom (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1969).

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order and understand. Two of three popes formally condemned Hus and one had, approximately ten years earlier, attempted to depose his rightful sovereigns, declaring, “Boniface with his cardinals solemnly determined that Wenceslaus, King of Bohemia, is not the King of the Romans; nor is Sigismund King of the Hungarians.”20 Thus, not only did Hus convey the rightness of his position, he seemed to have good reason to be so. He considered the situation regarding the papacy not merely as theologically offensive but also as a threat to his city and kingdom. For Hus to refuse to admit his error was not only a defense of himself but a defense of those for whom he felt, in many ways, responsible. Hus wrote in a letter to Pope John XXIII, the successor of Alexander V, “For the enemies of the truth, unmindful of their honor and salvation, maliciously suggested to the Apostolic See that errors and heresies have sprouted in the Kingdom of Bohemia, in the city of Prague, and in the Margravate of Moravia, and that the hearts of many have been infected with such errors it became necessary to apply a remedy for their correction.”21 In this letter, Hus desired to convey to John XXIII that he was absolutely certain of his orthodoxy not merely out of a sense of personal pride, but also because he represented his people. Both those of his church and, it seems, those of his nation. Secondly, even at this point, Hus knew his death was a very real possibility. While Wyclif had successfully avoided execution during his lifetime thanks to the protection of John of Gaunt, Hus seemed aware that in 1411 a trip to Rome would probably cost him his life. In the same letter to John XXIII he wrote, “When, then, personally cited to the Roman Curia, I desired humbly to appear there. But because my life was plotted against both within and without the kingdom, particularly by the Germans; relying, therefore, on the counsel of many friends, I judged that it would be tempting God to expose my life to death when the welfare of the Church did not demand it.”22 Thus Hus again confirms that his conflict is not merely religious but part of a larger political and nationalistic contest taking place within Bohemia. He wrote, several months later to the Carthusian monks at Dolany regarding this same decision, “for I would lose my life for nothing. I would thus neglect the people of God in the word of God and would expose my

20 Prior to 25 April 1413, 97: To Master Christian of Prachatice. Hus is referring to an event in 1400 when Pope Benedict XIII deposed Wenceclaus from the Imperial Throne and opposed Sigismund as the King of Hungary. This seemed to be due to the brothers’ support of the rival pope. 21 1 September 1411: Pope John XXIII, 55. Whether or not Hus was as certain of his position as he seemed to be here, this is the image he desired to broadcast to Rome. 22 1 September 1411: Pope John XXIII, 55.

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life in vain.”23 Combining his two letters it becomes apparent that Hus claimed he was willing to die for his beliefs (and his nation), but not needlessly. Hus’ decision to leave Prague for the countryside was not one he made lightly. His absence in the city lifted the Interdict and after several months Hus’ was even allowed to return to the city without the Interdict being officially reintroduced. However, when it was announced that Hus would preach again the threat was reissued, and he was forced away from the pulpit by both the city and religious officials.24 This led Hus to pen a letter to the Preachers and Brethren of his own Bethlehem Chapel in which he lamented, “Therefore, although I have a diligent desire to preach the gospel, I am full of distress, because I do not know what to do.”25 Laying out his case, Hus cited both John 10:11–12 and Matthew 10:23.26 He then stated with some obvious frustration, “This then is the precept or permission of Christ: which of the two opposites to choose I know not.”27 Finally, in attempt to find an answer in the Church Fathers, Hus cited Augustine’s Epistle 228, addressed to Honoratus, in which, Augustine said that flight is permissible if it does not deprive the church of a necessary preacher.28 Unable in the end to decide if his decision was justified, Hus said to his colleagues, Let me know, therefore, if you can acquiesce in Augustine’s advice. For my conscience urges me not to cause offence by my absence, even though the necessary food of God’s word is not wanting the sheep. On the other hand, I fear les my presence – because of the damnedly acquired interdict – would afford occasion for the withholding of that food, i. e., the communion of the venerable sacrament and other means to salvation.29 23 May 1412: Carthusian Monks of Dolany, 72. 24 There seems to be some debate as to whether or not this was actually the case. Fudge, however, supports the story and sees it as a crucial step in Hus’ creation of a martyr complex. For more on this, see the second work in Fudge’s three-part biography: T.A. Fudge, The Memory and Motivation of Jan Hus, Medieval Priest and Martyr (Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 2013). 25 Autumn 1412: Preachers and Brethren in Bethlehem, 75. 26 John 10:11–12 “I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep. He who is a hired hand, and not a shepherd, who is not the owner of the sheep, sees the wolf coming, and leaves the sheep and flees, and the wolf snatches them and scatters them.” Matthew 10:23 But whenever they persecute you in one city, flee to the next; for truly I say to you, you will not finish going through the cities of Israel until the Son of Man comes.” Both translations are taken from the New American Standard Bible. 27 Autumn 1412: Preachers and Brethren in Bethlehem, 75. 28 “There are some who think that bishops and clergy may, by not fleeing but remaining in such dangers, cause the people to be misled, because, when they see those who are set over them remaining, this makes them not flee from danger.” Augustine Epistle CCXXVIII, 13. “Whoever, therefore, flees from danger in circumstances in which the Church is not deprived through his flight of necessary service, is doing that which the Lord has commanded or permitted. But the minister who flees when the consequences of his flight is the withdrawal from Christ’s flock of that nourishment by which its spiritual life is sustained, is an “hireling who seeth the wolf coming, and fleeth because he careth not for the sheep.” Augustine Epistle CCXXVIII, 14. Translation taken from the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, 13–14. 29 Autumn 1412: Preachers and Brethren in Bethlehem, 76.

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Although Hus remained in a state of exile for roughly two years, the situation never did sit well with him. During the initial stages of his flight, three lower-class citizens were beheaded in Bohemia after they incited a riot against an indulgence seller using Hus’ teachings.30 Over the course of the next year it seemed as if Hus was attempting to justify his flight to his people. He wrote to the Faithful in Prague, “Similarly I say to you, dearly beloved, although not bound in prison, that I would choose to die with Christ and be with him; yet I yearn to labor with you for your salvation. ‘But what to choose I know not,’ awaiting the mercy of God.”31 He also wrote a defense of his reason to flee to the Lords of Bohemia32 and then again, to the people of Prague, he wrote, No wonder, therefore, that I followed [Paul’s] example and fled, and that the priests and others like them inquire and discourse as to my whereabouts. Besides, dearly beloved, be assured that I fled in accordance with Christ’s teaching, that I would not be an occasion of eternal damnation for the wicked and to cause the suffering and trouble for the good; also, that the demented would not stop the divine service. However, as concerns the fleeing from the truth, I trust the Lord that he will grant me to die in that truth.33

Yet after this letter, Hus wrote only two short letters to the people of Prague for almost a year.34 During this period Hus penned a considerable number of works including his De Ecclesia and his Postil, but his correspondence with his own parish diminished. Perhaps the work distracted Hus or perhaps it was a distraction from the separation Hus felt from his duties as a priest. Regardless, Hus obviously knew his relationship to the Bethlehem Chapel had been damaged as he wrote to them on Christmas Day 1413, “Albeit I am now separated from you so far that it perhaps is not fitting that I preach much to you, nevertheless, the love that I have for you urges me that I say at least a few brief words to your love.”35 Whatever Hus felt about his temporary exile, he made the decision to remain the

30 It is difficult to find much information on this incident. Fudge cites the event briefly but says nothing more on it. These three anonymous are often cited as the first martyrs of the Bohemian Church and there is a strong hagiographical tradition surrounding their deaths. 31 Autumn 1412: Faithful in Prague, 85. 32 “I did not appear at the papal court because I had my procurators there whom they threw into prison without cause. They were willing to challenge – even to trial by fire – anyone who would accuse me of error. Furthermore, I myself did not appear because my enemies had laid snares for me everywhere so that I would not return to Bohemia.” Late 1412: Lords gathered at the supreme court of the Kingdom of Bohemia, 91. 33 December 1412: Praguers, 93. 34 It is possible that Hus was able to visit Prague during this period of time as he had done during 1412, but this seems unlikely given the opening of his 1413 Christmas letter. The content of his two letters also makes it quite clear that he was away from the city. 35 25 December 1413: Praguers, 111.

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very next year. After receiving a summons to the Council of Constance, Hus accepted.

III.

Choosing to Remain

It seems quite clear that at this point Hus was almost certain of his death. Much is made of the fact that, before his departure, Hus was promised a decree of safeconduct by the soon-to-be-crowned Holy Roman Emperor, Sigismund. While this promise was given, and Hus was encouraged by the Emperor’s messenger who assured him that the Emperor hoped to see this affair brought to a “laudable end,” Hus had no firm proof of the safe conduct before he departed.36 He wrote to his parishioners on the occasion of his departure for Constance, “I have begun the journey without a safe-conduct, amid great and numerous enemies – among whom the worst are my countrymen, as you will perceive from the testimonies and will learn after the conclusion of the council.”37 This marks a very important shift for Hus. Where before his foes had been the Roman Catholic Church and the Germans, now he believes that his position has turned even his own countrymen against him. This is yet further proof that it was the feeling that his exile was negatively affecting his relationship with his religious and national communities that ultimately led him to the decision to remain. What is more, Hus also seemed to believe that death was preferable to the ultimate severing of his communal ties and affiliations. He said to his parishioners with apparent sincerity an vulnerability, “Therefore, dear brothers and dear sisters, pray earnestly that He may be pleased to grant me perseverance and to preserve me undefiled. And if my death be to His praise and to our advantage, may it please Him that I meet the suffering without excessive fear.”38 Finally, in what seems firm proof that Hus anticipated it was far more likely that he would die than return home, he concluded his letter saying, “You may perhaps not see me in Prague before I die; if, however, the Almighty God should be pleased to bring me back to you, we shall meet each other joyfully. [Ultimately], we shall, of course, meet one another in heavenly joy.”39 It is true that Hus was hopeful that he might survive, but he seemed clearly aware the reality of his situation. Hope may defy certitude but it cannot negate it. It seems certain that what prompted Hus to cease his flight and choose to return and remain was his failing relationship with his parish and his nation. Hus 36 37 38 39

1 September 1414: King Sigismund, 120. 19 October 1414: His Parishioners upon his departure for Constance, 122. 19 October 1414: His Parishioners upon his departure for Constance, 123. 19 October 1414: His Parishioners upon his departure for Constance, 123.

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stated in the same letter to his congregation, “You know that for a long time I have faithfully labored among you, preaching to you the Word of God, without heresy and errors, as you are aware, and that your salvation was, is now, and shall remain my desire until my death.”40 It seemed, via Augustine, that Hus had become convinced that his parish again needed their preacher. Hus also wrote to King Wenceslaus, “In order that your royal grace should not on my account incur dishonor and the Bohemian land defamation; I sent and posted my letters, offering to come to the court of the archbishop, being willing to stand first of all inquiry into my truth.”41 Hus had seen the damage done to his Bohemia through the accusations hurled at him. And here, finally, is the last point; Hus still completely believed that he was right. He wrote, finally, to King Sigismund and declared clearly that he would no longer hide, “I humbly beg your majesty, supplicating you in the Lord, that for the honor of God, the welfare of the holy church, and the honor of the Kingdom of Bohemia … that I may be able to profess publically to the faith I hold.”42 Hus was adamant that he be allowed to speak and be heard; for regardless of the verdict levelled at the end of his trial he felt that his words, for the betterment of his church, his city, and the benefit of Bohemia, would remain testament enough to his orthodoxy.

IV.

The Council of Constance and a Place to Belong

Much of the existing scholarship on Hus focuses on his arrival, trial, and subsequent execution at the Council of Constance.43 This makes sense given the monumental significance of the council both for Western Christendom and as the concluding chapter in Hus’ life. However, the decision to remain precluded Hus’ actions and ultimate death at Constance. What is significant though for Hus’ decision to remain in relation to the Council of Constance is the question of national or civic identity and the nature of belonging.44 40 41 42 43

19 October 1414: His Parishioners upon his departure for Constance, 122. 26 August 1414: King Wenceslaus, Queen Sophia, and their Court, 117. 1 September 1414: King Sigismund, 119. The best of these works available in English is undoubtedly T.A. Fudge, The Trial of Jan Hus: Medieval Heresy and Criminal Procedure (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013). This is the culminating work in Fudge’s three-part biography of Hus and focuses not merely on Hus but on how Hus experiences at Constance were very much in line with medieval practices concerning heresy trials. According to Fudge, Hus could probably have survived the council if he had not been quite so obstinate in his interactions with church officials. Fudge is exceedingly generous in his assessment. See also: P. z Mladenovic, John Hus at the Council of Constance (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965); J.H. Wylie, The Council of Constance to the Death of John Hus (New York: Longmans & Green, 1900). 44 For a general overview of the Council of Constance and its significance in reforming the

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The events surrounding Hus’ decision to remain are dictated in large part by nationalistic forces, both within and outside of Bohemia. The Decree of Kutná Hora and the restructuring of the University of Prague to favor Bohemian nationals played a significant part in bringing Hus’ Wycliffite sympathies before the papacy. Similarly, the Council of Constance was steeped in nationalistic interests. Significant scholarly work has gone into demonstrating how Constance was a nationalistic event. Louise Loomis’ 1939 article, Nationality at the Council of Constance, clearly demonstrates that the interests of the council were not only religious but were predicated on the very same nationalistic interests which had served to keep the papacy from reuniting and stemmed all the way back to the disgruntlement over its decision to relocate to Avignon.45 Loomis has also shown that even the physical positioning of clerics at the council was decided by nationality.46 In relation to Hus, Loomis even notes that “a further difficulty aggravated by the incipient nationalism of the conciliar epoch was the struggle between the Slavs and Germans.”47 Not only was the conflict between German and Slav nationalists evident during the council, but the responses to the treatment of Hus at the council, particularly his death, were distinctly nationalistic. Hus’ execution would ultimately lead to the Hussite Wars and no fewer than four crusades were called against the followers of Hus in the century following his death. This nationalistic zeal in Hus and his followers is demonstrated in a passio on Hus’ death released soon after the event in which the author calls upon Bohemia to make amends for Hus’ death and notes that, even at his execution, Hus’ executioners feared what might happen if his remains were to fall into the hands of his Bohemian

Western Church beyond the person of Hus, see: P.H. Stump, The Reforms of the Council of Constance (1414–1418) (New York: E.J. Brill, 1994). It would also be interesting to note if the English responded in similar fashion as the Czechs to the treatment of Wyclif ’s memory at the council. For more information on this, see: H.A. Kelly, “Trial Procedures against Wyclif and Wycliffites in England and at the Council of Constance”, Huntington Library Quarterly 61 (1998) 1 45 For older, yet mostly reliable, sources, see: L.R. Loomis, “Nationality at the Council of Constance”, American Historical Review 44 (1939) 508–27; L.R. Loomis/M. Spinka (trans.), The Council of Constance (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965). Loomis recognizes the division of the council into national groups in order to decentralize the church and offset the numerical majority of the Italian clerics, Loomis, Council of Constance, 21. Loomis’ division of the council into French, German, Spanish, Italian, and English voting blocs is supported by Hus own letters, see: 26 June 1415: To All Faithful Czechs, 191. 46 L.R. Loomis, “The Organization by Nations at Constance”, Church History 1 (1932). 47 Loomis, The Council of Constance, 25. For a fuller treatment on the nationalistic conflicts occurring at Constance and the consequential Hussite Wars, see: F. Welsh, The Battle for Christendom: The Council of Constance, The East-West Conflict, and the Dawn of Modern Europe (Woodstock: Overlook Press, 2008).

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brethren.48 In this text, Hus is a religious hero, but he is also a national hero.49 The significance of this for Hus and the question of remaining is that he clearly had a place of belonging. Not only did Hus embrace his Bohemian identity but the people of Bohemia fully accepted him as a constituent in, and eventually representative of, their civic and national identity. There existed a particular city, Prague, and a community that shared the same ideological opinions as Hus and his decision to remain included not only his own interests but theirs as well and gave the response of the community affirmed that his decision to remain was not merely one sided.

V.

Remaining, Fleeing, and Dying

Frank Ames observes how the process of exile distances exiles from resources and materials that had served as the foundation upon which they constructed their own identities. The removal of these identity-laden materials, much like Hus’ separation from his parish, ultimately lead to a crisis of identity. As Ames says, “The cascading effects of exile that begin with diminished resources lead to new identities.”50 Thus, the decision to remain grows out of the crisis of exile, whether real as in the case of Hus, or imagined as a future possibility. This naturally leads to the question of how exile, in the long-term, affects the identity of those who undergo it. If remaining is the maintaining of identity, then exile must necessarily be its reshaping. This reshaping manifested itself primarily in a greater sense of self-awareness of their own confessional identities. How this sense of confessional self-awareness affected exiles and their religious identities is the question which has come to dominate studies in this field.51 48 T.A. Fudge, “Jan Hus at Calvary: The Text of an Early Fifteenth-Century Passio”, Journal of Moravian History 1 (2011) 45–81. 49 This question of Hus’ nationalistic significance for the Czech Republic is still exceptionally important as noted in F. Sˇmahel, “Jan Hus – heretic or Patriot?”, Cover Story 40 (1990) 27–33. 50 F.R. Ames, “The Cascading Effects of Exile: From Diminished Resources to New Identities,” in Ames, F.R./Kelle, B.E./Wright, J.L. (ed.), Interpreting Exile: Displacement and Deportation in Biblical and Modern Contexts (Boston: Brill, 2012) 183. 51 For a fantastic survey of this question in a variety of geographic locations across the Early Modern Period, see J. Spohnholz/G.K. Waite (ed.), Exile and Religious Identity, 1500–1800 (Religious Cultures in the Early Modern World 18; London: Pickering & Chatto, 2014). The question first and foremost among the works in this volume is whether or not greater confessional self-awareness necessarily translated into radicalization. There are instances where the experience of exile radicalized an individual for the cause of their confessional identity, see A. Pettegree, Emden and the Dutch Revolt: Exile and the Development of Reformed Protestantism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992). However, in other instances, the experience of exile actually generated a greater sense of toleration. See: M. van Veen, “Dirck Volckertz Coornhert: Exile and Religious Coexistence”, Exile and Religious Identity,

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Opposite to this is remaining, which is not flight in any of its many forms. As stated above, however, remaining can include movement. Hus’ decision to remain was, in many ways, a returning. But this decision was possible because he had retained a strong ideological connection with Bohemia, Prague, and his congregation at Bethlehem Chapel. Even though Hus’ civic and person relationship with his congregation suffered while he was in exile, his ultimate decision to attend the Council of Constance and Bohemia’s response to his death at Constance was quintessentially remaining. This is made more clear by a comparison between remaining and Nicodemism. Exile is most frequently contrasted with Nicodemism. Nicodemism, a term first coined by Calvin, was the process of hiding one’s ‘true’ religious beliefs by publically adhering to the popular religious norms while privately holding to an alternate set of beliefs. For example, had Hus acquiesced to the demands of the church and ceased his preaching against the corruption of the clergy he would have been guilty of Nicodemism. This is because it is obvious from his writings that Hus was fully convinced that the clergy was corrupt and his failure to address that corruption as a priest of the church would have been, for him, a form of dissembling. When Hus made his decision to go to Constance he clearly did so with no intention of hiding his true beliefs, but insisted that he be allowed to publically declare and preach what he believed. This is crucial to the decision to remain. The precise role of Nicodemism in the Early Modern Period is still under debate.52 Yet a clear understanding of what remaining entailed will help to further elucidate the boundaries of what can properly be called Nicodemism. This boundary between Nicodemism and remaining is difficult to recognize, partic1500–1800 (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2014) 67–80. While terminology remains mostly undefined, for a recent work which lays out a possible theory behind the process of exile and expulsion, see N. Terpstra, Religious Refugees in the Early Modern World: An Alternative History of the Reformation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015). Terpstra’s work focuses on the concept of the ‘body politic’ and the desire among early modern individuals to maintain the purity of that body. Also of interest is the division between exiles, refugees, and migrant. There does seem to exist a division between these categories. “Forced migration is not emigration in the modal since, since the former is conditioned upon a rigid, compulsory rejection; the latter upon a loose, voluntary rejection,” F.L Reinhold, “Exiles and Refugees in American History”, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 203 (1939) 63. For a more complete definition and examination of migration and its influence on modern global politics, see A.R. Zolberg, “The Formation of New States as a Refugee-Generating Process”, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 467 (1983) 25. 52 For a significant piece in this discussion see: C.M.N. Eire, “Calvin and Nicodemism: A Reappraisal”, The Sixteenth Century Journal 10 (1979) 45–69. More recent debates about Nicodemism, particularly in relation to John Calvin and the subject of exile, are becoming increasingly common, see K.J. Woo, “The House of God in Exile”, Church History and Religious Culture 95 (2015) 222–44.

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ularly as one scholars has noted, “Faced with brutal persecution, many religious minorities chose to accommodate, whenever possible, the confessional prejudices of the local majority by refraining from public displays of their faith.”53 An individual did not necessarily need to confrontationally promote their own dissenting ideology to avoid Nicodemism as Hus did, but the distinction between dissembling and cautiously holding to an alternate confessional framework, such as Hus did when he first refused to answer the pope’s summons, is significant and ought to be recognized as remaining rather than Nicodemism.54 Jonathan Wright in his oft-cited work Marian Exiles and the Legitimacy of Flight from Persecution notes that “perhaps exile was not as glamorous or as edifying as martyrdom but, some suggested, it was a good deal better than staying at home and lapsing into Nicodemism.”55 While this is true, this quote represents the necessity of having a terminological category of remaining. Because of the significance of Wright’s article, the choices facing potential exiles are often slated only as exile, Nicodemism, and martyrdom. Yet, and this the final point of distinction in defining remaining, the choice to remain is entirely distinct from the decision to die. Remaining is not a decision to die, though it is a willingness to do so. Brad Gregory’s noteworthy book, Salvation at Stake, clearly lays out the motivations and mindsets of those some five-thousand individuals who did die for their religious beliefs over the course of the sixteenth century. Gregory notes, “The resistance to conversion finds its limits in martyrdom.”56 Alongside martyrdom stands exile as a means to resist compelled conversion. If these are radical poles or limits to which an individual might go to resist conversion, then remaining finds itself somewhere in between them. However, unlike Nicodemism, remaining still falls along this spectrum of resistance to conversion in the public sphere. While martyrdom was a grand spectacle and still holds incredible ideo53 M. Wolfe, The Conversion of Henri IV: Politics, Power, and Religious Belief in Early Modern France (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993) 13. 54 The most extended treatment of remaining thus far, though he does not use the term, has come from Gregory in his discussion of anti-Nicodemism. Gregory notes that anti-Nicodemite literature was commonplace in the Reformation but states, “Often historians have identified with the majoritarian, lay Protestant reaction and have judged anti-Nicodemite demands to be unrealistic. When viewed in relation to martyrdom, however, a different picture emerges. Although many shrank from the uncompromising log of anti-Nicodemite arguments, the martyrs did not,” Gregory, Salvation at Stake, 154. Gregory’s statement is correct, but it should also be noted that those who chose to remain, such as those featured in this work, also resisted the tendency to slip into Nicodemism and the unnecessary dichotomy that martyrdom or exile were the only legitimate responses remains unnecessary and inaccurate. 55 J. Wright, “Marian Exiles and the Legitimacy of Flight from Persecution”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 52 (2001) 228. 56 Gregory, Salvation at Stake, 66.

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logical power, remaining reflects a similar gravitas. Martin Luther’s famous phrase, “here I stand,” is emblematic not of martyrdom, but of remaining. Thus, Gregory’s statement, “If religious belief explains the martyrs’ willingness to die, it might also explain much more within early modern Christianity than recent historiographic trends in the field would suggest,” represents the need demonstrate other ways in which religious belief impacted the early modern world – and remaining seems a very significant, and probably far more prevalent in comparison to martyrdom, lens through which to do so.57 Hus serves as the ideal representation of this. His decision to attend the Council of Constance was a decision that cost him his life and he made it knowing that death was a very real possibility. However, martyrdom was not goal of his decision. Hus attended the council because he decided to remain in order to affirm his position as a member of his religious, civic, and national communities. His final letters from the council constantly affirmed his affiliation with Prague and with the Czech people. He did this by frequently addressing his letters to ‘Czechs’ and to the ‘Praguers’.58 In these letters, he also made note of how the Cardinals of other nationalities worked against him, even though they could not read his works to disagree with them because they did not speak Czech. In what he thought was his final letter back to the Czech people, he wrote that “Italians, French, English, Spanish, Germans, and other languages in that council,” opposed him, deliberately highlighting the national tensions at the council and his alignment with the Czech nation.59 Nearly a hundred years after Hus, Martin Luther would make the same decision, though his choice would not cost him his life. But the template, cast by Hus, to reject flight out of the desire to maintain the bonds of community that affected the very nature of how these individuals viewed themselves, was set regardless of the outcome. Thus, Hus remained; and although he died, he died a Bohemian.

Bibliography Printed and Edited Sources Hus, J., The Church, trans./ed. D.S. Schaff (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1974). Hus, J., The Letters of John Hus, trans. M. Spinka (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1972).

57 Ibidem, 79. 58 16 November 1414: To the Praguers, 134; “Friends in Bohemia,” 24 June 1415, 189. 59 26 June 1415: To all the Faithful Czechs, 192.

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Secondary Sources Ames, F.R., “The Cascading Effects of Exile: From Diminished Resources to New Identities”, in: F.R. Ames/B.E. Kelle/J.L. Wright (ed.), Interpreting Exile: Displacement and Deportation in Biblical and Modern Contexts (Boston: Brill, 2012) 173–87. Anderson, C.C., The Great Catholic Reformers: From Gregory the Great to Dorothy Day (New York: Paulist Press, 2007). Eire, C.M.N., “Calvin and Nicodemism: A Reappraisal”, The Sixteenth Century Journal 10 (1979) 45–69. Frassetto, M., The Great Medieval Heretics: Five Centuries of Religious Dissent (New York: BlueBridge, 2008). Fudge, T.A., “Jan Hus at Calvary: The Text of an Early Fifteenth-Century Passio”, Journal of Moravian History 11 (2011) 45–81. Fudge, T.A., Jan Hus: Religious Reform and Social Revolution in Bohemia (London: Tauris, 2010). Fudge, T.A., The Memory and Motivation of Jan Hus, Medieval Priest and Martyr (Turnhout: Brepols Publishers, 2013). Fudge, T.A., The Trial of Jan Hus: Medieval Heresy and Criminal Procedure (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013). Gail, M., The Three Popes: An Account of the Great Schism – When Rival Popes in Rome, Avignon and Pisa Vied for the Rule of Christendom (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1969). Geary, P.J, The Myth of Nations: The Medieval Origins of Europe (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003). Gillett, E.H., The Life and Times of John Huss: Or, The Bohemian Reformation of the Fifteenth Century (New York: AMS Press, 1978). Gregory, B.S., Salvation at Stake: Christian Martyrdom in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999). Helan, P., “Mussolini Looks at Jan Hus and the Bohemian Reformation”, Bohemian Reformation and Religious Practice 4 (2002) 309–16. Kelly, H.A., Inquisitions and Other Trial Procedures in the Medieval West (Aldershot: Ashgate 2001). Kelly, H.A., “Trial Procedures against Wyclif and Wycliffites in England and at the Council of Constance”, Huntington Library Quarterly 61 (1998) 1–28. Kitts, E.J., Pope John the Twenty-Third and Master John Hus of Bohemia (New York: AMS Press, 1978). Loomis, L.R./M. Spinka (trans.), The Council of Constance (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965). Loomis, L.R., “Nationality at the Council of Constance”, American Historical Review 44 (1939) 508–27. Loomis, L.R., “The Organization by Nations at Constance”, Church History 1 (1932). Lützow, R, The Life & Times of Master John Hus (New York: AMS Press, 1978). Morrissey, T.E., “The Call for Unity at the Council of Constance : Sermons and Addresses of Cardinal Zabarella, 1415–1417”, Church History 53 (1984) 307–18. Mussolini, B., John Huss (New York: A. & C. Boni, 1929).

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Nighman, C.L./Stump, P., “A New Bibliographical Register of the Sermons and Other Speeches Delivered at the Council of Constance (1414–18)”, Medieval Sermon Studies 50 (2006) 71–84. Mladenovic, P. z, John Hus at the Council of Constance (New York: Columbia University Press, 1965). Orr, T. J., “Junker Jörg on Patmos”, Church History and Religious Culture 95 (2015) 435–56. Pettegree, A., Emden and the Dutch Revolt: Exile and the Development of Reformed Protestantism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992. Reinhold, F.L., “Exiles and Refugees in American History”, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 203 (1939) 63–73. Sˇmahel, F., “Jan Hus – heretic or Patriot?”, Cover Story 40 (1990) 27–33. Sˇmahel, F., “The National Idea, Secular Power and Social Issues in the Political Theology of Jan Hus”, in F. Sˇmahel/O. Pavlicek (ed.), A Companion to Jan Hus (Leiden: Brill, 2015) 214–53 Spinka, M., John Hus’ Concept of the Church (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1966). Spohnholz, J./Waite, G.K. (ed.), Exile and Religious Identity, 1500–1800 (Religious Cultures in the Early Modern World 18; London: Pickering & Chatto, 2014). Strayer, J.R./Tilly, C./Jordan, W.C., On the Medieval Origins of the Modern State (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005). Stump, P.H., The Reforms of the Council of Constance (1414–1418) (New York: E.J. Brill, 1994). Terpstra, N., Religious Refugees in the Early Modern World: An Alternative History of the Reformation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015). Welsh, F., The Battle for Christendom: The Council of Constance, The East-West Conflict, and the Dawn of Modern Europe (Woodstock: Overlook Press, 2008). Wolfe, M., The Conversion of Henri IV: Politics, Power, and Religious Belief in Early Modern France (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1993). Woo, K.J., “The House of God in Exile”, Church History and Religious Culture 95 (2015) 222–44. Wright, J., “Marian Exiles and the Legitimacy of Flight from Persecution”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 52 (2001) 220–43. Wylie, J.H., The Council of Constance to the Death of John Hus (London: Longmans & Green 1900) Zolberg, A.R., “The Formation of New States as a Refugee-Generating Process”, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 467 (1983) 24–38.

Johannes M. Müller

‘Exile Theology’ Beyond Confessional Boundaries: The Example of Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert

Students of religious exile identities in early modern Europe have often focused on confessional institutions and networks. This approach was fruitful, since the experience of exile and its commemoration was heavily shaped by collective narratives of confessional groups and identification with one of the various early modern Christian confessions.1 Stranger congregations all over Europe were able to preserve memories of dispersion and exile for generations. In some cases, a group’s past struggles with exile were cultivated as important moments of identity for hundreds of years. One example of this comes from the two Netherlandish congregations of Frankfurt. Both congregations, the Lutheran and the Reformed, had emerged from the religious anti-Protestant persecutions in the sixteenth-century Low Countries and commemorated their heritage in chronicles and sermons, with the Lutheran congregation holding commemorative services until the eighteenth century.2 Yet, we should not forget that exile identities and memories of displacement were also cultivated outside of well-defined confessional structures and institutions. To be sure, it is even more challenging to explore their functions and meanings for individuals and groups beyond confessional boundaries, since their exile narratives could have quite unexpected implications. In the Dutch 1 As Andrew Pettegree has argued, it was the experience of exile itself that led to the formation of new confessional identities. See A. Pettegree, Emden and the Dutch Revolt (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), especially p. 45; A. Pettegree, Foreign Protestant Communities in Sixteenth-Century London (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986). 2 Johannes Lehnemann, Historische Nachricht von der vormahls im sechzehenden Jahrhundert berühmten evangelisch-lutherischen Kirche in Antorff: und der daraus entstandenen niederländischen Gemeinde Augspurgischer Confession in Franckfurt am Mayn (Frankfurt am Main: Fleischer, 1725), unpaginated introduction. A few years after the publication of Lehnemann’s historiographical account of the Netherlandish Lutheran congregation in Frankfurt, the Reformed Stranger Church produced its own chronicle: I. Dingel, Abraham Mangon. Kurze doch wahrhafftige Beschreibung der Geschichte der Reformierten in Frankfurt, 1554–1712 (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2004). This chronicle was, however, only published in a modern scholarly edition.

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Republic, for example, the rhetorician’s chambers of migrants from Flanders and Brabant cultivated and institutionalized Southern-Netherlandish migrant identities and continued to recall the often traumatic past of war and displacement in the southern provinces of the Low Countries. None of these organizations were confessionally determined: sympathizers of the Reformed Church cooperated with Mennonites, Catholics, and individuals who rejected confessionalism in any form. Even though they did not avoid discussing religious topics, including some highly controversial issues, they could find enough common ground to evoke images of their exile past and create common ‘transconfessional’ migrant identities.3 In this chapter, I argue that exile was a crucial religious concept in many nonconfessional refugee circles and that the theological interpretations of persecution and dispersion played a significant role among dissenters who rejected the confessionalism of their age. I will use the well-known example of Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert to illustrate that early modern ‘exile theology’ can be found at the margins of confessional religion in the same manner as in the Reformed, Lutheran or Catholic ‘mainstream’, or in even more pronounced ways. Coornhert, an artist and writer from Haarlem, was inclined to a rather idiosyncratic form of spiritualism, but never officially broke with the Old Church. Even though he never received an academic theological training, he is often characterized as a ‘lay-theologian’.4 As a result of his dissenting beliefs and his political allegiances, Coornhert experienced exile twice in his life. Working in Haarlem as a secretary in the 1560s, he became a vocal critic of the religious persecutions under the Habsburg regime. Afraid of being suspected of complicity with the rebelling nobles, he fled to Cologne in 1567. Returning the same summer, Coornhert was incarcerated in The Hague. Even though he was able to 3 On the discussion of religious topics in Dutch rhetorician’s chambers, see J.M. Müller, “Orthodoxie jenseits der Konfessionen? Die Diskussion religiöser Streitfragen in niederländischen Rhetorikergesellschaften im frühen 17. Jahrhundert”, in A. Pietsch/B. Stollberg-Rilinger (ed.), Konfessionelle Ambiguität – Uneindeutigkeit und Verstellung als religiöse Praxis in der Frühen Neuzeit (Schriften des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2013) 268–85. 4 A. Pietsch, “Ekklesiologie jenseits der Kirchen: Konfessionelle Grenzarbeiten bei Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert”, in E. Piltz/G. Schwerhoff (ed.), Gottlosigkeit und Eigensinn. Religiöse Devianz im Konfessionellen Zeitalter (Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung, Beiheft 51; Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2015) 463–92. On Coornhert’s biography, see also H. Bonger, The Life and Work of Dirck Volckertzoon Coornhert (Amsterdam/ New York: Rodopi, 2004); J. Gruppelaar/G. Verwey (ed.), D.V. Coornhert (1522–1590). Polemist en vredezoeker. Bijdragen tot plaatsbepaling en herwaardering (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2010); H. Bonger et al. (ed.), Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert. Dwars maar recht (Zutphen: De Walburg Press, 1989). On his role in debates on religious toleration during the early Dutch Revolt, see also M. van Gelderen, The Political Thought of the Dutch Revolt, 1555–1590 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1992) 243–59.

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convince the judges of his innocence and was released, he suspected a new arrest and returned to Cologne in 1568, before settling in Xanten.5 His second exile would last until 1576. It was during this second period that he produced a number of works in which he addressed exile and persecution, such as his biblical play Abrahams uytgangh (Abraham’s Exodus) and his Lied-boeck (Songbook).6 This topic also played a central role in some of his later works, like his polemical Ghelove ende wandel der verstroyde ende eenzame Christenen (Faith and conduct of the dispersed and solitary Christians).7 Focusing on these three works, I argue that memories of exile shaped many aspects of his theology, among which includes not only his ethics, but also his perspective on the visible and the invisible Church, or, as Andreas Pietsch has put it, his particular “ecclesiology beyond the churches”.8 In this respect, his theology can be characterized as an ‘exile theology’ in an even more radical sense than many of his confessionalist counterparts in Reformed circles; unlike other exiled authors, Coornhert used dispersion (verstroying) as a central metaphor for the state of Christianity in the age of confessional division. The term ‘exile theology’ is critically discussed by historians of early modern religion at the moment. Coined by Heiko Oberman and further developed by Heinz Schilling, the term was used to describe the specific formation of European Calvinism and its rather trans- or international orientation.9 As Oberman argued, Calvin’s Reformation differed radically from Luther’s and had a very different geographical outlook. While the German Lutheran Reformation remained a territorial and parochial reform project and the pre-Calvinist upper-German Reformation a civic one, Calvin understood his mission as a calling ‘out of Geneva’ and into the world. His aim, according to Oberman, was not to reform 5 Bonger, The Life and Work of Dirck Volckertzoon Coornhert, 31–34. 6 Dirck Volkertsz. Coornhert, “Abrahams uytgangh”, in Het roerspel en de comedies van Coornhert, ed. P. van der Meulen (Leiden: Brill, 1955) 266–317; Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert, Lied-boeck (Amsterdam: Hermen Janszoon, ca. 1575). 7 Dirck Volkertsz. Coornhert, Ghelove ende wandel der verstroyde ende eenzame Christenen (Gouda: Jaspar Tournay 1590). 8 Pietsch, “Ekklesiologie jenseits der Kirchen”. 9 H.A. Oberman, “Europa afflicta: The Reformation of the Refugees”, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 83 (1992) 91–111; H.A. Oberman, Two Reformations. The Journey from the Last Days to the New World (London/New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003) 145ff.; H. Schilling, “Christliche und jüdische Minderheitengemeinden im Vergleich. Calvinistische Exulanten und westliche Diaspora der Sephardim im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert”, Zeitschrift für historische Forschung 36 (2009) 407–44; H. Schilling, “Peregrini und Schiffchen Gottes: Flüchtlingserfahrung und Exulantentheologie des frühneuzeitlichen Calvinismus”, in A. Reiss/S. Witt (ed.), Calvinismus. Die Reformierten in Deutschland und Europa (Berlin: Sandstein Verlag, 2009) 160–68; H. Schilling, “Die frühneuzeitliche Konfessionsmigration”, in K.J. Bade (ed.), Migration in der europäischen Geschichte seit dem späten Mittelalter (IMIS-Beiträge 20; Osnabrück: Institut für Migrationsforschung und Interkulturelle Studien, 2002) 67–89.

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Geneva, but to create an international network of believers. The effects of this new approach were immense, as Calvin gave up the hope that an entire community could be reformed, as the synchronicity between the local body politic and the spiritual body of Christ would inevitably be disrupted. Thus, Oberman argued, the European Reformed developed decentralized synodal-presbyterial Church orders that were fundamentally different from other ecclesiastical models and allowed for the establishment of a network of individual congregations across political and territorial borders. Oberman’s model was used at times to argue that the experience of exile served as a catalyst for confessional consolidation and that it often led to confessional hardening and radicalization.10 Tying in with Oberman’s argument, several scholars also assumed that central features of Reformed theology could be explained by the experience of exile, most notably the Calvinist emphasis on predestination and unconditional election. As Ole Peter Grell has argued, exiled believers did not doubt their election because their identification with ancient Israel allowed them to see themselves as “God’s elect people who were being tested through their many tribulations.”11 In several recent publications, Mirjam van Veen has used the example of Coornhert to argue that the experience of exile did not necessarily lead to confessional radicalization, but could also stimulate new models of religious toleration.12 As she states, the concept of ‘exile theology’ cannot be applied to individuals like Coornhert, since his exile experience had fundamentally different implications and did not push him into any confessionalist camp. I agree with Van Veen’s argument, but instead of dismissing the concept of ‘exile theology’ entirely, I propose to reexamine and redefine Oberman’s and Schilling’s definitions and examine how the experience of exile shaped the theological writings of anti-confessionalist Christian believers like Coornhert. To be sure, Oberman’s and Schilling’s observations can serve to characterize important aspects of early modern Reformed religious culture. However, their character10 Schilling, “Peregrini und Schiffchen Gottes”, 179. Southern Netherlandish exiles in Holland and Zeeland were often identified as more committed Calvinists than their native neighbors, especially in Dutch historiography. See e. g. J.G.C.A. Briels, Zuid-Nederlanders in de Republiek, 1572–1620. Een demografische en cultuurhistorische studie (Sint-Niklaas: Danthe, 1985) 266–77; A.Th. van Deursen, Bavianen en slijkgeuzen. Kerk en kerkvolk ten tijde van Maurits en Oldenbarnevelt (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1974) 90. 11 O.P. Grell, Brethren in Christ. A Calvinist Network in Reformation Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011) 303. 12 M.G.K. van Veen, “Dirck Volckertsz Coornhert: Exile and Religious Coexistence”, in J. Spohnholz/G. Waite, Exile and Religious Identity (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2014) 67–80; M.G.K. van Veen/J. Spohnholz, “Calvinists vs. Libertines: A New Look at Religious Exile and the Origins of ‘Dutch’ Tolerance”, in G. van den Brink/H. M. Höpfl (ed.), Calvinism and the Making of the European Mind (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2014) 76–99.

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ization raises questions about the theological content of Calvinist ‘exile theology’ and the extent to which it really differed from interpretations of exile by adherents of other confessions. To determine the degree to which the cultivation of exile shaped religious identities and confessional cultures, it is helpful to address this topic from a broader perspective that not only takes the writings of academic theologians into account, but also those of other believers who reflected on their fate from the perspective of their religious beliefs. In addition, a comparative perspective on adherents of various confessions helps determine which aspects of early modern ‘exile theology’ were typical for a specific confessional group. According to Oberman, Calvin’s ‘Reformation of the refugees’ differed fundamentally from its German-Lutheran counterpart when it left behind its local and parochial orientation and destroyed the medieval unity of worldly community and spiritual congregation. Both Calvin and his followers felt that the territorial and urban Reformation had each reached a deadlock and that true reform was only possible by turning to the masses of persecuted believers and “uprooted wayfarers who had signed up for the hazardous trek to the eternal city.”13 This change, Oberman argued, led to a new religious mentality: while in pre-modern Europe banishment and exile were regarded as divine punishment for those who had fallen into apostasy or were abandoned by God’s mercy and providence, such as the wandering Children of Israel after their rejection of Christ, Calvinism brought about a radical reevaluation of the diasporic experience. Migrating and wandering through a hostile world now became solid evidence that God directed his chosen few through the desert to the Promised Land.14 The confessional culture of Lutheranism, however, was, as Heinz Schilling has put it, “characterized by the continental parochialism of the regional churches, which cared for the spiritual and social welfare of the natives and was inclined to perceive strangers as intruders and troublemakers”15 However, when we take into account the vast amounts of books and pamphlets written by exiled Lutheran clerics, the stereotypical aspects of this model become clear. Many German Lutherans were in fact eager to present themselves as persecuted strangers and the term exul Christi is found frequently in Lutheran writings, while only seldom appearing in Reformed sources.16 13 Oberman, “Europa afflicta”, 103. 14 Oberman, Two Reformations, 83. Oberman even went so far as to postulate a break with medieval Protestant anti-Semitism as one of the result of the cultivation of Reformed diaspora identities. See H.A. Oberman, The Roots of Anti-Semitism in the Age of Renaissance and Reformation (Philadelphia: Fortress Press 1983 [German edition 1981]) 141. 15 Schilling, “Christliche und jüdische Minderheitengemeinden”, 436. 16 V. von der Osten-Sacken, “Exul Christi: Konfessionsmigration und ihre theologische Deutung im strengen Luthertum zwischen 1548 und 1618”, in Europäische Geschichte Online

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A second problem concerning the idea of an exclusively Reformed ‘exile theology’ is the lack of clarity about the theological content of this phenomenon. Even if the various religious confessions cultivated their exile experiences in different ways, we should ask to which extent these experiences influenced theological thought. If we look at interpretations of exile in the various confessional currents, we see more similarities than differences: Catholic, Lutheran, Reformed and Mennonite believers all used Old Testament frameworks, as well as patristic models, to make sense of their exile experience. Early modern individuals inscribed their situation into older traditions that used exile as a metaphor for Christian life in general. Life as a pilgrimage to eternity was a motif that had its roots in early Christianity and its early modern conceptualizations only differed slightly from their patristic and medieval counterparts.17 Another way that the members of early modern confessions made sense of exile was to see affliction and persecution as “God’s chastising hand” that served to purify the true believers. While the wicked were punished by God, the elect had to endure tribulations as an examination of their faith and perseverance. This notion can be found in Calvin’s works and was a commonplace among early modern exiles of all confessions.18 As Jean Taffin, a Walloon exile and Reformed (Mainz: Leibniz-Institut für Europäische Geschichte, 2013), http://ieg-ego.eu/de/threads/ europa-unterwegs/christliche-konfessionsmigration/lutherische-konfessionsmigration/ vera-von-der-osten-sacken-exul-christi-konfessionsmigration-im-strengen-luthertumzwischen-1548-und-1618; Irene Dingel, “Die Kultivierung des Exulantentums im Luthertum am Beispiel des Nikolaus von Amsdorf”, in Irene Dingel (ed.), Nikolaus von Amsdorf (1483– 1565) zwischen Reformation und Politik (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2008) 153–75. The motif of Jesus as an exile was another commonplace that was more common in Lutheran circles than in Reformed. See e. g. Johann Kemmel, Jesulus Exul, in Aegyptum fugiens, Das exulirende Kindlein Jesus/ wie Selbiges/ für dem grausamen Wüterich Herodes/ in Egyptenland entweichen und fliehen müssen: Allen Creutzträgern Christi zu Trost (Schleusingen: Göbel, 1684); Johann Christian Blech, Jesus Exul, Das ist/ Der aus seinem Vatterland vertriebene Jesus: In dem Jahr dieses Allerheiligsten Exulanten (Oldenburg: Zimmer, 1690). 17 Coornhert addressed exile in a similar way and used it to characterize the Christians’ existential homelessness on earth. See e. g. in “Abrahams uytgangh”: “Blessed he who with his heart and mind flees all earthly lust and always rushes heavenward, he who travels through this world as if on pilgrimage and faithfully desires the Lord as heritage.” Coornhert, “Abrahams uytganch”, 315: “Wel hem die so met hert, zin en gemoed, Van d’aardsche lusten spoedt Ten Hemel waert altyd, Die als een gast ter wereld Pelgrimeert, Geloovigh vast den Heer tot erf begeert.” 18 John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, trans. H. Beveridge (Edinburgh: Calvin Translation Society 1846) 498. For other examples of this notion, see Menno Simons, Eyne troestelijke vermaninge van dat lijden, cruyze, unde vervolginge der heyligen, umme dat woort

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court preacher of the Orange family in The Hague, explained, exiled believers should not despair over their present state and be aware of God’s purpose behind their afflictions: “What appearance is there (saith the flesh) that wee are the children of God? Our goods are violently taken from us, our possessions are confiscate, and our offices and Estates are taken away.”19 They should understand that their sufferings were their “medicine, and not [their] punishment. As in a house where there are many children, the rod is necessary.”20 In this respect, Coornhert’s writings do not differ from those of his Reformed contemporaries. The notion of God’s twofold judgement of the godly and the ungodly is sometimes even more strongly pronounced. In Abrahams uytgangh, the main protagonist declares: This is how my God works: He tests whom He loves the most. He takes away knife and fire and every harmful thing from his children and gives them his cross-book, so they can learn patience.21

Another typical early modern feature of religious interpretations of exile was the idea that persecution separated the wheat from the chaff. Like Abraham, who was called out of Chaldea and into the Promised Land, early modern exiles felt that they had to separate themselves from their ungodly surroundings. While the wife of Lot, his nephew, was punished for her hesitance to follow the order to leave, Abraham obeyed God’s command and was rewarded for it. By using this biblical example, early modern exiles of various confessions urged their fellow-believers to leave their hometowns in order to prevent ‘contamination’ with Catholic religious doctrines and practices. Philips of Marnix, Lord of Saint-Aldegonde, who had left Antwerp for Zeeland, addressed his fellow southerners, who believed that they could be steadfast enough to stay at home and still remain Protestants, and warned them about the dangers of living among a Catholic Godes, unde zijne getuichenisse, (s.l.: 1555) fol. O1 v° ff.; Hieronimus van der Voort, Een schoon profijtelik boeck, ghenaemt den benauden, verjaechden Christen (Haarlem: Daniel Keyser, 1612 [reprint]) fol. E9 r°; Ysbrand Balck, Het cleyn mostert-zaet, dat is, de laetste predicatie a. 1567. den 9 Aprilis, ende wederom, die naest-laetste predicatie den 18. Aug. a. 1585. binnen Antwerpen (Amsterdam: Barendt Adriaensz, 1590) 144. 19 Jean Taffin, Of the markes of the children of God and of their comforts in afflictions. To the faithfull of the Low Countrie. By Iohn Taffin. Ouerseene againe and augmented by the author, and translated out of French by Anne Prowse (London: Thomas Orwin, 1590) 136. 20 Taffin, Of the markes of the children of God, 188. 21 Coornhert, “Abrahams uytgangh”, 302: “So gaet het oock te wercke met mynen Gode. Die oeffent meest dien hy die meeste liefde draecht Hy neemt sijn Kinders vuyr en mes dat hun mach deren, Ende gheeft hem ’t kruys-boeck om gedult te leeren.”

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majority. In his epistle Trouwe vermaninge aende christelicke gemeynten van Brabant, Vlanderen, Henegou, ende ander omliggende landen (Faithful exhortation to Christian congregations of Brabant, Flanders, Henegouwen and other surrounding areas), he even depicted the purges of Protestants after 1585 as a work of God, who wanted to lead his elect out of Egypt and Babylon. For Marnix, going into exile became a moral imperative. He warned the Reformed believers to not act against God’s will: Do not provoke and enrage the eternal God only for the sake of temporal welfare, but follow the calling of the Lord with an alert and obedient heart and without looking back, when he wants to call you with Abraham from Ur in Chaldea and with Lot from Sodom and Gomorra.22

The image of exile as a break with one’s ungodly surroundings became so powerful that it was even used as a metaphor for religious conversion. When the former Norman priest, Jean Baquesne, publicly renounced his old faith and converted to Calvinism in the Walloon Church in the Dutch town of Middelburg, he addressed his spiritual development in terms of confessional exile and quoted from the Book of Revelation (verse 18:5): Because it is Babylon, of which the heavenly voice commands us to depart, saying: Come out of her, my people, that you not partake in her sins, and that you not receive of her plagues. Therefore I have departed from my birthplace and my parents and relatives and have joined the true children of God (being obedient to God’s commandment and following the example of the great patriarch Abraham, whom God commanded to leave behind his homeland and his kinfolks and to move out of his father’s house to seek the land God had promised him).23

Similarly to their Calvinist counterparts, Catholics employed a language of exile as a form of religious purification. Johannes Costerius, a priest in Oudenaarde, addressed the Catholics in the so-called Calvinist Republics in Flanders and 22 Philips of Marnix, Trouwe vermaninge aende christelicke gemeynten van Brabant, Vlanderen, Henegou, ende ander omliggende landen, in Godsdienstige en kerkelijke geschriften, ed. J.J. Toorenenbergen (4 vol.; The Hague: M. Nijhoff, 1871–91) 1.530: “Ende wilt en wilt ten opziene vande tijdelijcke sorchvuldicheyt den eeuwigen God niet tergen ende vertoornigen, maer volgt vele eer de beroepinge des Heeren nae met een wacker ende gewilligch herte sondr achterdencken, soo wanneer hy u met Abraham uyt het Ur der Chaldeën, ende met Loth uyt Sodoma ende Gomorra wil roepen.” 23 Jean Baquesne, Bekeeringhe ende wederroepinge des pavsdoms, openbaerlick ghedaen inde Francoysche Kercke der Stadt Middelburgh (Middelburg: Isaac Schilders, 1612) fol. A3 v°: “[…] want tis het Babel, uyt welcke de hemelsche stemme ons beveelt te vertrekken, segghende: Gaet uyt van haer mijn volck, opdat ghy haerer sonden niet deelachtich en wordt, ende haer plagen en ontfangt. Daarom is’t dat ick (Godts gebodt onderdanich zijnde, volgende d’exempel des grooten Patriarchs Abrahams, den welcken de Heere beval uyt sijn landt ende maechschap te gaan, en sijns Vaders huys te verlaten, ende te trekken int landt dat hy hem wijzen soude) oock vertrokken ben uyt de plaetse mijnder gheboorte.”

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Brabant and, using the same Bible verse as Jean Bauquesne, called upon the believers to “leave Babylon”. Costerius’s Institutio necessaria de exitu Aegypti et fuga Babylonis is set up as a plea for exile and urged Catholics in the rebel towns to join their exiled coreligionists in Cologne or Douai.24 As these examples show, the differences in the interpretation of exile between the various confessions were only marginal and it is therefore difficult to identify ‘exile theology’ as a typical Reformed phenomenon. While the rhetoric of exile often implicated an exclusivist ideal that set the believers apart from the ungodly, this language was regularly adopted by all confessional camps. Like his contemporaries who subscribed to one specific confessional camp, Coornhert also addressed exile in order to illustrate the state of the true believers in relation to the ungodly. In Coornhert’s case, however, the distinction between faithful and lukewarm believers is not based on doctrinal matters, but on ethical decisions and, especially, on an obedience to God, as exemplified by Abraham’s readiness to follow the godly command to leave his hometown. More than any of his contemporaries, Coornhert linked the experience of dispersion to a moral imperative and exhorted the exiled believers to improve their lives. The distinction between the godly and the ungodly is not primarily one of doctrine, but rather of conduct. In the song Wy ballingen verstroyt (We exiles, scattered everywhere) from the Lied-boeck, he writes: We flee the country but no one flees evil and everyone puts his trust in humans rather than in the Lord.25

Those who do not live a godly life are repeatedly criticized for fleeing for the wrong reasons. In the Lied-boeck, probably written during his Xanten exile, Coornhert formulates a mindset that legitimates the choice to migrate and describes the mentality that justifies the decision to flee one’s home.26 Believers should not seek their own fortune and use religious reasons as a false legit24 Johannes Costerius, Institutio necessaria de exitu Aegypti et fuga Babylonis id est de egressu Catholicorum et civitatibus haeretoricorum Iuramentis & Edictis, varioque; inevitabili contagio pollutis (Douai: Jean Bogard, 1580). See also G.H. Janssen, The Dutch Revolt and Catholic Exile in Reformation Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2014) 49–51; Idem, “Quo vadis? Catholic Perceptions of Flight and the Revolt of the Low Countries. 1566– 1609”, Renaissance Quarterly, 64 (2011) 472–99; Idem, “The Counter-Reformation of the Refugee. Exile and the Shaping of Catholic Militancy in the Dutch Revolt”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 63 (2012) 671–92. 25 Coornhert, Lied-boeck, fol. B7 r°: “Wy vluchten tland, maar niemant boosheyd vliet Elck bout op mensch, maar opten Heere niet.” 26 Even though it is unclear when Coornhert wrote all the songs of the Lied-boeck, the introduction was written in Xanten in July of 1575. See Coornhert, Lied-boeck, fol. A1 v°.

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imation. As Coornhert criticizes, many migrants acted greedy and selfish and did not live according to God’s will: “What do we gain from deliverance from our oppressors’ hands if our soul is trapped by Mammon’s bonds?”27 Migration for the sake of one’s faith should thus also imply spiritual conversion and observation of Christ’s commands. Without spiritual self-examination, fleeing one’s oppressors was nothing but cowardice and refugees who did not live a presentable Christian life were to be viewed with suspicion. In Abrahams uytgangh, which dates from the same period as the Lied-boeck and was dedicated to his Wesel host and protégé, Arend van Wachtendonck, Coornhert treats the subject in a similar manner and distinguishes between the various motives for migration. Reflecting the ambiguities of the choice to migrate, he introduces the allegorical character Communis opinio, who tries to prevent Abraham from leaving Ur, his hometown. Communis opinio represents the voice of the refugee’s contemporaries and accuses him of ungodly motivations, such as social and religious elitism, economic considerations, and cowardice. Even though Coornhert lets Abraham emerge triumphantly, he also warns of unjustified reasons for choosing exile. In the preface to the play, he presents the two allegorical characters Cruysvlucht (‘Flight from the cross’) and Raedwel (‘Good counsel’). Cruysvlucht is eager to flee his homeland in order to avoid the plagues God has sent to punish the wrongdoings of the country.28 Raedwel admonishes him to meditate on the causes of the present miseries, live a righteous life, and hope that God would take away the afflictions. As a role model of the righteous refugee, Raedwel introduces Abraham, who did not leave his homeland to follow his own desires, but to be obedient to God. His migration is not a result of his own will, but of his obedience. The justification of the choice for exile is accompanied by a model that exemplifies which motivations and behaviors are appropriate for Christian refugees. Following Abraham’s example is not only justified; Abrahams uytgangh even praises living as a stranger in the diaspora as an act of obedience to the will of God. Based on this observation, Anneke Fleurkens has argued that this play does not actually focus on exile itself, but rather on obedience.29 It is, however, difficult to disconnect the emphasis on obedience from the topic of exile. After all, it is God’s command to Abraham to leave Ur. Moreover, it is significant that Abra27 Coornhert, Lied-boeck, fol. B7 r°: “Wat baat ons vryheyd vander menschen handen Als darme ziel vast leyd an Mammons banden.” 28 Coornhert, “Abrahams uytgangh”, 268. 29 A.C.G. Fleurkens, Stichtelijke lust. De toneelspelen van D.V. Coornhert (1522–1590) als middelen tot het geven van morele instructie (Hilversum: Verloren 1994) 222–23. See also A.C.G. Fleurkens, “Leren met lust. Coornherts toneelspelen”, in Bonger et al. (ed.), Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert, 80–97.

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ham’s obedience concerning the sacrifice of his son Isaac is not mentioned in this text. His readiness to kill his son was a popular early modern motif to illustrate exemplary obedience to God. If Coornhert had primarily been concerned with Abraham’s willingness to obey God, we should expect a stronger focus on this episode. In Abrahams uytgangh, the theme of exile is intrinsically linked to obedience to God and I propose turning Fleurkens’ argument around and reading the play as a negotiation of justified reasons for leaving one’s home. Following godly orders serves as the ultimate justification of migration for the sake of faith, and it provides the basis or Coornhert’s ethics of exile. In a recent article, Andreas Pietsch argues that we should not take Coornhert’s non-attendance of Church services as a general rejection of organized religion.30 He points out that Coornhert had maintained a vision of an all-encompassing Church beyond the various confessions until late in the 1570s – years after he had last attended a church service. In order to describe Coornhert’s ambiguous vision of an ‘impartial’ Church for all true believers, Pietsch characterizes it as an “ecclesiology beyond the churches”. If we take Coornhert’s Ghelove ende wandel der verstroyde ende eenzame Christenen into account, this argument can be supported. In this work, which consists of short theological commonplaces supported by scriptural quotes, Coornhert offers a “belydenisse des gheloofs eenes onpartijdighen, vreedzamen ende oprechten christens”, or a “confession of the faith of an impartial, peaceful and upright Christian”.31 It is not without irony that Coornhert, a harsh critic of the confessional division of Christianity and of the various catechisms, uses the word belydenisse (confession) and thus frames his publication as an ‘anti-confessionalist confession’. Even though the term did not necessarily imply an institutionalized confession of faith, the booklet clearly echoes this textual genre. However, instead of elaborating on theological doctrines, Coornhert focusses on the Christian praxis in everyday life. Fleeing from sin is a central theme of his ‘confession’.32 Depicting true Christian life as recognizable by orthopraxy rather than by orthodoxy, he advises to keep one’s faith as simple (eenvuldigh) as possible and to lean on the Bible instead of the theological doctrines extracted from it by other people.33 Matters of faith should not be treated in an abstract or intellectualist manner, but in a practical one. Moreover, the only addition to the Bible should be the twelve articles of the Apostolic Confession that were accepted by all Christian

30 Pietsch, “Ekklesiologie jenseits der Kirchen”. 31 Coornhert, Ghelove ende wandel, title page. 32 See e. g. Coornhert, Ghelove ende wandel, 6, 8, 10, 13. On Coornhert’s optimism about human perfectibility, see M.G.K. van Veen, “No one born of God commits sin. Coornhert’s perfectionism”, Nederlandsch Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis 84 (2004) 338–57. 33 Coornhert, Ghelove ende wandel, 3, 15.

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confessions in the West.34 Coornhert also stresses the responsibility of every believer for his own spiritual well-being and makes it clear that “upright and impartial Christians” do not try to impose their beliefs upon others: Without accepting any interpretation [of the Bible] as authoritative, they let everyone overflow in faith in his own way and in fear of the Lord, in scripture and in knowledge – knowing that everyone is accountable only for himself and for no one else before God.35

While Coornhert criticized existing confessions of faith because they divided Christians into opposing camps, his work tries to create a common ground on which all true believers could agree and describes how one can recognize them by their way of life and conduct. Nonetheless, Coornhert’s vision of a visible unity among all true believers remains ambiguous: while all attempts to define the outward form of Christian religion are criticized because they create separate groups of ‘believers’, the Ghelove ende wandel repeats the same pattern by defining the ‘impartial’ Christians and, in doing so, also characterizes the ‘partial’ adherents of the various outward confessions. To get a better grasp of this ambiguity, I propose to read the Ghelove ende wandel in the context of Coornhert’s exile experience. Central to his vision of ‘impartial’ Christians is their dispersion (verstrooying). This diasporic state of “the true Christians” not only refers to their factual persecution and expulsion, but also to the contemporary situation of confessional division. As Coornhert makes clear, the true Church has been shattered into pieces and has become divided between the various antagonizing confessions, meaning that none of the institutional confessional currents can claim to represent it. The state of the true believers, who are divided along confessional lines, is therefore characterized by isolation and dispersion, since the spiritual body of Christ had been torn apart by the visible institutional churches. Followers of Christ are a solitary minority among the hard-hearted masses who have subscribed to one of the various confessions instead of properly following Christ. Thus, true Christians live in a diaspora and the visible Church is not their home. Coornhert is often characterized as an idiosyncratic thinker with little interest in the practical organization of the visible Church and a spiritualist who viewed most religious matters, such as the administration of the sacraments, as adiaphora. However, as the Ghelove ende wandel der verstroyde ende eenzame Christenen shows, he was not indifferent to the present state of division within the churches. The separation of Christian groups was a serious problem for him, 34 Coornhert, Ghelove ende wandel, 15. 35 Coornhert, Ghelove ende wandel, 17–18: “Zonder daar van onder haar eenighe uytlegginghe van yemant als met autoriteyt aan te nemen, maar laten yeghelijck des aanghaande inde vreese des Heeren in zynen zinne overvloeyen inden ghelove int woort ende kennisse wetende dat elck voor zichzelfs ende nyemant voor een ander Ghod rekenschap gheven zal.”

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because it made the believers exiles and solitary strangers. His ‘confession’ aims to unite those who are willing to change that situation and his work shows a secret hope that the present state of exile and dispersion could eventually be overcome. He also believed that the ‘impartial’ Christians could be brought into a Church that “lets everyone overflow in faith in his own way”.36 This Church might one day be realized as a visible institution, but at present it consisted of a secret diaspora of believers that were not only scattered between various regions and countries, but also between various antagonizing churches. As Coornhert shows, sixteenth-century ‘exile theology’ could have implications that were fundamentally different from and opposed to the confessionalist discourse by which modern historians have defined early modern exile religiosity. In the case of Coornhert, exile is a key concept that shaped many aspects of his theology in a more radical way than in the writings of most contemporary Reformed exiles. Exile is not only an existential metaphor for Christian life in general, but also for the state of true believers in the age of confessionalism. His “ecclesiology beyond the churches” is constructed around an imagery of a diaspora of true believers and his ethics of exile are a key to their possible reunification: once they all behaved as described as in Ghelove ende wandel they would be known to each other and to the world. Henk Bonger has argued that we should not exaggerate the role of ethics in the works of Coornhert.37 However, in the context of exile and persecution, ethical aspects are always strongly pronounced: the experience of migration urges believers to meditate on the reasons for afflictions in earthly life and the human sins that caused their tribulations. Being exiled forces them to rethink their moral conduct and simultaneously tests their obedience to God. While Oberman stressed the impact of flight and dispersion on the development of Reformed notions of predestination and a pronounced theology of unconditional grace, Coornhert’s case demonstrates the opposite.38 As a harsh critic of Calvin’s theology of grace and predestination, he stressed the possibility of human perfection and moral improvement. This optimism is explicitly linked to the experience of exile, especially in Abrahams uytgangh. Coornhert’s example should not lead us to dismiss the concept of ‘exile theology’ as a whole, but rather to redefine it by looking carefully at its theological content. If we do, it becomes clear that ‘exile theology’ played an important role among adherents of all confessions and that it was also vivid outside of con36 On Coornhert’s vision of an “impartial Church”, see also Dirck Volckertsz. Coornhert, “Ruygh bewerp eender onpartydiger kercken onder verbeteringhe”, in Wercken, waer van eenige noyt voor desen gedruct zyn (3 vol.; Amsterdam: Jacob Aertsz. Colom, 1630) vol. 3, fol. 1–3 v°. 37 Bonger, The Life and Work of Dirck Volckertzoon Coornhert, 304. 38 Oberman, Two Reformations, 162. See also Grell, Brethren in Christ, 127.

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fessionalist discourses. Theological visions such as Coornhert’s “ecclesiology beyond the churches” were deeply shaped by the experience of migration and dispersion. Being a Christian meant being dispersed (verstroyd) and solitary (eenzaam), since no institutional organization could live up to the standards of true Christianity. In many ways, such theological ideas were even more successful in cultivating exile identities than their confessionalist counterparts. Even though Reformed Protestantism often had a transregional outlook as a result of the exile experience, it could also take rather parochial forms and its diasporic past was often forgotten. While Oberman’s argument that Calvin did not see himself as the parochial “Leutpriester of Geneva”, the Genevan experiment can also be described as a drastic version of a civic Reformation, especially after Calvin’s death rendered the French connection less important.39 As Scott Hendrix has argued, all major reformers shared Calvin’s internationalist outlook to a certain extent: Geneva was not alone in its designation as a missionary center of a wider European Reformation project, since both Wittenberg and Zürich were also designed to serve a similar role.40 Ascribing the cultivation of transregional diasporic identities to specific confessions is therefore problematic. A comparative perspective on the impact of transregional connectedness and migration on theological thought of early modern individuals and groups shows that the nexus between exile and specific types of confessionalism is contingent and that the most pronounced forms of ‘exile theology’ can often be found outside confessional settings.

Bibliography Printed and Edited Sources Balck, Ysbrand, Het cleyn mostert-zaet, dat is, de laetste predicatie a. 1567. den 9 Aprilis, ende wederom, die naest-laetste predicatie den 18. Aug. a. 1585. binnen Antwerpen (Amsterdam: Barendt Adriaensz, 1590). Baquesne, Jean, Bekeeringhe ende wederroepinge des pavsdoms, openbaerlick ghedaen inde Francoysche Kercke der Stadt Middelburgh (Middelburg: Isaac Schilders, 1612). Blech, Johann Christian, Jesus Exul, Das ist/ Der aus seinem Vatterland vertriebene Jesus: In dem Jahr dieses Allerheiligsten Exulanten (Oldenburg: Zimmer, 1690). 39 Oberman, “Europa afflicta“, 103. 40 S.H. Hendrix, Recultivating the Vineyard: The Reformation Agendas of Christianization (Louisville/London: John Knox Westminster Press, 2004) 70. The same argument could be made about Catholic refugee centers such as Douai, Cologne or Antwerp, who functioned as bases of operation for transnational missionary activities (See Janssen, “The Counter-Reformation of the Refugee”; Idem, The Dutch Revolt and Catholic Exile, 109–12).

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Calvin, John, Institutes of the Christian Religion, transl. H. Beveridge (Edinburg: Calvin Translation Society, 1846). Coornhert, Dirck Volkertsz., “Abrahams uytgangh”, in Het roerspel en de comedies van Coornhert, ed. P. van der Meulen (Leiden: Brill, 1955) 266–317. Coornhert, Dirck Volkertsz., Ghelove ende wandel der verstroyde ende eenzame Christenen (Gouda: Jaspar Tournay, 1590). Coornhert, Dirck Volckertsz., “Ruygh bewerp eender onpartydiger kercken onder verbeteringhe”, in Wercken, waer van eenige noyt voor desen gedruct zyn (3 vol.; Amsterdam: Jacob Aertsz. Colom, 1630) fol. 1–3v°. Coornhert, Dirck Volkertsz., Lied-boeck (Amsterdam: Hermen Janszoon, ca. 1575). Costerius, Institutio necessaria de exitu Aegypti et fuga Babylonis id est de egressu Catholicorum et civitatibus haeretoricorum Iuramentis & Edictis, varioque; inevitabili contagio pollutis (Douai: Jean Bogard, 1580). Kemmel, Johann, Jesulus Exul, in Aegyptum fugiens, Das exulirende Kindlein Jesus/ wie Selbiges/ für dem grausamen Wüterich Herodes/ in Egyptenland entweichen und fliehen müssen: Allen Creutzträgern Christi zu Trost (Schleusingen: Göbel, 1684). Lehnemann, Johannes, Historische Nachricht von der vormahls im sechzehenden Jahrhundert berühmten evangelisch-lutherischen Kirche in Antorff: und der daraus entstandenen niederländischen Gemeinde Augspurgischer Confession in Franckfurt am Mayn (Frankfurt a.M.: Fleischer, 1725). Marnix, Philips of, Trouwe vermaninge aende christelicke gemeynten van Brabant, Vlanderen, Henegou, ende ander omliggende landen, in Godsdienstige en kerkelijke geschriften, ed. J.J. Toorenenbergen (4 vol.; The Hague: M. Nijhoff, 1871–91). Simons, Menno, Eyne troestelijke vermaninge van dat lijden, cruyze, unde vervolginge der heyligen, umme dat woort Godes, unde zijne getuichenisse, (s.l., 1555). Taffin, Jean, Of the markes of the children of God and of their comforts in afflictions. To the faithfull of the Low Countrie. By Iohn Taffin. Ouerseene againe and augmented by the author, and translated out of French by Anne Prowse (London: Thomas Orwin, 1590). Voort, Hieronimus van der, Een schoon profijtelik boeck, ghenaemt den benauden, verjaechden Christen (Haarlem: Daniel Keyser, 1612 [reprint]).

Secondary Sources Bonger, H. et al. (ed.), Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert. Dwars maar recht (Zutphen: De Walburg Press, 1989). Bonger, H., The Life and Work of Dirck Volckertzoon Coornhert (Amsterdam/New York: Rodopi, 2004). Briels, J.G.C.A., Zuid-Nederlanders in de Republiek, 1572–1620. Een demografische en cultuurhistorische studie (Sint-Niklaas: Danthe, 1985). Deursen, A.Th. Van, Bavianen en slijkgeuzen. Kerk en kerkvolk ten tijde van Maurits en Oldenbarnevelt (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1974). Dingel, I., Abraham Mangon. Kurze doch wahrhafftige Beschreibung der Geschichte der Reformierten in Frankfurt, 1554–1712 (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2004).

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Dingel, I., “Die Kultivierung des Exulantentums im Luthertum am Beispiel des Nikolaus von Amsdorf”, in I. Dingel (ed.), Nikolaus von Amsdorf (1483–1565) zwischen Reformation und Politik (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 2008) 153–75. Fleurkens, A.C.G., “Leren met lust. Coornherts toneelspelen”, in H. Bonger et al. (ed.), Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert. Dwars maar recht (Zutphen: De Walburg Press, 1989) 80–97. Fleurkens, A.C.G., Stichtelijke lust. De toneelspelen van D.V. Coornhert (1522–1590) als middelen tot het geven van morele instructie (Hilversum: Verloren 1994). Grell, O.P., Brethren in Christ. A Calvinist Network in Reformation Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). Gruppelaar, J./Verwey, G. (ed.), D.V. Coornhert (1522–1590). Polemist en vredezoeker. Bijdragen tot plaatsbepaling en herwaardering (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2010). Hendrix, S.H., Recultivating the Vineyard: The Reformation Agendas of Christianization (Louisville/London: John Knox Westminster Press, 2004). Janssen, G.H., “The Counter-Reformation of the Refugee. Exile and the Shaping of Catholic Militancy in the Dutch Revolt”, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 63 (2012) 671–92. Janssen, G.H., “Quo vadis? Catholic Perceptions of Flight and the Revolt of the Low Countries. 1566–1609”, Renaissance Quarterly, 64 (2011) 472–99. Müller, J.M, “Orthodoxie jenseits der Konfessionen? Die Diskussion religiöser Streitfragen in niederländischen Rhetorikergesellschaften im frühen 17. Jahrhundert”, in A. Pietsch/ B. Stollberg-Rilinger (ed.), Konfessionelle Ambiguität – Uneindeutigkeit und Verstellung als religiöse Praxis in der Frühen Neuzeit. Schriften des Vereins für Reformationsgeschichte (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2013). Oberman, H.A., “Europa afflicta: The Reformation of the Refugees”, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 83 (1992) 91–111. Oberman, H.A., The Roots of Anti-Semitism in the Age of Renaissance and Reformation (Philadelphia: Fortress Press 1983 [German edition 1981]). Oberman, H.A., Two Reformations. The Journey from the Last Days to the New World (London/New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003). Osten-Sacken, V. von der, “Exul Christi: Konfessionsmigration und ihre theologische Deutung im strengen Luthertum zwischen 1548 und 1618”, in Europäische Geschichte Online (Mainz: Leibniz-Institut für Europäische Geschichte, 2013), http://ieg-ego.eu/de/ threads/europa-unterwegs/christliche-konfessionsmigration/lutherische-konfessions migration/vera-von-der-osten-sacken-exul-christi-konfessionsmigration-im-strengen-lu thertum-zwischen-1548-und-1618. Pettegree, A., Emden and the Dutch Revolt (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992). Pettegree, A., Foreign Protestant Communities in Sixteenth-Century London (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986).” Pietsch, A., “Ekklesiologie jenseits der Kirchen: Konfessionelle Grenzarbeiten bei Dirck Volckertszoon Coornhert”, in E. Piltz/G. Schwerhoff (ed.), Gottlosigkeit und Eigensinn. Religiöse Devianz im Konfessionellen Zeitalter (Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung, Beiheft 51; Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2015) 463–92. Schilling, H., “Christliche und jüdische Minderheitengemeinden im Vergleich. Calvinistische Exulanten und westliche Diaspora der Sephardim im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert”, Zeitschrift für historische Forschung 36 (2009) 407–44.

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Schilling, H., “Die frühneuzeitliche Konfessionsmigration”, in K. J. Bade (ed.), Migration in der europäischen Geschichte seit dem späten Mittelalter (IMIS-Beiträge 20; Osnabrück: Institut für Migrationsforschung und Interkulturelle Studien, 2002) 67–89. Schilling, H., “Peregrini und Schiffchen Gottes: Flüchtlingserfahrung und Exulantentheologie des frühneuzeitlichen Calvinismus”, in A. Reiss/S. Witt (ed.), Calvinismus. Die Reformierten in Deutschland und Europa (Berlin: Sandstein Verlag, 2009) 160–68. Veen, M.G.K. van, “Dirck Volckertsz Coornhert: Exile and Religious Coexistence”, in J. Spohnholz/G.K. Waite, Exile and Religious Identity (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2014) 67–80. Veen, M.G.K. van/Spohnholz, J., “Calvinists vs. Libertines: A New Look at Religious Exile and the Origins of ‘Dutch’ Tolerance”, in G. van den Brink/H. M. Höpfl (ed.), Calvinism and the Making of the European Mind (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2014) 76–99. Veen, M.G.K. van, “No one born of God commits sin. Coornhert’s perfectionism”, Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis 84 (2004) 338–57.

Christiaan Ravensbergen

Language Barriers to Confessional Migration: Reformed Ministers from the Palatinate in the East of the Netherlands (1578)

The refugee churches in both England and the Holy Roman Empire played an important role during the Dutch Revolt, as a Genevan-influenced ‘international Calvinism’ developed within those communities that turned out to be decisive for Dutch Calvinism.1 While exiles gradually returned to the nascent Dutch Republic, they also brought with them a theological and institutional framework that inspired them to build up a new church.2 Today, most of the historiography argues that Reformed ministers from the Lower Palatinate exerted a formative influence on the Reformed Church in the Netherlands, in defiance to the rule of Philip II.3 The name most often associated with this is Petrus Dathenus, a Flemish minister at Frankenthal in the Palatinate, who had preached during the iconoclastic fury in Ghent, and would return there during its Calvinist phase from 1578 until 1584, when he had to flee again to the Holy Roman Empire. Additionally, many ministers, not all of whom had roots in the Netherlands, went from the Palatinate to the emerging Dutch Republic and settled not only in its western maritime provinces, but also in its eastern region. Fred van Lieburg refers to about ten ministers from the Palatinate who had found refuge in the Netherlands during the revolt, and Alastair Duke has pointed out that returning Dutch exiles brought with them eighty experienced German ministers and schoolmasters.4 1 The author wishes to thank the referees, and the volume’s editors, especially prof. dr. Violet Soen, for their suggestions and input. Dr. Ryan McGuinness has been responsible for copyediting this chapter. All remaining errors are mine. 2 R.M. Kingdon, “International Calvinism”, in T.A. Brady et al. (ed.), Handbook of European History 1400–1600. Late Middle Ages, Renaissance, and Reformation. Volume II Visions, Programs, and Outcomes (Leiden: Brill, 1995) 242–45. Still, on the contested relationship between exile experience and Dutch Calvinism, see M.G.K. van Veen/J. Spohnholz, “Calvinists vs. Libertines: A New Look at Religious Exile and the Origins of ‘Dutch’ Tolerance”, in G. van den Brink/H. M. Höppfl (ed.), Calvinism and the Making of the European Mind (Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2014) 77–8. 3 F.A. van Lieburg, Profeten en hun vaderland, De geografische herkomst van de gereformeerde predikanten in Nederland van 1572 tot 1816 (Zoetermeer: Boekencentrum, 1996) 226. 4 A. Duke, Reformation and Revolt in the Low Countries (London/Ronceverte: Hambledon, 1990) 223.

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The focus of this article will be on the German ministers who came to Guelders, an eastern province of the Netherlands that borders the Holy Roman Empire. This specific migration has received no attention by researchers who work on the movement of Calvinists to the Netherlands, for the history of the early modern Netherlands is usually written from the perspective of the coastal provinces in the north and the south of the country. Thus, this study draws attention to a different perspective, that of a border region. In studies of early modern confessional movement and the diffusion of ‘international Calvinism’ by migrating ministers, language barriers are similarly under-researched. The migration process, of which language is an essential factor, generally occurs in three stages. The first stage focuses on the range of reasons for a people’s decision to leave its homes and migrate, while the second stage consists of travelling to the intended destination. In the third and final stage, migrants settle into the receiving society.5 In an article on returning exiles and the politics of reintegration, Geert Janssen states that hardly any research has been done on the reception and integration of such refugees into the Netherlands,6 a fact that is also true for the German ministers who came with them. As Reformed ministers, they were confronted with certain specific language problems, meaning that not all of the German ministers were understood by ordinary Dutch churchgoers. The existence of Low German means that it is usually assumed that language barriers between the Netherlands and German countries did not play a significant role in migration processes, but on the basis of contemporary sources and, in particular, the correspondence of Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, the stadtholder of Guelders, it will be demonstrated that language differences played a more important role in transregional confessional migration than has previously been realized.

I.

Palatinate

The decision of the Reformed ministers to migrate from the Lower Palatinate was not a voluntarily one. The Elector Palatine, Friedrich III, died in 1576 and was succeeded by his eldest son, Ludwig VI. During the reign of Friedrich III, the Palatinate had become the principal centre of Calvinism in the Holy Roman Empire, which had not yet allowed the legal practice of the new religion. Cal5 D. Hoerder et al., “Terminologies and Concepts of Migration Research”, in K.J. Bade et al. (ed.), The Encyclopedia of Migration and Minorities in Europe from the 17th Century to the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011) XXVII. 6 G.H. Janssen, “Exiles and the Politics of Reintegration in the Dutch Revolt”, The Journal of Ecclesiastical History 94 (2009) 37; Idem, The Dutch Revolt and Catholic Exile in Reformation Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014).

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vinists from all over Europe looked to the Electorate for theological guidance and political leadership, and Reformed refugees found the territory to be a religious refuge.7 The new Elector, Ludwig VI, adhered to the Lutheran religion and, according to the principle of cuius regio, eius religio, forced his territory to accept his faith, leaving Heidelberg and the other parts of the Palatinate to be purged of the Reformed religion. The approximately 500 to 600 professors, ministers and schoolmasters who maintained their Reformed beliefs were forced to leave the Rhine Palatinate and become confessional migrants. Only seven Reformed ministers converted to Lutheranism, allowing them to remain.8 The professors, ministers and schoolmasters that were expelled became confessional migrants because their migration was the consequence of the religious policies of Ludwig VI, who wanted to create confessional and political unity in the Palatinate.9 The Reformed professors, ministers and schoolmasters now had to decide where to go, with most choosing Palatinate-Lautern, a part of the Palatinate inherited by Johann Casimir. Count Johann Casimir, a practitioner of the Reformed faith, was the second son of Friedrich III and wanted to continue his father’s confessional politics. Because of the large influx of asylum seekers, Palatinate-Lautern quickly became the new Calvinist stronghold in the Empire.10 Daniel Tossanus, who had been a Reformed court chaplain at Heidelberg, was one of the ministers obliged to leave the Electorate Palatine. He was first invited to 7 A. A. van Schelven, De Nederduitsche vluchtelingenkerken der XVIe eeuw in Engeland en Duitsland in hunne beteekenis voor de reformatie in de Nederlanden (’s-Gravenhage: Martinus Nijhoff, 1909) 234–65; R. van Roosbroeck, Emigranten. Nederlandse vluchtelingen in Duitsland (1550–1600) (Leuven: Davidsfonds, 1968) 190–214; H. Schilling, Niederländische Exulanten im 16. Jahrhundert. Ihre Stellung im Sozialgefüge und im religiösen Leben deutscher und englischer Städte (Gütersloh: Gerd Mohn, 1972); P. Denis, Les églises d’étrangers en Pays Rhénans (1538–1564) (Paris: Belles Lettres, 1984) 305–98; P. Denis, “Les refugies du pays de Liège”, in P. Denis/R. Stauffer (ed.), Protestantisme aux frontières. la Réforme dans le duché de Limbourg et dans la principauté de Liège (XVIe–XIXe siècles) (Aubel: Gason, 1985) 81–98. 8 Briefe des Pfalzgrafen Johann Casimir mit verwandten Schriftstücken, Erster Band 1576–1582, ed. F. von Bezold (Munich: Rieger, 1882) 289: Letter from the clergy of Neustadt to the city government of Schaffhausen, December 1577; Briefe des Pfalzgrafen Johann Casimir mit verwandten Schriftstücken, Dritter Band 1587–1592, ed. F. von Bezold (Munich: Rieger, 1903) 650: Letter from Sigmund Ehem to Ludwig von Sayn zu Wittgenstein, 20 June 1577; F.W. Cuno, Daniel Tossanus der Ältere, Professor der Theologie und Pastor (1541–1602). I. Teil. Sein Leben und Wirken (Amsterdam: Scheffer & Co, 1898) 113–14, 126 and 128. 9 Two other criteria for confessional migration are the existence of a well-defined confession and the fact that confession is a decisive motive for a migrant. B. Braun, “Katholische Konfessionsmigration im Europa der Frühen Neuzeit – Stand und Perspektiven der Forschung”, in H.P. Jürgens/T. Weller (ed.), Religion und Mobilität. Zum Verhältnis von Raumbezogener Mobilität und religiöser Identitätsbildung im frühneuzeitlichen Europa (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010) 75. 10 H.J. Cohn, “The Territorial Princes in Germany’s Second Reformation, 1559–1622”, in M. Prestwich (ed.), International Calvinism 1541–1715 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985) 145.

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work in Holland, where he could have become either a professor at the recently established University of Leiden or a minister of the city of Dordrecht, but he refused both positions. Originally from France, and having already made considerable efforts to learn the German language, Tossanus now liked to speak German and wanted to stay in a German-speaking environment, such as Basel or Bern. Eventually, he also went to Palatinate-Lautern and became the ecclesiastical leader of the principality.11 In the first phase of migration, during which people had to decide where to go, the Palatinate-Lautern was an attractive option, with its Reformed university at Neustadt an der Haardt and a refugee Dutch Reformed church at Frankenthal. Johann Casimir’s principality was also attractive to Tossanus since it enabled the postponement of a final decision on his ultimate destination. Even without a job ready for him, another minister, Johannes Fontanus, had also settled in Frankenthal, before later going on to the Netherlands.12 Palatinate-Lautern especially welcomed learned professors, ministers and schoolmasters of German origin, yet ministers with a Dutch origin were actively encouraged to re-emigrate and return to their homeland. By writing letters of recommendation, Johann Casimir was influential in making sure that these ministers could leave for congregations in the Netherlands.13 Two other territories in Germany that welcomed expelled professors, ministers and schoolmasters were the counties of Nassau-Dillenburg and Wittgenstein, both of which were north of the Rhine Palatinate.14 Wittgenstein belonged to Ludwig von Sayn zu Wittgenstein. A Reformed nobleman, von Sayn zu Wittgenstein left the court of the Elector Palatine in 1577 and took with him the 11 Cuno, Daniel Tossanus I, 111–12; F.W. Cuno, Daniel Tossanus der Ältere, Professor der Theologie und Pastor (1541–1602). II. Teil. Seine Schriften und Briefe (Amsterdam: Scheffer & Co, 1898) 31: Letter from Daniel Tossanus to Theodorus Beza, 2 February 1577; Werken der Marnix-Vereeniging. Brieven uit onderscheidenen kerkelijke archieven. Serie III, deel V, ed. J.J. van Toorenenbergen (Utrecht: Kemink, 1885) 175–82: Letter from Jean Taffin to Thomas van Thielt, 1 March 1577; M. Schaab, Geschichte der Kurpfalz. Band 2: Neuzeit (Stuttgart/Berlin/ Cologne: Kohlhammer, 1992) 50–56; V. Press, Calvinismus und Territorialstaat. Regierung und Zentralbehörden der Kurpfalz 1559–1619 (Stuttgart: Ernst Klett, 1970) 276–77 and 299– 321. 12 A.E.M. Janssen/K.G. van Manen, Johannes Fontanus. Een Gelders predikant in dienst van de orthodoxie (1545–1615) (Nijmegen: Valkhof, 2015) 15. 13 For example, Johannes Vossius and Martinus Lydius. Cuno, Daniel Tossanus I, 126–27; Cuno, Daniel Tossanus II, 80: Letter from the clergy of Neustadt to the coucil of Zürich, 27 December 1577. 14 Briefe des Pfalzgrafen Johann Casimir […] Erster Band, ed. Bezold, 289: Letter from the clergy of Neustadt to the city government of Schaffhausen, December 1577: “Nullus princeps eos ad ministerium vocat praeter Iohannem Nassovium et comitum Witgensteinium”; Cuno, Daniel Tossanus II, 78 and 80: Letter from Daniël Tossanus to Rudolph Gwalther, 5 November 1577, and Letter from the clergy of Neustadt to the city government of Zürich, 27 December 1577; R. Glawischnig, Niederlande, Kalvinismus und Reichsgrafenstand 1559–1584. Nassau-Dillenburg unter Graf Johann VI (Marburg: Elwert, 1973) 143.

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theologian Caspar Olevianus. Formerly a professor at Heidelberg, Olevianus became court chaplain in Berleburg, where he was given the task of enforcing a reformed reformation (zweite Reformation) in the county of Wittgenstein Count Ludwig went to great lengths to help the expelled ministers.15 Seventeen expelled ministers from the Palatinate found refuge in NassauDillenburg. Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg had adhered to the Reformed religion since 1572–74, and, when he introduced Calvinism to his county, was able to use the qualities of Christoph Pezel, a prominent theologian driven from Wittenberg by the Lutheran Elector of Saxony because of his Crypto-Calvinism.16 Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg saw it as his duty to conduct politics in a Christian manner and to promote the Reformed religion, approaching the task with a true sense of mission and performing it with a military zeal. That suited Pezel very much, for according to the theologian, the government’s task was to expand the true religion. Only a few prominent ministers, like Jeremias Bastingius (Antwerp), David Arondeaux (Brussels) and Petrus Dathenus (Ghent), went straight from the Palatinate to cities in Brabant and Flanders in 1577–78, representing an earlier movement than historian Dagmar Freist acknowledges in her analysis of the period.17 As a result, a Reformed synod gathered in Neustadt an der Haardt, the capital of Palatinate-Lautern, at the instigation of Daniel Tossanus and Petrus Dathenus to discuss the matter of expelled Reformed ministers and their families in August of 1577. The synod decided to seek the help of the Reformed Swiss cantons. They asked for financial assistance and hoped that twenty ministers from the Upper Palatinate would find refuge in Switzerland.18 Still, by December 1577, more than two hundred ministers had found nowhere to settle and remained dispersed throughout the Palatinate.19 Because there was not enough employment for all 15 Menk, “Caspar Olevian während der Berleburger und Herborner Zeit”, 168–74. 16 S. Schmidt, Glaube – Herrschaft – Disziplin. Konfessionalisierung und Alltagskultur in den Ämtern Siegen und Dillenburg (1538–1683) (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2005) 207; Glawischnig, Niederlande, Kalvinismus und Reichsgrafenstand, 114–29 and 207; J. Moltmann, Christoph Pezel (1539–1604) und der Calvinismus in Bremen (Bremen: Einkehr, 1958) 65–66. 17 D. Freist, “Dutch Calvinist Refugees in Europe since the Early Modern Period”, in K.J. Bade et al. (ed.), The Encyclopedia of Migration and Minorities in Europe from the 17th Century to the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011) 321. 18 Cuno, Daniel Tossanus I, 126–27; Briefe des Pfalzgrafen Johann Casimir […] Erster Band, ed. Bezold, 289: Letter from the clergy of Neustadt to the city government of Schaffhausen, December 1577. 19 Briefe des Pfalzgrafen Johann Casimir […] Erster Band, ed. Bezold, 289: Letter from the clergy of Neustadt to the city government of Schaffhausen, December 1577: “Sind dannocht noch über 200 ministri, die sich schweerlich erneeren, hin und her in der Pfalz zerstreuwt”; Cuno, Daniel Tossanus II, 80: Letter from the clergy of Neustadt to the city government of Zürich, 27 December 1577: “jedoch sind vber das noch mee dann zweyhundert Kylchendiener, welche sich schwärlich vnd kümerlich, wie sy mögend, getulden vnd erhalten, sind hin vnd har in de

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expelled ministers in German or Swiss territories, they also had to look for places outside of those lands, such as the Netherlands, a few hundred kilometres to the north west. Their stay in the Palatinate can be seen as part of the second phase of their migration process, for they were still on the move and looking for a place to settle. Hence, Count Palatine Johann Casimir drew up a list of names of unemployed ministers and asked William of Orange to find places for them in Holland or Zeeland, where, since 1572, Calvinism was gradually becoming the licit confession.20 At the request of the Prince of Orange, the States of Holland provided fifteen thousand guilders to the expelled ministers and teachers. A list of their names was handed over by two ministers from the Palatinate to the States of Holland. The ministers and schoolmasters were to first go to Leiden, where they could then become preachers or teachers in different places across the country.21 Johann Casimir’s list was not the only record of available preachers, as Jean Taffin, court chaplain to William of Orange, had also compiled an index of ministers from the Palatinate.22 Fifteen thousand guilders were made available to Leiden for receiving the German exiles, making it an attractive destination for Reformed ministers and teachers. Economic considerations were an important pull-factor in choosing a

Dörfern vnd Plätzen der Pfaltz zerströuwt, vnder welchen vil alt vnd wolbetaget des Reysens nit gewohnet, vil auch mit Lybs Schwachheit beladen sind.” 20 Epistulae et tractatus cum Reformationis tum Ecclesiae Londino-Batavae historiam illustrantes. Tomi tertii, pars prima, ed. J.H. Hessels (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1897) 479–80: Letter from Johannes Cubus to the consistory of the Dutch Reformed church of London, 8 November 1577: “vele vrome ende gheschickte predicanten wt de Paltz verdreuen ende sonder dienst syn dattet Gode te claghen is, ja veel meer dander plaetsen open syn, ofte ymmers (om beter te spreken) veel meer dander onderhoudt kan ghevonden worden. Soo dat Hertoogh Casimirus aen syne Excellentie gheschreuen ende versocht heeft dat hen (waert moghelick) in Hollant ende Zeelant dienst ende onderhout soude ghegheuen worden, waerop noch ter tyt ghedelibereert wordt. Ende op dat vL. te beter dit sien magh soo seynde ick v.L. een copie vanden Catalogus der Dienaren sonder dienst, die de twee gesandten Casimiri mede ghebracht hebben.” 21 The two ministers were Johannes Damius and Henricus van der Corput. J.C. Leeuwenhorst/ J. Smit, “De ongedrukte resolution der Staten van Holland van 20 April – 16 Juni 1572 en van 20 October – 17 November 1577”, Bijdragen en Mededeelingen van het Historisch Genootschap 61 (1940) 34–35; Epistulae […] Tomi tertii, pars prima, ed. J.H. Hessels, 483–85: Letter from Willem Bogaert to the consistory of the Dutch Reformed church of London, 1 December 1577: “angaende de predicanten commende wt den Pals (…) dat sy alle souden commen te Leijden ende dat de Staten van Hollant ter begeirte van syn exelency geordoneert ende geuonden tot haer onderaut de somme van 15 duusent gulden, ende souden aldaer wesen tot dat sy beroupen synde hier ende daer in dienst bestelt waren.” 22 Werken der Marnix-Vereeniging, ed. J.J. van Toorenenbergen, 175–82 and 147–49: Letter from Jean Taffin to Thomas van Thielt, 1 March 1577, and Letter from Jean Taffin to Arent Cornelisz., 4 January [1578].

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destination,23 for if migrants remained without financial resources, their families would be forced to live in an impoverished condition. Thus, while the push factor in the migration process was confessional, the pull factor was a mixture of confessional, social, cultural (e. g. language) and economic motives. For ministers, the choice of a destination was determined largely by the possibility of settling as a Reformed pastor in a particular place. Usually, Reformed ministers went to a region where authorities allowed them to exercise their religion. This could very well be a multi-confessional society. The States of Holland, for example, provided fifteen thousand guilders for Palatinate ministers and teachers, a fact that became well-known throughout the country.24 This shows that government support in favour of the Reformed religion could turn into a strong pull factor.

II.

Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg as Pull-factor

The Duchy of Guelders, and especially the city of Arnhem, developed into an alternative stopover for the ministers of the Palatinate, not in the least because of the strategies of their new stadtholder, Johann VI von Nassau-Dillenburg. His appointment as stadtholder of Guelders in 1578 was certainly unexpected. He was a count of German origin, which differentiated him from his brother, William of Orange, who was raised and educated at the court in Brussels. This had happened at the request of William’s childless Catholic uncle, and, in return for a large legacy, including the principality of Orange, William of Nassau-Dillenburg had been introduced into the cosmopolitan Habsburg court in Brussels in order to receive a Catholic education and to make him a member of the nobility of this region. There, William was obliged to learn French, the everyday language of the court.25 Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, on the other hand, stayed with his family at Dillenburg and was raised a Lutheran. He learned some Latin at home and a little French in Strasbourg, but never completely mastered either language. Indeed, the same was true of his Dutch. He spent a short time at the court in 23 A. Schunka, “Glaubensflucht als Migrationsoption. Konfessionell motivierte Migrationen in der Frühen Neuzeit”, Geschichte in Wissenschaft und Unterricht. Zeitschrift des Verbandes der Geschichtslehrer Deutschlands 56 (2005) 563. 24 When Peter Hackius, garrison preacher in Wachtendonk in Guelders, was asked to become regent in Leiden, he called on these funds and referred to the other pastors from the Palatinate; P.A.M. Geurts, Voorgeschiedenis van het Statencollege te Leiden 1575–1593 (Leiden: Brill, 1984) 6. 25 O. Mörke, Willem van Oranje (1533–1584). Vorst en ‘vader’ van de Republiek (Amsterdam/ Antwerp: Atlas, 2010) 41–42; L. Geevers, Gevallen vazallen. De integratie van Oranje, Egmont en Horn in de Spaans-Habsburgse monarchie (1559–1567) (Amsterdam: University Press, 2008).

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Düsseldorf, but found court life to be strange and unpleasant. Furthermore, he never made the long international tour abroad that was customary for sons of counts and princes. Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg did not belong to the highest rank of the Holy Roman Empire (Reichsfürstenstand), like the Elector Palatine Ludwig VI and his brother Johann Casimir. Instead, he ruled over a small territory and belonged, as such, to a group of less powerful rulers (Reichsgrafenstand), inhabiting a social space between knights (Rittern) and princes (Fürsten). His brother, William, on the other hand, was a part of the highest aristocracy in the Netherlands, even holding an ‘absolute sovereignty’ over the principality of Orange. Prince William belonged, both politically and socially, to the Reichsfürstenstand, which he demonstratively emphasized by his marriage to the daughter of the Elector of Saxony.26 For a long time, the Prince of Orange tried to maintain unity among the various confessional parties in their struggle against the rule of Philip II, while his German brother worked hard to successfully establish Calvinist alliances between Reformed territories, resulting in the Union of Utrecht in 1579. William of Orange advocated religious tolerance and was committed to the peaceful coexistence of Catholics and Protestants, but his brother was a convinced Calvinist with a great distrust in all that was Roman Catholic, and shared with German princes and counts a strong suspicion of the French.27 Yet, Johann’s appointment was entirely unexpected, as he was openly Reformed, while the Duchy of Guelders had remained almost entirely Catholic. In January of 1578, speaking in the High German language, he addressed the States of Guelders on the critical military situation of the province and the importance of financing the war against the King of Spain, impressing everyone with his eloquence.28 Because of the precarious military situation in the region, the lack of financial resources, and the prospect of closer ties to the rich province of Holland, the States of Guelders readily accepted the nomination of the younger brother of William of Orange as stadtholder.29 For his part, Johann von Nassau26 G. Schmidt, Der Wetterauer Grafenverein. Organisation und Politik einer Reichskorporation zwischen Reformation und Westfälischen Frieden (Marburg: Elwert, 1989) 484–86; L. Geevers, “Being Nassau: Nassau Family Histories and Dutch National Identity from 1541 to 1616”, Dutch Crossing. Journal of Low Countries Studies 35 (2011) 7. 27 A.E.M. Janssen, “Het verdeelde huis. Prins Willem van Oranje en graaf Jan van Nassau bij de totstandkoming van de Unie van Utrecht”, in S. Groenveld/H.L.P. Leeuwenberg (ed.), De Unie van Utrecht. Wording en werking van een verbond en een verbondsacte (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1979) 117; Glawischnig, Niederlande, Kalvinismus und Reichsgrafenstand, 57–61 and 165. 28 Verzameling van onuitgegeevene stukken, tot opheldering der vaderlandsche historie, Vyfde deel, ed. P. Bondam, 17: “met cierlike redenen in Hoochduytsche tale.” 29 For the politics of the aristocracy in the Netherlands, and especially in the adjacent northern provinces of Groningen and Frisia: V. Soen, “De verzoening van Rennenberg (1579–1581).

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Dillenburg complained in 1577 of being unable to either speak or understand Dutch, showing that he must have been aware of his deficiency in the Dutch language when considering the nomination. Nevertheless, for economic, dynastic, and religious reasons, he accepted the offer. In fact, upon his resignation from the position in 1581, his language deficit had still not been corrected and had hindered him in the performance of his duties. Thus, his experience as stadtholder in Guelders proves that Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg was well aware of the language problems that all German immigrants might encounter.30 On 22 May 1578, Count Johann was officially appointed and on 2 June his installation took place. He promised to abide by the Pacification of Ghent from 1576, where it had been agreed that the religious status quo should be maintained. This was significant because it reassured the Catholics from Guelders that their religion would be preserved within their province, while also guaranteeing that Calvinists would not be persecuted for their religion, as long as they did not cause ‘scandal’. Even so, Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg would pursue an active religious policy to introduce the Reformed faith. At the eve of a new synod in Dordrecht in June of 1578, he drew up his own list of desired ministers and used his contacts in his own county of Nassau-Dillenburg to do so.31 In a letter to Christoph Pezel, Count Johann mentioned the shortage of ministers in Guelders and that he was wondering how to recruit German ministers to such a distant region. The stadtholder was also looking for a court chaplain.32 According to Count Johann, there Adellijke beweegredenen tijdens de Opstand anders bekeken”, Tijdschrift voor Geschiedenis 122 (2009) 318–33. 30 Archives ou correspondence inédite de la maison d’Orange-Nassau. Tome VI. 1577–1579, ed. G. Groen van Prinsterer, 241: Letter from Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg to Wilhelm von Hessen, 10 November 1577; Archives ou correspondence inédite de la maison d’OrangeNassau. Tome VII. 1579–1581, ed. G. Groen van Prinsterer, 526: Letter from Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg to […], April 1581; J.H. Kluiver, De correspondentie tussen Willem van Oranje en Jan van Nassau, 1578–1584 (Hilversum: Verloren, 1984) 17–18; E. Lenting, “De benoeming van Graaf Johan van Nassau tot Stadhouder van Gelderland, Eene bladzijde uit de geschiedenis dezer Provincie”, Kronijk van het Historisch Genootschap 20 (1864) 103; G. Menk, “‘Qui trop embrasse, peu estreind.’ Politik und Persönlichkeit Graf Johann VI. von Nassau-Dillenburg 1580–1606”, Jahrbuch für westdeutsche Landesgeschichte 7 (1981) 128; Glawischnig, Niederlande, Kalvinismus und Reichsgrafenstand, 59 and 184–88. 31 J.W.M.C. Schatorjé, “Faber en Venlo. Engelbert Faber en de Reformatie in Venlo (1565– 1580)”, in F.J. Hermans et al. (ed.), Venlo’s Mozaïek. Hoofdstukken uit zeven eeuwen stadsgeschiedenis (Maastricht: Limburgs Geschied- en Oudheidkundig Genootschap, 1990) 132. 32 Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg wanted to have Johannes Badius, a minister in Cologne, as his court chaplain. Letters from both him and the Synod of Dordrecht could not persuade the Cologne consistory to release Badius. Acta van de Nederlandsche synoden der zestiende eeuw, ed. F.L. Rutgers, 332–33: Letter from the Synod of Dordrecht to the consistory of Cologne, 7 June 1578, and Letter of the consistory of Cologne to the Synod of Dordrecht, 14 June 1578; D. Nauta, “De Nationale Synode van Dordrecht”, in D. Nauta/J.P. van Dooren (ed.), De nationale synode van Dordrecht 1578 (Amsterdam: Buijte&Schipperheijn/Bolland, 1978) 47.

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were enough suitable ministers available in German territories, so it would not be necessary to recruit any from elsewhere. The letter to Pezel also mentions the language problems for many ministers. They should be able to speak more than only High German, instructed Count Johann, or otherwise they would not be able to work in Guelders.33 As such, Johann von Nassau instructed Jacobus Eldenius, a minister from Guelders, to search Germany for suitable ministers to build up the fledgling Reformed Church during the summer of 1578.34 Eldenius gave Christoph Pezel a list with names of desirable ministers, including those of men who had left the Palatinate in 1577 and were already known to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg. Pezel spoke to some of the ministers in Frankfurt am Main and informed them of the situation. He also wrote to several others, some of whom were indeed willing to move to the Netherlands, such as the learned and active Henricus Wipperfordius, who had served for a year in Hadamar, and Petrus Altenhovius, a young minister in Mengerskirchen. Both had indicated that they would go to Arnhem to present themselves. Pezel also wrote to Count Johann that he had heard from Daniel Tossanus, superintendent in Neustadt an der Haardt, that Johann Casimir had asked the theologians of the University of Neustadt to send the Dutch ministers back to their homeland. According to Pezel, a number of ministers were in a position to come to the Netherlands, but not all were suitable. His concern was over their ability to speak Dutch.35 Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg and Christoph Pezel shared the opinion that language could be a problem for German ministers coming to, or working in, the Netherlands. A list still exists that records seventy-one ministers and schoolmasters available for service in the Netherlands.36 This list was likely drawn up on the eve of the 33 For Christoph Pezel’s letter to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, 24 September 1578, see: Moltmann, Christoph Pezel, 76–77; Arnhem, Gelders Archief, Archief J.A.C.G. Trosée (AT), Correspondentie van Jan van Nassau 384: Letter from Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg to [Christoph Pezel], 7 August 1578: “was die sprache anlangt, sindt diejhenige, welche nicht so gar hochteutzsch reden, inn diesem furstenthumb wol zu verstehen.” 34 AT, Correspondentie van Jan van Nassau 484: Letter from Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg to Christoph Pezel, 22 August 1578; Schatorjé thinks Engelbert Faber enlisted ministers for towns and villages in Guelders during the summer months, but this was done by Jacobus Eldenius. Schatorjé, “Faber en Venlo”, 132–33. 35 AT, Correspondentie van Jan van Nassau 633: Letter from Christoph Pezel to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, 24 September 1578. 36 This list was preserved in the collection of Arent Cornelisz., secretary of the Synod of Dordrecht. Out of seventy-one available ministers or teachers, forty were German-born, while thirty-one had an origin in the Netherlands: Delft, Archief Delft, Archief van de Hervormde gemeente Delft (AHGD) 610: Lijst met namen van predikanten in steden en dorpen en aan scholen. J.P. van Dooren, “Kirchliche Beziehungen zwischen der Pfalz und den Niederlanden”, Blätter für pfalzische Kirchengeschichte (1970/71) 444; J.P. van Dooren, “Gegevens over de toestand van de gereformeerde kerk in 1578”, 185; Duke, Reformation and Revolt, 223.

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Synod of Dordrecht and we know that it was sent to Jean Taffin, William of Orange’s court chaplain. The available ministers are divided into three categories: those suitable for cities, those suitable for villages, and those suitable for public office or school. Alistair Duke calls the document a list of eighty Palatinate ministers, going to the Low Countries and the Lower Rhineland in order to find employment. Apart from the fact that the list mentions only seventy-one people, not all ministers and schoolmasters were from the Palatinate or went to the Netherlands or the Rhineland. It was simply an inventory of available people. So far, forty-seven people from the list have been identified. Most of them – fortythree persons – found employment in the Netherlands. Thirty of them had a professional background in the Palatinate, of which two-thirds were German. These numbers also show that the majority of ministers or teachers available and coming to the Netherlands were German and had an employment history in the Palatinate. The list can be seen as both a useful recruitment tool and as a key to a communication network of Reformed ministers. In the summer of 1578, a draft for a religievrede (religious peace) was submitted to the States General of the Netherlands, as part of the religious politics of William of Orange, who was working hard to hold the Seventeen Provinces together and was willing to cooperate with both Catholic and non-Catholic parties in order to do so. Among other things, the religievrede ordained that the Reformed were to be allowed to openly practise their religion and that a church building would be placed at their disposal on the condition that a hundred families asked for it.37 In early August, Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg received a request from the Reformed in Guelders to provide all cities and towns with Reformed ministers, schoolteachers, deacons, and elders. The request contained an appeal to the new religievrede. In another example, Calvinists from Nijmegen asked their city government for a church, but the Catholic magistrate refused. There was also talk of Reformed preaching in Tiel. The stadtholder was worried about these actions because they might cause trouble and he urged everyone to keep the peace.38 However, in Arnhem, Count Johann organized preaching on

37 Arnhem, Gelders Archief, Archief Hof van Gelre en Zutphen (AHG), Handelingen van Graaf Jan van Nassau 1561, fol. 43v°–48r°, and AT, Correspondentie Jan van Nassau 370: Request of Reformed citizens of Guelder cities and towns to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, August 1578; P.J.H. Ubachs, “De Nederlandse religievrede van 1578”, Nederlands Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis 77 (1997) 47. 38 J.S. van Veen, “De overgang op kerkelijk gebied te Nymegen in 1578 en 1579”, Nederlandsch Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis 16 (1920/21) 172–73; A.E.M. Janssen, “Nijmegen en de Unie van Utrecht. Gelderlands eerste hoofdstad temidden van politiek-religieuze spanningen (1578/ 1579)”, Numaga. Tijdschrift gewijd aan heden en verleden van Nijmegen en omgeving 26 (1979) 70 and 88; R.J. Kolman, De reductie van Nijmegen (1591), voor- en naspel (Groningen/ Djakarta: Wolters, 1952) 24; AHG, Handelingen van Graaf Jan van Nassau 1561, fol. 63v°, and

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Sundays and some weekday at his own court, to be held with open doors. Later, when the number of attendees increased, church services were held in the vestibule and, finally, when the number of participants became too large, they were moved to the marketplace to be conducted in the open air.39 The names of the ministers who took charge of the preaching in Arnhem are unknown, but Engelbert Faber, a former superintendent in the Palatinate, must have been one of them. Faber preached throughout the entire region at the time, but was particularly active in Venlo, Nijmegen, Geldern, Wachtendonk and Straelen.40 Reformed preaching in Guelders took place in cities where the political and religious situation was quite different from that in other parts of the Netherlands. Unlike Holland or Zeeland, the Catholic province of Guelders did not choose its side in the Rebellion. The political and religious agenda of Johann von NassauDillenburg did not therefore correspond to those of local, regional, or provincial governments. The States of Guelders rightly considered the religievrede an interim step towards Reformed exclusivism and did not accept it. To the great dismay of the stadtholder, they wanted to abide by the Pacification of Ghent. According to tradition, the stadtholder responded angrily in Dutch: “Reassure yourself with the Pacification of Ghent. I will see what happens. Give me three days and I will see what happens. I do not want to be led to the slaughter.”41

III.

Reformed Ministers

The appointment of Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg as stadtholder of Guelders in 1578 made it not only possible, but also attractive, for Reformed ministers from the Palatinate to choose this province as their destination. This caused Dutch exiles, who had left the Netherlands because of Habsburg confessional policies and who had settled in Protestant safe havens in the Holy Roman Empire, to return to Guelders, together with German ministers and Calvinist religious refugees coming from the Palatinate. According to Dagmar Freist, Dutch confesAT, Correspondentie Jan van Nassau 365: Letter from Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg to Tiel, 5 August 1578. 39 AT, Correspondentie van Jan van Nassau, 384: Letter from Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg to [Christoph Pezel], 7 August 1578; J.S. van Veen, “Arnhem in den tijd van overgang (1578– 1590)”, Bijdragen en mededelingen vereniging Gelre 15 (1912) 253–54; Oude kerkordeningen der Nederlandsche Hervormde gemeenten (1563–1638) en het concept-reglement op de organisatie van het Hervormd Kerkgenootschap in het koningrijk Holland (1809), ed. C. Hooyer (Zaltbommel: Noman, 1865) 179. 40 Schatorjé, “Faber en Venlo”, 133. 41 Nijhoff, “Eerste handelingen van Jan graaf van Nassau-Katzenellenbogen”, 126: “Salft ende smeert u met de Pacificatie van Gent, ick sie wel watter omgaet. Laet mij noch 3 dagen beijden, ick sal dan sien watter omgaet, ick will op de vleijschbanck niet gebracht zijn.”

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sional migrants returning to the Netherlands after the Pacification of Ghent (1576) primarily settled in Holland and Zeeland.42 Unlike those who returned to the coastal provinces, both Dutch exiles who returned to Guelders and the other Reformed ministers who migrated from Germany were received with hostility instead of the expected enthusiasm. However, they were willing and able to work hard to realize their confessional religious programme, which was to introduce and establish the Reformed religion in Guelders. Confessional militancy was part of the religious mentality of these migrants, whose own experience in adapting to new circumstances meant that they were well placed to support the processes of reformation and confessionalization in this province.43 In a Memorial drawn up for the Prince of Orange at the instigation of Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg during the week of 7 September 1578, Reformed preaching occurred in the cities of Tiel, Wageningen, Harderwijk, Elburg, Doesburg, Venlo, Geldern, Wachtendonk, Straelen, Nijmegen, and Arnhem, as well as in some smaller villages.44 This happened in three of the four quarters of Guelders: Nijmegen, Roermond (Upper Quarter) and Arnhem (Veluwe or Lower Quarter). The Quarter of Zutphen represented the lone exception, as no Reformed activities took place within the town of Zutphen. According to Van Lieburg’s Repertorium van Nederlandse hervormde predikanten tot 1816 (Appendix 1), three places had a Reformed minister before 1578: Zaltbommel, Elburg, and Zoelen. In 1572, rebels captured the town of Zaltbommel and the city joined the league of rebellious coastal provinces. Since then, Zaltbommel had acted independently of Guelders, enabling Reformed ministers to work there as early as 1573.45 Zoelen was owned by Dirk Vijgh, a warlord who chose the side of the revolt. Little is known about the two ministers of Zoelen, making it difficult to say whether they were active in 1576–78. For these reasons, Zaltbommel and Zoelen will be excluded from further discussion. We do know, however, that Jacobus Wedaeus came to Elburg in 1578.46 Appendix 2 shows an updated list with names of the ministers who were employed in Guelders in 1578, along with their places of birth and possible employment history in the Palatinate. When comparing these two lists, one notices a number of things: firstly, the number of ministers; secondly, the ministers with an employment history in the 42 Freist, “Dutch Calvinist Refugees”, 319. 43 Janssen, “Exiles and the Politics of Reintegration”, 39; G.G. Kroeker, “Introduction”, in T.G. Fehler/G.G. Kroeker/C.H. Parker/J. Ray (ed.), Religious Diaspora in Early Modern Europe: Strategies of Exile (London/Vermont: Pickering & Chatto, 2014) 2. 44 Van Veen mentions the village of Elst: “Arnhem in den tijd van overgang”, 352–54. 45 D. Brouwer, De Reductie van Bommel (1572–1602) (Arnhem: Gouda Quint, 1918). 46 Elburg, Stadsarchief Elburg (AE), Streekarchivariaat Noordwest-Veluwe 158: Ingekomen stukken 1578, Letter from Caspar Coolhaas to the city government of Elburg. Leiden, 3 oktober 1578.

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Palatinate; and thirdly, the ministers with a German background. This examination will first look at the number of ministers who found employment in Guelders. Before 1578, no more than five ministers were working in Guelders; after 1578, nineteen names are mentioned. Compared to the first list, the number of ministers almost quadrupled. In the second list, compiled from several sources, more names are mentioned than in Van Lieburg’s Repertorium. These include Petrus Overcampius (Tiel),47 Johannes à Nijcken (Doesburg),48 Gilbert Brebern (Geldern), Engelbert Faber (Venlo), Petrus Hackius (Wachtendonk), Caspar Velthusius (Geldern), Henricus Dibbetz (Harderwijk) and Wilhelmus Hagedoorn (Hattem). It is particularly striking that the Quarter of Roermond was provided with ministers in 1578. These were garrison preachers who were coming along with troops in order to gain a foothold in the respective cities.49 During this year, Engelbert Faber played a crucial role in providing cities with Reformed ministers. Two other ministers, Carolus Gallus and Jacobus Eldenius, were also active in the field. They were part of Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg’s confessional network and he used their services in various ways. Eldenius, for example, was given the task of recruiting pastors in Germany. Gallus travelled around Guelders to preach and present new ministers. In 1578, he was active in places like Zutphen, Doesburg and Elst.50 Eldenius and Gallus were not attached to a local church and are therefore missing from the above list. It could be argued, 47 His name is not mentioned explicitly, but on 22 November, the church of the Cecilia Monastery was placed at the Calvinists’ disposal and the Reformed minister was instructed to live in the house of the Father. Overcampius was likely this minister. He had to leave the Palatinate in 1577, went to the Netherlands, and worked in Tiel before he became a preacher in Amersfoort. G. Biundo, Die evangelischen Geistlichen der Pfalz seit der Reformation (Pfälzisches Pfarrerbuch) (Neustadt an der Aisch: Degener, 1968) 231; E.D. Rink, Beschrijving der stad Tiel (Tiel: Van Loon, 1836) 63; Van Heiningen, Devotie en Macht, 107–11. 48 The Reformed in Doesburg were in possession of a church and a minister in October of 1578. This preacher was likely Johannes à Nijcken. He wrote a letter on 7 July, 1579 to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg and signed it “Johan van Niecken g[enamd] Zimmerman, diener godliches wordts zu Dosborg” (AHG, Handelingen van Graaf Jan van Nassau 1561, fol. 65–68); J.S. van Veen, “De Graafschap in den tijd van overgang”, Bijdragen en mededelingen vereniging Gelre 29 (1926) 97–100; AT 696: Letter from Johann Filips von Hohensaxen to Jurgen van Bucholtz, sheriff of Doesburg, 7 October 1578. 49 L.J. Rogier, Geschiedenis van het katholicisme in Noord-Nederland in de 16e en 17e eeuw, Deel 1 (Amsterdam: Urbi et Orbi, 1945) 541; Janssen, “Nijmegen en de Unie van Utrecht”, 72; Schatorjé, “Faber en Venlo”, 132 and 136; H.H.E. Wouters, Grensland en bruggehoofd. Historische studies met betrekking tot het Limburgse Maasdal en, meer in het bijzonder, de stad Maastricht (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1970). 50 P.C. Molhuysen, “Carolus Gallus of De Haan”, Bijdragen voor vaderlandsche geschiedenis en oudheidkunde. Zesde deel (Arnhem: Nijhoff, 1848) 142–47; Archives […] Tome VI, ed. G. Groen van Prinsterer, 458–62: Letter from Engelbert Faber to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, 17 October 1578; AHG, Handelingen van Graaf Jan van Nassau 1561, fol. 73v°: Letter of Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg to the sheriff, inhabitants and clergy of Elst, 1 November 1578.

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however, that the number of Reformed ministers in Guelders increased significantly through the active support of the new stadtholder. Military support made it possible for these ministers to gain a foothold and carry out their ministry. According to Van Lieburg, approximately ten ministers from the Palatinate found refuge in the Netherlands.51 This number must be readjusted upwards because there were actually far more ministers from the Palatinate who went to the Netherlands. Eleven, for example, found employment in Guelders alone. Additional ministers also went to the Netherlands, including Johannes Damius to Haarlem,52 Henricus van der Corput to Dordrecht, Cornelis Hondius to Vlissingen, Jacobus Postelius to Culemborg, Wilhelmus Wirtzfeldius to Rhenen, and Johannes Hallius to Warmond. The aforementioned David Arondeaux and Petrus Dathenus went to the Southern Netherlands, joining Jacobus Kimedonckius, Jeremias Bastingius, and Johannes Bollius.53 Hence, the names of at least thirty-five Reformed ministers who had migrated from the Palatinate to the Netherlands are known today.54 Even though there were likely additional ministers, these thirty-five make it necessary to adjust the numbers previously calculated by Van Lieburg. The fact that at least eleven of them were going to Guelders draws attention to the fact that this province was a premier destination for a relatively large number of ministers from the Palatinate. The second point of interest is the ministers’ employment history. In 1578, fifteen Reformed ministers were allowed to work in the various cities of Guelders, with no less than eleven of them coming from the Palatinate. The Duchy of Guelders, in contrast to other parts of the Netherlands, received an influx of ministers that was almost exclusively from Germany.55 Engelbert Faber, for ex51 Lieburg, Profeten en hun vaderland, 226. 52 Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg wanted Johannes Damius to become minister in Gelderland. AT, Correspondentie van Jan van Nassau 482: Letter from Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg to Johannes Damius, 22 August 1578, and 702: Letter from the city government and consistory of Haarlem to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, 8 October 1578. 53 H.Q. Janssen, Bescheiden aangaande de kerkhervorming in Vlaanderen, Werken der MarnixVereeniging serie III, deel III (Utrecht: Kemink & Zoon, 1877) 46; According to Wenzel Zuleger, only ministers from the Palatinate were preaching in Ghent and Brussels. Briefe des Pfalzgrafen Johann Casimir […] Erster Band, ed. Bezold, 306: Letter from Wenzel Zuleger to Christoph von Ehem, 15 July 1578. 54 Additional names of Palatinate ministers going to the Netherlands, as recorded on the list sent to Jean Taffinin at the Synod of Dordrecht, include Abrahamus Gallus, Wernerus Helmichius, Everhardus Gualtherus Wittius, Goethard Fell, Thomas Gruterus, Henricus Heiningius, Nicolaus Pancratius, Rutgerus Copius, Theodorus Siliginius, and a second Henricus Heiningius. In the context of Palatinate ministers going to the Low Countries, Johannes Kuchlinus should also be recorded. Petrus Dathenus, David Arondeaux, Martinus Lydius, Johannes Vossius, and the ministers mentioned in appendix 2, brings the total number of ministers from the Palatinate mentioned in this article to thirty-five. 55 For a later period the same can be said about the Quarter of Twente in Overijssel. P.A.H.M.

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ample, was superintendent in Alzey. Others, such as Petrus Gellius Faber de Bouma (Lambsheim), Johannes Ceporinus (Gross-Winternheim), Petrus Overcampius (Hofheim), Caspar Velthusius (Laasphe) and Johannes Fontanus (Großbockenheim), served in local churches across the Electorate. It is also very likely that other migrant ministers had been working in the Palatinate, but it is not known which local congregations they served. This group includes Gilbert Brebern, Petrus Hackius, Otto van Heteren, Wilhelmus Varicius and Jacobus Wedaeus. All of the eleven ministers with an employment history in the Palatinate, with the exception of Wilhelmus Varicius, are also mentioned in the list that was sent to Jean Taffin at the Synod of Dordrecht. Varicius was enrolled at the University of Leiden in the summer of 1578, as were both Jacobus Wedaeus and Petrus Kintsius.56 The aforementioned fifteen thousand guilders that were made available in Leiden to receive ministers exiled from the Palatinate in the second stage of the migration process turned the city into a ‘ministerial distribution centre’. Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg requested four ministers from Leiden, with Varicius and Wedaeus being sent to Arnhem and becoming the ministers of Wageningen and Elburg respectively.57 The third point of interest questions whether these eleven ministers were Dutch exiles, German refugees, or, as a third option, German exiles. As previouly mentioned, Dutch exiles initially fled the repression of the Spanish-Habsburg government, but often returned to their homeland when Protestantism became a permitted religion. Some of these Dutch exiles ended up in the Palatinate, where they were welcome under the reign of Elector Palatine Friedrich III.58 Otto van Heteren was one of the Dutch exiles who returned to his native country. In 1566– 67, he had been active as a minister in Harderwijk and reappeared in this city after being expelled from the Palatinate. Engelbert Faber, on the other hand, was not Dutch. He was born in Jülich and worked in Venlo from 1565 to 1567, returning to Abels, De broederen van Twenthe. Een studie van de eerste Twentse dominees (1597–1678) (Hengelo: Broekhuis, 1984); Lieburg, Profeten en hun vaderland, 114–15. 56 The transcription of the names of Wedaeus and Kintsius in the Leiden album studiosorum is probably not correct. They are called “Jodocus Wedaeus” and “Petrus Rins[s]ius.” N.W. du Rieu, Album studiosorum Academiae Lugduno Batavae MDLXXV–MDCCCLXXV: accedunt nomina curatorum et professorum per eadem secula (The Hague, Martinus Nijhoff, 1875) 2–3; Kintsius became minister in Rheden and rector in Arnhem. R. Bastiaanse/H. Bots/M. Evers (ed.), ‘Tot meesten nut ende dienst van de jueght.’ Een onderzoek naar zeventien Gelderse Latijnse scholen ca. 1580–1815 (Zutphen: Walburg, 1985) 235 and 267. 57 H.L. Driessen, “Uit de kerkelijke geschiedenis van Wageningen”, Bijdragen en mededelingen vereniging Gelre 40 (1937) 55–8, 78–9 and 85: “Erstlich isz den predicant van Duytslandt op Hollandt gereyst op Dordrecht und so vort op Leyden gekommen. Und isz darnar van Mijn Heer den Stadtholder met mehr anderen brudern op Arnhem berupen und bescheyden worden, und so vortz op Wageningen geordinert und geseth worden etc.” 58 Freist, “Dutch Calvinist Refugees”, 319.

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this city in 1578 after being forced to leave the Palatinate. Because Faber was German, he is considered a German refugee and not a Dutch exile. Gilbert Brebern, however, can be considered a German exile. Born in Breberen near Heinsberg in the Duchy of Jülich, he was forced to leave the Palatinate and spent nine years in Geldern and Goch, before returning to the Palatinate in 1587.59 Overall, it can be stated that many pastors experienced a high degree of mobility during this era. The records further show that six of the eleven ministers with an employment history in the Palatinate were of German origin. Four ministers came from Guelders and one migrated from Holland. These five ministers can be called Dutch exiles. None of the ministers who went from the Palatinate to Guelders had their roots in the Southern Netherlands. When examining the fifteen ministers who worked in Guelders in 1578, eight came from Germanic regions, like the Lower Rhine, Jülich, Cologne, Koblenz, or Emden, and six originated from Guelders – particularly from its Upper Quarter. Petrus Hackius was the only one who came from Holland, while only Wilhelmus Hagedoren had not previously worked in Germany. Thus, it is clear that Germany represented an important recruitment site for ministers in a border region like Guelders.

IV.

Language Barriers

In 1578, fifteen ministers found work in Guelders. Eight of them had German origins. We also know that more German ministers came to Guelders, but did not find permanent employment because they spoke only German. A group of mostly unknown German ministers, for example, attempted to settle in the province, but left because they failed to learn Dutch well enough. Thus, they did not stay long enough to make it into the table displayed in Appendix 2. Because they never worked in Guelders, we know of them only from the correspondence of Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg. Johannes Fontanus, a minister in Arnhem, relates in one such letter that he housed six or seven ministers or schoolmasters. It was not easy for migrant ministers from Germany to live and work in Arnhem, as, besides their financial concerns, they spoke High German, making it difficult for the local population to understand them. Churchgoers became irritated and stayed away from the services. Fontanus had no real idea what to do with ministers who only annoyed their congregations, so, to his great regret, he had to send some of them home, among whom was likely the aforementioned Petrus Altenhovius from Mengerskirchen. Fontanus felt regret because he wished 59 S. Flesch, “Konfessionalisierung im Rhein-Maas-Raum”, Monatshefte für Evangelische Kirchengeschichte des Rheinlandes 60 (2011) 23.

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to give all German ministers a chance to learn Dutch and use their God-given talents in their new homeland. We do know the names of some of the ministers who had to return to Germany, such as Henricus Wipperfordius from Hadamar, whose name is recorded because Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg asked his contacts in Nassau to find employment for him. In September 1578, this learned minister had said to Christoph Pezel that he was willing to go to Guelders. A year later, the stadtholder wrote that Wipperfordius could not master the language.60 In this case, it is important to note that his poor medical condition provided an additional reason to leave the province.61 The other minister whose name is known is Henricus Fabricius, who came from the Palatinate and was presented to Nijmegen as minister of the city. According to the Nijmegen consistory, Fabricius also unfortunately spoke only High German, making him unsuitable to work as a preacher in this town.62 Three languages were commonly heard in German-speaking territories: High German, Low German, and Dutch. In the Northern Netherlands, people spoke either Low German or Dutch, with Low German also being the language of the Hanseatic League. High German, however, was spoken in Central and Southern Germany, south of the ‘ik/ich’ isogloss (the Benrather Linie). Since the midsixteenth century, the use of Low German decreased in favour of High German, which also affected the northern German churches.63 High German became the

60 Archives […] Tome VII, ed. G. Groen van Prinsterer, 422–24: Letter from Johannes Fontanus to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, 14 November 1580; Staats Evers, Johannes Fontanus, 24–25; AT, Correspondentie van Jan van Nassau 633: Letter from Christoph Pezel to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, 24 September 1578; Den Haag, Koninklijke Huisarchief, Archief NassauBeilstein (ANB), Correspondentie met raden en secretarissen: Letter from Johann von Nassau Dillenburg to his Council at Dillenburg. Arnhem, 17 October 1579: “Dieweil auch die predicant von Hadamar, Henricus genant, so nhun ein zeitlanck alhie gewesen, mit dieser sprach nicht vortkommen kan.”; Menk, “Caspar Olevian während der Berleburger und Herborner Zeit”, 174–75 and 181. 61 ANB, Correspondentie met raden en secretarissen: Letter from Johann von Nassau Dillenburg to his Council at Dillenburg. Arnhem, 17 October 1579: “(…) sich auch von der lufft gantzs ubel befindet, alsodas er sich notwendig wieder hienaussen begeben muss, unangesehen wie gern ihne die gemeinde alhie behalten wolte.” The absence of his last name in several sources, the fact that he was a learned pastor, his medical condition and his good relationship with his congregation, make it very plausible to identify him with Henricus Wipperfordius, of whom nothing was known, except for those things mentioned in the acts of the Synod of Guelders. J.D. Reitsma/S.D. van Veen, Acta der provinciale en particuliere synoden (…) Gelderland, 4. 62 Archives […] Tome VI, ed. G. Groen van Prinsterer, 458–62: Letter from Engelbert Faber to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, 17 October 1578; AHG, Handelingen van Graaf Jan van Nassau 1561, fol. 69–69v°: Letter of Johann Filips von Hohensaxen to the Reformed at Nijmegen, 9 October 1578; AT 825: Letter from the consistory of Nijmegen to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, 2/3 November 1578, “alleenlick der Hoeckduytscher thalen halven spreeckende dieselve niet toe verstaen”. 63 Lieburg, Profeten en hun vaderland, 195; M. Lindow, Niederdeutsch als evangelische Kir-

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language used by officials and of the Bible, while Low German was emblematic of the poor, the peasantry, and the mob. High German was spoken in the Palatinate, as it was in the Duchy of Jülich. Since both Engelbertus Faber and Johannes Fontanus originated from this region and spoke the dialect of the Lower Rhine, they were able to easily communicate with others in Guelders.64 There were also language barriers in the Northern Netherlands that prevented Lower German and Dutch speakers from understanding one another. The river IJssel in the provinces of Guelders and Overijssel represents a natural border that helped to maintain this separation. In 1575, ordinary people in Rotterdam could not understand ministers who spoke an Eastern (Oosterschen) dialect,65 while ordinary people in Holland, Zeeland, and Utrecht found it difficult to understand those from the eastern parts of the Netherlands. However, most language problems concerned the German origin of a specific minister and his use of High German. In 1605, Johannes Fontanus sent a letter to Dordrecht to ask his colleagues to find employment for a minister from Guelders who had delivered a sermon, only to be told by them that his German was somewhat ‘High’. In many cases, ministers from abroad, such as those from the Palatinate, were granted time to become familiar with the Dutch language, as was the case with Jacobus Postelius, who was born in Cologne and migrated from the Palatinate. Henricus van de Corput, minister in Dordrecht, wondered whether people in Flanders could understand Postelius’ German accent. At the end of July 1578, Postelius became minister of Culemborg, but needed assistance because he did not speak Dutch. Another preacher from Germany, Andreas Rademaker, wanted to become a minister in Dordrecht in 1592 and gave a well-received sermon, but his examiners were afraid that country people would be unable to understand him. However, they gave him time to practise because they expected that he would learn the language. When Johannes Pellenberg came to Dordrecht in 1599 as a student, his examiners also thought people would not understand him. He had to become familiar with the Dutch language by practising on Sundays with other candidates who were preparing for the ministry.66 chensprache im 16. und 17. Jahhundert (Greifswald, 1936) 83–85 and 88–89; M. van der Wal, Geschiedenis van het Nederlands (Utrecht: Spectrum, 1992) 87 and 91–92. 64 Lieburg, Profeten en hun vaderland, 220; Flesch, “Konfessionalisierung im Rhein-MaasRaum”, 43–44. Some biographers incorrectly state that Johannes Fontanus was difficult to understand because of his German-Lower Rhine accent. For an example, see: Janssen/van Manen. Johannes Fontanus, 53. 65 Epistulae […] Tomi tertii, pars prima, ed. J.H. Hessels, 278–79: Letter from the consistory of the Reformed church of Rotterdam to the consistory of the Dutch Reformed church of London, 4 January 1575; Pettegree, Emden and the Dutch Revolt, 246. 66 Classicale acta 1573–1620. II Particuliere synode Zuid-Holland. Classis Dordrecht 1601–1620, Classis Breda 1616–1620, ed. J. Roelevink (The Hague: Instituut voor Nederlandse Geschiedenis, 1991) 198; Classicale acta 1573–1620. Particuliere synode Zuid-Holland. X Classis

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Such examples show that the theological elite were aware that ordinary people in church had difficulties in understanding pastors who spoke with a very heavy German accent. If a German minister could not master Dutch within a reasonable amount of time, however, he could still go to the eastern Netherlands, where Low German was spoken, which was quite similar to High German. In 1621, there was a minister who had been working in the Upper Quarter, but was now looking for employment in the province of Utrecht. There, he was told that his language was ‘very High’. The Utrecht church advised him to look for a living in Guelders, in the Land of Maas and Waal, or near Nijmegen. The former pastor of Grootebroek in West-Frisia had received a similar suggestion in 1583. He had been looking for work in South-Holland, but the Delft church advised him that because he was a German speaker, he should go to Guelders.67 German-speaking preachers would do better in the border regions than they would in Holland or Utrecht, but that was not always an appropriate solution, as the cases of German ministers in Arnhem and Nijmegen have shown.

Conclusions In 1578, fifteen Reformed ministers came to the Catholic Duchy of Guelders. More than eleven arrived from the Palatinate, encouraged by Johann von NassauDillenburg and Christoph Pezel to move to this specific region. Their migration was motivated by both the religious policies of Ludwig VI of the Palatinate and the regional presence of Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg. Forced out by Ludwig VI, Reformed ministers and teachers from the Palatinate had to search for a home in other lands, becoming religious refugees. Of the eleven Palatinate ministers that went to Guelders, five of them had roots in the Netherlands and can be called Dutch exiles, while six were of German origin and may be referred to as German refugees (or German exiles). Two other German ministers came from other regions of Germany to Guelders (Henricus Wipperfordius from Hadamar, and Henricus Dibbetz from Jülich). Scholars know, through the correspondences of Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, that there were additional Reformed ministers from the Palatinate who came to Guelders, but only Henricus Fabricius has

Brielle 1574–1623, ed. W.G. Visser (The Hague: Huygens/ING, 2015) CXC; O. J. de Jong, De reformatie in Culemborg (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1957) 206; Classicale acta 1573–1620. Particuliere synode Zuid-Holland. I Classis Dordrecht 1573–1600, ed. J.P. van Dooren (The Hague, 1980) 360, 364, 371 and 527. 67 Lieburg, Profeten en hun vaderland, 196; Classicale acta 1573–1620. VII Provinciale synode Zuid-Holland. Classis Delft en Delfland 1572–1620, ed. P.H.A.M. Abels/A.P.F. Wouters (The Hague: Instituut voor Nederlandse Geschiedenis, 2001) 14.

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appeared in the records.68 These fourteen ministers known by name went to great trouble and considerable expense in travelling to Guelders to find employment.69 Besides those already mentioned, there were additional German speaking ministers who came to Guelders, but whose names and origins have remained unknown. These ministers were faced with major and sometimes insurmountable difficulties when it came to completing the third stage of the migration process and settling into their new environment. Their identities are not known to us because Johannes Fontanus, an Arnhem minister, did not provide them in his letter to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg. Eventually, this group had to leave the Netherlands because they could not master the Dutch language. If German-speaking ministers wished to go to the Netherlands to work, the ability to speak the language of the common people was important for their successful integration into a new society, a fact that most migrants seemed aware of at all three stages of the migration process. The question became how easily could German ministers adapt to the language of another region or country? The scope of the migration seems to indicate that most ministers and other migrants could indeed cross geographical and language boundaries without major problems, but when one looks closely at the use of language, it is questionable as to whether migration from the Palatinate to the Netherlands was as easy as it has always been assumed. It is clear that language was an important factor in selecting a destination for migration. Daniel Tossanus, for example, did not want to go to the Netherlands because he knew that he would be required to learn the language. Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg and his theological adviser, Christoph Pezel, acted as mediators for refugee ministers from the Palatinate to Guelders; both knew the problems that could arise for German pastors who spoke only High German and both often expressed their concerns on this issue. Some Germanspeaking ministers were forced to leave Arnhem and Nijmegen because the local people simply could not understand their sermons. This evidence confirms Van Lieburg’s core hypothesis from his study on the geographical origin of Reformed ministers: preachers from the Palatinate could have expected to encounter a significant language barrier and that even a local accent might represent a practical obstacle.70 As such, the correspondence between the Nijmegen consistory, Johannes Fontanus, and Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg has revealed some of the limits to 68 Flesch reports that Fabricius was expelled from his “rheinhessischen” parish, in the course of the Lutheran changes in the Palatinate. Flesch, “Konfessionalisierung im Rhein-MaasRaum”, 23. From Petrus Altenhovius from Mengerskirchen is only known that he was willing to go to Guelders. 69 J.W. Staats Evers, Johannes Fontanus, Arnhem’s eerste predikant (1577–1615) en zijn tijd (Arnhem: Van der Zande, 1882) 12–13. 70 Lieburg, Profeten en hun vaderland, 191–97 and 226.

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transregional migration.71 The question then arises as to whether this was the case in other migration contexts, an inquiry that still requires further research. Language barriers to confessional migration might appear to be so obvious that most of the sixteenth-century migration historiography refuses to pay any attention to them. Yet, contemporary sources show that people at the time were aware that language could be a barrier to confessional migration. The problems faced by the German ministers in Guelders prove that more attention needs to be paid to the role of language in migration processes and, in particular, with regard to settling into a new environment. Similarly, the activities of both Johann von NassauDillenburg and the various German ministers who migrated to Guelders indicate the value of additional research into German influences on the history of the Northern Netherlands, for Count Johann brought with him a Reformed German perspective on the Revolt, the Reformation, and confessionalization that all eventually influenced the Union of Utrecht in 1579.72 More research into his activities in the border region of Guelders, as well as within the rest of the Netherlands, would offer historians an opportunity to gain a greater insight into the influence of the Reformed German perspective on the history of the Dutch Republic.

Appendix 1 Quarter of Nijmegen73 Nijmegen 1578–1585 Nijmegen 1578–1580 Zaltbommel 1573–1578 Zaltbommel 1573–1607 Zaltbommel 1573–1578 Zoelen 1576–1597 Zoelen 1576–1597

Johannes Ceporinus Petrus Gellius Faber de Bouma Johannes Ceporinus Johannes Leo Casparus Nicolai Grevinchovius Goossen Wijnants Jacobus

71 Archives […] Tome VII, ed. G. Groen van Prinsterer, 422–24: Letter from Johannes Fontanus to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg, 14 November 1580, “das die Hochteutschen hier gantz schwerlich verstanden werden, das volck verdrüssig wirt und ausz den kirchen bleibt”; Staats Evers, Johannes Fontanus, 24–25. 72 L. Paul, Nassauische Unionspläne. Untersuchungen zum politischen Programm des deutschen Kalvinismus im Zeitalter der Gegenreformation (unpublished PhD thesis, Universität Münster, 1966); Glawischnig, Niederlande, Kalvinismus und Reichsgrafenstand; Schmidt, Der Wetterauer Grafenverein. 73 This list is based on F.A. van Lieburg, Repertorium van Nederlandse hervormde predikanten tot 1816. Deel 1: predikanten. Deel 2: gemeenten (Dordrecht: Van Lieburg, 1996). Ministers from the Upper Quarter are not included in the Repertorium, as this quarter came in Spanish hands in 1585 and would not become part of the Dutch Republic.

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Quarter of Arnhem (Veluwe or Lower Quarter) Arnhem 1578–1579 Henricus Wipperfordius Arnhem 1578–1615 Johannes Fontanus Elburg 1576–1583 Jacobus Wedaeus Harderwijk 1578–1591 Otto van Heteren Wageningen 1578–1587 Wilhelmus Varicius

Appendix 2 Quarter of Nijmegen74 Nijmegen Petrus Gellius Faber de Bouma (Emden) Nijmegen Johannes Ceporinus (Guelders) Tiel Petrus Overcampius (Jülich) Zaltbommel Johannes Leo (Culemborg) Zaltbommel Casparus Nicolai Grevinchovius (Dortmund) Zoelen Goossen Wijnants (?) Zoelen Jacobus (?)

Palatinate Palatinate Palatinate – – – –

Quarter of Zutphen Doesburg Johannes à Nijcken (Guelders)

–

Quarter of Roermond (Upper Quarter) Geldern Gilbert Brebern (Jülich) Venlo Engelbert Faber (Jülich) Wachtendonk Petrus Hackius (Holland) Geldern Caspar Velthusius (Guelders)

Palatinate (?) Palatinate Palatinate (?) Palatinate

Quarter of Arnhem (Veluwe or Lower Quarter) Harderwijk Henricus Dibbetz (Cologne) Arnhem Johannes Fontanus (Jülich) Hattem Wilhelmus Hagedoorn (Guelders?) Harderwijk Otto van Heteren (Guelders) Wageningen Wilhelmus Varicius (Guelders) Elburg Jacobus Wedaeus (Koblenz) Arnhem Henricus Wipperfordius (Berg?)

– Palatinate – Palatinate (?) Palatinate (?) Palatinate (?) –

74 This table shows an updated list with names of the ministers who were employed in Guelders in 1578 and is based on sources mentioned in the footnotes above, and G. Beernink, “De reformatie te Nykerk (1578–1628)”, Bijdragen en mededelingen vereniging Gelre 15 (1912) 10; F.A. Hoefer, Aanteekeningen betreffende de kerk van Hattem (Arnhem: Gouda Quint, 1900) 170–71; J.S. van Veen, “De Harderwijkse predikant Otto van Heteren”, Nederlandsch Archief voor Kerkgeschiedenis 8 (1911) 200–1; J.H.T. Wieldraaijer, “De kerk van Elburg in een periode van onrust en verandaringen (1560–1600)”, in De Hervormde Gemeente te Elburg (Elburg: Oudheidkundige Vereniging Arent thoe Boecop, 1994) 22–23; AT, Correspondentie van Jan van Nassau, nrs. 744, 743, 751, 792, and 833: Letter from Johann Philips von Hohensaxen to Zaltbommel, 17 October 1578, Letter from the Hattem Reformed to Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg [after 17 October 1578], Letter from Johann Philips von Hohensaxen to Daniël Tossanus, 24 October 1578, and Letter from Johann von Nassau-Dillenburg to Zaltbommel, 3 November 1578.

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Notes on Contributors

Michel Boeglin is Associate Professor of Spanish Literature and Civilization at the Université Paul Valéry Montpellier 3 (France). His research interests include the history of the Inquisition, the Moriscos and the Reformation on the Iberian Peninsula. He is the author of L’Inquisition espagnole au lendemain du concile de Trente. Le tribunal du Saint-Office de Séville (1560–1700) (2002), Entre la Cruz y el Corán. Los moriscos en Sevilla (1570–1613) (2010) and Réforme et dissidence religieuse au temps de l’Empereur. L’affaire Constantino de la Fuente (1505?– 1559) (2016). He edited the volume Exils et mémoires de l’exil dans le monde ibérique (XII–XXIe siècles) (2014), and co-edited the proceedings of an international conference in Casa de Velázquez, Reforma y disidencia religiosa. La recepción de la Reforma en la Península Ibérica en el siglo XVI (2018). Kajsa Brilkman is Researcher at the Department of History of Lund University (Sweden). She specializes in the history of the Reformation and Lutheran confessionalization in Northern Europe. She is Principal Investigator of the project Mare Lutheranum: Book Market and Lutheran Confessional Culture around the Baltic Sea 1570–1620, funded by the Swedish Research Council (2016–2019). The aim of this project is to highlight the circulation of texts among Lutheran societies in Northern Europe and to unveil the transformation of these Lutheran texts in transit, by applying insights from translation studies, history of knowledge, book history and church history. Barbara Diefendorf is Professor of History Emerita at Boston University (USA), and the author of Paris City Councillors: The Politics of Patrimony (1983), Beneath the Cross: Catholics and Huguenots in Sixteenth-Century Paris (1991), From Penitence to Charity: Pious Women and the Catholic Reformation in Paris (2004), and Planting the Cross: Catholic Reform and Renewal in Sixteenth and Seventeenth-Century France (2019), which discusses the adaptation of the Capuchins and Discalced Carmelites to a French setting in greater detail than was possible in the chapter included in this volume.

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Wim François is Research Professor of the Special Research Fund of the KU Leuven (Belgium), and Academic Librarian of the Maurits Sabbe Library of the Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies. His fields of research include the early modern history of Church and theology, the Council of Trent, and Tridentine Catholicism. He currently investigates the place of vernacular Bible reading in the life of the faithful between 1450 and 1650, and Bible commentaries by Louvain and Douai theologians during the so-called ‘Golden Age’ of Catholic biblical scholarship between 1550 and 1650. Most recently, he has co-edited the three volumes on The Council of Trent: Reform and Controversy in Europe and Beyond (1540–1700) (2018), and Church, Censorship and Reform in the Early Modern Habsburg Netherlands (2017). Gábor Ittzés is Associate Professor at Debrecen Reformed Theological University (Hungary). He obtained his PhD in English Literary Studies from Eötvös Loránd University, Budapest, and his ThD in Systematic and Historical Theology from Harvard University. His research interests cover a broad range from Milton’s Paradise Lost to the soul’s immortality in sixteenth-century German theology. He has widely published on Luther, Melanchthon, the German Reformation, Milton, and religion and culture. He is the author or editor of several books, most recently of Viszály és együttélés, or Strife and Coexistence: Religions and Religious Denominations in Hungary in the Age of Ottoman Rule (2017). Graz˙yna Jurkowlaniec is Associate Professor at the Institute of Art History, University of Warsaw (Poland). She specializes in art and artistic patronage between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries in Europe. She has authored three monographs, several book chapters and articles in journals, such as Artibus et Historiae, Barockberichte, Konsthistorisk tidskrift, and Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte. Most recently, she co-edited The Agency of Things in Medieval and Early Modern Art. Materials, Power and Manipulation (2018). She runs the research project Reframed Image: Reception of Prints in the Kingdom of Poland from the End of the Fifteenth to the Beginning of the Seventeenth Century, supported by the National Science Centre of Poland (2016–2019). Johannes Müller is Lecturer of German Literature and Culture at Leiden University (The Netherlands). He has published on early modern literature, migration and religion. He is author of the monograph Exile Memories and the Dutch Revolt. The Narrated Diaspora, 1550–1750 (2016) and co-edited the volume Memory before Modernity. Practices of Memory in Early Modern Europe (2013). Timothy J. Orr is Assistant Professor of European History at Simpson University (USA). He completed his PhD under David M. Whitford at Baylor University in

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365

2017. His publications include an article on Luther’s experience of exile in the Wartburg in Church History and Religious Culture and entries in the Cambridge contextual volumes on Martin Luther and John Calvin. His current research explores perceptions of gender and mobility in early modern Europe. Christiaan Ravensbergen (The Netherlands) is secretary of the Vereniging voor Nederlandse Kerkgeschiedenis. He prepares a PhD-thesis on early modern correspondence and confessionalisation in the eastern provinces of the nascent Dutch Republic. Violet Soen is Associate Professor of Early Modern History at KU Leuven (Belgium), working on questions of religious war and peace in early modern Europe. She has authored three monographs and co-edited eight volumes on religious and political history, most recently The Council of Trent: Reform and Controversy in Europe and Beyond (1540–1700) (2018), and Church, Censorship and Reform in the Early Modern Habsburg Netherlands (2017). She serves as Editor-in–chief of the series Habsburg Worlds at Brepols, and sits on the editorial boards of Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, The Early Modern Low Countries, Nieuwe Tijdingen, and Refo500 Academic Series. She is Principal Investigator of www.transregionalhistory.eu, a research project exploring the multiple facets of early modern cross-border exchange. Two other volumes on transregional history are forthcoming with Brepols, Transregional Territories: Crossing Borders in the Early Modern Low Countries and Beyond, and La noblesse, la frontière et les guerres de religion en France et aux Pays-Bas. Alexander Soetaert is Research Fellow in Early Modern History at KU Leuven (Belgium), and Postdoctoral Fellow at the Leibniz-Institute for European History in Mainz (Germany). His research interests include Catholic print culture, translation history and the history of transregional contacts, mobility and transfers. His 2017 doctoral dissertation on Catholic literature and transregional exchange in the Ecclesiastical Province of Cambrai (French-speaking regions of the Habsburg Low Countries) during the late sixteenth and seventeenth century was awarded the Mgr. C. de Clercq Prize of the Royal Flemish Academy of Belgium for Science and the Arts (KVAB) and will appear shortly in the Academy’s book series published by Peeters, Leuven. He has compiled the online Impressa Catholica Cameracensia (ICC) database and published articles in Incontri, De Gulden Passer and Journal of Early Modern History. Jonas van Tol is Assistant Professor in Early Modern History at the University of Amsterdam (The Netherlands). His research focuses on the transnational dimensions of the sixteenth-century Wars of Religion. His monograph Germany and the French Wars of Religion, 1560–1572 appeared with Brill (2018).

366

Notes on Contributors

Zsombor Tóth is a literary historian working as a Senior Fellow at the Institute for Literary Studies of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. His main research interest is the reception of English Puritanism in Eastern Europe during the Early Modern Era. His first book A történelmem terhe, or The Burden of my History (2006) is a collection of studies on the historical anthropological contexts of early modern Hungarian literature. He also published A koronatanú: Bethlen Miklós, or The Memoirs of Count Miklós Bethlen and the Seventeenth Century Hungarian and English Puritanism (2011), examining the life and oeuvre of a famous Hungarian statesman and a gifted Puritan author. Most recently, he authored A kora újkori könyv antropológiája Miklós, or The Anthropology of the Early Modern Book (2017) which explores the phenomenon of scribal publicity shaping the evolution of early modern Hungarian manuscripts. He is Principal Investigator of the project The Long Reformation in Eastern Europe 1500–1800, supported by the Hungarian Academy of Sciences and RefoRC (2018–2023). Johan Verberckmoes is Professor of Early Modern Cultural History at KU Leuven (Belgium). He is interested in laughter, humor and emotions in early modern daily life as well as intercultural contacts and images of the Spanish and the Austrian Netherlands in the context of the Iberian world empires. He has published Laughter, Jestbooks and Society in the Spanish Netherlands (1999), and Ontmoetingen in het Westen. Een wereldgeschiedenis (2019). He also co-authored Broze levens, krachtige vrouwen Zussen, moeders en tantes Goubau in de achttiende eeuw (2017) on private letters of noble women. His current projects are a global history of telling jokes in the seventeenth and eighteenth century, and the entertainment of ordinary people in the context of festive ritual and daily life. Alexandra Walsham is Professor of Modern History at the University of Cambridge (UK), and a Fellow of the British Academy and Trinity College. She has published extensively on the early modern religious and cultural history of Britain. Her books include Providence in Early Modern England (1999), Charitable Hatred: Tolerance and Intolerance in England 1500–1700 (2006), The Reformation of the Landscape: Religion, Identity and Memory in Early Modern Britain and Ireland (2011), which won the Wolfson Prize for History, and Catholic Reformation in Protestant Britain (2014). She is Principal Investigator of Remembering the Reformation, a UK Arts and Humanities Research Council funded project. Her current research, supported by a Leverhulme Major Research Fellowship, is on the relationship between religious change and generational change. She also serves as co-editor of the journal Past and Present.

Index of Names

Abbot, Robert 140 Alba, Duke of (see Álvarez de Toledo, Fernando) Alba, Pedro de (Archbishop of Granada) 80 Albert (Archduke) of Austria 198, 280, 283, 285 Alexander V ([Anti-]pope, Peter of Candia) 300, 303 Allen, William (Cardinal) 33, 39, 125, 130, 144, 160, 231, 283–285, 320 Alonso de Madrid 137 Altenhovius, Petrus 342, 349, 353 Álvarez, Diego 163 Álvarez de Toledo, Fernando, Duke of Alba 224 Ames, William 189 seq., 309 Amsdorf, Nikolaus von 106, 248, 320 Ana de San Bartolomé (Prioress of Pontoise) 61, 68 seq. Arondeaux, David 337, 347 Arundel, Anne 146 Augustine of Hippo 87, 99 seq., 108, 114, 131 seq., 220, 304, 307 Auroy, Pierre 145, 166 seq., 170, 177 Baden, Philibert of (Margrave) 31 Balinghem, Antoine de 165 seq. Bastingius, Jeremias 337, 347 Báthory, Andrew 232 Batt, Anthony 131, 138, 144–146 Baudouin, François 34, 282 Bauduyn, Guillaume 169 Bayly, Lewis 189, 192, 194, 198 seq.

Bede the Venerable 131 seq. Bell, Francis 167, 178, 335 Bellarmine, Robert 134 Bellère, Balthazar 161, 165, 169 Bellère, Jean 224 Benedict of Nursia 131 Bernard of Clairvaux 138, 145 Bernhardi, Bartholomäus 248 seq., 252– 254, 259 Bertelli, Luca 213, 214, 222, 226, 230, 233, 235 Bérulle, Pierre de 59–61 Beza, Theodore 282, 336 Binet, Étienne 169 Bochetel, Bernardin (Bishop of Rennes) 34 Bodenstein (see Karlstadt) Bogart, Jean 161, 168 Bogart, Martin 176, 178 Bollius, Johannes 347 Bonaventura 176 Boniface, Marie 166, 303 Boquin, Pierre 41 Bora, Katarina von 252 Borromeo, Carlo (Cardinal) 217, 235 Boscard, Charles 132, 135, 143, 166 seq., 175 seq., 279 Boucher, Jean 282 Bouma (see Faber de Bouma) Bourbon, Antoine de 35 Bourbon, Louis de, Prince of Condé 33, 36 seq. Brandenburg, Albert of (Archbishop of Mainz) 253

368 Brask, Hans (Bishop of Linköping) 250 seq., 254–257, 259 Brask, Peder 249 Brebern, Gilbert 346, 348 seq., 355 Bremond, Henri 168 seq. Brétigny, Jean de 68 seq. Briçonnet, Robert (Chancellor of France) 272, 276 Brinkley, Stephen 136 seq. Bröms, Olaus 249 Brun, Charles Le 58, 70 Bucer, Martin 86, 91 seq. Buirette, Samuel 177 seq. Bunny, Edmund 139 Calvin, John 15, 27, 44, 77, 86 seq., 90 seq., 124, 133, 211, 226, 282, 310, 317–320, 327 seq., 365 Campion, Edmund 125, 129, 139, 231 Camus, Jean-Pierre (Bishop of Belley) 168, 172–174 Canfield, Benet 65 Canisius, Peter 134–136, 159 seq., 176, 224 Cape, William 167 seq. Car, Miles 99, 171 Carranza de Miranda, Sancho 84 Carranza y Miranda, Bartolomé (Prelate of Toledo, Primate of Spain) 92 Cary, Elizabeth (Lady Falkland) 144 seq. Cassander, Joris 282 Castillo, Juan del 85 Castro, Alfonso de 78 Caussin, Nicolas 169 Cavalieri, Giovanni Battista 211–213, 222– 224, 226–228, 230 seq., 233 seq. Ceporinus, Johannes 348, 354 seq. Chambers, Robert 15, 141, 159 Champaigne, Philippe de 70 Charlemagne 29 Charles IX (King) of France 34, 37 seq., 46, 217 seq. Charles V (Charles of Ghent, Emperor) 77, 80, 83 Chesneau, Nicolas (Querculus) 172, 219 Christian II (King) of Denmark 250 seq. Chyträus, David 109, 113–115

Index of Names

Circignani, Niccolò 232 seq. Clare of Assisi 176 seq. Clemens VIII (Pope, Ippolito Aldobrandini) 285 Coligny, Gaspard de 33 seq., 37 Coligny d’Andelot, François de 34, 37 Condé, Prince of (see Bourbon, Louis de) Constantino (Doctor, see De la Fuente) Contarini, Gasparo 85 Coornhert, Dirck Volckertsz. 17, 309, 315– 318, 320 seq., 323–328 Cope, Alan 232 Corput, Henricus van der 338, 347, 351 Costerius, Johannes 322 seq. Coton, Pierre 173 Couvreur, Martin 146, 175 Cruz, Juana de la 167, 363 Csipkés Komáromi, György 192 Cyprian of Carthage 131 Damius, Johannes 338, 347 Dathenus, Peter 41, 333, 337, 347 Daza, Antonio 167 De la Fuente, Constantino (Doctor Constantino) 85–89, 91 seq. De la Puente, Luis 164, 166, 174, 178 seq. Deacon, Pudentiana 137 seq. Dernbach, Balthasar von (Abbot of Fulda) 221 seq. Dibbetz, Henricus 346, 352, 355 Dölsch, Johannes 248 Downame, John 195–201 Drexelius, Jeremias 135, 139, 146 Du Jardin, JeanEgerton, Stephen 163 Dungersheim, Hieronymus 208 seq. Eguía, Miguel de 80 Eldenius, Jacobus 342, 346 Elizabeth I (Queen) of England 128, 131 Erasmus, Desiderius 78, 80–84, 87, 91, 93, 114, 124, 257 Evans, Lewis 127, 133 Evelinge, Elizabeth 167, 176, 178 Faber, Basilius

107–109, 111

Index of Names

Faber, Engelbert 342, 344, 346, 348 seq., 351, 355 Faber de Bouma, Petrus Gellius 348, 354 seq. Fabricius, Henricus 350, 352 seq. Falkland (Lady) (see Cary) Ferdinand II (King) of Aragon 77 Ferrari, Paolo 220, 231 Foigny, Jean de 130, 219, 231, 284 Fonseca de Ulloa, Alonso (Archbishop of Toledo) 85 Fontanus, Johannes 336, 348–351, 353– 355 Fournier, Marie de (see Marie de Saint-Joseph) Fowler, John 105, 134, 284 Foxe, John 132 France, Christophe de (Bishop of SaintOmer) 175 Francis of Assisi 177 François de Sales 14, 135, 137–139, 146, 159, 168–172, 174, 178 seq. Frederick III (Elector) of Saxony (the Wise) 253, 255 Frederick III (Elector) of the Palatinate 12, 17, 28, 30, 32, 37, 41, 43, 335, 348 Fresneda, Bernard (Bishop of Cuenca) 136 Fritze, Johann 250, 254 Galle, Peder 257 Gallus, Carolus 346 seq. Garceaeus, Johannes Jr 104–107, 109, 111 seq., 114 Garceaeus, Johannes Sr 104 Garnet, Henry 134–136, 159, 176 Gattinara, Mercurino 83 Gaultier, Jacques 166 Gaultier, René 165 Gaunt, John of 303 Gerson, Jean 271 Gibbons, Richard 166 seq., 179, 275, 285 Gifford, William (Gabriel de SainteMarie) 285–287 Gil, Juan (Doctor Egidio) 85 seq. Gonzaga, Ludovico 165, 272 Gray, Alexia 144

369 Gregersson, Matthias (Bishop of Strängnäs) 250 Gregorij, Petrus 254 Gregory the Great 131, 296 Gregory XIII (Pope, Hugo Boncompagni) 218, 220, 227, 269 Grevinchovius, Casparus Nicolai 354 seq. Grindal, Edmund (Archbishop of York) 133 Guise, House of (family) 35 seq., 217, 228, 231, 235, 272, 274, 282, 285 Guise, Charles de (Archbishop of Reims, Cardinal of Lorraine, Charles de Lorraine) 33, 35–37, 231 Guise, François de (Duke) 33, 35 seq. Guise, Henri de (Duke) 230 Guise, Louis II de (Cardinal) 231 Guise, Louis III de (Cardinal) 285 Gustav Eriksson Vasa (King) of Sweden (Gustav Wasa) 245, 251, 254 seq., 257, 261 György I Rákóczi (Prince) of Transylvania 189 Habsburg, Ernest von (Archduke) 217 Hackius, Petrus 339, 346, 348 seq., 355 Hagedoorn, Wilhelmus 346, 355 Hallius, Johannes 347 Hannivel, Marie d’ (see Marie de la Trinité) Hanow, Jan 208 Harding, Thomas 135 Hardy, Mary 159, 170 Harpsfield, Nicholas 129 Hawkins, Henry 159, 173 Hazmburk, Zbyneˇk Zajíc of (Archbishop of Prague) 300 Heigham, John 131, 135 seq., 144 seq., 166–168, 170, 175 seq. Hendricq, François 176–178 Henningsson, Vincent (Bishop of Skara) 250 Henri II (King) of France 29, 35, 273 Henri III (King) of France (Henri de Valois, Prince of Anjou) 217 seq., 220, 228

370 Henri IV (King) of France 53 seq., 56, 62– 64, 282, 285, 311 Hesse, Philipp of 33 Hesse, Wilhelm of 33, 43–45 Heteren, Otto van 348, 355 Hiltprand, Georg 233 seq. Hondius, Cornelis 347 Hopkins, Richard 9, 132, 135 seq., 144, 272 Hosius, Stanislaus (Hozyusz; Cardinal, Bishop of Warmia) 7, 15, 133, 208 seq., 211, 213, 215, 217–222, 224, 227 seq., 232–236 Hotman, François 34 Hozyusz, Stanislas (see Hosius) Huberti, Adriaen 233 Hus, Jan 17, 134, 295–312 Hyre, Laurent de la 58, 70 Ignatius of Loyola 146 Innocent VII (Pope, Cosimo de’ Migliorati) 300 Isabel de San Pablo (Prioress of Pontoise) 69 Isabella (Archduchess) of Austria 285 Isabelle I (Queen) of Castile 77 Jagiellonian, Catherine the 217, 220 James I (King) of England 141 Jászberényi, Paulus 191 seq. Johann Casimir (Count) of PalatinateLautern 30, 32, 335–338, 340, 342, 347 John Chrysostom 102 seq., 105, 108, 110, 113 seq. John Frederick I (Elector) of Saxony 106 John III Vasa (King) of Sweden 217 John XXIII ([Anti-]pope, Baldassare Cossa) 303 Joyeuse, Henri de (Duke) 63, 162 Karlstadt, Andreas Bodenstein von 90, 248, 252 seq., 255, 257, 259 Kellam, Laurence 131, 146, 161, 163, 285 Ketelhut, Christian 249 Kimedonckius, Jacobus 347 King, Adam 29, 37, 40, 46, 53, 62, 64, 99, 135, 166, 217, 220, 228, 232, 245, 251, 255,

Index of Names

261, 270 seq., 275, 277, 281, 284 seq., 300, 303, 306 seq., 340 Kintsius, Petrus 348 Komáromi (see Csipkés) La Croix, François de 174 seq. Laud, William (Archbishop of Canterbury) 141 Lawson, Dorothy 138 Le Sueur, Eustache 58 Leo, Johannes 354 seq. Lerma, Pedro de 85 Lindanus, Willem (Bishop of Roermond) 133 Lisbon, Mark of (see Silva) Loarte, Gaspar 135–137, 139, 160 Loaysa, García de 83 Lorántffy, Zsuzsánna 189 Ludwig VI (Elector) of the Palatinate 334 seq., 340, 352 Luis de Granada 14, 135 seq., 139, 144, 159–161 Lussi, Andreas 227 Lussi, Melchior 227 Luther, Martin 7, 12, 18, 78–82, 84, 86, 88, 90, 100–102, 106, 108 seq., 111, 115, 133 seq., 211, 246–252, 254–260, 297, 312, 317, 364 seq. Luzvic, Étienne 173 Madeleine de Saint-Joseph (Prioress of Pontoise, born de Fontaines-Maran) 69, 71 seq. Magnus, Johannes (Archbishop of Uppsala) 250, 254 Manrique, Alonso (General Inquisitor) 84–86 Marie de la Trinité (Prioress of Pontoise, born d’Hannivel) 56, 69 Marie de Saint-Joseph (Prioress of Pontoise, born Fournier) 71 Mark of Lisbon (see Silva, Marcos da) Marnix, Philips of (Lord of Saint-Aldegonde) 321 seq., 336, 338, 347 Martin, Gregory 10, 56, 130, 145, 165 Martínez de Osma, Pedro 84

371

Index of Names

Mary I (Queen) of England 124 Mary I (Queen) of Scots (Mary Stuart) 231, 283 Matkó, István Kézdivásárhelyi 15, 192– 201 Maurice (Elector) of Saxony 108 Medgyesi, Pál 189 seq., 192, 194 seq., 198 seq. Medici, Catherine de’ 33 seq., 54 Melanchton, Philipp 90 Meyer, Johann 250, 254 Michael I Apafi (Prince) of Transylvania 194 Michaelsdottir, Christina 251, 261 Mirus, Martin 111–113 Moeller, Bernd 9, 252 seq. Monluc, Jean de (Bishop of Valence) 217 Montagu, Magdalen 138, 168 More, Thomas 27, 44, 111, 124, 170, 280, 298, 310, 323, 352, 354 Mortensen, Claus 255 Musart, Charles 173 Musculus, Andreas 109–111, 113 Nassau, Louis of 31, 340–344, 346 seq., 350, 355 Nassau-Dillenburg, Johann VI von (Count) 339 Nijcken, Johannes à 346, 355 Numan, Philips 141 Ochino, Bernardino 85 Olevianus, Caspar 337 Orange, William of (Prince of Orange) 31, 224, 270, 321, 338–341, 343, 345 Osório, Jerónimo (Bishop of Silves) 211, 217, 227 seq., 235 Otto-Henry (Elector) of the Palatinate (Ottheinrich) 41 Outreman, Philippe d’ 175 seq., 179 Overcampius, Petrus 346, 348, 355 Paphnutius (Bishop) 259 Parsons, Robert 139, 231 Pascual, Mateo 85 Patté, Gérard 170

Paul III (Pope, Alessandro Farnese) 273 Pellenberg, Johannes 351 Perkins, William 125, 189 seq., 200 Perron, Jacques Du (Cardinal) 145, 169 Persons, Robert 125, 137, 139 seq. Petri, Elisabeth 7, 16, 113, 161, 224, 245– 261 Petri, Ingmar (Bishop of Växjö) 7, 16, 113, 161, 224, 245–261 Petri, Olaus 7, 16, 113, 161, 224, 245–261 Petri, Reginal 7, 16, 113, 161, 224, 245–261 Pezel, Christoph 337, 341 seq., 344, 350, 352 seq. Pflacher, Moses 111 seq. Philip II (King) of Spain (also Prince Philip) 54, 136, 164, 224, 270, 277 seq., 333, 340 Pinkney, Miles 171 seq., 179 Pius IV (Pope, Giovanni Angelo de’ Medici) 278 Pole, Reginald (Cardinal) 85, 125, 217, 300 Popa (see Zoba) Postelius, Jacobus 347, 351 Psaume, Nicolas (Bishop of Verdun) 219 seq. Querculus (see Chesneau) Rache, Pierre de 167, 273 Rademaker, Andreas 351 Requesens y Zúñiga, Luis de 224 Rescius (Rescio, see Reszka) Reszka, Stanisław 7, 209, 211–215, 217– 219, 221, 226–228, 232 seq., 235 Ribadeneyra, Pedro de 146 Ribera Portocarrero, Per Afán Enríquez de 86 Richardot, François (Bishop of Arras) 279 Richelieu, Armand-Jean du Plessis (Cardinal and Duke of) 172 Richeome, Louis 135, 137, 169 Rogers, Thomas 7, 129, 132, 140, 144, 160 Rönnow, Joachim 249 Roper, Anne 170 Roth, Friedrich 115 Ruiz d’Alcaraz, Pedro 80

372 Sadoleto, Jacopo 85 Sainte-Marie, Gabriel de (see Gifford) Sanders, Nicholas 133, 232 Santeul, D. 168 Särkilax, Peder 254 Saxe-Weimar, Johann Wilhelm of (Duke) 31, 40, 44–47 Sayn zu Wittgenstein, Ludwig von 335 seq. Shacklock, Richard 133, 232 Seidler, Jacob 252 seq. Sigismund Augustus (King) of Poland 217 Sigismund (King) of Hungary 221, 232, 300, 303, 306 seq. Silva, Marcos da (Mark of Lisbon, Bishop of Porto) 167 seq. Slüter, Joachim 250, 255 Smyth, Richard 135, 283 Specker, Melchior 13, 98–105, 107–110, 112 Staphylus, Frederick 132 seq. Stapleton, Thomas 131–133, 140, 232, 283 Stephen (King) of Poland 105, 140, 208, 232, 257 Stuart, Mary (see Mary I) Szenczi, Molnár 198 Tacius, Matthias 115 seq. Taffin, Jean 320 seq., 336, 338, 343, 348 Talavera, Hernando de 78, 80 Teramano, Pietro 142 Teresa of Avila 53, 59, 70 Tetzel, Johann 248 seq. Thomas a Kempis 13, 132 Töltési, Stephanus 190 Torsellino, Orazio 141, 146 Tossanus, Daniel 335–337, 342, 353, 355 Treter, Tomasz 209, 211 seq., 214–216, 218, 226, 228, 231–233, 235 Trithemius, Johannes 146 Trolle, Gustav (Archbishop of Uppsala) 250 Tyndale, William 123 seq. Ückermünde, Georg von 250 Urban VIII (Pope, Maffeo Barberini) 177 Valadés, Diego 205, 213, 228 seq. Valdés, Alfonso de Valdés, Hernando de 80, 83

Index of Names

Valdés, Juan de 12, 79–85, 88 seq., 91–93 Valois, Claude de (Duchess of Lorraine) 219 seq. Valois, Henri de (see Henri III) Vanderpiet, Marie 172 seq. Vargas, Francisco de 85 seq. Varicius, Wilhelmus 348, 355 Vasa, Sigismund (Prince of Finland) 221, 235 Vasa (see Gustav Eriksson Vasa) Vaux, Anne 146 Vaux, Laurence 134 Velthusius, Caspar 346, 348, 355 Vendeville, Jean de 276–279, 283 Vergara, Juan de 84 Verstegan, Richard 144, 230–233 Vijgh, Dirk 345 Villena, Marquis of 80 Wachtendonck, Arend van 324 Wadding, Luke 176 Walpole, Michael 138 seq., 146 Wedaeus, Jacobus 345, 348, 355 Weiser, Gregor 111, 113 Wenceslaus (King of the Romans, King of Bohemia) 300 Wijnants, Goossen 354 seq. Wilson, John 128 seq., 139 seq., 174 seq. Wimpina, Konrad 248 Wipperfordius, Henricus 342, 350, 352, 355 Wirtzfeldius, Wilhelmus 347 Wrisberg, Ernst von 222 seq. Württemberg, Christoph of (Duke) 30, 33 seq., 36, 38 seq., 41 seq. Wyclif (Wycliffe), John 134, 308 Wyon, Marc 131, 171–173 Yakesley, John (Yaxley)

135, 170 seq.

Zegenhagen, Joachim 255 Zeiger, Balthasar 252 seq. Zoba, Ioan (Popa Ioan) 193 seq. Zweibrücken, Wolfgang of 31 seq., 38–40, 42, 45–47 Zwingli, Huldrych 86–88, 90, 226, 257

Index of Places

Aire-sur-la–Lys 176 Alba Iulia (see Debrecen) Alcalá de Henares 80, 83–86 Alps 112 seq., 228 Alsace 28 Alzey 348 Amboise 37 Ancona 142 Anhalt 112 Annecy 138 Antwerp 158, 160, 224, 233, 321, 328, 337 Aquitaine 56 Arnhem 339, 342–345, 348–349, 352 seq., 355 Arnstadt 115 Arras 158, 165 seq., 169, 274, 277–279, 282 Artois 158, 274 seq., 280, 284 Asia 142, 162, 165, 178, 205 Assisi 177 Augsburg 41, 47, 112 Baden (Margraviate) 28, 31, 46 Baltic (Coast, Sea) 18, 98, 114, 254 seq., 258 Basel 336 Bautzen 113 Belley 169, 172 Berg (Duchy) 189 Berleburg 337 Bern 336 Béziers 63 seq. Bohemia 233, 295–303, 305, 307–310, 312 Brabant 31, 158, 270, 316, 322 seq., 337 Brandenburg 97, 110, 114 Britain 125, 127, 136, 176

British Isles 14, 17–19, 123, 130 seq., 144, 157–160, 163, 168 seq., 171, 175 seq., 178 seq., 283, 287 Brussels 141, 144, 267, 270, 277 seq., 337, 339, 347 Cambrai 10, 14, 16, 19, 138, 157–160, 162– 165, 168–174, 176, 178 seq., 274–277, 282 Cambridge 145, 189 Canterbury 141, 147, 232 Castile 77, 79, 84 seq., 93 Cateau-Cambrésis, Le 276, 278 Chambéry 219 Champagne (County) 268, 270–272, 274, 278, 284–286 Channel (see English Channel) China 134, 162 Cluj 193 Cologne 174, 282, 287, 316 seq., 323, 341, 349, 351, 355 Constance 295, 297–299, 306–308, 310, 312 Cracow 208 seq., 213 Crépy-en-Laonnais 273 Croatia 142 Cuenca 80, 136 Culemborg 347, 351, 355 Danube (Danubian region) Debrecen 189–191 Delft 352 Denmark 246, 250 Dieulouard 138 Dijon 56 Dillingen 208

97, 112

374

Index of Places

Doesburg 345 seq., 355 Dolany 303 Dole 270, 278 Dordrecht 336, 341, 347, 351 Douai 14, 17, 19, 125 seq., 130, 132, 158, 160 seq., 163–174, 176–178, 267–271, 275–287, 323, 328 Duisburg 287 Düsseldorf 340 Dutch Republic (Northern Netherlands) 19, 281, 287, 315, 333, 350 seq., 354

Ghent 78, 333, 337, 341, 344 seq., 347 Glashütten 252 Goch 349 Gravelines 167 seq., 178 Greifswald 251 Grodków (Grottkau) 233 seq Grootebroek 352 Großbockenheim 348 Guelders (Gelderland, Gelre) 17, 19, 133, 334, 339–347, 349–355 Gyulafehérvár 192

Elburg 345, 348, 355 Elst 346 Emden 349, 351 English Channel 14, 19, 123, 138, 140, 158, 161, 173, 178 seq., 256, 283 Erfurt 111 Escalona 80 Ethiopia 134 Felso˝bánya 193 Flanders (County) 158, 268, 270, 275–277, 280, 286, 316, 322, 337, 351 Florence 213 France 12, 17–19, 27–36, 39–41, 43–48, 53– 57, 60–63, 65–69, 72, 127, 135, 138, 158, 163–165, 168 seq., 172 seq., 175, 179, 217, 219, 228, 231, 268, 270–276, 278, 280– 282, 285, 336 Franche-Comté 56, 270 Frankenthal 333, 336 Frankfurt (Main) 112, 315, 342 Frankfurt (Oder) 109, 248 Frauenburg (Frombork) 208 Friesland (Frisia) 226, 281, 340, 352 Frombork (see Frauenburg) Fulda 221 seq.

Haarlem 316, 347 Habsburg Netherlands (Habsburg Low Countries, Southern Netherlands) 17, 19, 61, 144, 157 seq., 179, 268, 270 seq., 274, 276 seq., 281–283, 286, 316, 318, 347, 349. Hadamar 342, 350, 352 Hague, The 316, 321 Hainaut 158, 274 seq., 280 Halberstadt 248 Hamburg 108, 249 seq., 254, 258 Harderwijk 287, 345 seq., 348, 355 Hattem 346, 355 Heidelberg 34, 41, 335, 337 Heinsberg 349 Herborn 112 Hessen 97, 112 Hildesheim 222 seq., 225 seq, 233 Hofheim 348 Holy Roman Empire (Empire; see also Germany) 11, 12, 13, 18 seq., 27–29, 32– 36, 40–47, 78, 97 seq., 104, 108 seq., 117, 158, 179, 221 seq., 247, 260, 280 seq., 287, 300, 333–335, 340, 344 Hradisko 235

Geldern (Town) 344–346, 349, 355 Geneva 10, 90, 147, 168, 278, 282, 317 seq., 328, 333 Germany (German territories; see also Holy Roman Empire) 32, 41, 44, 83, 112, 136, 143, 205, 221, 246, 255 seq., 336, 342, 345–347, 349–352

Iberian Peninsula 13, 16, 18, 77, 92, 139, 164, 168 IJssel 351 India 134, 162 Ingolstadt 132, 174 Italy 12, 15, 18, 30, 53, 65 seq., 127, 139, 143, 168, 205, 209, 220, 228, 231, 235, 256

375

Index of Places

Japan (Japonia) 134, 142 seq., 162, 177 Jena 111 Jülich (Duchy) 349, 351, 355 Jülich (Town) 348 seq, 352 Kempten 112 Koblenz 349, 355 Kolozsvár 192 Königsberg 259 Kutná Hora 300 seq., 308 Laasphe 348 Lambsheim 348 Languedoc 56, 63 seq., 67 Leeuwarden 226 Leiden 189, 270, 336, 338 seq., 348 Leipzig 108, 112, 117 Leuven 11, 20, 123, 125 seq., 131 seq., 160, 254, 269 seq., 276–283, 285 Liège 158, 271 Lille 158, 167, 171, 275 seq., 285 Linköping 251, 254, 257 Lisbon 168 London 134, 170 Lorraine 28, 35–37, 138, 217–220, 271–274, 280 Lorraine-Bar (Duchy) 271 Lower Palatinate (see also: Palatinate, Rhine Palatinate, Upper Palatinate) 333 seq. Lower Rhineland (see also Rhineland, Lower Rhine) 343 Lower Rhine (see also Lower Rhineland, Rhineland) 349, 351 Luxemburg 158, 174 Lyon 56, 163, 169, 172, 219 Maas and Waal 352 Madrid 10, 138, 143, 164 Magdeburg 115, 248 Mainz 208 seq., 253 Malmö 255 Maubeuge 276 Maulbronn 45 Meißen 113 Menen 277

Mengerskirchen 342, 349, 353 Metz 29 Meuse 28 seq. Mexico 143, 228 Milan 269 Mons 276 Montaigu (Scherpenheuvel) 141 Montpellier 67, 272, 363 Moravia 235, 303 Moselle 39 Nagasaki 142 Namur 158, 277, 280 Naples 79, 85 Nassau-Dillenburg (County) 336 seq., 341 Naumburg 45 Nazareth 142 Netherlands (Low Countries; see also Habsburg Netherlands) 16–19, 27, 31, 39 seq., 43, 45, 124, 127, 138, 144, 163 seq., 166, 169, 179, 205, 224, 274, 276, 278, 280, 282, 285 seq., 315 seq., 336, 338, 340, 342–345, 347, 351–353 Neustadt an der Haardt 336 seq., 342 New England 187 Nicaea 258 Nijmegen 343–345, 350, 352–355 Nordic territories 254 Norway 246 Olomouc 235 Örebro 247 Orléans 276, 278 Ortenburg (County) Oudenaarde 322 Overijssel 351 Oxford 145

112

Palatinate-Lautern 335–337 Palatinate (see also Upper Palatinate, Lower Palatinate, Rhine Palatinate) 17, 28, 33 seq., 41–45, 47, 333–335, 337–339, 342–353, 355 Paris 19, 29, 55–65, 68–72, 135, 158, 160, 165, 168 seq., 172–174, 218, 228, 230 seq.,

376 259, 269–271, 273 seq., 276–278, 280– 283, 285 Pavia 67 Philippines 143, 175 Picardy 274, 278 Pisa 300 Poland 15, 127, 143, 205 seq., 208, 217 seq., 221, 228, 232 seq., 236 Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth 159 seq., 217, 235 seq. Pont-à-Mousson 271, 275, 280, 285, 287 Pontoise 56, 59 seq., 68–72 Porto 168 Prague 269, 297–306, 308–310, 312 Prussia 15, 206, 232 Regensburg 85 seq., 91 seq., 111, 113 Reims 17, 19, 130, 132, 160, 217, 219, 267– 275, 277, 279–281, 283–287 Rhenen 347 Rhine 28 seq., 39 Rhineland (see also Lower Rhineland, Lower Rhine) 12, 18 seq., 27–30, 33–36, 38, 42, 44, 46 seq., 343 Rhine Palatinate (see also Lower Palatinate, Palatinate, Upper Palatinate) 335 seq. Riga 249 Roermond 133, 345 seq., 355 Rome 10, 37, 44, 53, 56 seq., 62–64, 81, 86, 124–126, 131, 137, 144, 147, 166, 209, 218, 220 seq., 228, 231 seq., 234 seq., 250, 269, 273 seq., 283, 303 Rostock 114, 249–251, 254 seq. Rouen 137, 160, 162, 169, 173 Saint-Germain-en-Laye 31 Saint-Omer 14, 126, 135 seq., 141, 143– 146, 158, 160 seq., 163–167, 169, 174– 178, 277 Saltza 115 Sárospatak 189 Saverne (Alsace) 35 Saxony 97, 107 seq., 111 seq., 249, 255, 337, 340 Scandinavia 11, 16, 18, 113, 221, 247, 249, 256, 259

Index of Places

Scherpenheuvel (see Montaigu) Scotland 135, 170 Segerstad 254 Seville 77, 79, 93, 143, 164 Silesia 233 Silves 227 Skara 250, 254 Skolity 206–209, 211 Spain 11 seq., 18, 53, 57, 59, 61, 68 seq., 72, 77–80, 82–84, 86, 92 seq., 127, 143, 163 seq., 228, 270, 281, 340 Speyer 83 Stans 227, 233 Stockholm 16, 245 seq., 250 seq., 254–257, 261 Straelen 344 seq. Stralsund 249 Strängnäs 250, 260 Strasbourg 13, 18, 27, 29, 41, 97 seq., 104, 107–109, 259, 339 Suffolk 132 Swabia 112 seq. Switzerland 227, 337 Thérouanne 274, 276 seq. Tiel 343, 345 seq., 355 Toul 29 Toulouse 56–58, 62–65 Tournai 158, 165 seq., 274, 276–278 Transylvania 14, 18, 187 seq., 190–194, 196, 201 Trier 274 Tübingen 112 seq. Turku 254 Upper Palatinate (see also Lower Palatinate, Palatinate, Rhine Palatinate) 337 Uppsala 247, 250, 254 seq., 257 Utrecht 224, 226 seq., 233, 281, 340, 351 seq., 354 Valence 217 Valenciennes 177, 276, 278 Valladolid 84, 93, 164–166 Vassy 30, 35 seq.

377

Index of Places

Vatterode 252 Växjö 250 Veere 177 Veluwe 345, 355 Venice 218, 222, 234 Venlo 344–346, 348, 355 Verdun 29, 219 Vlissingen 347 Wachtendonk 339, 344–346, 355 Wageningen 345, 348, 355 Walloon-Flanders (Flandre Gallicante) 275 Warmia 15, 206, 208 seq., 232, 234 Warmond 347 Warsaw 217 seq. Wesel 324

West-Frisia 352 Wittenberg 10, 16, 18, 82, 104, 108, 113 seq., 116 seq., 147, 245–252, 254– 257, 259–261, 328, 337 Wittgenstein (County) 336 seq. Worms 79, 83, 232 Württemberg (Duchy) 28, 33, 35, 45 Xanten

317, 323

Zaltbommel 345, 354 seq. Zeeland 19, 177, 318, 321, 338, 344 seq., 351 Zerbst 112 Zilah 193 Zoelen 345, 354 seq. Zürich 10, 88, 328, 336 seq. Zutphen 345 seq., 355