Church, Religion and

Society in Early
Modern Italy

Christopher F. Black
Church, Religion and Society in Early Modern Italy
EUROPEAN STUDIES SERIES

General Editors Colin Jones, Richard Overy, Joe Bergin,

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Robert Aldrich Greater France: A Short History of French

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Nigel Aston Religion and Revolution in France, 1780–1804
Yves-Marie Bercé The Birth of Absolutism: A History of France,
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Christopher F. Black Church, Religion and Society in Early
Modern Italy
Susan K. Foley Women in France since 1789
Janine Garrisson A History of Sixteenth-Century France,
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Gregory Hanlon Early Modern Italy, 1550–1800
Michael Hughes Early Modern Germany, 1477–1806
Matthew Jefferies Imperial Culture in Germany, 1871–1918
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Robin Okey The Habsburg Monarchy, c.1765–1918
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Helen Rawlings Church, Religion and Society in Early Modern
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Church, Religion and
Society in Early
Modern Italy

CHRISTOPHER F. BLACK
© Christopher F. Black 2004
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Black, Christopher F.
Church, religion, and society in early modern Italy / Christopher F. Black.
p. cm. — (European studies series)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0–333–61844–0 – ISBN 0–333–61845–9 (pbk.)
1. Christian sociology – Italy. 2. Catholic Church – Italy – History.
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For my Mother Roma Black
In memory of departed children
With gratitude for consolation from ‘the
playthings of the Holy Spirit’
This page intentionally left blank
Contents

List of Tables and Maps x

Preface xi
Acknowledgements xiv
List of Abbreviations xvi
The Early Modern Popes xvii

1 Religious Crises and Challenges in Early

Sixteenth-Century Italy 1

2 The Council of Trent and Bases for Continuing Reform 19

Background and Criticisms 19
The Council’s Main Work 23
General Problems over Implementation 32
Ready for Action? 35

3 Centre and Peripheries: The Papacy, Congregations,

Religious Orders 37
The Papacy 38
Congregations 43
The Venetian Interdict Crisis 48
The Inquisition 51
Religious Orders 54

4 Episcopal Leadership 62
The Diocesan Map 63
‘Model’ Bishops 67
Bishops at Work and Diocesan Organisation 73

vii
viii CONTENTS

5 Parish Priests and Parishioners 86

Reforming the Parochial Systems 86
Finding Suitable Priests 89
The Duties of Parish Clergy 93
The Parish Church as Focus 96
Betrothal and Marriage 98
Confession 103
Peacemaking 106
Priest–Parishioner Relations and Immorality 107

6 Religious Education 112

Seminaries and Clerical Education 113
Education in the Parish and Christian Doctrine Schools 119
Preaching 125
Mission Work within Italy 127

7 Confraternities, Hospitals and Philanthropy 130

Confraternities 131
Philanthropy 141

8 Nunneries and Religious Women 149

Nunneries and Female Enclosure 150
Convent Culture 161
Some Other Religious Women 166

9 Repression and Control 171

Sentencing 175
Public Condemnation and Controlling Major Heresy 178
Censorship 181
Changing Inquisition Targets 186
Sexual Control 195

10 Churches, Cultural Enticement

and Display 197
Churches and Chapels 198
Visual Arts 203
Music 209
Forty-Hour Devotions (Quarantore) 216
Processions, Pilgrimages and Theatricality 217
 CONTENTS ix

11 Conclusions: Successes and Failures 223

Appendix: The Italian Bishoprics 229

Notes 250
A Brief Reading Guide 275
Bibliography 277
Index 300
List of Tables and Maps

Tables

9.1 Accusations and denunciations before Venice and

Friuli Inquisition Tribunals, 1547–1720 187
9.2 Accusations and denunciations to the Neapolitan
Inquisition 1564–1740; highlighting main
categories only 189

Maps

1 Map of Italy: Political divisions 1559 xix

2 Northern Italian bishoprics xx
3 Central Italian bishoprics, with Corsica and Sardinia xxi
4 Southern Italian and Sicilian bishoprics xxii
5 Places where groups of Protestant sympathisers were
revealed 1540s–1560s xxiii

x
Preface

Preliminary words are desirable about the book’s title, its coverage,
and orientation. While the title is similar to Helen Rawlings’ on
Spain,1 my book was conceived differently long ago, and does not fol-
low hers in structure and coverage. This book derives from a project –
too grandiose – envisaged 30 years ago, to write a very full study of the
pre- and post-Tridentine Italian church, including its religious cul-
ture. One drafted chapter became my Italian Confraternities in the
Sixteenth Century (1989; reprinted 2003), which led to more studies on
confraternities, and indirectly to my Early Modern Italy. A Social History
(2000–01). This book takes up part of that original challenge. In the
intervening years much has changed, and a huge amount more mate-
rial is published to complicate life for a single author trying to tackle
all of Italy.
Originally this book had ‘Counter Reformation’ in the title,
though ‘Catholic Reform’, as an increasingly current alternative con-
cept from the 1970s, would have been highlighted as an alternative
thread. Both terms have been rejected as unhelpful and outdated
overarching concepts; though both phrazes may occasionally appear
later as minor descriptors. ‘Counter Reformation’ implies that what
the Roman Church was doing and recommending was primarily neg-
ative, and reacting against Protestant threats and criticisms. ‘Catholic
Reform’ ties in with theories that reforms of western Christendom
were attempted before the Luther-Zwingli-Melanchthon challenges
surfaced, including in geographical areas such as Italy and Iberia
which remained loyal to the central Roman Catholic authority. It pos-
tulates a common Christian reform background that affected Luther,
Loyola and Calvin – and men like Seripando, Contarini, Giberti, Pole,

xi
xii PREFACE

Miani and others active in Italy. ‘Catholic Reform’ can also be

attached to persons and policies in the post-Tridentine period that
aimed at continuing earlier ecumenical reform trends, without hav-
ing a key focus on the Protestant challenges. John O’Malley’s argu-
ments for using a more neutral ‘Early Modern Catholicism’ are
persuasive. He concludes:

Early Modern Catholicism suggests both change and continuity

without pronouncing on which predominates .... This term seems
more amenable to the results of ‘history from below’ than the four
just discussed (Counter Reformation; Catholic Reform or Catholic
Reformation; Tridentine Reform and Tridentine Age; The
Confessional Age or Confessional Catholicism), all of which indi-
cate more directly the concerns and actions of ecclesiastical, polit-
ical, or politico-ecclesiastical officialdom. Early Modern Catholicism
more easily allows consideration of the resistance to control
attempted by any social, ecclesiastical or intellectual elite. It allows
for the negotiation that seems to have occurred at all levels –
between bishops and Rome, between pastors and bishops on the
one hand and pastors and their flock on the other, between
accused and inquisitors – with even illiterate villagers emerging as
effective negotiators when their interests were at stake. [and the
term] has space for the new roles played by Catholic women, lay
and religious.

However that term can cover from the late fifteenth century to the
French Revolution.2
Partly because of word limits, I focus on only part of ‘early modern’
Catholicism: on the post-Tridentine period till the mid- or late seven-
teenth century. The closure of the Council of Trent in December
1563 was a defining moment for Italy, if not for all parts of the
Catholic world. The period before this is covered in Chapter 1 in
terms of the religious crises, and discussions throughout Italy of het-
erodox ideas; and in other chapters when considering developments
of institutions, policies and ideals that fed into the multi-faceted re-
formation of Italian church and society. Tridentine legislation set
some programmes and norms for further reform, but many other
agencies of change were at work. The book balances descriptions of
church organisation and social life, with assessments of the problems
of restructuring. Discussion and overall analysis is complicated by
Italy being politically divided into about 17 significant states, and 290
 PREFACE xiii

or more bishoprics. Church and cultural leaders saw ‘Italy’ as a single

entity for some purposes, but the other divisions militated against a
monolithic or uniform Church. We are in the pursuit of ‘local knowl-
edge’, in the words of Simon Ditchfield’s pertinent survey article.3
This suggests many churches, rather than one Church. Part of my
stress is on the positive and negative interactions between centre and
periphery, but also between people and institutions locally, and even
conflict within the centre – Rome.
The chosen title points to a selective bias in my coverage, affected
by word limits, personal interests and expertise. Predominantly, I am
concerned with the interactions of the church institutions and their
clergy with the wider lay public – ‘society’ – within the Italian penin-
sula; and with the position of the laity not only in the parish structure,
but in relation to ‘good works’. Famous church intellectuals (like
Roberto Bellarmino and Cesare Baronio) appear, but for their
impact on wider society, rather than brilliant writings on theology, his-
tory, philosophy and science. The recent production of Anthony
Wright’s very valuable study of the Papacy, allows me to limit consid-
eration of Popes, and largely to roles within Italy.4 The Religious
Orders are discussed primarily for their general religious educational
and philanthropic contributions, not for higher scholarship and edu-
cation or internal life. Nuns and nunneries have a broader consid-
eration because Tridentine attempts to enforce strict enclosure
constitute a major revolutionary attempt, with wide social implica-
tions. Visual and musical attempts to overwhelm and entice the faith-
ful are deemed highly significant. Colour plates and high quality
black and white photos are not feasible in the series book; but the
notes suggest readily accessible illustrations in art books and CDs for
the music.

1
Helen Rawlings, Church, Religion and Society in Early Modern Spain (Basingstoke,
2002).
2
O’Malley, Trent and All That, 141.
3
Ditchfield, ‘ “In search of local knowledge”: Rewriting early modern Italian
religious history’.
4
Wright, Early Modern Papacy.
Acknowledgements

Research on this book has been built up intermittently since the

mid-1970s, interwoven with other projects. For enabling research vis-
its to Italy, and giving papers at international conferences, I am grate-
ful to the following bodies: the British Academy, the Arts and
Humanities Research Board, the Carnegie Trust, the University
Court and the Arts Faculty Planning Unit of Glasgow University, as
well as my own Department research fund.
Many intellectual and personal debts in pursuing this subject have
already been acknowledged in my two previous books. The late Eric
Cochrane personally provided encouragement in the early 1970s, fos-
tering a sceptical approach to much past and then current writing on
the Italian Church. Special thanks are owed to Danilo Zardin, who
since taking a very supportive interest in my book on Confraternities,
has been a major supplier of books and offprints, notably on confra-
ternities, and on the religious-social history of Lombardy. His research
work and interpretations have affected much discussed below.
My interest in, and knowledge of, the fascinating Friuli region, has
been fostered by Maria Bortoluzzi, a family friend from Spilimbergo,
and Aldo Colonello of the Circolo Culturale Menocchio in
Montereale Valcellina who have not only been friendly guides to their
region, but providers of interesting books. Jenny Greenleaves Manco
has been a kind host in Fiesole, recently facilitating research in
Florence, as well as being a guide intermittently since student days to
Florence, the city of her birth, and remoter parts of Tuscany. Among
many other academic colleagues, and some former students, who
have helped me (possibly long past their recalling in some cases),
with advice, encouragement, references, books, offprints, conference

xiv
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS xv

invitations etc., I would particularly like to thank Tricia Allerston,

Charles Avery, Elizabeth Black, Michael Bury, Sam Cohn, Bruce
Collins, Nick Davidson, Andrea Del Col, Niki Dialeti, Simon
Ditchfield, Simon Dixon, John Durkan, Konrad Eisenbichler, Mario
Fanti, Giovanna Farrell-Vinay, Costas Gaganakis, David Gentilcore,
Olwen Hufton, Mary Laven, Lance Lazar, Oliver Logan, Richard
Mackenney, Eilidh MacLean, Adelina Modesti, Thomas Munck, John
O’Malley, Giorgios Plakotos, Irene Polverini Fosi, Paolo Prodi, Brian
Pullan, Helena Roach, Roberto Rusconi, Nick Terpstra, Marcello
Verga, Andrea Vianello, Susan Verdi Webster, Anthony Wright. Mike
Shand helpfully developed the Maps, as for my Early Modern Italy,
though responsibility for any errors of course remains mine.
List of Abbreviations

AABol Archivio Arcivescovile, Bologna

AAF Archivio Arcivescovile, Florence
AdiSP Archivio di Stato, Perugia
ASB Archivio di Stato, Bologna
A.S.Pietro Archivio di S.Pietro, Perugia
APV Archivio della Curia Patriarchale, Venice
ASV Archivio di Stato, Venice
ASVR Archivio Storico del Vicariato, Rome
BCP Biblioteca Comunale, Perugia
S. San, Sant’, Santo, Santa. Meaning Saint or Holy (in the
singular). Abbreviated when a prefix to names of
churches, confraternities and institutions.
SS. Santi (plural, Saints or Holy); Santissima, Santissimo,
Santissimi (Most Saintly, Most Holy). Similar usage.
SU Sant’Uffizio (Section of Inquisition records in ASV)

xvi
The Early Modern Popes

Papal name Papal Name Home city/ Papal ‘nephew’,

Reign town or other family
aid

Adrian VI 1522–23 Adrian Dedal Utrecht

Clement VII 1523–34 Giulio de’ Florence
Medici
Paul III 1534–49 Alessandro Rome Card. Alessandro
Farnese Farnese
Julius III 1550–55 Ciocchi del Rome
Monte
Marcellus II 1555 Marcello Montepulciano
Cervini
Paul IV 1555–59 Gian Pietro Naples Carlo Carafa
Caraffa
Pius IV 1559–65 Giovanni Milan Card. Carlo
Angelo de’ Borromeo (St)
Medici
Pius V (St) 1565–72 Michele Bosco Card. Michele
Ghislieri Bonelli

Gregory XIII 1572–85 Ugo Bologna Card. Filippo B.

Buoncompagni (nephew) and
Giacomo B.
(bastard son)
Sixtus V 1585–90 Felice Peretti Grottommare Card. Alessandro
(Ancona) Peretti
Urban VII 1590 Giov. Batt. Castagna Rome
Gregory XIV 1590–91 Niccolò Sfondrati Somma
(Lombardy)

xvii
xviii THE EARLY MODERN POPES

(Continued)

Papal name Papal Name Home city/ Papal ‘nephew’,

reign town or other family
aid

Innocent IX 1591 Giov. Antonio Bologna

Facchinetti
Clement VIII 1592–1605 Ippolito Fano Card. Pietro
Aldobrandini Aldobrandini
Leo XI 1605 Alessandro de’ Florence
Medici
Paul V 1605–21 Camillo Borghese Rome (and Card. Scipione
Siena) Borghese
Gregory XV 1621–23 Alessandro Ludovisi Bologna Card. Lodovico L.
Urban VIII 1623–44 Maffeo Barberini Florence Card. Carlo
(brother);
Taddeo, Card.
Antonio
(nephews)
Innocent X 1644–55 Giov. Batt. Pamphili Rome Card. Camillo
Pamphili
Alexander VII 1655–67 Fabio Chigi Siena Card. Flavio
Chigi
Clement IX 1667–69 Giulio Rospigliosi Pistoia
Clement X 1669–76 Emilio Altieri Rome
Innocent XI 1676–89 Benedetto Como
Odescalchi
Alexander VIII 1689–91 Pietro Ottoboni Venice Card. Pietro
Ottoboni
Innocent XII 1691–1700 Antonio Pignatelli Spinazzola
(Puglia)
Clement XI 1700–21 Francesco Albani Urbino
 xix

FEDERATION OF
SWITZERLAND

DUCHY OF HOLY ROMAN

SAVOY EMPIRE
a
Va l t e l l i n

DUCHY OF
Bergamo
MILAN Fr iuli
PRINCIPATE OF
PIEDMONT Milan
REPUBLIC OF
Verona
Turin Pavia VENICE AAqquuiill ee i aa
DUCHY OF
DUCHY OF
Piacenza MANTUA
MANTUA Padua KINGDOM
MARQUISATE Parma Mantua Venice OF
OF SALUZZO
Genoa
DUCHY OF HUNGARY
PARMA
Modena Ferrara
REPUBLIC DUCHY OF DUCHY OF Istria
OF GENOA MODENA Bologna FERRARA
PAPAL
MARQUISATE Lucca STATE Ravenna
OF REPUBLIC
MONFERRATO OF LUCCA Florence Rimini OTTOMAN
Pisa EMPIRE
DUCHY OF
Livorno
DUCHY OF Urbino URBINO
TUSCANY
M
Th he
ar

Elba Siena
e s
c

Loreto
Assisi
PAPAL STATE
Umbria

Abruzzi
Rome

Corsica
Ca

Campania
p

ta
i

na
ta

KINGDOM
OF
Naples
NAPLES Pu Bari
(Spain) gl
ia

Basilicata

KINGDOM
OF
SARDINIA Lecce
(Spain)
ia
br
la
Ca

Palermo
Messina

Reggio
KINGDOM
OF
SICILY
(Spain)

0 100 200 km

Map 1 Map of Italy: Political divisions, 1559

2–4 Italian bishoprics
The following maps indicate the location of most of the seats of the Italian Bishoprics, and relate to the Appendix

xx
on the Bishoprics. We have not managed to record every single one, especially in the areas around Naples.
(To be considered in connection with the Appendix on the Bishoprics. Locations guided by Jedin et al. (eds), Atlas
d’histoire de l’Eglise.)

Aosta
Bolzano

Biella Como
Ivrea
Trent
Novara Bergamo Belluno
Vercelli Milan
Turin Brescia Vittorio
Veneto Udine
Casale Vigevano Crema

Pavia Lodi Verona Pordenone Gorizia

Asti Treviso
Alessandria Portogruaro
Saluzzo Piacenza Cremona Vicenza
Alba
Tortona Mantua
Fossano Padua Caorle
Acqui Bobbio Venice
Fidenza
Cuneo Guastalla
Mondovi Rovigo
Parma Chioggia
Savona Genoa Carpi
Reggio
Emilia Nonantola
Ferrara
Modena
Albenga Chiavari Pontremoli
Bologna
Ventimiglia Comacchio
Sarzana
La Spezia Imola
Massa
Ravenna
Faenza
Pescia Modigliana Forli
Lucca Pistoia
Prato Bertinoro
Pisa Cesena
Fiesole Sursina Rimini
San
Livorno Miniato Florence
Pesaro
Colle di Val San Urbino Fano
Volterra Sepolcro
0 100 km d'Elsa
Fossombrone
Arezzo Citta di Zara
Senigallia
Cortona Castello
Siena Cagli

Map 2 Northern Italian bishoprics

 Massa Siena Citta di Cagli
Marttima Cortona Castello Iesi Ancona
Elba Fabriano Osimo
Montalcino Montpulciano Gubbio Loreto
Pienza Perugia Recanati
Sebenico
Nocera San Macerata
Grosseto Chiusi
Assisi Severino
Citta d. Camerino
Pieve Spalato
Acquapendente Foligno Fermo
Sovana- Orvieto Todi Montalto
Pitigliano Spoleto
Montefiascone Bagnoregio Norcia Ascoli Lessina
Terni Piceno
Viterbo
A
Ty
San Martino
Teramo
Tarquinia
Civita
Rieti
dr Corzola

rr
Castellana L'Aquila
Nepi
Chieti
Pescara ia
he Tivoli
ti
ni Porto
Rome
Frascati
Avezzano
Lanciano
c Ragusa
Ostia Subiaco
an Grotttaferrata
Albano
Palestrina
Velletri Alatri
Sulmona
Se Cattaro

Corsica Segni
Ferentino
Sora
Trivento
Termoli
a
Ajaccio Veroli Larino
Isernia San
Terracina Campobasso Severo
Se
Gaeta
Sessa Teano Alife Lucera
Cerrato Manfredonia
Sannita
a
Tempio Caiazzo Foggia
Capua S. Agata Troia
Sassari Dei Goti Bovino
Alghero Caserta
Aversa Benevento Ariano Trani
Nuoro Acerra Ascoli Andria
Bosa Nola Lacedonia
Avellino Molfetta
Sardinia Naples Sarno Nusco Melfi Minervino
Bisceglie
Oristano Bari
Castellammare Conza Venosa Bitonto
Ales Lanusei Sorrento Salerno
Ischia Muro Acerenza
Iglesias Nocera Lucano Altamura Monopoli
de' Pagani Campagna Gravina
Cagliari
Amalfi Cava dei Potenza Matera
Half Tricarico
Scale 0 100 km Badia Tirreni Castellaneta
di' Cava Vallo di Teggiano
Lucania Brindisi

Map 3 Central Italian bishoprics, with Corsica and Sardinia

xxi
 xxii
Vallo di Teggiano Castellaneta
Lucania Brindisi
Taranto
Policastro Tursi Oria
Lecce

Nardo
Cassano Otranto
all' Ionio Gallipoli

San
Marco Rossano Ugento

Bisignano Cariati
Cosenza
Umbriatico

San
Severina
Nicastro
Crotone
Catanzaro
Trapani Lipari Tropea
Palermo Squillace
Mileto
Monreale
Cefalu Messina Oppido
Mamertina
Patti
Mazara
Reggio
del Vallo
Nicosia
Calabria Locri Ionian
Bova
Sea
Sicily Acrireale
Agrigento
Piazza Catania
Armerina

Syracuse

Noto 0 100 km

Map 4 Southern Italian and Sicilian bishoprics

 xxiii

Locarno

Trento
Bergamo
Milan Strigno
Gardone Valsugana Udine
Brescia Asolo
Casale Vicenza
Cittadella
Cremona
Padua
Mantua Venice
Rovigo
Genoa Capo
Modena d' Istria
Ferrara
Lu
nig

Fivizzano Bologna
ian

Faenza
a

Garfagnana
Casola
Lucca
Florence

Siena

Elba

Viterbo A
dr
ia
ti
c
Corsica Se
Ty

a
rr

Fondi
he

Waldensians Manfredonia
ni
an

Naples Bovino
Se
a

Sardinia
Walde
ns
ians

Cosenza

Palermo Squillace

Ionian
Sicily Sea

0 100 200 km

Map 5 Places where groups of Protestant sympathisers were revealed,

1540s–1560s (• indicate major centres of interest ° indicate lesser
centres of interest)
This page intentionally left blank
1 Religious Crises and Challenges in
Early Sixteenth-Centur y Italy

This book is primarily concerned with the period after the closure of
the Council of Trent, and the response to the reformations once the
Council had set guidelines. However, the impact of the Reformation
ideas and attitudes earlier has to be considered to understand the
real or perceived threats in the eyes of the hierarchies, or lesser anti-
Protestant campaigners. The impact and perceptions affected the
course and rulings of the Council, the activity of control and repres-
sion independent of the Council, and policies post-Trent, whatever
their relationship to Trent. Also an understanding of the real extent
of Protestant appeals within Italy up to the 1560s will help us com-
prehend the nature of the ‘success’ of the Tridentine Reform.
The religious crises have to be seen in a wider context of other
crises affecting the Italian peninsula from the late fifteenth century,
which conditioned reactions to religious challenges and debates.1
The relative peace of Italy was shattered by King Charles VIII of
France’s invasion in 1494 to claim the Kingdom of Naples from the
Spanish. This produced a period of warfare and conflict, involving
French, Spanish and German Imperial forces, with Swiss and German
mercenaries. Italian states frantically changed sides for survival – until
the European peace settlement of 1559 at Cateau Cambrésis, which
left the Spanish King Philip II as the dominant outsider (see Map 1).
He ultimately controlled the Viceroyalties of Naples and Sicily, along
with Lombardy and Sardinia; though the local elites in all these areas
had considerable powers and influences. The period of the Italian
wars, 1494–1559, witnessed disruption from actual battles, sieges and

1
2 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

sacks of cities (most spectacularly of Brescia, Prato and Ravenna in

1512, and Rome in 1527), with the dispersal of vulnerable surviving
populations. Famine conditions resulted, populations were afflicted
by various plagues, and syphilis was spread through the land. The
calls for philanthropic ‘good works’ in response were considerable.
The adverse war-induced conditions, partially explain the seemingly
desultory reaction of church and Italian state leaders to the religious
challenges launched in the north from Luther and Zwingli from
1517–19.
Reactions were also conditioned by the Ottoman Turkish threat,
and an initially greater fear of Muslim challenges through the
Mediterranean and along the North African coast. Turkish naval
forces harried coastlines, Sultan Suleyman seriously contemplated
adding Rome to his empire, while Popes sometimes prioritised a
Crusade over settling religious and political disputes in western
Europe. Holding a Council of the Church was affected. In 1535
Pietro Paulo Vergerio reported to King Ferdinand I of Bohemia and
Hungary (Holy Roman Emperor from 1558), a conversation he had
had with an envoy to Pope Paul III, who had said: ‘I certainly want this
Council to be held, but first I should like to make peace between his
imperial Majesty and the King of the French … I also want to restrain
the Turk.’ In 1551–52 when the second stage of the Council of Trent
was active, Turkish forces raided Sicily in July 1551 (burning
Augusta), and in 1552 had an armada off Naples, which then landed
and pillaged around Gaeta. Papal troops were put on alert for an
assault on Rome, but the Turks retired.2
The cultural impacts of the physical crises were considerable and
varied. The 1527 Sack of Rome shattered moods of complacency and
humanist overconfidence. It scattered to the north and south some of
the moving spirits for both Religious and cultural reform, beneficially
affecting the growth of new Religious Orders, congregations and con-
fraternities. It induced religious pessimism in some, possibly making
Lutheran ideas of salvation by faith more appealing. Others sought
moral reform to appease an angry God or salvation through good
works.3
The leadership of the Roman Church, and the conduct of church
affairs, was regularly challenged. The political and economic crises
from the 1490s, mentioned earlier added stimuli, but also inhibited
some responses. Calls for reform of abuses within the Catholic
Church in Italy, or for reformation of its institutions, teachings and
 RELIGIOUS CRISES AND CHALLENGES 3

practices, building on strengths from the past, came before Luther or

Zwingli launched what we generically call Protestantism. Fra
Savonarola, burned as a heretic in Florence in 1498, leading an overt
and strident challenge to papal immorality, and calling for a new spir-
ituality, epitomised the crisis.4 His continuing influence on Catholic
reformers, which needs better recognition, will be noted through this
book. As the northern debates developed, much interest in them was
shown within Italy, at all levels of society – from intellectuals, bishops
and princes to urban artisans and ‘peasants’. Debates remain lively
among historians as to the extent of the Italian Protestant movement
or movements, over which strands were most predominant, and why
‘Protestantism’ was defeated in Italy.
Modern historians of Italian Protestantism tend to be strongly biased
towards Protestants, whether from a religious conviction (Protestant
or liberal Catholic, seeing Tridentine Catholicism as a form that
should not have ‘won’), or from a left-wing political viewpoint, sup-
porting the underdogs suppressed by an authoritarian and cruel
Catholic Church. Many such historians seemingly assume the
Protestantism that would have prevailed, would have been ‘better’,
intellectually and democratically. But a victory for certain forms of
Protestantism – such as Genevan and Scottish-style Calvinism – would
probably have generated more repression and been ‘unpopular’ for
greater numbers. Just as in Britain philo-Catholic historians have
stressed the popularity of the old religion, so for Italy historians need
to recognise that Protestantism was conveyed by minorities, even if a
majority of Catholics could find plenty to criticise and satirise in the
Roman Catholic Church.
Through much of Italy certain Protestant ideas were discussed,
written about, preached, at many levels of society through to the
1560s. Salvatore Caponetto’s The Protestant Reformation is a mine of
information, though sometimes confusingly organised and short on
helpful explanations.5 While he follows Delio Cantimori in stressing
Calvinist influences, he covers the prior enthusiasm for Erasmus (who
visited Venice, with mixed impact and enthusiasm), the rapid interest
in some of Luther’s ideas, especially on salvation by faith alone, a
greater knowledge of northern ideas through Melanchthon. The
Italian scene is complicated by the impact of the Spanish exile Juan
Valdes with a network of contacts operating out of Naples, bringing
in key figures such as Vittoria Colonna, Reginald Pole, Pietro
Carnesecchi to create what may be seen as an Italian Protestantism.
4 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Italy also had maintained heretical communities of Waldensians, both

in the north-west and (more obscurely) in the south in Calabria and
Puglia. Some of the Waldensians soon saw Calvinism as offering com-
patible beliefs, and sought to make common cause (with disastrous
results in the south). Calvinism’s influence in Italy was made greater
by the French influences in Piedmont, and by the court of Ferrara
and Duchess Renée de France, a notable Calvinist, wife of Duke
Ercole II d’Este.
While stressing that Protestantism was known and debated in Italy,
Silvana Seidel Menchi calls Italian Protestantism a ‘non-event’ and
‘marginal phenomenon’, since no state committed itself to a
Protestant faith. While networks of Protestant contacts existed, no
major communities were established, and the Spanish–Italian move-
ment of Valdes was not coherent enough to make a major European
impact. Even in major cities with attested Protestant sects, Lucca and
Venice, only about 0.5 per cent could be judged to be committed. If
sympathisers – not in trouble or reported to authorities – are included,
less than 2 per cent are deemed philo-Protestant. She argues that
what needs more explanation is the solid 0.5 per cent, not why
Protestantism failed.6
The limited Protestant support and its solidity are both relevant for
what happens later. In terms of the reactions – overreactions for those
preferring a more ecumenical or Erasmian outcome – myth and per-
ceptions were more important than ‘real’ support. A small minority
could generate a reformation change, but it needed the commitment
of an urban ruling elite or a Prince, which was not fully forthcoming
in Italy. Caponetto argues that the failure of the Republic of Venice –
however anti-Papacy at times – to back a Protestant cause, doomed
Italian Protestantism.7 The Republic demonstrated that many forms
of Protestantism were offered and discussed, but could not produce
a common cause against the Roman Church.8 Reform traditions and
intellectual debates, native to the Republic and embracing outside
movements for strong Catholic reform, could foster a re-formed
Catholic Church, which might avoid a full breach with Rome, but
maintain some autonomy. A panic over networks spreading the more
radical ideas of Anabaptism in 1550–51 led the Venetian political
leaders, hitherto fairly tolerant of debates and books about salvation
by faith alone, marriage of priests, rules of fasting or the power of
Popes, to decide on cooperation with the Roman Inquisition.
Many parts of Italy were well prepared to receive reform ideas –
over theological interpretation, liturgy, or the reform of morals – but
 RELIGIOUS CRISES AND CHALLENGES 5

unlikely to show a commitment to a single non-Roman dogmatic or

institutional approach. The humanist intellectual tradition encour-
aged textual exegesis and debate; the Italians were in the forefront of
producing vernacular (essentially Tuscan Italian) translations of the
Bible, or at least major parts of the New Testament.9 An active print-
ing industry in the north, with transmission networks across the Alps,
could rapidly circulate some texts, but without being committed to a
particular confessional line. A variety of views was good for business,
in Florence, Milan or Venice. Italy had a long tradition of dynamic
popular preaching that was socially critical, and could be anti-papal.
Anticlericalism was standard in literary discourse. Northern and central
cities had urban communities with literate artisans, and with a tradi-
tion of confraternities and guilds that encouraged their lay control of
religious life. Despite the physical geography of mountainous Italy,
with few navigable rivers, much of Italy had a mobile and commu-
nicative society – and not just between the major cities. Those with
ideas as well as goods to distribute, to proselytise, as well as those wish-
ing to escape threats, could move quite readily. But the multi-state sys-
tem made it hard for policing and prosecuting authorities to catch
and curb. The Inquisition tribunals faced and partially overcame,
such challenges.
Committed Protestants, though few, communicated and influenced
each other. They could also be antagonistic and uncooperative. The
early reformers, Erasmian, Lutheran/Melanchthonian, Waldensian
and Valdesian were inclined to be canny, evasive and ‘nicodemist’,
refusing to commit themselves in broad daylight, as Calvin com-
plained.10 Many avoided full confrontation, would reconcile them-
selves, or skilfully argue with investigators and inquisitors, securing
exoneration and release. But some like Pietro Carnesecchi and Aonio
Poleario were to lose the argumentation, and their life, in the 1560s–
1570s. They did not work for the overthrow of the Roman Church – at
least not yet. The wholeheartedly Calvinist became more confronta-
tional, seriously subversive, dangerous; so alienated other groups.
Juan de Valdes, inspirational for many Italians, but ambiguous in
his theology, probably stood most for Erasmian irenicism and toler-
ance, and nicodemism. Commenting on John 16:2 (with Jesus saying
‘the hour is coming when whoever kills you will think he is offering
service to God’), he declared:

In this statement I learn this, that everyman must be careful never to

become passionate about things which pertain to religion – I mean
6 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

defend this or attack that with passion – so that passion should not
blind him in such a way that he should come to err against God out
of ignorance born of malice.11

This attitude reflected that of many Italian philo-Protestants, both

from the elite and artisans, in the early years. Thomas Mayer’s recent
challenging study of Reginald Pole indicates that Pole – however con-
frontational he was against Henry VIII – crucially shied away from
clear religious conflicts, and retreated into ambiguous writing.12 But
the 1540s saw more confrontational and intolerant positions on
various sides.
Much of the above explains why Italy did not see a Protestant victory
in any state; but also helps explain later authoritarian reactions. The
numbers of ‘heretics’ might be small, but they were in influential posi-
tions – at petty courts, in the preaching Orders, and among the
mobile, vocal and literate artisans. For the suspicious, small influential
groups could soon infect the many. For somebody as paranoid as
Cardinal Gian Pietro Carafa, to become Pope Paul IV, the few consti-
tuted huge dangers, especially if they were not only on the streets of
Lucca, in the bars and palazzi of Venice, but within the Curia in
Rome, or in courtly circles based in Viterbo linked to key ecclesiasts.
Hence, extreme reactions and overreactions, notably through the
Inquisition, which under Carafa was a decidedly persecuting institu-
tion, and not the corrective or re-educational one it became later.
The initial official reactions to both ‘Lutheran’ ideas from the north
(with 1518 seeing the first Italian edition of a Luther work),13 and the
circulation of Juan de Valdes’s works in the 1530s from Naples, were
laid back or ambivalent. First at political levels the threats from the
Muslim Ottomans were more serious, as were the political designs of
Spain, France and the Empire on Italian states.14 But at theological
and philosophical level some new religious ideas had much to offer;
and they were not necessarily heretical. Luther was not the first to
argue that a reading of St Paul, especially in Romans, and St Augustine,
could lead to a belief in salvation by faith alone. A greater emphasis on
God’s mercy and grace, on Christ’s sacrifice, on the benefit of Christ,
on man’s worthlessness, on God’s foreknowledge, could all appeal,
and be found worth considering and debating. Praiseworthy thinkers,
church diplomats and practical episcopal reformers like Girolamo
Seripando, Gasparo Contarini, Reginald Pole, Pier Paolo Vergerio and
Giovanni Grimani saw merits in some of the Lutheran and/or
Valdesian ideas, and ways of reaching a compromise with the northern
 RELIGIOUS CRISES AND CHALLENGES 7

Protestants through a Church Council. Seidel Menchi points to philo-

Protestants who wanted to ‘conquer the Catholic Church from within’
(naming Patriarch Giovanni Grimani of Aquileia, Bishop Pietro
Bonomo of Trieste, and Bishop Vittore Soranzo of Bergamo);15 in
other words to have a modern Lutheran theology within a Rome led
Church. Some of the philo-Protestant ideas were spread and discussed
surreptiously among the elite, in personal contact, in letters and in
poems. Other communicators were major preachers, in the traditions
of Italian preaching, confronting social problems, calling for moral
reform and repentance; but with some moving to Lutheran positions
on faith and salvation. Much of this prepared the ground for more
dangerous discussions. Some bishops and cardinals were ready to pro-
tect such preachers, even when it was sensed they were treading on
dangerous ground, until the mid-1540s.
In the 1520s and 1530s significant interest in, and debate about,
‘Lutheran’ ideas was evident, though with a rather restricted knowl-
edge of Luther’s actual writings.16 Italians were open to new ideas,
ready to debate them but without making too categorical statements
of their own beliefs, feeling their way. The knowledge that Luther and
others had interesting ideas would have affected many more than
those who had a clear idea of what it meant to be ‘Lutheran’, or were
committed. By 1528 the Venetian dramatist Ruzzante could assume
that his carnival audience for La Moscheta knew that Luther had
raised controversies over free will, in reply to Erasmus.17
Paul Grendler stressed there was a mood of religious restlessness in
Italy through the early sixteenth century, and by the 1530s a number
of ‘adventurers of the pen’ were willing and able to enter the fray, and
stir up debate; for example, Pietro Aretino, Ortensio Lando and Anton
Francesco Doni. Aretino, famous for pornographic poems and dia-
logues, vituperative journalism, anticlericalism, and for attacking the
nudity in Michelangelo’s Last Judgment painting on the Sistine
Chapel’s altar wall, also encouraged a basic faith in simple Christian
messages, including the Virgin birth. Ortensio Lando greatly admired
Erasmus, and new scriptural analysis, apparently followed Zwingli on
the Sacraments, but then reacted against the excesses of German the-
ological debate. His bitter anticlericalism fostered discontent in
urban classes, and his writings (notably his 1552 Dialogo della Sacra
Scrittura) encouraged a reliance on scripture, and salvation through
faith not works. A.F. Doni, a Florentine weaver, became a popular
writer in Venice, possibly associated himself with Anabaptists, but dab-
bled in a whole range of beliefs, before settling by the early 1550s on
8 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

a utopian dream of a simple reformed Catholicism. Though all might

have been charged with heresy, their impact probably more assisted
reformed Catholicism. Doni’s utopian dialogue, I Mondi, with only
minor emendations, (keeping its messages of social equality) was a
major commercial success in the later sixteenth century.18
By the 1540s however, Gian Pietro Carafa and others considered
that the Italian irenic and tolerant attitude was dangerous, that ‘our
Italy’ was seriously imperilled – just as some philo-Protestants thought
‘our Italy’ was ripe for a victory against an unreformable and uncon-
vertible Rome hierarchy. The Italian scene was rapidly polarised. The
open-minded or the ditherers had to decide what were the touch-
stones of belief and practice; how much issues like ‘faith alone’, the
cult of saints, transubstantiation mattered to them. Some opted for
exile as open Protestants, others to be nicodemists, hiding their true
beliefs. Alternatively, many retained loyalty to a Roman church
increasingly emphasising the most conservative interpretations of
St Paul, and anathematising almost all that Luther, Zwingli or Calvin
wrote, but which answered some of the criticisms of immorality and
lack of care for ordinary souls.
In 1542 the medieval Inquisition system was reformed or replaced,
and what we might consider as the early modern Italian Inquisition
created. The Holy Office of the Inquisition was established in Rome
as a permanent bureaucratic institution under the Pope, and negota-
tions started to establish permanent dependent tribunals in other
Italian states, as well as in other cities of the Papal State. The prime
mover was Gian Pietro Carafa, who had knowledge of the Spanish
Inquisition as a diplomatic envoy, and had noted the efficacy of this
papal-sanctioned but royal controlled institution in pursuing and
curbing heretics – Judaisers, Lutherans and mystical Alumbrados
(who had influenced Juan de Valdes). Through the 1540s and 1550s
the Inquisition developed its activities from the centre and in some
localities, as more and more groups of Protestants were revealed in
Italian towns, and revelations came about the real or alleged beliefs
of leading preachers, and of the spirituali. Some indication of the
spread of anti-Roman groups and sects is given on Map 5, which
makes some distinction between major and minor ‘heretical’ centres
in the 1540s–1560s. These were areas which worried the Inquisition.
The following discussion and some in Chapter 9, will clarify the types
of philo-Protestants involved, or spirituali.
The term spirituali covers networks of philo-Protestants or Catholic
reformers who showed interest in ideas from Erasmus, Luther,
 RELIGIOUS CRISES AND CHALLENGES 9

Melanchthon and Valdes. A text most emblematic of their interests is

the Beneficio di Cristo (of which Benedetto Fontanini da Mantova was
the main author, if amended by others),19 a best-seller with support in
high places in the early 1540s, but to be seized and eradicated by the
Inquisition when some decided it was heavily Calvinist in inspiration.
Its popular appeal was however its overall language about a religion of
love (carità), and images of the metamorphosis of the sinful soul into
the perfection of Christ.20 Increasing knowledge of the spirituali
heightened the sense of crisis for the conservatives in Rome, for the
networks included leading people like Cardinals Contarini, Pole and
Giovanni Morone, or court-culture leaders like Vittoria Colonna (mar-
chioness of Pescara, poet friend of Michelangelo and closely con-
nected with Pole), and Eleonora Gonzaga, duchess of Urbino,
supporter of the Capuchin preacher Bernardino Ochino and Pier
Paolo Vergerio, Bishop of Capodistria. Giulia Gonzaga (1513–66), as a
young widow ran the lordship of Fondi; after meeting Valdes in Naples
in 1536 she became a key supporter of his ideas, and of many spiritu-
ali. The investigation of her widespread correspondence confiscated
at her death was to provide evidence of the long-term serious heresy
of many people, and led to the final trial and execution of Pietro
Carnesecchi in 156721 (see Chapter 9). Some of these died before they
could be unmasked and condemned as ‘heretics’ by Carafa and his
successors. Pole came very close to being tried. In 1540–41 Viterbo,
where Pole was papal governor, became a refuge centre for many
Valdesians (from Naples, Florence and elsewhere), and Carafa was
soon to see this as a pernicious trouble centre, protected by Pole.22
Cardinal Morone, on the other hand, survived lengthy Inquisition
investigations to become the key figure in the third phaze of the
Council of Trent, bringing it to an effective conclusion.
Philo-Protestant support became obvious in other circles. The
flight of the General of the Capuchins (then the most dynamic
branch of the Franciscans), Bernardino Tomassini alias Ochino
(1487–1563) from Siena, in 1542 was one of the crisis turning points.
This spectacular preacher, with contacts in leading northern cities,
decided that salvation by faith alone was a touchstone belief, and he
would not risk defending it to inquisitors. From Geneva, Ochino
appealed to the Venetian Signoria to make its Republic the Italian
doorway for Protestantism. A forlorn hope. A like-minded Capuchin,
Girolamo Galateo (1490-–1541), had died in a Venetian prison; for
preaching on faith and works he had been tried by Carafa, sentenced
to death by the Pope, but the Venetian Council of Ten had commuted
10 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

this to imprisonment, then house arrest. But, he was rearrested when

his Apologia (Bologna, 1541), called for the Venetian Republic to
‘return to the Word and to the truth of Sacred Scripture … [and to]
defend that part of your crucified Christ and his Gospel and his
Word’. Galateo’s stimulation led to the formation of artisan groups
that became openly known through the trial of a carpenter, Antonio
‘marangone’ in 1533. Antonio owned a vernacular Bible (probably
Antonio Brucioli’s 1530 translation of the New Testament), Luther’s
Centum gravamina, and various other books. He had talked in many
Venetian churches, visited artisan workshops, and used a bookshop as
a focus for discussions, attended by Tuscans and Germans as well as
Venetian artisans. This was an early sign that Protestant ideas, com-
municated by preaching, books and shop-based discussion was affect-
ing the urban populace. Small communities were also infected;
Lutheran groups were discovered through Istria in 1534, thanks to
Franciscan preachers and German contacts working through Trieste.
Ironically, the papal legate seemingly, enthusiastically involved in
pursuing this ‘plague’ was P.P. Vergerio, who in 1547 was himself to
flee to Calvinist Switzerland.23
Another significant development was the spread of Calvinism in
the little Republic of Lucca, primarily fostered by Pietro Martire
Vermigli (1499–1562), leading the Lateran Canons at San Frediano as
prior from June 1541. Earlier he had imbibed Erasmian and Bucer
ideas in Bologna (1530–33), Valdesian ideas in Naples (1537–41),
becoming fully committed to the central doctrine of salvation by faith
alone. Lucca provided a significantly receptive audience, helped by
many monks and patrician support. Eventually, Cardinal Bartolomeo
Guidiccioni persuaded or threatened the republican government to
curb heresy. Ahead of any trials leaders, including Vermigli, fled to
Geneva and further afield. Vermigli infected England. However,
remaining enthusiasts contaminated peasants through Tuscany and
Emilia, in the Garfagnana, Lunigiana, in small towns like Càsola and
Fivizzano, from where prohibited books circulated; as Jesuit mission-
aries later found.24 The Luccan episode contributed to Carafa’s per-
secution mania and the creation of the Holy Office. Lucca as ‘the
republic contaminated with heresy’, as Cardinal Guidiccioni noted it
in 1542, was the most worrying threat because of the social and polit-
ical quality, rather than the quantity, of its supporters. The republican
government itself in 1540 had banned most religious festivals, includ-
ing that of the Volto Santo, central to Luccan civic religion, which
honoured a statue of the Holy Face, supposedly carved by Joseph of
 RELIGIOUS CRISES AND CHALLENGES 11

Aramathea. Bernardino Ochino’s sermon attack in 1538 on exces-

sively expensive and time-consuming Luccan feasts possibly triggered
the government’s confrontation, allegedly to save the poor from
superstition.25
From earlier heretical struggles Italy had its own Waldensian com-
munities in north-west Italy, Calabria and Puglia. From about 1526
the northerners had decided to learn about the new movements; by
September 1532 Waldensians from Calabria and Puglia had repre-
sentatives meeting in Chanforan (valley of Angrogna), with the
northerners, to make some common cause with Guillaume Farel and
the Genevan reform movement. As a result Waldensians became
more open in their beliefs – ultimately leading to serious persecution
in the 1560s. The Locarno region was infected especially by Franciscan
preaching during 1549–55, which established philo-Protestant net-
works linking the north-west through the valleys to Switzerland and
France. Heretical enclaves survived there well into the post-
Tridentine period. Some preachers from this area had carried their
messages far south, to Palermo, Naples, as well as more closely to
Genoa, Florence, Mantua, Milan and Venice. Ochino had already in
1539–40 introduced Sicilians to ‘the benefit of Christ’, and salvation
through faith.
The strength of Lutheran interest in the Brescia–Verona region,
where Lutheran books were being sold from about 1524, was revealed
in the Brescian patrician, Giovan Andrea Ugoni’s trial in 1546. He
linked with small traders and artisans critically, discussing free will, pur-
gatory and papal power. His book collection included works by Zwingli
and the now condemned Beneficio di Cristo. He was released, arguing
that trial procedures contravened the Venetian Council of Ten’s 1521
orders. The worried Inquisition, however managed a second trial in
1552, successfully securing Ugoni’s public abjuration, (but we meet
him again). This encouraged the Inquisition to secure better coopera-
tion with state authorities. Bishop Vittore Soranzo of Bergamo’s arrest
in 1551, revealing his correspondence with Bucer and Ochino, is seen
by Caponetto as ending the Bucerian middle way policy.26
The final noteworthy crisis came in 1551 with Pietro Manelfi’s rev-
elations about the networks of Anabaptists through Venetian territory
and beyond. A priest from near Senigallia, he had become an
Anabaptist leader, but in October 1551 he went voluntarily to the
Bologna Inquisitor, Fra Leandro degli Alberti, allegedly wishing ‘to
return to the bosom of the Holy Roman Church’, and rejecting
Lutheranism and ‘Anabaptist perfidy’. The investigation was transferred
12 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

to Venice, as the presumed epicentre, and Rome made clear its deep
worry. A certain ‘Tiziano’ was cited as the leading proselytiser from
1549–51, with a Swiss version of Anabaptism, rather than the more
radical and potentially violent Thomas Müntzer teaching. He had
established a group in the delightful hilltop town of Asolo (with local
elite support), and having fostered other groups in Cittadella,
Gardone, Rovigo, Padua and Vicenza, he proselytised through the
Ferrara state, and Florence. The Paduan enterprise brought contacts
with exiled Valdesians from Naples (under abbot Girolamo Busale,
who turned Anabaptist). When some argued that the soul was mortal,
and Christ was mere man, conflicts and splits developed, aired in a
‘council’ meeting in Venice. Manelfi decide on recantation and
betrayal of Tiziano and others. One of the group, Benedetto del
Borgo had earlier been arrested in Rovigo and executed in March
1551, and a more complex associate, the Sicilian visionary Giorgio
Rioli (alias Siculo) had been executed in May 1551; but Manelfi’s
indications of a much larger network rang alarm bells in the Venetian
state as well as in Rome. Further worrying was Manelfi’s claim that his
group: ‘considers all Christian magistrates to be enemies of God, and
insists that no Christian may be emperor, king, duke, or hold any
office whatsoever, and the people are not obliged to obey them’.27 It
was one thing to challenge papal monarchy, another to challenge all
political rule. Essentially, this episode persuaded the Venetian Republic
to take a full offensive against major heresies, and to cooperate with
the Roman Inquisition, provided it was agreed that the Venetian tri-
bunal should be a church–state dyarchy.
By the mid-1550s Protestant and Valdesian ideas had been aired
very widely, and small groups existed in such cities and towns as:
Asolo, Bologna, Bergamo, Brescia, Cremona, Ferrara, Florence,
Gardone, Genoa, Lucca, Mantua, Milan, Modena, Naples, Padua,
Palermo, Rome, Rovigo, Siena, Treviso, Udine, Venice, Vicenza and
Viterbo. Groups existed in the valleys and foothills of Piedmont
and Friuli, in Istria, in the Garfagnana and Lunigiana, and in
Calabria and Puglia, if one includes the old Waldensians. The social
profiles are puzzlingly varied. Upper class support was strong in
Brescia and Lucca (131 from about 400 identified Protestants
1530–1600), but artisans were the main support in Bergamo, Vicenza
or Udine. Of 774 Venetian philo-Protestants identified for the period
1547–83, 189 were in the top group of artisans, involved in luxury
goods. Women featured as elite leaders, but rarely among the artisans
classes, and then largely as related to male leaders.28
 RELIGIOUS CRISES AND CHALLENGES 13

Elite leaders could be challenging in counter arguments and

evasive over their true beliefs; as with the major Florentine figure
Pietro Carnesecchi. Many however could be persuaded to recant, and
many philo-Protestants were reluctant to pass over to the extremes of
Calvinism and Anabaptism. The circulation of the vernacular Bible or
portions thereof was considerable, and the discussion of the Gospel
widespread among literate artisans, as well as by preachers. Artisan
workshops, retailing outlets and print-bookshops were useful meet-
ing places, and locations to see copies of the Gospels or Paul’s epis-
tles. Such evidence helps explain the powerful attack on the
vernacular Bible, in the Indexes of Prohibited Books (Chapter 9). For
theologically trained preachers and high churchmen the doctrine of
salvation by faith alone was a major consideration; but might be less
so among the artisan-based sects. In Udine, Modena and Istria the
cult of saints, fasting laws, and the Real Presence in the Eucharist
were the targets.29 These aspects remain part of the agenda, or targets
in denunciations in Venetian Inquisition cases, for example, in the
later period (Chapter 9).
For many philo-Protestants in Italy, it was often very much a
pick-and-mix procedure; each man or woman selecting doctrine(s)
and practices, or hate targets to suit their needs, or according to
whom or which books they were exposed. This meant moving and
variable targets for Catholic defenders, and difficulties in directing
their campaigns; but it rendered the overall threat less, because philo-
Protestants were not united. If the Catholic reform movements
turned to re-education, and to making some beliefs and practices
more explicable and appealing, they might create a more acceptable,
and willingly accepted Catholic Church. The variability and ambiva-
lence of the heretical targets, and success in getting recantations,
help explain a less crisis-minded attitude from the Inquisition by the
1560s, and a shift of targets.
However, a deep crisis situation was still perceived when the
Council of Trent entered its third stage (1562–63), and the final cod-
ification of responses to the religious challenges. Some events and
policies in Venice and the Veneto might exemplify a range of prob-
lems to be faced, and possible approaches to control. Venice as the
most cosmopolitan city, and centre of world trade, had the greatest
mix of religious opinions ( Jewish and Muslim added to the diverse
Christians), and probably the freest discussions at all levels of society.
It had the largest printing industry, assisting the dissemination of
ideas. The wider Veneto territory could readily be affected by the
14 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

movement of people and books, and oral discourse. The upper

valleys and mountains protected the deviant from pursuit. Venice and
the Veneto could readily be influenced by ideas from German, Swiss
and French lands. Republican leaders were likely to be hostile to
Spanish influences, and many wanted to maintain a considerable
distance from direct papal power.
For the remoter area of Aquiliea, Andrea Del Col has revealed a
remarkable document: a confession of faith in 1559 from three crit-
ics of Catholic orthodoxy.30 From June 1559, Angelo Peruzzi, the
bishop of Feltre’s vicar general, conducted a Visitation of part of the
diocese, bordering Austrian lands. As Chapter 3 will discuss, Visitations
were tours of inspection designed as a key to episcopal control.
Peruzzi and his team started in the Valsugana. Unusually, in a
Visitation he was joined by the inquisitor of Feltre (Fra Antonio dal
Cavolo, a Feltre noble). A processo against a priest in Strigno had indi-
cated that the valley had notable Reform adherents, protected by an
Austrian captain, Gaspar Genetto in Castel Ivano, whose brother
Andrea was parish priest of Strigno. Peruzzi in Strigno summoned
three known Reform supporters, the notary Zuan Battista Rippa, a
shoe-tanner Matteo Coppa Zudei and Zuane Vacharo. Peruzzi turned
the session into a kind of colloquy, both sides explaining and debat-
ing their positions. Despite the Inquisitor’s presence, Peruzzi indi-
cated that there would be no trial; but he wanted the three to record
afterwards a declaration of their faith, which duly appeared, and sur-
vives. This was a learning exercise for the hierarchy, and for the his-
torian: a clear indication of local reform views, presented to the
hierarchy, but free from the constraints of an episcopal or inquisition
investigation. The testament shows that one at least had considerable
Biblical knowledge, quoting an Italian translation, notably from
Pauline epistles, but also the Psalms. Rippa submitted a copy of Antonio
Brucioli’s Bible translation. Thanks, presumably to this notary’s wider
knowledge, some specified canons from Gratian’s Decretum, a major
legal text, were cited – against the idea that social and hierarchical
distinctions on earth can be repeated in heaven; arguing that an
excommunicate can only do good through grace. Del Col detects the
influence of the Beneficio di Cristo, the Somma di tutta la Sacra Scrittura,
and Ochino’s sermons; prohibited books which were known to be in
circulation in the area.
The testament said they had no disagreement with the vicar gen-
eral and inquisitor on the Eucharist. However, they challenged the
existence of purgatory: Paul in Hebrews talked of Christ sitting at
 RELIGIOUS CRISES AND CHALLENGES 15

God’s right, purging our sins, and St Augustine found no Biblical

support for any place but paradise and hell. They attacked the argu-
ment about the intercession of saints, as only God can know our hearts,
though we can imitate the lives of saints ‘as true friends of God’. They
argued that the Pope had no special powers above other priests and
bishops. They followed St Paul who: ‘in many places teaches that all
our salvation comes from the passion of Christ through the grace of
God blessed, without our merits and without our good works, only
through mere liberality’, though they agreed that good works char-
acterised a Christian, because one cannot call a tree good that does
not make and produce good fruits. ‘The works then are fruits of
grace and signs that we are saved (della salute).’ The trio found no
Biblical justification for oral confession, which the Greek Church did
not accept. Our sins can only be remitted by the blood of Christ, not
the hands of a priest. The Council of Trent’s 1551 decree on peni-
tence was specifically attacked. They challenged the Pope’s power to
ban eating meat on prohibited days, which went beyond what the
Gospel says. Popes and bishops should not add laws, but preach the
Gospel and administer sacraments as God instituted them. The testa-
ment concludes by saying that the writers are making a kind of con-
fession, praying for Christ’s compassion; but if the reverend vicar and
the inquisitor can show the truth otherwise, through the Gospels,
they hope they will be able to understand their errors.

We pray God that his Holy Spirit inspires in our hearts the knowl-
edge of his truth, which may guide and govern all our actions, so we
may together with the other elect enjoy the celestial country (fruir
la patria celeste), promised to every believer in his only born Son.

This bold challenge showed the authorities that they were dealing
with a well-read and thoughtful group, challenging much of the cur-
rent teachings of the Catholic Church. The views might be judged as
essentially ‘Italian’ reform, rather than transalpine (though books by
Bucer and Melanchthon were locally available). In the same month
Rippa wrote another letter to the Vicar General, with a summary of
the false opinions of the Anabaptists. He also disassociated himself
from the other two, because they were banished by the Venetian
Republic and he did not wish ‘in any way to unite with them on
account of the faith and religion’. He then glossed what was said
about papal authority, and now considering St Paul’s views on obey-
ing good and bad lords and magistrates, he confessed he would obey
16 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

papal laws and constitutions ‘while they are not directly contrary and
repugnant to the sacred gospel of Jesus Christ’. So the notary reduces
the confrontation and slides into accepting a compromise position.
Peruzzi’s ‘soft’ and seemingly open educational approach was
already paying dividends, and potentially better than a very con-
frontational one, especially in a mountainous border area. If the
fathers reassembling in nearby Trent three years later were aware of
this kind of information, they had evidence of well-read and thought-
ful ‘heretics’ through the valleys. That access to the vernacular Bible
could generate many arguments against orthodox Roman teaching
was fully evidenced. Not unconnected, a long battle ensued within
the hierarchy before the ultimately disastrous decision to ban totally
vernacular translations of the Bible, in the 1596 Index of Prohibited
Books (see Chapter 9). Interestingly, in 1576 Captain Gaspar Genetto
of Castel Ivano resurfaces, being denounced as ‘luterano’, holding
religious services in his castle where Luther’s sermons were read, and
protecting heretics banished from the Venetian Republic.31
For Venice itself, and its wider contacts, revelations arise from stud-
ies of Francesco Spinola and his associates. The Venetian Inquisition
had him drowned off the Lido on 31 January 1567.32 Born in Como
in 1520, he became a notable humanist scholar and poet, moving
about and developing contacts in Brescia, Padua and Venice. He was
a great arguer and debater, even in prison. While his own processo
record has been lost, we know much through references in many
other investigations, and the writings of a French humanist and
prophet, Dionisio Gallo, who shared Venetian prison cells with him
1566–67. Witnesses suggest that Spinola had variously taught that
only two sacraments were valid (baptism and marriage), that purga-
tory did not exist, Indulgences had no value, Christ was the only inter-
cessor, and that salvation came through faith alone. Spinola in the
1560s moved around the literary circles of Venice, writing adulatory
poems, teaching various young persons including the sons of
Leonardo Mocenigo and corrected books for the powerful printer
Gabriele Gioliti. Spinola called his followers fratelli or evangelisti, dis-
tinguishing them from ugonotti (French Calvinist Huguenots). But
according to a fellow prisoner in the prisons of the Venetian Council
of Ten, he was in the pay of the Huguenot leader, the Duke of Condé,
and part of French schemes to destabilise the Venetian religious
scene. Spinola moved between various meeting places and discus-
sions; sermons given at San Matteo di Rialto and open air scenes near
the Rialto, discussions in Domenigo Gottardo’s apothecary shop near
 RELIGIOUS CRISES AND CHALLENGES 17

San Fantin (where donations were collected to support the proselytisers

or accused in prison, and where Spinola may have encountered
Pietro Carnesecchi), and a ridotto (gambling den), organised for
patricians by Andrea da Ponte, who was to flee to Geneva.
Among Spinola’s contacts was a fellow poet, Andrea di Ugoni (see
above). Between then and his recantation in 1565 in Venice, Ugoni
was moved by reading the works of Zwingli, Bullinger and Calvin, by
sermons heard at San Matteo, and by events in France, about which
he wrote to Queen Catherine de’ Medici and the King of Bohemia.
Ugoni on recantation – and on revealing many names of religious
controversialists in Brescia, Vicenza and Venice – was leniently
treated, being released to house confinement – in rooms rented from
the painter Titian, who seemingly preferred renting the floor below
him to the religiously suspect rather than common prostitutes (mere-
trice). Key patricians influenced by Spinola, also treated leniently by
the inquisitors, included Giacomo Malipiero a lawyer, whose processo
in June 1565 was revealing of Spinola’s views, and Antonio Loredan.
Spinola’s informative prison companion Dionisio Gallo played a
complex role. A Frenchman from Gisors and the College rector in
Lisieux in the early 1560s, he became a mystical prophet, moved by
the Virgin, and an admirer of St Brigid of Sweden. He badgered the
French court of Charles IX and his mother Queen Catherine
de’Medici to promote a crusade to convert Turks and Jews.
Unwelcome in Paris, he moved by late 1565 to Turin and Duke
Emmanuele Filiberto’s court. Later he was welcomed by Duke Cosimo
in Florence, but after a public row in the Duomo with the papal
Nunzio (Bernardino Brisegno), he was imprisoned on the Nunzio’s
order (in Cosimo’s absence). Released but banished, Dionisio visited
the Ferrara court, then Rome, before reaching Venice in mid-1565,
hoping that Venice would lead a real reformation and crusade. Here
he was supported by leading patricians, like Giusto Morosini, and
young men from the Corner, Mocenigo, Miani, Da Canal, Contarini
and Emo families. These patricians seemed to want a reform of the
church from within. Some like Antonio Loredan were influenced by
Savonarola, and notably his Oracolo, il qual trattava de renovatione
Ecclesiae, which Dionisio was later to reformulate.33 A reforming prophet
like Dionisio could be welcomed by them. He preached reform in the
courtyard of the Doge’s palace and, when failing to obey the
Inquisition’s order to desist as an unlicensed preacher, he was impris-
oned. He initially found himself in the civil police prison of the
Signori di Notte. Other prisoners objected to his praying and singing
18 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

litanies through the night, and severely beat him. On petitioning to be

moved to prisons of the Ten in the Doge’s palace (which also then
served the Inquisition tribunal), he found himself sharing a cell with
Spinola – but also with a Turk, who claimed to have been a torturer
back home, and who proceeded to make life hell for Dionisio Gallo
and Francesco Spinola. They both, however continued to preach and
pray loudly, to the annoyance of other prisoners. On Dionisio’s evi-
dence he and Spinola had a complex relationship; they shared some
ideas about a need for reform of the church, a basic anticlericalism,
which saw the impiety of the clergy as the root of problems, and for a
while Dionisio seemed to reject purgatory. But Dionisio accused
Spinola of giving false testimony against him (probably under tor-
ture), implying he shared more heretical views. He ended up pleading
for Spinola’s life, claiming that given time he could turn him into a
true Catholic reformer. His pleas for Spinola were in vain; he himself
was released but banished and fled to the protection of the D’Este
Duke of Ferrara.
We will return to the Inquisition later. In this above case-study the
person drowned, Spinola, was the one who was seemingly most out-
spoken, who argued with, and influenced a wide range of people in
various cities and who propounded a full range of heretical beliefs.
This also highlights that in the 1560s, as official reform moved into a
new phaze, northern Italy saw much reform advocacy and discussion
in high circles. The hierarchy’s problem was detecting the extent of
the networking and open discussion, the differences between major
heresiarchs (like Spinola) in sympathy with Luther, Zwingli or Calvin
and more traditional internal reformers distrustful of lax clergy and
a too intrusive papacy, some of whom (like Dionisio) might be dan-
gerous as crowd pullers if not as heterodox subversives. The threat of
French influences was taken seriously, given that both the Florentine
and Ferrara courts had significant links with the French royal
families.
2 The Council of Trent and Bases
for Continuing Reform

The Council of Trent, operating in three separate periods (1545–47,

1550–51 and 1562–63), was one of the major Councils of the Church,
but historically one of the most significant attempts to produce a
body of legislation. It was and is important, whether one criticises or
praises it for what it did or did not do. It has been heavily attacked on
all sides. For some, a general council of the Church was inaugurated
to attempt reconciliation between ‘Protestants’ and the Roman
Catholic Church. It certainly concluded in general as an affirmation
of the most conservative theological doctrines, intransigent against
doubters, and with norms for ensuring that such views and practices
prevailed in its aftermath. Protestants might have deemed it irrele-
vant as well as a betrayal, but they had to take cognisance of it as it
guided the Roman Catholic opponents’ behaviour against them, and
philo-Protestants within the Catholic areas. Catholics have diversely
criticised the legislation for being too weak or too authoritarian.

Background and Criticisms

Much criticism past and present has been unrealistic and counter-
factual. My main concern here is with the Council’s decrees as foun-
dations or guides for continuing re-formation of the institutional
church, with what it taught and believed, how Catholics at all social
levels might subsequently behave. The conclusion of the Council in
December 1563 (too hurriedly, from the unrealised fear that the

19
20 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Pope would imminently die, rendering all the decisions null), and
the ratification, printing and circulation of the decrees at least in Italy
by June 1564 did mark a crucial stage in a longer process of reform-
ing church and society. Irrespective of the merits or defects of what
went into print, the church and its supporters had norms as a basis
for reform; or as means to stop change.1
The Council of Trent met intermittently over 18 years, in 3 stages;
and such a Council had been seriously considered from about 1530.
The Council thus lacked continuity of purpose and personnel.
Between stages, forward planning was lacking on how the renewal
might proceed; understandably since few were certain that the
Council would be recalled, and in what form. For the third and final
stage, 1562–63, it was bitterly disputed whether this was a new
Council, or a continuation. If seen as a new Council, as French and
Imperial representatives argued, various decisions and decrees from
1545–47 and 1551–52 might be revisited and changed. If a continu-
ance, which Philip II of Spain and most in the Curia argued, some
more ambivalent declarations might not be reviewed. In particular
Philip and Cardinal Inquisitors feared reconsideration of the 1547
Decree on Justification, as was made clear when the Patriarch of
Aquileia, Giovanni Grimani, who was under deep suspicion for hav-
ing supported the views of spirituali and sheltered some heretics,
asked to have his case heard before the assembled fathers at Trent in
1562. Pius IV fudged the issue whether the Council was new or not,
but in effect it was a continuation, and little was ‘revisited’.
Technically, none of the decrees were canonically fixed until the
whole collection was ratified by the Pope in 1564; but some decrees
were clearly treated as definitive by inquisitors and others in the
interim.
A general Council of the Church was considered through the 1530s,
with conflicting motives; to reach accommodation with some of the
various Protestant factions, or to clarify what the Catholic teaching was
on controversial issues such as Justification and Salvation, the inter-
pretation of Scripture, the role of good works, the number and nature
of Sacraments, and/or as a way of reforming behaviour and morals, to
remove targets of anticlerical criticism. Hindsight indicates that the
failure of discussions with Lutherans at the Colloquy of Ratisbon in
1541 ended the hopes of a compromise and reconciliation, but some
attending the Council from 1545, when it finally started genuinely
sought compromise, and that dim hope remained in 1550–51. By the
 THE COUNCIL OF TRENT 21

third stage it was clear to virtually all that the Council was an affirma-
tion of orthodox Catholic teaching, based on the more ‘traditional’ or
conservative interpretation of St Paul and St Augustine’s teachings;
and a platform for disciplined reform of members of the church,
under papal leadership. The validity of the Council was challenged,
notably outside Italy, for this papal triumphalist conclusion, and for it
being essentially an ‘Italian’ council. Particularly in 1545–47 and
1550–51, the decisions were made by a small group, mainly Italians
under papal influence. Part of the delay in calling a Council and get-
ting it started had been to answer such a fear. Trent was finally agreed
upon as a city lying in the jurisdiction of the Holy Roman Empire
under the Emperor Charles V, but primarily Italian speaking, and
in the diocese of a fairly independent-minded episcopal family
(Madruzzo), whose leading members, whether as bishop or coadjutor
were mostly absent! A plague scare encouraged most of the Council
Fathers to move in March 1547 to Bologna, the second city of the
Papal State, which Charles V’s supporters considered illegitimate.
Some useful debates took place there (till September), but no formal
decrees were agreed, in deference to this view.
The accusations that the Council was flawed by the paucity of atten-
dees, and that too many were Italians and papal voting-fodder need
some comment. The ambivalent Spanish attitude is relevant for
‘Italy’, since Philip II and his successors ruled in the Kingdom of
Naples and Lombardy. About 400 to 500 clergy could have attended
and voted: Diocesan Bishops from ‘loyal’ areas, Generals of Religious
Orders, and leading Abbots – no Abbesses of course. When the
Council finally opened in Trent in December 1545, 30 participants
were able to vote: 4 Archbishops (Aix, Armagh, Palermo and
Uppsala), 21 Bishops (16 of them Italian), and 5 Generals. More
drifted in, so that 60–70 voted on the major issues, three-quarters of
them Italian. The 1550–51 sessions saw similar numbers and biases.
The third period in 1562 opened with 109 Cardinals, Archbishops
and Bishops (85 Italian), 4 Abbots and 4 Generals. The rousing rati-
fication of the Council’s work in December 1563 named 216 prelates:
6 Cardinals, 196 Patriarchs, Archbishops and Bishops, 7 Abbots and
7 Generals.2 The Spanish, French and Imperial presence, and influ-
ence had been more significant. There were zelanti Italians voting
at the behest of the Papal Legates, but it is hard to gauge the extent
of this; as with the pressure of Italian and non-Italian secular figures.
That such pressure was perceived as a problem, but one that could be
22 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

overcome, and that an individual could be subject to conflicting

pressures, is indicated by the Bishop Pietro Camaiani of Fiesole, writing
to Duke Cosimo of Tuscany:

I have voted according to my conscience , and I cannot change it

even if it were to cost me my life. I am devoted to the Pope, and
I remain obedient to you, my Duke, in all worldly matters, but
I value the salvation of my soul too highly to be able to vote against
my convictions at the council. I am a grown man and I know what
I have to do ... But I have no doubt that the prelates who are
upright and do not behave in a sycophantic servility are in the long
run performing a better service to the authority of the Holy See
and the papacy than the others.3

Cardinal Legates Girolamo Seripando and Giovanni Morone in fact

found the Italian zelanti claque a hindrance to effective business as
they tried to conclude the Council effectively.
The ‘national’ issue can be exaggerated. Italians bulked large in
the main formal votes in sessions held in the Trent Cathedral, but
much discussion took place elsewhere in committees, where non-
Italians played significant roles, and where ‘Italians’ showed divided
views. Andrè Duval and Hubert Jedin, studying evidence on debates
behind the scenes on Justification, the origins of episcopal authority,
Extreme Unction, Confession, or Clandestine Marriages show lively
discussion and complex voting or advocacy patterns.4 Though not
able to vote in open Council sessions, numerous theologians advised
and made verbal or written contributions more privately. At the
beginning in 1545, 42 theologians were in attendance, 16 of them
Spanish; and between 50 and 80 joined in the deep theological
debates in 1547. In the small committees and congregations intellec-
tual weight came from Spanish theologians like the Dominican,
Thomist Melchior Cano (notably on the Eucharist), Domingo de
Soto and Alfonso de Castro; and the Jesuits, Alfonso Salmerón and
Diego Lainez; from the Germans, G. Gropper and E. Billick.
Most theological issues had received serious discussion, often with
an input of considerable historical scholarship, though arguably, with
at times some blinkered and conservative views of early church beliefs
and practices, or even more recent norms (as with married clergy, or
the enclosure of nuns). Tridentine rulings had weight behind them,
even if then and since Catholics have regretted the final verdicts. As
important for our focus is a recognition that the ‘Italian’ input was
 THE COUNCIL OF TRENT 23

divided. During the 1546–47 debates on Justification, Bishop Pietro

Bertano of Fano took the imperial side rather than Rome’s. In 1562,
Cardinal Seripando and the bishop of Modena joined the Iberian
Archbishops of Braga and Granada in a minority group opposing
the proposition on the nature of the Mass. The Venetian Bishops
were heavily divided in the hot debate about the validity of clandestine
marriages – with Bishop Daniele Barbaro (often a supporter of the
French Cardinal Charles Guise of Lorraine, to the annoyance of
Patriarch Trevisano), arguing that marriage should be considered
rationally and that a clandestine marriage was irrational. In the
fraught discussions on whether episcopal residency was by God’s law
(ius divinum), as heavily argued by powerful figures from France and
Spain (but also Domenico Bollani of Brescia), or by human law (ius
humanum), Cardinals Seripando and Gonzaga were both very reluc-
tant to push the latter view, as demanded by the papacy, and earned
the wrath of Pius IV, who curbed the debate. Here Italian clergy were
heavily split.5
Giuseppe Alberigo has argued that throughout the Council,
Italians held a multiplicity of views, and that powerful Italian clerics
played strong minority roles, even if threatened (sometimes physi-
cally), by the overzealous papal claque of lesser bishops (who had
greater need of the right promotion!)6 Divided views and conflicts
were to continue among Italians running the early modern Italian
churches.

The Council’s Main Work

My concern here cannot be with the long story of the Council and its
debates for which well-balanced digests are readily available, as in
Michael Mullett’s The Catholic Reformation, but with key aspects of the
three periods of meeting, with particular reference for immediate
developments within Italy, and effects on post-Tridentine reform.
The decrees, on ratification in 1564, were accepted by all states within
Italy; unlike with Catholic states outside Italy, where some rulers gave
no official recognition of the decrees, or hedged them with qualifi-
cations. Through the three stages of the Council, discussion and
decision-making were on two strands: first, theological definitions,
teaching and doctrine, to counteract heresy (decrees de extirpandis
haeresibus), and second, the reorganisation of the church, the con-
duct of its members, and the reform of abuses (decrees de moribus
24 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

reformandis). In the first two periods, 1545–47 and 1551–52, the first
category had priority, though foundations were made for the second;
the final period, 1562–63, consolidated some doctrinal positions, but
the debates and conflicts over the nature of the church, over its
organisation and how to reform abuses predominated.
The 1545–47 sessions early on ratified with little trouble the Nicene
(or Nicaeno–Constinopolitan) Creed from the Council of Nicaea as
a basic statement of faith and devotion. This was a stance with which
Lutherans at least could agree; and so far there were few anti-
Trinitarians to worry. However, room for compromise was lessened
when it was ruled that in interpreting the Bible, the texts of the Bible
and Tradition (the long history of interpretation) were equally valid,
‘with the Holy Spirit dictating’. In practice subsequent debates about
access to the Bible in the vernacular led to the ban on such transla-
tions in the 1596 Clementine Index, with the effect that for most
Italians, Tradition (mediated through the clergy) became more
important than scripture itself. By the summer of 1546 the fathers
were focusing on the thorny problems of original sin, justification,
grace, free will and predestination; they thus entered the central the-
ological battle ground. As a positive declaration (in Session 6) the
Council decided:

Man is justified by faith and freely; these words are understood in

that sense in which the uninterrupted unanimity of the Catholic
Church has held and expressed them, namely, that we are there-
fore said to be justified by faith, because faith is the beginning of
human salvation, the foundation and root of all justification, with-
out which it is impossible to please God, and to come to the fel-
lowship of His sons; and we are therefore said to be justified
gratuitously, because none of those things that precede justifica-
tion, either faith or works, merit that grace of justification.7

Elaboration was often by anathemas; that is, condemnation of opin-

ions deemed unacceptable, some of which reflected the genuine
views of Protestants, while others were imaginary or a considerable
distortion. Crucially, in terms of relations not only with German and
Swiss Protestants, but also with Italian philo-Protestants and spirituali,
the Council anathematised the belief that ‘the sinner is justified by
faith alone’, castigating Luther’s crucial interpretation of Romans 3.
While the Council also anathematised the view that ‘man can be jus-
tified before God by his own good works, whether done by his own
 THE COUNCIL OF TRENT 25

natural powers or through the teaching of the law, without divine

grace through Jesus Christ’, it emphasised the value of good works as
signs of grace received. The ‘good works’ defence had a significant
impact on the subsequent philanthropic work of Religious Orders
and lay confraternities. Interestingly, the great modern theologian,
Hans Küng, who has his own problems with Pope John Paul II,
commented: ‘The decree on justification, which is the glory of
the Council, accepts what is valid in the Reformers’ position to a
surprising degree’.8
Discussion and rulings on the sacraments followed, and further
consolidation of the lines between the Roman position and
‘Reformers’ came when the Council ruled that seven Sacraments had
been instituted by Christ and his apostles: Baptism, Confirmation, the
Eucharist, Confession/Penance, Ordination, Extreme Unction and
Marriage. Many Protestants had decided that the only Sacraments
were Baptism and the Eucharist (or for them, the Lord’s Supper).
Through the Tridentine and post-Tridentine periods Italians were to
challenge the number and validity of the Sacraments. The subject of
the Eucharist was a major feature of the 1550–51 sessions, leading to
the crucial decree (October 1551) on Transubstantiation, that

Through consecration of the bread and wine there comes about a

conversion of the whole substance of the bread into the substance
of the body of Christ our Lord, and of the whole substance of
the wine into the substance of his blood. And this conversion is
by the Holy Catholic Church conveniently and properly called
Transubstantiation.9

The decrees in the 1545–47 and 1550–51 periods covering the organ-
isation of the church and ways of reforming morals and behaviour,
laid considerable stress on the roles of bishops, to ensure reforms
through their personal residence, and through visitations of their dio-
ceses and parishes, in some control over Religious Orders, in the
proper examination of candidates for ordination. Sessions in 1551
spent considerable time trying to ensure suitable priests in the first
place, and their proper behaviour subsequently. The ground was laid
for the later decision that diocesan seminaries should be established
to train them (see Chapter 6).
When the Council Fathers reassembled in January 1562, much had
changed, and this final stage became significantly different.10 The
central papal scene, and the situation in Italy had been profoundly
26 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

affected by the rigorist, at times brutal, attitudes, of Gian Pietro

Carafa, and his reign as Pope Paul IV (1555–59). Ideas of compro-
mise with Protestants, and Italians sympathetic to some Lutheran
doctrines, were essentially removed. The Council determinedly con-
solidated traditional Catholicism, to counteract ‘the pest of heresy
and schism’, as Pius IV stressed in calling for the Council.11 The Peace
of 1559 brought hope that the Council could progress with some
urgency; but is also meant that the politico–religious interests of
Spain and France in particular would be more rigorously pursued.
In the event ‘nationalist’ interests and prejudices (in central political
terms, and cultural ones as well), produced intense conflicts between
the ‘Spanish’, ‘French’ and ‘Italian’ interests, not just verbally, but
in street struggles between adherents. While theological discus-
sions and rulings continued, much more was said and done about
‘reforming’ church organisation and behaviour than in the two pre-
vious periods. I will concentrate on aspects that most affected the
socio-religious situation in Italy, and conflicts in the post-Tridentine
period.
In doctrinal elaboration, past positions on the Mass or Eucharist,
purgatory and prayer were reinforced. The laity would not normally
receive communion in both kinds, but only the bread; they would be
denied the chalice, except where the Pope gave very special permis-
sion for its use – as in parts of the Empire where the Emperor and
Duke of Bavaria wanted concessions to keep certain areas Catholic.
The justification for the bread-only communion was that the bread
contained both the body and blood of Christ, (as ruled by the
Council of Constance). Denying the chalice to the laity marked a dis-
tinction between clergy and laity. This particular view of communion
was not apparently a major contentious point subsequently among
Italians, though possibly an issue in the Inquisition’s questioning of
Paolo Veronese’s Last Supper painting (Chapter 10).
The Council reinforced the view that the Mass is the representation
of Christ’s passion (not just a commemorative act). Those present at
the Mass ‘obtain mercy and find grace in seasonable aid. For,
appeased by this sacrifice, the Lord grants the grace and the gift of
penitence and pardons even the gravest crimes and sins.’ In relation
to Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross ‘the fruits of that bloody sacrifice ...
are received more abundantly through this unbloody one, so far is the
latter in any way from derogating from the former’.12 Guidelines and
rules about the Mass followed from this attitude, and led to significant
policies. The Mass was to be celebrated in Latin, not the vernacular,
 THE COUNCIL OF TRENT 27

said or sung without distortion, or improper music. The laity were

encouraged to be penitential witnesses rather than participants in the
liturgy. The Host came to be emphasised, put on display in a mon-
strance, adored as a symbol of Christ’s sacrifice. The altar area was set
apart, and up, from the laity; to give the celebrant respectful room for
celebration. Internal architecture and altar decoration was adapted
and developed to add emphasis, and create the scene for theatrical
display (see Chapter 10). The laity were to have a good view, so imped-
ing screens and tombs were to be removed. When masses were well cel-
ebrated this might give an emotional charge, but congregational
participation was even further reduced, in contrast to the reformed
churches. Modern Catholics have criticised or regretted this, but
Hubert Jedin defended this approach, for creating a clear distinction
from Protestants. Non-Tridentine policies, however encouraged the
laity to participate in many other ceremonies and devotions, especially
offices of the Virgin, and to confess and receive communion more
often than the Tridentine minimum of Easter confession and com-
munion. Confraternities promoted such lay participation.
In the context of Sacraments, but with major social implications,
the discussion and rulings on marriage proved very lively and
fraught, especially in the final sessions, though issues of clandestine
marriages, and marital indissolubility had been raised back in August
1547.13 Much debate focused on clandestine marriages: whether a
marital agreement between a couple was a valid marriage, if the
promises had been made secretly by them, without parental permis-
sion or public and legal recognition. The November 1563 decree
canons resolved that marriage was a sacramental act performed by
the couple concerned (as Adam and Eve had set the precedent).
Provided they were physically able, and not barred by laws of consan-
guinity, their promises made a valid sacramental act in the eyes of
God. It was the only Sacrament not requiring the active participation
of a priest. Such an interpretation left open the social problem of
clandestine marriages. Some contributors worried about couples who
would thus create a marriage in a secret deal, which was subsequently
deemed unacceptable as a social misalliance by one or both of the
wider families involved. Others were concerned that after a couple
had consummated a private wedding sacrament, one (usually
the male) would renege, and deny the ‘wedding’ had occurred. The
famous, or infamous Canon, Tametsi dubitandum ruled that secret
marriages of consenting couples were valid, even if opposed by par-
ents.14 The Council’s resolution amounted to a bold legal claim by
28 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

the church to being the final and sufficient arbiter of a valid marriage,
and to a double validity concept. Hitherto marriages had as much, or
more (depending on the area and locally operative laws), to do with
civil contracts and social recognition, as a religious arrangement.
Marriages could readily be organised without resort to any clergy or
religious ceremony or blessing. Now all was supposedly standardised
under church law.
Under normal circumstances a couple (or their representatives)
must give public notice that they wanted to marry (possibly formally
exchanging betrothal vows (de futuro), and have such intention made
public by banns. Assuming no impediments were found, the cere-
mony of the couple exchanging vows (de praesenti) must be conducted
before two witnesses, in church, and in the presence of a priest,
though he need not express his consent, or be an active participant.
A blessing should follow, though this might be delayed if in Lent or
Advent, before consummation completed the sacrament. Under epis-
copal authority concessions might be given to avoid a public declara-
tion of the banns, or having the ceremony in the parish church. If
these rules were not followed, and no dispensations given, the church
could rule that the sacrament was valid in the eyes of God (prevent-
ing any other marriage while both were alive), but the wedding was
invalid, so the couple could be separated and prevented from acting
as married – unless and until they conformed to the rules with due
ceremony.
The Council opposed the pleas of some that parental consent be
required; though some states, such as Piedmont, tried to impose this
as a secular adjunct for validity. However, the church leaders at Trent
had been intent on protecting couples acting in good faith, from
being bullied by parents or overlords into marrying somebody against
their will, or preventing them marrying their desired partner. In its
theological and social claims in relation to marriage the church was
making a dramatic stance. As Gabriella Zarri has stressed marriage
was sacralised (raising its status), clericalised (at least initially), and
made a greater part of the church’s social disciplining. However, edu-
cating the public about the new marital systems, and enforcing them,
was to prove one of the most time- and paper-consuming aspects
of post-Tridentine episcopal legislation, preaching and decision-
making, as we shall note again (see Chapter 5).15
Another major struggle at Trent, publicised in (un)diplomatic
exchanges and in the streets, concerned the position of bishops. In
July 1563 the Council ruled that bishops were entrusted with the care
 THE COUNCIL OF TRENT 29

or cure of souls (cura animarum), by divine right (ius divinum) and

not just by church law. This ruling had various implications, particu-
larly that the bishop on being ordained was obligated to reside and
exercise his pastoral role, and not be called away for long periods to
serve the church elsewhere, or be a pluralist; and once a consecrated
bishop always a bishop. However the papal faction, against the
Spanish, secured a decision that while a consecrated bishop was wed-
ded to the Church, his bond with a particular diocese was not inalien-
able, and he could be moved on papal order, or be left unallocated.16
This was seen as a papal victory over bishops, as was lamented by
Philip II at the time, and in the early seventeenth century by Paolo
Sarpi, the Venetian Servite friar who led the Republic’s propaganda
campaign against the Papal Interdict in 1606, and who went on to
write (and have published in London), a brilliant polemical History
of the Council.17
Despite this verdict, much Tridentine legislation (largely pushed
through in November and December 1563), and recommendations
backed the pastoral and discipline roles of bishops.18 Bishops were
expected not only to be resident most of the time, but to exercise
leadership through regular preaching, and control over parish
priests, when the parochial system was to be reformed and strength-
ened. In theory bishops were to hold annual diocesan synods of their
leading clergy to sort out problems and give instructions. The metro-
politans were to hold provincial councils every three years.19 Reality
fell well short of such ideals, (Chapter 4 and Appendix). Bishops were
to organise regular Visitations of their diocese, whether personally or
through suffragan bishops and vicars general. Because the educa-
tional levels of many parish priests were recognised as defective, bish-
ops were to create diocesan seminaries to provide better trained
clergy, unless other educational institutions such as universities or
colleges provided by Religious Orders were adequate. The selection
of priests for parishes was expected to be open, if possible subject to
competition, and with bishops checking on credentials, suitability,
and that pluralism was not involved. Bishops were to exercise more
control over hospitals, ‘pious places’ such as orphanages, lay confra-
ternities, Monti di Pietà pawn-broking institutions. The justification
for this episcopal involvement in institutions which had hitherto
often jealously guarded lay independence, was that it was necessary to
ensure that the last wills and testaments of donors were being fulfilled.
Bishops should also insist on checking and ratifying the constitutions
of lay confraternities and hospitals, even if they could not supervise
30 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

regular practice. More vaguely bishops were told to ensure that

churches were in good condition, that their decoration was seemly
and not ‘lascivious’ (a favourite description); that the subject matter
of paintings followed biblical texts, or well-established stories of the
lives of Saints; that music was seemly, did not evoke lascivious
thoughts (by echoing love songs), and that the word texts of the Mass
and Offices were not rendered unintelligible by polyphonic excesses.
Tridentine legislation on the enclosure of nuns was to launch social
battles. Stories, real or imaginary, about the immoral conduct of
nuns, their relations with friars, priests or lay visitors, had provided
propaganda ammunition for Protestants; this needed remedying.
The Tridentine answer was to insist that all girls and women on tak-
ing their vows as nuns, should be firmly enclosed in convents, not
venturing forth, and with very strict controls over who might visit the
convent. This proved highly contentious and hard for bishops and
heads of Orders to enforce, and had wide social implications, with
adverse effects on the religious roles of women (Chapter 8).
Facing another Protestant criticism, the Council reinforced the
doctrines of purgatory and of indulgences, but recognised that
abuses had and did exist. Bishops were to ensure as they checked
on their dioceses, that offering of indulgences for relief from a period
in purgatory should be carefully controlled, and the whole doctrine
of purgatory be clearly explained (or avoided) when dealing with the
less educated. The Council also reinforced the importance and effi-
cacy of invoking the intercession of Saints, in praying for the salvation
of souls. While this had been and remained a significant area of
attack for Italian reformers, as revealed in Inquisition denunciations,
the post-Tridentine teaching and visual display was to add emphasis
to the cult of the Virgin and Saints.
One of the late issues decided by the Council was the support
for public penance, as part of the reconciliation process in the
Sacrament of Penance (the central discussion of which had been in
1551). The push for public over merely private penance came appar-
ently in 1562, largely from northern Italian bishops of rigorist disci-
plining inclinations. It won the day because the author of a 1562
history of confession, Mariano Vittori, which emphasised the role of
public penance in church history, joined Cardinal Legate Morone’s
circle of advisors. Bishop Gerolamo Ragazzoni in celebrating the
achievements of the Council as it concluded in December 1563
emphasised public penance as being the way ‘to reinforce the stag-
gering and nearly crumbling church discipline’.20 The extent to
 THE COUNCIL OF TRENT 31

which this was implemented connects with a current debate (to which
we will return), on the extent to which confessors, linked with parish
priests and inquisitors, using humiliating public penance, together
created a coercive disciplining society.
The Council was concluded rather hurriedly, with some of the
decrees rushed through in November–December 1563. Various
reform matters were skimped or ignored, notably control over male
Orders and monasteries, the reform of Princes, with their intrusion
into church jurisdiction (which had been on the agenda). Hopes of
some that the Council itself would modify Paul IV’s notorious Index
of Prohibited Books were not fulfilled, and this led to revision in
Rome. Similarly, the papacy was left to produce major official texts:
the Missal and Breviary, and a suitable Catechism for use by priests for
the basic teaching of doctrine (even if other catechisms might also be
sanctioned).
Genuine euphoria accompanied the closure of the Council in
Trent cathedral. But it was not till June and July 1564, when the Pope
had formally approved the Decrees, and copies of them had been
printed for distribution, that reforming supporters of the Council
could feel free to treat the work of the Council as the basis for action.
Some in the Curia, worried that the implementation of certain
decrees would affect their income, had delayed publication until
30 June 1564. However, surprisingly, the Venetian Senate moved fast,
and by 22 July 1564 sent out orders for the decrees to be imple-
mented generally, telling bishops in the Republic to publish them as
soon as possible.21 The papal ratification came with powerful provi-
sos, to the alarm of conciliarists and secular rulers: no glosses on the
texts of the decrees should be made without permission, and papal
authority was needed to interpret for the implementation of decrees.
This seemed like papal absolutism. In practice a Congregation of the
Council became the chief vehicle for this process of interpretation;
and diocesan synods could effectively produce their own decrees that
might be seen as glosses or interpretations, without being necessarily
vetted in Rome.
Whatever the criticisms of the Council procedures, its decrees or
omissions, the outcome was impressive as a legislative activity. Statutes
do not in themselves solve problems, but the published decrees pro-
vided some norms for future conduct, a general climate in which
reform might take place, and doctrinal rulings to be used against
opponents, or to enthuse adherents of the Roman Catholic Church.
The potentially most effective decrees for post-Trent implementation
32 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

were those concerning episcopal power in relation to their clergy and

parishioners; for the creation of seminary education; for regularising
Christian marriage; for enclosing nuns. Implementation was another
matter; and personal views of modern commentators affect verdicts
on whether the failure to fulfil certain reforms was disastrous (when
episcopal and clerical control was limited), or beneficial (when diver-
sity could remain, new initiatives be undertaken, and the laity have
more roles to play).
Whatever the criticism of the Council, it speeded action. Once a
council had been mooted as an or the answer to the Protestant chal-
lenges and Catholic reformers’ own analyses of faults in the teaching
and organisation of the Church, some reformers did lead the way in
episcopal reform, as with G.M. Giberti (1495–1543) in Verona or
Ercole Gonzaga (1505–63) in Mantua. But much potential reform
was delayed while doctrine and practical reform measures awaited
official sanction. Once the Council’s work was ratified there was a call
for action, and a stimulus, based on Tridentine norms. Reformers
were likely to be selective in what they chose to implement, but fur-
ther waves of action are detectable for the rest of the 1560s, and
slower, steadier, reforms followed, while new forces joined those set in
motion by Trent and the Tridentine generation.

General Problems over Implementation

Subsequent chapters will discuss how reform of church and society

was or was not achieved in different aspects, because of or despite
Trent. It is worth emphasising here some general factors that affected
the speed and efficacy of post-Tridentine reform; personnel, money
and jurisdiction.
While the character and attitudes of Popes and their immediate cir-
cles in Rome were important, dynamic reforming bishops and local
enablers were essential. The quality of the episcopacy will be dis-
cussed in Chapter 4. Much depended on their willingness and ability
to implement policies and utilise financial and human resources
beneath them. The Venetian ambassador Giacomo Soranzo soon
commented on the young papal nephew Carlo Borromeo: ‘He gives
a unique example to everyone, so one can reasonably say that he
alone has more effect on the Court of Rome than all the decrees of
the Council together’.22 Cardinal Carlo Borromeo’s own dynamism as
Archbishop of Milan (as well as activity in the closing stages of the
 THE COUNCIL OF TRENT 33

Council as nephew of Pope Pius IV), and his inspiration to many

others who became vicars general and bishops, made a considerable
difference.
The Milan diarist Giambattista Casale enthusiastically recorded on
29 August 1564, how Borromeo (who was detained in Rome by his
papal uncle), had sent his Vicar General Niccolò Ormaneto ‘to pub-
lish in Milan and the whole diocese of Milan the decrees of the Holy
Council of Trent and to see that they were put into execution up to
every iota, by order of his Holiness’. On that day Ormaneto sum-
moned all the clergy who had a benefice to submit to obedience. He
also organised a major celebratory procession, including children
from the Christian Doctrine schools. He then held a three-day
Concilio of the clergy to discuss implementation. Additionally, he had
the credentials of confessors checked. This was a dynamic Vicar
General, later a notable Apostolic Visitor of other dioceses, and then
Bishop in his own right (Padua). As we shall elaborate this was rapid
model reaction to the reform call; but hard for many to follow.23
But even with personal dynamism, money was a key problem.
Money was needed to establish and run the desired seminaries and
colleges; to restore and develop churches that were often in a dilapi-
dated state outside the wealthy cities and parishes; to fund enclosed
nunneries, and the philanthropy of hospitals and confraternities; to
support suitable clergy in remoter dioceses and parishes. The avail-
able wealth was very unevenly distributed, and making it fairer was
extremely difficult. Reform tended to move faster in the wealth-
ier parts of Italy, though some bishops did wonders in poor remoter
dioceses. But a theoretically wealthy diocese might not derive full
benefits, since that wealth might be siphoned off to reward or sup-
port papal relatives, cardinals, and friends of secular rulers. Some of
the efficacy of reform depended on the ability of a bishop, abbot,
General of a Religious Order to secure the patronage and wealth
from others to boost the resources of their own institution. As
Olwen Hufton’s work is showing, funding Catholic reform was very
complex.24 Some of this connected with jurisdictional rights.
The jurisdictional situation was fraught. Who had the right to
reform and discipline whom? Raise money from whom? Or enter
what properties? An unclarified area in the Trent legislation was the
relationship of church and state, or clerical and lay institutions. Even
where the church made specific claims – to control some hospitals or
lay confraternities, city councils, princes or lay organisations readily
challenged the bishop or his agents. Many were very protective of
34 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

their patronage rights – over institutions or parochial benefices.

Those kinds of jurisdictional confrontations one might expect, but
within the church many jurisdictional struggles also developed as
soon as any side wanted to change anything; as I have shown for the
diocese of Perugia, which had several reforming bishops after Trent.
Religious houses disliked interference from bishops, whether over
their own convents and monasteries, or over their control of some
parishes – as in the case of the great Benedictine house of San Pietro
on the edge of Perugia. They objected to diverting revenues to a sem-
inary or college not run by themselves. When reforming bishops
wanted Rome’s backing for their policies and jurisdictional claims,
even within the Papal State, it was not necessarily forthcoming. The
Pope might not wish to alienate a ruler or city council that opposed
the bishop’s reform. He might prefer to support a leading cardinal
acting as protector of a Religious Order (and/or having a pension as
a temporary administrator of a House), rather than his opposing
bishop.25 Archbishop Carlo Borromeo battled together with Rome
against the Spanish Governor over the threat to introduce a branch
of the Spanish Inquisition into Lombardy, but was on his own in other
struggles to discipline religious houses, or control Carnival proces-
sions. The legal path to effective reform was lined with political
obstacles. In interstate relations, the papacy had to be mindful of
short and long-term political concerns. Did it keep the secular gov-
ernment content to secure support over Inquisition needs, or alien-
ate that government by supporting the reforming bishop? Within the
Papal State the Pope could be torn between the secular interests of
the state, and the spiritual-ecclesiastical policies of an episcopal
reformer; the latter might well lose. But the Pope might agree to
appoint an Apostolic Visitor, with more powers than an ordinary
bishop, when the latter needed help against resistant convents or con-
fraternities, or when the ordinary was lax or scared to take initiatives.
With the Council concluded, the Italian Church or churches had
to combine various policies. The call was there to reorganise church
structures from central government to parochial consolidation. This
was, as the controversial liberal theologian Hans Küng put it in 1961,
‘an armaments programme and a plan of campaign’.26 Various key
documents had still to be produced: a standard Roman Missal,
Breviary and Catechism, and a revised Index of Prohibited Books. But
there were also huge worries about remaining heretical groups, with
more key inquisitorial investigations underway or imminent. Within
a short time the Calvinist campaigning out of Geneva, which had
 THE COUNCIL OF TRENT 35

increased as the European wars were being brought to an end (and

finished in 1559), was to add to religious and secular conflict in the
Spanish Netherlands, as it had already done in France. The Papacy
needed to create barriers, or counter propaganda, to prevent further
infection of the Italian peninsula.
Crisis management of perceived heresy trouble spots might impede
structural reform. Roman authorities were concerned in the after-
math of Trent that heretical beliefs persisted and were still well
embedded in artisan classes in some cities. Pius V campaigned
between 1566 and 1568 to eradicate evangelical remnants, both by
some harsh punishments, and by persuading people to reveal their
past errors, promising pardon if they appeared voluntarily before
inquisitors – as in Modena. Investigations in 1567–68 showed that
Modenese urban groups had been heavily influenced by writings such
as the Beneficio di Cristo and the Sommario della Santa Cristiana, which
stressed salvation by faith alone, not by works. Men like Giovanni
Maria Maranelli (alias Tagliadi), and Geminiano Tamburino con-
fessed to having owned and read such works back in the 1540s,
though claiming they had put them aside once the Index or the
bishop had indicated they were heretical. Whether they had gen-
uinely retreated to orthodoxy, it was clear from some others, like
Pietro Curione and Antonio da Cervia (who fled from Modena and
was captured and sent to the stake in Bologna in 1567), still main-
tained their ‘Lutheran’, evangelical and congregationalist beliefs,
and remained strongly anticlerical. The Roman authorities had
evidence that they had much to eradicate or argue against.27

Ready for Action?

Given continuing problems within Italy, and threats or distractions

elsewhere – whether in Europe north of the Alps, or in confronting
the Ottoman Turks in the eastern Mediterranean and north Africa –
how well placed was the Catholic Church in the mid-1560s? The cen-
tral papacy was consolidating itself, and moving closer to an absolute
position. The Carafa papacy had proved very contentious, ending in
some chaos in 1559 on Paul IV’s death. Prestige and equanimity had
been largely restored by Pius IV. Improved relations with Spain (what-
ever the tensions over the Council), as the major political power in
the Italian peninsula, made for a somewhat easier position in pro-
moting reforms outwith the Papal State. Control over the Papal State
36 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

had been consolidated, with elites of major cities like Bologna,

Perugia, Viterbo being persuaded that it was more profitable to work
with Rome than against it. However, rural banditry was distracting,
and worsened through to the 1590s. Within Rome, papal domination
over the organs of government had increased, the power and influ-
ence of cardinals in concistories had declined; and the Pope increas-
ingly worked through specialist groups and institutions. By the
mid-1560s the Inquisition at the centre and in tribunals elsewhere was
fairly well established to coordinate assaults on remaining heretical
centres and key individuals. By August 1564 a Cardinals’ Congregation
of the Council was in place to interpret and seek to implement
Council decrees. The number of bishoprics in Italy was vast (Chapter 4
and Appendix), but already in place were influential exemplars who
could develop programmes and inspire others. The reform prece-
dents of early Catholic reforming bishops like Giberti in Verona or
Ercole Gonzaga in Mantua, could be carried forward by men they
inspired, like Niccolò Ormaneto.
Alongside the bishops, as both allies and contestants, were the new
Religious Orders. By the mid-1560s the Jesuits, Oratorians, Theatines,
Ursulines and Barnabites were recognised and consolidated for
action through the cities and rural areas. Even what was to be the
most dynamic branch of the Franciscans, the Capuchins had made
some recovery from the setback and scandal of the defection to
Protestantism of their preacher and leader, Ochino in 1539. The
scene was set for the implementation of Tridentine reform within
Italy, with a range of suitable personnel and institutions. How far they
could overcome the general obstacles already outlined, and work
their way through conflicting policies and agenda will be discussed
through the rest of the book.
We must next turn to a fuller consideration of the nature and
efficacy of central Roman organisations to conduct both normative
reform of members, and to curb the remaining threats to orthodoxy.
3 Centre and Peripheries: The
Papacy, Congregations,
Religious Orders

The processes involved in implementing Tridentine decrees and wider

Catholic reforming agendas required leadership from the Papacy and
its central government – of the church generally and of the support-
ing Papal State – and cooperation of secular authorities, the episcopal
system, Religious Orders and lay religious organisations; what we
might loosely call the peripheries. This chapter will consider aspects of
the central system under the Papacy as far as they are concerned with
the Italian scene. A system of Congregations was developed and
reformed, supposedly to offer leadership, to coordinate the work of
church personnel and institutions, and exercise discipline (as notably
with the Inquisition). The new Religious Orders, most of which devel-
oped a central organisation in Rome, were products of reform atti-
tudes and policies; they also could have central roles as coordinators,
trainers, disseminators of spiritual guides to the peripheries in Italy
and further afield. This chapter focuses on the structures and some
policies at the centre. Other chapters will reveal in passing problems
and complicated reactions in different peripheries, whether meant
geographically or in institutional extensions from the hub. It is easiest
to outline the emergence and general nature of the new Religious
Orders here, and exemplify their different and varied activities as they
associated and cooperated with other institutions; discussed in several
subsequent chapters. Many tensions existed between central institu-
tions and personnel, which were replicated in conflicts in localities.

37
38 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Bishops, local monasteries, lay confraternities learned to adapt, under

pressures coming both from the centre, and from rivals, ecclesiastical
and secular, on their doorstep. Jurisdictional conflicts abounded. The
frustration of attempts to exercise more control, quasi-absolutist, from
the Papal centre, crossing into rival political territory, was most
notably encountered in Paul V’s conflicts with the Venetian Republic,
leading to the Interdict Crisis of 1606–07. For lack of space, this high
profile conflict must stand for many lesser conflicts between church
and state elsewhere. It was a clear warning against excessive papal bids
to control the periphery.

The Papacy

While the power of the Catholic Church and of the Papacy was dimin-
ished in geographical terms for Europe because of the Reformation,
arguments continue over the remaining powers of the Papacy, politi-
cally, diplomatically spiritually, and the priorities of post-Tridentine
Papal policies. Popes wore many hats or tiaras.1 They were the spiri-
tual and pastoral head of the Catholic Church for all those recognis-
ing that apostolic succession from St Peter. They had ultimate
responsibility for church doctrine, even if the overriding doctrine of
Papal Infallibility was not imposed until the nineteenth century
(Vatican Council 1870–71). The Pope was bishop of the diocese of
Rome, he was political sovereign of the Papal State. Through his
diplomatic services he could exercise varying influences on interna-
tional diplomacy and warfare, even if his own military and naval pow-
ers were limited. In so far as he controlled or influenced Religious
Orders, especially the Jesuits, he could exercise worldwide influences
from South America to the East Indies. There is little doubt that
Papal control over the remnant of the Catholic Church and over the
Papal State protecting it in central Italy, was more centralised and
‘absolute’. Some of us have argued that the Papal State was at the
forefront of political absolutism, which developed in the sixteenth
century as a positive political doctrine to enhance state control in the
interests of most subjects, and override selfish factionalism of over-
mighty barons or municipal elites. Of course practicalities limited
that absolutism.2
Recent analysts of the post-Tridentine Papacy have debated the
priorities and motivations behind the power and policies. Paolo Prodi
has emphasised the political interests of Popes, and their family
 CENTRE AND PERIPHERIES 39

concerns as rulers of Papal State and Church, with secular interests

increasingly overriding measures to implement Tridentine policies
for the reform of members of the Church; they impeded the pastoral
work of bishops, Religious Orders and clergy. However, the process
was accompanied by an increased clericalisation of church govern-
ment. Adriano Prosperi has concentrated on the repressive and dic-
tatorial side of post-Tridentine religious policies, and emphasised the
Popes’ roles and particular interests in the operation of the
Inquisition and, from 1571 the allied Congregation of the Index,
emphasising that a number of Popes had previously played leading
roles as Cardinal Inquisitors (Paul IV, Pius V). Others had been
inquisitors or Holy Office consultants (Marcellus II, Sixtus V, Urban
VII, Innocent IX, Clement X). Prosperi also sees modified policies
towards the sacraments of confession and penance as adjuncts to
imposing a conscience and thought control over the people. Having
highlighted and outlined the Prodi emphasis on the ‘Papal Prince’
and Prosperi’s equation of Papal Office with the Holy Office in con-
trol of tribunals of conscience, A.D. Wright draws attention to papal
concerns for pastoral care, within their own diocese of Rome, but also
more widely in church policies. Most post-Tridentine Popes were con-
cerned to make Rome a city fit to lead the Catholic Church, a theatre
displaying the spirituality, philanthropy and cultural vitality of a
revived Church; a city that could attract both the mighty who could
influence worldwide policies, and humble pilgrims. Alexander VII
most consciously redeveloped and propagandised Rome as a Theatre
for the Church.3 (See Chapter 10) To characterise the post-Tridentine
papacy as being narrowly in any one mould seems dangerous, as
William Hudon underlines. Most Popes had family political interests,
a concern for political power, interest in key Inquisition activities,
pastoral care, and the image of Rome. One could shift the prioritisa-
tion between them for any given Pope, but I am not sure any Pope
serving for any length of time ignored any aspect. The major changes
of priority probably concerned the wider, non-Italian, world, rather
than the Italian scene of our concern.
The Pope, once elected, had considerable power within the
Church over spiritual and organisational affairs. The combination of
spiritual power (if not ‘infallible’),with some temporal power in an
increasingly centralised Papal State after about 1540, could make the
Pope seem the most ‘absolute’ of European rulers. But many limita-
tions existed. Through the period Popes had for political reasons to
be wary of pushing doctrinal decisions (as over Jansenism or the
40 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Immaculate Conception of the Virgin), when leading Catholic rulers

had decided and conflicting views of their own. We are more con-
cerned here with the power of the Popes to implement reform poli-
cies within Italy. The power of Spain within mainland Italy, ruling the
Duchy of Lombardy and the Kingdom of Naples (even if theoretically
the latter was a feudal dependency of the Pope until the eighteenth
century), was restraining. Other states within Italy could prove
extremely troublesome to Popes, as in the Venetian Interdict Crisis.
Conclaves that elected the Pope could be very lengthy and fraught
with tension.4 Deals might be done, and obligations incurred, that
could inhibit the behaviour and policies of the man elected; and the
winner might need both luck and acumen to be able to change poli-
cies. In our period conclave voters tried to secure commitments from
those in contention for future action and support once elected, but
these were evaded. Some of the most papabile candidates in the eyes
of contemporaries or later church historians – whether for intellec-
tual and moral qualities, or diplomatic skills – were not elected. Most
notably the Oratorian Cesare Baronio was vetoed by the pro-Spanish
faction in 1605 because his historical scholarship challenged Spanish
pretensions in Sicily. This was a great relief to him, because like
Reginald Pole he had no wish to be Pope; and he had even been
‘forced’ to accept the Cardinal’s hat.5 Many Popes were elderly, and
sometimes sickly, possibly inhibiting dynamic reform – though Sixtus V,
elected as an elderly compromise candidate while more powerful
Cardinals reconfigured their support, proved to be one of the most
energetic Popes: as administrative reorganiser, hammer of trouble-
makers in the Papal State, and a major urban planner for Rome. Paul V
(1605–21), elected in his mid-50s, was as irascible, if not as personally
dynamic (leaving much to the notorious Cardinal nephew, Scipione
Borghese). Innocent XII elected when 76 had a longish and not too
disastrous reign, (1691–1700). One or two of the most potentially
able elected died quickly: Marcellus II (1555: only in his mid-50s),
Urban VII (1590, aged about 70), Gregory XIV (1590–91), Gregory
XV (1621–23).6 Counterfactually, one might argue that had Marcello
Cervini lived longer, Catholic–Protestant relations might have
become easier, and internal Catholic reform and theology more
open-minded, given his reputation as a thoughtful humanist and
pragmatist, when diplomat and bishop, and milder member of the
Inquisition.7
Popes ruled theoretically through the College of Cardinals, having
been elected by those Cardinals who could get to Rome in time.
 CENTRE AND PERIPHERIES 41

Supporters had to be rewarded to some extent, which could drain

resources.8 Few powerful Cardinals could be fully trusted, since they
would have an eye on the succession. This led to the use of key family
members, the ‘Cardinal nephew’ (nipote), though he was not always
in precisely that relationship (see List of Popes). The position, devel-
oped through the Renaissance period, was retained during the
reforming post-Tridentine period, as a practical solution to political
and administrative problems, even if it incurred adverse publicity.
Cardinal nephews might be most important in running secular
aspects of papal power, in diplomacy, in the Papal State, in financial
affairs, as with Michele Bonelli (for Pius V), Pietro Aldobrandini
(Secretary of State for Clement VIII), Scipione Borghese (multi-
active for Paul V), Lodovio Ludovisi (for Gregory XV), or Camillo
Pamphili (for Innocent X). R. Po-Chia Hsia cites Cardinal Lodovico
Ludovisi as one of the most notorious examples of a nephew who
accumulated benefices to make a mockery of the Tridentine rules
and philosophy: with the benefices of the Archbishopric of Bologna,
control of 23 abbeys, the vice-chancellorship of Church, and head-
ship of the Segnatura (a lucrative office granting dispensations from
church regulations). His case is interesting in that his power and
influence continued after his papal uncle’s death (1623), until his
own in 1632.9 Scipione Borghese was, as V. Reinhardt has exhaustively
shown, an even more scandalous pluralist, and leech on church
incomes, whether from abbeys left vacant, or offices of the Papal
State. Some such income went to renovating or building churches,
and sponsoring new art, as from Pietro and Gian Lorenzo Bernini.10
More constructively for reform, Cardinal nephew Carlo Borromeo
was the outstanding exemplar, working at Trent and in its aftermath
for Pius IV; but he resented this role, and wanted to lead as
Archbishop of Milan. Maffeo Barberini as Urban VIII utilised his fam-
ily for power, influence and great cultural patronage; with his brother
Cardinal Carlo, and three nephews in action.11 By the end of the pon-
tificate the Barberini family had created much scandal, and damage
in the Papal State, though Cardinal Antonio Barberini was a good
churchman. While the abuse of power by papal families, to the detri-
ment of serious reform and improvements for the majority, might
scandalise some, many contemporary Italians expected Cardinals to
be lavish patrons and high spenders; to serve the interests of the city
or locality from which they originally came, and provide job oppor-
tunities in Rome and the Papal State; to have a large household, pro-
tecting scholars and artists, and training future church bureaucrats
42 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

and leaders. They spent money on renovating their titular churches

(like Baronio), or helping built new ones for the Religious Orders, or
assisting hospitals and nunneries. Some of the expenditure might be
on alms-giving for the poor, though that was certainly a meagre per-
centage of Scipione Borghese’s overall expenditure (about 3 per
cent).12 The newsletter reports (Avvisi) sent out of Rome would often
comment on the huge debts of Cardinals when they died, and see the
100 000 scudi debts of a Medici, Bentivoglio or Farnese Cardinal as a
good sign. What might be seen as morally reprehensible, might also
be judged as improving the spectacular image of the Church, its
churches and decoration; and also oiling the wheels of government
and administration when a well-paid and organised civil service was
not part of the early modern scene.
The Borghese and Barberini families undoubtedly tarnished the
papal reputation in the eyes of many, if not immediate beneficiaries.
Later Popes could, however, restore the papal reputation, and prove
re-invigorators of spiritual and organisation reform, such as the
Blessed Innocent XI (1676–89), judged by Eamon Duffy as ‘by any
standards a very great pope’.13 A model Bishop of Novara and educa-
tional reformer, and another reluctant and ascetic Pope, Innocent tack-
led the papacy’s disastrous financial and economic situation, fostered
poor relief, encouraged missionary work at home and abroad, tried
to restrain both Louis XIV’s assault against Calvinist Huguenots, and
James VII/II’s unpopular Catholic policies in Britain.
The family Cardinals, with a small group of other favoured figures,
could be the key to efficient papal government, temporal and
spiritual. The full College of Cardinals came into its own for the
conclave to elect a Pope, but otherwise the power of the full body was
limited. Consistories of Cardinals as an advisory or legislative assem-
bly of those Cardinals available in Rome, and usually presided over
by the Pope, diminished in power and influence. As Cardinal
Gabriele Paleotti of Bologna complained by the 1590s, freedom of
discussion was limited, and Popes were reluctant to take advice
outside their immediate circle. Clement VIII completed a major
process of diminishing the role of the Cardinalate as a group. It was
certainly kept in the dark over foreign affairs, possibly understand-
ably as Rome was (and is), a great gossip-shop, and this Pope was con-
ducting a diplomatic revolution in his pro-French policy. 14 In a
consistory in March 1632, Urban VIII demonstrated the authoritarian
position by peremptorily slapping down the Spanish Cardinal
Gaspare Borgia, who was trying to defend the role of the Spanish
 CENTRE AND PERIPHERIES 43

King; and declared:

cardinals in private (secreto) consistory do not speak openly unless

previously licensed on matters, or questioned, and while we seek
counsel, this we are not held to follow. You as an orator do not
have a place in this session (consessu), for here there are no parts
for princes’ orators, but we heard you, and hear you in a place
which is convenient for orators.15

Borgia claimed to speak as a Cardinal Protector, but was ruled out of

order.
For Italian church affairs much horse-trading went on between
cardinals behind the scenes, or in making representations to the
Pope or his cardinal Nephew, as cardinals acted as Cardinal
Protectors – to Religious Orders or particular houses, to hospitals,
national churches.

Congregations

Increasingly the central organisation of the Church was focused on

Congregations. These evolved from earlier tribunals and administra-
tive bodies, such a the Datary, Segnatura, Rota (between them deal-
ing with dispensations from church rules, concessions, appeals from
various courts, and so forth), or the Apostolic Chamber as the main
financial institution. New Congregations of the Inquisition (with a
subsidiary offshoot that of the Index), and of the Council in 1564, for
interpreting the decrees, appeared. A Congregation of Bishops was
established in 1573, inspired by Carlo Borromeo, for more personal
goading or assisting of individual bishops.16 Sixtus V’s rationalisation
and restructuring programme in 1588 produced 15 Congregations.
The Congregations were headed by a small group of Cardinals, with
a bureaucracy of curial officials, directly responsible to the Pope,
though the Cardinal Nephew or another relative might be a driving
or influential force. Sixtus V and Clement VIII often had them meet-
ing formally in their Palace to ensure control. The Congregations
could become competing power houses, serving personal interests of
rival cardinals. In 1592, the Congregation of Good Government
(Buon Governo) was created to consolidate control over the Papal
State, especially over financial and economic issues, approving local
budgets, and attempting a single balance sheet. By 1629, it had
44 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

14 Cardinals and a General Treasurer, with a sizable bureaucracy

below; it superseded in part, but not completely the old Camera
Apostolica. More Congregations were added through the seven-
teenth century. The famous Congregation of Propaganda Fidei (the
spreading of the Faith), was formed in 1622 to control and pursue
overseas missionary work. ‘Propaganda’ was then a neutral word, and
only later took on a pejorative tone, implying excessive spin-doctoring.
The Congregation for Apostolic Visits in 1624, and that for the
Residence of Bishops in 1634, as an expansion or reinvigoration of a
simpler 1605 Congregation17 took responsibility for reform activities
hitherto part of that of the Congregation of the Council. In 1649, a
Congregation for Convents was the answer to some years of worry
about supervising and rationalising the proliferation of male and
female convents, when many were very small and underfunded.
The Congregation approach to church government had mixed
effects. The chaos and corruption of past church administration
called for better central control; the 1588 major reform was partly to
deal with scandals in the Datary, which had become the centre of the
venal ‘sale of office’ system, also well known in many secular states. As
A.D. Wright points out, the Datary of the seventeenth century con-
tinued to combine the ‘more truly ecclesiastical income’, from some
allocation of benefices, dispensations and revenues of ‘the venal
office market’; it was a key to much papal financing.18 The 1588–1630s
reforms were probably beneficial in immediate central efficiency. A
divide and rule policy, playing off Congregations and different
groups of Cardinals, could enhance a Pope’s authority, as with Sixtus
V, Clement VIII, Paul V, especially with able and ruthless (if corrupt)
Cardinal Nephews. For reforming at the periphery, a bishop had a
number of different powerhouses and bureaucracies to overcome; or
select to help him positively. Those resisting change at the periphery
had a choice of Congregations and Cardinals to whom they might
resort for vetoes. This could mean protection against abusive and dic-
tatorial episcopal power; or the frustration of reforms planned in the
interests of morality, education, philanthropy and control of con-
sciences.
As potential agents of Church reform, the Cardinals’ qualities and
reasons for elevation, were very mixed; not changing dramatically in
the Tridentine and post-Tridentine period. Tony Antonovics studied
243 Cardinals from 1534–1590, to test H.O. Evennett’s assertion that
the post-Trent period saw a significant shift in quality and typology.19
As before, the new appointments were affected by relationship to the
 CENTRE AND PERIPHERIES 45

incoming Pope, by being compatriots of the Pope, by rewarding lead-

ing political families from states within Italy, whose cooperation was
needed (the Gonzagas, D’Este amd Medici in particular), as well as
mollifying Philip II of Spain or the Venetian Republic. Thereafter
Curial experts, lawyers, administrators were rewarded, as were diplo-
mats. Elevation because of depth of theological knowledge seems a
limited consideration. Few came from Religious Orders. The situa-
tion was affected by various factors. Three types of Cardinal existed;
those attached to titular churches in Rome, or a few suburbicarian
dioceses;20 these would be expected to serve central government, in
Rome or a part of diplomacy, and would not have significant pastoral
roles. A few Cardinals would be non-Italians and part of political
structures elsewhere (as most famously Cardinals Richelieu and
Mazarin in seventeenth-century France). Third the bishops of lead-
ing sees were named Cardinals. Some of these episcopal Cardinals
had a full episcopal career moving up the ladder from poorer to
wealthier sees. Some might have other careers within the Church (or,
as with Venetians, in secular diplomacy), and end up as a Cardinal
Archbishop or Patriarch. For this third category the tension existed
between serving the diocese or metropolitan see, or the central gov-
ernment. This tension existed for the two leading episcopal ‘models’,
Carlo Borromeo and Gabriele Paleotti (see Chapter 4). Different
qualities (if fitness for purpose was a consideration in the elevation
beyond family needs) were to some extent needed, depending
whether central government or the episcopal see had priority.
The Cardinals were predominantly Italian; 43 out 58 in 1563. Of
the new creations between 1566 and 1605, 106 (72 per cent) were
Italians, with 38 of them born in the Papal State. From 1605 to 1655,
152 (82 per cent), were Italian, though there were some powerful
Cardinals from Spain and France.21 The imbalance offended non-
Italian rulers, who sometimes reminded Popes of the Tridentine view
that the choice should better represent the Catholic world. But when
‘foreigners’ were given the title, it was more a political honour, and
rarely brought a foreign decision-maker into the Roman citadel.
Popes reckoned they needed Italians at the centre of Church affairs
in Rome. A strong Italian majority would guarantee an Italian
Pope in the next conclave. The last non-Italian Pope, Adrian VI
( Jan. 1522–Sept. 1523, originally from Utrecht), was deemed (by
Italians) a disastrous precedent – too devout, puritan, stringently eco-
nomic minded against Roman public interest, diplomatically incom-
petent, and the choice of the young Emperor Charles V.
46 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

The character profile of cardinals, as of bishops, was affected by the

reluctance of some worthy figures in the Religious Orders to accept
the roles of bishop and/or cardinal. Several Theatines (who were tar-
geted for bishoprics in the South in particular), evaded the call to a
see (and so potentially an episcopal Cardinal), though Paolo Burali,
after various refusals, was persuaded to be bishop of Piacenza, then
Cardinal Archbishop of Naples. He was an energetic reforming
bishop, austere, and regularly corresponding with his mentor,
Borromeo.22 Cesare Baronio, the great church historian, and most
famous Oratorian after Philip Neri, successfully declined bishoprics,
but was forced to accept a Cardinal’s hat in 1596. This made him emi-
nently papabile, but as already noted his candidacy in 1605 was vetoed
by the Spanish faction. Jesuits were seldom made cardinals, because
of the attitude of the Order, and possibly a fear of them by successive
Popes. Cardinal Roberto Bellarmino, also deemed papabile in 1605,
was the exception as a powerful Jesuit Cardinal, a major theologian,
but also highly energetic bishop of Capua.23
The powerhouses of central church government were probably the
Congregations of the Holy Office, of the Index, and of the Council;
for secular affairs those of the Camera Apsotolica, then the Buon
Governo, and for ‘influence’, the Datary. Struggles developed both
institutionally and personally between Cardinals and officials in the
Holy Office and Index (though personnel overlapped), to the detri-
ment of coherent policies – and excessive rigour! (Chapter 9).
The Sacred Congregation of the Council was initially a key institu-
tion for coordinating post-Tridentine reform. It conducted a very
healthy correspondence with the dioceses; the Vatican series ‘Liber
Litterarum’ has 38 volumes of letters for the period 1564–1902, copy-
ing the letters sent out. And this does not include letters specifically
relating to the Visitation ad limina reports that bishops produced, and
brought, or sent, to Rome (see Chapter 4). They dealt with holding
episcopal Visitations (inspection tours), synods and councils, with
parochial reconstruction, appointments to benefices, with the bishops’
(non)-residency, and so forth. This epistolary activity lessened from
about 1606.24 Some of the Congregation’s letters to lay bishops could
be tart and rude, as with a 1587 letter to Archbishop Cesare Marcelli of
Palermo (a royal nominee), for not organising diocesan visitations. In
1607, the bishop of Parma was chastised for his poor record of resi-
dence and that of many of his clergy; effectively, since by 1611 com-
plaints arose that he was excessively rigid about granting licences for
clergy to be absent. Reactions to this Congregation from reformers at
 CENTRE AND PERIPHERIES 47

the periphery were not necessarily favourable. Carlo Borromeo, who

had been instrumental in creating the Congregation in the first place,
later complained that the responses to his questions, or ratifications of
the orders and conciliar decrees he wanted to promulgate, were too
slow, and so frustrated his work. He sent the proposed decrees arising
from the 4th Provincial Council in 1576, and had no relevant response
by May 1579, when he called for his 5th Council. He went to Rome to
get the Pope to approve his decrees. He challenged the right of the
Congregation to revise his legislation; as he and his resident bishops
knew local conditions best. In July 1581, he irately protested at the
Congregation challenging the right of his dependent bishop of
Bergamo to appoint a vicar to deal with some issues concerning nuns.
He asked his agent to protest to Cardinal Carafa, who spoke for the
Congregation, stressing ‘that this puts in doubt similar matters con-
cerning the deputations of vicars, which the Council of Trent, freely
remitted to the judgement, and to the decision of bishops.’ Congrega-
tional slowness might have been a deliberate way for Gregory XIII
and others in Rome to restrain Borromeo, who was seen as too rigor-
ous, and undiplomatic in Milan, given Spanish susceptibilities.25
While the Congregation of the Council was the interpreter of the
decrees, in practice it faced competition from other Congregations,
not only the Inquisition, but that of the Rota, according to the diary
of a leading Frenchman in the Rota and Datary, Séraphin Olivier-
Razzali. Most cases just concerned delegated powers for lesser cases
(as the Rota itself claimed), with only the most serious issues moving
from the Rota to the Congregation of the Council, as in 1583 over
interpreting the Tridentine decree on marriage.26
Central Roman government had to deal with other states and city
governments within the Papal State if ecclesiastical reform was to be
implemented. The Papacy through the Renaissance period had devel-
oped diplomatic procedures and skills, with permanent or temporary
ambassadors and agents. The most crucial figures could be the perma-
nent ambassadors, Nunzios, in the key cities; for the peninsula in
Naples, Turin and Venice. While primarily involved in secular church–
state relations, they became significantly involved in ecclesiastical
affairs, over episcopal appointments, jurisdictional issues, the powers
and activities of Apostolic Visitors, problems of heresy and the roles of
the inquisitors. Nunzio Riccardi in Turin in the 1580 and 1590s was an
important figure, especially in campaigns to bring orthodox belief and
behaviour to remoter areas. The Venetian Nunzios played prominent
roles in basic church–state relations, but they were also part of the
48 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Venetian Inquisition Tribunal. Nunzio Alberto Bolognetti, heavily crit-

icised the state of the Venetian Church, and the reluctance of Venetian
patricians to take action, as in investigating scandals in nunneries, or
fraudulent friars. In the 1590s Antonio Maria Graziani had a hard time
negotiating with the Venetian government over the imposition of the
Clementine Index and its impact on the book trade. Paul Grendler,
while noting Graziani’s strong advocacy of papal rights, judges him the
wrong appointee, failing to understand Venetian susceptibilities over
intrusions on lay rights. The Papacy had to make many concessions to
the Venetian Senate for the benefit of the local bookmen. Graziani was
never employed again in a diplomatic position, though whether a more
sensitive diplomat would have done much better over the Index issue
remains doubtful. The Nunzios in Naples possibly had the hardest
time, in negotiating with the Viceroys, to allow ecclesiastical matters,
unofficial inquisitorial investigations, to proceed.27 Nunzios, empow-
ered as legates de latere, could act effectively over appointments to
benefices, inquisitorial investigations, allowing parish priests to absolve
sins normally reserved to the bishop; thus they could undermine the
ordinary bishop’s authority and control.28
Within the Papal State an arm of central government was the
Cardinal Legate for provinces like Umbria or Bologna-Romagna, and
governors or lieutenants sent to the cities. While their roles were pri-
marily secular, coping with local politics, economic and financial
problems, they dabbled in narrow ecclesiastical affairs. They imple-
mented papal bulls, and decrees sent from different congregations
and offices in Rome. They issued their own edicts to improve the
moral welfare of the inhabitants; and could ordain priests, so chal-
lenging the bishop’s role. These papal liaison figures might be seen
as useful assistants in the ‘disciplining’ or ‘social control’ policies (see
Chapter 9). Governor G.D. De’ Rossi of Perugia on 24 December
1587 issued an edict positively urging all good Christians to contem-
plate the Mystery of Christ’s birth; but warned that the vigil must be
kept fittingly, without singing through the streets at night, and with-
out distractions from neighbouring inns, or prostitutes appearing
enticingly in churches.29

The Venetian Interdict Crisis

Nunzios had to sort out major and minor jurisdictional conflicts with
other states (and between competing church institutions locally). They
 CENTRE AND PERIPHERIES 49

could not quietly resolve all conflicts. The Venetian Interdict crisis of
1606–07 was the most publicised jurisdictional confrontation between
the central church (more personally Paul V), and any secular state. It
tested and set limits to growing claims for papal authority in secular
matters. The immediate cause was the Republic’s arrest of three noto-
rious characters (accused of parricide, rape and poisonings between
them), who claimed clerical status, and so outwith the secular courts.
One was Abbot of Nervosa, another a canon, the third Count of
Valdemarino. Church authorities had done nothing, so the Republic
finally took action, to the grand ire of the Pope. Prior to this, however
other tensions had arisen. For years the Republic had been worried
that too much land and property was passing into church hands, with
tax exemptions, so reducing the tax basis for the Republic. The gov-
ernment sought to ban (starting with the city in 1561), transfer of prop-
erty in mortmain, inalienably into church hands. In the papal view this
was illegitimately interfering with testamentary dispositions. In March
1605, a law had greatly extended the scope of the ban; and from 1603
nobody in the Republic was to build a new church, convent or hospital
without Senate permission. The Republic has also stopped allowing the
papal Nunzio to imprison Venetian clergy without approval from a sec-
ular official. In 1605, trouble between the Republic and Rome had
arisen over the new Patriarch of Venice – Venice and Aquileia entitled
their bishop as Patriarch. Traditionally the Republic produced three
candidates from which the Pope selected one, preferably the first
choice. The candidates were usually from the patrician elite of Venice,
had served state as well as church (sometimes having been ambassador
in Rome); in minor orders, but not necessarily a deacon or priest. A
nominee for a bishopric was theoretically expected to have a theologi-
cal qualification, or be able to prove his fitness in theology. This had
not happened with Patriarchs. In 1605, the Pope asked the front-
runner, Francesco Vendramin, to present himself in Rome to have his
theological knowledge tested. The Republic was offended. Tensions
were thus high when the Republic arrested the criminous clerks. The
newly elected Doge, Leonardo Donà, had long stood against Papal
incursions, and had helped resist some implementation of the 1596
Index. When the Republic would not give way, Paul V excommunicated
the Doge and Senate, and imposed an Interdict on the Republic,
meaning that all religious services and comforts should cease until the
Pope’s will was fulfilled.30
The struggle was verbal rather than physical; the Pope would not
back his cause militarily, but by spiritual sanctions, and a propaganda
50 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

war. The Jesuits were ordered to lead the war of words, arguing that
the Pope had the right to interfere in another state to enforce cleri-
cal disciple, and protect clerical privileges. The Republic selected a
brilliant Servite friar, Paolo Sarpi, to lead their written defence
against such interference in anything more than the most spiritual
affairs of individuals. The war of words was extensive and erudite
(Cardinals Cesare Baronio and Roberto Bellarmino were recruited by
the Pope to oppose Sarpi), involving defences of ‘liberty’, state ‘sov-
ereignty’, and ‘absolute’ rights, backed by investigations of the early
church, and of Venetian church life, past and contemporary.31 The
Interdict essentially failed in Venice itself. The government’s orders
for all churches to remain open, services continue, Christian burial
still be conducted, were obeyed by virtually all clergy. The local
Jesuits, made to opt for the papal side, were driven out, along with a
few others. The lay confraternities (Scuole) were called on to stage
processions favouring the Venetian church, loyal to St Mark and the
Virgin, and to lampoon the Pope. The most spectacular procession,
with representational scenes on carts, was for Corpus Christi 1606,
described by the English ambassador Sir Henry Wotton (a great
admirer of Doge Donà) as:

the most sumptuous procession that ever had been seen here …
(designed) first, to contain the people still in good order with
superstition, the foolish band of obedience. Secondly, to let the
Pope know (who wanteth not intelligencers [spies]) that notwith-
standing his interdicts, they had friars enough and other clergy-
men to furnish out the day.32

Reactions on the mainland were more varied, with some bishops and
clergy backing the Interdict. In the end, the French helped produce
a fudged settlement; the Interdict and personal excommunications
were lifted. The two original accused clergy were handed over for trial
by the French; the religious who had been expelled could return –
except the Jesuits. The recent rules about property transfers in the
mainland would remain, but not be enforced. The Jesuits were not
allowed to return for some time and then never fully re-established
themselves in the city.
The wider importance of the crisis was that its showed an Interdict
was not a workable weapon for the Pope, that compromises over
jurisdictions with secular states would have to be made. Papal ‘abso-
lutism’ had its limitations. The hopes of James VI/I and his English
 CENTRE AND PERIPHERIES 51

diplomats like Wotton, that Venice would break with Rome and
become like Anglicans were dashed. This had not really been likely,
even if Sarpi and some other Venetians were happy to correspond
with French Huguenots. Venetians were pleased to remain Catholic,
but very much with local variations. They would, however, call on
papal support, and the Rome Holy Office if desirable for their own
purposes.

The Inquisition

For many the chief weapon of centralising Counter Reformation

control was the Holy Office of the Inquisition, already noted in action
dealing with early heretics (Chapter 1). The early modern Italian ver-
sion of the Inquisition, or the Roman Inquisition, was developed fol-
lowing the Bull Licet ab initio of July 1542.33 Various local inquisitions
had shown increasing alarm about Lutheranism and other heresies,
and signs of increasing debate about theological matters. Events in
Ferrara, and the link between that Duchy and France, led Paul III in
1536 to declare that Italy was being affected by a plague of heresy;
and this inspired the establishment of a central, papal directed, sys-
tem. Various scandals and several steps followed before the Bull put
six cardinals under the Pope in charge of a permanent institution to
eradicate ‘heretical depravity’.34 A crucial input into the character
and early stringency – and undue persecutory fervour – of the Roman
Inquisition came from Gian Pietro Carafa, a conservative Theatine
Catholic reformer. He had witnessed the operations of the Spanish
Inquisition, praised its activities, and was ready to make an Italian ver-
sion effective. Paul III gave him the lead role, which he was to con-
tinue more intensely as Paul IV. In 1555 he made the Holy Office the
pre-eminent Congregation. ‘We are of the opinion that no tribunal
acts with more sincerity, nor more with a view to the honour of God,
than this one of the Inquisition’, he told Venetian ambassador
Bernardo Navagero in July 1557, when he announced that profane
swearing, sodomy, ‘simoniacal heresy’ (so abolishing the sale of
benefices and of sacraments he supposed), would be added to its
remit, ‘forbidding all other tribunals … to interfere with those mat-
ters for the future’.35
Unlike medieval Inquisitions, which were essentially local adjuncts
to, or substitutes for, episcopal investigations of particular heresies,
the Roman Inquisition became a permanent institution, based on a
52 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

central bureaucracy in Rome under Papal leadership, ready to deal

with all kinds of heresy, though obviously initially focusing on the new
Protestant threats from the North, and local support within Italy.
However impressive the Holy Office’s central system, striking fear
into the unorthodox, it had many anomalies and limitations in con-
trolling through Italy. It lacked the central control, or autonomy, that
the Spanish Inquisition enjoyed. Outside the Papal State its operation
had to be negotiated with the rulers of each state. Philip II of Spain
wanted the Spanish Inquisition to have tribunals in his Italian posses-
sions; this he had in Sicily and Sardinia, but the Popes refused to
allow this in the Kingdom of Naples and Lombardy. Philip II and his
successors forbad the Roman Inquisition to operate openly in the
Kingdom, and so inquisitors worked more in a medieval fashion link-
ing archbishops and bishops with Rome more informally and secretly,
with impediments imposed by the Viceroys. The Roman Inquisition
could operate more readily in Lombardy, though not without frustra-
tions from the Spanish Governors. Varying arrangements were
made with other secular rulers. In the case of Venice, after much
fraught negotiation, the central Venetian Inquisition became a
shared church – state operation from 1547. In the wider Republic, on
the mainland, local inferior tribunals operated with less secular con-
trol, though both the central Venetian tribunal and the Holy Office
in Rome might insist on consultation, and issue commands.36
Though local political situations might restrict the operation of
inquisitors, as individuals or in tribunals, correspondence with Rome
was often very active, and mutually cooperative, even with the most
independent tribunal of Venice.37 The Congregation of the Holy
Office legislated to control the tribunals’ procedures, and inter-
preted the rules, issued manuals to assist investigations and trial pro-
cedures (as most notaby Eliseo Masini’s Sacro arsenale, first published
in 1621, but reprinted several times), and supervised the work of local
inquisitors and tribunals.38 The Bologna Inquisitor in the later six-
teenth century was constantly pressed to keep Roman Inquisition
Cardinals informed about suspicions and suspects, in city and the rest
of the archdiocese – with strict secrecy imposed.39 The local officials
were expected to consult over serious cases, forward copies of the
major testimonies, give detailed descriptions of suspects or accused
who had escaped from prison, and to send the most notorious or dif-
ficult accused to Rome for investigation and trial there – as in the case
of Giordano Bruno (from Venice) or Galileo (from Tuscany). It was
Rome’s decision not that of the more lenient trial tribunal in
 CENTRE AND PERIPHERIES 53

Portogruaro, that the now famous heretical miller in Friuli,

Domenico Scandella (or Menocchio), should be executed following
his second trial in 1599 for propagating strange cosmological ideas
(explaining creation, as angels and men emerging like worms from
fermenting cheese), attacking the Trinity and sacraments, for reading
prohibited books, and much else. Rome decided he should be exe-
cuted this time as ‘a relapsed person, who reveals himself to be an
atheist in his interrogations’.40
Roman authorities undertaking their own investigations sought
support from the local inquisitors, to chase up contacts, find more
witnesses, or track those who had escaped capture. Thus, Rome
sought Bologna’s assistance over Baron Albert Schenk of Limburg, a
suspect German Lutheran in 1589, or with possible associates of
Marco Samuel of Antivari whom the Holy Office was investigating in
1587 for necromancy. Correspondence shows sometimes lively coop-
eration directly between local tribunals (as with Bologna, Modena,
Florence, Venice, Udine), or with Rome acting as intermediary. The
flow of information could become overwhelming, and the triviality of
some reporting to Rome, or some questions sent to the Holy Office
might impede serious investigations, as the Bologna inquisitor
Innocenzo da Modena was warned in 1573.41
Rome did not fully control inquisitors or even their selection, espe-
cially in the early years. Inquisitors came mostly from the Religious
Orders, predominantly Dominican, and the Order often chose the
nominee. The Congregation did not itself nominate the inquisitor in
Ancona till 1566, Florence till 1572, or to Milan until 1587.42 Local
officials might have different views from the central Cardinals and
Inquisitor General, whether over the seriousness of certain ‘heresies’,
the danger of some individuals (as with Menocchio), or the extent to
which dubious books might be eradicated. Personality clashes,
revealed, for example, in surviving correspondence in Bologna, prob-
ably reduced the efficiency of central–local cooperation. The main
regional inquisitors and tribunals worked through networks of local
agents and assistants. The Bologna tribunal seems to have superin-
tended 17 vicariates, with fairly well regulated vicars reporting to
Bologna. The limited surviving records for Tuscany suggest a variety
of clerics who served as inquisition agents and investigators, supple-
mentary to their other tasks.43
The Inquisition system was a key weapon for control and educa-
tion; but it was not monolithic, grossly tyrannical. Political and juris-
dictional considerations impeded efficiency, as did the limitations of
54 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

manpower, problems of sorting out relevant denunciations and

information, divided priorities over different ‘heresies’, and variable
support for the inquisitions work. Over the period the targets shifted
(Chapter 9).

Religious Orders

The Religious Orders, especially the most eminent New Orders, can
be mentioned first as part of the central direction of reform and
spread of reform ideas and spirituality, though obviously their indi-
vidual houses were part of the peripheral community. Most were
directed from Rome, and had Cardinal Protectors promoting their
interests before Popes and Congregations.44 The importance, for my
predominantly socio-religious study, of the male members of the reli-
gious orders is the way they contributed to the wider community,
alongside – with friendship or animosity – the secular leaders and
institutions. Life within the male monasteries, their devotions or
scholarship, their scandals, has largely to be ignored here, for space
reasons. The nunneries will receive a lengthy discussion on their own
(Chapter 8); the Tridentine campaign to enclose them fully had
major social repercussions, about which some vigorous and fascinat-
ing studies have recently emerged.
‘Religious Orders’ covers a variety of situations and organisations,
from vast and rich monastic houses of confined monks to solitary fri-
ars spending most of their time on their own (organisationally),
either as itinerant preachers or as recluses. Under this loose heading
are included some congregations and ambiguous associations of cler-
ics and laity, not receiving full recognition and discipline of an Order.
The focus is on new congregations and Orders, emphasising active
service in the wider community, rather than on cloistered prayer,
scholarship and farming, as with old monks. But monks, notably
Benedictines, might also publicly serve parishes and organise farms;
while Dominicans ran Inquisition tribunals, or were bishops in
remote dioceses, along with Theatines (Chapter 4). The new Jesuits
were almost everywhere – and have not let posterity forget it. For
Mark Lewis there arose ‘a new religious style of life found in the
clerks regular’, partly arising out of medieval confraternities and a
‘new articulation of the priesthood’.45
The new Religious Orders and congregations originated in the
early years of the century, though the steps and time till full canonical
 CENTRE AND PERIPHERIES 55

recognition varied. Priority in time belongs to the Clerks Regular of

Theatines (effective from 1524), deriving in part from the Divine
Love confraternity, and named after Gaetano di Thiene, (1480–1547),
Bishop of Chieti. Their first superior was the unlikely Gian Pietro
Carafa, later the rigid Pope Paul IV, who as Pope exercised unprece-
dented direct control over the Order when he uncoupled it from the
Somaschi (see later). The Theatines were initially noted for personal
asceticism, preaching, and social welfare (though hospital and edu-
cation work dropped from their priorities from the 1550s); they were
often of well-to-do backgrounds, able to obtain funding from south-
ern nobility, but personally maintaining their poverty. Favoured by
Spanish Kings and their officials as well as Neapolitan nobles (includ-
ing powerful and wealthy females), they prospered in the south espe-
cially, served in parishes and bishoprics and developed some
splendidly decorated churches (as in Naples and Lecce), through
others’ largesse. An early historian, Giovanni Battista Del Tufo, in
1609 boasted of and defended the creation of lavishly decorated
churches for the glory of God, and education of the people. In the
seventeenth century Theatines developed an important base in Rome
at Sant’Andrea della Valle, but numerically it remained a small com-
munity. They had 46 communities in Italy by 1650, but with restricted
membership – only 1111 religious; the 13 communities in the
Neapolitan province had 341 members. As Von Pastor stressed their
best reform contribution might have come as ‘a seminary of bishops’,
based on earlier parish work. They produced and utilised a devo-
tional guide, Il Combattimento spirituale, by Lorenzo Scupoli
(1530–1630), to rival the Jesuit Spiritual Exercises.46
Also the Divine Love movement, with Theatine support, fathered
Somaschi, or Servants of the Poor (as called in 1531), named from a
group based in Somascha (near Bergamo), led by Girolamo Miani, a
friend of Carafa’s. Papal recognition came in stages from 1531. They
were annexed to the Theatines 1547–55, then established an inde-
pendent congregation. Miani and his friends had reacted to the mis-
eries of plague epidemics and war damage, leading to major
contributions in social welfare. While Miani produced a clerical order,
others as lay men and women fed into the wider philanthropic move-
ments of confraternities, conservatories and hospitals (Chapter 7).
Under similar impetuses developed the Clerks Regular of St Paul,
or Barnabites, with Antonio Maria Zaccaria (1502–47), noble doctor
from Cremona who turned to theology and the priesthood, as a key
figure. Officially recognised as a congregation from 1530, the
56 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Barnabites become famous for hospital and prison work, notably in

northern Italy. Later as an Order they were exempted from episcopal
service. Like the Jesuits they had a special attachment to the Popes.
The Barnabite fathers cultivated wide intellectual interests, but main-
tained a strong popular touch in organising impressive religious
meetings, open-air sermonising, liturgical displays such as Forty-Hour
Devotions (Chapter 10).
All was not easy for the early Barnabites. Zaccaria and others had
many female followers, and sought to create an associated female
organisation, which would evangelise in the world alongside their
male associates. Along with Countess Ludovica Torelli (1499–1569),
who led a religious and literary court at Guastalla, and Virginia Negri
of Cremona (1508–55), he helped create the Angeliche (Angelicals
of St Paul), recognised by Paul III in 1545, based on the nunnery of
San Paolo in Milan. Unfortunately for them, a key influence on
Torelli and Negri – who became Paola Antonia on taking vows – had
been the Dominican Fra Battista Carioni da Crema (d.1530), who
came under suspicion for Protestant sympathies and teaching, and
who did not disguise his Savonarolan sympathies. Added to an air of
theological suspicion for his followers, was the scandal for some gentle-
women parading penitentially through Milan streets doing good,
helping and advising priests. By the early 1550s ‘Divine Mother’ Negri
was seen as acting like a priest herself, and was denounced for such
after visiting Venice, leading to an Inquisition investigation in Rome.
Fra Battista’s writings were posthumously condemned by Julius III as
‘scandalous in several parts, rash in others, and heretical in many’.
Negri was forced from her role in the nunnery, and died confined in
a convent of Poor Clares, while the Barnabites were made ‘to reinvent
themselves in a more conservative form’.47 The Barnabites had to dis-
associate themselves from the San Paolo nunnery, and the female
inhabitants were driven into ever tighter enclosure – to become all
the same a rich power house under the Sfondrati family. The male
Barnabites survived to flourish worldwide, even if more circum-
spectly. The ‘scandal’ of the Angelics depressingly sabotaged wide-
spread movements in northern Italy for an open ‘third way’ role for
women in the public expression of active Christianity. It fuelled at
Trent and subsequently the campaigns to impose strict enclosure on
professed nuns. The worry about female ‘living saints’ (Sante vive) or
‘Aspiring Saints’ having undue influence over priests, and acting like
priests, was to surface in inquisition investigations of several women
through the later sixteenth and seventeenth century.48
 CENTRE AND PERIPHERIES 57

The Ursulines (Orsoline), similarly attempted to satisfy female

religious aspirations. The heroine of this foundation was Angela
Merici, lay spinster, then tertiary, of Brescia (1474–1540). Inspired
again by the Oratory of Divine Love, and its work for ‘incurables’
(often syphilis sufferers), she gathered other women, married and
unmarried, to contribute to philanthropy, religious education, spiri-
tual devotions. Between 1535 and 1544 she secured official recogni-
tion from the Bishop, then the Pope, for her group, with a status
between Third Order and confraternity. Later the Ursulines were
pushed into more disciplined hierarchical control as a congregation.
From 1567, when Archbishop Carlo Borromeo called them to Milan,
they were both promoted and controlled by this dominant male. He
was particularly keen on their teaching of girls, and wanted all his
diocesan bishops to foster a branch. Despite Borromeo’s penchant
for strict enclosure of women, he and later papal authorities never
successfully subjected the Ursulines to full enclosure rules. While
some Ursulines lived communally, others remained with their fami-
lies. Most came from humbler families, unlike the Angeliche, and
they avoided a public high profile. This was the most popular female
congregation, providing a path that women could follow in religious
service outside a nunnery or family enclosure.
The Jesuits were the central Religious Order – both positively for
the ubiquity of their contributions, and negatively for the jealousy
and political ire they could generate.49 The Jesuits had a special vow
of obedience to the Pope, which was called on in the Venetian
Interdict crisis of 1606–07. Ironically, papal suppression of the Jesuits
was one of the most significant papal acts of the eighteenth century.
The Jesuits had started modestly with limited ambitions, with
Ignatius Loyola (1491–1556), his Iberian, French and other friends
aiming for Jerusalem as pilgrims. Coming from Paris and seeking
Paul III’s blessing in Rome on the way in 1537, they were persuaded
to make Rome their Jerusalem, especially as war with the Turks made
such a pilgrimage nigh impossible. By 1540, ten such friends consti-
tuted the new Order, the Society of Jesus, which became Rome cen-
tred, and often suspect to Spanish Kings and church leaders,
whatever its worldwide roles later. Mystical meditation in a Spanish
tradition (which came to alarm the Spanish Inquisition), and self-
examination had been the early contribution of Loyola as spiritual
leader. From this role he developed The Spiritual Exercises (finished in
1548), the most famous devotional guide of the period. Early versions
won him keen friends; the published work, developed through
58 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

interaction with his associates and reading of past writings, became a

path to spiritual renewal for many from all levels of society. While it
was ‘the spiritual drill-book’ for the Society,50 it was also a manual to
help Jesuits take others – according to whatever level of intellect, edu-
cation and devotion – through a self-examination and meditation. An
increasing stress on its flexibility and away from the early emphasis on
a path to asceticism, both affected its popularity, and attacks on Jesuit
moral accommodation to the penitent’s position. The Spiritual
Exercises could also be a self-used manual – as with Gian Lorenzo
Bernini;51 though in this role and as literature it might not have the
appeal of the rival Theatine devotional manual, The Spiritual Combat
by Lorenzo Scupoli, which likewise remains in use. The Spiritual
Exercises was a Christocentric text, following various influences on
Loyola, but has also been seen as ‘a kind of Rosary without beads’,
based on narrative scenes foregrounding Christ rather than Mary.52
Penitents were encouraged to visualise episodes, or potential pil-
grimage scenes. This mental visualisation was to be annexed to the
use of the visual in paintings by the turn of the century.
The Jesuits developed a large worldwide organisation, headed by
the General in Rome. Of all Orders, their members had the longest
training, probably the fullest and widest education, with an efficient
communication system, linking distant groups and individuals to the
centre, or each other. The Society of Jesus was not a monolithic or
narrow organisation; consultation with Rome about designing
churches or colleges did not lead to uniform creations, nor to a
‘Jesuit style’. Diversity, according to local needs, physical resources
(stone or brick), was encouraged. Diversity characterised many of
their activities. In fact excessive adaptation to local customs and
beliefs was one of the charges in the eighteenth century that pro-
duced campaigns to abolish the Order. While Ignatius Loyola had
modest ambitions for his original society and Order, once Peter
Canisius won the argument that they should combat heresy through
education, they moved to the central position in much post-
Tridentine reform activity. Their help was soon requested by reform-
ing bishops, and the Generals in Rome sought to supply the needs.
By the turn of the century, Jesuits in Italy were running universities
and colleges, assisting in diocesan seminaries, founding clerical con-
gregations and lay confraternities, and giving advice to independent
confraternities. They were leading missionaries, from the previously
mentioned campaign against Waldensian beliefs in southern Italy, tar-
geting the South as the ‘Indies’ of Italy or Europe, and some slum
 CENTRE AND PERIPHERIES 59

areas. Jesuits helped in hospitals and prisons, and (following an early

concern of Loyola), assisting repentant prostitutes and vulnerable
girls or women, especially in Rome, with the influential Casa Santa
Marta (from 1542–43).53 Not far into the seventeenth century they
moved from a puritanical approach to art, to patronise ostentatious
propaganda art, and art for the glory of God – in buildings, paintings,
music and theatre. Thus the Jesuits will be mentioned in most chap-
ters to follow. By 1615, Jesuit colleges seem to have been established
in 59 places on the Italian mainland, with 15 in Sicily, 1 in Corsica and
4 in Sardinia; and the Jesuits had another 7 residences, without full
college status.54
From central Rome’s viewpoint, the second most important new
male Religious Order was that of the Oratorians, founded by Philip
Neri (1515–95).55 Though of Florentine origin, it became a Roman
confraternity, congregation of priests and finally a fully recognised
Order in 1575, albeit with a continuing Florentine input in member-
ship and spirituality, including the processional singing of Lauds. The
Oratorians did not develop like the Jesuits. Neri and other early post-
Tridentine leaders, like Cesare Baronio, were reluctant to expand the
Order, geographically, numerically or in activity. Where Jesuits tried to
answer episcopal calls for help, the Oratorians often declined them,
including one from Borromeo in Milan. They wanted the Order to
serve the spiritual needs of Rome – from Cardinals down to local
Romans who wanted joyful and penitential processions between basili-
cas. Oratorians would serve scholarship, and test the dedication of
potential recruits to full membership by tending the sores and wounds
of the poor in Roman hospitals.Their headquarters church, Santa
Maria in Vallicella (the Chiesa Nuova), and a growing complex of
buildings including the Oratory chapel (with Borromini as the exciting
and adventurous architect), became the centre of much that was vital and
experimental in the spiritual life and religious culture of Rome. Much
was done for clerical-lay interaction and understanding. Churches else-
where established affiliations, and imitated its services and worship.
But when it was finally agreed to open a second House, in Naples, the
experience was contentious and unhappy. The Rome–Naples con-
frontations by 1612 led to Paul V agreeing that Oratories should be self-
governing, and subject to the local bishop. By 1650, 35 Oratorian
centres had been established – as in Perugia (1615), Bologna (1616),
Fermo and Turin (1649) – but no network in Italy of multi-purpose
activities to rival the Jesuits, (The French Oratory, an imitator in part,
but apart, had a fuller role in French Catholic reform.)
60 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Other Religious Orders and congregations of lesser import had

emerged and continued to be founded through the post-Tridentine
period, responding to new and old needs. A few can be briefly named
here. The Clerks Regular of the Mother of God (also called
Leonardini or Matritani), developed by the Lucchese apothecary
turned priest, Giovanni Leonardi (1541–1609), was recognised as a
congregation from 1574. As well as promoting Marian devotions, they
preached, visited hospitals, and from about 1609 under Paul V’s
encouragement ran schools. Besides Lucca and Rome they had major
centres in Naples (1632) and Genoa (1669). Briefly in 1614 they were
linked with the budding Piarists, which José de Calasanz (or Calanzio,
1557–1648), had developed as group providing alms and education
for poor slum children in Rome and later elsewhere (Pious Schools
or Scuole Pie). Calasanz’ followers became a separate group again
from 1617, and a full congregation under Gregory XV’s support, to
become better known as Scolopi, dedicated to teaching. By 1634 they
had opened schools in about 14 Italian cities, from Carcere (near
Genoa) to Messina, Cosenza to Norcia.56 Another specifically dedi-
cated Order (from 1586), was that of the Ministri degli Infermi
(Ministers for the Sick, or Camilliani), founded by Camillo de Lellis
(1550–1614), a soldier inspired by having his foot cured in the
Roman hospital of San Giacomo. This nursing Order became famous
for battlefield work. Close to them in practical Christianity were the
Hospitalers of S. Giovanni di Dio, hovering between lay confraternity
and clerical Order. Better known as Fatebenefratelli after their half-
sung greeting ‘Fate bene fratelli, per l’amor di Dio’, (Do good broth-
ers, for the love of God), they were much praised in Camillo Fanucci’s
1601 guide to Roman philanthropy, and expanded to run and assist
in many hospitals throughout Italy. They had 30 convents spread
through the Kingdom of Naples by mid-century.57
From the old also came new; pre-eminently the Capuchins, as a
reforming branch of the Conventual Franciscans. They had been in
trouble in the early decades of the sixteenth century for flirtations
with Protestant ideas, and the scandal of their General Ochino’s
flight. However, they recovered their reputation as missionary preach-
ers of the most dramatic kind, and in this rivalled the Jesuits. While
less concerned with formal education, or philanthropy, and rarely
becoming bishops or central church administrators, the Capuchins
deserve major credit for assisting in religious revival through preach-
ing. They also provided guidance on preaching and mission work for
others from bishops to parish priests, as notably did Girolamo Narni.
 CENTRE AND PERIPHERIES 61

Their prevalence in Italy is remarkable. By 1596 they had 586 con-

vents, organised in 22 Provinces through the mainland and islands,
claiming a total of 6420 members. By 1678 they numbered 11 863 in
833 convents; by 1761 they had reached 15 682 brothers in 866
houses. From 1621, Paul V freed them from control by the general of
the Conventual Franciscans.58
As Gigliola Fragnito stresses the old Mendicant Orders, while criti-
cised and found wanting by many in the early sixteenth century,
regained popularity from the second half – for both spiritual and less
honourable social reasons (connected with strategic family planning,
limiting marriages). The papal inquest of 1650 (which led to the clo-
sure of some smaller monasteries), revealed 5200 Mendicant houses,
of which 1083 had been founded since 1580, containing some 60 000
religious, with 34 000 from the various Franciscan groups.59 Their
monastic houses were part of the urban and rural scene, not just
retreats from the world, contributing to wider society through sup-
porting confraternities, providing services and sermons in their
churches and chapels open to the public, sending out preachers,
helping educate would-be secular priests, offering hospitality to trav-
ellers. As with many new Orders, the old still appealed to members of
upper society with a vocation.
New and revitalised Religious Orders and congregations were reac-
tions to the challenges of the religious and social crises of the early
and mid-sixteenth century. They could make a profound impact on
the religious and social life of Italy. While rivalries and tensions
existed between them and some bishops at the periphery, and Roman
authorities at the centre, these religious groups interlocked with the
history of episcopal-led reform, parish revitalisation, the spiritual and
social work of lay confraternities, as revealed in subsequent chapters.
4 Episcopal Leadership

The success and failure of post-Tridentine reform, as guided by that

Council, was heavily dependant on the power and influence of bish-
ops. The Council itself has been judged the most episcopal Church
Council.1 Bishops had dominated the formal council procedures and
decision-making, whatever theologians did behind the scenes. One of
the last major battles had been over the rights of Bishops. The insis-
tence on the residence of bishops, to be absent for no more than six
months, which had first occasioned strong debate in 1546–47, was rat-
ified. G. Alberigo celebrated episcopal residency, with activity for the
salvation of souls (salus animarum) as the Council’s practical ecclesi-
ology.2 The spirit of St Augustine as Bishop as well as theologian
inspired the ideology of reform. Therefore, bishops were expected to
lead reform campaigns, as organisers and preachers inspiring clergy
and laity below them. In practice episcopal leadership proved very
variable. Various models of episcopal leadership existed, from the
autocratic to the liberal and consultative. Many bishops scarcely
approached a model – through incompetence, indifference, conflict-
ing career needs and powerlessness against rival jurisdictions.
A.D. Wright once argued that one of the great failures of the Council
was its assertion of episcopal authority, which was then accompanied
by ‘insufficiently stringent reform of princely privileges’, and a failure
to curtail the princely nomination of bishops (though this was more
significant outside Italy).3 This chapter will explore the complexities
of episcopal geography, the problems of recruitment and appoint-
ment, career pressures, and the tensions over jurisdictions. It will
consider how bishops operated in their dioceses, the functions of
institutions under them, and the ways in which bishops worked with

62
 EPISCOPAL LEADERSHIP 63

lesser clergy and laity. The individual bishop’s approach moulded the
types of reforms that did – or did not – follow down the line, as I
showed with Perugia’s bishops.4

The Diocesan Map

The diocesan map for Italy was complex. (Maps 2–4, locating most
operational episcopal seats, though not all, and Appendix, listing
bishoprics.) At the closure of the Council of Trent, ‘Italy’ had about
280 to 290 operative dioceses, depending which one includes on the
islands and along the Dalmatian coast. The count was constantly
changing, with creations, amalgamations, splits and suppressions,
which my list tries to record. France only had 131 dioceses, and Iberia
68. Some of the Dalmatian bishoprics, where the Venetians had dom-
inated, were now largely inoperative because they were under Turkish
threat or control. Where they still received Italian appointments, they
can be counted as part of the ecclesiastical career structure. This
book concentrates on the Italian peninsula, paying little attention to
Sicily and Sardinia (with strong Spanish domination), or Corsica
(though Genoese controlled); but they are included in surveying the
episcopal scene here, if Italians were appointed. Aosta was suffragan
to a French province, but had Italian bishops, influenced by the
Piedmontese rulers out of Turin. Bressanone, suffragan to Salzburg
in the County of Tyrol is sometimes counted as ‘Italian’, though most
bishops were German: Christopher Madruzzo, bishop of Trent also
held Bressanone 1542–65, and it was actively served by an Italian
suffragan, B. Aliprandini, from 1558 to 1571.
Of the Italian dioceses about 120 were independent (directly
responsible to the Pope); whether as archdioceses headed by patri-
archs and archbishops or as dioceses directly dependent on Rome.
The others were suffragan dioceses attached to archbishops, as
notably in the South, or to the Patriarchate of Aquileia in the north-
east. Through the post-Tridentine period a few changes occurred in
the episcopal map, as new bishoprics were created, others suppressed
or amalgamated. Crema was created in 1580, Colle Val D’Elsa in 1592.
Pienza and Montalcino formed a joint bishopric 1563–99, then sepa-
rated. Prato and Pistoia were united in 1653. The Patriarchate of
Aquileia, in imperial Roman days based on a great trading city now
ruined, effectively operated out of Portogruaro and Udine (as for
inquisition activities or synods), and the latter officially replaced it in
64 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

1752. In 1582 Bologna, independent from Ravenna since 1518 or so,

was elevated to a metropolitan archepiscopate under the model
reforming bishop Gabriele Paleotti, with Cremona, Modena, Parma,
Piacenza and Crema now made suffragan to it, though that situation
changed again.
The geographical size and wealth of the dioceses varied consider-
ably. Milan, Naples or Padua were populous and wealthy; as also
smaller dioceses like Catania, Monreale, Piacenza, Ravenna, Salerno
and Verona. Melfi and Torcello, though small, could provide a reason-
able income. The extent to which the incumbent bishops enjoyed that
wealth or used it for reforming purposes, depended on whether pen-
sions for other clergy were also derived from such episcopal ‘tables’
(official incomes for the diocese). Cardinal Archbishop Girolamo
Della Rovere in 1590 complained to Rome of the ‘aggravation’ of
pensions taken from his income, detrimental to his (vigorous) activ-
ity.5 In the case of the bishopric of Iesi, Cardinal Cesare Baronio
received a significant pension from its ‘fruits’, and Cardinal Camillo
Borghese (later Pope Paul V), profited also from its income after his
brief incumbency (1597–99).6 Hardly examples of good resource
management for bishoprics, this practice was heavily attacked by
Paolo Sarpi, Servite friar, defender of the Venetian Republic against
Paul V’s Interdict, and critical historian of the Council of Trent.7
Many Italian dioceses were extremely small and poor, and hardly dis-
tinguishable from a pieve parochial complex (Chapter 5). Many of
these were in remoter parts of southern Italy. The diocese of Nicotera
consisted of a città of 50 families or households, and a few scattered
villages; Lavello and Montepeloso were just città of 500 and 800
households. In 1611 Montemarrano covered three small parish
towns. But northern Italy could have small bishoprics, such as swampy
Comacchio near Ravenna. Arguably serious reform after Trent
should have rationalised the diocesan boundaries, diminished the
number of bishoprics, and spread the financial resources so that
diocesan seminaries could be created to train suitable priests, net-
works of vicars general be established to supervise the parochial
clergy. Though dioceses were amalgamated, or new ones created, it
was for political reasons, not organisational efficiency. Secular rulers
and cities were loath to lose the status of a bishopric, and see a
Duomo (cathedral) degraded; and some might want to elevate self
and city to such a status. Popes liked to have even dysfunctional
bishoprics with minor incomes available to reward clergy serving the
 EPISCOPAL LEADERSHIP 65

papacy as diplomats, administrative officials in the Roman Curia, or a

personal assistant. The attractive little town of San Miniato in Tuscany
became a città and diocese, separated from that of Lucca, in 1622–24,
thanks to Grand Duchess Maria Maddalena d’Austria, who on the death
of her husband Cosimo II, ruled this little territory in her own right,
1620–31. The Lucchesi strongly resented this loss. San Miniato was able
to afford its own modest seminary in 1650, and develop to have a spec-
tacular building dominating a whole piazza. This act of princely pro-
motion proved reasonably successful in ecclesiastical terms.8
For an understanding of the post-Tridentine Italian episcopacy I
surveyed fairly closely those appointed from 1560 to 1630; about 2000
episcopal appointments in all (see Appendix). Some bishops succes-
sively held a number of sees, so fewer than 2000 individuals were
involved. Some dioceses, especially in the South, had a rapid turnover
conditioned by remoteness, poverty and insalubrious conditions. San
Marco (Calabria) had 19 bishops of whom 13 died in residence, while
Strongoli, Crotone (both in Calabria) and Chioggia (near Venice),
had 12 bishops. Strongoli was, however later to have a long-serving
incumbent Alessandro Ghislieri (1601–21). Such rapid succession
was hardly conducive to planned, consistent reform. Poorer dioceses
received members of Religious Orders, who might be presumed to
tolerate poverty more than career curialists accustomed to more pala-
tial accommodation in Rome. The Theatines were increasingly
selected; at least 30 sees had one or more Theatine bishop in the
1590s to 1620s, notably in the South, favoured by the Spanish
Government and the Viceroys of Naples. Wealthier northern dioceses
such as Bergamo and Crema also had Theatine bishops, and this
Order provided one of the leading model episcopal reformers, Paolo
Burali who served Piacenza (1568–76) and then became Archbishop
of Naples (1576–78).
The re-emphasis on episcopal preaching encouraged the appoint-
ment of members of Orders who prided themselves on preaching,
such as the Dominicans and Franciscans as well as Theatines, both to
poverty-stricken dioceses, and more prestigious sees for star preach-
ers. Members of preaching Orders were sent to sees like San Marco
(G. Naro, Dominican, 1613–23), Naxos and Paros, Suda (suffragan
of Naxos), Stagno (Stanj in Dalmatia), or Montemarrano (under
Benevento). Ambrogio Salvio of Bagnoli, a leading preacher against
heresy, was rewarded with the Bishopric of Nardo. Some major
touring preachers were appointed as well. Examples included
66 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Francesco Panigarola from the Order of Minims, an elaborately

‘baroque’ preacher who was bishop of Asti 1587–94. The Dominican
Vincenzo Ercolani, a scholarly and popular preacher (see below), was
successively bishop of Sarno, Imola and most effectively of Perugia
(1576–86).9 Another Perugian Domincan preacher and correspon-
dent of Ercolani, Ignazio Danti was bishop of Alatri (1583–86). The
cattedra and pulpits of Mantua and Venice were to be filled by power-
ful preachers – respectively, Francesco Gonzaga of the Minims
(1593–1613) and Patriarch Giovanni Trevisano, former Benedictine
abbot (1560–90), who however became more noted – with favour or
distrust depending on the target – for his legislation.
Many episcopal appointments went to diplomats and stalwarts in
the administration of the Papal State or central Roman government.
These were likely to be recalled for further central duties, to the detri-
ment of their local flock, unless they made provision for good service
by suffragans or vicars general. When Antonio Maria Galli, an admin-
istrator serving Sixtus V was rewarded by being made Cardinal Bishop
of Perugia (1586–91), and sought to use his administrative skills in
the interests of standardised reform, he encountered the animosity
and resistance of the very powerful Benedictines of San Pietro.10
Antonio Marchesani, Datary under Pius V, was rewarded with the rea-
sonably prosperous see of Città di Castello (1572–81). Theological
expertise seldom led to an Italian bishopric, except possibly in the
Veneto. Among the exceptions were Cesare Lippi, a professor of
sacred theology in Padua who was made bishop of Cava (1606–22),
near Salerno; and Paulo Pico, a Dominican doctor of theology who
served for 27 years as consultant to the Congregation of the Index,
and ended his life as Bishop of Volturara (under Benevento),
1613–15. In 1613 Volturara had a Cathedral and about 150 houses –
not a rich reward.11 Adriano Berezio (alias Bereti, and Valentico)
held the chairs of Metaphysics (1543–51) and Scripture (1551–64) at
Padua University, and was a pontifical theologian at the Council of
Trent. He served as Inquisitor in Venice 1564–66, before being made
bishop of Capo d’Istria (1566–72). One of his writings argued for the
Eucharist against Calvin’s teaching. In this bishopric he succeeded
Tomasso Stella, a notable Dominican theologian, who had preached
in Trent in 1546, and more publicly in Bologna when the Council sat
there. He moved from the bishopric of Lavello to Capo d’Istria in
1549, from where he could descend on Venice to preach and advise.
Another Venetan or Istrian bishopric, Cittanova, was held (1570–81)
by Gerolamo Vielmi (1513–81) – but he was seldom if ever resident.
 EPISCOPAL LEADERSHIP 67

The Dominican Vielmi had taught metaphysics and theology at

Padua, and then (1560–65) at Rome’s Sapienza University. There he
taught Carlo Borromeo and Agostino Valier, who were to become
leading pastoral bishops. Vielmi himself served as suffragan to the
Bishop of Padua (Alvise Pisani) from 1563–66, while lecturing on
Scripture. As suffragan he functioned fully as a bishop. Influentially
he composed an oration De optimo episcopi munere in 1565 (published
Venice, 1575), which reinforced a message that bishops should
preach and teach.12
Interestingly the unfortunate, much-manned, Calabrian Bishopric
of Strongoli received Claudio Marescotti (1587–90); a doctor of the-
ology from the Monte Olivetan Congregation – who was not suitable
for teaching, probably for reasons of dubious theology rather than
pedagogical and rhetorical ineptitude. Presumably he was deemed
safer there as bishop with an illiterate peasant flock than near urban
scholars.13 The Servite Paolo Sarpi, a great scholar in philosophy and
theology, assistant to Carlo Borromeo, initially friend of Roberto
Bellarmino, failed in his and friends’ pleas to be given a bishopric.
Probably judged too dangerous for his contact with foreigners of
Protestant leanings, alleged challenges to certain doctrines, and love
of new sciences, had he been so satisfied, he might not have been the
Venetian champion in the Interdict crisis, and later author of an
anti-papal history of the Council of Trent.14

‘Model’ Bishops

If one studies the ‘best-practice’ of reforming archbishops and

bishops, several models might be detected. Three exemplary leaders
can illustrate different episcopal roles, and what could and could not
be achieved. Within the historiographical debates Carlo Borromeo is
judged the hero or villain of ‘The Counter Reformation’, while
Gabriele Paleotti represents ‘Catholic Reform’. My third example,
Vincenzo Ercolani has not been included in such debates, but can
represent another strand of Catholic Reform, harking back to
Savonarola.
The most influential ‘model’ for Tridentine reform was Carlo
Borromeo (1538–84).15 He arose from an aristocratic pre-Tridentine
background: Milanese noble family, beneficed at 12, studying civil
and canon law from age 14, with little sign of deep religiosity. His
career and transformation, started with his uncle, Pope Pius IV,
68 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

summoning him to Rome in 1559, in the papal nephew tradition. In

1560 he was made Cardinal Archbishop of Milan – under age at 22.
He became an active, sometimes troublesome figure at Trent,
1562–63, most notably working on the Catechism (published in
1566). He was instrumental in establishing two Congregations, of the
Council (1564) and of Bishops (1573), to foster reform through Italy,
but came to battle with both when they restricted his own activities.16
To avuncular annoyance, in 1565 Carlo insisted on becoming a resi-
dent archbishop in Milan, and so implementing the Tridentine
reforms there rather than in Rome. He led the way in holding provin-
cial councils and diocesan synods, and publishing the legislation pro-
fusely, backed with many more printed documents. In print,
letter-writing and orally he was ready to instruct on all matters, from
marriage to architectural design. He organised networks under his
suffragan bishops, vicars general, local vicars (vicari foranei), to con-
trol and guide parish priests and confessors. He led Visitations tour-
ing his diocese and archdiocese, personally trekking through the
mountains to remote villages to preach, observe and interrogate. He
instituted several seminaries to educate new priests, bringing in
Jesuits and Barnabites as helpers, also using their own colleges. He
assiduously promoted parish confraternities – Holy Sacrament,
Rosary and Christian Doctrine – with the last (about 500 of them for
the 750 odd parishes of his Milan diocese) helping the parish priests
teach the basics of Christian Doctrine through the catechism, to chil-
dren and ill-informed adults about to marry. He made many enemies,
from Spanish governors of Milan (such as the Duke of Albuquerque
who tried to stop him publishing the Trent decrees), and fellow
Milanese nobles, to recalcitrant priests, nuns and laity who resented
his dictatorial ways and puritanism. Resistance grew against attempts
to discipline wealthy monasteries and nunneries, to curb carnival
activities, to check personally on booksellers selling prohibited books,
to press people to self-denounce to inquisitors or to his own curial
court.17
Bitter enemies matched admiring supporters. In October 1569 a
group of clergy, resenting his upsetting interference, plotted his assas-
sination, with one firing a crossbow at him while praying during a
service in the oratory within his episcopal palace, superficially
wounding his back. According to the admiring diarist Giambattista
Casale, Borromeo would not allow ‘the rogue’ to be seized until the
cantors had finished singing a motet. The four provosts were hanged
or beheaded after being defrocked, in August 1570; with the shooter
 EPISCOPAL LEADERSHIP 69

having his hand cut off first at the door of the palace. Casale admired
Borromeo’s introduction in 1567 of the Ambrosian carnival, honour-
ing Milan’s great bishop St Ambrose and his liturgy, and arousing city
pride against Roman liturgical ways, ‘to get the people of Milan to
observe a wholly spiritual and holy carnival’, bringing in procession
to the well-adorned Cathedral, for communion or blessings, the
major confraternities and the schools of Christian Doctrine (for
which Casale taught), ‘with male children dressed in wings and shirts’.
So ‘it seemed that through all Milan there was to be seen nothing but
angels, as if Paradise had been opened. So edified was the whole of
Milan that everyone forgot about the usual ribald carnival (ribaldo
carnevale) and talked thereafter only of the holy things of Paradise.’
Rather wishful thinking. Some missed the secular fun, but it showed
Borromeo was trying to entice and uplift, not just ban what he saw as
sinful.18
To local relief however, he successfully resisted Philip II’s attempt
to impose the Spanish Inquisition on Lombardy, and instead oper-
ated a Rome-linked tribunal. Borromeo could have difficult relations
with Rome; when it thought he was being too undiplomatic in deal-
ing with Spanish authorities, competing Religious Orders or other
vested interests, and when he thought Roman Congregations were
too slow in ratifying his legislation, or backing his initiatives. Though
feared and hated by some, especially in the early years, he earned
respect and admiration notably during the major plague epidemic of
1576–77, remaining in the city, indefatigably giving comfort, holding
masses in the streets so that those quarantined in their houses could
observe and distantly participate. Such caritas (love and charity), and
his undoubted moral rectitude and asceticism, facilitated the cam-
paign for his canonisation, rewarded in 1610; his asceticism and char-
ity was publicly lauded rather than episcopal leadership. Yet his
episcopal legislation was widely influential.19
Carlo Borromeo represents for many the ‘Counter-Reformation’,
for his intransigence against heresy, his puritanism, dictatorial con-
trols, as well his implementation of Trent recommended institutions
and procedures. He subjected himself to an ascetic regime of fasting,
flagellation and mortifications; and expected others so to do. He
essentially operated a moral police force, and imposed public
penances and humiliations on the immoral, as well as fines (which
helped poor communities). Minor peccadilos received harsh punish-
ments; as an early biographer, Carlo Bascapé, noted.20 When
Borromeo heard of a priest who drank too much and kept the wine
70 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

for Mass in iced water, he had him shut up in a room in the archbishop’s
palace for some days, living only on water, which was kept warm in the
sun. Borromeo had a narrow vision of the laity’s place in the Church,
with limited organisational roles, to be seen, to see, but not be heard.
If they fulfilled a role, as in teaching Christian Doctrine, it was to be
under strict clerical supervision. He followed Cardinal Inquisitor
Ghislieri’s view that the laity should not have access to the vernacular
Bible, and personally hunted down bookshop and library copies. His
rigidity and intransigence, however could be attacked by other
church reformers, including Gregory XIII and Gabriele Paleotti, a
correspondent, almost friend, and rival episcopal model. Paleotti
wrote to Borromeo on 5 December 1566:

I do not wish to stop telling you, because of my indebtedness to

you, what I understand; one thing, that you never spare yourself,
and never cease, and you cannot go on in this way. The other thing
is that towards others you are too austere and rigorous, and you
mingle with it little clemency and leniency, which I detect from all
your pronouncements. Further I doubt whether you consult with
others very much, but act on your own and from your own opinion
on these matters, even with the holiest zeal. However they would
wish that you communicated with experienced people because
their opinion at least might calm others a lot. I see that I have
passed the limits of modesty, but all is said for the good, not only
of yourself, but of myself, so that the more I need light and warn-
ings, the more I shall be helped by your most prudent opinions.

Borromeo replied at the end of December:

You more especially make me understand the means I might take

to govern myself discretely, both me personally and in my govern-
ing of others. Nevertheless my intention is never to pass the limits
of discretion, although perhaps I can be given a different opinion
by men, and with some reason for the method of my procedure in
this principle since my coming here to Milan, having found every-
thing wooded and overgrown. This has made me remain in a way
oppressed that I have not seemed to be able to pardon myself with
a good conscience; and it has been proper for me at least exter-
nally to show some severity towards others, to extirpate from them
evil habits and to sow some good seeds of discipline and religion;
 EPISCOPAL LEADERSHIP 71

although as to the effect of carrying this out, it does not appear to

me that I have trespassed past the limits of benignity.21

Gabriele Paleotti (1522–97) came from a Bolognese senatorial family

of substance, studied and taught law at Bologna university – and
wrote a work in 1550 defending the rights of bastards. He came to
prominence as an auditor of the Rota tribunal in Rome, and was sent
to the Council for 1562–63, to work alongside Cardinal Morone. He
made a mark in securing compromises and agreements over reform
decrees.22 He was made Cardinal in 1565, and sent to Bologna as
bishop in 1566. Old and unwell he moved to the suburbicarian bish-
oprics of Albano (1589), then Sabina (1591), to be nearer the Roman
Curia, but still fulfil some pastoral duties. Against Paleotti’s scruples
and protests, the Pope had him retain Bologna.23 Unlike Borromeo
he started modestly, with just a diocese; it was not till 1583 that
Bologna was upgraded to a metropolitan archbishopric, with suffra-
gan bishops to supervise as well (see Appendix). Paleotti had a fine
record of holding synods, aimed at mutual encouragement more
than dictatorial instruction and allowing discussion. He was an assid-
uous preacher, and organiser of Visitations. He willingly delegated
responsibilities to vicars general, suffragan bishops, congregations of
local clerical assemblies, allowing them financial roles and controls
(to Borromeo’s chagrin). Local archpriests outside Bologna could
operate without constant hounding by rural vicars (in contrast to
Lombardy). Laymen helped supervise Bologna parishes, with some
representatives elected by the community to work with his own nom-
inees. Lay confraternities were encouraged to promote their public
roles, to hold religious processions, have Forty Hour devotions. He
encouraged Name of God (Nome di Dio) confraternities to work
with the episcopal curia to reconcile disputes and bring peace to
neighbourhoods – though records do not survive to indicate their
detailed operations. He assiduously fostered religious education,
using Congregations for teaching Christian Doctrine in the city, and
Corpus Christi confraternities in the rural areas teaching the cate-
chism and some elementary reading skills. Within the University he
used a Congregation of Perseverance to foster Christian values
among students, and to encourage the best minds to enter the
Church.
While Borromeo showed much interest in church architecture and
the design of altars and chapels, Paleotti focused on promoting a
revived religious art, as the Bible for the illiterate, and aid to
72 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

devotion. Well acquainted with Bolognese painters and their works,

he wrote an uncompleted art treatise (A Discourse on Sacred and
Profane Images), first circulated in manuscript and partly published in
158224 (see Chapter 10). In this, as in other writings and preaching,
he encouraged debate, some experimentation, and open-mindedness.
Paleotti’s understanding and relatively emollient approach, fostering
cultural interests, inspired some other leading Catholic reformers,
including Philip Neri and the Oratorians, and some French episcopal
attitudes. He resented excessive Roman centralisation, which
impeded some Bologna plans, but would not back him against local
opposition. When in Rome he was sufficiently upset by papal domi-
nation of the College of Cardinals and lack of discussion in consistory
that he wrote a treatise in 1592 arguing that the College should oper-
ate as a proper senate, and ‘showed that it was the office of the Pope
to take counsel from the college of cardinals’, as the Venetian ambas-
sador reported it.25 This may help explain why Paleotti was a better
promoted model for non-Italians than those closer to Rome. That his
emollient, open-minded and more lay centred approach had fewer
followers has been seen by some historians as a failure for Catholic
Reform, and Paleotti himself.26
Vincenzo Ercolani (or Herculani), successively Bishop of Sarno,
Imola and most notably Perugia (1578–86), stands as another
Catholic Reform model. From a Perugian noble family he was influ-
enced by one of Ochino’s sermons (before his defection) to change
from studying medicine to theology. He entered the Dominican
Order, and had a great impact as a teacher of scripture and theology,
but also as a popular preacher. Surviving copies of correspondence
(made by his nephew-secretary Timoteo Bottonio, later his biogra-
pher), shows that he was a part of a wide network of Dominicans,
nuns and lay people, who exchanged and discussed books, provided
each other with spiritual advice and comfort, and wrote religious
poetry.27 His correspondents included Bonsignore Cacciaguerra, a
leading Neapolitan advocate of frequent communion for the laity, the
ascetic Florentine nun and spiritual adviser Caterina de’ Ricci, and
the Salviati family (dominant in both Florence and Rome).
Savonarola’s influence as spiritual adviser remained strong among
this network, and Ercolani with friends at S. Maria sopra Minerva in
Rome struggled to keep his works off the Index. Ercolani in 1558
(when he was Prior at the Minerva), defended Savonarola as ortho-
dox, and criticised the Inquisition for thoughtless and careless work
on the Index. Fortunately, the often hard-line Inquisitor Michele
 EPISCOPAL LEADERSHIP 73

Ghislieri (later Pope Pius V), admired Ercolani – who had first
attracted him to the Dominican Order.28 In 1562, Ercolani wrote
from Rome to Portia Masssimi de’Salviati, in S. Lucia, Florence, that
she should be mindful of Savonarola’s seven spiritual rules.29 Ercolani
became a bishop much against his will (distracting him from scholar-
ship and prayer), but once enthroned he fulfilled episcopal duties.
From remote Sarno he was called to conduct Visitations elsewhere, to
involve himself in Dominican business, and be a Legate to Iberia and
France (1571–72). He treated Carlo Borromeo’s synodal legislation
as guide to activity in Sarno, but went on to hold two of his own syn-
ods in Perugia, printing the outcome of his two-day synod in 1582.
That year he published a new Ritual for his diocese, with glosses on
the holy sacraments. He developed a reputation in Perugia for char-
ity towards the poor, prisoners, repentant prostitutes, and those in
hospital, bringing in the congregation of Fatebenefratelli to help in
Perugia’s main Misericordia hospital.

Bishops at Work and Diocesan Organisation

The summaries of ‘model’ bishops demonstrate most aspects of what

could be done. This section will elaborate on some procedures and
the organisational systems below bishops. Numerous appointees were
far from able to imitate the models, even if willing. Many bishops
were called to Rome, or found reasons for being in Rome, rather than
in their dioceses. Pius IV after Trent tried to diminish the Rome-
based bishops, sending them back to their dioceses, but this policy
did not survive. Both Popes and bishops had interests in significant
numbers of bishops being at the heart of the Church. According to
Eugenio Sonnino, the annual average of bishops residing in Rome
between 1600 and 1619 was 46, falling to 37 through 1620–59, and ris-
ing to 54 for 1660–79.30
How did or should bishops run their diocese or province in the
early modern period? They were expected to preach, to the public on
major occasions, to their assembled clergy in synods, to parishes,
monasteries, confraternities on Visitations. They might preside
over major Masses, processions, important ceremonies such as the
Maundy Thursday Washing of Feet, Forty-Hour Devotions, or confir-
mation. For overall command, under Tridentine rules, the metropol-
itan archbishops were to guide their provinces via triennial provincial
councils, gathering together their senior clergy, while individual
74 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

archbishops and bishops were to hold annual synods for their subor-
dinate clergy, including parish priests and confessors. Both councils
and synods might produce printed statutes and edicts, but increas-
ingly edicts and printed guides or admonitions flowed out under
episcopal licence to parish priests’ personal consideration, or for
public reading out and display. Bishops were expected to organise
official Visitations, tours of inspection, of their dioceses – led by
themselves or vicars general – investigating property, personnel and
behaviour of clergy and parishioners. These might then inform and
dictate more legislation and edicts. Much official business came their
way; dealing with manifold appointments, with interrelationships
(and jurisdictional disputes), with central Roman authorities, the
heads of Religious Orders, with inquisitors, with secular rulers and
councils, with local patrons and holders of patronage rights and priv-
ileges. Ecclesiastical courts had to be administered and presided over,
petitions heard and answered.
Bishops were not alone; their effectiveness depended not just on
their own abilities, but those of effective subordinate officials: vicars
general, sometimes coadjutant bishops, vicari foranei coordinating
groups of parishes and pieve, and cathedral and Chapter canons. Such
substructures of officials could compensate for the lack of episcopal
leadership – whether the incumbent was inoperative through incom-
petence, indifference, or calls to serve elsewhere in central church
government or diplomacy. Episcopal led reform and organisation was
at its best when an active archbishop or bishop had a faithful and
competent team of vicars general and lesser vicars, cooperative
Chapters, enthusiastic available Jesuits, Theatines or Barnabites; and
had family wealth to deploy, including on a cultured entourage or
court. We cannot point to many such ideal situations under current
knowledge.
The realities about Provincial councils, diocesan synods and
Visitations seldom matched ideals. As the Appendix indicates
Provincial councils were rare events. Three early post-Trent ones –
Milan 1565, Benevento 1567 and Ravenna 1568 – were models, both
in their organisation, and in the published legislation. But the subse-
quent history is patchy, with no metropolitan archdiocese having a
full record through to the mid-seventeenth century. The southern
provinces within Calabria, Campania and Puglia had 31 provincial
councils before the close of the century, but only nine in the seven-
teenth, and only Benevento meeting in the eighteenth (1729).
Provinces in the Abruzzi, Basilicata and Molise held no councils
 EPISCOPAL LEADERSHIP 75

1564–1799.31 This is unsurprising. Many reformers soon realised that

assembling the suffragan bishops (and Benevento had up to 17 from
a large area of difficult terrain), along with abbots, priors, vicars, and
other selected clergy for one to two weeks was administratively diffi-
cult, and costly. The metropolitan had limited control over reluctant
bishops, and was probably adequately in touch with the enthusiastic
and cooperative anyway. Legislation deriving from the council
decisions (or archbishop’s dictatorial orders), had to be ratified by
the Congregation of the Council. This was often slow in coming,
even for as frenetic, powerful and influential an archbishop as
Carlo Borromeo – and decrees might be vetoed. More positively
however, once printed, the legislation might remain in print, be
reprinted, and be influential on both synodal legislation, and episco-
pal decrees and edicts for years to come. The provincial and synodal
legislation flowing from Carlo Borromeo remained influential till the
twentieth century, in France and Ireland as well as Italy.32
Diocesan synods were simpler, more acceptable, and more fre-
quent. No long-serving bishop could keep up an annual record,
though Gabriele Paleotti seems only to have missed two years while
bishop and archbishop of Bologna. Milan, Bologna and (more sur-
prisingly) Reggio Calabria have the best record over a long period,
while Ferrara had regularity through the 1590s (see Appendix).
Vincenzo Maria Orsini, Archbishop of Benevento 1686–1724 seems
the first bishop holding an annual synod and publishing the results;
he became Pope Benedict XIII. For very small dioceses a synod might
be deemed pointless, as Galeazzo Morone, Bishop of Macerata
argued to the Congregation of Bishops in 1583, when it chivvied: it
only had two parishes, both within the walled city, and he had only
about ten clergy under him. Synods usually lasted a day, occasionally
two or three. The basic programme involved a Mass with the bishop
(or organising vicar general) preaching, then discussion of ‘cases of
conscience’ – the basic moral and canon law questions arising
from confessions or ecclesiastical court cases and appeals. The attend-
ing clergy might be reminded of Tridentine decrees – as on marriage
or confessions – and sent away with more printed decrees and notices
to be imparted to their local congregations. A composite set of
decrees, even a substantial volume, might be printed and distributed
later. It is hard to tell how much real discussion took place, though
Gabriele Paleotti in Bologna seemed to encourage this. Some synods
had a huge attendance, precluding much discussion; 1284 clergy par-
ticipated in Gregorio Barbarigo’s Bergamo 1660 synod.33 Both the
76 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

episcopal pep talks and the published legislation probably were stim-
uli to better parochial practice. The survival of printed decrees has
been the main guide to the frequency of these meetings;34 but local
diocesan studies keep on revealing cryptic references to more meet-
ings. Cesena had at least eleven synods 1564–1607, but only two
produced extant printed decrees. Napoleone Comitoli of Perugia
(1591–1624), combined his own and predecessors’ work in a com-
posite printed collection in 1600; and held probably four more syn-
ods afterwards without formal publications.35 Preparatory work could
be as valuable as the actual meetings, as with Archbishop Girolamo
Colonna of Bologna, 1632–43. In advance parish priests and licenced
confessors, individually or through meetings with vicari foranei, were
asked to alert the bishop to local problems, difficulties with parish-
ioners, cases that ought to be reserved and referred to the bishop and
his court (curia). The evidence from Visitations would link with syn-
odal work and publication.36
Synodal legislation ranged widely across social issues as well as rec-
ondite confessional problems. Legislatory pronouncements need
careful treatment as evidence, whether of episcopal mentalities, or the
socio-religious problems of the faithful. A particular clause or decree
(as warning the priest to avoid blessing the umbilical cord along with
the baby, because it might be used in magical medicine), might result
from a single case in a remote parish, or be reflecting a widespread
local custom. Decrees might be repeated over several years in the same
diocese; or a bishop copy a decree from legislation in a totally differ-
ent area, possibly from laziness. Repetition could suggest that episco-
pal and vicarial control over malpractices was ineffective.
Perugian publications can exemplify concerns. In his first synod
(1564, published 1566), Fulvio Della Corgna (bishop 1550–53 and
1564–74), concentrated on the proper celebration of Mass and other
sacraments; he raised issues about witchcraft and the position of Jews,
and made book recommendations for the libraries of parish priests.
He reiterated the Tridentine rules on marriage – a leitmotif through
much Italian synodal legislation and one-off decrees (see Chapter 5).
There were only two topics for his second synod (1567, but known
through a 1587 reprint); the celebration of Mass, and the payment
of tithes. Notably, he wanted Masses to be timed for the convenience
of the general public, and not to suit a local patron or big-wig. Bishop
Ercolani in his 1582 synod (and its 1584 publication), ranged widely.
Like others he re-emphasised Tridentine decrees (as again on mar-
riage), reprinted a number of papal Bulls, including Pius V’s March
 EPISCOPAL LEADERSHIP 77

1566 one banning begging in church, demanding the better obser-

vation of feast days, and fulminating against the concubinous,
sodomites and blasphemers. Ercolani himself wanted a proper inves-
tigation of holy images, to be restored if damaged (and suitable); new
images were to be vetted by him. He pressed the clergy to teach
Christian Doctrine to children and ignorant adults. Such publications
were in Latin, so their impact was dependent on the Latin compe-
tence of the parish priests – not something to be fully relied upon,
especially beyond service Latin. Bishops however produced versions
of key orders and recommendations in Italian. Increasingly through
the seventeenth century bishops used Italian for public communica-
tion to general clergy, and well as for the laity.37
Much legislation and more informal pronouncements, were based
on the fact-finding Visitations.38 Various types of Visitations existed,
and can cause confusion. First we have the episcopal Visitation of
the diocese, conducted by the bishop himself, sometimes shared with
or delegated to his coadjutor bishop or a vicar general. This was
designed to investigate all the churches and religious institutions of
the diocese; conducted under normal episcopal powers, the bishop
could face jurisdictional conflicts with Religious Orders, lay confra-
ternities and hospitals, nunneries, or private princely chapels. Second
an Apostolic Visitation, conducted under somebody from outside the
diocese concerned, operated with extra jurisdictional powers and
authority from the Pope. This was used when the incumbent faced
jurisdictional difficulties, or was deemed lax by his metropolitan or
the Pope. In the first decades after Trent some notable apostolic visi-
tors appeared; such as Francesco Bossio (or Bossi). An active, austere
bishop of the Borromean model in own sees of Gravina (1568–74),
Perugia (1574–79) and Novara (1579–84), he was also employed as
an Apostolic Visitor, including by Borromeo in suffragan bishoprics
in Lombardy, as well as in Genoa and Siena. For the last in 1575 the
Congregation of Bishops gave him special powers and instruction to
enable effective visitations of hospitals and pious places (confraterni-
ties), and obtain their account books. His aggressive procedures led
to protests from the Grand Duke of Tuscany. When Borromeo him-
self encountered jurisdictional troubles, in Milan diocese itself
Gerolamo Ragazzoni (titular Bishop of Famagosta) was summoned as
a trouble-shooting (and – creating), apostolic visitor.39 Venice
strongly resisted an apostolic Visitation in 1580–81; ‘the State’s hon-
our would be impugned’, and ‘they feared that the Visitation would
threaten the Freedom of the Republic’, as the Nunzio Bolognetti
78 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

irately summarised it. What Visitors might say, and then order, about
nunneries, and the conduct of noble nuns and their families, was the
most sensitive point, as he noted. In the end the Visitors kept away
from the nunneries.40 A secular ruler could be happy to call in a spe-
cial Visitor, as Duke Vincenzo Gonzaga of Mantua did with the lead-
ing Jesuit Antonio Possevino, whom he sent in 1594 into his territory
of Monferrato involving the dioceses of Acqui, Alba, Casale, followed
by parts of the Mantuan Diocese.41
A pioneering Apostolic Visitor was Tommaso Orfini, when Pius V
gave him this role in October 1566 on his way to his own bishopric in
Strongoli. He had had prior experience in Rome itself, but he now
entered difficult territory, because he was unwelcome to state and
local political powers. He visited 10 dioceses, from Terracina to
Aversa, before he reached Naples to clear his position with the
Viceroy, Alcalà. The Pope threatened the Viceroy with an Interdict if
Orfini was not allowed to continue his work, and Philip II granted an
ambivalent permission, telling the Viceroy to deal with the Pope ‘with
all the modesty that is just and owed’. In all – by late 1568 – Orafini
visited 25 localities, involving 16 episcopal seats including
Archbishoprics of Naples and Bari. The reports were inevitably brief,
but he provided the Vatican with a sample of the deep problems of
the South against a background of poverty and ignorance –
economic, sexual, doctrinal. He managed to give a range of instruc-
tions, general and particular as he progressed. The bishops of
Conversano, Molfetta, Monopoli and Ostuni were praised as active
residents, preaching and so forth, though some of their Cathedral
clergy were scandalous. The bishops of Ferentino and Anagni were
concubinous and had children, and the latter’s Cathedral services
were confused and thoroughly deficient. The bishop and clergy of
Bitetto were too involved in commerce. Orfini found a scandalous
nunnery of Santa Chiara in Barletta (with nuns’ children running
about), supposedly supervised by Franciscans who spent their time
playing cards and games with laity. The confraternities and hospitals
of Naples were praised for their charity; while the seminary at Avellino
had completed its first year happily under a good Christian master, for
14 boys. He had time to investigate and find a gentleman’s allegation
of Lutheranism against his own brother to be false. Orafini was hardly
tested as a southern bishop himself, as he was moved to Foligno.42
Another kind of Visitation was the Visitation ad liminem. This was
essentially a paper exercise, though physical Visitations might provide
evidence for it. It was a report on the state of the diocese, which the
 EPISCOPAL LEADERSHIP 79

bishop was supposed to compose every three years, and take in per-
son to the Pope. By the turn of the century the production rate was
reasonably high, though exemptions from personal attendance were
not too difficult to obtain. Accumulating the information for these
reports required some diligence within the episcopal system to secure
information, as with Cardinal Girolamo Della Rovere’s report on his
Turin diocese, March 1590.43 Historians have obtained some valuable
information from them, as on hospitals, confraternities, pawn-
broking institutions, as well as the holding of synods or conduct of an
episcopal Visitation.44 Caution is however needed, because one
bishop might wish to stress his achievements (to stay put, or be pro-
moted to a better see), or excessively highlight the impossibility of his
diocese (as against uncooperative secular authorities), its poverty or
insalubrity, hoping to get moved, or justify staying in Rome or Naples
and not reside in a remote southern diocese.
The diocesan and Apostolic Visitations were very diversely con-
ducted, and are variable as historical evidence. Though much used
for Italian university theses, their systematic analysis has been slow
and difficult. As both David Gentilcore and Simon Ditchfield have
warned, Visitation evidence needs careful handling, best linked with
the ad limina reports and synodal legislation.45 Surviving records can
be voluminous, with pages for each church or institution; or they
might amount to a half a page per church.46 In general terms the
Visitations, as with the rarer medieval ones, gave priority to the phys-
ical state of churches and their chapels, of nunneries and their build-
ings, and to the condition of separate fraternities or hospitals;
whether buildings were properly roofed, and had windows, whether
the altars were suitably erected, with the necessary accoutrements for
the proper celebration of the Mass; whether subsidiary altars were
properly provided with priests to fulfil mass obligations, and again fit-
tingly equipped. The Visitors checked on the proper keeping of the
reserved sacrament and of holy oil; whether crucifixes and altar
pieces were in good condition, if they existed. These were the priori-
ties of the early – often rapid – post-Tridentine visitations; and
remained essential aspects all through the period, whether for later
quick visits, or as part of some very thorough inspections. Trent
emphasised that visitations should be pastoral as well as good house-
keeping. Some seemingly did come to involve a significant amount of
sermonising.
Increasingly the reports indicate that the bishop or deputy checked
whether the priest was properly licenced, how often he was present,
80 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

and if covered by a curate when legitimately absent; whether record

books of births, deaths, marriages and confession–communion were
being kept, and checked by the centre; whether the priests and curates
had necessary books such as missals and breviaries. Clearly less time
and effort was spent on checking more deeply on the suitability of the
clergy, educationally, spiritually or morally; even less on the conditions
of the parochial laity, or the brothers and sisters in a confraternity.
Some visitors checked, and reported on clergy in detail, their compe-
tence in Latin, ability to preach suitably, their knowledge of confes-
sional procedure, and what cases were reserved for the bishop, their
knowledge of the Tridentine rules on marriage; what sort of library
they possessed. Their moral position might be fully investigated, espe-
cially if the parishioners expressed worries; whether they had a con-
cubine and bastard children; if they had a housekeeper, was she a
close relative, or sufficiently old not to be sexually dangerous? The vis-
itors might more helpfully want to know if the priest was adequately
housed close by, and push the parishioners to help fund a suitable
parish house. Scrutinising the laity was more time consuming and
rare. The priest might be asked to indicate how many parishioners
were ineligible for Easter communion, because concubinous, practic-
ing prostitution, failing to make peace with neighbours grievously
offended. How far those denounced were pursued or persuaded to
reform remains obscure. Laity as well a clergy might be quizzed on
how well Christian Doctrine was imparted, how frequently Masses
were celebrated, whether clergy conducted funerals properly.
Confraternities came under increasing scrutiny, not only for the con-
dition of their chapels or separate oratories, their financial situation
and fulfilment of bequests, but also whether they attended the sick,
escorted the sacrament and holy oil to the dying and attended funer-
als. The reports basically summarise, and how much questioning in
detail went on is hard to tell. A rare example of almost verbatim
reporting appeared in the record of the 1636 visit to the rural pieve
of San Piero in Bossola (Florence diocese); four parishioners were
questioned – complaining about how the parish priest mismanaged
and left uncultivated the land for which he was responsible!47
At their best the visitation records provided a major knowledge basis
for episcopal government; ‘to know is to govern’, as suggested by the
title of Cecilia Nubola’s model analysis of the very full Visitation sur-
veys of the Trent diocese by Ludovico Madruzzo, 1579–81.48 With such
information a bishop could legislate, provide more guidance and
instructions, allocate vicars for greater supervision in rural areas, set
 EPISCOPAL LEADERSHIP 81

them to check back on deficient churches or incumbents, demand

documentation from priests or confraternity officials, summon clergy
or laity to the ecclesiastical court for questioning and trial. Even if the
frequency of visitations was not as great as wanted, and follow-up lim-
ited, their fairly regular occurrence in most dioceses at a minimal
level, was enough stimulus – as Francesco Cesareo concludes – to
improve the religious formation of the clergy and laity, recover their
spirituality, so ‘there was a general renewal taking place which signi-
fied a decisive turning point in the life of the Italian Church.’49 The
fear of Visitation and associated investigations could at least inhibit
more publicly scandalous clerical behaviour, whether positive sexual
conduct, or gross neglect of duties. Lay attendance at a Visitation is
hard to deduce. Some official records read as if nobody from the
wider community was there in the church, though that is unlikely. The
impact of a Visitation might have been greater in remote areas than in
a city parish, because rarer. Some Visitations involved heroic efforts on
the part of the bishop and his team, trekking through mountainous
areas seeking out remote villages and isolated oratories, as for Paolo
Burali through the Piacenza mountains. Borromeo’s early biographer
and former assistant, Giovanni Pietro Guissani, commented on the
arduous climbs through the Lombard mountains, often without ben-
efits of horses so that ‘the good Shepherd [Pastore] was forced to go
many miles on foot, with staff in hand, like one of the poor mountain
people, even in the cold or excessive heat. Thus he went to very many
places where the face of a bishop had never been seen before, to the
astonishment and marvel of those who saw him.’50 The appearance of
a feared archbishop like this, followed by lecturing and quizzing,
which often revealed gross ignorance and miserable church condi-
tions, must have had a considerable local impact.
Various lines of personal communication existed between the
diocesan centre and the parishes, hospitals and fraternities; notably
through various kinds of vicars or rural deacons, in rural areas, or
through canons and archdeacons in urban communities. Carlo
Borromeo’s Milan archdiocese probably pioneered with the most
widespread network of contacts, but others (including Madruzzo’s
Trent), soon followed in expanding networks, giving rural deacons
and the like more duties and powers. In particular pievani of remain-
ing collegiate ‘parishes’ (see Chapter 5), parish priests, confessors,
sometimes lesser curates, were brought together in regular meetings
under vicars or rural deacons, formally to discuss cases of conscience,
but also to give information and receive instructions. Wietze De
82 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Boer’s recent revealing study demonstrates that the Milan system

could foster a disciplining confessional society, creating some fears
for the unconventional and less moral, though encouraging the
enthusiastic. However, ways existed for less committed clergy and laity
to evade or resist excessive dictatorship.51
Episcopal reform was thus to be made effective by the interaction
of the different levels of clergy. Borromeo seemingly more than most
considered confessors as crucial. Traditionally many or most confes-
sors came from the Regular Orders. Given that jurisdictional and
discipline difficulties could arise between bishop and heads of Orders,
Borromeo tried to rely as much as possible on secular confessors,
working closely with parish priests. He desired that absolution be not
made easy, that reserved cases be properly referred to him or suffra-
gan bishops, and that in potentially serious heresy cases the penitent
be made to report him or herself to the Inquisition (since under the
secrecy of the confessional the confessor himself was not meant to dis-
close such matters). Confessors were also instructed in Borromeo’s
own edicts and most notably his 1574 Avvertenze ai confessori, to check
that parishioners were fulfilling parochial duties and observing
Christian life styles. Under the Borromean regime ‘Confessors thus
became quite literally the law enforcement officers, who were to use
their privileged access to the soul to assist in the application of church
law.’52 On present evidence Borromeo established the strongest
episcopal control network. Other bishops did not necessarily have
the same determination for such rigid control, nor the enforcing
structures.
The vicarial system – Vicars general and vicari foranei – could pene-
trate into seemingly mundane matters of fairly remote institutions; as
revealed by records for the sacrament and rosary confraternities in
Bagnacavallo (diocese of Piacenza, archdiocese of Bologna). The vicar
general and the vicario foraneo liaised in checking on confraternity offi-
cials, their relationships with and payments of Franciscan preachers,
and building activity. In 1649 the Monsignore Vicario rejected a cer-
tain Francesco Maria Vittelloni as massaro (a finance official) for the
sacrament confraternity, elected by the members, and forced a new
selection or ballot. The reasons are not given, but Vittelloni (first spot-
ted as a member in 1637) proves to be a key confraternity member
until 1702, serving as priore, the presiding official, on several occasions
from 1651 – so the veto did not inhibit him for long. Intermittent
checking might be seen as keeping institutions on edge and wary,
when resources for constant surveyance were lacking.53
 EPISCOPAL LEADERSHIP 83

Bishops could be heavily involved in jurisdictional battles, and their

powers severely circumscribed, when competing with the Religious
Orders, princely and city patronage rights, or pious institutions.
Their control over secular clergy could be very limited, as in the
appointment to benefices, ranging from those of parish priests and
curates, canons, rectors of hospitals, down to minor chaplains. The
right to appoint to benefices on a vacancy – the giuspatronato 54 – had
over the centuries been granted to princes, powerful families, monas-
teries and local communities. The right might not be just restricted
to nomination, but include rights to construct chapels, decorate
them, control incomes attached to them. In return obligations
existed to maintain all in good order, and ensure the appointee ful-
filled his functions. The patrons could be ecclesiastical or lay; in gen-
eral the former would be assumed to be more attentive to their
duties, whereas the laity had less time to commit to fulfilling obliga-
tions, as Gaetano Greco points out. Lay patrons might be more inter-
ested in prestige and economic aspects of their patronage, than
fulfilment of purpose. Patronage rights in the hands of princes,
feudal lords, cardinals and abbots, or civic authorities were also part
of the political patronage scene, ways of rewarding subordinates
(or family members), and fostering clientele networks. Episcopal
attempts to erode these in the interests of religious reform were
strongly resisted. The failure of bishops to have full control over
benefices, whether simple or with cure, was generally a major setback.
However, where on occasions ordinary parishioners had the patron-
age rights over parish priests, attitudes might be more ambivalent.
Local appointment of parish priests and chaplains might foster good
priest–parishioner relations; but in the eyes of the rigourist reform-
ers, as when Rome battled against Venice’s norm of local household-
ers naming their pievano (head priest of the parish), this could be bad
for discipline on all sides – and lead to the toleration of clerical
fornication and priests’ bastards.55
The extent of episcopal control and of alienated patronage varied
considerably, where known.56 In Pisa in the sixteenth century the laity
controlled 65 per cent of city benefices, 60 per cent of the rural; with
five of the city parishes the appointment of the parish priest was in
the hands of householders and local institutions. In Florence in the
early century 27 of 52 parishes had lay patrons, mainly patricians; half
of the 50 pievi (collegiate parishes, discussed in Chapter 5) had lay
patrons, and more than 80 of the 333 rural parishes had popular
patronage. A 1542 Neapolitan pastoral Visitation suggested that
84 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

virtually all the benefices escaped ecclesiastical authority, and this is

supported by detailed modern analysis of the church structure in a
large area around Vesuvius. In the 1590s, Bishop Montesanto of
Teramo (Abruzzi), could only freely appoint 40 of his 140 benefices;
feudal families like the Acquaviva nominated others.57 Figures for the
eighteenth century show that bishops had not made inroads into
such lay and non-episcopal control. By Grand Duke Peter Leopold’s
reforms in Tuscany in the late eighteenth century only about 37 per
cent of the parishes were under free episcopal collation. Similar
points apply to dioceses as varied as Lodi, Matera, Modena or Verona.
Gaetano Greco cites as a rare example the successful campaign by
Cardinal Vincenzo Maria Orsini (later Benedict XIII), in the Benevento
diocese to test the patronage claims of others, and reclaim episcopal
control.
The lives of bishops could be harsh and dangerous. Health haz-
ards, poverty, jurisdictional antagonisms, threats of violence could all
deter bishops from residency and activity. From 1635 (and until 1668)
a Congregation on the Residence of Bishops specifically confronted
this situation, pressurising bishops to be resident, or investigating rea-
sons to licence absence, with a provision for adequate substitute lead-
ership. It fined – lightly – some transgressors. Much of its work
concerned dioceses in the Kingdom of Naples, in a period of consid-
erable disturbance and violence, with the 1647 Masaniello revolt in
Naples being the highpoint. In the first year 69 Italian bishops (35 of
them in the Kingdom) sought dispensations from residency. Getting
suitable candidates to accept a southern diocese, and reside, was dif-
ficult; and those that did could cause or receive serious trouble.
Gerace (Calabria) had no resident bishop from 1622 to 1650, and
those who later took up the place were no models. Stefano Sculco
(1670–86) was accused of violating a young nun, was forced to resign
and confined to a Roman monastery. Bishop Pietro Paulo Russo nom-
inated to Nusco (near Salerno) in 1649 found that a vicario foraneo
had been killed leaving a threatening atmosphere, and asked for a
transfer; but without it he was killed, along with another vicario, in
1657. From nearby Lacedonia Bishop Benedetto Bortoli’s 1682
ad limina relation reported how as a sick man he had been attacked
and robbed in his palace by local brigands, who had taken him
hostage; after 32 days semi-frozen and near death he had been
released after a huge ransom had been paid (over eight times his epis-
copal income). He sought transfer to a quieter see, and to be replaced
by a more powerful incumbent capable of controlling brigands.58
 EPISCOPAL LEADERSHIP 85

This chapter has exemplified the diversity of the episcopacy, and of

the conditions under which bishops might bring beneficial changes,
or be unable and unwilling to do so. Good leadership, backed by a
suitable diocesan structure utilising cooperative contributions from
parish priests, confraternities and Religious Orders could bring much
reform. But many stumbling blocks existed. It is time to look closer at
religious and social life in the parochial localities.
5 Parish Priests and Parishioners

Reforming the Parochial Systems

In early modern Italy the parish was not a standard fixed concept, or
unit, controlling the religious life of people within a clearly defined
area. The Council of Trent aimed to create this, from a mess of
systems.1
Session 24 of the Council stipulated that bishops should aim to
create fixed and clear parish boundaries:

For the greater security of the salvation of souls committed to

them, they divide the people into definite and distinct parishes,
and assign to each its own and permanent parish priest, who can
know his people and from whom alone they may licitly receive the
sacraments … They shall also take care that the same is done as
soon as possible in those cities and localities where there are no
parish churches; any privileges and customs whatsoever, even
though immemorial, notwithstanding.2

Various parochial systems had developed through the middle ages in

Italy; more diverse than in most of Europe.3 In the centre and parts
of the south an approximation to a modern parish existed; a church
with single parish priest exercising cure of souls over the village, or a
manageable portion of the city. This church would have a baptismal
font to which local babies would be brought, unless to a Cathedral.
However, through the peninsula two collegial systems had developed,
with a large baptismal district. The better known and more prevalent
system was developed in the north under the Lombards, the pieve

86
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 87

structure. Baptismal churches (pievi) were the focus of a network of

lesser churches that would conduct other rites and services; baptisms
would take place at this mother church (except under emergency
conditions), and sometimes funeral rites had to be held there. The
leading priests were based on the pieve, travelling to exercise full cure
over the lesser churches, which would have curates unless very minor.
In many cities the Cathedral (Duomo) might be one of the baptismal
churches, even the only one. In parts of southern Italy, but notably in
Puglia, another collegiate system had developed, based on mother
churches called chiese ricettizie. Under this a college of priests collec-
tively exercised control of a network of churches, for cure of souls,
and for the common control of the property. In the pieve system bish-
ops could exercise significant control, even if others had some
patronage rights; with the chiese ricettizie, bishops found it very hard to
exercise control and jurisdiction. The Tridentine legislation was
designed to break down these collegiate systems, and to restructure
by creating more equal (in terms of population size and income)
independent parishes directly responsible to the bishop and his
diocesan team.
Pre-Tridentine reformers like G.M. Giberti of Verona and then
post-Tridentine bishops were accelerating an existing process of ero-
sion of the pievi, and move to more focused self-contained parish
churches. The southern system seemed to be harder to change,
which some historians have judged a major frustration for episcopal
reform.4 The ideal was for the parish priest to have a manageable
flock to guide and protect, knowing them well, but not being too
close to them that he became reluctant to discipline. Much facilitated
this, including the Tridentine and subsequent requirements for the
parish priest to keep records of births, marriages, deaths and of those
to be confessed and to receive Communion at Easter (the status ani-
marum registers); the norm that marriages should be concluded in
the parish church; that the Easter obligation be celebrated there.
However, dismantling all the pieve mother church system was often
resisted. Archpriests accustomed to controlling a network were reluc-
tant to abandon such influence and power. Patronage rights over
appointments to dependent churches, and control over incomes dis-
couraged change. Cathedrals like Pisa and other collegiate churches
were loath to give up calling all baptisms to their location, and allow
fonts in parishes churches.5 In Rome itself in the 1620s only 11 parish
churches had the right to conduct baptisms. However, discounting
this fixation on fonts, by the seventeenth century the modern parish
88 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

system was generally working, with the emphasis on a resident parish

priest (or his officially appointed curate). The rural vicars, vicari
foranei, provided some linkages between churches as in the pieve
system, but without undermining the improved cure of souls by the
resident priest. The terms pieve and pievano confusingly remained in
use through the seventeenth century as alternative words for parish
(parrocchia) and parish priest. In Venice the leading priest of the
parish was called the piovano. Usually elected by the parish house-
holders, he seldom served alone but led a group of priests and
curates (titolati), within his own parish.6
The restructuring in terms of equally sized and funded parishes
was problematic. Visitation records after Trent and through the sev-
enteenth century, show that urban parishes varied considerably in
population size and resources. In cities such as Perugia, Lecce,
Reggio Calabria, Naples and Rome itself we find campaigns to reduce
the number of small parishes, break up large ones, and create new
ones where the population was expanding. In Naples Archbishop
Gesualdo struggled hard to increase the number of parishes from 25
to 37 to serve a population of over 200 000 persons in the 1590s.
Perugian bishops between 1564 and 1656 reduced the number of city
and suburban parishes from 40 to 36, as the population fell from
about 20 000 to 16 000; but in 1656 two parishes were as small as 78
(suburban), and 98 (city), while the largest had 1143 souls. Rome
readjusted its parochial system, so that where 85 000 persons were
divided between 132 parishes in 1566, 115 000 were distributed across
85 parishes in the 1620s.7 The ‘lost’ small parishes enabled little
churches to be allocated to new Religious Orders or confraternities.
Restructuring in the rural contado areas was harder to implement.
Dependent pievan churches might become parish churches, and
have more functions, without gaining extra resources from the for-
mer pieve church. But in mountainous areas amalgamations of ham-
lets and villages with one parish priest made little sense, because of
communication difficulties. The diocese of Novara added 43 parishes
between 1616 and 1763, mostly in the mountains and around Lake
Garda; often under petition from remote communities, wanting
resident pastoral care.8
The answers for poor remoter parishes were to retain them still as
part of a pieve or ricettizie collegial system, or to use members of
Religious Orders, supposedly used to poverty, who would be sent out
from the monastery to serve stints as parish priests. But they were
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 89

hardly susceptible to episcopal control. The Perugian Benedictine

monastery of San Pietro claimed control of 28 benefices with cure of
souls (i.e. effectively parochial) in the Perugian or neighbouring dio-
ceses, and including one city parish (San Costanzo). When Bishop
Della Corgna during his 1564 Visitation found that the priest at the
latter did not preach at Sunday Mass, and did not understand
Transubstantiation, he launched a campaign to gain full control over
these Benedictine benefices; with no success. He and successive bish-
ops found the abbots backed by Roman Cardinals, who ensured the
abbey retained its jurisdictional rights. It was not until 1651 that San
Pietro surrendered most of its parochial benefices to episcopal con-
trol; when the economic depression in Umbria hit their farm
incomes. This threw the burden of funding the parishes onto the
bishop’s financial table – similarly under strain.9
Despite these failed campaigns, by the mid-seventeenth century the
parish church was a more coherent organisation unit for religious
and social purposes, better served by priest and/or chaplains and
confessors, and providing the community with a greater sense of
Christian values and better knowledge of basic doctrines. The num-
ber of clerics in relation to laity increased; those given cure of souls
were generally better educated, and were providing more religious
knowledge to their flock – often helped by lay men and women in
confraternities, and by the Religious Orders. Orthodox Christian
reformers had been partly successful. The obverse was that for the
immoral, those with more quizzical views on certain Christian
Doctrines, or interests in a more ‘natural’ religion, life might be more
dangerous and frustrating.

Finding Suitable Priests

Finding enough suitable priests for the parishes was a major chal-
lenge. The increased numbers of educated priests were unevenly dis-
tributed through Italy, but overall literacy, knowledge of doctrine and
liturgy improved over the period – thanks to some success stories in
the creation of diocesan seminaries, colleges run by the Religious
Orders, and other institutions, (discussed in Chapter 6). The ratio of
priests to city inhabitants increased, possibly implying better spiritual
care, but straining fiscal resources. Naples had about 1000 priests for
200 000 inhabitants in 1574; 3849 for 337 075 in 1706. Rome’s ratio
90 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

of secular priest to inhabitants changed from 1 : 81 in 1592 to 1 : 55

by 1760. Reggio Calabria more dramatically changed from only 1 : 250
in 1595 to 1 : 144 in 1642, thanks probably to two very active and
long-serving archbishops, G.R. Dal Fosso (1564–92), and A.D. Afflitto
(1593–1638), both intent on improving clerical education.
Distinguishing between fully titled parish priests, others with cure of
souls, and more foot-loose priests is often hard. In the diocese of
Novara the number having cure of souls was 309 in 1616–18, with 280
being titular parish priests, for the 186 244 inhabitants. By the mid-
eighteenth century for 230 512 persons, 389 had cure of souls, with
332 being parish priests. However, the total of secular priests rose
from 485 to 1460. In some cases more priests helped widely in the
parish, but many were serving simply as special chaplains and Mass
priests.10
The better educated clerics were not guaranteed to end up as
parish priests, or remain such for long. They might not have taken
orders for vocational reasons. Families might pressurise some sons to
enter the church as part of family strategies, whether ‘political’, social
networking or economic, as in the Trent diocese.11 Seminaries offer-
ing free places for those from poor backgrounds could be tempting,
especially under economic depression. In 1630 Bishop Alessandro
Bicchi of Imola, while Nunzio in Naples, complained to Cardinal
Francesco Barberini about too many young men seeking ordination
to secure tax exemptions.12 While bishops were not meant to ordain
to the priesthood unless a benefice was available, that one need not
be a parochial benefice. A poorly funded parish priest might soon
seek preferment as a priest attached to establishment figures in the
church or in high society; as secretaries, personal chaplains, officials
in the episcopal curia. As people continued to leave large sums in
their wills for Masses for the dead, it might be more lucrative to serve
as a Mass priest than as a parish priest.13 Men with family money and
well educated in universities, colleges or seminaries might prefer to
remain in minor orders, and purchase a potentially lucrative position
as a chiericato in a church administrative office, such as in the Camera
Apostolica and Datary, where about 4000 posts were available.14
As indicated in Chapter 4 bishops did not always have the power to
appoint parish priests, because of others’ patronage rights. The
bishop could veto, but attempting to do could be fraught with diffi-
culties if the patron was powerful, or if the Bishop faced awkward
household electors – as in the system operating in most Venetian
parishes, and at least five Paduan ones.15 However, in trying to
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 91

improve the situation and battle against the old patronage systems,
bishops could have local support. Borromeo and his team in 1564
found the commune of Montorfano (within the Gagliano pieve),
ready to reject its parish priest, because he was never there to cele-
brate, and ‘so rightly he should be deprived of every benefice’; an
encouraging sentiment for reformers. Later, in 1583, the commune
of Limido rejected their priest because he would rather play cards
and seduce women during confession, than confess the dying (who
thus died unabsolved); and he would not support the work of the lay
confraternity, Corpus Domini. ‘We do not wish him, not because we
are not ready to obey, but because the scandals are great.’16
Visitation records suggest that over the decades those appointed
parish priests were better educated, through a variety of systems, not
just seminaries. That education did not guarantee better morality, or
pastoral care (Chapter 6). How much checking on the suitability of
candidates for the priesthood, and for a benefice was effected, is
unclear. The Spanish contingent at Trent in particular had wanted all
such appointments to be through a concorso: the bishop examining
those responding to a general appeal. Its operation in Italy is patchily
revealed, for example, in Rome, and in Pisa where examiners,
Essaminatori Sinodali, were appointed to impose a concorso even on
benefices under lay patronage. In areas where priests moved about
and applicants were not local, it was hard to test qualifications, or be
sure of the legitimacy of licenses and testimonials. However, the con-
corso system was used fairly rigorously in Marche dioceses, 1570s to
1590s, with members of Orders helping the bishops. Applicants’
weaknesses were revealed, their lack of Latin, inability to preach sen-
sibly and their ignorance of the Gospels. But a good winner of an
Ancona concorso in 1592 declined the offer when he found that the
parish was burdened by a pension, leaving him little income. Others
who could read well also were unwilling to serve. Economic difficul-
ties worked against getting the best candidates outside the leading
cities.17 Some bishops, as in Faenza, preferred to settle for candidates
with a good reputation, and an ability to administer the sacraments
properly and frequently, over formal education. Visitors, as in 1574 to
the poor diocese of Comacchio, which could not afford its own sem-
inary, recognised that the bishop would have to accept poor quality
parish priests and canons.18 Bishops might be pressurised over
appointments, by canons, powerful families or Roman dignitaries.
Incumbents might bargain their resignation for naming their succes-
sor (a relative) and with a right to reclaim if desired.19
92 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Incomes for parish priests were usually meagre, and theoretically

adequate incomes could be plundered for pensions for a patron or
others. Further, well-qualified priests might be appointed and then
appoint less suitable deputies on a fraction of the income, and them-
selves pursue other lucrative careers in the church, or elsewhere. A
Venetian patrician, who was an absentee titular parish priest of
Saletto (in the Padovano), with a supposed income of 260 ducats,
paid his deputed chaplain just 30 ducats (when 100 ducats was an
adequate level of remuneration).20 Poor parish priests might supple-
ment incomes by saying special masses elsewhere (to the detriment of
their main flock), or by teaching. Many had to have secular-based
incomes. Paduan Visitation records from 1560 to 1594 show priests as
also being merchants and farmers; and records for southern dioceses
indicate the same later, with priests notably involved in the olive oil
business. Sometimes bishops, recognising the financial realities,
licenced such extra-curial activities. The financial position often wors-
ened in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; priests’ incomes
based on rents from long leases could not be readily updated for
inflation, and parishioners under their own pressures might strike
against tithes, as in the Kingdom of Naples.21 Playing a secular role
alongside parishioners could limit their disciplinary powers, and
moral leadership, as well their time for pastoral care.
The origins of parish priests, again from still limited analysis, are
shown to be very variable. The seminary system (and allied colleges),
encouraged recruiting both from upper echelons of society (with
families paying for places), and from poor but honest families, with
free places. An analysis of 188 pupils in the Milan seminary 1568–76,
whose parental origins are known, suggests that 40.9 per cent came
from the upper classes (18 per cent nobles, military and investors;
22.8 per cent from liberal professions and merchants), while 10 per
cent were agricultural and 7 per cent labouring. Artisans dominated
the middling sector, with some others being teachers and scrivani (let-
ter and document writers). But as the official Milanese documenta-
tion noted, only about 20 per cent of its diocesan clergy by 1599 was
coming with a seminary background. The others would almost cer-
tainly have had a middle-lower social background.22 Seminarians and
priests from upper levels of society might find it harder to adjust to
small town or rural parishes, while the long period spent in a semi-
nary away from the family through teenage years might inhibit deal-
ings with secular families in the parish. The hierarchy in the Bologna
archdiocese at least recognised with some compassion that their
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 93

priests might be intellectually and socially isolated, as well as physi-

cally, in the remoter parishes.23
The geographical origins of priests varied. Under the southern
ricettizie system priests were likely to be from local families, utilising
the patronage system. In the north Pisa, Trent and Novara are known
to have recruited locally; Novara had about 90 per cent of its parish
priests born in the diocese, with significant numbers from well-off
families. Novara was good at clerical training. The Venetian house-
hold electoral system chose clerics from fairly humble backgrounds
in the Veneto, if not the city itself. For much of Italy clerical appoint-
ments involved long-distance moving, with Rome scattering many.
Reformers had to balance between having priests who were ‘distant’,
who could exercise discipline and not show favouritism, but not too
alien to have no understanding of the local community; against
recruiting locals who might comprehend individual or family issues,
but become compromised by them. This affected local attitudes to
the priest’s moral conduct, and notably continuing concubinage (see
below).

The Duties of Parish Clergy

Following Trent the duties of parish priests and their assistants

increased considerably, both in strictly religious obligations, and
wider social and administrative roles imposed by secular as well as
church authorities. They were under pressure to have a major
parochial Mass every Sunday and on major feasts, when they were to
give a sermon, or at least read from some religious text. Normally,
baptisms and marriages were to be parochial church events. With or
without the assistance of confraternities or Regulars, they were to
teach Christian Doctrine regularly to children, and adults found too
ignorant of basic doctrines (tested before marriage). While it was
only obligatory to confess and receive communion at Easter, religious
reformers encouraged more frequent confession and communion,
with many confraternities, and increasingly lone women from the
upper levels of society, being enthusiasts. Such added priests’ duties,
and encouraged the fuller use of licenced confessors, whether
Regulars or other secular clergy. Priests were pressed to be assiduous
in visiting the sick and dying at home, taking them the sacrament and
holy oil. Given reformers’ desire to locate lay confraternities in parish
churches under parochial supervision, the parish priests had to spend
94 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

more time saying masses for them, hearing confessions, attending

meetings, even if these societies also paid for other non-parochial
clergy (see Chapter 7).
The parish clergy had to keep fuller records on their parishioners –
and report on them. While the church had expected priests to regis-
ter births, baptisms and deaths, Tridentine rules and subsequent
episcopal policies helped ensure their being kept, and shown to
Visitors and vicars general. Given the new rules on marriage (see
below), marriage registers were added to the cupboard. More intru-
sively priests were now required to keep status animarum (literally
state of the souls) records. Primarily these were household registers
indicating who should be confessing and communing at Easter, who
was not yet of age, and who, though of age, was ineligible (and under
religious penalties), because living in concubinage, being prostitutes,
or refusing to make peace with neighbours, as in a vendetta, or after
manslaughter (as a prerequisite for absolution). Such investigations
by the parish priest and his assistants could obviously be intrusive; but
also beneficially lead to better pastoral care of those in trouble and
need, as sampled Roman parish records demonstrated.24 Detailed
sampling proves that the clergy varied considerably in their enthusi-
asm for recording or omitting the moral backsliders, even if thorough
in counting each household unit. The clergy in cities like Bergamo,
Bologna, Rome and Venice utilised the information to help decide
which parochial poor and sick at home needed assistance (Chapter 7).
The diocesan system both pushed and pulled the parish clergy into
reform; through formal and informal visits, calls to meetings for con-
fessional problems or synods, and through printed instructions. From
the mid-sixteenth century the expansion of printing assisted the new
parochial regimes, provided the priests and chaplains could read –
though my viewing several editions of Missals, Breviaries and
Catechisms of the later sixteenth century indicates that their small,
cramped format was hardly user friendly. The clergy were expected to
have a basic library – how basic depended on episcopal views. If
Bishop Comitoli of Perugia in 1600 did not want the priest to ‘read
books, letters or other writings beyond what was necessary for saying
the Offices’,25 Bishop Signicelli of Faenza in his 1569 synod had an
optimistic list of recommendations: a bible with commentary by an
approved author, the Roman Catechism, a Ritual and a Ceremonial for
celebrating Mass, a homily book for Sunday and feast day instruction,
manuals about the sacraments, a guide (prontuario) for solving moral
cases. He should also have a Summa manual for guiding him through
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 95

confessions (preferably one of the old favourites, the Armilla or

Antonina), along with the pastoral rule of Gregory the Great and
St John Chrysostom’s dialogue on the priesthood. The constitutions
of the 1568 Ravenna Provincial Council were also required. The 1615
Faenza synod shortened this list: Bible, Catechism, Trent decrees, a
Life of Christ and the Saints, and a Summa for cases of conscience.
Archbishops and bishops like Borromeo (as in his 1569 Brescia
synod), Paleotti, Bollani, Della Corgna, Panigarola all produced simi-
lar recommendations, while Paleotti stressed that for those weak in
Latin a vernacular manual by St Antonino would suit.26 Panigarola
when bishop of Asti attached a simple Italian guide for being a good
priest to his formal synodal decrees; and bishop G.B. Costanzo of
Cosenza in 1606 produced a guide (Avvertimento per l’offitio del Rettor
Curato), which by 1609 he sent out to all parish priests for their library.
Inevitably the actual size and content of parochial libraries varied
considerably – from 22 to 225 volumes in Rimini’s urban parishes in
the 1570s and 1580s – though some cupboards might be bare. In
poorer areas monastic libraries could assist the local priests.27 What
puritan reformers did not want was the more interesting library of a
Paduan parish priest in 1559. He had useful and acceptable works,
such as Missals, Breviaries, St Antonino’s Confessionale, St Jerome’s
Epistles, works on marriage, on confessing nuns, on the spiritual life
and a good death. He had Malerbi’s vernacular Bible of 1502 – not
yet completely banned. But he also possessed Dante’s Divine Comedy,
Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso, Pulci’s Morgante, Bernardo Accolti’s La
Virginia, works by Poliziano, Martelli, Pietro Aretino (on Genesis),
and a history in Castilian.28
Few parish priests can be brought to life, and good examples
deserve more space than is available here. I have previously cited
Valentino Giovio in Perugia as an example of the reform of priestly
conduct through the 1560s and 1570s, serving parish, confraternities
and bishop.29 Wietze De Boer has noted Hieronimo Di Basti, the
curate of Malgrate in Lombardy, on a learning curve under
Borromean reform.30 That a remote area could long hold an edu-
cated and dedicated priest is exemplified by Father Matteo Pinelli
(1577–1669), who served as parish priest in Cerliano in the remote
Tuscan Mugello 1606–69, in succession (by popular vote of the parish
householders) to an uncle who had brought him up. His own surviv-
ing writings show him musical (especially as organist), literary
(admiring Petrarch, and composing a poem attacking tobacco), ded-
icated to repairing and embellishing his parish church, educating
96 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

children through a confraternity he created in an oratory he helped

have built, and sustaining his flock through plague and economic
crises. At parishioners’ request he rejected an invitation to move to
a better parish. He ran a large household of relatives (10 in 1649).
From his seeming remoteness he could contact other educated
clergy, including friends and mathematical correspondents of Galileo
and a leading Florentine counsellor.31

The Parish Church as Focus

From the laity’s viewpoint the parish church and its clergy became
more important as reforms were imposed, sometimes lessening loyal-
ties towards the religious houses and lesser chapels, though the faith-
ful having fulfilled duties within the parish church were free to attend
services elsewhere. The parish church and its environs (such as por-
ticos), as a significant public space, had been used for secular
purposes – business meetings, trading, petitioning, and social encoun-
ters licit and illicit. It provided sanctuary from the law – if not always
respected. Such uses were discouraged, though not fully eliminated,
while more frequent religious usage was fostered or enforced. Public
Masses on Sundays and feast days, with sermons or at least homiletic
readings, should have been regular. Baptisms and weddings were nor-
mally now to be in the parish church. Some teaching of Christian
Doctrine to children and some adults was to take place in church on
a regular basis (Chapter 6). The number of lay confraternities based
in the parish church increased, especially in smaller communities,
which brought at least select parishioners into church more often for
prayers, saying the rosary, attending Vespers and Offices of the Virgin
(Chapter 7). Through such confraternities the laity often played signif-
icant roles in improving the physical conditions of the churches, their
decoration, their sacred vessels, and providing organs and music.
While normal daily or weekly practice is hardly documented, the sup-
position is that the ordinary Sunday Mass was better conducted on aver-
age than before, with better instructed priests, curates and acolytes,
guided by the printed official literature. The number of feast days sup-
posedly of obligation, necessitating abstention from work, increased.
Sometimes bishops voluntarily or under pressure reduced local feasts,
so that people could have enough days to work for themselves, and not
just for landlords. They were exposed to more sermons, but these could
attract and cause interaction, being in the vernacular, as Jean Delumeau
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 97

argued. The main service in Latin had limited congregational partici-

pation, without singing or vocal prayer. More attention was given to the
Eucharist, the display and honour of the Host, with churches cleared of
impediments to viewing the high altar. The Visitations checked that
altars were equipped for the respectable, even showy, celebration of the
Mass. Seating was limited, encouraging perambulation, though some
Visitors and bishops tried to ensure that partitions kept males and
females separate to reduce distractions.32 Wealthier parish churches
increasingly had organs. Confraternities might use them for laude
singing in other ceremonies than the Mass. Some parish churches
might be elaborately decorated for major Church feasts, have Christmas
cribs, or elaborate scenic structures and lighting for the Forty-Hour
(Quarantore) celebrations – though these were more the speciality of
confraternities and Jesuits (see Chapters 7, 9 and 10).
The laity continued to use churches and their environs for their
own celebrations beyond official church services, and came under
attack for doing so, as indicated in synodal legislation. Carlo
Borromeo had campaigned vigorously against dancing on Sundays
and feast days, in or anywhere near a church; in the 1570s he made
this offense a reserved case, punishable even by excommunication,
and liable to public penances. The Jesuits weighed in with relentless
sermon campaigns, such that in one village in Lent 1575 ‘the peasants
were too frightened to dance and dress up in costume, and so regret-
ted their numerous sins committed at that time that they began to call
on (the Jesuits) to confess their sins’. However, parish priests regularly
asked Milan to be able to absolve this offence. A Senator Scipione
Suarez di Canova attacked the Vimercate provost for threatening
dancers with excommunication and banning unmarried women par-
ticipating from marrying for two years; these were ‘scandalous words,
contrary to all reason’. In 1579, Gregory XIII was told by Milanese
secular leaders that attacks on dancing undermined time-honoured
procedures by which ‘many marriages are born’.33 The extreme form
of the campaign seems to have petered out, though bishops every-
where may have tried to keep dancing out of the church itself.
Bologna was still condemning dancing in church in 1698.
Vigils of major feasts remained occasions for entertainment and
superstitious practices; for eating, drinking, great noises to frighten
away evil spirits, as on Holy Thursday or – in Perugia and Cortona – all
through Holy Week early in the morning. The celebration of John the
Baptist’s feast (24 June) remained popular, with bells ringing through
the night, ritual bathing for purification and renewal, young persons
98 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

in particular collecting special herbs for prognosticating love matches

or medicinal remedies. Southern dioceses had such festivities in and
out of church at Christmas as well. Local clergy were probably com-
placent about such activities, if not complicit.34 More alarmingly,
churches continued to be used as refuges for criminals and bandits.35
Tridentine reform sought greater parochial control over the rites
of passage, involving a major struggle over marriage, if not baptism
and burial. Baptisms were to be registered through parochial records,
and unless the child’s life was in danger the baptism should be in the
recognised baptismal font (in Cathedral, pieve or parish). In an emer-
gency a lay person, such as the midwife, could baptise the baby.
Registering births had been more common pre-Trent than any other
church recording, so this was easier to enforce.36 The reforming
church required the recording of godparents, who were held respon-
sible for registering the birth; and it sought to limit the numbers
of godparents to two or three. In the past for social reasons, such
as ‘protection’ and networking, families named many protecting
godparents. Godparenting, however created spiritual relationships
inhibiting marriage alliances, and this could be a serious complica-
tion in closely knit communities. Even with limits on godparents,
post-Tridentine bishops, as in Piedmont, found themselves under
pressure to give dispensations for marriages that otherwise broke
rules of spiritual relationship as well as consanguinity, because of a
shortage of eligible partners. In dealing with baptisms practices var-
ied as to whether still-births and early post-natal births should be
recorded, whether illegitimacy should be noted (with the formula
‘ex damnato coitu’). Episcopal legislation attacked various unaccept-
able popular practices associate with baptisms, such as ringing bells to
ward off evil and preserve the child’s life – supposedly a Venetian
habit. Priests were warned to ensure they did not end up blessing the
umbilical cord also (useful for medicinal cures), or extraneous
objects that might be used for later magical practices. Synods such as
those of Cervia (1577) and Melfi (1675) suggested baptising the child
naked; but in (colder) Aosta the apostolic visitor G.F. Bonomi in
1576, and Nunzios later, condemned this procedure.37

Betrothal and Marriage

In the Council of Trent the Church laid claim to full control over
betrothals and marriages, especially in the main decree, Tametsi
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 99

(Chapter 2). Ludvig von Pastor saw reform of the family, and marriage
in particular, as the most important conciliar programme after the
reform of the clergy.38 Subsequent conciliar and synodal legislation
testified to the perceived importance of the topic, and the difficulties
in persuading the laity to obey the rules.
The Council demanded, however, that a marriage be canonically
validated by being witnessed by a priest (normally the parish priest of
one partner), and two other witnesses, with the use of an approved
formula, ‘Ego vos in matrimonio coniungo, in nomine Patris et Filii
et Spiritus Sancti’ [I join you in marriage, in the name of the Father,
Son and Holy Spirit), or similar in Latin or Italian according to
provincial usage. This was preceded (unless by special episcopal
dispensation), by public announcements (banns) in the parish
church(es), on three previous feast days to ensure no impediments
existed. Those contracting clandestine marriages, or evading these
procedures, committed mortal sins, and were subject to ecclesiastical
punishments. The couple might be sacramentally wed in the eyes of
God, but the Church could put them asunder until due canonical
process was fulfilled. The sacramental bond could not be annulled, so
while the couple might never come together again, they could not
marry another until the original partner was dead. The Church did
not demand parental or guardian consent to a marriage of minors,
though advised it should be sought; but some secular rulers, from
Duke Emmanuele Filiberto of Savoy in 1566 to Grand Duke Peter
Leopold of Tuscany in the later eighteenth century, made it a civil
offence to marry without such consent.
How quickly the new rules were enforced, and records of marriages
kept is not clear, given the patchiness of suitable Church documents.
Records for the southern area of Cilento (dioceses of Capaccio, Vallo
di Lucania and Policastro), suggest a persistence of clandestine and
irregular marriages through the period, even an increase in the eigh-
teenth century.39 The Church in Italy turned marriage into a Church
matter, confining notaries to a secular role for dowries, and removing
them as marriage makers. Ecclesiastical courts became the arbiters of
valid marriages. The Church did not produce a formal marital liturgy.
Gabriele Paleotti for his Bolognese parish priests provided a guide on
what should or could be involved, with comments on the importance
of marriage. He emphasised the need for banns, and a check on
impediments to forestall later complications; the desirability of
parental consent. He wanted priests to check the couple knew the
Pater Noster, Ave Maria and Ten Commandments. The wedding
100 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

ceremony should not be a fashion display, but conducted in a seemly

manner; no dance music or ‘ridiculous spectacles’ on the way to or
from the church, or excessive feasting – but he was not banishing suit-
able hilarity. The wedding itself should consist of the Mass, the blessing
of the ring, a sermon, and the final linking of the couple under a veil.
A final blessing on the couple as they left the church was desirable; but
only for those of the parish, and only for the first marriage, not for wid-
ows or widowers. The blessing was to be delayed if the wedding was in
a closed season – from the first Sunday in Advent to Epiphany, and
from the beginning of Lent until the Easter octave. How common such
helpful guides were elsewhere in Italy is not clear.40
The constant repetition of Tametsi, or similar decrees, in synodal
legislation, as well as warnings to parish priests from vicars to
announce the rules from the pulpit, and enforce them, suggest a long
uphill struggle to get the laity and clergy, to conform fully. It had to
be emphasised that a valid betrothal (de futuro), was no longer turned
into a valid marriage by consummation; new witnessed promises were
needed. We know from court records that in dioceses like Padua and
Feltre people long believed that ‘consent makes a marriage’ without
benefit of clergy. Courts themselves could be confused over differ-
ences between future and present promises, and were quite free with
dispensations to ‘regularise’ irregular ‘marriages’, presumably in the
interest of social harmony.41 In some supplementary interpretations,
even if vows de presenti were properly exchanged, the couple was not
to consummate until receiving a nuptial blessing at a solemn Mass;
and that might be delayed, as Paleotti indicated. In the southern dio-
cese of Capaccio (under Salerno), couples were excommunicated for
cohabiting before receiving such a nuptial blessing to complete the
process. The same records suggest that it was there reasonably easy to
obtain a licence from a vicar general to have a wedding celebrated in
a church other than the parish(es) of the couple, and even in a pri-
vate house.42
A priest had to be present to make a wedding canonically valid; but
he need not explicitly consent, nor even speak to validate it. The
Congregation of the Council ruled in 1581 that a marriage was still
legal even if the priest was present under some compulsion, provided
two other witnesses were involved. In Manzoni’s famous nineteenth-
century historical novel (set in seventeenth-century Lombardy), I
Promessi Sposi (The Betrothed), the ploy attempted by the lovers – trying
to complete their marriage by exchanging vows de presenti when their
priest was under pressure from a local baron to stop it – could have
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 101

been judged successful in reality had the couple managed to say the
magic words while the priest was still present in the room. Pope
Benedict XIV indicated that such ploys to evade clerical and parental
approval were a menace still in the eighteenth century.43
In contrast to lovers wanting to marry against opposition, parents
or guardians tried to force marriages against the wishes of one or
both in a putative marriage, as of old. Tridentine legislation trying to
ensure genuine consent by the couple did not prevent pressures con-
tinuing. However, some partners were able to secure annulments or
legal separations because they had been forced into marriage, as
Joanne Ferraro’s recent study of the Patriarch of Venice’s court
records has shown.44 Cases were made that a woman out of ‘grave
fear’ (not just ‘reverential fear’) of parents and other relatives had
been forced to agree to a marriage promise, that she had been simi-
larly forced to consummate it, without love or consent. The court
could then annul the marriage (so the couple could marry chosen
partners), or at least order a separation, significantly meaning the
return of the dowry to the woman. Real fear nullified the sacrament;
and consummation, if under fear, would not inhibit a new marriage.
A husband might even consent and not contest the woman’s plea,
when he realised she would never willingly be a wife, and her family
had frightened her into it; as in the case of Lorenzo Comelli and
Paolina Pirron in 1629 (though it took 15 years to reach this agree-
ment). Ferraro’s study suggests that forced marriages were quite com-
mon, and that people from all levels of society, at least in Venice,
could secure a remedy. Camilla Belloto, daughter of a silk weaver and
a prostitute, in 1617 initiated a case for formal separation alleging her
husband, textile worker from Palmanova in Friuli, had married her to
exploit her as a prostitute, so he was not a true husband. When this
claim failed, she was successful in 1620 with a different claim for
annulment, that her tyrannical father had forced her into the
marriage, had ‘sold’ her to the husband for prostitution.45
Annulment, effectively ‘divorce’ even if the Church did not admit
that word, and separation could come for other reasons than fear-
forced original contracts and forced consummation. ‘Divorce’ might
be used when a court officially ordered or ratified a permanent sepa-
ration of a couple, who could not marry again. Original deceptions,
failure to understand what was happening as an ‘innocent’, cruelty
during the marriage, abandonment and other factors could all be
involved, though a failure by one of the partners to consummate the
marriage was a common claim – whether or not the ‘true’ cause.
102 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Oscar Di Simplicio’s study of Sienese cases shows that courts accepted

not only adultery, but physical violence as grounds for a separation
order, especially when a wife indicated she would rather be impris-
oned than return to a cruel husband. Husbands secured separations
following the wife’s immorality, desertion or scolding.46 Many wit-
nesses might be called, and much prurient evidence offered, before
a decision was reached. Theatricality and fictionalisation to assist a
case was evident, as well as human tragedies and miseries. Many peti-
tioners were mature and acting long after the initial contract. In
entertaining such cases, and granting significant numbers of separa-
tions, and even annulments, the Church was recognising that
Tridentine procedures to guarantee voluntary consensual marriages
were not that successful, and that subsequent marital breakdown
could be recognised.
Many popular practices and beliefs surrounding marriage came
under synodal attack. Condemnations may reflect just one case, or a
prevalent habit. Various synods told priests to ensure engaged couples
attended church when banns were read; according to the 1577 Rimini
synod, some feared they would go deaf on hearing the announce-
ment. Many condemned those who consummated the relationship
between betrothal and banns ‘on the pretext of avoiding witchcraft
which will impede copulation’ (Rimini 1624); they should be kept
apart and surveyed until all ceremonies were completed (Perugia
1575). Alternatively, the couple might avoid sex for some time after
the blessing, to deceive witches and demons who might attempt to
harm conception – ‘The Nights of Tobias’, as this was called. The con-
demnation of drinking at church weddings (as from Milan 1565 or
Anagni 1596), along with attacks on old habits of toasting, then break-
ing glasses and plates on the church floor, throwing grains, distribut-
ing foods, making a pie with live birds in it (with sexual implications,
Viterbo 1584), muttering obscenities in the groom’s ear may eventu-
ally have produced more sober church scenes. But it was probably
harder to eliminate the jokes, horse-play, obscenities and rough music
accompanying the couple to and from church, as discouraged by
Paleotti, and condemned by Perugian bishops in 1600 and 1632.
Widows might be deprived by church leaders of a second blessing on
remarriage, but bishops tried to curb public animosities against sec-
ond marriages, condemning the practices of ‘scampanate’: the loud
ringing of bells and other noises as they went to church (alleviated or
stopped if she paid a fine, or distributed wine). Sometimes such activ-
ities were organised by local youth societies, youth abbeys, as in
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 103

Piedmont, which led a number of popular religious practices, enter-

tainments, and social-inversion critiques of society. Such procedures
against remarrying widows (punished for making life difficult for
younger unweds), persisted in such varied parts of Italy as Basilicata,
Montefeltro and the Valtellina until the early twentieth century –
reflecting limits to episcopal control and legislatory fulminations.47
In a more positive vein, bishops and parish priests offered com-
ments and guidance on Christian marriage. While Carlo Borromeo
followed the traditional teaching that marriage was an inferior status
to celibacy, and a remedy against fornication and sin, he was ready to
stress, as in his 1584 homily, that a good Christian marriage was the
foundation of a stable society, and the way to bring up moral chil-
dren; marriages planned for status and money created disorder.
Paleotti appended to his earlier mentioned guide for curates 24 ser-
mons, in different styles, they might use, or adapt. For him marriage
gave three benefits – faith, offspring and a sacrament (sermons 1
and 10). A voluntary matrimonial union was of a divine and human
nature, like Christ’s union with his Church (3, 10 and 12). He used
the Old Testament story of Tobias (a standard text in the Vulgate, if
banished to the Apocrypha in King James’ Anglican Bible), to stress
the desirability of a suitable preparation for marriage, (sermons 2
and 7). The parish priest might still pick a sermon about marriage
being a remedy against illicit sex and sin (sermons 3 and 6).48

Confession

The relationship between parishioner and priest was likely to be clos-

est, most fraught or most satisfying through the process of confession,
penance and absolution. As already indicated reforming bishops
were intent on priming parish priests, as well as specialist confessors,
to conduct confessions effectively, and to discuss general problems
arising in meetings of clergy. The place of confession in early modern
religion and society has been, and remains, hotly contested.49 Some
have seen the Reformation as partly caused by unease about the
tyranny of the fifteenth century confessional procedure (as notably
attacked in the north by Oecolampadius), as manuals encouraged a
greater intrusion into the lives of the public. Possibly in light of this,
Bartolomeo Fumo’s well recommended Summa (1554), warned
confessors not to be interrogators, not seek too many details about
other people, and just encourage the penitent to speak willingly; to
104 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

pressurise only when the penitent was excessively reticent. Neapolitan

archbishops warned that excessive questioning might incite to sin,
and the 1614 Roman Ritual cautioned that confessors risked putting
ideas into young persons’ heads through direct questioning.50
However some modern scholars argue that post-Tridentine reformers
led by Borromeo and his admirers created an intrusive confessional
society, with the parishioners pressurised by parish priest, specialist
confessors, and the inquisitors.51 However, some eagerly sought
confession, as clearly not onerous. Borromeo, and later Roberto
Bellarmine themselves complained that absolution was too easily
granted by most priests and confessors.
Confession became more common, and more private. The long
running campaign for more frequent communion for the laity, by
confraternities, Jesuits, lay reformers like Buonsignore Cacciaguerra,
bishops like Agostino Valier, necessarily meant more frequent confes-
sion as prelude; though one suspects that confessions other than
before Easter Communion might be brief and perfunctory, if it was a
private individual act at all. The introduction of the ‘secret’ confes-
sional box has been noted as a significant post-Tridentine innovation,
fostered most by Borromeo, even if he was not the inventor (but pos-
sibly Gian Matteo Giberti in Verona), and later described in his
Instructiones on architecture.52 The wooden confessional was to have a
chair for the confessor, and a kneeling place for the penitent, with a
partition and grill to separate them; all basically within an enclosed
box. It was designed to give specific place within the church for pri-
vate confession; and to inhibit physical contact between confessor
and penitent. Contrary to later discussion, and practice, it was not
designed to hide the priest, introduce anonymity between confessor
and penitent, or shield from the rest of the church that a confession
was taking place. It was to prevent overhearing the confession, but
especially to limit the chance of unseemly contact, especially with
female penitents. From 1565 a number of dioceses besides Milan rec-
ommended the construction of partitioned confessionals, including
in Bologna, Brescia and Fiesole. Later they could become elaborate
structures incorporated into new architectural designs – as in San
Fedele, Milan or San Paolo, Bologna. By the early seventeenth cen-
tury, Visitors were regularly checking on their installation in humbler
parish churches.
The confessional structure may have encouraged greater voluntary
confession, with some physical separation, and avoidance of direct
eye contact. Lawrence Stone argued that Catholic private confession,
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 105

in contrast to Protestant practices, provided for many a safety valve,

relief from guilt, especially over sexual matters; provided the confes-
sor was not too inquisitorial. Lay enthusiasm for confession may be
adduced from seventeenth-century printed literature and illustra-
tions popularising techniques of self-examination and confession.
Many women, up to the mid-sixteenth century often reluctant to
attend confession, may have been attracted to frequent confession, as
a socially acceptable way of leaving the house, meeting other women
in church, and as a chance to discuss personal, including sexual, and
family matters outside the household, and with more or less guaran-
teed secrecy. Giovanni Romeo suggests the development of female
confession as a mass movement, encouraged by Jesuits. Neapolitan
women developed strong bonds with particular confessors, preferably
parochial or regular Regulars, rather than a less known itinerant con-
fessor. The confessor might be carefully selected, to avoid excessive
sexual control or condemnation. Confession could be a healing and
comforting process, as well as punitive and threatening.53
The threatening nature of the confessional process, for some,
cannot be denied. Borromeo’s system undoubtedly tried to use the
confessional to unmask heresy, if not sexual misdemeanours. He took
full advantage of the authority given by Trent to bishops to vet and
licence confessors from the Orders, and to build them into a network
of confessional control.54 As serious Protestant heresy diminished,
intrusions went deeper into undesirable social behaviour. In dealing
with heresy Borromeo organised his confessors to use penance and
absolution to bring about conversion; he almost bullied his confes-
sors to prevent them being too lax in absolving before the penitent
showed contrition, and recognition of errors of belief and ways.
Confession could readily become a trial procedure. Absolution could
be delayed to establish genuine recantation. Non-parochial regular
confessors were urged to cooperate with parish priests to secure a full
picture of the penitent’s record. Borromeo increased the range of
cases that had to be reserved for confession and absolution by bish-
ops, vicars general and Cathedral penitentiaries, which might add to
the fear of penitents. From archbishop to parish priest the power of
imposing public penances to secure absolution aided a strong disci-
plining process and fear mechanism. The confession was meant to be
secret, the confessor not meant to reveal what was confessed, even if
to a murder, rape, or serious heretical beliefs. The public penance
could partly reveal the sins at issue and add to shame. Borromeo led
the way in following a 1559 Bull and subsequent Inquisition order
106 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

that confessors should question penitents whether they knew heretics

and what they did or said, and whether they had prohibited books. If
they gave a positive reply they had to be made to report to an
Inquisition tribunal, without absolution. Inquisition records do not
indicate that priests and confessors broke the confessional seal to tell
the Inquisition what the penitent had confessed; but many suppos-
edly ‘voluntary’ appearances and self-denunciations must have been
under such pressure. This transferral of investigation could lead to
naming others and causing them trouble (avoided in a normal con-
fession), as Vienna Bertapaia uncomfortably realised in having to
denounce her son-in-law to the Venetian tribunal in 1576, to avoid
her own excommunication.55 (See Chapter 9.)
The confessional seal of secrecy worried many, priests and laity.
Lombard congregations of clergy at least, and Jesuits, debated
whether dire changing circumstances meant it could sometimes be
broken; or broken after the penitent’s death to do right for heirs or
neighbours. Trent had insisted that secrecy was a social necessity even
if not divinely ordained. Bassiano Staurengo, addressing fellow priests
in the pieve of Incino insisted on it, on both sacred and efficacious
grounds. He noted that parishioners were fearful of confessing all
sins ‘to the greatest detriment of their soul, because the devil tells
them to be cautious’, and:

As for myself, even if the penitent were firmly committed to killing

his own confessor or had assassinated my relatives, this would not
allow me to accuse him, nor to use it as an excuse of anger, nor to
show him any sign of this. The holy Mother Church wills all this, so
that nobody will remain contaminated and all sinners will feel safe
to confess.56

The fear of the indiscreet confessor and of gossip was an obvious fac-
tor, and might lead to continuing protests against the sacrament of
confession, as among Venetian Arsenal workers in 1562.57

Peacemaking

Some reformers campaigned to counteract the social tensions, feuds

and vendettas in villages, parishes and urban neighbourhoods.
Reconciliation between neighbours was a target of confessional
priests, and major preachers. Confessors could require penitents to
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 107

make peace with their neighbours, or offended parties, before grant-

ing absolution. Carlo Borromeo in a 1581 Lenten address said that
before the Easter sacrament people ‘should abandon all hatred and
enmity, and arrange for peace with everybody’. On Visitations he
exercised personal influence to bring disputants to reconcile them-
selves. Cardinal Federico Borromeo followed a similar campaign in
his preaching and Visitations. Paleotti himself went into mountain
fastnesses to persuade hiding unconfesseds to return home to make
peace, be absolved and receive communion. Peacemaking could be a
sizable problem for the parish; in 1567 the chaplain of San Vittore in
Varese reported that 46 apt for communion had failed to confess; 16
of these involved social conflicts, such as vendettas, legal suits, con-
flicts over honour. Priests quite often reported that parishioners
adamantly refused to reconcile themselves over disputes, but Lombard
correspondence shows priests battling against serious threats and
abuse to achieve some reconciliations, with the increasing backing of
the Religious Orders.58
Preaching peacemaking, practiced by Capuchins and Jesuits most
notably, had an honourable tradition. Most famously it had been pro-
moted in the early fifteenth century by San Bernardino da Siena. He
had emphasised that peace was not only disturbed by physical vio-
lence, but also by verbal abuse, or backbiting (chiaccheria), which
could be equally dangerous. He used the proverb ‘La lingua non ha
osso, e fassi rompere il dosso’: ‘the tongue has no bone but breaks the
back’.59 The Jesuits, recognising that public words could also heal,
developed their peacemaking in the seventeenth century into ‘the
spectacle of universal forgiveness’, in which they got those involved in
vendettas and family feuds to reconcile themselves in public church
ceremonies, after a forceful sermon, with well-rehearsed speeches by
the main persons involved. They also returned to the medieval prac-
tice of an arbitrato, where the settlement of the dispute was ratified by
a judge, agreed by the parties involved.60

Priest–Parishioner Relations and Immorality

Two aspects of clerical immorality – concubinage and sexual abuse of

the confessional relationship – increasingly worried reforming bish-
ops, and in the latter case, the Inquisition. Clerical celibacy had been
imposed on the western Church in the eleventh and twelfth cen-
turies, with some long-term resistance. Popular anticlericalism might
108 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

suggest this was as much honoured in the breach; and the sexual
immorality, real or imagined, of priests, monks, friars and nuns
fuelled Protestantism. The choice of clerical marriage won converts
alongside theological attractions. The reforming Catholic Church
adamantly preserved the idea of clerical celibacy, and reformers
attempted to impose it more rigorously, punishing more severely. A
major Bull of 30 August 1568 highlighted the campaign against
‘incontinent’ priests. German Catholics in 1565 had asked for priests
to be allowed to marry, or make married men priests; and been
rebuffed. Strong attacks on the insistence on clerical celibacy
emerged in the late eighteenth century, with notably Archbishop
Giuseppe Capecelatro of Taranto publishing anonymously a Discourse,
in which he claimed:

It cannot be denied that the law of celibacy began to prepare the

ruin of this [clerical] power; perhaps the principal consideration.
Which suggested in these obscure times the enactment of a law
contrary to the laws of nature, opposed to the morality of Jesus
Christ, and destructive of the advantage of Religion and the State,
was the spirit of the interests and greed of usurping the legacy
{spoglio} of clerics.61

This generated much debate.

In reality distinctions were made between casual relations, and more
permanent concubinage. The diocesan and apostolic Visitors were
likely to question parishioners about sexual misdemeanours of the
priests and curates, and whether they had concubines. Parishioners
might condemn – or obfuscate the situation. It was expected that a
priest needed female assistance, a housekeeper; bishops wanted her to
be a close relative (mother, sister, aunt), or if unrelated – old; usually
over 50, though the Bologna archbishop Girolamo Colonna in 1598
suggested 40, but she had to be licenced as being of good conduct by
the vicario foraneo or archpriest.62 Cleric and parish might connive in
not noticing that the housekeeper was younger, a sexual partner (con-
cubine), and that his bastards might be around. Sienese records sug-
gest that such a partner, whether from another acceptable parish family
or an outsider, might be judged an asset in securing access to the priest,
and persuading him to understand family problems. But if she were
indiscreet or bossy, she and the priest would be denounced. Parts of
southern Italy may have remained tolerant of the concubine because
of long-standing Greek rite communities that had allowed married
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 109

clergy. Toleration could be eroded by an overweaning attitude. The

Neapolitan priest Giovanni Battista Ferone had taken in Teresa
Tommaso as a servant, aged 36, with the consent of her husband who
could not maintain their four children, but when processed in 1778
neighbours described her as mistress of the house (‘padrona di casa’).
Her main accuser, Rosa Cina, called her a disturber of the peace
(‘inquietratrice dell’altrui quiete’), litigious, spending time outdoors
with men, foul-mouthing other women; and Teresa had thrown dirty
water over Rosa, and struck her daughter. The priest looked after
Teresa’s children, some of whom may have in fact been his.
Enforcement of celibacy was harder in the south than centre and north
Italy, because there were many more clerics in minor orders who could
marry.63
In human terms it should be recognised that the life of the parish
priest, and even more so the itinerant confessors and preachers,
could be lonely and frustrating in many senses. A seminary education
in strict boarding school conditions, following by benefices in alien
territory cut the cleric from family, kin and friendship, especially
when bishops discouraged socialising with parishioners. Social condi-
tions and even pastoral care might encourage breaching rigorous seg-
regation, and lead to dubious relations with women. The pressures to
avoid female company could push the celibate cleric towards young
male company, and a different abuse. Socially a cleric could more
readily be seen with boys and young men; who might genuinely be
running errands and being of assistance as a ‘page’. The lonely
Milanese Priest Francesco Finetti, in Bologna and of no fixed abode,
ended up being accused of picking up a ten-year-old boy (of German
origin), caring for him, maybe giving him a role as helper, but
sodomising him over several days in an inn. Shocking – but not sur-
prising, given clerical isolation? He was incidentally brought before
the city’s main secular court, not an ecclesiastical tribunal; but in a
city and province where civic and ecclesiastical police worked
together.64
The reforming church discouraged social contact between priests
or curates, and their parishioners; and issued constant admonitions
not to go to inns and bars, to drink, dice or play other games. Such
was seen as leading to casual sexual relations with loose women, or
less frequently young boys. Secular and ecclesiastical police, sbirri,
were liable to raid such establishments, or even arrest a priest wan-
dering about at night, as in Bologna. Cardinal Archbishop Girolamo
Colonna, after a 1633 congregation of archpriests and vicari foranei
110 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

issued various orders, including that curates attending feasts and

funeral anniversaries, should behave modestly, and after blessing the
meal should sit with another cleric or acolyte and read a spiritual
book; and not attend the subsequent dancing.65
The confessional box, as indicated above, was designed to reduce
immoral conduct between clerics – whether parish priests or sepa-
rately licensed confessors – but the authorities in the seventeenth
century became worried about the continuing abuse of the sacrament
of penance. The Inquisition took up cases of clerical ‘solicitation’; the
sexual abuse in the confessional and penitential process of women,
and occasionally males. As an abuse of a sacrament the offence was
within its remit, and at least in the Venetian and Friuli tribunals the
number of denunciations for this alleged offence increased through
the period. (See Chapter 9, Table 9.1.) Such accusations could also
come before other ecclesiastical courts, and these are harder to track.
Some were made to the Venetian Patriarch, who was also on the
Inquisition tribunal. Not all cases were full investigations or taken to
full trial; and they have not had the detailed study accorded to the
same crime in Spain.66 Offences took place in and around the con-
fessional, in convents, and in homes when parish priest or confessor
went to confess a sick person. Alleged offences ranged from lewd
questioning and propositions, fondling, to masturbation and full sex-
ual acts. In some cases the females concerned might have been
equally willing (with a third party complaining). In a 1623, Venice
case friars of San Francesco di Paola denounced one of their number,
Friar Giovanni Antonio Gervasio for soliciting several women at con-
fession; one of them at least, Paulina, seems complicit, and her non-
appearance to give evidence might have caused the case being
dropped. Fra Gervasio was also accused of ignorance, including of
cases of conscience and drunkenness. The confessional situation also
lent itself to false accusations; as possibly with the piovano of San
Simone in Venice in 1594, with a jealous older husband resenting his
young wife’s confession sessions. Here the Patriarch’s court exoner-
ated the priest when the woman withdrew her accusatory testimony.67
An alternative result of close relations between confessor and
female penitent, was the former’s fostering of a deep spirituality,
asceticism, and ‘living saintliness’ on the part of some devout girls
and women. It was usually the unattached confessors, from the
Orders, rather than a confessing parish priest who became enam-
oured of such living saints, whose saintly cause they might subse-
quently promote for beatification – as with the Dominican confessor
 PARISH PRIESTS AND PARISHIONERS 111

Roberti Vittori, promoting the young Francesca Vacchini of Viterbo

(1589–1609). Francesca’s mother and uncle threatened the confessor
with death, accusing him of undue influences over her; and rival
Franciscans (whom the Vacchini family favoured), challenged
Vittori’s attempt to have the ascetic Francesca, who had a local cult
following, beatified through the Congregations in Rome. The
Inquisition squashed early attempts, to Vittori’s frustration. Such
females and their confessors might be charged, unofficially or offi-
cially, with sexual relations as well as fraudulent activities; though a
few were recognised as living saints, supported by genuinely admiring
and helpful confessors. Parish priests were likely to discourage living
saints and cult support, as in Cecilia Ferrazzi’s case in Venice (see also
Chapters 8 and 9).68
Parish organisation had become more consolidated, though with-
out the desired coherence advocated by Trent. The financial restraints
on coherent reform and best parochial practice were considerable.
Clerical poverty persisted, encouraging the pursuit of non-parochial
incomes and immorality. Parish churches, generally better main-
tained, were more the focus of lay religious life. Relationships between
parish clergy, curates and confessors and their lay flock were complex,
sometimes tense, but alternatively too cosy for good discipline and
moral behaviour. Despite the scandals, parishioners were mainly bet-
ter served by priests and curates, better educated, and pushed more
towards an orthodox Christian life. The way the clergy was educated,
and how this was passed on to the flock is our next concern.
6 Religious Education

This chapter will cover aspects of the education of the clergy, primarily
those going out into society as parish priests and curates, and the basic
education of the faithful through pulpit, Christian Doctrine teaching,
and some printed literature, as on spiritual exercises. Visual aspects of
religious teaching and inspiration are discussed in Chapter 10.
Catholic reformers before Trent had recognised that many priests
were profoundly ignorant, illiterate in Latin and often in the vernac-
ular. With little doctrinal knowledge they could hardly help their
flock. Moves were under way from the 1530s to improve cathedral
instruction for clerics, and to provide parochial Christian Doctrine
teaching for all. Venice developed church schools, organised on a dis-
trict (sestiere) basis, funded by parishes and monasteries; they com-
bined teaching basic doctrine through catechisms with a humanist
curriculum. Little distinction was made between those intending to
become priests, and those remaining secular. This remained one
method, not very focused, of educating those who became priests,
even when more specialist seminaries were eventually started.1 Milan
led the way with Christian Doctrine or catechism Sunday schools for
children, which inspired Trent reformers. Trent also decided that
diocesan seminaries would be the method for improving the knowl-
edge and skills of potential parish priests. Additionally, the Religious
Orders set about enhancing religious (and wider) education for
potential clergy and those who would remain laymen in secular activ-
ities, through their own schools, colleges and universities. They also
aimed to stimulate the spirituality of all, including women, through
spiritual exercises – conducted with the guidance of clerics, or under-
taken personally (if literate), through manuals like Loyola’s Spiritual

112
 RELIGIOUS EDUCATION 113

Exercises and Scupoli’s Spiritual Combat. Religious music and visual

artists were stressed as aids to spiritual development.

Seminaries and Clerical Education

The Council of Trent recognised that the faithful would not follow
true doctrine and moral Christian ways, unless well led and controlled
by educated clergy. Visitation records starkly revealed the basic clerical
illiteracy. Most clergy were trained on the job; serving as altar boys in
minor orders, and then becoming priests after a little theological
instruction in a local monastery. While some parish priests had had a
university education, they were inclined to accept more lucrative activ-
ities, with a low-paid and less-educated substitute serving the flock (if
at all). One of the claimed successful reform recommendations of the
Council was the diocesan seminary. It was ordered that in those dio-
ceses that did not already have a university or college providing a suit-
able number of ordinands, the bishop should institute his own
seminary or collegium, which would train poor boys over 12 years old
for the priesthood. These would be residential institutions, with strict
discipline, so that the boys could concentrate on study and prayer, free
from family pressures and secular temptations.2
The establishment of the seminaries proved difficult for many
reasons. Despite a wave of enthusiasm leading to some successful
creations, only about half the Italian dioceses had a seminary in oper-
ation by 1630 (and the plague and financial crises of that period saw
several cease) (see Appendix).3 Money was often lacking to create
suitable accommodation for a seminary, which was a boarding insti-
tution as well as a teaching one. Some could start quickly thanks to
donations of buildings by leading nobles, or the wealth of the bishop
himself. Otherwise attempts to raise money by suppressing benefices
and reallocating funds, or securing donations from religious houses,
were strenuously opposed by the victims. Geographically, foundations
appeared in odd patterns; the provinces of Lombardy, Umbria,
Reggio Calabria, Ravenna were soon quite well provided, but
Tuscany, the Roman and suburbican (Cardinalate) dioceses, and
much of the Kingdom of Naples were poorly served. The Roman area
might be seen as well provided from the many universities and col-
leges within Rome itself, but Cardinal Paleotti clearly did not perceive
it so, and finally got one started at Magliano, for his Sabina see, in
1593, to supplement that at Velletri. Southern Italy did see a flowering
114 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

in the 1580s to 1600s. The Reggio Calabria seminary and the local
Jesuit college, which had a fruitful partnership (and with the
Dominican Collegio del Rosario), were both destroyed in the disas-
trous Turkish raid in 1594, but commendably revived.4
The Naples seminary was quickly launched in 1568, when
Archbishop Mario Carafa donated 6000 ducats to buy land and build
it, but he and successive archbishops had to battle to get money from
the richest monasteries (Certosini of San Martino and the Olivetans),
and the Cathedral canons. Archbishop Carafa was overruled by Rome
in dealing with the chapter, but had not helped his cause by using
force against obstreperous canons and their agents. Archbishop
Gesualdo’s parish reorganisation eventually redirected money to the
seminary from discontinued richly endowed parishes. The history of
the Pozzuoli seminary (in Campania) exemplifies the chequered his-
tory of several. It started in 1587 with 12 pupils, but soon collapsed
when taxes could not be collected for it, and not enough pupils were
forthcoming. It reopened from 1624 to 1625, but failed again when
its reforming Fra Martino de Leon y Cardinas moved to Palermo in
1650. It operated briefly, 1708–11, and then from 1740.5
The delay in creating a seminary in some cases might seem strange.
Venice did not have a seminary until 1580–81, and this first was a state
promoted ducal seminary, which seemingly pushed the Patriarch to
start a diocesan one. However Somaschi, Jesuits and Canons had
been helping train priests. Florence did not have a seminary until the
early eighteenth century, though one was being planned in 1569, and
other parts of Tuscany were also late in developing them. Whether
the University of Pisa, and traditional training in cathedrals and
monasteries, were adequate substitutes (an excuse for the non-cre-
ation), is doubted.6
Once started many problems arose to frustrate continuity and
maintaining standards. Securing a balance between fee-paying
recruits (who might become parish priests), and the poor taught
freely was difficult financially; and could cause disorder. Retaining
suitable staff was also problematic. Interconnections with Religious
Orders – notably the Jesuits, Barnabites and Scolopians – and teach-
ing institutions and personnel, probably led to the best results,
certainly at higher levels of clerical education.
Debates continue about the real effectiveness of seminaries, espe-
cially as our knowledge of what was taught, and how many went on to
be parish priests, is patchy. Thomas Deutscher, who studied the fairly
 RELIGIOUS EDUCATION 115

successful Novara seminary system, has contrasted two recent books.

Kathleen Comerford emphasises the mediocre quality of the semi-
nary in Fiesole (theoretically founded in 1575, but not actively teach-
ing until 1635), while Simona Negruzzo provides a more upbeat
interpretation of the seminary provisions in the state of Milan/
Lombardy. Milan itself had two seminaries, and five others in the dio-
cese; Negruzzo calculates about 300 clerics were in seminary training
in 1639. Novara had a main city seminary, but also small offshoots in
other towns in the vast and heterogeneous diocese, which helped
make it one of the most successful. Because Pavia had a university its
episcopal seminary only had about 20 pupils at a time. The other dio-
ceses in the State were small institutions – in Alessandria, Como,
Cremona, Lodi, Tortona and Vigevano, though the evidence on their
operation and throughput is often meagre.7 Up to 50 per cent of
Novara priests might be seminary trained; but only 10 per cent of
Como ones. However, significant colleges contributed – run by the
Religious Orders, from the large Brera Jesuit College in Milan, to
smaller institutions of Jesuits, Barnabites and Somaschi and others in
various cities, including Como, Novara and Pavia’s Collegio Ghislieri
(founded by Pius V). These could train potential priests independ-
ently and supplement with higher studies the basic practical educa-
tion in the smaller diocesan seminaries. In Fiesole 1013 priests were
ordained between 1635 and 1675; Comerford finds that 416 of these
had spent some time in the seminary. Comerford notes elsewhere
that none of the leading Fiesole hierarchy, including bishops, had any
seminary education. Local families provided local priests who could
rise to the top in the area (presumably by networking and patron-
age), without necessarily Tridentine-approved training. Fiesole’s
pupils did not become bishops or leading church figures elsewhere.8
Deutscher expresses a more optimistic view of the seminaries’ contri-
butions, given their variety, different interactions with other educa-
tion, and the diverse roles played by seminarians in later life.
The numbers of pupils in seminaries varied, but few were large.
The Roman seminary opened in 1565 with 63 free pupils, and 14–15
fee-payers (convittori); by the early sixteenth century it settled to 40
of each. Piacenza, despite Bishop Paolo Burali’s enthusiasm – or
because of his rigour – could only report 10 pupils in 1579, though
by 1633 it had 36 (twelve each ‘free’, ‘half-rate’ and ‘full fee’), having
changed its admission policy (see later). The ad limina reports for
southern dioceses in the 1590s to 1630s indicate most operated with
116 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

10–15 pupils; the revived Reggio Calabria seminary from 1600–1630

fluctuated between 8 and 16 free places, and 6 to 27 fee-paying.9
What proportion of pupils became priests is seldom clear. Perugia,
one of the pioneer diocesan seminaries, opened in 1564, took in 161
tonsured seminarists by 1600; and 57 of these were ordained. The
number of ordinations in the diocese in those years was 181 (with 539
tonsurings).10 Ordination could be restricted by the lack of available
and acceptable benefices. Priests also came from the University or
(after 1582), the Collegio Oradini, designed to train men for the
priesthood after age 18. A low production rate of priests from semi-
naries, as suggested by Perugia, is not necessarily a sign of ‘failure’.
The seminaries sent out men from a poor background, with some
education to serve the church on non-priestly functions, or in a full
secular life. We know that the Perugian diocesan seminary provided
in this period a wide-ranging education. Novara was not far behind,
Fiesole clearly far meagre, with a poor library (where Perugia’s was
impressive); but then it was a smaller and poorer city, in the intellec-
tual shadow of Florence and Pisa.
Attitudes to how seminaries should be run, and what taught, varied
considerably. The austere Theatine Paolo Burali wanted seminaries as
almost monastic institutions, with young boys strictly separated from the
world and its temptations; day pupils, accepted in some places, should
not be allowed. The Piacenza seminary he created thus had a very strict
regime, which proved hard to enforce, especially once he moved to
Naples. The Rector controlled all reading. Their vacation in September
(if the family wanted them), was also to be austere. His boarding fee-
payers obeyed the same rules; though they could leave (for good) at will
without penalty – unlike the poor scholars. Silence was stressed in many
seminaries, as in Perugia; with meals eaten in silence, as in monasteries,
except for somebody reading aloud the Bible or other appropriate lit-
erature. For Milan Borromeo insisted that all talking be in Latin, includ-
ing during leisure time. The Bergamo pupils were not allowed to
receive or send letters without special permission; and were banned
from singing ‘Neapolitan’ and similar lascivious songs. Attendance at
Mass was daily, and students were expected to confess monthly or for
major feasts, though the Roman seminary wanted weekly or fortnightly
confessions. Some seminary promoters favoured having paying pupils,
convittori, not intending to be priests, not just for financial reasons, but
because – as Paleotti argued, it was a way of instructing a wider com-
munity in letters with a fear of God, which would encourage a better
government of families and households.11
 RELIGIOUS EDUCATION 117

The educational content of most seminaries remains unclear, but it

could range from simple training to university level higher education.
The basic training (assuming entrants arrived with some Christian
Doctrine knowledge, vernacular literacy, and possibly some elemen-
tary Latin) would be in grammar (Latin for reading and some com-
position), music and preparation for performing the sacraments and
liturgy. They might be instructed in prayer, and self-examination, as
the Roman seminary recommended. The Milanese seminaries
instructed in preparing sermons and preaching effectively. Piacenza
pupils were given in-training experience by teaching catechism in the
parish churches, probably unusually. Roman seminarists could show
off their intellectual attainments in public disputations. Music was
deemed important, at least as linked to liturgical performance, ‘so
that they might securely sing their part, and make counterparts to be
able then to reach another higher perfection’, as the Ravenna rules
stated.12 Latin was increasingly given high priority, as a key to under-
standing the local ‘national’ vernacular language, and for access to
texts on all other subjects; theological, philosophical and historical.
This emphasis was fostered by the Jesuits, with their 1599 Ratio
Studiorum guiding educational procedures and attitudes every-
where.13 A by-product of this was that priests might be both better
presenters of the Latin Mass, and more readily receive guidance and
exemplification from texts in their ministry than their predecessors.
The downside might be adjusting to presenting what they had
learned to their average parishioners, in the local vernacular.
Attitudes towards higher studies in seminaries varied. In 1580 the
Jesuit Provincial of Rome, Claudio Acquaviva, argued that Roman
seminarists should not normally study dogmatic theology and philos-
ophy, since – as apostolic Visitors in 1586 argued explicitly – this
might lead them away from taking a parish benefice, and towards
higher careers, defeating the key purpose of a seminary. Roberto
Bellarmino and two other lecturers took a different Jesuit attitude; if
such studies were ignored Italy would remain with puerile priests, in
a country lamentably ignorant of theology, long neglected in univer-
sity education, ‘from which it arises that no country has bishops and
parish priests more ignorant than Italy’.14 He had comparative expe-
rience of the Netherlands and northern France. He did not win the
day in Rome. The Milanese seminaries in the north, and more
remote Santa Severina in the south, demonstrated a greater fondness
for higher seminary education. In Lombardy, with or without the con-
tributions of the Orders, seminarists judged able enough, could end
118 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

up studying Grammar and Humanity through the great authors such

as Cicero, Vergil, Sallust, Caesar, Horace and Ovid, along with some
Greek; and move to the Jesuit Brera College for Rhetoric, Theology
and Philosophy. A 1589 report on Santa Severina declared the semi-
nary had four masters teaching Greek, Music, Rhetoric, Philosophy
and Logic. Perugia seems as broad and high in its aims as Milan: basic
Christian Doctrine, the Sacraments, the major Biblical texts (to be
known by heart), Church History, basic Theology and Philosophy
(following Aquinas and Aristotle), Latin Grammar and Rhetoric.
Some knowledge of Hebrew and Greek was available and recom-
mended. A high level in reality, as well as intention, seems probable
given the long influence there of Marcantonio Bonciari senior
(1553–1616), a leading humanist, teaching rhetoric and eloquence,
publishing internationally successful works.15
The seminary system did not produce enough suitable parish
priests. Simona Negruzzo has concluded that even the best dioceses
fell short in both quantity and quality.16 As already indicated the sem-
inaries were assisted by members of Religious Orders and intercon-
nected with the schools and colleges run separately by such as the
Jesuits, Barnabites, Somascans and Scolopians. All these made a con-
siderable difference to religious and humanities education from the
later sixteenth century.
In the Lombard archdiocese, Jesuits significantly helped educate
priests in Alessandria, Como, Milan, Novara and Pavia; the Somascans
in Alessandria, Como, Cremona, Lodi, Pavia, Tortona and Vigevano;
while the Barnabites were involved in all nine dioceses except Como.
They provided their own small colleges in lesser places: the Jesuits in
Bormio, Ponte and Castelnuovo; the Barnabites at Casalmaggiore.
The Dominicans had their theological Studium at Bosco Marengo,
and various other ‘minor seminaries’, that provided theological, litur-
gical and pastoral training. Where those training for the priesthood
did not come through a long seminary training, they might be
involved in moving about securing instruction in a variety of institu-
tions over the years. Negruzzo stresses the positive value for a moun-
tain curate going afar briefly to a college, or to hear theological and
penitentiary canons in a cathedral or Dominican house; giving an
enriching experience before ordination and promotion, and provid-
ing potential network links for a wider career. The visita ad limina
reports provide valuable evidence of learned ecclesiasts within
chapters, rich in theological knowledge, canon law and ceremonial
procedures. In 1592 Milan Cathedral had 17 doctoral canons, with
 RELIGIOUS EDUCATION 119

five teaching theology. The collegiate church of San Stefano in

Vimercate had a theological provost, while its parish priest had a
doctorate in theology. Such people helped train young clerics in
confessional procedures.17
Not all were happy that clerics should be trained for secular pas-
toral roles by Orders like the Jesuits. The Jesuit College started in
Milan in late 1564 became respected, but the diocesan clergy from
the start opposed it being directly responsible for the seminary
(started September 1565), as it was till 1579, when taken over by the
Oblates. Milan gossip held the Jesuits to be ‘ignorant and inexpert in
humanist letters, unknown, wandering (vagi) and barbarian’. Vicar
General Ormaneto squashed the secular clergy’s opposition. In
Rome at the same time Bishop Ascanio Cesarini opposed the idea of
Jesuits running a seminary: ‘it was intolerable that the education of
Roman youth be entrusted to Germans and Spaniards, thus to
heretics and Jewish converts (marranos).’18 Fortunately, not too many
shared this ignorant prejudice against Jesuits.
However trained, many clergy were still found deficient through the
seventeenth century, though standards of performance – from liturgy,
pastoral care to morality – had almost certainly improved, as judged by
Visitations. But Archbishop D.G. Caraccioli condemned his Bari clergy
in the early seventeenth century: ‘with little spirituality, badly disci-
plined and without letters, which instead of pursuing the path of
virtue, heads for that of vices; whence is maintained a seminary of per-
sons, delinquent and totally contrary to the clerical profession, from
which derives the unquiet and scandalous life of the city.’19

Education in the Parish and Christian Doctrine Schools

The foundations of religious education were supposedly given through

catechism or Christian Doctrine schools.20 Increasingly, from the
mid-sixteenth century catechism teaching was seen as a prime duty
for the parish priest or curate, and Visitors checked the regularity of
its provision. Confraternities of Christian Doctrine were developed to
assist; Religious Orders provided helpers.
Bologna in the first half of the fifteenth century had fostered
parochial catechism teaching, with the confraternity of San Girolamo
(founded 1433), providing continuity till the eighteenth century.
However, the most significant impetus came from the Como priest
Castellino da Castello who started catechism teaching in Milan from
120 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

1536, recruiting clerical and lay supporters. They were formally

recognised as the Company of Christian Doctrine in 1546. Other
cities imitated. This exemplary teaching inspired the Tridentine
decree of November 1563, ordering parish priests to organise Sunday
catechism teaching. They might be the only teacher; or bring in
Capuchins, Jesuits or lay confraternity members to assist. In 1560 an
Archconfraternity of Christian Doctrine was created to stimulate work
in Rome, but it later became an Italian-wide coordinating organisa-
tion, which under Cardinal Roberto Bellarmino’s inspiration spread
catechism books throughout the land. The specialist Companies of
Christian Doctrine proliferated at least in north-central Italy, both as
a way of organising the teaching, and to provide the men and women
teachers with a corporate body for their own spiritual development.
In the absence of such a dedicated confraternity, members of other
parish confraternities, such as Holy Sacrament ones, might help the
clergy in teaching the children.
The schools varied considerably in levels of education and
approaches; and seventeenth-century Visitations recorded many
lapses and inefficiencies. Leaving the teaching to the parish priest
alone might be deemed inadequate; the Archbishop of Ravenna in
1607 ordered a sodality to be established in every parish to assist, if
nothing already existed.21 The basic teaching was of the Creed, Our
Father, Hail Mary, Ten Commandments, and possibly a selection of
prayers, with some instruction on prayer. Much was rote learning.
The teachers drew on various catechisms and manuals to assist the
instruction, and in the better schools older children and adults might
learn to read such literature themselves. The Milan schools, for exam-
ple, had a Sommario, the basic work for the above listed items, but also
with sections on virtues and sins, a stress on the seven acts of mercy as
the basis of ‘good works’, baptismal vows. Rule books showed how the
school and its work should be organised. A more advanced
Interrogatorio, a question and answer form of Catechism, took the
pupils into greater analysis of beliefs and behaviour – but largely
avoiding more problematic theological issues, including purgatory
and the sacraments. The main emphasis was on the efficacy of prayer,
and on good works. The various types of parish and confraternity
schools could use a variety of catechisms and manuals. The two major
Catechisms were the Roman Catechism and Peter Canisius’ Jesuit one
for the benefit of the more educated teachers; while simpler cate-
chisms were available for less able or educated teachers, and pupils
who could read. Roberto Bellarmino’s Dottrina Cristiana Breve became
 RELIGIOUS EDUCATION 121

a key work for school use from 1597, being distributed by the
Archconfraternity of Christian Doctrine throughout Italy, and to
Dalmatia. Gregorio da Napoli’s Compendio della Dottrina Christiana, for
Capuchin-led teachers was another significant work.22
Promoting the catechism schools involved carrots and sticks. In
Bologna, parts of Rome and other places, children were rounded up
and compelled to attend by local parochial or confraternity officials.
Corporal punishment might be used to control pupils, and punish
laxity; but banned in other areas. Alternatively, schools were made
more stimulating and adventurous. Some Christian doctrine schools
taught children to read; notably parochial ones in major areas of
Lombardy, Piedmont, Venice and Rome – and schools run by Jesuits
and Capuchins; Gregorio da Napoli’s text fostered this. A few schools
taught writing; in this period reading and writing were treated as sep-
arate skills, not normally taught together. Singing was a significant
aspect in some schools. The Jesuits from the 1560s were active in
encouraging the use of laude to put across religious ideas and senti-
ments (partly borrowing from a Savonarola tradition, and reflecting
Ignatius Loyola’s early experience as catechist teacher). They spon-
sored the production of Christian Doctrine booklets, incorporating a
selection of laude, hymns and musical examples. An influential work –
Lodi e Canzoni Spirituale per cantar insieme con la Dottrina Christiana
(Milan, 1576, under the Archbishop’s licence), included 35 songs.
The preface to a Venetian collection sponsored by the Venerabile
Congregatione dell’Humiltà for use by the Christian Doctrine schools
(Lodi Spirituali, 1580), stated it was designed to distract youth from
singing less suitable profane songs in public and private. Printing of
such works in lesser cities, like Como and Turin (still small in 1574),
suggests widespread interest in this teaching approach. Roberto
Bellarmino also proved an enthusiastic promoter of laude23 (see also
Chapter 10).
The larger schools had several classes, for different ages, and sepa-
rated boys and girls. For the top stream debating competitions with
prizes acted as stimuli, as in some Roman and Bologna schools. A
higher level could lead pupils to become ordinands; as from that in
S. Nicola a Toledo in Naples. While Trent indicated that each parish
should have its own Sunday school, some important urban areas like
Bologna and Rome itself (under the Archconfraternity of Christian
Doctrine), assembled the children of several parishes meeting together
in one larger parish church; or left the boys in their own parish, but
sent girls (possibly fewer), to a combined parochial centre, or convent
122 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

such as S. Ludovica, Bologna – probably for better security.24 How far

girls were involved is not that clear; Strongoli Cathedral’s Christian
Doctrine school certainly limited itself to boys. According to the Milan
diarist Casale, that city in 1578 had more schools for females (58),
than males (52).25 The involvement of girls in the Roman Doctrine
schools, as well as using women to teach the girls, has been noted for
its considerable impact on female education and literacy there.26 Some
parents opposed sending their girls to socially mixed public schools.
Those attending, female or male, could be subjected to abuse by non-
attenders. In many cases noble women came forward to act as teachers
as a way of expressing their charitable attitudes; in Brescia, Mantua,
Milan, Naples, Parma, Piacenza and Venice, for example. The Duchess
Leonora of Mantua created an institute to train 90 girls as teachers in
the catechism schools, visited the schools and encouraged elite women
to help, in teaching or funding.27
Within the church tensions existed over who should run the cate-
chism teaching. Parish priests could resent a take over by the confra-
ternity schools, such as those under the Archconfraternity of
Christian Doctrine in Rome. In Lombardy Carlo Borromeo came to
resent lay teaching in the Christian Doctrine schools, despite his
establishing an extensive network originally with lay help. Ironically,
we have the revealing diary of one of Milan’s most enthusiastic lay
promoters of Christian doctrine schools, the carpenter Ioan Batista
Caxal (or Giambattisa Casale), catechism teacher, prior of one
school, then founder and inspector of them from 1575 – till his death
about 1629. Casale taught reading, writing and doctrine, ‘for the hon-
our of God and the salvation of souls and the common good’. He and
other such teachers, can more ambiguously be seen as surveyors of
morality, and social controllers, combating (as another Milanese
Christian Doctrine member, Francesco Rinaldi, did), gambling and
monkey entertainment that kept people from Mass and schooling.28
He was influenced by the ideas of Castellino (his confessor), and was
a great admirer of Carlo and Federico Borromeo. But Carlo
Borromeo imposed his own rules over Castellino’s, and his hagiogra-
phers tried to write out Castellino’s pioneering role and inspiration,
as too lay centred. The professional hierarchy must rule.29
The penetration of catechism teaching outside the major cities is
hard to gauge; schooling was probably often very intermittent,
whether taught by confraternity members, by a lone parish priest or
Capuchin. Visitation records indicate that priests were asked what was
available or done, but reveal little on frequency or standards. The
 RELIGIOUS EDUCATION 123

Roman Archconfraternity in 1609 claimed to be running 53 schools

in 1609, up to 79 in 1611, with 5800 boys and 5090 girls taught by 529
brothers and 519 sisters from the confraternities. It also outreached
to places like Albano and Civitavecchia. From the 1630s such enthu-
siasm and dynamism lessened; but some revival came under Innocent
XI’s pressure in 1676–77. Bologna from 1576 under Gabriele Paleotti
had 40 schools run by his Congregation Della Perseverenza, suppos-
edly teaching three or four thousand children, as well as some adults;
though some parishes may have had their own schools – as they did
later. Borromean Milan boasted 740 schools through the archdiocese
in 1584; and the city itself had 20 504 children enrolled in 1599; but
frequency of attendance is untested. It was also possible for a small
diocese such as Comacchio to have good catechism teaching, from
1574. Poor communities outside Naples had Christian Doctrine
schools under Jesuit inspiration in the seventeenth century.
Other religion-centred schools could provide wider educational
coverage. In the 1550s the Jesuits, particularly under Antonio
Possevino’s youthful impetus, opened several schools for boys, start-
ing in Naples, where they would teach Italian literature, Latin and
Greek, but also Christian Doctrine on Fridays and Sundays. From
1586 the Oratorians joined them in Naples, but in poor districts such
as the Mercato. The Scolopians (or Piarists), led by Giuseppe
Calasanzio, in a similar spirit started a school first in Rome in the
poor parish of S. Dorotea in Trastevere for 100 pupils; later moving
to S. Andrea della Valle, they had 1000 pupils. In 1626 they opened
their first Naples school, in the Duchessa area, notorious for its pros-
titutes and their offspring. These schools made available to poorer
children a combination of Christian knowledge and elementary edu-
cation for better job prospects. The Scolopian Scuole Pie spread
quite widely with foundations in such diverse places as Narni (1617)
and Norcia in Umbria, Savona (1623) in Liguria, Genoa (1624),
Messina (1625), Florence (1630) and Cosenza (1631). But Calasanzio
and several other teachers (especially those connected with
Florence), then had their troubles with the Inquisition, for uphold-
ing Galileo’s ideas, especially on atomism, which could affect
Eucharist doctrine. The Scolopian Order was suppressed (from 1646
to 1656, following a hushed-up paedophile scandal), but individuals
continued to maintain several schools for the children, including that
in Rome, and the revival was rapid.30
For general schooling, the reforming bishops tried to guarantee
an orthodox religious influence, by having teachers in secular
124 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

schools, grammar or abacus ones, attest to their orthodox Catholic

beliefs. Pius IV in his 1564 Bull, In sacrosancta beati Petri had
ordered all teachers to take a profession of faith before their bishop
or his deputed official. The survival of some of these records in
Venice are both illuminating about the process, and schools involved,
but also a warning that these professions were only intermittently
demanded.31
Italian reformers thus sought to provide a range of religious teach-
ing, under clerical leadership, but – more controversially – with lay
assistance of men and women, preferably under some corporate
supervision in confraternities. Though Protestants have often been
praised for fostering the family religious life, and home biblical edu-
cation, and Catholics attacked for neglecting this, the contrast can be
misleading. On the Protestant side the Bible might often be symbol
and icon, and not a perused text. On the Italian Catholic side, while
the use of the vernacular Bible was first discouraged, and then essen-
tially banned, Italian families did have access to spiritual texts, to cat-
echisms and guides to spiritual development. Paleotti argued that if
at least one member of the family improved religious knowledge
through the catechism schools, and learned to pray, all in the family
could benefit. Carlo Borromeo did not ignore the importance of fam-
ily prayers. Some of the confraternity brothers visiting the house-
bound poor might check on their beliefs and praying. The Jesuits
came to recommend the use of the Spiritual Exercises by the individual
on his or her own – preferably after some lengthy instruction by a
Jesuit. Lorenzo Scupoli’s nearly as significant, and possibly more
enticing, Spiritual Combat, was likewise promoted by Theatines for pri-
vate contemplation and self-analysis. Much cheap, simple and illus-
trated religious literature was published through the period, with
the key topics being the Virgin and Child, the Crucifixion, the
Martyrdom of Saints. Many publications were, all or in part, in verse,
(314 of the 412 catalogued by Lorenzo Baldacchini). While Venice
printed the most, surviving editions appeared from a good array of
cities in north-central Italy. The combination of story-telling, simple
didacticism, memorable verses and illustrations could feed any adult
appetite for religious self-instruction fostered by earlier schooling.
These were leaflets or booklets, not the ponderous tomes of the great
scholars, though the named authors included the Theatine Bishop
Giambattista Del Tufo (on Christ’s Incarnation, Death and
Resurrection), and Bishop G.B. Castelli of Rimini (prayers against
plague, 1576).32
 RELIGIOUS EDUCATION 125

Preaching

Preaching was reinforced by Catholic reformers as a prime method of

educating the populace.33 Preaching was one of the chief episcopal
duties, whether addressing a normal congregation in his Cathedral, a
synod of bishops, or a parish gathering during a Visitation. Several
celebrated preachers became bishops – like Panigarola or Ercolani –
partly for that skill, and their sermons were printed as models for
other bishops and lesser clergy. As in the middle ages the old Orders
continued to produce star preachers, and new Orders, notably the
Jesuits and Capuchins, added to the range of preachers, preaching
styles and content. Much of the preaching could be florid, and elab-
orate, as aimed at the papal court, and intellectual audiences; and
this was often what went into print. Panigarola was a star in this
baroque style, but Borromeo when hearing him as they conducted a
Visitation in 1583, warned him to adjust his style for simpler folk, with
something ‘easy and devout’.34 The Franciscan Cornelio Musso
(1511–74) was one of the most influential preachers through the six-
teenth century, in action and in print (with his first printed sermon
appearing in 1530). Many preachers would follow his advice to con-
sider several levels of audience in one sermon, from learned to less
so. As a southern bishop in the 1540s, and advisor at Trent, and later
to Cardinals, he was a key all-round influence. In 1554 Bernardino
Tomitano wrote a book praising Musso’s sermonising. He was:

A master and model of ornament, who with both beautiful

arrangement and infinite abundance of examples, knows how to
explain the mysteries of God, the secrets of nature, and the pre-
cepts of religion.

He appealed to the senses and painted word pictures comparable

with great contemporary paintings:

I do not know speaking truthfully, what Titian or what

Michelangelo could do with the brush and colours on the can-
vasses to better depict bodies than he, who by the sublime spirits of
his ingenuity makes appear to us with the senses the glory of that
invisible life of heaven, which here through shadows and simili-
tudes alone we judge.35

Such sermonising could have wide appeal.

126 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Gabriele Inchino’s sermon guide, Vie del Paradiso (1607), very

specifically distinguished what was suitable for parish preaching, and
what for the monastic context. Gabriele Paleotti preached simply and
extemporaneously round the parishes, and his published sermons
designed as exemplars (as noted before for weddings) showed a
flexible approach.
A leading preacher who also provided a short guide was the
Capuchin Girolamo da Narni (1563–1632), much admired around
Rome and the papal court, though unafraid to attack court luxury
and praise the poor. His carefully edited printed versions could be
used in less erudite contexts. His guide advised on sermon technique,
involving careful voice control, gestures, with a high emphasis on the
biblical Word. But he warned against using sermons to induce exces-
sive fear and despair: ‘Never induce sinners to desperation …
because you close the heart and it won’t admit the reign of grace; but
give them hope.’36
Analysis of sermon developments through our period suggests they
covered considerable variety of topics, reducing the social criticism
found in the fifteenth century, being more concerned with doctrine,
backing up Christian Doctrine teaching, using the Lord’s Prayer and
the Creed as structural bases. Jesuits sometimes used their Spiritual
Exercises as a trigger for sermons. Strong preaching against vices led to
an emphasis on confession and communion, both in Lenten cycles,
and in sermons linked to the Forty-Hour Devotion (see Chapter 10).
Biblical references were heavily used as ‘proof’ of the main themes,
but it is hard to judge how much was fully quoted in the live per-
formance. Reformers like Borromeo wanted the New Testament,
especially the Gospels, to be the heart of sermonising – but did not
want the laity to read them directly in Italian.37 Even the Gospel had
to be mediated through clerical instruction. Short quotations and
biblical examples were to be used to induce a Christ-like morality in
the audience; to move listeners, through emotive words and word
pictures, to a better life, in contemplation of a holy reward.
Encouraging social improvement, peace and reconciliation in local
society was one topic for the mission preachers, as with Jesuits and
Capuchins, and for bishops entering their diocese, as promoted by
Musso. In the fifteenth-century Bernardino of Siena provided a
model for this aspect of social education, and one might detect a line
of influence into the breakaway Capuchin Order in the later six-
teenth century.38 While the sixteenth century reformers tended to
encourage sermonising within the church rather than in the public
 RELIGIOUS EDUCATION 127

square, to avoid unseemly distractions, the Bernardino-type mass public

sermonising remained a feature of missionary work. This sermon
would have basic messages, would be a call to repentance to a better
moral life, to social harmony. The Jesuit and Capuchin missionaries,
whether in remoter rural ‘Indies of Italy’, or in city slum districts, reck-
oned to create confraternities or foster schools of Christian Doctrine
that would follow up with more specific doctrinal education.

Mission Work within Italy

Mission activity led by the mendicant orders had been a feature of

late medieval Italian reform movements. Star missionary preachers of
the fifteenth century, such as Bernardino da Siena and Giovanni da
Capestrano, were models for later Catholic reformers. But as
Giuseppe Orlandi has argued the mission work of our period differed
in structure, methods, means and ends for the European Christian
context – leaving aside the additional dimensions of mission work
overseas in the Americas and the East.39 The new missionaries in Italy
were more preoccupied with remedying ignorance (whether to fore-
stall ‘Protestant’ allures and errors, or counteract popular supersti-
tions), encouraging religious education more positively, emphasising
the sacraments, especially the Eucharist, and fostering post-mission
follow-up through parish priests and/or confraternities. Ignatius
Loyola encouraged his followers to treat their lives as a continuous
mission, and the Capuchins developed a similar mentality. Where the
late medieval missionary preachers tended to be lone stars (with
acolytes), the post-Tridentine missionary work became increasingly a
matter of team work, targeted at the populace of whole regions,
rather than single cities. Generals of the Jesuits such as Claudio
Acquaviva (from 1581 to 1615), and Vincenzo Carafa (1646–49) led
campaigns for such controlled and coordinated mission work. They
had difficulties securing enough full-time missionary Jesuits, when
the Order was trying to fulfil multifarious roles, some far more attrac-
tive than popular missionary work in remote, poor, areas.40
The Religious Orders, most significantly the Jesuits and Capuchins,
conducted major ‘missions’ to educate those they considered hardly
Christian, whether in remote rural areas, or the poorest slum areas of
large cities. The Jesuits treated much of southern Italy as ‘the Indies
of Italy’, in need of missionary activity like the pagans of the New
World, or Buddhists and Confucianists of the East.41 Some of this
128 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

thinking derived from the campaigns against the Waldensians in

Calabria and Puglia, and against Calvinists in the Piedmontese moun-
tains in the 1560s, and from an awareness that education would be
better than repression. While targeting those with heretical Christian
beliefs Jesuits became cognizant of a general ignorance of basic
Christian belief, especially in the South. The missionary challenge
was also taken up by Capuchins, as in central Italy, and then these
Orders from the turn of the century were joined by others like the
Theatines, Scolopians, Redemptionists and Pii Operai in missionising
slum areas of the great cities of Rome, Naples and Genoa. The Pii
Operai, a common-life group founded in 1600 by ex-Jesuit Carlo
Carafa (1561–1633) was dedicated to popular mission work in both
rural areas, and in city slums, first in Naples, then in Taranto and
other parts of the Kingdom. To educational preaching was added all-
round care for plague victims in 1656.42
The missions outside the large cities tended to focus on a major ser-
mon, or series of sermons, often outdoors, followed by penitential
processions, with intense flagellation encouraged by Capuchins, and
the singing of laude or other religious texts (as in Jesuit processions).
The display of the Sacrament might be a major aspect of processions;
or the kissing of the pax, a peace instrument promoted especially by
Carlo Borromeo. For a prolonged mission through a city, as in Lecce
in 1639 under Jesuits, children were gathered in the parishes for
afternoon sessions on the basics of Christian Doctrine, leading to
their First Communion; instruction of adults followed Vespers. The
Jesuits in particular tried to ensure that the mission was not a passing
event, soon to be forgotten, by seeking to create confraternities,
Christian Doctrine schools and charitable institutions that would
have a more lasting impact. The missions might campaign to bring
greater peace to the community, whether when dealing with the ban-
dit infested southern areas in the 1570s to 1590s, or in the aftermath
of the 1647 Masaniello Naples Revolt through much of the Kingdom of
Naples. The reinvigorated Jesuit mission activity for the second half
of the seventeenth century, added campaigns – with the aid of
confraternities – for fuller catechising, learning of doctrines, more
frequent confession and communion for the laity. Tension could exist
in missionary campaigning between those wanting an emphasis on
religious education, and those still concentrating on penitential atti-
tudes and exercises. The Jesuit Paolo Segneri, a great organiser
(c.1665–92) of missions across whole dioceses combined both aspects
in intense day–night missions. The missionary impact was rendered
 RELIGIOUS EDUCATION 129

more long-lasting by the provision of booklets on doctrine, and cheap

illustrative materials, especially fostering the Marian cult. In such mis-
sionary work the Jesuits had been joined by the Lazzaristi or Fathers
of the Missions, as in the Papal State in the 1640s and rural Piedmont
in the 1650s, influenced by successes in France. They kept notaries
busy writing out peace contracts.43
Considerable efforts were made through our period to educate
and re-educate the Italian people in the basics of Christian Doctrine,
and in a moral life. It was a combined effort of bishops, parish clergy,
members of Orders and clerical associations, and lay volunteers in
confraternities. Where some constituent elements were defective or
absent, there was some chance that others would fill gaps, as with the
missionary preachers. Other elements in the educational process
included the Inquisitors, with some positive re-education as well as
repression, the book censors, and the visual arts and music; all of
which will be discussed in subsequent chapters.
7 Confraternities, Hospitals and
Philanthropy

Against Protestant criticisms and theological claims Catholic authorities

and individuals were challenged to emphasise the importance of
good works, whose performance might assist the salvation of the
performer or donor’s soul, and that of the recipient of good works.
Catholic reformers increased the number and range of philanthropic
activities by individuals and institutions, notably from the 1490s in
north-central Italy. The activities involved helping the sick, dying and
dead; the poor and hungry; travellers and pilgrims; the vulnerable
from abandoned babies to poor virgins needing dowries, fallen
women and battered wives. Physical and spiritual needs were
involved, as ‘good works’ could also involve prayer for others, improv-
ing religious education, encouraging frequent confession and com-
munion, and peacemaking. Sometimes loving kindness might seem
absent, and a punitive attitude prevalent; punish to redeem. Curbing
sin in this world, reducing temptations, might help save the soul from
perdition. Policies of care under supervision, and with the threat of
punishment for those not conforming, coincided with some social
control attitudes fostered by secular authorities afraid of criminal and
riotous behaviour by the less deserving and dangerous poor. The
philanthropy came from individuals, from the Religious Orders and
civic administrations, but the lay confraternities were the chief vehi-
cles of activity, and the organisations to which the needy would most
likely turn.1

130
 CONFRATERNITIES, HOSPITALS AND PHILANTHROPY 131

Confraternities

Confraternities have been mentioned already in various contexts.

The word ‘confraternity’ covers a wide variety of religious organisa-
tions, but the terminology in English, Latin and Italian can be con-
fusingly diverse. For pre-Reformation English historians the
equivalents are often known as religious gilds or guilds; but English
speaking historians mostly use (con)fraternity, brotherhood, com-
pany and congregation. The Italian words – to be noted because they
appear in titles of the named institutions – are usually confraternita,
società, compagnia, fraterna, congregatione and scuola. This last name,
though found in various north Italian places, is mostly used for the
Venetian confraternities such as the most notable Scuola Grande di
San Rocco, famous for Tintoretto paintings, and still a confraternity.
For such organisations, scuola should not be translated as ‘school’, as
some guidebooks, like old history books, still do; though scuola is the
normal word for an educational school. In general we are dealing
with lay men – less frequently women and youths – who associate
together under basic rules to pursue a part of their religious life
together, and to prepare for death. We can find in our period con-
fraternities of priests, and even confraternities of a few nuns within a
convent, but our chief concern is with organisations for lay people.
Some such confraternities allowed clergy as members, while others
employed clerics as needed for Masses, funerals and confessions.
Confraternities were predominantly lay. As Ronald Weissman
wrote, such confraternities provided ‘vital forms of social insurance
in life and in death’.2 They might be seen, as Nicholas Terpstra per-
ceptively argues, as ‘modes of spiritual community’, with their own
‘cultural form’, as expressions of early modern fraternalism, paral-
leled by organisations within the Lutheran, Calvinist and Orthodox
churches, and by Jewish fraternities – with mutual charitable assis-
tance as a key element. They linked spiritual expression and worldly
needs, existing close to the official churches, but still seeking to dis-
tance themselves from clerical control.3 Allowing the Catholic con-
fraternities to remain semi-autonomous, preserving their ‘cultural
form’, was a challenging threat to dogmatic hardline clergy. Some
confraternities or individual officers in them, like Milan diarist
Giambattista Casale, were caught in struggles between autonomy and
dictatorial, puritanical control.4
Lay Confraternities in Italy have been documented from the end of
the first millennium, emerging from clerical societies. The numbers
132 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

expanded considerably from the thirteenth century under impulses

from flagellant movements, Marian cults, the growth of hospices and
hospitals, the development of trade guilds with religious and philan-
thropic dimensions added, evolutions in concepts of purgatory which
encouraged praying in common for the souls of the departed and
their early release from purgatory. Particularly under the influence of
the Mendicant Orders in the fourteenth century, another type of lay
confraternity emerged, the Laudesi, noted for public processions
singing religious songs (laude) in honour of Christ, the Virgin or local
saints. Some also produced religious plays and sacred representations
or tableaux (see Chapter 10). As pertinently influential religious soci-
ologists like Gabriel Le Bras have argued confraternities became the
most significant forms of medieval community outside kinship
groups.
Italian confraternities further evolved and were invigorated from
the later fifteenth century, and became key elements in the Catholic
Reform movements. A new wave of philanthropic activity built up
from the 1490s, led by the Genoese Company of Divine Love of 1497.
Influential offshoots soon emerged in Rome, Naples and Venice,
developing hospital institutions, and responding to the crisis of the
spread of syphilis after the French armies marched to Naples and
back in 1494–95. Further diversification came from the Dominican
inspired cult of the Rosary, taken up by a Florentine Rosary confra-
ternity of San Marco (from 1481), and the Venetian San Domenico in
Castello (aided by immigrant Germans), and from a variety of cam-
paigns stressing Eucharist devotion. Confraternities joined in
enhancing the veneration of the displayed Host, and in arguing for
more frequent confession and communion by the laity.
The disasters of war after the French invasion of the peninsula in
1494 challenged many to respond charitably, and assist orphans, war
widows, those sick from war wounds, plagues and epidemics. Existing
and new lay confraternities, clerical congregations (some eventually
evolving into full Orders like the Theatines, Oratorians, Angelics and
Ursulines), and more informal groups of women as well as men, were
part of the response. Following Lutheran attacks on salvation through
‘good works’, the Catholic response was to enhance philanthropic
activity. Guidance on such activity was given by the corporal Seven Acts
of Mercy, based on Matthew’s Gospel, ch. 25: caring for the hungry,
thirsty, naked, sick, imprisoned, strangers, and (in a seventh Act added
in the middle ages), burying the dead. Such programmed activities,
doing for neighbours as for Christ, in his words, were fostered by
 CONFRATERNITIES, HOSPITALS AND PHILANTHROPY 133

confraternity statutes and Jesuit advocacy. Sometimes they were visually

programmed in paintings, as in Santi di Tito’s separate panels illustrat-
ing each Act, for the currently active Florentine confraternity Della
Misericordia (assisting with ambulance services); and now most famously
Caravaggio’s complex all-in-one altarpiece for a noble Neapolitan
confraternity, the Pio Monte della Misericordia5 (Chapter 10).
Attitudes towards lay confraternities by church and state leaders in
the sixteenth century were ambivalent. They could be seen as subver-
sive, especially if their statutes enjoined secrecy on members, as many
did. Confraternities in various cities had discussed ideas thrown up by
the Reformers, and allegedly harboured heretics. Rulers in Florence
or Naples saw confraternities as havens for political opponents, or eco-
nomically subversive artisans. However, well supervised confraternities
might be political assets (as Duke Cosimo I de’Medici sought in
Tuscany), and promoters of a new religious enthusiasm and beneficial
philanthropy. Hence came hierarchical support for Oratories of
Divine Love, for early Christian Doctrine societies. For the pioneering
bishop G.M. Giberti of Verona, parochial Corpus Christi fraternities
fostered Eucharist devotion in the 1540s.6 In 1562 the Council of
Trent debated the roles of confraternities, and then claimed that they,
along with most hospitals and other pious places, should be subject to
episcopal control. Specifically bishops had the right to visit such insti-
tutions and check their records to ensure that all pious dispositions
from wills were properly executed (since such affected the salvation of
souls); confraternities were to report annually on their activities relat-
ing to such aspects (though not their strictly devotional life and
work).7 Henceforth bishops demanded to see old fraternity statutes
and reform them (if existing), and supervise the imposition of new
ones. Fraternities, hospitals, orphanages were to be subject to episco-
pal visitations. Following several central rulings culminating in the
1604 Bull Quaecumque, new confraternity foundations had essentially
to be under diocesan control and potential veto; limiting lay initia-
tives, and eradicating lay independence. A significant exception to this
episcopal control came with the agreement that Jesuit lay Marian con-
gregations would be subject to control by the Order not the diocese,
as part of a European and worldwide network.8 Strict constructionists
have consequently removed these lay congregations from the category
of ‘confraternity’, though for most purposes we can treat them as part
of the same family. Rulers and civic governments could add levels of
control and supervision, notably the Venetian Council of Ten and
other committees over their Scuole.
134 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Reforming bishops and the new Orders considerably increased the

number of confraternities, and their work, while trying to ensure cler-
ical control. Ideally they should be based in a parish church, with the
parish priest or a parochial curate serving the confraternity’s needs.
The result was the expansion of confraternities of the Holy Sacrament
and Rosary, which reformers like Paleotti and Borromeo wanted in vir-
tually every parish. The Sacrament or other Eucharist-focused fraterni-
ties under various names (such as Scuola Venerabile, in Venice), not
only existed to ensure due respect for the Host, but often acted as
vestry or fabric committee, helping to finance the church, and some-
times represented a godly elite within the parish, setting moral stan-
dards and being the eyes of the hierarchy. Local parochial Rosary
companies were often female focused and sometimes were women-only
sororities, providing a solidarity group outside the family. However,
other Rosary confraternities persisted under Dominican influence, in
large Dominican churches, as in Perugia and Bologna, greater in num-
bers and mixed sex.9 Other parochial confraternities developed from
the later sixteenth century were the previously discussed Christian
Doctrine societies, and Name of God (Nome di Dio) fraternities, which
were designed to combat blasphemy, and act as peacemakers in society.
While church leaders wanted close cooperation between parish
clergy and the confraternities based there, and with the latter as aids
and agents to the clergy in the promotion of spirituality and pastoral
well-being, the actual relationships were obviously mixed.10 The
priests might appreciate confraternal assistance, whether in teaching
catechism, maintaining the fabric, providing accoutrements, paying
for the organ, even repairing his house; but then be beholden, and
so have problems of disciplining the fraternity or members. Many
parish churches were essentially paid for fully by confraternities –
whether in cities like Milan, Brescia and Venice, in the Tuscan con-
tado, and in most chiese ricettizie in the South. If several fraternities
were based in the one church, tensions could exist all round; as
shown in the report of an external commission dealing in 1605 with
the parish church of Crevalcore (Bologna Archdiocese). The Rosary
confraternity was granted, seemingly contrary to the wishes of the
parish priest, the right to extend the church so it could have its own
chapel and sacristy, with public access from outside; but this must not
impede access to and from the Sacrament oratory, and the latter must
be allowed an iron grate so they can also hear Mass in the body of the
church. Parish priests might resent the way fraternities took over
altars, chapels and dictated conditions, as in Pisa.11
 CONFRATERNITIES, HOSPITALS AND PHILANTHROPY 135

Parish-based fraternities could resent clerical intrusion, and any

obligation to have a clerical chairman. Conflicts over being allowed
meeting rooms in the church complex as well as an altar or chapel in
the body of the church, fuelled bids for total independence in their
own premises. Some new confraternities in the seventeenth century
successfully resisted episcopal pressure to be placed in parochial or
monastic buildings, as in Prato, where however parish-based ones still
flourished. Grand Duke Peter Leopold of Tuscany and others by this
stage judged that confraternities had become detrimental to parish-
based religion; either drawing people away from the parish to other
oratories, or disrupting the parish if based in its church. One aspect
of post-Tridentine reform was thus judged a failure.12
To promote parish–confraternity cooperation sometimes elaborate
contracts had been drawn up between parish clergy and the confra-
ternities, as Ronald Weissman had studied for Florence. Complex
divisions of responsibility and duties can be illustrated from a con-
tract in 1648 between the Rectors of the pieve church of S. Michele in
Bagnacavallo (Emilia), and the Sacrament confraternity, which had
an altar there, plus its own separate oratory of San Bernardino.13 The
contract (arising from recent Visitation’s evidence), clarified that the
fraternity was responsible for the tabernacle on the high altar, and
what was needed to honour the Sacrament, but not the Choir around
it, or certain necessities for all altars; it should maintain its own side
altar, but need not pay for a chaplain for it. For a monthly exposure
of the Sacrament the company must provide lighting, but also other
decorations (addobbi). The contract also stipulated what altar decora-
tions, cupboards and other matter they could move to their own ora-
tory, and what must stay in S. Michele. The company needed to spend
considerably on the main altar to bring it up to (episcopal) standard;
but the costs should be spread over some years, so that they need not
reduce spending on the poor; in a penurious year.
Membership of confraternities was widespread, and increasing
through our period, voluntarily or under parochial pressure. Few moti-
vations for joining are clearly articulated in surviving material;
Giambattista Casale’s diary comments on his enthusiasm for catechistic
teaching is a rare insight (Chapter 6). But we can deduce many motives
from the statutory nature of confraternities, their declarations and
practices. The main religious concerns were preparing for the afterlife
through prayer and moral conduct, ensuring a suitable funeral and
burial for self and fellow members, praying for the souls of the
departed fraternity brothers, sisters and close relatives. Many called for
136 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

the intercession of saints, and in particular of the Virgin. Saying or

singing Offices of the Virgin, and laude in her honour, had been more
common than the Mass, though the sixteenth century saw an increase
in confession, receiving communion and adoring the Host. Group
penitential exercises, notably flagellation or ‘discipline’, by whipping
bare backs with cords, had been a special activity of one group of con-
fraternities from the thirteenth century, though other types of frater-
nities such as Laudesi and Marian ones, might also practice the
discipline. This could take place in darkened confraternity rooms, or
in public processions. As a group activity it was largely confined to
males, though women might privately flagellate. If the fifteenth cen-
tury saw some decline in discipline, or a move from metal-barbed whips
to softer silken cords, a return to harsher whipping was encouraged
from the mid-sixteenth century, by Capuchins and Jesuits.
Processions could be a major part of confraternity life, ranging
from short activities around their church interior, to major proces-
sions, joyful or doleful. Processions might celebrate the patronal
saint, the Virgin, Corpus Christi, a good harvest, or be planned to pla-
cate God’s wrath in the face of drought, excessive rain, or plagues.
Processions would be formed to bury members, or those they were
helping; they could be composed of a few brethren and sisters taking
their turn; or by virtually the whole company; while a notable person
might have several fraternities escorting his body. For other occasions
confraternities might process on their own, or be involved in joint
processional parades, linking with other fraternities, with secular and
regular clergy, and civic dignitaries; as part of civic or princely cele-
brations (such as the birth of an heir in the Medici family), or for a
major ecclesiastical occasion, such as the moving of relics, the beati-
fication of sanctification of a local holy person. Celebratory proces-
sions could involve the parading of statues of the Madonna and
Crucified Christ, favourite altarpieces, banners; the carrying of can-
dles and torches, accompanied by music from choirs and instru-
ments. Wine and food might refresh the participants, as when relics
of local saints in Perugia were relocated in 1609, with numerous con-
fraternities putting on displays, or marshalling tens of thousands
attending.14 Some confraternities put on religious plays (though
these were frowned on by some post-Tridentine reformers), or
mounted religious scenes or tableaux on decorated carts showing lav-
ishly dressed actors, without speech or song (see Chapter 10).
Confraternities were organised corporate bodies; their statutes
devoted more space to how officials and committees should be
 CONFRATERNITIES, HOSPITALS AND PHILANTHROPY 137

elected, and their functions, how members should be inducted and

disciplined, than to liturgical procedures and social activity. Election
and appointment procedures could be as elaborate as for city coun-
cils and guild officials; many posts could rotate quickly. Socially
therefore membership provided opportunities for role playing, net-
working, influencing people and activities. Some brothers tried to
evade councils or administrative posts (affecting their secular roles
and employment); others were clearly happy with playing a role. As
philanthropic activities expanded (discussed later), some brothers
and sisters had a more active role in good works, helping the poor
and needy – which they might think as helping their souls as well as
those of recipients. Most work was done by small committees and offi-
cials (priors, sindics, treasurers, festaioli to organise processions, dec-
orations etc., visitors to the sick), but general congregations were held
annually, or occasionally more frequently, often associated with a
patronal saint, or major church feast. This generally involved a major
Mass, the business meeting to ratify elections and change statutes,
and sometimes a feast – though this was heavily discouraged (but not
successfully eradicated), by the more puritanical bishops after Trent.
Feasts happily persisted in Piedmont among Pentecostal fraternities,
with some knock-on charitable help for the poor.15
A significant incentive for membership was earning indulgences
and privileges. Some enrolled as long-distance members to be part of
a prayer network, and enjoy the attached indulgences. Indulgen-
ces were linked with key confraternity liturgical events; special ones
added for those participating in pilgrimages, especially to distant sites
such as Assisi, the Virgin’s House in Loreto, and Rome for the great
Jubilees (see Chapter 10). Indulgence-earning was fostered by the
archconfraternity system. Some confraternities were elevated to this
status by papal Bull, to be a centralising headquarters organisation;
such as for Christian Doctrine, or Dell’Orazione e Morte (Prayer and
Death, preparing for a good death), or Pietà dei Carcerati (helping
in prisons), S. Spirito in Sassia (running a major Roman hospital
complex). Their approved statutes would then be the model for any
associated fraternity, thus facilitating episcopal standardisation. The
Pope allocated indulgences, which could be enjoyed by affiliated
brotherhoods (always providing individuals were in a fit penitent state
to earn them, with God’s grace). Most archconfraternities were in
Rome (with affiliates all across Europe, amounting to a thousand or
so by the eighteenth century with the Orazione e Morte), but a few
were promoted in other cities, such as Bologna (the Della Vita in
138 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

1585, with the rival Della Morte and four others to follow),16 and Bari
(S. Antonio da Padova, in mid-seventeenth century). Cosenza which
had five archconfraternities by the early seventeenth century, estab-
lished a network in the southern hinterland. The importance of such
indulgences is evidenced by the scattered survival, in confraternity
archives, of printed notices about them, and the way they could be
earned.
Philanthropy provided an increasing motivation for confraternity
membership, from the late fifteenth century, as indicated earlier. The
encouragement to perform good works was widespread, and not con-
fined to confraternities, congregations and Orders, but such lay
organisations were facilitators, for both donors and recipients.
Confraternities and hospitals were institutions through which chari-
table bequests were distributed to the needy, when family members
might be less diligent; and post-Tridentine bishops were more intent
on seeing bequests fulfilled properly. People had previously joined
fraternities to secure some assistance when sick and old, and maybe
help with a dowry for a daughter. Hospices had been available both
for sick members, women in labour without other support, poor trav-
ellers and pilgrims who were not members.17 All such expectations
increased through our period; and other aspects were added under
the Seven Acts rubrics. The rhetoric of poverty and philanthropy
encouraged confraternities, and others, to consider outsiders more,
as ‘neighbours’.
Philanthropy was a two-way street; trying to save the soul of the
recipient, and that of the donor involved. For the recipient, in the
mindset of the period, his or her soul was more important than any
physical short-term assistance. Giulio Folco, in his powerful
Marvellous Effects of Almsgiving in 1581 – as part of his long campaign
to raise dowry money for poor girls – stressed that giving was particu-
larly good for the donor’s soul. He indicated that his confraternity,
Vergini Miserabili (Poor Virgins) of Santa Caterina della Rosa, was
more concerned with their souls as well as bodies, than some other
such institutions.18 Later the Sicilian Abbot Paolo De Angelis argued
that giving alms was like depositing in heaven, for one’s future profit,
while Bishop Alessandro Sperelli of Gubbio, in 1666, claimed that the
rich giving to the poor not only helped the donor escape the pains of
hell, but brought the donor closer to God by imitating his gift-giving.
So donor and recipient were both pleased.19
Counting actual numbers involved is hard; and cited figures may
not accurately reflect active participants. The records of Visitation
 CONFRATERNITIES, HOSPITALS AND PHILANTHROPY 139

ad limina reports and apostolic Visitations, of religious Orders such as

Jesuits and Capuchins, show an increase in the numbers of confra-
ternities, notably linked to parishes and parochial work (Christian
Doctrine and social welfare). Ongoing research in southern Italy,
notably in Puglia, where Catholic Reform was slower to take off, doc-
uments new foundations through to the eighteenth century, though
whether from a popular base rather than being imposed episcopally
from above is unclear, in a kinship-focused society wary of corporate
institutions.20 The southern diocese of Benevento in 1590 had 94 con-
fraternities for a population of 136 000, expanding to 352 for 124 924
persons in 1737. In Venice the scuole numbered about 120 in the early
sixteenth century, and Richard Mackenney’s tally has reached 387 for
the eighteenth. Perugia had about 40 confraternities in the city in the
early seventeenth century (for about 19 722 people in 1618), with 128
confraternities in another 88 towns and localities in its diocese/
contado (33 129). In Rome a 1601 guide by Camillo Fanucci to its
pious institutions counted 11 confraternities associated with hospi-
tals, 49 primarily for guild members and immigrant or visiting
‘national’ groups, and 52 he judged ‘universal’.21
The numbers within confraternities varied considerably. Possibly the
largest was the Neapolitan Dei Bianchi Dello Spirito Santo, claiming
6000 members in 1562; this ran a number of charitable institutions,
helping abandoned girls, widows, daughters of prostitutes, and the
homeless, and had the backing of top Neapolitan noble families. At the
low end we find a Lombard sorority (S. Orsola in Canegrate) in 1583
with a mere four members. Many rural rosary and sacrament confra-
ternities probably had numbers under 20; but numerous city compa-
nies of all kinds would have had 100s. The top group of Venetian
Scuole, the five (six from 1552) Scuole Grandi, directly controlled by
the Council of Ten, had ceilings set at 500–600 members each, though
as Brian Pullan showed these limits could be exceeded – surreptitiously
or with permission, to increase entrance incomes.22 Some members
could be active regularly for many years, serving on councils and as offi-
cials, and attending Masses; others might be very intermittent, but still
remain on the books, since most societies seemed reluctant to expel
people once accepted, except for dire misconduct.
Lay men and women, children and clergy could all be involved in
confraternities as members; and be recipients of assistance. Most
members were adult males and lay. While misogynist attitudes and
fears of ‘gossip’, or a concentration on penitential group flagellation,
might lead to explicit exclusion of women from fraternities, mixed-sex
140 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

confraternities existed, though in most cases the women played a limited

role in confraternity organisation, seldom having an equal voice.
Perugia had a mixed Nome di Dio confraternity which counted at
least 824 brothers and sisters (roughly equal).23 As often the numbers
of women involved in confraternities may have been underestimated
though, recognising that others mighty have followed two Venetian
scuole in saying: ‘we are not naming the sorelle, along with the fratelli, so
as not to multiply the words.’24 Female membership and importance
becomes clear when they were allowed their own officials, as in hospi-
tal work, visiting the sick at home, or teaching catechisms. A few
female sororities are found, covering both elite noble women (the
Neapolitan Devote di Gesù from 1554, or the Roman S. Anna per le
Donne from 1640), furthering welfare activities, and peasant women
in S. Orsola and Rosary groups, probably with prayer as the chief
focus. Children and youths (a flexible terminology), could be
involved, as novices awaiting full membership of an adult fraternity, or
in independent youth confraternities. These are most famous from
the fifteenth century in Florence, playing notable roles in religious
musical and dramatic activities; though as they developed from the
mid-sixteenth-century amateur youthfulness was often replaced by
more professional adult domination25 (see Chapter 10).
Confraternities could be socially exclusive or inclusive.26 One trend
was to restrict a fraternity or sorority to a particular select group; of
nobles, students, a guild or group of guilds, even the blind or maim
(as authorised beggars). The larger cities had ‘national’ confraterni-
ties for immigrants from other parts of Italy, or further afield; these
provided religious activity and social welfare, and a networking system
for survival in a city. They also helped travellers and temporary stu-
dents (as in Bologna, Perugia and Rome). The ‘nation’ could be as
narrow as Norcians (specialists in butchery, and sometimes castration
of singers), in Rome, Bergamaschi in various cities like Venice and
Rome, or as broad as ‘German’ (embracing Magyars and Poles) as in
Perugia. Venetian scuole for Greeks and Slavs preserved certain spe-
cial religious features.
Alternatively, some confraternities fostered inclusiveness, seeking
social integration through the social orders, and combining rich and
poor. The Venetian Scuole Grandi had a wide social spread, though
dominated by the middling orders in their offices, with a few nobles
at one end, and poor artisans at the other (hoping for almshouses,
dowries and other perks). The parish-based fraternities were also
meant to cover all levels of local society. Danilo Zardin stresses this
 CONFRATERNITIES, HOSPITALS AND PHILANTHROPY 141

inclusivity through Lombardy with its sacrament societies, though

some other sacrament confraternities like those in Budrio and
Bagnacavallo in the Bologna Archdioces appear socially narrow and
elitist by mid-seventeenth century. In Bologna itself the parochial
sacrament confraternity in SS. Vitale e Agricola started as all-inclusive,
but by the early seventeenth century was essentially a narrow elite
organisation, even if the Forty Hour devotions or the poor relief it
organised benefited the wider parish membership.27 In socially mixed
fraternities leadership was likely to come from the wealthier orders,
with members having more time to serve as officials; but lists of offi-
cials often suggest there was still room for more lowly committee
members; and Vicenza’s Crocefisso specifically ruled in 1602 that
offices should not be reserved for nobles but spread through the
ranks. A social spread for officials was especially desirable in inclusive
fraternities if a fair spread of philanthropy through the membership
was to be ensured.

Philanthropy

Organised philanthropy increased through our period, via confrater-

nities and other agents of welfare. Across Europe from the early
sixteenth century poverty was perceived to be increasing, and the
poor – especially in cities – judged dangerous to social stability. The
idle and potentially criminal poor should be disciplined, while wel-
fare provisions and the products of loving alms-giving should be more
efficiently, less corruptly, distributed to the deserving. ‘Deserving’
was variably defined, but was likely to include aged and infirm, espe-
cially female, orphans and poor clergy. State and city governments
tended to concentrate on controlling food supplies to cope with peri-
ods of dearth (Venice being a leading example from the 1520s), then
on controlling the dangerous and undeserving: sturdy beggars, con-
men, prostitutes – by expelling them (as early on from Bruges, Ypres
and Venice), or later institutionalising them in mendicant ‘hospitals’
and ‘poor houses’, with Bologna provided a model by the 1560s. The
deserving poor were assisted through parish relief systems (as later
developed in England), through guilds, confraternities, and less
punitive hospitals, orphanages, conservatories, run by civic authori-
ties or religious institutions such as confraternities.28
Italy generally had a mixed philanthropic system, with interaction
between civic authorities, confraternities, Religious Orders, and
142 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

private initiatives. Motivations and prejudices combined fear of social

disorder and, sometimes, of women’s sexuality, positive concern for
loving one’s neighbour, and saving souls of recipients and donors.
Some religious leaders challenged the harsher discriminatory secular
attitudes. Alessandro Sperelli argued that it was for God to discrimi-
nate between deserving and undeserving, not humans, who should
assist without ‘examinations and inquisitions’.29 Increasingly Italian
philanthropists sought to redeem prostitutes and their offspring,
rather than purely reject them; though the redemption could lead to
near monastic enclosure in conservatories, or Case delle Convertite
(Houses for the (female) Converted – from immorality!), despite
warnings against this by the famous Venetian courtesan-poet Veronica
Franco when trying to assist other prostitutes and their daughters.
However, discrimination and strict social control tended to govern
activities.
Philanthropic work can best be discussed under some general pri-
oritised headings, though institutions and individuals might be
involved in several. Concern for female honour and respectability
meant that many confraternities and hospitals awarded dowries for
marriage or convent-entry (usually cheaper), in most cases just a few
a year. Competition might be open just to relatives of the member-
ship, or widened. Poverty, moral quality and sometimes good (or not
ugly) looks came into the assessments. A few confraternities spe-
cialised in this work, most notably Rome’s Santa Annunziata alla
Minerva, which by the early seventeenth century was the major con-
tributor to the 3000 dowries offered in Rome annually. Spectacular
processions involving the lucky recipients drew large crowds, and
comments from foreign visitors such as the English Jesuit Gregory
Martin, and the French writer Montaigne (in 1581). This institution
received much papal support, moral and financial, as from Pius V and
Urban VII (1590).
Redeeming and assisting vulnerable girls and women were the con-
cerns of many philanthropists. The casualties of warfare, orphaned
homeless children, especially girls, widowed and raped women, and
women forced into prostitution, led people like Countess Laura
Gambara, Bartolomeo Stella, Girolamo Miani to start conservatories
to protect them (see Chapter 1). Gambara’s Conservatorio delle
Convertite della Carità in Brescia was one model; initially to protect
young girls after the 1512 sack of the city, it later admitted older vul-
nerable women, and repentant prostitutes. Miani opened an orphan-
age in the city in 1532. Stella helped these two spread ideas about
 CONFRATERNITIES, HOSPITALS AND PHILANTHROPY 143

orphanages and conservatories across northern-central Italy. The

Capuchin Bernardino Ochino, before his flight, inspired through a
sermon the foundation of Casa Delle Derelitte in Perugia in 1539, run
by the confraternity of St Thomas Aquinas. The early Jesuits, led by
Ignatius Loyola himself, were concerned with vulnerable women. He
instituted in Rome the Casa di Santa Marta (1542) for ex-prostitutes
and battered women; followed by the Conservatorio di Santa Caterina
delle povere miserabili for prostitutes’ daughters and other young
girls seen as in moral and physical peril.30 Other cities introduced
conservatories for such abandoned girls, reformed prostitutes, and
battered wives. Some were run by confraternities, others by civic insti-
tutions with confraternity members and Regulars assisting. The
Perugian Derelitte house held about 40 girls in 1544; confraternity
members raised money for its maintenance, food, clothing and
dowries. They secured the backing of the leading noble families, and
the city’s major bibliophile and founder of a library, G.B. Pontani.
Bishop Comitoli in 1622 transferred control of the House to the
Barnabites, judging them better teachers for the girls.31 These institu-
tions could only help a limited percentage of possible users; so appli-
cations outweighed places, with the almost inevitable consequence
that Perugian, Florentine and Bolognese institutions, for example,
increasingly preferred girls from a less vulnerable and poor back-
ground, to avoid those who might prove troublesome incumbents.32
Some of these conservatories and orphanages were attached to
great hospital complexes, such as Naples’ S. Spirito hospital (which
had about 400 abandoned orphaned girls in 1587). ‘Hospitals’
(Ospedali) in our period could range from such a large hospital com-
plex, to a simple room serving as a hospice or restroom. Records are
often vague on the nature and size of ‘ospedali’ named. Many small
hospices had existed in the middle ages, with a few notable larger
institutions with medical facilities, such as Prato’s Misericordia and
Florence’s Santa Maria Nuova. Through the fifteenth century secular
governments in northern Italy had developed a policy of amalgamat-
ing the facilities and financial resources of small hospitals, to create
major centralised city hospital complexes, such as Milan’s Ca’Granda
from 1459 – treated as a model centralised creation, designed and
started (1456–65) by the great architect Filarete. Some such rational-
isation procedures were dictated by anticlerical opposition to confra-
ternities and priests, seen as inefficient, corrupt and betrayers of
welfare principles. This was true of Duke Cosimo de’ Medici’s
hospital policy from the 1540s. Bishops and other religious reformers
144 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

were challenged to ensure that those hospitals and hospices remaining

under ecclesiastical linkages should be properly administered, serve
the sick and vulnerable of all kinds.
Members of fraternities, congregations and Religious Orders were
also inspired to offer themselves as hospital assistants from the 1530s,
to help with nursing, feeding, teaching, providing spiritual comfort.
Filippo Neri tested the dedication of those wishing to join his Oratory
organisation by sending them to one of the Roman hospitals to clean
wounds and sores. Other great names in Catholic Reform,
Bartolomeo Stella, Carlo Borromeo, Cesare Baronio, Camillo de
Lellis, Luigi Gonzaga followed in promoting Christian focused hospi-
tal policies. Jesuits, Oratorians, Theatines, Capuchins all became
involved in the spiritual side of hospital work, whether for those who
would recover, and those on the brink of death (see Chapter 3).
Rome developed a complex of hospitals which the late sixteenth
century fed propaganda that the city led the world in spiritual and
physical health.33 Modernisation of medieval hospital structures, fol-
lowed by new creations, had begun in otherwise inauspicious circum-
stances in the early sixteenth century, and continued with input from
several confraternities, from the Oratory of Divine Love, Oratorians,
local artisan guilds, popes such as Clement VIII and Gregory XIII, and
in the 1580s Cardinal Antonio Maria Salviati, named Protector of
Hospitals from 1583. Camillo Fanucci’s 1601 survey claimed 40 hospi-
tals for Rome: 17 general-specialist ones, 19 ‘national’ and 4 guild hos-
pitals.34 The star complex was S. Spirito in Sassia (originating officially
back in 1201), which by 1601 had 150 beds for the wounded and
fevered, but could cope with 400 during summer epidemics, men and
women. It was also the leading foundling hospital, dealing with about
500 abandoned babies a year, providing education for those who sur-
vived that experience and a dangerous period of wetnursing. Its own
church, built by Antonio Sangallo 1538–45, celebrated many Masses
daily, and provided organ music. The archconfraternity fluctuated in
the level of its assistance for paid staff, but it helped turn the hospital
into one of the richest church institutions, with an income double that
of St Peter’s by 1624, thanks to testaments, and efficient estate man-
agement of properties in city and the Roman Campagna. Its prestige
led to an aggregation of 334 confraternities worldwide by the end of
the seventeenth century. The archconfraternity-hospital’s wealth
spawned the major bank of Santo Spirito from 1605. Its splendid
buildings ‘served as a beacon of charity, hospitalum nostrum (our hos-
pital) of the papacy, visible to every pilgrim’, in the Vatican Borgo.35
 CONFRATERNITIES, HOSPITALS AND PHILANTHROPY 145

S. Spirito’s chief rival was S. Giacomo degli Incurabili, developed by

the Oratory of Divine Love, initially to alleviate the syphilis scourge
(for which it developed a famous holy wood, legno santo, potion), but
soon coping with many other incurable and curable illnesses.36
Cardinal Salviati’s expansionist work 1580–93 produced a capacity of
120 beds, served by doctor, surgeon, chemist, paid nurses, who also
treated outpatients. Several confraternities added nursing, spiritual
and financial assistance. Other notable Roman hospitals included
S. Maria della Consolazione, fostered primarily by and for the artisans
of the Trastevere district, and involving numerous confraternities;
major rebuilding and expansion from 1650 gave it a wide reputation.
Another Trastevere-based confraternity hospital, S. Maria dell’Orto,
boasted the best pharmacy in Rome, and a richly provided church
that was the centre of numerous festivals. S. Maria della Pietà dei
Pazzarelli broke new ground as a hospital for the insane that started
by rejecting chains, straight-jackets and other restraints, in favour of
loving care. If the Spanish Ferrante Ruiz, and his 1548 Company of
Poor Foreigners (Poveri Forestieri), were the prime movers, they had
the considerable support of Carlo Borromeo, Filippo Neri, Diego
Lainez. Sadly it witnessed major difficulties in the 1590s, never gained
a solid financial base, returned to constraint policies under Cardinal
Francesco Barberini’s reform attempts in 1635.
Many lesser hospitals and hospices catered for the foreign immi-
grants and visitors (short and long term), and for pilgrims. The
fullest propaganda success was probably the archconfraternity of
SS. Trinità for pilgrims and convalescents. Promoted by Filippo Neri
in the 1540s it made its first impact catering for pilgrims during the
1550 Holy Year. Its noble brother members developed an institution
that assisted pilgrims and convalescents in normal years, but also nur-
tured 175 000 persons in the 1575 Jubilee, and 200 000 in 1600.
Pilgrims were sheltered and fed usually for three days (while those
from a great distance such as German states, Bohemia or Portugal
could stay longer), their feet washed, entertained by music, helped
visit the great basilicas to earn their indulgences (see Chapter 10).
Thus the image of Holy Rome (Roma Sancta), was well cultivated, as
the Jesuit Gregory Martin recorded, hearing of this ‘glorious’
SS. Trinità work and that of many confraternities and hospitals dur-
ing his 1576–78 stay in Rome.37
Outside Rome, hospitals and hospices were very variable. Criticisms
of the confraternity hospitals continued through our period, by bish-
ops, vicars general, and secular governments; though an anticlerical
146 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

prejudice might colour the campaign, as with Duke Cosimo in

Tuscany. He attempted to centralise the hospital system through the
state-controlled Bigallo office, but encountered much resistance in
localities. Local hospices, though poorly managed could sustain poor
priests and poor widows (as superintendents), and be acceptable
locally provided no family involved became too greedy (as in
Buggiano), and benefits were shared around (as in Ponolano).38
Confraternities continued to offer alms to petitioners, but with more
vetting of needs than before. In food, and thus also employment, crises
giving might be ‘indiscriminate’, but otherwise fraternities used offi-
cials to visit homes and make other checks, and recorded those to
whom they gave money, food, clothing, blankets, mattresses and medi-
cines. Licences might be given to cover a defined period for assistance.
Some help was given through specialist institutions. Confraternities,
especially in the centre-south (Abruzzi, Basilicata and Molise), and
Piedmont, took up the fifteenth-century Franciscan idea of providing
loans through Christian pawn-broking institutions (Monti di Pietà, or
dei Poveri), to avoid Jewish moneylenders. In southern areas Monti
were created to help the poor invest for marriage dowries, and Monti
di Frumentari lent seed and capital to poor farmers so they could sow
again after a harvest disaster or family crisis. This last activity, some-
times also encouraged by Observant Franciscans – and by Paul V –
increased in popularity until the nineteenth century.
Some confraternities invested in almshouses, which would be
offered for the love of God (Amore Dio). The Venetian Scuole Grandi
are best known for this; offering between 40 and 70 houses or rooms.
Such establishments were eagerly sought, and sometimes were cor-
ruptly allocated to less than poor relatives of officials. Others gained
their house by fairer vetting, and subsequent immoral conduct could
lose it. In the case of a scuola piccola, SS. Trinità, it advertised to the
general public a vacancy in its 10 or so almshouses on the Rialto and
in St Mark’s square.39
Much philanthropy was conducted through these specialist confra-
ternities and institution. However, some systems of poor relief were
developed, somewhat like the evolving English Poor Law parochial
solutions. Parish priests were pressed to list the needy parishioners to
guide the other institutions and societies, but parish-church-based fra-
ternities designed to help the poor at home were also created. Venice
provides a key example, though the evidence is fullest for the eigh-
teenth century.40 Under the pressure of food crises of 1544–47,
parishes were instructed to establish committees under the pievano to
 CONFRATERNITIES, HOSPITALS AND PHILANTHROPY 147

identify the poor needing assistance at home (rather than being

institutionalised), and organise relief. In 1563 a group of devout
parishioners from SS. Apostoli ceated a Congregation of the Poor, as
a kind of confraternity to fulfil this task, for their own religious bene-
fit as well as the home-based poor. Precedents existed under Bishop
Giberti of Verona from 1539, and Bishop Michele Priuli of Vicenza in
1569. Other Venetian parishes slowly followed in forming their own
Fraterna for the poor, until all 69 parishes had them in the eighteenth
century. Such fraternities mixed clergy and laity. The visitors to the
poor rotated through the membership, ensuring a diversity of
parochial supervision, and avoiding an elitist ‘professionalism’ that
might be too prejudiced for or against families. The visitors were to
ensure that the home-based sick had bread, meat, money, medicines
and fire wood, but also to seek to create a Christian atmosphere in the
family, even some teaching of the faith to children. Clergy and lay
brothers sought funds by begging and petitioning. The parish of
S. Sofia in 1602 initiated helping those ‘in great misery’ (as through
unemployment), though not sick. In 1608 the patriarch himself
pressed parish fraternities to assist those suffering from economic cri-
sis. But ultimately the government health committee, the Provveditori
della Sanità, controlled, and expanded this philanthropic coverage,
which included bringing in doctors and surgeons. By the 1700s the
combination of church and state leadership, and neighbourhood phi-
lanthropy had provided a basic welfare service for the poor across
most of Venice. Meanwhile in one of the poorest parishes, S. Lio, the
Sacrament scuola struggled to maintain its own poor relief work, along-
side the piovano, based on a ‘poor box’ collecting system.41
Other philanthropic developments associated in part with chang-
ing religious attitudes include treatment of prisoners (carcerati),
advocated by one of the Acts of Mercy. Jesuits and Capuchins joined
confraternities in bringing food, drink and clothing to poor prison-
ers who had no help from family or alleged creditors. Increasingly
they introduced some religious education, and books for spiritual
comfort. In cities such as Bologna, Florence, Lecce, Milan, Naples,
Rome and Venice confraternities additionally helped indebted and
other prisoners secure release, by paying debts and fines, or making
accommodation with complainants or creditors. Some, like Lecce’s
Jesuit influenced SS. Annunziata, recognised that many were in prison
through ignorance more than innate criminality, and economic cir-
cumstances beyond their control, so deserving of educational assis-
tance, and the means to start earning again for their families.
148 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

In Rome the Pietà dei Carcerati confraternity essentially ran several

prisons, and assisted the priests (notably Jesuits), with religious edu-
cation; in 1592 Clement VIII officially made this and other confrater-
nities like the Gonfalone, as guardians of the prisons. Archbishop
Alfonso Paleotti in 1595 similarly made a company within the S. Maria
della Morte responsible for Bolognese prison welfare. Several spe-
cialist confraternities previously had acted as comforters of con-
demned prisoners, sought to secure their contrite confession,
escorted them in processions to execution, arranged burials and help
for the family. This work continued through our period, but in some
cities like Bologna and Rome elite groups within certain fraternities
became well-trained ‘Comforters’, to encourage contrition, reconcil-
iation with victims, with the hope that their soul might go straight to
heaven, like the Good Thief’s at Christ’s crucifixion. Some con-
demned to execution or the galleys could be pardoned through
papal privileges granted to certain confraternities, and Roman guilds,
provided they had made peace with the victim’s family. Other confra-
ternities, notably in Chioggia, Genoa, Naples and Rome, worked for
the release of Christians captured and enslaved by the Turks, while
the Roman Pietà dei Carcerati extended its charity to securing the
release by their Italian owners of north African Muslim slaves, prefer-
ably being baptised as well.42
Through our period welfare activity thus expanded, building on
some medieval precedents, but diversifying in methods and moving
into new geographical areas. Whatever the mixed motivations, hard
to unravel, more philanthropy was evident. Even if the physical
awards were meagre and the offerings to a relatively few left the needs
of many unsatisfied, there remains the impressions of a more chris-
tian caring society. The welfare society can be judged, as it was at the
time, as good for the prestige of Catholicism and its Roman leader-
ship by the seventeenth century.
Confraternities shared in this prestige. However philanthropy was
only one aspect of their considerations. Joining the spiritual commu-
nity could also satisfy selfish spiritual motives, allow women and men
to exercise influence in local society, foster social and political net-
works, and maintain some lay autonomy from clerical domination.
8 Nunneries and Religious Women

The Tridentine attempt to enclose strictly all women who had taken
full vows as nuns had wide implications for society, and produced
many headaches for the male church leaders seeking to enforce it.
Success would deprive women of the opportunity to play a religious
role in open society outside the control of male family members. We
have seen already how attempts to have nuns and tertiaries operating
unenclosed were severely frustrated, as with the Angelicals (Chapter 3).
Many women avoided both marriage and the convent, but that stark
choice was often presented, especially to girls in upper society, and
most realised, soon after Trent, that once in a convent it was hard to
move freely in and out, as had been quite easy before.
‘Aut virum, aut murum’, either a man or a wall, was a fifteenth-
century Latin proverb; it encapsulates what some reformers wanted
more forcefully in the sixteenth century.1 Fortunately, not all reform-
ers were as rigidly hostile to female activity outside home and con-
vent. Some bishops still promoted the Orsoline Company, founding
new institutions in Ferrara (1587), Bologna (1608), Modena (1620),
with specific attitudes encoded that they should promote a ‘third
state’, for celibate women to serve God in the world and remain hon-
oured at home, and that this could and should be promoted by
fathers of families.2
The wide social implications of strict enclosure (clausura), were
considerable. Much interesting literature has been produced recently
in English and Italian on the topic, as on religious minded women
who gained notoriety – as living saints, or frauds. The literature has
covered the ‘tyranny’ of forcing females into nunneries, and the
resulting miseries and scandals; the attempts of nuns and outside

149
150 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

family or admirers to breach the walls; but also lively cultural lives in
some convents, with music, theatre, letter-writing and painting. Some
nuns could have a true and lasting religious vocation, and others (less
devout), find a convent a base for social and political influence.

Nunneries and Female Enclosure

Many young females over the centuries were pushed by families into
the religious life at an immature age without realising the implica-
tions and without great dedication; often when families were unable
or unwilling to provide a suitable marriage dowry. While few nun-
neries were totally ‘free’, the costs to the family of monacisation and
maintenance in nunnery was much less than for marriage.
Commitment through vows to the religious life without spiritual
enthusiasm and satisfaction could later on become very burdensome,
especially if superiors attempted to ensure the vows were obeyed. The
problem of nunneries was seen by some during the Council, such as
Francesco Palmio, as central to the spirit of Tridentine reform.3 Much
dispute and tension ensued.
The numbers of females involved were significant. Estimates
suggest that from 3 per cent to 6 per cent of the female urban pop-
ulation were in convents, with some cities having much higher ratios.
Gabriella Zarri suggested between 9.8 per cent and 13.8 per cent for
Bologna, which in 1570 had officially 2198 nuns in its 61 742 popula-
tion; in 1633 there were 2128 religiose in 29 houses (1636 choir nuns,
492 converse (see later), with 264 educande to be taught. Florence had
about 2826 women in 45 convents out of 26 267 inhabitants in 1552,
and 4200 out of 76 000 inhabitants in 1622. In Venice in 1581, 2508
were recorded as inhabiting nunneries (out of a population of
134 877); in 1642 officials counted 1991 choral nuns, 599 converse and
315 putte educande (girls subject to clausura rules, while being edu-
cated within nunneries), in its central nunneries, excluding some on
remoter islands. The city population had probably fallen to about
120 000 as the result of the 1629–33 plagues. Rome in the period
1600–19 averaged 6300 nuns, maybe 5.8 per cent of Rome’s female
population; this expanded to 8323, or 7.2 per cent for the period
1660–79. Nuns were more numerous than friars or priests in the first
period, though friars overtook them in the second half. A smaller
area like Prato had 1200 nuns in 10 convents in 1591, for a city and
 NUNNERIES AND RELIGIOUS WOMEN 151

contado population of 13 994, (maybe just under 6000 people in the

city itself). Naples in 1585 had 22 female convents with 1754 nuns,
while in 1630 Lecce (population over 10 000) had 593 nuns in 8 con-
vents. The presence or absence of nunneries in the contado varied; at
the end of the sixteenth century the duchy of Montefeltro had a nun-
nery in nearly every castello, but Bologna, Parma and Pisa dioceses
had virtually none outside the cities.4
A disproportionate number of choir nuns came from the upper
levels of society, since most nunneries required a ‘dowry’, and con-
tinuing contributions to expenses. A few convents in major cities,
mostly Franciscan, and more in poorer parts of the country catered
for females from lower sectors of society. Some confraternities
offered dowries for poor honest females that could be used either for
marriage or convent entry. The preponderance of elite nuns made it
harder for the authorities to implement full enclosure. The patrician
imbalance was most notable in Venice, where 70–80 per cent of the
choir nuns were from patrician families; and the resistance to full
enclosure consequently very strong. In Venice, S. Zaccaria was essen-
tially a noble house for generations past, with some very elaborate rit-
uals (especially for the election of the abbess), encouraged by the
doge as well as patriarch. By the seventeenth century convents such
as S. Alvise, S. Caterina, S. Andrea and S. Spirito had almost become
as noble. S. Chiara was, however one for lesser ranked families.5
Females from humbler backgrounds could however lead convents; in
1599 Benedetta Carlini was sent, aged nine, from a fairly humble fam-
ily in a Tuscan village, to join a rising community of Theatine females
in Pescia. She was the first prioress when it became a fully enclosed
convent in 1619. The Theatine Order here would accept women
from humble backgrounds. Benedetta gained a reputation as mystic,
visionary, prophet, marked by the stigmata. She however ended a
prisoner condemned as a false saint, and active lesbian (though
which was the worse sin is not clarified by the surviving records).6
The decree concerning nunneries and their enclosure was one of
the last to be approved in December 1563, after a hurried discussion
at the end of November. It claimed to be renovating clausura (it being
part of canon law since 1298), and boldly ordered that females, once
they had professed their vows, should not leave the monastery, even
for illness.7 The Trent discussions pretended that enclosure had been
the norm, though sometimes breached. That some Orders had never
had strict enclosure made subsequent imposition, contrary to rule and
152 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

tradition, harder to enforce. While the Trent fathers argued strongly

that enclosure was necessary to avoid scandals, they admitted a crucial
problem: ‘The large majority of nuns enter religion because they are
compelled to by threats or reverential fear of parents or relatives.’ This
happened ‘so that they will renounce the inheritances due to them in
order to favour their brothers and sisters’.8 They recognised that
consequentially some convents were ‘Sacred brothels’.
The Tridentine remedy sought to ensure that their monacisation
was freely conducted, and after the age of 16. But the post-Tridentine
reformers seemed more intent on the enforcement of enclosure, and
less on checking that vows were freely made. Yet bishops a century
later were prepared to admit, as the Bishop of Mantua did in 1661
that ‘I know the suore are women and women who very unwillingly
see themselves restrained.’9 After Trent a few women managed to get
their vows annulled, and become free to leave, and even marry, if they
could prove gross coercion into taking vows. For example, Caterina
Angelica Frosciante, a Dominican nun in S. Andrea in Spoleto in
1682 was released by the Sacred Congregation of the Council, on the
grounds that her brothers had forced her to enter the convent in
1655 under death threats, and then her sister, already a nun, had
beaten her until she had agreed to take the vows. However, the deci-
sion seemed to rest more on her being under age, only 14, when it
happened, than on the violence involved. The Council produced a
printed text of this case.10
What was being demanded was a major change, to be met with
considerable opposition from within convents, and from outside, by
the secular families, but also some clerical leaders who spotted diffi-
culties. Various states such as Tuscany and Venice established their
own magistracies to supervise convents, and those dealing with them;
these could both assist and impede the bishops and Congregations.11
While fathers and brothers might want the females in a convent to
save on marital dowries, many still desired access to them, whether
from affection, family solidarity, or in recognition that their nuns
could still exercise power and influence, through networking with
other families.
The sudden imposition of full clausura shocked those women who
had entered expecting to be able to take visits out of the convent, as
with the Udine nun who in 1601 reflected: ‘I was told by my relatives:
“Do become a nun, but then you will come home often to see us”.’12
Understandably, resistance was offered by nuns caught in the chang-
ing policy. Roman nuns and nunneries faced intense pressures,
 NUNNERIES AND RELIGIOUS WOMEN 153

leading to escapes, suicides and revolts, as Niccolò Ormaneto tried to

execute his master Carlo Borromeo’s rigorous policy in a Visitation of
Rome from 1566. Convents vigorously contested, legally and physi-
cally, those trying to build more secure structures, as in Florence
(S. Maria Annunziata, called Le Murate) and Prato (S. Vicenzo).13 In
southern Italy battles to close nunneries that could not be made
secure, redistributing the nuns to other convents (new and old),
interference in the hitherto fairly free lives of aristocratic nuns, led
some nuns having their vows annulled. Two from the most aristo-
cratic S. Patrizia, Naples, were allowed to marry.14
Feverish activity followed Trent to ensure strict enclosure: new walls
built, windows giving views of the outside world bricked up, doors
blocked that might give too ready access to any church or chapel
attached to the convent which would allow contact with the general
public. Grilles were created so nuns could observe services, even sing
and be heard, but not seen. The parlour, needed for some contact
with priests and confessors, or necessary visitors, was supposedly to be
secure, so that the nuns could talk through grilles, but not be
touched or fully seen. However nuns, their relatives, admirers found
ways to evade some of these restrictions and break through barriers.
Patriarchs of Venice, archbishops of Bologna and Florence and their
Visitors, were particularly intent on ensuring the physical environ-
ment implemented enclosure. Laity, and nuns, certainly in Venice,
were as intent to limit physical impediments to reasonable communi-
cation. In 1594 the Nunzio in Venice reported that the nuns of two
Franciscan convents had struck against the physical restrictions, and
‘tore down the wall of the cloister, entered the exterior churches,
opened the doors, and stayed there for a whole day, walking about the
church, and returned to their seclusion after the government threat-
ened them’. Secular policing powers were brought in to control the
situation, and the abbesses and vicars of the two convents were impris-
oned in other monasteries.15
After the Tridentine enclosure spree, clerics occasionally admitted
that they needed to show sympathy towards reluctant nuns. The
Bishop of Mantua in 1661 told the Congregation of Bishops and
Regulars that ‘I know well that the nuns are women, and for that mat-
ter women who unwillingly see themselves constrained’, and Cardinal
Giovanni Battista De Luca, a member of the same Congregation in
his 1675 Il vescovo pratico, declared that while pastoral care required
some rigour and austerity for the nuns’ protection, ‘one needs a con-
siderable degree of leniency, since we must feel pity for these women
154 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

imprisoned for life and deprived of all the satisfactions which lay
women of comparable rank enjoy.’16
Nuns could not be isolated, for practical reasons and because of
the different kinds of inhabitants. Many convents had three or four
kinds of inhabitants: the fully professed choir nuns, the converse, some
older women not under vows (sometimes called professe) such as wid-
ows or others seeking refuge and educande. Converse were women who
took simple vows and were not fully consecrated choir nuns. In the
more prestigious nunneries the converse were often of lower social sta-
tus, unable to afford a full convent dowry, and acted as servants for
the elite nuns, so also called servigiali in Tuscany.17 The educande were
girls, normally aged from about eight to early 20s, who were educated
within a convent, whether in preparation for marriage or for life as a
nun. They were supposedly boarders, observing enclosure rules while
there; but naturally many families wanted to retain contact, by having
the girly home for a time, or visiting them. Milan’s San Paolo had its
educande moving fairly freely.18 The converse and professe (if mature and
deemed not to be sexually in danger), provided links with the outside
world, and brought in gossip. Since endowments and incomes for
many nunneries were much less than for male houses, and nuns
could no longer seek alms as they had done, the converse and professe
filled such roles. While this could solve financial problems, scandals
arose when such converse misbehaved with their freedom, as Venetian
Patriarchs complained in the 1590s of some from San Sepolcro, Santa
Maria Maggiore and Santa Maria di Miracoli.19
Males had to have access. The convent inhabitants regularly
needed confessors and priests and occasionally doctors. Venetian
records show such visitors delayed and gossiped long beyond profes-
sional need, to be courted by nuns who had made sweetmeats, cakes
and delicacies for them. Workmen needed access to build, and repair,
while others brought supplies. While small supplies were handed over
via the ruota, or rotating platform, which allowed such to be received
without provider or conventual recipient seeing each other, we know
from clerical orders in Venice and Bologna, and actual Venetian
cases, that nuns readily conversed with workmen, or female and male
retailers. In 1599 the patriarch expressed concern that the professe in
the Venetian nunnery of S. Maria di Miracoli were carrying corre-
spondence in and out for the nuns; this must be vetted by the
abbess.20 Despite the high walls, and problems of canals, Venetian
youths were caught – and punished – for being too close to convents,
for serenading or insulting, with the assumption that nuns and
 NUNNERIES AND RELIGIOUS WOMEN 155

educande might hear and see. Others entered the churches close to
the nuns’ grilled chapel, or into the conventual parlour and similarly
showed-off, or exposed themselves, like the musician Pasqualin in
1611 in various nunneries, for which he was sentenced to ten years in
the galleys.21 That such persons were punished, indicates that polic-
ing was at least intermittently active, and that a neighbourhood watch
readily reported. In Venice again nuns in some convents had close
contact with prostitutes, who desired conventual churches for spiri-
tual refuge, or the nuns for gossipy friendship and off-duty female
companionship. In the case of prostitute Malipiera Malipiero in 1612,
close physical and improper contact with nuns was alleged. In the
Roman nunnery of S. Maria di Campo Marzia a mid-seventeenth
century nun, Costanza Theodili had as a servant a public prostitute
who produced two children to the scandal of the monastery, and fear
for the impact on the young educande there.22 Whore – nun friendship
could add to the worldly wisdom of the latter.
Stricter enclosure raised financial difficulties. Conventual ‘dowries’
and payments for living expenses covered some costs; but convents
needed endowments providing steady incomes, and in most cases
probably alms. Some nunneries were richly endowed, such as
S. Zaccaria in Venice, Le Murate in Florence, S. Vitale e Agricola in
Bologna, S. Maria in Stella, Milan, and many in Naples, like S. Patrizia.
In such places leading families might build and fund substantial cells,
to house their female relatives, often in successive generations.
Attempts were made to curb this ‘ownership’ of cells, as in Bologna
by Archbishop Lodovico Ludovisi from 1621,23 Nuns found other
sources of income; educating boarding girls might be the most lucra-
tive, or housing rich widows. They might earn by taking in clerical
laundry, selling lace work or medicines. The S. Chiara Franciscans of
Pistoia sold vestments, altar cloths, wine and pigeons; S. Girolamo just
outside Florence lent money to other convents and monasteries, hav-
ing income from commercial investments in the Mercato Vecchio.
Bologna convents sold liqueurs they distilled, along with medicines
and ungents. By the seventeenth century many convents had
attracted donations, invested them wisely, and as in Verona, lent
money at low interest rates to secular families.24
Supposedly, enclosure would safeguard virginity.25 However,
enough people reported scandals to indicate that walls were not pro-
tective, that nuns were assaulted by, or had willing sexual relations
with, authorised visiting confessors, sundry other clergy, and lay visi-
tors who secured entry. If the men were kept out, lesbianism might be
156 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

an alternative threat or comfort. Venetian court records show that

Patriarchal decrees and fulminations against sexual sins, excessive
contact with workmen and sellers, bawdy jibes and so forth were
based on realities or forceful accusations of namable persons. In
Venice city officials were proactive policemen, looking for offenders,
in city and on the mainland. But such policing did not stop nuns get-
ting pregnant by male intruders, or in 1623 emerging from the walls
for gondola journeys and parties. Francesco Capello’s nun lover
brazenly wore a purple overcoat and green stockings.26 Venetian sec-
ular authorities threatened the molesters of nuns with heavy penal-
ties, including death sentences from 1605 – though Mary Laven failed
to find such being carried out in her survey up to 1650. The relevant
magistracy of the Provveditori sopra monasteri was however active
against those either too friendly or too hostile to nuns, holding trials
of men eating inappropriately with nuns, or shouting abuse at them,
visiting the parlours without any legitimate reason, or dressing
‘lasciviously’ in their presence. A significant number of ‘criminal and
disciplinary’ trials under this magistracy involved priests and friars –
58 out of 263 between 1550 and 1650. They of course had legitimate
access to nuns and converse, and more opportunity to abuse that
access than lay men and women.27 However, very serious crimes could
be unmasked, including rape, as in a multi-person case in 1608 – 1609
involving up to 15 noblemen – masquerading, penetrating space and
some bodies – at a convent that surviving documents kept anony-
mous, but which was identified by the famous English ambassador, Sir
Henry Wotton, as Sant’Anna – later to be Arcangela Tarabotti’s
abode. Several nobles were banished, others lost their status, but
none was executed for carnal knowledge of a nun.28
All this suggests an exciting life, for some. Conventual life for nuns
could be boring, frustrating, poverty-stricken – or busy, stimulating,
fulfilling in religiously appropriate, or in immoral, ways, and with
many comforts, especially in urban convents. Patrician nuns in the
richer convents of Venice, Naples, Rome or Bologna could have com-
fortable cells, with converse at their service. But for all the daily life of
nuns, converse and professe would have been a routine of communal
services and solitary prayer and meditation; it varied whether meals
were taken communally or solitarily in the cell. Arangela Tarabotti
voices the classic complaints:

Oh how wearing it is to find oneself always sitting at the same table

with the same food. How tormenting to retire every night to the
 NUNNERIES AND RELIGIOUS WOMEN 157

same bed, always to breathe the same air, always to conduct the
same conversations and to see the same faces!29

In well-endowed convents some nuns would be employed on business

affairs, with official posts rotating between the older nuns, with or
without politicking. For some, opportunities for power and responsi-
bility within the convent would be more fulfilling than in a secular
family life. Some convents were part of parochial life, with additional
roles to be played in dealing with male clergy. By the seventeenth cen-
tury many convents had accumulated property to be managed;
incomes received, expenditures on properties agreed, decisions to be
made about legal suits, over properties, or the fulfilment of wills. The
considerable archival material on Bologna convents brought this
home, when hunting for evidence on more spiritual and cultural mat-
ters. Whatever outside male assistance they received, some nuns thus
had active and responsible secular roles.
Abbesses, prioresses and other nuns who dominated the chapters
of wealthy nunneries, could be powerful within the house, the Order,
and in the outside world. Renée Baernstein has well shown this with
a Sfondrati dynasty of women (relatives of Pope Gregory XIV) domi-
nating in and from San Paolo, Milan; cultured, talented and ruth-
less.30 By the seventeenth century the world of Roman nunneries was
heavily influenced by matrons of the Roman aristocracy, old and new;
from the major papal families such as the Aldobrandini, Barberini,
Borghese, Ludovisi, or other older Roman oligarchs such as the
Altieri, Cesi, Colonna, Massimi, Orsini and Savelli. They provided
financial support, and dictated artistic patronage within the walls of
chapels and living quarters; and they could dominate the internal
politics of the convent as and when they took vows, and retired to a
convent as a widow. Some offered exemplary spirituality as well as
patronage, such as (another) Vittoria Colonna (1610–75), who
became the Carmelite Chiara Maria della Passione. She joined a poor
nunnery, Sant’Egidio in Trastevere in 1628, but was later to help her
sister Anna Colonna (wife of Taddeo Barberini), found and finance
the Regina Coeli. She also appeared to lead a small circle of devout
mystically inclined men and women. These Roman matrons extended
their monastic patronage and leadership to nunneries founded or
expanded in localities outside Rome, such as Albano and Palestrina.31
For those with limited dedication, with little skill or interest in read-
ing, or without access to books, the daily life would have been very
tedious and frustrating, with any break in the routine welcomed. The
158 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

smaller and poorer convents would have been worse for the indiffer-
ent, while the large rich houses often provided a varied and stimulat-
ing life. Personality clashes tearing communities apart are revealed
when they led to trials, or were unearthed by a Visitation. In the con-
vent of S. Vito on the island of Burano in the Venetian Lagoon, the
long-standing hostility between Sisters Anna Marchi and Colombina
gave rise to three trials between 1607 and 1621, centring on accusa-
tions against Sister Colombina’s alleged love relations and sexual
exploits.32
Highlight moments existed to break the monotony. The vesting
(vestizione), of a new nun could be a splendid occasion, as could the
professione, taking the final vows. It could involve family and friends
bringing the girl to the convent, processions, lengthy ceremonies and
rituals; nuns would have prepared special foods and delicacies for the
lay visitors and clergy, which would not have passed their mouths
untasted. When a girl educated in the nunnery left instead to be mar-
ried, equally elaborate and enjoyable ceremonies were offered, at
least in Venice. Nuns’ own sisters visited on the eve of their wedding,
showing off their finery – as Venetian Patriarch Giovan Trevisan
lamented, and sought to control. The nuns through their grilles
watched and appreciated entertainments put on in the convent par-
lour, where the laity assembled. The election of an abbess was often a
splendid affair, attracting church dignitaries, leading nobles, and
requiring food-giving.33 The Visitation to a nunnery offered oppor-
tunities for diversion, often in practice with little serious inquisition
into the state of affairs (as opposed to the quality and seemliness of
the altars, accoutrements and decorations).34 Gifts were showered on
the nuns at ceremonial occasions. While the nun’s habit might seem
lacking in interest, the inventories and the patriarch’s monitory
orders indicate that nuns had fun in creating tiny variations in their
garments, their veils, cuffs, collars, headbands, and ruffs, in head pins
and pectoral crosses; competing over fashionable handkerchiefs, and
in how much thinly veiled breast they could expose – as they greeted
visitors at the grilles. The Venetian Patriarch Giovan Trevisan in 1579
banned nuns from having ‘blond and curly hair’, platform shoes,
‘pleated and elaborate shirts in the fashion of secular women, and
fine handkerchiefs’; but he and his successors went on bann-
ing variations of such stylish competitiveness, suggesting limited
effectiveness. Behind the parlour, many clearly still wore coloured
dresses, earrings, broaches, as condemned by Patriarch Francesco
Vendramin.35
 NUNNERIES AND RELIGIOUS WOMEN 159

In some nunneries food was grown in gardens, and animals were

kept. Gardens were important for food, recreation and contacts.
Chickens were treated as pets (in dormitories sometimes), as well as
providers of eggs. Authorities tried to stop nuns having chickens,
dogs, and parrots as pets, with limited success. The 1622–23 Visitation
to S. Cristina, Bologna (Camaldolese), revealed tensions over dogs,
chickens, even a cat in the choir, and two nuns keeping sheep, cows
and asses – for gratification, and costing the convent money. Converse
looked after dogs for some nuns, to the resentment of others. It is not
clarified whether such issues led to one conversa being attacked by a
nun, drawing blood from her head!36
The general quality of food within nunneries would have varied
considerably, as did the attitude of nuns. Some nuns deliberately
fasted to excess, living largely off stale bread and water, which might
have contributed to hallucinations and mystical experiences. While
for the normal nuns, and monks, rules of fasting curtailed eating, it
should not be assumed that they were necessarily malnourished. A
recent study of the food supplies for a good selection of southern
Italian monasteries, male and female, indicates that their inhabitants
had plentiful and varied supplies of food, especially fish and vegeta-
bles, and that they were probably better fed than most of the secular
neighbours.37
The parlatorio played a significant role in the more relaxed nun-
neries: as public space where nuns and professe met outsiders, suppos-
edly speaking through grilles, but where also they might move more
freely when outsiders were not present. Here they met family visitors
clergy, or doctors; celebrated before postulants took full vows,
received former educande and their families returning for prenuptial
parades and blessings. But it was the location for more dubious activ-
ities: plays, music and dancing, cards and gambling. Prostitutes would
come in and entertain the nuns with music and dance, as in San Vito
on Burano in 1627. By the eighteenth century the paintings of Pietro
Longhi, Franceso Guardi and some anonymous painters indicate
much jovial activity, puppet shows, dalliances and fancy dress
parades.38
While major sexual scandals attract the attention, their prevalence
can be exaggerated. Laven argues that while there was much inter-
course between nuns and others – offensive to the authorities, if a
relief from their boredom – most of this was social rather than fully
sexual. The priorities were talk and gossip, attention-paying to be
boasted about among friends once separated; it might involve some
160 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

touching in the parlour through the grilles, but also gift-giving both
ways. Nuns cooked and sewed for distinguished or influential visitors
and clergy; they were also sometimes accused of passing out surplus
food from their own farm supplies, in-convent chickens, and kitchen
production, to feed artisan families nearby.39
Some nunneries taught young girls within their confines; and even
brought up infants in their midst, as was revealed in Cividale in the
1590s. Such concerns gave the nuns activity, stimulus, maybe a voca-
tion. It also posed problems, and created temptations; so some nuns
(as in S. Cristina, Bologna), declined to teach.40 In 1592, Patriarch
Lorenzo Priuli addressed orders to 11 nunneries which were teaching
girls for money (a spese); while accepting that they should continue,
he was relaying the worries from the Congregation for the Regulars
in Rome that rules were ignored. The Patriarch had to licence those
admitted, aged between 7 and 25 and virgins. They could only leave
for grave medical reasons. They should observe the clausura as if
nuns; dress plainly (positivamente) without gold ornaments, jewelry,
blonde-died hair. They could not bring in a servant, or have a professa
allocated to them personally. They could not have profane pictures,
musical instruments, dogs to walk or parrots. They must not enter
nuns’ cells. They would be assigned teachers who would teach them
to read ‘good and devout books, and principally the book of
Christian Doctrine, and make them learn it by heart (a mente)’. Rome
itself continued to have such problems. In the later seventeenth cen-
tury the authorities were involved in many disputes over which girls
might be taught within Rome’s convents, with what freedom of move-
ment, and at what charge.41
Understanding the spiritual and psychological position of a fairly
dedicated nun, one neither over-zealous nor troublesome, is clearly dif-
ficult, given the kind of documentation usually available. Illumination
comes from correspondence of Don Alfonso Lupari to his niece,
Antonia Ludovica, in the Benedictine nunnery of SS. Vitale e Agricola
in Bologna.42 They were from a noble Bolognese Senatorial family.
Alfonso, son and heir, became a Theatine. Don Alfonso was based in
Piacenza during the period of surviving letters, 1622–30 (but mostly
1628–30). He was a kindly spiritual comforter to Antonia, advising on
suitable and varied reading (which should involve intellectual play as
well as devotion), warning against being too ascetic and penitential,
consoling her when her ‘best friend’ sister left for another nunnery.
He consulted her about his sermons, and commented on what she
composed herself; one for a vesting ceremony was beautiful, but too
 NUNNERIES AND RELIGIOUS WOMEN 161

long for the occasion, and better for Good Friday.43 Such an epistolary
relationship, with a few visits from him, was obviously helpful. How
frequent?

Convent Culture

Recent research has emphasised cultural activities and vitality within

some nunneries. Nuns could have a lively musical life, as singers,
instrument players and composers; they performed and wrote plays;
they painted pictures; they could contribute to religious debates.44
Given the noble intake into many convents, that girls were taught in
convents, and often stayed to become nuns themselves, the literacy
level was likely to be high, and literary production potentially learned
in many city convents, if not rural ones.
Nunneries had not been immune to the religious debates of the
mid-sixteenth century. Pier Paolo Vergerio (Chapter 1) had a sister
Coletta, as a Clarissa nun in S. Francesco, Udine, where she
instructed others in the new faith; revealed when Nicola da Treviso
penetrated the cloisters to convert them to Anabaptism. In the late
1550s, a Neapolitan Calvinist, Pietro Gelido, helped organise a group
in Venice, and infiltrated the nunnery of S. Girolamo. A nun there,
Prudenza Corona confessed to having received various books from a
Neapolitan notary, including a Genevan Catechism, with which she
had re-educated herself (in the Calvinist faith), and several other
nuns. In 1590 coadjutor Bishop Francesco Barbaro prosecuted
Clarisse nuns in Udine for heresy, and was sniffing for heresy in his
1601 Visitation.45 To what extent many nuns retained secret heretical
thoughts further into the post-Tridentine period is unclear, but some
authorities wanted to ensure they did not have access to prohibited
books – whether vernacular Bibles, religious tracts, or unseemly sec-
ular literature.46 The intense book-hunt after the 1596 Index
(Chapter 9), included investigating convent libraries.
The convent libraries, and nuns’ holdings in their cells, only mar-
ginally studied, were variable. The Benedictine house of S. Marta in
Genoa had a library of 263 printed volumes; while a selection of con-
vents in L’Aquila recorded between 7 and 36 titles at the end of the
sixteenth century. The Observant Franciscans in Umbria docu-
mented their holdings; their 19 Clarisse houses in the Province had
over 1100 printed volumes (and uncounted manuscripts), ranging
from 8 in Assisi’s Della Benedetta to 169 in S. Maria di Monteluce,
162 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

outside Perugia. The earlier mentioned Genoese convent’s list

contained only three suspect titles, including the Spaniard Antonio
de Guevara’s Monte Calvario (a 1555 Venetian translation). Four
Perugian convents (according to lists sent to Rome 1599–1600), had
70 titles to be expurgated or banned, including Guevara again, works
by Dante and Petrarch, vernacular translations of New Testament
texts, and Nicolò Malerbi’s Italian translation of the whole Bible.
They were potentially reading dangerously and excitingly.47 A collec-
tion of inventories of possessions in cells in S. Margherita, Bologna
(Benedictine), in 1613 reveals a number of books (seldom clearly
specified), in Italian and Latin, some utilitarian such as breviaries and
Offices of the Virgin, others spiritual. Suor Pantasilia had 12 unspec-
ified spiritual books, while among her varied collection Suor
Monacha Felice Ariosti had (Scupoli’s) Combattimento Spirituale. Some
nuns had their own music books in this convent noted for singing.48
Literary contributions were made by convent inhabitants. Focus
has moved on from the major spiritual writings of the saintly figures
such as Caterina de Ricci, Maria Maddalena de’Pazzi or Teresa of
Avila (whose Vita was well known and influential in Italy), to lesser
writings and conventual correspondence.49 Some nuns became histo-
rians of their own convents, and were ready to interweave outside
worldly events, as in Giustina Niccolini’s history of Benedictine Le
Murate, Florence. Fiammetta Frescobaldi, of S. Giacopo di Ripoli in
Florence, not only wrote the history of her own Order, but produced
a digest of Francesco Guicciardini’s great Storia d’Italia, a study of the
Venetian Patriarchate, and also histories of Persian kings, of the east
and west Indies. Arcangela Tarabotti, besides railing at the suppres-
sion of nuns in convents against their wills, and entering the debate
on the status of women, and Eve’s equality, or superiority to Adam,
was ready to attack Venetian sumptuary laws against secular women.50
Letter-writing was seemingly an increasing conventual activity;
whether for mundane, spiritual private consideration, or for a wider
public impact. Some nuns’ correspondence was published to inspire
and console others. Saints Caterina de’ Ricci (1522–90) and Maria
Maddalena de’Pazzi (1566–1607) provided two models of conventual
letter writer. Pazzi (a Carmelite nun in Florence’s S. Maria degli
Angeli from 1583), wrote rarer letters primarily to edify and encour-
age other Sisters in Christ, and also to respond to the tribulations of
other nuns doubting their vocation and worthiness. Ricci was more in
the tradition of ‘divine mothers’ who addressed a wider variety of cor-
respondents, mainly in the outside world, to encourage wider reform
 NUNNERIES AND RELIGIOUS WOMEN 163

and moral behaviour. Caterina de’Ricci’s letter-writing, from

S. Vincenzo in Prato, was on a daily basis (aided by amanuenses); an
excess criticised by the Dominican Bishop Vincenzo Ercolani
(though himself a prolific letter-writer), as detracting from a calm life
of prayer. But her letters comforted lay figures such as Filippo Salviati,
a long-term friend – after she apparently miraculously cured his wife
in 1543.51 Battistina Vernazza (1497–1587), daughter of the Genoese
Oratory’s co-founder, and Mother Superior of Lateran canonesses in
Genoa, became famous for her mystical writings based on Scripture,
religious poems, and devotional tracts. Her partially published cor-
respondence with a Lateran canon in Piacenza, Gasparo Scotto,
became a valuable public guide to the spiritual life and a conventual
life of contemplation.52
Other correspondence was more practical and less intense –
exemplified by the letters of Suor Maria Celeste (1600–34) to her
father Galileo. This correspondence (covering 1623–33), has been
much highlighted, and made available in English, by Dava Sobel,
notably for insights into Galileo’s period of investigation and house-
arrest in Siena and Arcetri. Her chatty, non-literary correspondence,
provides interesting glimpses of the more mundane life of a poorish
convent and ‘average’ nun, lacking privacy, sometimes food, ade-
quate books to read or to instruct her – even on letter-writing.53 She
was clearly kept busy, and writing business letters for the abbess took
precedence over writing to her father.54 Galileo in happier times in
the 1620s had helped his daughter and her convent of S. Matteo; in
her last years her gifts (delicacies or medicines) to him and her
expressed worries about his health, may have eased his pains.
Theatre was a significant activity in nunneries in many cities,
expanding from Renaissance precedents. Elissa Weaver has carefully
studied plays from Tuscan convents (and bringing in Bologna and
Amelia). But convent theatre is mentioned in Sacred Congregation
and visitation records throughout Italy from Genoa and Venice to
Ancona, Naples and Messina.55 Some reformers had qualms about its
continuation, especially if it involved secular themes, dressing-up,
with cross-dressing in male roles, and especially if performed for out-
siders rather than for self-instruction and internal entertainment.
Patriarch Priuli in 1595 tried to curb the dressing-up, if not the plays;
while he had in 1593 generally ordered plays be confined to illustrat-
ing biblical and saints’ stories.56 Some productions had elaborate
scenery and musical effects, as well as costuming; and would have
involved cooperation from outsider suppliers and builders. A
164 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

production gave many nuns in a convent plenty to do. Some con-

vent plays were provided by famous writers, notably Giovan Maria
Cecchi (possibly the leading religious dramatist of his day), and
Michelangelo Buonarroti the Younger, who wrote for his nieces in
S. Agata, Florence, including a surviving play about one of that Saint’s
miracles. Galileo Galilei wrote one play at least (not traced), for his
illegitimate daughter. Nunneries used printed plays, borrowed man-
uscript texts from other convents, but some plays were written by
nuns in house, especially the maestra teaching girls.
Some convent plays were built on the Sacred Representation tradi-
tion (of confraternity fame in Tuscany and Umbria in particular), and
on Laude, hymn singing and practices – hence the musical dimen-
sions. Just as the secular court theatre developed intermezzi – musical
interludes between acts of plays often with elaborate scene settings
involving machinery and dancing – so some mid-sixteenth century
and later plays produced by convents added them; as for The Play of
Saint Catherine of Cologne (by an anonymous nun), used by a number of
convents. Convent plays dealt with ethereal or saintly themes, but also
the thoroughly worldly, and even dangerously erotic, as with as a David
and Bathsheba play, written by the confessor to the nuns of S. Silvestro
di Pisa in Genoa. Beatrice del Sera in mid-century, in her Amor di Virtu,
showed, like others, good knowledge of secular literature (whether
Boccaccio, Petrarch or Ariosto). She (in a convent from age 2), and
others reflected the frustrations and loneliness of the convent life, but
also conveyed effective spiritual messages. Plays brought out humour,
notably in scenes involving lower-order characters or the old. Issues of
dowries and marriages featured, aimed at the educande, and their hav-
ing to choose. A nun like Annalena Odaldi, from S. Chiara in Pistoia,
in her Commedio di Nannuccio e quindici figliastre (Nannucio and fifteen
step-daughters), focused on marriage themes, provided a very positive
view of convent life; and of the education available for the educande
which make them good wives.57 Moderata Fonte (or Modesta Pozzo,
d.1592), now celebrated for her impressive dialogue Il merito della
donne as a contribution to the debate on the merits and equality of
women, was educated in the convent of Santa Marta – before mar-
riage. There plays were part of her educational background, and
through them she became star reciter to visiting lay women. Whether
or not she helped write for the convent, she wrote a secular play later
for production before the Doge.58
Exciting recent writing has highlighted the range and variety of
music produced in convents. The singing of Laude persisted, but in
 NUNNERIES AND RELIGIOUS WOMEN 165

the post-Tridentine period nuns’ choirs became well recognised in

cities like Bologna, Milan, Genoa, Siena and then Venice for refined –
ethereal – singing of high quality, notably in a modern style of motet
singing.59 Members of the public would come to certain convent
churches to hear the ‘disembodied voices’ singing behind the grilles
of the church galleries. Controversially, males helped train the
singing nuns, and provided compositions, most notably by the later
seventeenth-century in Venice, the ‘red-priest’ Vivaldi, composing for
orphanage institutions such as the Pietà, which combined girls and
professed nuns. However, some nuns became notable composers, and
had their works published for use beyond their own convent walls.
For the early post-Trent period the notable convents for music were
in Bologna. The musical developments were against a background of
conflicts with Archbishops Gabriele and Alfonso Paleotti, and the
Sacred Congregations in Rome, over if and when organs could be
used (and where), and other instruments to accompany voices; and
whether male musicians could help. Negative attitudes to male
helpers led to greater opportunities for nuns, such as Maria Isabella
Trombetta with her trombone in S. Gervasio e Protasio in the 1570s;
Laura Bovia developed a nuns’ group of singers in S. Lorenzo in the
1580s, and fostered one in Florence. Bolognese convents like S. Pietro
Martire and S. Caterina in Strada from the 1590s were reputed for
solo singers, as part of the Mass. S. Cristina then became praised for
elaborate concerti, by a major composer, Suor Lucretia Orsina Vizzana.
Her motet collection for grand convent celebrations was published:
Componimenti Musicali in 1623. An aunt, the convent organist,
probably taught her. Sadly the divine music was composed by an
increasingly sick and then unstable Lucrezia, her condition worsened
by conflicts between the nuns, and even physical battles with the
archbishop’s officials following publication. Theologically several
motets stress the real presence of Christ in the Host, and the impor-
tance of the musical art in response to Jesus’ own inspiring voice.60
Milan in the seventeenth century also developed a strong convent
music tradition, partly thanks to the enthusiasm of Cardinal
Archbishop Federico Borromeo, and his personal commitment to
both church music, and the well-being of nuns. He welcomed lutes
and violins being played inside convents and donated instruments.
He accepted complicated polyphony, as well as solo singing. Chiara
Cozzolani (1602–c.77), in the convent of S. Radegonda became the
most notable nun composer, and her works were also published in
several volumes from 1640 to 1650. Suor Chiara’s music, as in the
166 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Concerti sacri of 1642 and Psalms of 1650, ranged from solo motets,
duos and trios to a four-part Mass. Motets in dialogue form, as saints
conversed, gave full opportunities for angelic female voices. Her 1650
Vespers collection had some elaborate concerto composition, possi-
bly originally for the visit of Maria Anna of Austria, Philip IV’s fiancée.
Later, especially as abbess, 1660–73, Chiara faced a hostile attitude to
music, and stricter enclosure, from Archbishop Alfonso Litta. Her
composing was curtailed or at least it remained unpublished.61
Sienese nunneries were allowed to put on full-scale operas by this late
period, attracting public attention; sponsored by the Chigi family,
which placed many talented daughters in convents.62
Some nuns have been revealed and studied as significant painters,
as well as scene decorators. Some naturally came from painting fami-
lies. The Roman painter Domenico Fetti’s sister Lucrina having trav-
eled with him to Mantua became a nun in Sant’Orsola, where she
painted female saints, and portraits of females in the ruling Gonzaga
family in the period c.1614–29. The leading mid-sixteenth century
woman court portraitist Sofonisba Anguissola, from Cremona, taught
her sisters to paint, including Elena who became a nun in Cremona.
Giorgio Vasari in his Lives of the Artists noted one seemingly more
prolific nun-painter, Plautilla Nelli (d.1587), in the Florentine con-
vent of S. Caterina da Siena where a Last Supper is still to be found.
She was apparently one of several painting nuns there. Several paint-
ing nuns have recently been identified in Roman convents in the sev-
enteenth century, such as the Carmelite Maria Eufrasia della Croce
(d.1676), in S. Giuseppe a Capo.63
The policy of strictly enclosing nuns was not fully effective in
policing terms, security could be breached, immoralities continue,
family contacts remain. Both nuns and some authorities recognised
that the inhabitants could feel like prisoners, even if they were origi-
nally willing entrants. Others, however were clearly fulfilled in a reli-
gious vocation, while even for the less dedicated convent life need not
have been tedious and deadening, but have some stimulus and
satisfaction.

Some Other Religious Women

The enclosure policy clearly frustrated female religious expression

outside the convent, though some remained possible through con-
fraternities and surviving congregations like the Ursulines. We have
 NUNNERIES AND RELIGIOUS WOMEN 167

already noted dominant and influential women in the early reform

period and part of philanthropic movements. This continued. For
example, in Venice a major institution to protect vulnerable girls, the
Zitelle, was founded in 1559 – 60 largely by patrician women (influ-
enced by the Barnabites), who had already got involved with the hos-
pital of the Derelitte (abandoned girls); led by women from noble
clans, like Andriana Contarini, Isabella Grimani and Soprana Corner.
In 1574 Chiara Contarini left half her estate for the building of a new
hospital-conservatory for girls.64 Women could show their religious
inclinations and preferences in bequeathing large sums of money to
favourite churches, confraternities and nunneries. Some, as from the
Sienese nobility, merely paid for a large number of Masses of the
dead, which might indirectly help fund the chosen institution. Others
directly contributed to philanthropic acts, buildings and decorations.
Somebody like Baronessa Caterina Cerbone, clearly took her time
over deciding what charities should be the beneficiaries in her will.65
Olwen Hufton’s work shows the importance of female funding for
early modern Catholicism Europe-wide, especially as backers of the
new Religious Orders like the Jesuits.66
A few women tried precariously to express deep religious feelings
on the fringes of society. Viewed as ‘living saints’ by some, they risked
condemnation by church courts as heretical ‘pretend saints’ and false
prophetesses. Fascinating recent work on the topic has been domi-
nated by Gabriella Zarri and Anne Jacobson Schutte.67 In outlining
some fairly unusual individual cases I hope to hint at possibly more
common practices and attitudes.
Cecilia Ferrazzi is probably best known. Investigated by the
Venetian Inquisition tribunal in 1664, she was unusually given per-
mission to record her own story, as part of a long investigation, before
conviction of pretence of sanctity (September 1665). Anne Jacobsen
Schutte has translated this part as an ‘Autobiography’.68 Uneducated,
orphaned young during the 1630–33 plague, Cecilia abhorred the
idea of marriage, but was too poor to enter a suitable convent. She
had serious medical problems, was clearly often in pain – before
dropping gall-stones near the altar. She had many visions, and earned
a local reputation as a saintly figure, supported by laity and some
clergy, including to some extent initially a leading exorcist, Father
Giorgio Polacco (confessor to Benedictine nuns, and Patriarch’s vicar
governing female religious). Her main work was however looking
after vulnerable children and young women, and she came to run
refuges (Sant’Antonio di Castello and elsewhere) – involving about
168 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

300 females aged 5 to late 20s, when she was arrested in 1664. While
conservatories for vulnerable girls and women were quite fashion-
able, Cecilia was unusual in being a dominant organiser without
much benefit from males, such as confraternity officials. Her denun-
ciation was triggered by a relative of some girls, and a former pro-
tégée, accusing her of mistreating and virtually imprisoning them; in
her eyes she was protecting them from relatives who probably wanted
them back on the streets as prostitutes. Cecilia could express her ded-
ication through charitable works, living on the fringes of the convent
world, staying in some, but not committed. She changed confessors
and spiritual advisers very rapidly; some were supportive, some hos-
tile. While Anne Schutte stresses ‘obedience’ in Cecilia’s autobio-
graphical language, Cecilia seems to be seeking a male supporter
both to back her philanthropy, and assure her that her visions of
saints and the Virgin were genuine, not devilish deceit. Some of her
‘girls’ seemingly confessed to her, as if in a sacramental confession.
This alleged conduct contributed to her condemnation as ‘lightly sus-
pect’ of heresy, and a sentence of 7 years in prison. In practice she was
released in under 2 years to a house arrest under Cardinal Gregorio
Barbarigo in Padua, who with the backing of the Venetian govern-
ment secured her full release in January 1669; dying in Venice in
1684. Cardinal Barbarigo (1625–97, beatified 1761, canonised 1960),
had in the 1650s been influenced by Ferrazzi’s religious reputation,
among other Venetian spirituals, male and female, leading to his own
ordination and episcopal career. As Bishop of Bergamo (1657–64) he
met the couple to be discussed next (see Chapter 11).69
The views about Cecilia were doubtless affected by another case,
that of Maria Janis, condemned a couple of years before 1662 – for
pretending to live off the Eucharist alone.70 She was very closely
attached to one priest (Pietro Morali) who traveled with her. They
were reported by a nosey neighbour in a Venetian building, spying
through a chink in the partition between rooms, suspicious of their
relationship. Maria believed the Virgin had instructed her to feed on
the holy wafer alone, and Pietro Morali admiring her sanctity pro-
vided her with the consecrated host (for which he was condemned).
They had come originally from a Bresciano village (Zorzone). Their
friendship had developed through working together in the
Confraternity of Mary Virgin of Consolation of the Holy Belt. Maria
had helped the priest teach Christian Doctrine; the leather belt,
which confraternity members wore, allegedly helped people fulfil
their dreams, so many flocked from other villages. Maria for a while
 NUNNERIES AND RELIGIOUS WOMEN 169

retreated to a hermit’s existence, accompanied by eating problems,

and visions of the Virgin. Eventually, the priest seemingly stabilized
her condition with the host as food; he tutored her about the saints,
in reading and in mental prayer. She then looked after him. Facing
excessive interest in her miraculous living off the Host, but also sus-
picions of their close spiritual relationship, they traveled together to
Rome, then to Venice – and were arrested. Maria was eventually judged
a fraud over her host-alone eating. Some decades before, however,
Angela Maria Pasqualigo, a patrician rejecting family marriage plans,
had been judged a living saint for this feat, and a ‘great heroine’
according to her Theatine biographer. She, like Cecilia, helped poor
girls though not so systematically. Eventually, Pasqualigo had got per-
mission to start a Theatine affiliated nunnery – and became strictly
enclosed in 1647. Her genuineness had been attested by the previ-
ously mentioned father Giorgio Polacco. The more plebeian and
non-Venetian Maria had her similar request to be ‘tested’ rejected;
and when Polacco asked the learned Pasqualigo what she thought of
Cecilia Ferrazzi’s religious credentials, she was hostile. Sisterly sup-
port was lacking.71
Maria Janis had learned from her priest about mental, silent prayer.
This was seen as dangerous ground by authorities in the seventeenth
century, and sometimes later associated with Quietism. One movement
focusing on silent prayer was generated from the Church of S. Pelagia
in Milan, initially under a Giacomo Filippo Casolo. From there disci-
ples, Pelagini, took ideas and practices up into the Bresciano, and then
across northern Italy by the 1680s. Inquisitors showed concern from
1655 in the Valcamonica. Silent prayer might seem an innocuous activ-
ity; but the advocates were believed to encourage group sessions in
which lay men and women also discussed the Gospel, and preached –
including the women. They were informal confraternities undermin-
ing parochial authority. Silent prayer was more significant than the
Eucharist. While much is opaque about the Pelagini, seemingly in the
diocese of Brescia and Bergamo many women were involved. Some of
the high-class women, especially at St Pelagia itself, also concerned
themselves in charitable work, including seeking to save prostitutes.
Some brothers and sisters in the fraternities had ecstatic experiences
and prophesied. Married Pelagini were encouraged to abstain from
sex, but their attackers claimed they indulged in indecencies where
priests solicited the female penitents. Here we are dealing with many
more women (and men), in a number of places, than in the more
isolated cases of Ferrazzi, Janis or Pasqualigo.72
170 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

The female Pelagini probably largely followed male leadership, as

maybe did Pasqualigo. In my view, if not Anne Schutte’s, Cecilia
Ferrazzi was a dominant initiator of religious practices, as was Maria
Janis. Cecilia was probably not much liked or loved by male support-
ers. But some of the living saints had priests adoring and loving them,
whether chastely or not. Antonia Pesenti, an illiterate Venetian in the
1660s, saw visions of the Virgin in front of a Byzantine painting and
had the priest Francesco Vincenzi fall in love with her. Pesenti got
other young women to gather around the picture, and Vincenzi cho-
reographed ceremonies; then sold ‘Relics’ to those visiting Santa
Ternita: bits of cloth soaked in sweat of the entranced females.73 A
Bologna seamstress Angela Mellini in the 1690s, who was able to write
a short diary, had ecstatic religious experiences with visions of Christ
(sometimes triggered by silent prayer): ‘my Jesus exposed my breast
and opened my ribs and took my heart and in place of it he put all
the instruments of the sacred passion’. She seemed able to predict
the future, and was devoted to ejaculatory prayer. Eventually, Angela
was treated as a spiritual mother and confessor by one admiring
Franciscan priest, Giovanni Battista Ruggieri. This inversion of roles
was too much for higher authority, who charged her with ‘affected
sanctity’. She was released after penances, and the most affected
priest sent away from Bologna – for discussing problems of his own
chastity with a woman. Ruggieri had given her a biography of another
heart-suffering holy woman, Cecilia Nobili, lay sister of Nocera
Umbra to read. Angela produced a diagram of her suffering heart,
with a commentary – this matched fairly well the post-mortem
description of Cecilia Nobili’s heart, with burn and nail marks on it.74
For the Inquisitors, bishops and Roman Congregations, these were
difficult women, presenting delicate cases. Women who undermined,
or ignored, male clerical control, who appeared to act like female
priests, had to be controlled, but authorities had to be wary of offend-
ing popular enthusiasm. We can now turn to a wider consideration of
the Inquisition, its control and re-education.
9 Repression and Control

Control over society and religious life took many forms, and we have
already encountered facets of this in considering the powers of bish-
ops and their vicars, in the increased influence of parish priests, with
charitable institutions that could restrict as well as comfort, and in the
educational policies and practices of Sunday schools. However, the
Inquisition is most associated with Catholic repression, and judged
the chief weapon of the ‘Counter Reformation’. The Inquisition tri-
bunals could be brutally repressive, but some of their procedures can
be positively interpreted as re-education towards a better Christian
life, eradicating superstitions and attempts at magical practices that
few would welcome continuing. The first trial of the miller
Menocchio (Domenico Scandella), and the early trials of the Friulian
benandanti, night-battlers, can be seen both as learning processes for
inquisitors, and re-education exercises to induce right thinking in the
accused.1 Some activities of the early Inquisition featured in Chapter 1,
while Chapter 3 outlined the basic structures of the Roman
Inquisition. This chapter will look more closely at procedures, targets,
effects and interactions with society.
Much of the activity of the Inquisitions has been misunderstood,
partly through the institutional secrecy surrounding them, partly from
the long history of counter-propaganda – Catholic and Protestant –
since their foundations. The nastier results of Inquisition activity –
which undoubtedly existed – must be seen in a certain context. Other
ecclesiastical courts and secular institutions often had a much more
brutal record of executions, torture and lesser punishments. Many
writers fail to distinguish between medieval Inquisitions operating in
localised situations and early modern (or modern) Inquisitions as

171
172 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

centralised and institutionalised in Spain, Portugal and then in Rome;

between the state governed Iberian Inquisitions and the Holy Office
in Rome; between Inquisitions and inquisitorial investigatory and trial
procedures. Inquisitorial legal procedures by the sixteenth century
had been adopted and adapted from ecclesiastical usage by courts in
much of Europe. In the hands of untrained or poorly trained judges
and magistrates, influenced by local hysteria, using torture to excess,
and lacking a central monitoring control such courts could and did
perpetrate much injustice and cruelty, especially in the pursuit of
‘witches’.2 But such should not be used to distort the record and roles
of the Holy Office in Rome, or even the Iberian tribunals. What fol-
lows seeks to provide a balanced view of the Inquisition tribunals
within Italy.
The Holy Office of the Inquisition was developed as a permanent
bureaucratic and executive body following the Bull Licet ab initio of
21 July 1542 (Chapter 3). It was not a monolithic organisation, and
conditions varied over time and place within Italy. While a fairly
impressive central organisation developed in Rome, this did not have
a uniform network of tribunals, inquisitors and helpers throughout
Italy, but had to deal with local state realities and power struggles.
Even within Rome power struggles between Cardinals were played
out within the Holy Office. The creation of the Congregation of the
Index of Prohibited Books (1571), though dependent on that of the
Holy Office, soon set up personality conflicts and rival policies – to
the benefit of those wishing to avoid strict controls, but embarassing
for a censor like the great Roberto Bellarmino being censored and
opposed.3 In terms of punishment for heretical offenses, hawks and
doves, or retributionists and educationalists, operated throughout
the period, on most issues. Such differences appear in the known
correspondences between the centre and the periphery; as is being
revealed, following the opening of Holy Office archive in Rome
in 1998.4 Bishops, abbots, prioresses as well as the secular powers –
while ultimately liable to Inquisition control – were ready to frustrate
inquisitorial operations, and defend some accused or some book
collections.
The number of local tribunals and branch offices of the Inquisition
is not clear. Gigliola Fragnito through her penetrating studies of book
censorship, using correspondence from the central archive, has so far
produced the following list for those operating by the early seventeenth
century or added later: Adria, Alessandria, Ancona, Aquileia, Asti,
 REPRESSION AND CONTROL 173

Bergamo, Bologna, Brescia, Capodistria, Casale Monferrato, Ceneda,

Cividale, Como, Crema (1614), Cremona, Faenza, Fermo (1631),
Ferrara, Florence, Genoa, Gubbio (1631), Mantua, Milan, Modena
(started 1598), Mondovì, Novara, Padua, Parma, Pavia, Perugia, Pisa,
Reggio Emilia (1598), Rimini, Saluzzo, Siena, Spoleto (1685), Tortona,
Treviso, Turin, Venice, Vercelli, Verona, Vicenza and Zara.5
The Kingdom of Naples is excluded from this list – since tribunals
as such could not be created, by order of the King of Spain; though
the Archbishop of Naples could unofficially operate inquisition-like
investigations with other bishops. Beyond such tribunals or local
offices, the scant cases surviving from the Florentine records suggest
that the Florence inquisitor used a variety of local clerics to act as
inquisitorial agents.6 The staffing of the Inquisition, centrally and
regionally was limited, which restricted what denunciations and accu-
sations could be pursued. While most investigations started from
neighbours’ denunciations, or parish priests and confessors pres-
surising penitents to report themselves ‘voluntarily’, the Italian
Inquisitions lacked the proactive public support found with the
‘familiars’ of the Spanish Inquisition. Italian Inquisition officials
could spend little time on spying out troublesome behaviour and
beliefs, though they might keep track of known troublesome families
or individuals, and make enquiries of other tribunals. Vicenza and
Venice linked up over Bernardin Barbano of Vicenza in 1573; first
noted for Anabaptism some time before, he had not recanted. In
1586 the Venetian tribunal, the Patriarch’s court and others cooper-
ated in tracking the continuing Lutheran interest of the Cerdoni fam-
ily from Dignano.7 The contact between centre and periphery could
be very variable. Correspondence between Rome and Bologna or
Venice might be very regular, but that with remoter areas meagre. In
1611 Cardinal Pompeo Arrigoni wrote to the Udine Inquisitor, com-
plaining of not having heard from him for months, ‘as if in that city
and diocese there were no inquisitor, nor any causes and business
happening to be dealt with’.8
We know most about the Venetian tribunal, because – given its
bilateral operation between church and state – its archives became
part of the state archive on the fall of the Republic and Inquisition
after 1797. These archives are very full and a mine of information on
Venetian society as well as the operation of the Inquisition.9 Many
files were opened with a denunciation; some received no further
recorded attention; some were followed up with interviewing of
174 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

witnesses and then dropped. Only a minority of ‘cases’ became a full

inquisitorial investigation, leading to formal charges, a full trial (with
sometimes a defence response), leading to a result. Cases were
dropped or frozen probably because judged to be inspired by malice,
too trivial, or there was little chance of finding corroboration and wit-
nesses. Inquisitors might leave the file as pending, in case another
accusation arrived against the named person(s). The tribunal might
pursue an investigation a little, to test validity and seriousness.
Witnesses might be questioned, some confirming an original accusa-
tion, and no apparent attempt to question the accused be recorded.
A denounced person, as over magical practices or derogatory
remarks against fasting, the saints or the Pope, might be then ques-
tioned, and warned against repetition rather than formally tried; as
with the flour porter Domenico Longino, caught in 1573 singing a
lewd song against the Pope being buggered by a Cardinal Colonna.10
Once the Roman Inquisition was well formalised (after the para-
noia of the Paul IV period), Inquisition procedures were generally
legalistic, conducted with professionalism by well-trained church
lawyers and notaries, with theological advisors to hand if necessary.
Notaries recorded the proceedings fully (though translation from
dialect, and some editing, must sometimes have been involved), and
copies could be made to circulate to other tribunals, to Rome’s Holy
Office, for a defence lawyer who might plead mitigation, or even
bring in defence witnesses. Once a case was deemed serious, the pro-
cedure through inquisitorial questioning to formal trial and sentenc-
ing, could be lengthy. The court wanted to be meticulous and avoid
mistakes, it might take time to find witnesses, while slowness gave the
accused the chance to contemplate in prison, convent or under
house control – and reappear with a helpful confession. While Italian
accused probably had a clearer and quicker idea of what was alleged
against them than in the Iberian Inquisitions, they might decide
while waiting to second-guess, and prepare a pre-emptive admission
that would mitigate any punishment. In contrast with secular courts
and other ecclesiastical courts, the Inquisition tribunals were ready to
tarry over cases, as Giordano Bruno found as he sweated it out in the
Holy Office prisons for years, (1593–1600, in Venice, then Rome).
‘Prison’ conditions were very variable; a special Inquisition prison
(probably better physically than many civic ones), a local secular
prison, or a monastic cell. Length of time in prison, not knowing
when the next formal questioning would come, was probably the
main fear mechanism, a psychological torture rather than physical.
 REPRESSION AND CONTROL 175

Physical torture (usually the strappato, being strung up by wrists tied

behind the back, and then dropped to wrench the shoulders), was
used on accused and intransigent witnesses; but less frequently than
in secular courts.11 Inquisition rules limited the time for any torture
period (usually 30 minutes), and frequency or any repetition. The
central Holy Office tightened control over its use, essentially making
local tribunals get its permission for use.12 From the evidence of the
Venetian cases, torture was rarely imposed even if more often threat-
ened. What was said under torture was recorded by a notary (even the
calls on the Virgin and cries of anguish – Oihme!); to be confirmed
in substance later, free of the torture chamber. Some accused made
admissions and confessions merely under the threat of torture; but
significant others survived without making a true, or fearfully false,
admission, and so were dismissed or escaped serious charges and
punishments. From notarial transcripts of what supposedly transpired
under Inquisition investigation atmosphere and nuances are hard to
detect; and we do not know what informal tortures or deals were per-
petrated off the record down in prison. However, surviving records
give no hint of unofficial torture, no accusations of such are made by
those who remained intransigent. Some records show accused willing
to argue with the inquisitors, and not appear too fearful, as with the
miller Menocchio (at least in his first trial), Cecilia Ferrazzi in Venice,
or the benandanti in Friuli, men and women who supposedly left their
bodies at night to do battle with evil forces and witches, threatening
their crops.13
Evidence from within the Inquisition records indicate that some
accused learned to dissimulate and manipulate to secure a quick
release; to confess just enough, and of whatever validity to satisfy the
tribunal. In 1580 Alvise Capuano’s wife said that her husband had
wished to teach all the imprisoned how to get out quickly, and said he
who risked a death sentence ‘needs to know how to feign and simu-
late to escape such forces, but once out of prison was able to believe
and do what he pleased and appeared to him’. Giovanni Paese in
1577 had claimed that a previous confession had been produced by
this very tactic. We need to read the responses in that light.14

Sentencing

By contemporary standards Inquisition sentences were in reality mild.

Death sentences were few, a life sentence declared in the first formal
176 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

sentencing, might soon be followed by a milder punishment, recog-

nising contrition. Release to house arrest might follow, as noted with
female pretend saints, and as happened to Galileo in 1633. He was first
released into the care of the Archbishop of Siena, (who favoured some
of his work and opened his library to him), then house confinement
at his villa Arcetri, outside Florence. We cannot have a full record of
death sentences, or actual executions. Critics seize on the famous
executions – of Pietro Carnesecchi (1567), or Giordano Bruno (1600).
But the execution rate was low in comparison with capital sentences
from secular courts across Europe. Rome’s tribunal executed (with
some public show usually), about 135 people from 1553 to 1601, a
number of those were called from other tribunals because the case
deemed so serious. The Venetian tribunal executed (by quiet drown-
ing) about 25 in the century, and only 2 were executed from 1587 to
the early eighteenth century. The Friulian tribunals of Aquileia and
Concordia between 1544 and 1599 sentenced 15 to death, of which
only 5, including Domenico Scandella, were actually executed, though
2 more, initially tried in Udine, were condemned and executed in
Rome. The Republic’s Council of Ten and other civilian courts exe-
cuted 168 people in the sixteenth century. ‘Martyrs’ under the
Inquisitions were fewer than in England under Catholic Mary (about
300, 1553–58), or Anglican Elizabeth; and 308 were executed for trea-
son against the English crown, 1542–50.15
Humiliation in a public sentencing, sometimes called an auto, was in
the 1550s to the 1560s a significant feature in sentencing, especially in
Rome. While influenced, through Gian Pietro Carafa probably, by the
Spanish auto-da-fé (which also featured in Sicily), the mainland Italian
auto was a sentencing phenomenon (usually in a church), and not
accompanied by executions or burning in effigy, as in the Iberian sys-
tem. Public humiliation on a lesser scale remained one aspect to deter
others, as with post-confessional penances from a bishop or confessor.
Physical punishments, such as being flogged through the streets or
outside a major church, with placards indicating the offences, were
part of the public punishment and education process. A Genoese
who had made a Faustian pact selling his soul to the Devil and erect-
ing an altar to him, featured at an auto in St Peter’s Rome in 1577, but
was only flogged.16 Sentences to the galleys, useful for the Papal and
Neapolitan navies, were appropriate for the healthier heretics, as for
two lay Neapolitans and a priest Scipione Messita from Bianco (in
Campania?), condemned at the 1595 Roman auto, for having books
 REPRESSION AND CONTROL 177

to help practice diabolic magic, or dealing with a necromancer.

Messita survived that experience, to have his file reopened in 1622.17
Penitential punishments, in public or private, as the main sentence
were apparently more common from the later sixteenth century. This
was partly because by then few charges were brought concerning
Lutheran or Calvinist beliefs, or major attacks on central Catholic
Doctrines. The charges were more concerned with magical practices,
superstitions, the misuse of sacraments (rather than total denial of
their validity), and traffic in or reading of prohibited books (but
not the most dangerous). For such, penitential punishments were
deemed appropriate, following a re-education process through the
investigation proceedings.
Those artisans and merchants who benefited from Inquisition
‘leniency’ might, however suffer serious economic difficulties, encour-
aging compromises. For example, Zuan Donato (alias Donà) della
Colombina was a wealthy pharmacist when he was investigated in
Vicenza in 1547; in 1564 he appears in another trial in Venice, now as
‘a poor man who makes rosary beads from agate’, who relied on
wealthier supporters to invite him to dinner. What religious compro-
mises were involved are not clarified.18
Indicative both of sentencing policies, and interaction of centre
and periphery is a Bologna case. The local inquisitor sentenced
Giovanni Paolo Delle Agocchie in 1589 to abjuration and three years
in prison for hitting an image of the Madonna, and heretical swear-
ing. ‘Prison’ turned into house arrest; but when he escaped, with a
woman convicted of sorcery, the inquisitor ordered the confiscation
of his property, and a death sentence for contumacy and being a
relapsed, impenitent heretic. After going to Geneva, Delle Agocchie
reappeared in 1593, as a prisoner of the Roman Holy Office. There
however, Cardinal Santoro called for copies of the full papers from
Bologna, and with his fellow Inquisition Cardinals ruled that the sec-
ond sentence had been irregular and contrary to a canonical decree,
because it was declared before Delle Agocchie had been absent a
year; and flight from ‘prison’ did not mean he was ‘relapsed’. So the
property had to be restored to his relatives, with any lost profits; Delle
Agocchie was sentenced to the galleys for five years, as if he had
received no other sentence. The Bologna inquisitor was reprimanded
for illegitimate harshness, and not observing due process. Rome
annulled other death sentences given in Bologna; possibly because
the local inquisitors were going beyond the manuals and guidelines,
178 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

and showing anger when the accused were thwarting their authority
(as with prison escapes), rather than over the heretical offences.19

Public Condemnation and Controlling Major Heresy

Italian inquisitions did have some well-publicised sentencing cere-

monies in what was called an autodafè; with executions coming later.
The papacy was not unaware of the impact of ‘public humiliation’;20
but other rulers could be more dubious, whether the Dukes of
Mantua or the Venetian Republic. Most well-publicised autos came in
the 1550s and 1560s, with Pope Pius V notably seeing publicity value
from exemplary public condemnations in Rome, which would be
reported further afield, through ambassadors who attended, and
printed news-sheets. Indulgences were offered to those attending.
The Roman autos usually took place inside S. Maria sopra Minerva,
given its close links with the Dominicans who provided most inquisi-
tors. Executions might follow some time later, with less spectacle. The
Roman autos mostly paraded between ten and fifteen persons at a
time. Through the period till 1600 about one in ten was executed
soon after. Some autos had no death sentences, and some condemned
were executed without appearing publicly; normally if unrepentant,
and showing defiance. The Church wanted suitable publicity for its
efforts to maintain orthodoxy, punish the really serious offenders, but
show some mercy to the truly repentant.
The first recorded autodafè was on 6 June 1552, when seven
Lutherans (two friars, plus secular priests), were paraded, wearing
yellow tunics, and reconciled (rebenedire), before a great crowd.
Seemingly none was executed, but from eleven Lutherans paraded
on 21 March 1553, one was hanged and burned on the 4 September:
Giovanni Buzio da Montalcino, who had preached heresy in Naples.
His heretical books were burned five days later. His death rang alarm
bells in the North and made him a Protestant martyr.21 Some major
autos after the closure of the Council (starting in December 1564),
constituted similar warning marker points, hitting at Valdesians and
Waldensians as well as Lutherans and hybrid heretics.
The most significant auto involved Pietro Carnesecchi on 21
September 1567, attracting a large throng, many cardinals and
prelates. A sick man after a very long and gruelling investigation, his
final condemnation was a notable occasion. He can be seen as a great
survivor, having first been tried (and cleared himself), in 1546. On
 REPRESSION AND CONTROL 179

his own admission (at his third trial in 1566) ‘it was in Naples in 1540
that I began to have doubts about purgatory and confession’, and he
then avidly read books by Bucer and Luther. To the Roman inquisi-
tors in December 1566 he said: ‘We were of the opinion that [Luther]
was a great man because of his wisdom and eloquence, and we also
held that he acted sincerely in his own way, namely that he did not
deceive others if he was not first deceived by his own opinions.’22 His
intellectual acumen and courage, and the protection of powerful
princes had enabled him to argue his way out of trouble, until on the
death of Countess Giulia Gonzaga the Inquisition seized correspon-
dence fully incriminating Carnesecchi as a convinced heretical
believer rather than one showing sympathetic interest. At the auto
the master of ceremonies Firmano admired his beautiful aspect
and nobility, as he listened to the two-hour reading of the sentence
against him. Carnesecchi and another friar were burned on
1 October.
Carnesecchi’s public condemnation probably carried several
different messages. It warned intellectuals that arguing their way out
of trouble with the Inquisition, claiming they read and talked from a
spirit of enquiry, would no longer succeed; few would attempt
brazenly to take on the Inquisition. Political protection of high-
profile heresy was unlikely to be forthcoming. Thereafter however,
the Inquisition tribunals became less concerned with deep challeng-
ing beliefs of salvation by faith alone, the Trinity, Sacraments, and
intellectual arguments about them, and became more interested in
less worrying, vaguer, challenges by less influential persons.
Interestingly, Mario Galeota, abjuring at an auto in Rome before
Carnesecchi’s on 22 June, had been more leniently treated. He had
provided Countess Giulia Gonzaga with manuscript copies of his
friend Valdes’ works; he had also translated some, and organised
their printing. In 1566 he abjured ideas derived from them and from
the Beneficio di Cristo; notably that ‘faith alone justifies and saves man’.
He had denied that good works gave merit, denied purgatory and the
intercession of saints, the validity of monastic vows, and so forth. But
he was not judged as dangerous as Carnesecchi. He was sentenced to
5 years in prison, away from Naples. Inquisitor Giulio Santoro in the
context of religious troubles in Naples (1559–64), had noted
Galeota as ‘one of the authors of tumult, previously investigated, dis-
ciple of Valdes’, and pushed Rome, and especially Cardinal Ghislieri
to pursue him.23 In May 1571 Galeota was apparently leading a nor-
mal life in Naples, and died in 1586, probably accepting the Valdesian
180 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

cause was misguided as well as defeated. When the Beneficio and

Valdesian works had been banned he had said: ‘It matters very little
to me, because they are in my head, and no one can erase them
from there, and even if they can prevent me reading them, they can-
not take them from my mind.’24 The Congregation of the Index set
out to ensure that the next generation would not read these works in
the first place.
The Roman autos involved heretics sent from all over Italy. Autos
and executions took place elsewhere. While the Holy Office liked to
handle severe heresy cases centrally, it valued as propaganda public
warnings and shows of authority in other states and cities. Some con-
demned might appear at an auto in Rome, and then be sent home to
be executed or otherwise publicly punished, as in various cases from
Faenza in the 1560s. Faenza provided several heretics for Roman con-
demnation, from conventicles of Lutheran and Calvinist persuasions.
In 1569, it had its own autodafè, notable for the subsequent gruesome
execution of a gentlewoman, Camilla Caccianemici (wife of Camillo
Regnoli who had been executed in Rome back in 1559), who was
thrown from the Podestà’s palace window with a rope around her
neck, which pulled her head off. She was seen as coorganiser with her
husband of a conventicle, and had remained very active, according to
a spy, after their first trial and his execution. This spectacle probably
ended the Faenza movement. In 1570, the new Legate for Romagna,
Cardinal Alessandro Sforza, purged the city council, and established
a special magistracy to police the city and assist the local inquisitor –
as, euphemistically, the Hundred Pacifiers (Centi Pacifici).25
Another heretically troublesome city, Mantua, saw three autos in
the city or nearby Casale in 1568–69, with Cardinal Borromeo
attending that at Casale on 5 April 1568, along with members of the
ruling Gonzaga family and other notables. Pius V and the Gonzagas
had a bitter conflict over the nature of the abjurations and who
should be publicly shown; the Duke failed to protect his closer ser-
vants from public shame. The Inquisition’s unofficial position in the
Kingdom of Naples inhibited autos, if not executions, but the
Archbishop of Naples had autos at least in 1564 and 1571. The latter
involved 12 women of Catalan origin, paraded in their yellow abitelli,
who, according to a chronicler had ‘lived secretly for many years like
Jews (alla giudaica) and committed many excesses’. Two remaining
obstinate were sent to Rome, for public execution. In remoter
Squillace (Calabria) the non-resident bishop and inquisitorial
Cardinal, Guglielmo Sirleto, had his vicar and nephew Marcello
 REPRESSION AND CONTROL 181

Sirleto conduct processi; one person at least was publicly sentenced in

the Cathedral, before a large crowd enticed by indulgences. A
relapsed heretic, Cesare di Stalati, was executed a few days later by the
secular arm, fully contrite, and a soul saved, according to Marcello
Sirleto; this marked the end of the Waldensian evangelicals in
Calabria, driving other survivors to exile in Geneva.26
Papal attitudes towards heretics were clearly variable; Sixtus V,
while presiding over a harsh secular regime through the Papal State,
for law and order and the elimination of banditry, took a more
relaxed view over any heavy punishment of religious offenders, and
discouraged autos.27

Censorship

Since the full development of printing and its involvement in the reli-
gious struggles in the north in the 1520s, church and lay authorities
had sought to control what was printed and circulated.28 Though
precedents for the censorship of ‘lascivious’ Italian vernacular litera-
ture existed in the later fifteenth century, the main censoring came
by the 1530s, and 1540s, as when the Beneficio di Cristo was attacked.
Various cities like Florence, Milan and Venice in the 1550s produced
prohibitive indexes, setting precedents for broader literary censor-
ship of the unseemly or anticlerical.29 The Roman Inquisition took
charge of ecclesiastical censorship, and maintained this supervision
even after 1571, when the separate Congregation of the Index was
started. Rivalry existed as well as partnership, and the full Holy
Office was ready to countermand the more specialist Congregation.
Clement VIII in 1600 explained to Cardinal Baronio that the
Congregation of the Index controlled authors, their books, printers
and readers, but not heresy, which was the Inquisition’s territory –
which could allow the latter to interfere with all the rest!30 Much ten-
sion existed as Peter Godman has shown. The Master of the Sacred
Palace, acting for the Pope, might seek reconciliation, or add to the
confusion. This could both accentuate control, and also hinder activ-
ities; impede the suppression of what already existed, delay matters
for those wanting to clear their potential publications.
To resist Protestantism it was desirable to curb the flow of books
and pamphlets into Italy, whether by land or sea. Probably the most
vulnerable area was the Venetian Republic’s territory, with so many
passes carrying goods from the north. From Rome’s viewpoint a
182 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

significant step was the Venetian Council of Ten’s order in 1569 that
all imported books be inspected in the customs house, with an inqui-
sition official present.31 However, while this inhibited large-scale
importation of obvious heretical texts, there were clearly ways of
importing books and pamphlets into different parts of the mainland,
and then smuggling them through to Venice itself. Venice had plenty
of adept book smugglers, including Roberto Meietti, an early expert
on disguising books by false, innocent-looking, frontispieces.32
Foreign merchants in major cities were under surveillance, and
if under any suspicion their wider contacts were investigated.
When four foreign merchants living in Bologna (including one
from Nuremberg, another from Ravensburg), were suspected of
‘lutheranisim’, Cardinal Santoro instructed the Bologna Inquisitor
Giovanni Antonio da Foiano to check their houses for prohibited
books, investigate their contacts, their servants, any correspondence
with other heretics, and whether they ever talked about the holy faith
with anybody.33
The main guides to censorship were the Indexes of Prohibited
books (Index Librorum Prohibitorum), of 1559 (the Pauline under Paul IV’s
dictating, and the most severe), 1564 (the Tridentine, supposedly
softer after protests at the Council), and the 1596 Clementine Index,
which governed censorship subsequently. Publications were divided
into three classes; authors who were major teachers of heresy (here-
siarchs), all of whose works past or to come were banned; individual
works by known authors, suspect of heresy or offensive; works whose
authorship was unclear (anonymous or pseudonymous), similarly sus-
pect or offensive. The Clementine Index also provided rules for future
censoring, and procedures for correcting and expurgating published
works. Titles might be temporarily listed as prohibited, until a new cor-
rected edition was passed, or until existing copies had passages and
words inked out, to allow reuse and sale. Of course, suitable persons
could receive licences to read prohibited books, to help decide on cor-
rections, or to prepare attacks on their heretical views. Bishops, print-
ers and booksellers were expected to have copies of the Index, so as to
control who and what was printed, sold and read. Consultation of the
printed Indexes soon showed that they were hard to use. A 1632
reprint of the 1596 Index had a lengthy adjunct (Elenchus) to facilitate
cross-referencing; but this made it a 679-page volume.34 To ease the
burden, the Congregation and local bishops periodically issued sim-
pler lists to assist the control system, as has become clear from the
newly available volumes of correspondence – in the Holy Office
 REPRESSION AND CONTROL 183

archive – mainly dealing with the Clementine Index and the follow-up.
Some of the local lists would go beyond the big Index, or evade some
of its prohibitions; reflecting some of the arguments at the centre over
what should be banned, amended or fully tolerated.35
Publishers, printers and booksellers were liable to persecution and
loss of stock. Book and print shops were raided, even by Carlo
Borromeo himself in Milan. Given the importance of Venice in
publishing and international trade, the city’s industry was tempted to
produce illegal works, import and export others. A notorious inter-
national dealer, Pietro Longo was executed by drowning in 1588.
In 1587 the Venetian tribunal executed another, Girolamo Donzellini
of Brescia; he had remained involved in trafficking in Protestant
books since an original denunciation to the Inquisition in the 1540s,
being arraigned again in 1560 and 1574. More discreet associates
such as the Valgrisi and Ziletti, however, escaped that harsh fate.36
While the Republic showed some cooperation over censorship, its
representatives increasingly argued for a liberal censorship policy
(in religious and literary aspects, but not political works dangerous to
the Republic), both to preserve the economic interests of their printing
industry, and because leading patricians were intellectually experi-
mental themselves. Venetian Inquisition cases through the seven-
teenth century reveal printing and circulation of prohibited books at
several social levels.37
Looking briefly at the impact of post-Tridentine censorship, it is
clear from Gigliola Fragnito’s own particular study, and the recent
collection of essays edited by her, that a major casualty was Italians’
access to the vernacular Bible after 1596.38 That Index banned all
vernacular translations – and Italy has been rich in full or partial
translations, though Nicolò Malerbi’s (from 1471), was the front-
runner – and also sought to ban outright, or subject to expurgation,
books that too fully quoted from the Bible in Italian. Bartolomeo
Dionigi’s popular biblical compendium (Compendio istorico del Vecchio
e del Nuovo Testamento, 1586 and later), was another casualty, and when
somebody tried to publish it again in 1670, it was soon Indexed. The
1596 Index triggered an intense book hunt throughout much of Italy.
While the Bible hunt was the main target, much else was caught. The
Paduan inquisitor boasted to Rome that under his supervision
29 sacks of banned books had been burned, and his ‘great zeal’ was
praised.39 Given that true Protestant works had been largely eradicated
or driven behind false bindings and frontispieces, the trawl was of pop-
ular religious literature, and detrimental to ordinary literate people
184 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

not versed in Latin. The extent of the purge varied according to the
strength of local opposition. The haul showed that the previous
implementation of Index bans had not been that thorough, and that
licences to hold prohibited books had been rather freely given, in the
eyes of the new hardliners, led by Cardinal Giulio Antonio Santoro.
The unexpurgated writings of controversial secular writers like
Castiglione, Machiavelli, Pietro Aretino were also rounded up, con-
fiscated or burned. In terms of religious writing and reading Ernesto
Barbieri argues that old favourites dealing with the life of Christ, the
Virgin, works of hagiography, collections of religious literature were
preserved, reissued, and writers and printers encouraged to publish
writings suitable for the new devotion of the revived church, and
helping to refashion society and morality, to the approval of the
majority. The Jesuit Antonio Possevino tried a counter index as it
were, a recommendation of what should be read, and could be read
profitably with the correct emendations, (in his Bibliotheca Selecta,
Rome, 1593).
Some of Barbieri’s colleagues in the Fragnito collection of essays,
however emphasise detrimental effects not just of banning, but of
expurgation, on other kinds of literature. Expurgation was very slow,
and variable; sometimes pedantically hunting for names of heretics to
black out, or to replace coitus ( judged obscene), by copula (accept-
able).40 A large number of books were rendered inaccessible, pend-
ing decisions and actions, whether involving Jewish studies, or books
on duelling – which was a particular target. Castiglione’s The Courtier
was seized by some for having comments on duelling and honour.
Ugo Pozzo stresses the impact on wider literature. The works of major
older writers like Dante, Boccaccio, Castiglione, Petrarch, Pulci were
changed in style and content, often with the willing cooperation of
scholars who thought they could improve them. Such work had been
going on since the 1564 Index, but the post-1596 campaign accentu-
ated the tendency. With more ‘dangerous’ authors like Machiavelli (a
class-one author in 1559), some – especially in Florence and Venice –
argued that some of his works, on War, Florentine history, and even
the Discourses, should be allowed in amended form (such as removing
his attacks on the Papacy). Pius V’s confessor, Bishop Eustacchio
Lucatelli, in 1570 claimed the Inquisition had nothing against him.
Some Congregation members thought it better to licence expurgated
editions, to counteract illegal unpurged editions, which were still
being found – as in 1568 at the Venetian printer, Girolamo Calepin
(better known for his published list of prostitutes, Tariffa delle Putane).
 REPRESSION AND CONTROL 185

The appointed censor of the Discourses in 1587 declared: ‘I admire

his style. Many of the things that are fundamental to the governance
of the state … he treats so fully and eloquently that nothing could sur-
pass him. In conclusion this book could be republished’, with a few
alterations. But Machiavelli in 1596 remained a fully banned author,
thanks to Inquisitor Santoro who saw him as evil, defeating Baronio’s
more open-minded or pragmatic opinion.41
However intense the hunt for prohibited books could be, especially
after the imposition of the 1596 Index, books were still smuggled into
parts of Italy and circulated. The Venetian Republic remained the
gateway, both because of its continuing widespread commercial con-
tacts as part of the world economy, and because of its particular con-
cern to be Catholic but different from Rome. The Interdict Crisis of
1606–07 (Chapter 3), encouraged a subversive book trade in opposi-
tion to the Papacy, and it proved hard to eradicate thereafter what
had entered Venice. Nunzio Berlinghiero Gessi in 1609 warned Rome
of the political and practical difficulties in seeking out prohibited
books, though he indicated Rome need not be too alarmist, since the
State had an interest in preventing the more subversive Protestant
imports of books and ideas. He said Protestant and vernacular Bibles
were available. Indicatively, a Franciscan Father-General on visiting a
Venetian Conventual monastery in May 1609 found he was listening
to the reading of a Protestant Bible – lacking its identifying front and
end pages.42 A book printer and distributor like Roberto Meietti was
still stocking anti-Catholic works from Germany in 1621, 33 years
after the Inquisition had first tried to curb him, and despite Gessi’s
further attempts in 1609 to curtail his trading. State authorities,
including lay members of the Inquisition tribunal, were reluctant to
stop such an important bookman, who had played a major role in
publishing Paolo Sarpi’s work in the Interdict crisis, and who could
be accepted as an official of the printers’ guild in 1611.43
As some testimony on what subversive literature remained available
despite book raids, burnings and confiscations, we have the allegations
of friar Fulgenzio Manfredi who, having served as a pro-Republican
theological support for Venice in the Interdict crisis, turned in
1608, and informed Rome about works that Venetian nobles and oth-
ers accessed. He alleged that most nobles possessed works by
Machiavelli and Calvin’s Institutes (in Latin). Many further down the
social hierarchy had access to Protestant vernacular versions of the
New Testament, Italian editions of the Psalms and of Calvin’s
Catechism produced in Geneva.44
186 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

An early cultural target in the immediate post-Trent campaign was

Hebrew literature; and this came in the centre of Hebrew printing,
Venice. The 1553 burning of the Talmud was followed by an
onslaught on Hebrew books, their printers and sellers in September
1568. Possibly over 8000 folio volumes of key texts such as the
Midhrash Rabba and the Mahazor Sephardim were burned; others were
confiscated and sent abroad, and the Jewish publishers and sellers
heavily fined. This attack, by the Esecutori contro la Bestemmia (the
state body which dealt with the enforcement of press regulations as
well as with cursing and blaspheming), allegedly came because the
producers were not following the rules about issuing licenced expur-
gated editions, but also because of fears that Jews were subverting the
Republic by acting as agents for the Ottoman Turks. This was a dam-
aging onslaught on the supply of Hebrew books, and it put various
publishers out of business. However, Paul Grendler suspects that the
burning was not as complete as claimed; and some publishers, like
Marc’Antonio Giustiniani and his family, were soon back producing
Hebrew books, and moving them around the wider Venetian empire,
places like Cephalonia and Zante. By the 1590s, the numbers of pub-
lishers producing Hebrew books had risen again, learning from the
Giustiniani’s successful ploys and evasions, and ‘the Jews, with the aid
of the Giustiniani family, obtained the books they needed’.45
So censorship and book control had successes for the authorities
(especially with vernacular Bibles), but loopholes existed, and
resources were inadequate for thorough control. The imponderables
remain of what literature was never written because of fear of censor-
ship; how much purging and rewriting undermined a spirit of criti-
cism; also how much still circulated and was imported, once the late
1590s purge was over.

Changing Inquisition Targets

Once major theological heresy was deemed to be under some con-

trol, and the tide turned against ‘Lutheran’ and Valdesian heresies,
the Inquisitions attended to the eradication of superstition, erro-
neous Christian practices, ‘pagan’ survivals, immorality, misuse of the
sacraments.
The pattern of change, and some breakdown of types of concerns,
can be judged from Tables 9.1 and 9.2.
Table 9.1 Accusations and denunciations before Venice and Friuli Inquisition Tribunals, 1547–1720

Venice Friuli

Major charge 1547– 1586– 1631– 1557– 1596– 1637– 1676– Major charge
85 1630 1720 95 1636 76 1716

Lutheranism 717 109 77

Anabaptism 37 0 1
Heresy in general 68 27 6
Judaizing 34 16 28
Mohammedanism 10 27 42
Calvinsim 13 18 29
Greek orthodoxy 3 8 11
3 44 134 56 Apostasy from the faith:
include Lutheran, Anabaptist,
Calvinist, Orthodox,
Muslim views
Atheism/Materialism 1 4 14
Apostasy 15 17 12
Heretical propositions 62 26 107 164 102 53 23 Diverse heretical pro-
positions: include sexual
moral errors, anticlericalism,
lesser blasphemies
Prohibited books 93 48 40 44 48 132 11 Possessing/reading
prohibited books
Prohibited meats 23 12 16 120 156 42 7 Prohibited meats
Blasphemy 17 41 61 13 22 20 3 Heretical blasphemy and
swearing (bestemmia)
Abuse of sacraments 9 12 106 26 17 41 21 Abuse of sacraments

187
Bigamy 3 7 12 [1] Bigamy (12 cases 1611–70)
Table 9.1 Continued

Venice Friuli

188
Major charge 1547– 1586– 1631– 1557– 1596– 1637– 1676– Major charge
85 1630 1720 95 1636 76 1716

Concubinage 7 5 4 [2] Concubinage (1 case

1596–1611)
Adultery 3 7 0
Sodomy 5 5 5
Solicitation 3 22 72 1 4 48 29 Solicitation
Magical arts 59 319 641 62 347 287 77 Magical arts (magia,
stregoneria)
Offending Holy 10 8 6 14 18 21 4 Offending Holy Office:
Office include prison escape; false
witness; ignoring
penances; abusing officials
Pseudo-sainthood 0 1 5 Pseudo sainthood (8
cases 1611–70)
False testimony 14 7 4 False testimony (2 cases
1611–70)
Illegal Mass 2 4 14 Illegal Mass (1 case 1611–70)
Miscellaneous; include 21 66 31 43 43 40 3 Irreverence, irreligiosity,
irreverence, sacrilege, sacrilege
irreligiosity
Total 1229 816 1344 490 801 818 234

Sources: (Table constructed from Tedeschi and Monter’s Tables in Tedeschi (ed.) Prosecution of Heresy, ‘Toward a Statistical Profile’, Appendix 1
(p. 105), for Venice; and Sarra, ‘Distribuzione statistica’, Table B, for Friuli. The classifications follow different categorisations. For further
comparison, figures for some accusations buried in Scarra’s figures, but identifiable in Monter and Tedeschi’s table for Friuli, Appendix 2 (p. 106),
(but using different period breakdowns), are given in brackets [ …]. Note that the decade 1647–56 saw a major intensification of denunciations,
providing 117 of the Prohibited Books figure, 30 of the Abuse of Sacraments, and 287 of the Magical Arts from the 1637–76 period.)
 REPRESSION AND CONTROL 189

Table 9.2 Accusations and denunciations to the Neapolitan Inquisition

1564–1740; highlighting main categories only

Main Charge 1564–90 1591–1620 1621–1700 1701–40

Protestantism 19 18 26 1
Judaizing 41 8 20 0
Mohammedanism 126 67 13 0
Heretical propositions 38 86 50 6
Prohibited books 7 9 15 0
Magical arts 178 498 387 64
False testimony 98 3 8 0
Total 735 1021 1086 196

Sources: (Table taken from Tedeschi and Monter, as earlier, Appendix 3 (p. 107). Here
giving only the main categories.)

The tribunals of Venice and Friuli (combining the Patriarchal diocese

of Aquileia and diocese of Concordia), and Naples, provide the best
countable evidence of all tribunals so far, given the nature of their
archival survivals and cataloguing. The Naples figures are cited selec-
tively, for space reasons, and because I have not sampled the archives
(as I have in Venice), nor studied detailed explanations behind
Tedeschi-Monter’s digest (unlike for Friuli). The classifications and
counting are of accusations, denunciations and self-denunciations,
not completed trials, and represent the main initial charge (often as
noted by old archival cataloguers); the numbers are for individuals.
Secondary charges, or accusations, revealed under further investiga-
tion can become more interesting, to inquisitor or modern historian.
Monter and Tedeschi have partly shown this in their intriguing
Tables. Lutheranism was used vaguely in Venice (as in Naples), and
‘Heresy in general’ is not very helpful, especially given the numbers
in Friuli in the first period; but accused, witnesses and inquisitors
could be confused and vague about kinds of ‘heresy’.
The range of inquisitorial targets was considerable, but much
derived from local denunciations, the product of neighbourhood ten-
sions, not just an elitist educated programme. The differences, espe-
cially in the earlier periods, between north and south were over the
different ‘other’ groups in the key cities of Venice and Naples. The
latter, with its proximity to north Africa, and with Spanish links was
likely to have Muslims, and people forcibly converted from Muslim to
Christian, under suspicion. Venice had its Ghettos of Jews, who in fact
had significant contacts with the main city, its true Christians, and
190 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Jews converted to Christianity, many of them originating in Iberia and

victims of forced conversion.46 The Republic took a fairly tolerant
view that those forcibly converted could revert to Judaism and live
with co-religionists in the Ghettos. A number of people could readily
be accused of moving back and forth between the two faiths, espe-
cially if they were trading with the Ottoman Empire (notably in
Salonica), since the Turks looked reasonably favourably on Jews.47
The Venetian Mediterranean Empire was shrinking before Ottoman
expansion, leading to an influx of Greek Orthodox and Catholics
who had lived close to Muslims. The ‘prohibited meats’ category
reflects not only the traditional reluctance of some to obey rules on
fasting, especially through Lent, but it could be treated as a sign of
Protestantism; and it was easier ‘evidence’ than rumour of what
might have been said or read privately contrary to the Catholic faith.
The significant shifts to ‘magical arts’ reflected a greater awareness
through pastoral care of what the common beliefs of practices might
be, and possibly the impact of better Christian teaching leading to
neighbours reporting deviance, as well as confessors pressurising self-
confession.
The Inquisition records are a fascinating mine of information on
what Italians believed they or others could do or believe. Magical arts
were used in attempts to forecast the future – by casting beans, throw-
ing a rope, or looking into a glass carafe (inghistera) – to interfere
positively or adversely in love affairs, find hidden treasure or lost prop-
erty, to give protection against bullets (9 cases in Friuli, 1611–1785).
More widespread and significant were the cases involving medicines
and healing for humans and animals. This was the world of second-
ary or alternative medicine, especially for those who could not afford,
or distrusted the doctors. Mixed together were the uses of herbs,
ungents, talismans and blessed objects. The bishops and inquisitors
were most concerned with the misuse of the sacraments and sacra-
mentals for healing purposes: holy oil, sacramental wafers, or items
surreptitiously blessed by the priest such as the umbilical cord, or
papers with magic writings or symbols. Women were the main practi-
tioners, but not exclusively so; torture and the worst punishments
were for clergy allegedly cooperating in the misuse of sacraments and
blessings. The ‘magic’ was aimed at curing ailments, helping preg-
nancies (or abortions), or coping with mental illnesses and ‘posses-
sion’, when it was in competition with the authorised church
exorcists. Much of society was complicit in the use of remedies and
some magic. When however the ‘good’ magic failed to work, in
 REPRESSION AND CONTROL 191

curing health or love, or was deemed to be ‘evil’ magic causing harm,

deaths or sexual betrayals, then denunciations could follow, and a
witch (stregha) be blamed.
The suppression of superstition and witchcraft (stregoneria) was part
of the re-education and social control campaigning of the Inquisition
and episcopal courts and legislation. Italy did not see the ‘witchcraze’,
whether or not a women-hunting phenomenon, against group witch-
craft that allegedly, and sometimes in reality, was attempted in much
of Europe. From the mid-sixteenth century most accusations of
superstition, sorcery, magic and witchcraft came before the inquisi-
tors, rather than episcopal or secular courts, where inquisition tri-
bunals fully functioned; but in the Kingdom of Naples, archbishops
like Paolo Burali, bishops and their officials played a fuller role.
Investigation by well-educated professionals, following due process
and with some guides to suitable legal procedures, meant that social
panic found elsewhere was rare. The limited use of torture militated
against mass denunciations of others. As usually with the Iberian
Inquisitions, inquisitors were sceptical of neighbourly denunciations
and animosities (as the source of many magic accusations), and they
were inclined to see females accused, and self-denunciated, as more
deluded and ignorant, than dangerously in league with the Devil or
devils. Many interesting denunciations were filed by the Venetian tri-
bunal with no further recorded investigation. While ready to accept
the efficacy of ‘magic’ (black or white), and that individuals might
invoke the Devil to aid their magical practices, inquisitors and their
officials in Italy were sceptical of the Sabbat, or orgiastic rites. As
bishops and their vicars, as well as inquisitors became more aware of
popular beliefs and practices in the post-Tridentine reform cam-
paigns, they could be puzzled, shocked and surprised by what was
believed and attempted – as with the benandanti night-riders of Friuli.
But re-education through investigation and trial was as much a
response as panic suppression.
So numerous ‘cases’ of magical arts were opened, as indicated by
the tables given earlier. Some such inquisition files have been well
utilised in accessible books by Carlo Ginzburg, Ruth Martin and
Guido Ruggiero for Venice and its mainland territories. Other illu-
minating books by, for example, Giovanni Romeo and David
Gentilcore, utilise episcopal and other sources, as well as inquisition
ones, to study magical practices, elsewhere, in the South or Tuscany.
The authorities seldom panicked, or acted with great aggression. This
‘limited aggression of the church against witches (streghe) is a
192 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

pre-existing given in the moderating intervention of the greatest

authorities of the Inquisition … based on a rooted tradition of scep-
ticism’.48 The clergy could well face panic about witches in their con-
gregations, as the Sienese parish priests of Frosini and Abbadia
Ardenga did in 1591 and 1596, largely over infant deaths.49 While
bishops and lesser clergy might be exposed to pressures from below
to treat alleged witches harshly, inquisitors and top hierarchs tended
to restrain – as eventually in the case (1594), of Gostanza da Libbiano,
the ‘witch’ midwife of San Miniato, in Tuscany, when the Florence
office overruled the local view of her as a harmful witch and devil
worshipper. She was better seen as midwife, and alternative medicine
healer, who could spin fabulous tales of the Grand Devil, appearing
as ‘Polletto’, and his pleasure city.50
Inquisitors and other clergy had problems both in defining and
categorising types of magic and superstition, and in standardising
legal procedures against them. The main guideline from the Roman
Inquisition was not published until 1624: Instructio pro formandis pro-
cessibus in causis strigum, sortilegium & maleficiorum, though in-house
versions may have circulated through some tribunals from about
1620. Detecting witchcraft and witches was not easy, and views could
vary considerably on what was serious, and how the accused should
be punished. When the commissario generale of the Holy Office,
Antonio Balducci, heard in 1573 that the Bologna Inquisitor
Innocenzo da Modena was investigating some women who told the
priest at Mass that ‘You lie through your throat’ (‘Tu menti per la
gola’), he told him to diligently check whether they were streghe,
‘because this is one of their prime principles’. But Balducci was soon
worried that Innocenzo was too aggressive against these women. Such
matters had to be handled carefully and quietly, to avoid public trou-
ble. In 1589, Cardinal Santoro interfered in the Bologna Inquisitor
Giovanni Antonio da Foiano’s case against Maria de’Gentile, con-
demned as a strega for having learned to ‘far battezzare la calamita’ (a
lay woman’s misuse of the baptismal rite for magical or prognostica-
tion purposes).The inquisitor wanted her executed by the secular
arm, but the cardinal on receiving the court records of accusation
and defence (and her confession), eventually ordered that (having
been in prison 2 years awaiting this ruling), she should be banished
from Bologna and its contado for 2 years, and the inquisitor should
impose some salutary penances at his discretion. Dall’Olio suggests
that Rome’s delay in recommending this sentence may have reflected
arguments in Rome about how to punish such on offence.51
 REPRESSION AND CONTROL 193

Inquisitors as they penetrated remoter areas found strange beliefs

and practices, and were puzzled by practitioners, including the benan-
danti, or night-battlers in Friuli, made famous by Carlo Ginzburg.
Friulian men and women, supposedly selected by being born with the
caul, claimed they could leave their bodies at night and fly off in spirit
to battle with evil witches threatening to damage crops. According to
Ginzburg, by the mid seventeenth century, inquisitors had persuaded
the practitioners they were the evil witches. Ginzburg’s book was crit-
icised for not considering the number of cases involving benandanti,
and their contexts. Franco Nardon remedies the situation.52 He pro-
duces tables and maps showing the different kinds of cases in Friuli
concerning magic, stregoneria etc. and benandanti. He gives some indi-
cation of the social origins of some of the men and women involved,
and the outcomes. The investigation of benandanti claiming to do bat-
tle for good at night is just one aspect of investigating magical prac-
tices and popular medicines. Those accused of, or claiming, this
night-battling activity could also be involved in healing processes, or
making contact with dead souls. The ecstasies of the benandanti might
be united with masquerade rituals, and processions for the dead, with
the living dressed as animals. From the late sixteenth century to
about 1670 women are particularly under scrutiny in these Friuli
investigations. Nardon suggests that this is because of the new roles of
parish priests under reforming bishops and vicars general, with new
emphases on chastity and virginity. Women and men might be seen
in competition with priests, and the male benandanti in particular as
competitors with the clergy over exorcisms. Many inquisitors were
fairly sceptical about benandanti claims. It is one inquisitor, Giulio
Missini from Orvieto, operating in Aquileia and Concordia 1645–53,
who was convinced that the benandanti were seriously evil and witches.
For others far more important were the local priests accused of magic
and necromancy. Also benandanti might be seen as useful, for being
able to identify the bad witches; male and female.
Between 1574 and 1716, 82 people were denounced in the Aquileia
and Concordia tribunals as benandanti; but in only 33 instances did this
lead to a formal processo, and in only 16 was a formal sentence given
(10 males, 6 females). Prison sentences were given to 4 (including the
first puzzling 2, Battista Moducco and Paolo Gasparutto),53 while others
were merely admonished, or given penances. Giulio Missini, seems to
have dealt with 350 accusations, of which only 12 involved benandanti,
one more than a group involving sabbats, pacts or sex with the Devil and
sacrilege. The number of his cases involved in magic and love magic
194 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

divination and the abuse of sacraments (with priests involved in many)

were 80; and 112 concerned owning or reading prohibited books.54
Franco Nardon’s study shows that the Inquisition had many minds,
many different priorities and biases; that there was no straight devel-
opment over the period with the inquisitorial elite persuading peo-
ple, who thought they were doing good, that they were the evil ones.
Exorcism was recognised as a legitimate approach to troubled or
‘possessed’ parishioners; and also for more physical medical illnesses.
The Church linked up with orthodox medicine to battle against phys-
ical conditions deemed (in the view of the sufferer if not others), to
have been caused or affected by ‘cunning’ men or women and their
magic. But exorcism was a rite with procedures requiring careful
guidelines and licenced practice. If ‘the divine mirrored the diaboli-
cal’, the church had to teach the differences, and control the means
of true exorcism.55 The late sixteenth century and onwards appar-
ently shows a considerable increase in exorcist procedures. A greater
fear of low-level sorcery, witchcraft and maleficious deeds (maleficia),
among a lay public as well as clergy, was fed by pressures on people to
confess more frequently, and self-denounce as well as report on
others. Troubled nuns, affected by unwelcome strict enclosure, or
overexcited into appearing as ‘living saints’, were deemed by some
confessors as suitable for exorcist treatment; as by Fra Alessandro da
Firenze dealing with possessed nuns in a Cortona convent. He used
or misused the Eucharist, but also brought in a local astrologer. As
Adriano Prosperi argued (though possibly exaggerating the extent to
which Italians were ‘terrorised’ by evil and illnesses),56 that lesser sec-
ular clergy and members of the Orders were stimulated to control
and cure the work of those possessed by devils. They used therapeu-
tic means and ‘white magic’; with the distribution of relics, talismans,
medallions with ‘Agnus Dei’ images, with blessed umbilical cords, the
use of Holy Oil, or with full exorcist rituals. Much was dubious in the
eyes of the higher authorities, and episcopal legislation forbade or
warned against certain procedures, but ‘good’, ‘white’, magic was not
cast aside. Guidance on legitimate procedures was offered, notably in
Girolamo Menghi’s Compendio dell’arte essorcistica, et possibilità delle
mirabili et stupende operationi delli Demoni, et de’Malefici (Bologna, 1576,
and later editions). He resurrected exorcism as a nearly forgotten art,
and encouraged the Church to be more active in the precarious inter-
actions between medicine, magic and religion, when the practices of
‘magic’ seemed more threatening.57
 REPRESSION AND CONTROL 195

Sexual Control

Recent historians have discussed more frankly the extent to which the
post-Tridentine church attempted to control more forcibly the sexu-
ality of the populace, lay and clerical; affected by a supposed increase
in clerical misogyny, and a reaction to the greater acceptance of male
homosexuality under Renaissance classical stimuli. The Church had
long intruded into the sexual lives of penitents; some of the
Reformers had attacked the use of fifteenth-century confessional
manuals as being too tyrannical and impertinent, leading to the
denial of confession as a sacrament. But the growing emphasis on fre-
quent private confession from the mid-sixteenth century led
inevitably to a greater awareness, and discussion, of sexual matters,
even if some Church leaders warned confessors against being too spe-
cific, in case they put ideas into the heads of penitents. As Giovanni
Romeo has emphasised,58 a whole range of sources, under-studied,
show the considerable activity of the post-Tridentine church in mat-
ters sexual; reflected in synodal and diocesan legislation, in dealing
with betrothed couples and advising on marriage, in extensive con-
sideration of matrimonial causes, in attacking concubinage of priests
and laity, in attending to ‘solicitation’ cases (the physical molestation
of penitents when confessing), and so forth. Sexual behaviour and
sexual problems could feature prominently in Visitation reports or in
Nunzio records. Female sexuality becomes an issue – for investigators
at the time, and prominently for modern commentators – in consid-
ering cases of ‘living saints’, and whether they were genuine or pre-
tend (with or without sexually motivated male confessors or priests).
The stricter enclosure of convents presented greater problems of sex-
ual frustration, and sublimation in religious activities and manifesta-
tions, and derangements calling for exorcism.
The Inquisition became increasingly involved in sexual issues. Since
marriage was a sacrament, any activities that impugned that institution
could be deemed heretical, and thereby within the Inquisition’s remit.
Most notably this meant bigamy, but it might include bestiality and
sodomy, even if secular courts were more likely to try such cases. Paul
IV in November 1557 ruled that the supreme inquisitors had full
powers over sodomy cases; with what effect is not clear. The Imola tri-
bunal considered a number of such offenses between 1558 and 1578.
Sodomy was raised as an issue in a few Venetian cases, as the sole or
main accusation, (see Table 9.1). However, in 1600 the Pope ruled
196 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

that the central Holy Office tribunal should not handle this ‘nefari-
ous crime’.59
The previous discussion indicates that the Inquisition ranged
widely in its coverage of ‘heresy’, both from proactive intentions to
eradicate both serious theological challenges, and also sorts of ‘pop-
ular’ practices that deviated from good Christian belief and behav-
iour. The degree of harsh repression, as opposed to monitory
instruction and correction, varied over time, and according to local-
ity and the individuals involved. Space does not allow real illustration
of the bizarre beliefs and practices alleged or attempted, though
hinted at in discussing the benandanti. Neighbours were ready to
denounce others when scandalised by un-Christian behaviour, as well
as when the ‘magic’ they sought failed; when the casting of beans or
a rope (the corda) failed to reveal what the future held, the location
of lost or stolen property, or buried treasure. The ‘failure’ of special
ointments and potions, applied to the accompaniment of incanta-
tions or distorted prayers, or the failure of illicit use of holy oil, led to
some denunciations. The inquisitors took a sceptical view of such
reporting, and put few to full trial.60 Some delators were doubtless
shocked and wanted their neighbours brought to correct Christian
belief and behaviour, and saw the Inquisition as the path to education
and correction. Thus Lugretio Cilla, ‘as a good Christian, not being
able to tolerate being seen as having little honour or reverence for
our Lord Jesus Christ’, in 1587 denounced Valeria Brugnalesco and
her daughter Splandiana Mariano for ‘using many sorcerous incanta-
tions and diabolic objects with a thousand conjurations of the devil’
to find stolen property; and for using semen in love concoctions.
They allegedly used the inghistera (a glass caraffe with a long neck)
containing holy water for conjuring up spirits, assisted by children.
More interestingly they admired the Jewish faith, and Valeria had
taught Jewish girls when living in the Venetian Ghetto. In this case the
two women were brought to confess, sentenced to be whipped from
S. Marta through the streets to the Rialto, pilloried, and exiled for
5 years. A mitre on their heads read: ‘By the Holy Inquisition for love
magic, witch-craft and bean-casting.’61
Modern commentators need not condemn all inquisition activity as
cruel and unnecessary.
10 Churches, Cultural Enticement
and Display

The Catholic Church appealed to the senses, as well as – or instead

of – the intellect. Even in using the Word, and commenting on the
Word, preachers summoned up images, just as the Spiritual Exercises
encouraged visualisation. If some early Catholic Reformers wanted
simplicity, clarity and asceticism, much of the Catholic reforming
effort from the later sixteenth century encouraged both spiritual
uplift and education through the eyes and ears. The church environ-
ment should be fit for hearing and seeing; paintings be narratives to
educate, or visual encouragement to contemplation; statues would
enhance the cults of old and new Saints; music should move the soul,
and accentuate the emotion of key words. Outside the churches a reli-
gious community spirit could be celebrated by colourful and noisy
musical processions. The faithful were entertained and enticed by
singing, theatrical action or display. This chapter will consider some
aspects of the sensual and environmental enticement, education and
occasionally fearful admonition. Rome in particular, under the papal
leadership of especially Sixtus V, Paul V, Urban VIII and Alexander VII,
was at the forefront of an expensive campaign to conquer through
display and involvement. Alexander VII in particular wanted Rome to
be seen as the Religious Theatre for the Catholic Church.1
The cultural scenes shifted from caution and puritanism – even
repression and destruction – to flamboyant display and exuberant
conquest of the emotions and senses. Through the Council and in
some of its decrees leading reformers were intent on eliminating the
lascivious (a favourite word in our period) – whether in paintings,

197
198 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

church music, plays and carnival activities. They wanted worship and
teaching to be clear, simple and uncontroversial. Strong minority
groups at the Council managed to save the use of polyphonic music
within churches (even if only being able to use the human voices and
organs), and prevent a major whitewashing of fresco paintings and a
curb on new church decoration. St Gregory’s old idea of paintings
providing the Bible for the illiterate buttressed the argument for hav-
ing seemly didactic paintings. Soon puritanism declined, and positive
campaigns developed to use the visual arts, music and theatre to both
instruct, and lift eyes and emotions towards heaven. The new
Religious Orders were major contributors to the cultural changes,
first the Theatines, then the Oratorians and Barnabites, followed by
the Jesuits. The move to display, and cultural adventurousness was
aided by leading cardinals, whether dedicated reforming theorists
like Gabriele Paleotti and Federico Borromeo, or less religiously com-
mitted cardinals with more wordly and aesthetic interests, who were
ready to pay for art and music in public as well as private places, and
to back experimental artists such as the Carracci, Caravaggio and
Guido Reni.
The cultural shifts contributed strikingly to religious revival and
enthusiasm, as well as to religious education. The Catholic Church
may have stressed ‘emotion’ too much, downplayed the Word and
theology, downgraded the intellectual aspects of religion, swamped
the general public with colour and sound to avoid challenges to
doctrine, and rethinking of the Gospels – with the vernacular Bible
denied to them, and services in Latin. But this avoided the intense
bickering of Protestant sects, which came to bore the less literate and
intellectual, and the frigidity of Calvinist Puritanism.

Churches and Chapels

Churches and their environs, as often the major public arena or

social space for a village or parochial district of a city, underwent sig-
nificant changes and improvements from the mid- or later sixteenth
century. Socio-religious reform, and the changing attitudes outlined
above, required closer attention to be paid to the physical environ-
ment. The Renaissance period had created new splendid churches,
paying lavish attention to new chapels and redecoration within old
ones. They particularly honoured rich families and testified to their
 CHURCHES, CULTURAL ENTICEMENT AND DISPLAY 199

wealth, more readily boasted of in a new period of conspicuous

consumption. But when in the spirit of Catholic reform, bishops, vicars
general and apostolic visitors made their Visitation inspections, they
often revealed lamentable conditions in local churches. With varying
speeds, improvements were made to ensure higher standards of pub-
lic space within and beside churches. They should more appropriately
serve the wider public (as opposed to private donors and Mass sayers,
or the memorial interests of the elite few), and enhance the religious
and social teaching of the church and secular backers.
The inequities of the parochial systems meant many redundant or
underused churches or chapels in some areas, a shortage in others.
The former, particularly in large cities like Rome and Naples, were
sometimes reallocated to new Orders or the confraternities.
Gradually through the late sixteenth to eighteenth centuries new
churches were produced for new areas, and the old dilapidated
churches redeveloped or repaired. As the new Orders gained support
and wealthy patrons they erected new major churches, notably in
Rome, Naples and Milan, to be at the centre of their manifold oper-
ations. These churches and their increasingly elaborate interior dec-
orations set standards for lesser churches.
Visitation records show that churches in the late sixteenth century
were generally in poor condition; dilapidated, windowless and leaky,
and their altars, frescoes and pictures in need of repair or replace-
ment. The situation revealed lack of care or shortage of suitable
resources. Bishop Domenico Bollani’s orders after his 1566 Visitation
of Brescia diocese exemplify some of the problems: at Ostiano he
wanted the walls whitewashed where not frescoed, a new window with
more light, three altars properly equipped and decorated; at Canneto
the choir and high altar were to be altered for the priest to celebrate
more fittingly – and the local nobles be given a place in the choir; at
Malpaga di Calvisano he ordered roof and vault repairs, and a new
floor with no more burials allowed inside the church. Bollani ordered
significant repairs for about 20 per cent of churches visited. When
Monsignor A. Peruzzi visited the Turin Archdiocese (1584–85) he was
equally critical. Turin Cathedral had defective wooden altars, broken
statues, with ill-lit and airless chapels; the magnificent church at
Chieri needed major wall and roof repairs, and Peruzzi ordered four
confessionals to answer the new approach to secret confession; the
tabernacle at San Giorgio di Castellette needed remaking, and a
wooden statue of St George on horseback was to be removed and
200 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

buried, because women used it improperly, for fertility reasons, in

processions. Even in Rome in the seventeenth century Visitation
reports noted the parlous state of various parish churches, in the
midst of squalid poverty of parishioners.2
The reactions to such complaints were varied and haphazard. The
Brescia diocese saw much parish church rebuilding in the 1570s and
1580s – such as the sizeable ones designed by G. Todeschini at
Desezano, Rovato and Toscolano. Limited funds however, often
inhibited quick reactions. In the Milan Diocese Carlo Borromeo and
his agents were active visitors, ensured the building of churches in
newly populated parishes, and Borromeo provided highly detailed –
and influential – Instructions on church architecture and decoration;
yet orders for the creation of proper stone altars with demonstrative
tabernacles for the Host were often not fulfilled until the eighteenth
century. 3 However, a priest and his flock in poorer areas could be
enamoured of their church and make strenuous efforts to improve
the fabric, and restore it after earthquake damage, as father Matteo
Pinelli did at Cerliano in the Mugello in the early seventeenth cen-
tury 4 (see Chapter 5).
Church structuring now in general required a clear nave space with
a good view of the high altar, so the congregation could hear sermons
clearly, observe the celebration of the Mass, and clearly see the dis-
played Host. Side chapels were needed for the celebration of numer-
ous lesser Masses, as for the dead; for more private Masses, Offices of
the Virgin and so forth for confraternities and guilds. In old churches
such corporate bodies as well as leading local families had to be kept
happy as chapel and altar patrons, for the overall financing of the
church. In building new churches this financial aspect was a notable
consideration for designing, and even the planning of the order of
construction. For the new Theatine church in Rome, Sant’Andrea
della Valle, priority was given to chapels close to the façade entrance,
being allocated to sponsoring families, including the rising Barberini
family. These chapels took precedence over building the crossing
area and agreeing on the number of domes. The Barberini Chapel
featured Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s first independent sculptures (while
working under his father Pietro), portraying elder Barberini family
members.5 This patron-artist association had great consequences for
the splendour of St Peter’s, the Barberini papacy, and the Church’s
image, when Maffeo Barberini was elected Pope Urban VIII and Gian
Lorenzo became the Pope’s favourite architect-sculptor and architect
for St Peter’s.
 CHURCHES, CULTURAL ENTICEMENT AND DISPLAY 201

Considerations of congregational needs led to a preference for the

elongated Latin cross design, with a wide nave, aisles off which side
chapels could be entered with limited disturbance; and with a choir
(if needed or desired), behind the main altar. As the confessional
‘box’ became more accepted, it might be incorporated into the struc-
tural design, in nave pillars, as strikingly in Gherardo Silvani’s
‘baroque’ S. Gaetano, Florence (c.1604–49), where confessionals
were emphasised by saintly statuary and coloured stonework.
Renaissance architects had responded to neoplatonic concepts of
divine mathematical perfection, with ideas for more centralised
churches: the Greek Cross, the circular and the oval. These were seen
in the post-Tridentine period as unsuitable for normal multi-purpose
churches, though Carlo Borromeo was prepared to accept such for
special purpose churches, such as a plague commemoration church,
S. Carlo al Lazzaretto. Notably the new basilica of St Peter’s, which
was developed according to a Greek Cross design by Michelangelo
when envisaged as the church for Pope and hierarchy, had one of its
arms extended by Della Porta and Carlo Maderno to create a vast
nave for huge congregations of the faithful. The new Bologna
Cathedral of S. Pietro was designed by the Barnabite Giovanni
Magenta and followers from 1605, with congregational needs to the
forefront.6
Many old churches were modified to assist hearing sermons and
seeing the altar. Choirs were removed from the nave and placed
behind the high altar, naves were cleared of tombs and monuments,
as ordered by Pius IV in S. Maria in Aracoeli. Plinths, steps and
balustrades were introduced to ensure celebrants were visible, and
protected from the press of people. Most famously Giorgio Vasari,
architect and painter as well as art historian, organised for Duke
Cosimo I of Florence the modification of both S. Croce and S. Maria
Novella, clearing monks’s choirs, screens and tombs from the nave,
and replacing obstructive aisle altars with a sequence of aedicules
with new paintings.7
There was an argument when building the new Il Gesù in Rome for
the Jesuits from 1568 whether audibility would be lost if the standard
Roman flat-roof nave was rejected in favour of a high curved vault
and high dome over the crossing. Earlier in Venice, a Franciscan,
F. Zorzi, had stressed in 1535: ‘But in the nave of the church, where
there will be sermons, I recommend a ceiling (so that the voice of the
preacher may not escape nor re-echo from the vaults).’ Once Il Gesù
proved that the preacher need not suffer from such a design, this
202 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

kind of structure became standard. Ultimately, in the seventeenth

century this structural design increased opportunities for dramatic
emotional decoration in ceiling vaults, drums and domes. Architects
developed techniques in basic structure and architectural decoration
of focusing the eyes of the congregation on altars and celebrants, as
G. Della Porta showed early on in S. Maria ai Monti, Rome (1580).
Such designs made churches more user friendly for preacher,
celebrant, and attentive congregations.8
Outside the church much was done to create impressive entry
facades and doorways, with space cleared in streets and squares to
facilitate the assembly of the public, and spectacular processional
entries into the church. Domes, symbolising heaven, became more
prevalent as beacons calling the faithful to worship.
Both facades and interiors were increasingly decorated through
the seventeenth and eighteenth century, to serve the rhetoric and
didactics of the Church; designed to control, stimulate, warn; to
emphasise corporate beliefs, common practices, and a sense of com-
munity. A complex example of a facade is that of S. Maria presso
S. Celso in Milan where G. Alessi and Martino Bassi made the two-
storeyed frontage a display area for profuse didactic sculpture: free-
standing figures of saints and angels; narrative relief plaques showing
the Adoration of the Kings and of the Shepherds, or The Presenta-
tion in the Temple, culminating in the Resurrection scene in the apex;
an enclosed courtyard with portico in front controls and encourages
the beholder before this didactic stage-setting.9 The evolution of the
design of St Peter’s in Rome was affected by attitudes to a frontal
approach. Maderno added an extensive and elaborate façade to the
nave; while this impeded the intended effect of viewing Michelangelo’s
drum and dome, it provided an effective backdrop for papal blessings
of the crowds in the piazza. Gian Lorenzo Bernini and Alexander VII
produced the now famous colonnade (adorned with illustrative stat-
ues), to embrace and corral that crowd, and focus its attention on the
façade, and then a seemly entrance into the basilica. They originally
intended a third section of the colonnade to create an enclosed
arena, with gaps allowing processions and carriages to pass through.
Major internal sections of a church, a chapel complex within it, or
a separate oratory (as for a confraternity), operated as multimedia.
Besides the main paintings and sculpture, the effects were accentu-
ated by elaborate marble altars and balustrades, marble or iron altar
rails, by beautifully inlaid choirstalls, stone and wood-carved pulpits,
gilded altar frames and twisted columns (as in the churches of Lecce
 CHURCHES, CULTURAL ENTICEMENT AND DISPLAY 203

and Naples). Stucco decoration and figurative statuary could link

parts of the church or chapel, encourage the eye to move restlessly
through interior space, and in a heavenly direction; and add move-
ment to great ceiling paintings (as in Il Gesù, Rome). The lavishness
may have diverted money from charity, but it could encourage new
donations and patronage. It also was designed to convince the public
of the spiritual splendour and wealth of the true Catholic Church, as
the Theatine Del Tufo stressed when lauding the way rich Neapolitan
patrons (often female) endowed and decorated the churches of this
new preaching and parish-running Order.10
Total effect, using all the visual arts, was by the seventeenth century
a goal. G.L. Bernini’s first publishing biographer, Francesco
Baldinucci, stressed this aspect of his achievement. Besides his con-
tribution as mastermind of the final stages of St Peter’s, Bernini was
to perfect this in the architecture, sculpture and marble decoration
of the Jesuit novitiate church of S. Andrea al Quirinale, and various
Roman chapels, such as the Chigi Chapel in S. Maria del Popolo.
More famously, the Cornaro chapel with The Ecstasy of St Theresa of
Avila, in S. Maria della Vittoria, provided an embracing total effect of
involvement for the willing believer and observer, based on the
Saint’s own autobiographical account of her ecstasies, and being
pierced by God’s love. The chapel was also a celebration of the
Venetian Cornaro family’s contribution to the Church.11
The religious sense of community for the laity was probably most
potent among confraternity members; whether in chapels and rooms
attached to parish and collegiate churches, or in their own independ-
ent oratories and churches. Here confraternity membership encour-
aged a corporate spirit, often across normal social barriers and
differences. The physical environment was enclosing, with didactic
paintings near at hand, and with greater personal participation in
communal prayer, flagellation or music. Key examples are the
Venetian Scuole of San Rocco and San Fantin, the Roman S. Giovanni
Decollato and SS. Crocefisso, Perugia’s S. Francesco, Florence’s
Archangel Raffael.12

Visual Arts

Tridentine legislation and subsequent episcopal activity sought to

eliminate, ‘lascivious’, and inappropriate paintings from public
churches. Theoretically, designs for new altarpieces or frescoes were
204 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

subject to episcopal approval before installation. Gabriele Paleotti

advised artists to submit drawings or small painted versions for
approval before painting the full picture, but evidence is limited on
actual practice, and even when a contract stipulated a prior vetting it
was not necessarily so fulfilled. Visitation reports indicate some
scrutiny of old work, though often more a matter of replacing worn
frescoes and panels, than strict censorship. Bishop Pietro Camaiani of
Ascoli however, following his diocesan visitations (1567), secured the
destruction of several paintings; because they were damaged or inap-
propriate; for not being in conformity with the Gospels or recognised
hagiography of a saint; and for painting cardinals and popes and reli-
gious in hell. In the Cathedral, figures of Saints Catherine and Lucy
had to be altered to remove lasciviousness (presumably covering
provocative breasts).13
In a much-misunderstood case, talked up because it apparently
made the Venetian inquisitors appear philistine dunderheads, Paolo
Veronese was questioned (not tried) in 1573, about a ‘Last Supper’,
for the convent of SS. Giovanni e Paolo (now in the Accademia,
Venice). Superficially, the inquisitor was concerned that the painting
showed a lavish open–portico scene, with numerous extra people and
animals, not consonant with the Gospel. Veronese acted as a dumb
painter, just wanting to fill space in a huge canvas; he was in fact part
of cultured circles, with erudite patron-friends. Almost certainly, the
inquisitor was gently probing to see if two figures dressed as Germans
at the edge of the picture, receiving bread and wine as guests, were
deliberately painted so, to advocate communion for laymen in two
kinds (as was still allowed for some Catholics in German lands, but
not in the rest of Catholic Europe). Such indirect message-making
was perfectly feasible in the period. Veronese made no changes; the
title was altered to ‘Feast in the House of Levi’.14
Bishops, artists and art commentators accepted the challenge to
produce effective religious art, and allied visual effects, but no stan-
dardised post-Tridentine art emerged, because the purposes were
many and varied, beyond the basic desire to ‘delight, teach and excite
(commovere)’ in Paleotti’s words. Theorists and practitioners agreed
that content, style, colour effects should be fittingly matched, and
showing off technique and skill for its own sake be avoided. For
Paleotti, ‘pictures serve like an open book the capacity of all kinds of
people … and so allow them to be understood, when the painter does
not wish to confuse them, by all nations and intellects, without other
teaching or interpretation.’ ‘Pictures are silent preachers to the
 CHURCHES, CULTURAL ENTICEMENT AND DISPLAY 205

people.’15 Art should be realistic so that the onlooker can believe in

what is happening, and get involved in events. But emotional effects
and presentation should enhance the impact of the work. For the
painter–poet Romano Alberti, in his Trattato della Nobilta della Pittura
(1585), aimed at the Roman painters’ Academy of St Luke, the
painter should follow processes of rhetorical composition as for liter-
ature.16 The painter G.P. Lomazzo, who turned theorist on going
blind, was followed by the great poet Giambattista Marino (who knew
many artists), in stressing the rhetorical value of colour effects, and
the importance of facial emotions; for Lomazzo the onlooker’s emo-
tion should be moved by expressions of anger, pathos and joy on the
faces in the painting. Marino also stressed in his Dicerie Sacre (1615),
that the viewer should be led to imaginative contemplation –
‘Imagine the Virgin’s tears dropping on to this Shroud’, when dis-
cussing the Turin Shroud as a divine painting. Similarly, the Jesuit
Spiritual Exercises encouraged the penitent to conjure up a physical
image, a mind picture: ‘Imagining Christ our Lord present before me
on the Cross, to make a colloquy with him.’17
A vast amount of new religious painting was produced in our
period. Just a few names can be mentioned while stressing some
themes and characteristics of rhetorical presentation.18 In considering
roles and purposes of art as communication with the public, several
approaches can be separated. The most direct didactic purposes were
fulfilled – as for centuries – by narrative paintings, whether sequences
of frescoes, or now oil-painted canvases and panels, around a chapel
or even up in the ceiling; or a single story-telling painting. These dealt
notably with the lives of Christ, the Virgin, Saints and their miracles or
martyrdom. Here the stylistic or rhetorical stress was on bold clarity
and a sense of action. The Venetians had been leading contributors in
this category, (notably with Carpaccio’s earlier work for confraterni-
ties), and remained so through our period, with Jacopo Tintoretto’s
famous series for the Scuola Grande of San Rocco as pre-eminent
(1564–87), combining New Testament stories of the Virgin and Christ,
with Old Testament prefigurations.19 Now less known, but important
for religiosity in north-central Italy was the Madonna Della Ghiara20
pilgrimage church in Reggio Emilia, filled with stories of the Virgin’s
life by Bologna artists. Domenichino’s frescoed narratives of the saint
in the S. Cecilia Chapel in S. Luigi dei Francesi, Rome, used a clear
heroic classical style to persuade the onlooker.
A second category was that of the contemplative work, to be medi-
tated upon more peacefully; the Virgin and Child, Christ on the
206 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

Cross, a contemplating Saint. Many of these were small pieces on

lesser altars, or for private devotion. However, Guido Reni’s large
Crucifixion (c.1616, now in Bologna Pinacoteca), invites lengthy con-
templation before what seems the timeless atmosphere of its setting,
along with the sad contemplation of Mary Magdalene and St John.
This was a model for seventeenth century Crucifixions.
A third and contrasting type was based on overwhelming the audi-
ence with emotion and colour, notably in connection with heaven
and salvation. The expanded interest in domes provided opportuni-
ties for depicting the heavenly host, Assumptions and saints in Glory;
as also did nave ceilings and apses. Artists like Lanfranco and
Domenichino in the early seventeenth century returned to what
Correggio had created in dome painting a century before.
Lanfranco’s Virgin in Glory for the Roman Theatine S. Andrea della
Valle (1625–28), and Pietro da Cortona’s Trinity in Glory in the
Oratorian Chiesa Nuova (1647–51) had a large impact, on immediate
audiences and other art.21 The Jesuit shift to full dramatic oratory was
most famously marked by G.B. Gaulli (‘Baciccio’), sponsored and
advised by Bernini, in The Adoration of the Name of Jesus, for the nave
ceiling of Il Gesù (1674–79), with illusions of movement through to
heaven. Even more theatrically illusionist was their S. Ignazio ceiling
celebrating the world missionary work of the Jesuits (by Andrea
Pozzo, 1691–94), where nave pillars seem to continue into the
heavens.22
Individual paintings helped teach important doctrines. The cen-
trality of the Eucharist was obviously stressed in the considerable
number of Last Supper paintings, but all sorts of other teaching pic-
tures were added: saints, like St Jerome, receiving communion, spec-
tacular presentation of The Mass of St Gregory (e.g. Il Cerano’s in
Varese, 1616–17), emphasising The Institution of the Eucharist (notably
by Barocci in Rome), and drawing parallels in The Supper at Emmaus
(as in Caravaggio’s example in the National Gallery, London). Many
works emphasised the sacrament of confession, often personalised by
showing St Peter and his repentance; here Guercino, Lanfranco and
Guido Reni followed the recent teaching of Panigarola and
Bellarmino. Since Orders and confraternities stressed the impor-
tance of praying for the release of souls from purgatory, visual
encouragement was given. The Venetian Scuola of San Fantin had a
whole ceiling of panels on this theme, since it undertook to pray for
anonymous, uncared for, souls.23 The Virgin’s role as intercessor in
this context was emphasised, as in Federico Zuccaro’s fesco in Il Gesù,
 CHURCHES, CULTURAL ENTICEMENT AND DISPLAY 207

and Guercino’s St Gregory and Souls in Purgatory in S. Paolo Maggiore,

Bologna.
Salvation by good works was visually advocated in many other ways.
The Seven Acts of Mercy have been discussed already in this context
(Chapter 7). Now most famously the Pio Monte della Misericordia, a
fraternity of philanthropic nobles in Naples, encouraged their work
by commissioning Caravaggio’s Seven Acts of Mercy (where all the acts
are alluded to in one complicated powerful scene), and works by
other artists like G.B. Baglione, B. Caracciolo, F. Santafede encourag-
ing separate acts of burying the dead fittingly, releasing prisoners or
slaves providing hospitality. The confraternity had to fight off
attempts by the Viceroy to obtain Caravaggio’s work.24 Venetian
Sacrament confraternities commissioned Last Supper scenes from
Tintoretto for their chapels in parish churches, which not only
celebrated the Eucharist but, by the incorporation of extra figures at
the side or below, encouraged the earning of salvation by feeding
beggars (in S. Polo), or mothers and children (in S. Marcuola). While
the message-making in Pio Monte was for the enclosed fraternity mem-
bership, the advocacy of the Tintoretto paintings was both for the com-
missioning confraternity, but also for all parishioners. Saints might be
brought in to give leadership, as with two Neapolitan works by
B. Schedoni (1578–1615; now in Capodimonte Gallery, Naples):
Almsgiving of St Elizabeth, where the saint succours children and old
men, and St Sebastian cared for by pious women, who successfully nurse
this saint’s arrow wounds. 25
The rhetorical methods used by painters were diverse, and more
elaborate than in earlier Renaissance pictures. Gestures were dynam-
ically used not only to express dramatic reactions within the scene,
but to attract the viewers’ and worshippers’ attention, to be partici-
pants; and side characters might make eye-contact. Many works
attempted a seamless connection between the onlooker, the earth-
bound painted scene, and heavenly activity or blessing at the top (as
in paintings of The Resurrection of Christ, or Assumption of the Virgin, by
Annibale and Lodovico Carracci).26 Altarpieces now in galleries often
lose the intended effect, because hung too low; book and slide repro-
ductions, taken straight on, similarly distort the intended impact of
viewing from well below, kneeling at the altar rail, or viewing a side-
panel obliquely. Many other paintings invite participation in the
scene, without a heavenly superstructure. Tintoretto’s Last Supper
scenes could suggest the onlooker was in the room; in the San Rocco
version we are being led up the steps by a dog. The rhetoric involved
208 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

might be clear and simple, or highly complicated. Musical parallels

were made at the time, as in Borghini’s Il Riposo. The seventeenth
century art historian G.P. Bellori wrote of Lanfranco’s Virgin in
Glory:

Thus this painting has rightly been likened to a full choir, in which
all the sounds together make up the harmony; because, at the
moment of hearing, no particular voice is listened to in particular,
but what is lovely is its blending and the general cadence and sub-
stance of the singing.

Lanfranco’s polyphonic work might be contrasted with monodic

recitative of his rival Domenichino’s Life of St Andrew scenes in the
apse of the same church, as clear narration. Lanfranco was attacked
(by Domenichino supporters), for breaking the unity of time, having
new saints Gaetano da Thiene and Andrea Avellino joining Peter and
Andrew.27
A single artist could fit several of my categories and employ varied
rhetorical techniques. Federico Barocci (d.1609) can be exemplary.
Based in Urbino, well protected by the Duke, he was much admired
by Philip Neri. Neri (according to his canonisation proceedings and
early biographers), was found rapt in ecstasy or even levitating while
contemplating one of Barocci’s paintings, his first for the Chiesa
Nuova, The Visitation (1583–86).28 Barocci later painted The
Presentation of the Virgin (1593–94) for it. A striking early work
(1566–69) was The Deposition for Perugia Cathedral, which exempli-
fies the new approach to apt expressionism. The stillness of Christ’s
inert body contrasts with the agitated reaction of attendant women
who rush to support the fainting Mary. The agitation is conveyed by
expressions, gestures, the movement of colourful garments, with the
yellows and reds in particular linking the figures and providing a
structural unity. San Bernardino (for whose chapel the painting was
commissioned), watches, and his gestures invite spectator involve-
ment. Many of Barocci’s works concern the Virgin, often in quiet
scenes for contemplation, using gentle gestures to invite participa-
tion. In Il Perdono d’Assisi (S. Francesco, Urbino), the Virgin signifies
Christ’s blessing with her open-palmed left hand, while her right
pushes towards the onlooker, and below St Francis, leaning almost of
the picture, similarly uses his hands for display and invitation.29 Some
Holy Family scenes suggest happy domesticity; and Barocci is one of
the few painters to treat the cat as benign, not evil! – as in La Madonna
 CHURCHES, CULTURAL ENTICEMENT AND DISPLAY 209

del Gatto (London NG). Barocci’s Madonna del Popolo (1575–79. Uffizi,
Florence) for an Arezzo confraternity, but in a public church, teaches
that charity will earn a heavenly blessing. Help is being given to a
blind musician, a begging cripple, and poor mother with child, while
better-off children are caught between watching these poor and the
blessing on offer from the heavenly scene at the top, encouraged by
mothers. Gentlemen in the centre, possibly signifying confraternity
donors, also have dual concerns between earthly philanthropy and
heavenly reward. Gestures, looks and colour tones foster a helix-like
movement of the observer’s eye from bottom to top of the picture,
earth to heaven – and back; the blessing on all. An angel invites the
viewer’s participation.30
The audiences were often, of course, limited if paintings were for a
parish church in town or country, or private confraternity chapel – but
not always. What was produced for the great Roman churches poten-
tially could affect millions on pilgrimage visits over the decades. Crowds
flocked to see Barocci’s work unveiled in the Chiesa Nuova, or
Caravaggio’s controversial Death of the Virgin, when removed from a
Roman church and sold to Mantua. Also artists, their studio, or uncon-
nected copyists provided versions for different patrons and churches.
Much more significantly, printed versions of many paintings, and scenes
for Quarantore celebrations (see below), festivals and major funerals
were circulated and sold. The Carracci and Barocci (who himself pro-
duced an etching of St Francis Receiving the Stigmata like his Perdono paint-
ing), accelerated a process of dissemination of high-quality images that
had been fostered from the 1520s to the 1530s – though cheap and
cruder wood-block prints had a longer history. In particular, devotional
images of the Virgin would have been available for contemplation in
many homes. Print shops had sophisticated selling techniques.31
Churches, chapels, oratories and their decorative, environment,
thus at their most effective, created a more cohesive and integrated
environment, inspiring a community spirit, encouraging the learning
and dissemination of the teachings of the church, and also sometimes
stimulating outward-looking social action.

Music

The fathers at the Council of Trent had divided views on the role
of music in church services and religious celebrations.32 The
condemnation of instruments other than organs for the church services
210 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

had some impact of the development of church music, and especially in

Rome dampened enthusiasm for and experimentation in polyphonic
music. However, even in Rome (Giovanni Luigi da) Palestrina, a
favoured composer during the Tridentine discussions, soon developed
acceptable and seemly polyphonic Masses. His Missa Papae Marcelli,
written for Pope Marcellus II’s Requiem in 1555, when published in
1567 became a touchstone for a modified polyphony. His Masses (which
inched forward to a new polyphonic experimentation in time with the
Vatican’s slow pace), became standard fare in Catholic churches for cen-
turies to come. He eventually wrote 105 Masses and over 200 motets.
Music became very much an exciting, adventurous and popular aspect
of revived Catholicism in Italy, under a variety of impulses, and in sev-
eral locations, as Iain Fenlon has notably demonstrated.33 The peculiar
‘private’ positions of the Ducal Chapel of S. Barbara in Mantua, and of
the Doge’s Chapel of San Marco in Venice, allowed them to ignore
Tridentine restraints, and any episcopal interference. Duke Guglielmo
Gonzaga, who had Santa Barbara built as the Trent Council was closing,
saw it as the base for a reformed Catholic liturgy, with powerful music.
He was a composer in his own right, and desirous of having Palestrina
as his court religious composer.34
The key composer to find favour with the Tridentine reformers was
Vincenzo Ruffo, who became maestro di capella in Milan Cathedral in
1563. His preface to a collection of Masses published in 1570 claimed:

in accordance with the decrees of the Holy Council of Trent I was

to compose some Masses that should avoid everything of a profane
and ideal manner in worship … I composed one Mass in this way:
so that the numbers of the syllables and the voices and tones
together should be clearly and distinctly understood by the pious
listeners … Later, imitating the example, I more readily and easily
composed other Masses of the same type.35

Ruffo and Palestrina were joined by Marc’Antonio Ingegnero

(d. 1592), in Milan, as an acceptable setter of the Mass. Other com-
posers like his pupil Claudio Monteverdi (1567–1643), were soon to
bring more experimentation on the fringes of the Mass, and on alter-
native forms of religious composition; and then at the heart of Masses
and Vespers.
Despite the conservative warnings Italian religious music became
exciting, varied, widely appealing through our period, benefiting from
developments in Netherland–Italian secular music, and cross-fertilising
 CHURCHES, CULTURAL ENTICEMENT AND DISPLAY 211

with them. The danger was with the central part of the Mass – no great
distortion of the words. But much appealing and adventurous music
could be provided by the organ – played before and after the Mass, or
in between the main liturgical points. Motets, voices with or without
instruments, could be part of an extended Mass, or of other celebra-
tions. Soon Vespers were treated as a path to spiritual uplift, using
voices, organ and other instruments. The organ was the acceptable
instrument for church use, and increasingly widespread in urban
churches, but not absent from parish churches or oratories in smaller
communities; as one can deduce from Matteo Pinelli’s career. Some
organs were small and portable. In later seventeenth-century Rome
many churches used harpsichords and instrumental groups as well as,
or instead of, organs. What was played is hard to tell; even in the great
city churches in Rome evidently much was improvised, continuing an
oral teaching tradition. Along with spectacular Toccatas at the start, var-
ious kinds of music could be played interspersed through the Mass, with
instrumental music or sung motets at the elevation, organ improvisa-
tions and formal canzone through communion. Limited evidence sug-
gests that secular tunes were still improvised between the main parts of
the service. The amount of organ and harpsichord music published was
meagre, though compositions of the great keyboard composer and per-
former Girolamo Frescobaldi were printed.36
The enticing power of music to move the spirit, and attract people
to religious devotions was well recognised; and the effect could be
enhanced by complex mood changes, variations in numbers of voices
and instruments. If this was argued in print by a professionally inter-
ested composer like Giovanni Animuccia, we also find it noted by the
English Jesuit Gregory Martin, commenting on his experiences in
Rome in 1576–78, and hearing polyphonic music – ‘such musike,
such voices, such instruments, al ful of gravitie and majestie, al mov-
ing to devotion and ravishing a mans hart to the meditation of
melodie of Angels and Saintes in heaven’. Jesuits were soon admit-
ting, like Michele Lauretano in the German College in Rome, that
Gregorian chant did not have the ‘sweetness’ to keep worldly men
coming to church, and that instrumental and measured music should
also be used. 37 Another Englishman, Thomas Coryat, visiting Venice
in 1606–08, attended a night-time service in honour of San Rocco, in
the Scuola Grande di San Rocco, which was dominated by music,
vocal and instrumental ‘so good, so delectable, so rare, so admirable,
so superexcellent, that it did even ravish and stupifie all those
strangers that never heard the like … I was for the time even rapt up
212 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

with Saint Paul in the third heaven.’ A CD has reconstructed what

might have been heard in San Rocco composed by Giovanni Gabrieli
in particular.38 This and several other Venetian Scuole benefited from
composers and performers who were at the same time developing
polyphonic, multi-choral, and instrumental music in St Mark’s basilica.
The violin was being developed to rival the viol family of instruments,
seen by some as being the instrument closest to the human voice, and
most ‘expressive’, so most acceptable.
Religious experience through music gained considerably from the-
oretical discussion and musical experimentation focusing on the rela-
tionship between words and music, with how musical effects could
bring out the joy or pathos, anger or lamentation implied by a word,
as well as by an event. The word painting could apply to secular love
motets of joy or lamentation, or to religious equivalents. The
Neapolitan Don Carlo, Prince of Gesualdo (c.1560–1613), who had to
flee north to Ferrara after killing his wife and her lover (1590), com-
posed love madrigals and religious motets, noted for wayward har-
monies, excessive dissonances and very expressive musical tension, as
found in his Responses for Maundy Thursday, or motets from his
Sacrarum Cantionum (1603), which emphasise the (his?) agonised
mood of guilt, and sense of sin and death.39 His music, as from the
Responses, inspired Roman Oratorian circles.
Claudio Monteverdi from Cremona first made his impact largely in
secular music, with madrigals and early operatic works at the
Mantuan court under the Gonzagas, but his experimentation fed into
religious music, especially after he moved to Venice to be maestro di
capella at St Mark’s in 1613. The complex structure of St Mark’s, espe-
cially with its numerous subdivisions and galleries lent itself to the use
of many ‘choirs’ (which could be of voices, portable organs with viols,
violins, trombones and so forth), playing off against each other, echo-
ing, or responding as in debate. The word painting was brought out
in settings of the Psalms like Dixit Dominus (Ps.109) or Laetatus Sum
(Ps.121), in the Magnificat, or motets like Laudate Dominum or O quam
pulchra est. How Monteverdi could shift from secular music to reli-
gious, using vocal polyphony, declamatory monody, and a full range
of instrumental colouring was demonstrated in his 1610 Vespers,
composed in Mantua when unhappy with his treatment there, proba-
bly in a bid to move to a church position in Rome or Venice. Late in
his career came the glorious Mass of Thanksgiving, sung in St Mark’s
on 21 November 1631 on the feast of the Presentation of the Virgin,
as part of the city’s celebratory day for the end of the devastating
 CHURCHES, CULTURAL ENTICEMENT AND DISPLAY 213

plague. The Byzantine painting of the Virgin and Child, called the
Madonna Nicopeia, (of Victory) was honoured in the Mass, and then
paraded with trumpets and singing to the site where they were start-
ing to build Longhena’s S. Maria della Salute, as a thanksgiving
plague church. The Mass, coordinated and partly composed by
Monteverdi, was not printed, but has been ‘reconstructed’ by Andrew
Parrott. Reports at the time indicate that Monteverdi used trumpets
together with voices for the Credo and Gloria; probably for the first
time, and hardly acceptable to the Tridentine mood.40
A medieval musical tradition was happily developed through the
period into early modern Catholic practices; the singing of laude.
Laude were spiritual songs, often in praise of the Virgin, which were
sung mainly as part of processions (as by confraternities), though
they could be incorporated into internal church services. The
medieval laudesi traditions, associated most with Umbria and Tuscany,
were taken into Roman heartlands in the mid-sixteenth century, by
reforming Tuscans, particularly Philip Neri and his supporters, who
formed the confraternity and then the Order of the Oratory. Less
spectacularly, the Dominicans maintained Savonarolan enthusiasms,
in the Roman Dominican Church of S. Maria sopra Minerva. They
not only helped save Savonarola’s works from complete condemna-
tion in the 1559 Index (see Chapter 4), but promoted laudesi singing
as well. As Iain Fenlon stressed, on the back of a common support for
Savonarola, the Oratorians and Dominicans of the Minerva jointly
promoted religious music to inspire themselves and a wide public,
and shared composers like Giovani Animuccia.41 Much of the singing
in processions discussed elsewhere continued this kind of religious
singing.
Oratorios, sliding into full religious operas (as acting and dancing
with costumes and elaborate sets were added to stationary singing
and declamation), were developed and increasingly professionalised
through our period, as dramatic musical presentations of Biblical sto-
ries, lives of saints, and conflicts of vices and virtues. They were essen-
tially organised by and for the confraternities and congregations, the
Jesuit and Oratorian Orders, but with many open to the public. Some
nunneries performed them. Under the Barberini family during
Urban VIII’s pontificate, religious operas were part of the court
scene, lavishly presented.42 Florence notably developed the dramatic
Oratorio, starting with the youth confraternity of Archangel Raphael
(which became more adult over the period), but the genre was taken
up by several other confraternities. J.W. Hill in particular has shown the
214 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

extent and popularity of sung religious drama, at all levels of society,

through to the late eighteenth century. Florence and its composers
like Emilio de’Cavalieri, influenced Rome and Bologna, and drew
back inspiration from them in the mid-seventeenth century, as when
the Oratorian house made its mark in Florence.43 A key marker in the
evolution of religious opera was Emilio de’Cavalieri’s Rapresentazione di
Anima e Corpo (Body and Soul), a moralising work performed in the
Roman Oratory for the Jubilee of 1600; described as ‘a sermon in dia-
logue interspersed with (choral) hymns’, it had an influential audience
led by some music loving cardinals.44
The Jesuits in Rome took up the oratorio and sacred opera, in
Italian and Latin, especially gaining attention from compositions by
Giacomo Carissimi (1605–74), choir master at the Jesuit church of
S. Apolinare, with titles like Jonas, Job and Balthazar. One of the most
impressive oratorio/opera composers in Rome was Luigi Rossi
(1597–1653), who came from the South, with Neapolitan training,
was made organist at San Luigi dei Francesi, but patronised by the
Borghese then Barberini families (and especially Cardinal Antonio
Barberini). He produced secular cantatas, religious cantatas or ora-
torios, and religious opera. Two cantatas/oratorios, ‘The Penitent
Sinner’ (Il peccator pentito) and ‘O the blindness of the miserable
mortal’ (O cecità del misero mortale), set penitential poems proba-
bly to be sung in Lent, using several singers, and stringed instruments
like viols, violins and theorbo. Voices and instruments express deep
emotions of remorse and despair, counteracted by hope derived from
repentance. Rossi’s ‘Joseph, son of Jacob’, for five soloists and orches-
tra, was a more interactive drama, again playing on a full range of
emotions as the family meets up in Egypt, facing accusations, recrim-
inations, calls for mercy and forgiveness.45
One of the most notable religious operas was Il Sant’Alessio, with
music by Stefano Landi to a libretto by Giulio Rospigliosi (later
Pope Clement IX, 1667–69), and promoted by Cardinal Francesco
Barberini. Seemingly first performed in 1631 on a modest scale, an
expanded version was mounted in a Barberini palace to honour the
Imperial ambassador, and the fullest versions were given in seven per-
formances during Carnival 1634 for different types of audience. The
story concerned Alexis, a fifth-century Roman patrician who disap-
pears to the East, returns as a Christian hermit to Rome where he
resists temptations, including from the Devil to return to family,
wealth and paganism. On his death his family testifies to his sanctity.
Opportunities were presented to praise the Roman people, to laud
 CHURCHES, CULTURAL ENTICEMENT AND DISPLAY 215

spiritual and human love, and encourage sanctity, with much moving
music, including the almost obligatory ‘lament’ (by the family), and
Alessio’s own internal conflict between love of family and spiritual
harmony. Performances had elaborate machinery and scenery, some
designed by Pietro da Cortona. The newsletters (Avvisi) praised the
singing, scenery and costumes; and lasting publicity came with a
printed account, also illustrating the stage settings. Prologues were
adjusted to honour different foreign princes as guests of honour on
the night. All this redounded to the honour of Rome, the papal family,
and the ultimate joy of living a saintly life.46
By the mid-seventeenth century music was deeply involved in the reli-
gious scene, in public churches, confraternity oratories and chapels, pri-
vate palaces, convents and monasteries. Some audiences were exclusive,
but the effects could spread to much wider congregations. Only a few
cities have been mentioned here, but composers and Venetian printers
produced much advanced music for northern Italian parish churches,
as well as cathedrals. For example, Lodovico da Viadana was a ‘working’
composer who, even while at Mantua Cathedral, was providing stylisti-
cally up-to-date music for limited resources in Portogruaro (Friuli) or
Fano (Marches), to be published in his Cento Concerti Ecclesiastici of
1602 – for one to four voices and an organ. Jerome Roche points to sig-
nificant composers and organists across the Veneto, including Asolo,
Chioggia, Murano, Padua, Portogruaro, Treviso, Verona and Udine, with
Bergamo probably the most impressive. The Duchies of Ferrara,
Mantua and Parma all provided vital church music as well as secular
court music; with Modena partly replacing Ferrara after 1598. Bologna
and Milan dominated their areas, in the latter case to the detriment of
other Lombard cities, except Novara where the Cathedral had a series
of important composers. Cathedrals were not necessarily the most
prominent musical centre in a city (it was not in Bergamo), and other
churches or confraternity oratories (as in Parma and Bologna) might be
leaders, especially when Vespers or Compline provided the motif. 47
I have noted music’s importance for spiritual uplift and aid to devo-
tion. Some music was meant to enhance textual meaning, as well as
emotions. But it was a recognised condition – danger – that people
would attend Mass or Vespers for the music only, leaving after organ
toccatas and other early contributions. As Nicolo Farfaro said in a
Discorso on ancient and modern music:

The church of S. Apollinare [Rome], which today boasts the most

exquisite singing in the world, draws large congregations, but if
216 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

they are observed closely it is obvious that they come not out of
religious sentiment or for the divine office, … but simply to hear
the music: this is clearly shown by the fact that once the motet after
the Magnificat is over, everyone knows there will be no more
music, and they all go, leaving the church empty, without waiting
for the end of Vespers.48

Forty-Hour Devotions (Quarantore)

The Forty-Hour Devotion became an enticing educational and spiritual

event, motivated by those seeking a greater respect for and adoration
of the Host, and a reminder of Christ’s sacrifice. It could require sce-
nic structures, sculptures, paintings and lighting to emphasise the
displayed Host on the altar. It involved personal prayer and contem-
plation, but it might also be accompanied by sermons, music and
singing. The fundamental concept was to have the Host on display in
a monstrance, with other special effects, for a period of 40 hours,
either continuously or spread over three days if the organisers did not
want night-time visiting. The public came to visit, adore, pray, hear
sermons and homilies, possibly watch a celebration of a Mass. The
period would end with a High Mass.49
The Devotion, probably first developed in 1527 by a Milanese
priest, was most significantly promoted by the Barnabite Antonio
Maria Zaccaria, the Capuchin Giuseppe Plantanida (from 1537 in
Sansepolcro), and from 1550 in Rome by Filippo Neri. Thereafter,
the Devotion was encouraged by various Religious Orders and con-
fraternities. For Jesuits and others this Devotion was to provide an
alternative to or distraction from less seemly carnival activities. The
Capuchins scheduled theirs as a three-day start to Holy Week. The
Orders and confraternities organised groups of laity and clergy for
the seemly visiting of the Host. The location might be in the cathe-
dral, in a major monastic church, confraternity oratory, or in a sizable
parish church. Bologna possibly had the fullest range and variety.
A boastful report, with sketch, on the 1597 Quarantore organised in
the chapel of the Confraternity of Santa Maria della Morte, one of
Bologna’s leading confraternities, indicated an altar backed by a
painted apparatus of a heavenly scene, flanked by statues of the
Madonna and angels, and colourful decorations everywhere. Lights
from numerous candles were enhanced by mirrors. This was the
proudest and richest apparatus ever seen in Bologna, while the most
 CHURCHES, CULTURAL ENTICEMENT AND DISPLAY 217

splendid music also provided for the occasion surpassed even that
produced for Easter 1593.50 Bishop Gabriele Paleotti organised key
parish churches to take turns to putting on the Forty-Hour displays,
and similar Eucharist-focused processions of shorter duration (the
Decennale Eucarista or Addobbi), replacing the old city-wide Corpus
Domini processions. They could now foster parochial communities
and their sense of pride, (provided the rich were prepared to help
fund the display). The processions might be accompanied by music,
and the route brightened by tapestries and carpets hung from win-
dows. The church and chapel interiors were similarly festooned.51
Rome inevitably competed to provide elaborate Quarantore cele-
brations, organised by the Jesuits, Vatican officials or confraternities.
San Lorenzo in Damaso, a parish church hosting many confraterni-
ties was a major arena for Forty-Hour devotions. One in 1608 was
advertised as follows:

When all are kneeling and the doors are closed, the music will
begin to elevate the souls to God. Then Father Fedele will deliver
the sermon, and it will be as a mediator between the soul and God,
in order to reconcile everyone with His Divine Majesty; and each
will be disposed as God our Lord will inspire.52

In 1633 in the same church the leading painter–architect Pietro da

Cortona constructed a major apparatus, lit with lamps, for a great dis-
play; and this was to be reused in later years. He and his backers were
probably consciously seeking to rival an illusionary Glory of Paradise
(lit by 2000 lamps) that Gian Lorenzo Bernini had designed in 1628
for the Pauline Chapel in the Vatican. Such celebrations not only were
to impress those who attended, but to some extent a wider public,
when prints of the settings were made for distribution.53

Processions, Pilgrimages and Theatricality

Processions were one of the most important aspects of religious life,

often combining spirituality, entertainment, with propaganda for the
Church as a whole, a city or village, and the religious and secular
organisations involved.54 Processions could be indoors around a par-
ticular church, or massive parades through a great city, with ranks of
clergy, members of the Religious Orders, civic councillors, cohorts
of confraternities, with crosses, paintings, banners, candelabra and
218 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

candles, and musicians. We have mentioned a number of roles for

processions in dealing with confraternities. The processions could be
doleful – for funerals, for expressing penitential sorrow and promises
for a new way of life during the missions of Capuchins and Jesuits; for
invoking God’s mercy in the face of afflictions of bad weather, dis-
ease, war threats, and even plague – even if some considered that
such processions would only encourage the spread of plague; as
argued in the great plague scares in Milan and Venice in 1575–77.
Lively and enthusiastic processions were mounted to celebrate Easter,
Corpus Christi, a canonisation or beatification, the feast-day of a
major saint, the translation of relics from one location to another, or
the dowering of poor girls. The enthusiasm for processions of all
kinds is well brought out in Giambattista Casale’s Milan diary.55
Processions had been a spectacular part of medieval religious and
civic life; our period sees a continuation, but with more lavish display
for the great occasions. The 1551 Tridentine decree on the Eucharist
wanted the Host processed through the streets, and so boosted
Corpus Christi processions and displays. The Jubilee Years every
quarter-century, spectacularly from 1575 onwards (but with 1550 set-
ting some precedents), and the canonisations of the seventeenth cen-
tury, led to the most eye- and ear-catching parades in Rome; to be
enjoyed by tens or hundreds of thousands of pilgrim visitors from all
over Italy and further afield.
Processions were often associated with plays (with speaking actors)
and scenic ‘representations’ (rappresentazioni), involving staged
scenes along a processional route, or scenes mounted on carts, with
characters dressed up but not acting. A long medieval tradition lay
behind these activities. The play-acting aspect came under attack
from puritanical reformers, because they could involve comic as well
as tragic scenes, leading to bawdy. However, the theatrical aspects
involving scenery, sculptures, people dressed up but not speaking,
were backed by lighting and mirror effects; the use of music were
developed to enhance worship and message-making.
Rome had from the 1490s a spectacular Passion play staged in the
Colosseum, organised by the Gonfalone confraternity. This was pre-
ceded by a penitential procession led by the brothers, imitating
Christ’s path to Calvary. The plays were banned from 1539, but
the confraternity continued its own penitential procession, to the
Colosseum till 1545, then to St. Peter’s to honour relics put on
display – namely a fragment of the True Cross, Veronica’s veil and
Longinus’ lance. These relics were to receive enhanced veneration
 CHURCHES, CULTURAL ENTICEMENT AND DISPLAY 219

through the next decades, to challenge the Protestant attacks on

relics. These relics were eventually housed in the great pillars for the
dome of the new St Peter’s, with suitable statues at the Crossing to
honour them – organised by Gian Lorenzo Bernini, who himself
sculpted the Longinus statue. The 1550 Jubilee led to more proces-
sions and rituals expanding from this Gonfalone one, with other
major confraternities joining. A processional ritual that came to dom-
inate was the torchlit Maundy Thursday one culminating in the
Vatican’s Pauline Chapel. The procession started in the Gonfalone’s
Oratory, with a commemorative meal, the foot-washing ceremony,
and feeding of the poor. Others joined as the parade moved through
Rome. This public candle-lit ceremony much impressed the English
Jesuit, Gregory Martin, living in Rome 1576–78, who commented on
the voluntary whipping drawing blood; by then St Peter’s was
involved, with Veronica’s veil shown to the penitents. By 1601 Camillo
Fanucci in his guide to Rome’s piety stressed this Maundy Thursday
procession as involving most confraternities, and constituting one of
Rome’s greatest expressions of piety.56
An impression of how a Corpus Christi celebration came to be pre-
sented in Rome is shown in an anonymous painting of an event in the
piazza outside the new St Peter’s, about 1646. Crowds assemble under
huge canopies stretching from the façade and a bell-tower on the
Vatican palace side (later demolished when Bernini’s colonnade was
constructed), while numerous coaches are assembled in the piazza.57
Processions were significant both for participants and observers.
The sense of social involvement of participants, with anticipations of
spiritual benefits, whether suffering through self-whipping, or more
joyfully singing laude and praising the Virgin, is easily recognised. It
was a spectator experience. People watched from windows, from
which they may have hung colourful cloths, tapestries and carpets to
show wealth. Visitors could pay for window and balcony space. Some
paid a costly 2–3 scudi to observe the procession of the heart-relic of
the newly sanctified Carlo Borromeo being processed through Rome
on 22 June 1614. The procession, featuring numerous confraternities
carrying 1500 torches, was led by twenty-five cardinals.58
A post-Tridentine development was what David Gentilcore has called
‘the Christianisation of the carnivalesque’. The Jesuits, Redemptionists,
and others turned penitential processions into gruesome carniva-
lesque displays. In a 1646 procession in Squinzano members from all
levels of society joined a flagellant procession. Covered in ashes, linked
together with chains and cords like a prison chain-gang they wound
220 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

their way through the city. A repentant prostitute was dressed in

sack-cloth as Mary Magdalene, and beat her breast with a stone, while
a local noble had his young son help him beat himself with a stone.
Farm workers used farm implements as well as chains to mortify
themselves, cutting through the flesh to the bones. While women
were meant to avoid such scenes, they could be found watching,
weeping and lamenting, imploring the mercy of God. Fervour for
such penance could lead adulterers to make public penance for soci-
ety’s benefit (as in Torre Paduli in Terrra d’Otranto in 1655), the vol-
untary surrender and burning of playing cards, offensive books or
images. Much of this must be treated as genuine fervour, promoted
by dynamic preaching, and not a matter of coercion; ultimately con-
stituting personal and public relief and release. Naturally the forsak-
ing of adultery or gambling might be only short-lived. More
pleasantly Jesuits organised masked children’s processions before
First Communion; boys as angels, girls as virgin saints and martyrs.59
Pilgrimage remained in our period a significant aspect of religious
life and the bid for personal salvation, as in the middle ages. It might
be undertaken as a lonely personal act of contrition, or part of a com-
munal adventure to earn indulgences, with some entertainment as
when organised by confraternities. The pilgrimage might be a rea-
sonably short distance to a regional shrine, as in Assisi, Bari, Reggio
Emilia, Impruneta or Loreto. The two long-distance pilgrimage tar-
gets were the Virgin’s House in Loreto, and Rome. Sixtus V had made
strenuous efforts to make Loreto (in the Marches) a major pilgrim-
age centre. His statue blesses those who enter the main baroque
domed church. Within elaborate sculptured marble encased the little
brick house that had supposedly been the Virgin’s house, and which
had miraculously been moved to Dalmatia, and then flown by angels
to Loreto for safety. Revitalisation of Marian cults ensured it stayed a
major pilgrimage point in central Italy, along with Assisi. We have
encountered Father Matteo Pinelli, parish priest of Cerliano in the
Mugello (Tuscany). In 1608 he went with five of his parishioners to
Loreto on pilgrimage, early on in his ministry, possibly as a prelude
to encouraging work on the Holy Sacrament company and oratory.
He copied Latin inscriptions placed in the church, for later study and
inspiration if he could not return on pilgrimage.60
Rome was very deliberately built up as an enticing pilgrimage target,
so that those coming from far or near would return home with an
image of the Eternal City, as fit to lead the universal Catholic Church.
The increasingly splendourful Holy Year Jubilees were the high
 CHURCHES, CULTURAL ENTICEMENT AND DISPLAY 221

points, but pilgrims coming in others years were also catered for by
clerics and confraternities. Estimates suggest that about 175 000
pilgrims visited Rome for the 1575 Jubilee, over 200 000 for 1600 and
1625. The archconfraternity of SS.Trinità (one of Filippo Neri’s early
creations in the 1540s), was the chief organiser of hospitality for
pilgrims (claiming to help 169 000 or so in 1575), but it was backed
by other confraternities and monasteries. They provided shelter,
food, feet-washing, sometimes musical entertainment and religious
celebrations in their own premises. Confraternity groups were
assisted in visiting the major Roman basilicas, and St Peter’s, for more
services, blessings from cardinals, bishops and maybe the Pope. So
the pilgrims earned indulgences, and hopefully were impressed by
the majesty and charity of the Mother Church in the Eternal City. The
pilgrimage as an appealing event was highlighted by a long account
by a Perugian canon, which I summarised elsewhere, of the Perugian
Company of Death (Della Morte) pilgrimage to Rome for the 1600
Jubilee.61 The main participants were the wealthy, with servants; and
they were right royally entertained, spiritually and gastronomically
there and back; and while in Rome by their host archconfraternity
Della Morte. Besides food and wine, there was more interest in fre-
quent communion, relics, and music (singing and string playing),
than in new architecture – possibly because they did process
demurely heads-down, thereby earning papal praise. In practice
much redevelopment of Roman churches, and decoration of the
Roman religious scene, was generated by Popes and cardinals in
preparation for Jubilees.62
Rome through the year offered resident or visitor a considerable
range of processions, celebrations outside or inside, and in combina-
tion. The Roman diarist Giacinto Gigli chronicled much from 1608
to 1657; he was involved in civic government, and had access to papal
circles.63 He noted and described fairly regular processions, such as
those by the Rosary Company, based in S. Maria sopra Minerva. But
he dwelt on more special events, such as the highly musical proces-
sion, organised by the blacksmith’s company, of a recently arrived
relic of Sant’Eligio (or St Louis), his arm, from France, because their
fraternity church was dedicated to him. The Florentine confraternity
of S. Giovanni in 1622 at Pentecost paraded relics of the newly canon-
ised San Filippo Neri (beard hairs and tooth), given his Florentine
origins. This was a way of calling together – with music – those
in Rome with Florentine connections. In 1625, as part of the Jubilee
celebrations the Rosary company in October bid to outdo other
222 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

celebrations, with a commemoration of the Rosary and its particular

association with the 1571 Battle of Lepanto, defeating the Turks. The
processional route was lined with silks and tapestries. The vast pro-
cession of clergy, friars, confraternity members, and other laity was
accompanied by many choirs, and candles, while some carried large
paintings of the naval battle, and representations of the Mysteries of
the Rosary. The Pope’s daughter-in-law led female confraternity offi-
cials escorting 31 poor maidens to whom the company was providing
dowries for marriage or a nunnery. At the end was an architectural
construct carried to show off an Image of the Virgin, adored by many
Dominican saints.
Gigli was exuberant about the 1650 Jubilee, and many processions
with music, paintings, constructs. One highlight was a procession and
display to and in the Piazza Navona, organised by the Spanish
‘national’ confraternity of the Holy Resurrection at S. Giacomo, cele-
brating the Holy Sacrament, the Rosary, and Spanish–Iberian ‘unity’
(then being challenged by a Portuguese revolt). Various display struc-
tures were built around two complete fountain structures in the
Piazza, and the Bernini’s incomplete Four Fountains one. Every year
this Spanish confraternity took over the Piazza Navona; on the feast
of the Immaculate Conception they paraded those girls and women
to whom they were offering dowries; and on Easter Sunday they had
a dawn procession to the church, accompanied by music, religious or
political theatrical displays. Fireworks celebrated the Host reaching
the church.
The Piazza Navona had become a theatre for the World in Rome.
It was used for celebrating a papal succession (the Possesso), for car-
nival and secular occasions, when were organised scenes of the
Resurrection, jousts, sea battles (since it could be conveniently
flooded), wine fountains and firework displays. Paintings, prints, lit-
erary accounts ensured that a wider public had a spun version of what
took place, whether for the honour of the Church, a cardinal or
princely family, confraternity – or all together. This was the counter-
action against Protestant complaints, and the other side of the coin
from repression.
11 Conclusions: Successes and
Failures

Re-forming the Church in Italy and creating a more respectable

Christian society, as desired by reformers from, say, Girolamo
Savonarola, G.M. Giberti, Angela Merici and Girolamo Miani to
Gregorio Barbarigo and Paolo Segneri, was daunting, and none
would have been too complaisant about ‘success’ by the time of the
great Jesuit preacher Segneri’s death in 1694. Most would have
concurred that the Church was more effectively structured than in
Savonarola’s day, with greater value attached to Christian morality,
possibly a more caring society, and not threatened by a theological
revolution. Barbarigo, Segneri and a Pope like Innocent XI, knew
they must continue reforming, combat human frailty; they had the
enthusiasm to cajole others to continue campaigning.
By way of conclusion I offer some summaries of what had changed,
and what challenges remained for these reformers. The overall pic-
ture from the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century might
appear gloomy, but some bright aspects can be highlighted.
Serious theological challenges to orthodox Catholicism existed
throughout Italy in the first half of the sixteenth century; competitive,
often hybrid, sceptically tentative rather than dogmatically certain
enough to conquer, and overthrow Petrine Rome’s control. By the
1570s the Papacy could be reasonably content that the serious threat
of high theological heresy had been eliminated, by repression, fear
tactics, a few exemplary executions, and the retreat of the more
adamant into exile. Knowledge of, interest in, Protestant theology
remained to be spotted by Inquisitors or denouncing neighbours,

223
224 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

but this was confinable. The Inquisition and bishops could con-
centrate more on campaigning against worrying, but overall less
damaging, superstitions, magical practices, pagan rites and immoral-
ity. Such issues kept them busy; individuals might be successfully
re-educated, but the practices and superstitious beliefs recurred
from generation to generation – as with the benandanti, or throwers
of the corda. Church leaders, lesser clerics and exorcists into the eigh-
teenth century faced the problem that ‘Divine mirrored diabolic’;
‘rapturous flights to paradise resemble witches’ flights to the sab-
bath’, and so they struggled to distinguish the living saint from a
woman witch.1
Trent, developing earlier precedents, fostered reconstruction of
church and society, with very mixed and variable results.
Standardisation was not achieved in the diocesan and parochial struc-
tures, in refinancing the church’s operations, in the seminary, in the
use of Provincial Councils or synods. My Appendix data was designed
to cover to about 1630. It can reveal many gaps, showing that
Provincial Councils and synods had not been held, or only rarely,
seminaries not founded. My partial recording of later operations or
creations emphasises the continuing omissions; or a date of new
reform enthusiasm. Some areas were not getting their first seminary,
Provincial Council, or even synod until the eighteenth century, or
even after the Restoration. Standardisation and equalisation of the
diocesan and parochial territories and population had hardly been
attempted. However, many dioceses had a much more effective
organisational network from bishop to parishioner, whether to
suppress the deviant, or help the faithful. Parochial organisation and
control was basically strengthened, physical churches better kept by
the seventeenth century, and a lot was done in the eighteenth.
Whatever the vagaries of the educational institutions, and limitations
of the seminaries, the clergy was better educated, and the parish-
ioners more fully instructed, whether by parish clergy, confraterni-
ties, Religious Orders, or self-help printed material. Continuing or
improving lay religious enthusiasm might be judged favourably, given
the way churches and chapels were built or rebuilt in more lavish dec-
orative ways in many parts of Italy, and the considerable number of
new fraternity creations up to the Revolution, whether in Venice or
Puglia. However, critics complained that the confraternity activity was
detrimental to a cohesive parochial society, and was one reason that
Grand Duke Peter Leopold of Tuscany abolished most of them in his
Duchy in 1785.2
 CONCLUSIONS: SUCCESSES AND FAILURES 225

A more caring church and society emerged from late fifteenth

century changes, seen in the outward-looking activities of lay confrater-
nities, the work of Religious Orders, of parish poor relief policies, of
hospitals and institutions for the vulnerable. These may count as suc-
cess stories, even if punitive aspects (to save souls more than bodies),
are not to modern taste. Some historical research indicates tenden-
cies to divert much charity to the moderate poor rather than those in
serious need, especially in conservatory institutions. Enlightenment
critics attacked the religiously successful short-term charity of frater-
nities and hospitals, for being economically detrimental, by encour-
aging idleness; just as they saw the large monastic population
as unproductive. The Grand Duke and his advisers again acted on
this view.
Conflict between sixteenth century and modern mentalities particu-
larly affect assessments of the Church’s treatment of women and their
religiosity. I view the comparatively successful (for Borromeo or Burali)
strict enclosure of nuns, and the suppression of a ‘third way’, as ulti-
mately detrimental to the Church as well as individuals. A wave of
enthusiasm for an active Christian life for women was largely repressed.
For some though, convent life could be rewarding, culturally exciting,
spiritually moving, and socially fulfilling; but purgatory for many.
We talk of ‘the Church’, implying a coherent if not monolithic
organisation with a clear doctrine. While a Pope like Paul IV might
have desired that, it was never achieved. In the complex geography,
socio-economic diversity, and political disunity of the Italian peninsula
we encounter many ‘churches’ and societies. Some steps might have
been made towards Paolo Prodi’s new monarchy of the Papal
Sovereign, based on the Inquisition, other Congregations, the central-
ising force of Jesuit discipline, and the common book of Tridentine
legislation, to be interpreted by the Pope not a Council. In reality the
papal monarchy, political and spiritual, could not be monolithic.
Political monarchism, or absolutism, could hardly be enforced within
the Papal State, let alone into other state areas, as the Venetian
Interdict crisis showed. It was not just a matter centre against periph-
ery, of getting papal Roman writs to run in Turin or Squillace. The
‘Church’ itself was made up of competing institutions and individuals,
following different ideal ‘models’, or selfish interests. We have shifting
conflicts, and changing alliances, between the episcopacy,
Congregations, the Religious Orders at the higher levels; between
parish priests, confraternities, monasteries, local hospitals at the lower.
We are, therefore, as Simon Ditchfield stressed, ‘in search of local
226 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

knowledge’. We can pick a selection of local knowledges (in one sense

of the phrase), and decide that Italy had produced an authoritarian
confessional, disciplining society (in parts of Lombardy) – or a hardly
changed violent, superstitious and chaotic one (as in areas of Friuli,
Puglia or Calabria). That we know a certain amount about the latter
implies, though, improved knowledge and concern from church lead-
ers who investigate problems. It also makes Ditchfield’s point about a
‘reciprocal relationship with the centre’, whether that centre was
Rome, the archbishop in Naples, or the Inquisitor in Udine.3
Two more flavours of local history, from the mid- and late seven-
teenth century can illustrate some points above: from women on the
streets (or canals), allegedly challenging ideas and speaking fearlessly;
and an episcopal seat.
First in Venice. In June 1646 a certain Anzola Civrana was
denounced; Venetian, aged about 50, living a dishonest life, possibly
married to a second-hand clothes dealer, (strazzarol). She went about
denying the immortality of the soul, the soul was a ‘sporchezzo’ (bit
of dirt); and she claimed that learned and literate men agreed with
her. One companion, Maddalena, refused to take sacraments, and
was heard to attack St Francis who, she said, kept a prostitute from the
age of 15. The case was not pursued by the tribunal.4 In 1652 a certain
Elisabetta was denounced. She was called a German, and probably
came from Trieste. She ran a kind of hostelry, locanda, in S. Moise
parish, to which many undesirable people came, foreigners but also
more long-settled Venetians. She talked fluent Italian as well as
German – could write at least in German. She did not observe fast
days, and clearly encouraged others not to observe Lent; used magical
practices, such as throwing the cordella for love magic, and suspi-
ciously played around with statues, especially of St Anthony. In
December 1652 a German prostitute called Julia was denounced,
after a discussion about the Blessed Caietano. Drunk, but also when
sober, she was the centre of lively discussions within the house and
across balconies. She made fun of the saints, attacked the idea that
pieces of canvas or wood could produce miracles. One should only
approach God, not saints. One witness reported Julia discussing
religious matters with her and other women, and citing Holy
Scripture – Julia saying ‘you others don’t know what Sacred Scripture
says the way I do’. Another witness declared she was ready to have
Julia as godmother to her child – provided she reduced the drinking.
The record, with a number of witnesses questioned, indicates several
people were involved in the discussions – all women. Foreigners
 CONCLUSIONS: SUCCESSES AND FAILURES 227

might be blamed for such evils – but Julia was fluent in Venetian and
talking to a mixed group. The witnesses tend to suggest that they treat
her as a mad drunk, and she only said the heretical things then – but
one wonders! Again the Inquisition record indicates no follow-up
after a few witness reports.5
Second we have a new ‘model’ bishop: Cardinal Gregorio Barbarigo.
His devout Venetian father had been noted for charitable works, but
initially as a fine civil law student he entered into diplomacy. Meeting
in Münster the papal ambassador Fabio Chigi, who gave him a copy of
Francis de Sales’ Introduction to the Devout Life, he moved towards a reli-
gious career. Back in Venice he was influenced by several male and
female ‘spirituals’, including Cecilia Ferrazzi. His parish priest urged
him to become a secular priest rather than retreat into an Order, and
thus he became (under the favour of Fabio Chigi, now Alexander VII),
Bishop of Bergamo (1657–64), and Padua (1664–97). Synods,
Visitations, correspondence with parish clergy, showed him as a very
caring pastoral bishop; he maintained considerable scholarly interests,
fostering Padua University and a seminary. He was involved in the
printing of a translation of the Koran, was sympathetically concerned
about relations with Jews, and with the problems, as noted before, of
putative female ‘living saints’ like Cecilia Ferrazzi and Maria Janis.
More than sixteenth-century ‘models’ like Borromeo, he seemed bet-
ter aware of the highs and lows of female spirituality. His own very asce-
tic and moral private life was well noted at the time.6
The conflicts and tensions within the church system prevented the
creation of an overweening church, left room for some dissent (if dis-
creet), and debate. The diversity of forces within the church, clerical
and lay, meant that when some cooperated, education was improved,
philanthropy spread more widely, and religious culture became more
exciting, varied and enticing. While Tridentine puritans, worried
about lasciviousness, or lack of clarity in liturgy and teaching, would
have been shocked by much seventeenth-century religious culture (as
with paintings of St Agatha’s martyrdom),7 average parishioners
might have been enthralled.
In the eighteenth century enlightened intellectuals attacked the
role of the Church in state and society, helped get the Jesuits
disbanded in 1773 (though the pressures for this were largely from
outside Italy), undermined institutional expressions of Christian
charity, and railed against the intellectual suffocation of censorship.
But till their fall Jesuits were highly significant educators, including in
training enlightened critics like Cesare Beccaria. Local congregations
228 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

as well as Orders and bishops, embellished churches, promoted altars

honouring saints, founded new confraternities. The Churches were
still healthily popular in diverse ways, even if critics could rightly
point to defects of organisation, corruption and immorality. Positive
and negative verdicts, naturally, depended on who you were, and
where.
Appendix: Italian Bishoprics 1

229
(Continued)

230
Dioceses Status2: State3 Bishops Seminary Prov. Councils (PC); Synods5
Independent (I), or 1560– founded 4
Archdiocese 1630
(named)

Acerenza and Matera Acerenza and Matera Naples 9 1673 1607

Acerno Salerno Naples 8
Acerra Naples Naples 8 1652/54 1619
Acqui Turin; or Milan? Piedmont 4 1580 1624
Adria Ravenna Venice 5 1592 1564, 67, 69, 71, 75, 78, 83, 92,
(seat at Rovigo) 94, 1627
Agrigento Palermo Sicily– 12 1611 1589, 1610, 30
Spain
Ajaccio or Mariana (in theory Pisa) Genoa 5 1575 1569, 1617, 18, 57
(Corsica)
Alatri I Papacy 7 1588 1585, 86, 1602, 08
Alba/Albi Milan Piedmont 10 1566 1562, 94
Albano Cardinalate See Papacy 32 1628 1590, 1641
Albenga Genoa Genoa 7 1571, 83, 1613, 18, 23, 29
Aleria (in theory Pisa?) Genoa 7 1571
(Corsica)
Ales and Terralba Oristano Sardinia 10 1564, 66
Alessandria Milan Piedmont 7 1566 1602, 05, 06, 07, 08, 13, 17
Alessano Otranto Naples 10 1587
Alghero Sassari Sardinia 9 1603 1567–70(1), 72, 81, 85
Alife Benevento Naples 8 1651
Amalfi Amalfi Naples 9 1635–48 1594
PC 1597
Amelia or Amerino I Papacy 8 1788 1595
Anagni I Papacy 6 1596
Ancona I Papacy 5 1556? 1654
Andria Trani Naples 7 1582
Anglona and Tursi Acerenza-Matera Naples 8 1656
Aosta Tarantaise (French Piedmont 8 1565 1835
Archbishopric)
Aquileia6 Aquileia Venice 9 1604 PC 1596
1565, 95, 1600, 02, 05
Aquino I Naples 5 1581
Arezzo I Tuscany 4 1641 1597, 1714
Ariano Benevento Naples 7 1565 1714
Ascoli Piceno I Papacy 5 1568 1568, 71, 72, 91, 96, 1626
Ascoli (Sariano) Benevento Naples 7 1692
Assisi I Papacy 6 1574 1565
Asti Milan Piedmont 7 1565, 78, 84, 88, 91, 93, 97,
1601, 05, 06, 20, 27, 28
Avellino Benevento Naples 6 1567 1654, 1748
Aversa I Papacy 6 1566 1594, 1619
Bagnoregio I Papacy 8 1636 1573, 99, 1615, 29
Bari Bari Naples 7 1612 1594, 1607, 24
Belcastro Santa Severina Naples 12
Belluno Aquileia Venice 4 1568 1629
Benevento Benevento Papacy7 4 1567 PC 1567, 71, 99

231
1567, 94
(Continued)

232
Dioceses Status2: State3 Bishops Seminary Prov. Councils (PC); Synods5
Independent (I), or 1560– founded 4
Archdiocese 1630
(named)

Bergamo Milan Venice 7 1567 1564, 68, 74, 83, 1603, 13, 28
Bertinoro Ravenna Papacy 6 1708 1750
Bisceglie Trani Naples 8 1692
Bisignano Rossano Naples 14 Pre 1594 1571, 89, 1604, 16, 27, 30
Bitetto Bari Naples 7
Bitonto Bari Naples 6
Bobbio Genoa Piedmont 6 1603 1565, 74, 1603, 06, 09, 10, 21, 25
Boiano and Benevento Naples 6 Pre 1627; 1784
Campobasso 1690
Borgo San Sepolcro Florence Tuscany 5 1641
Bologna I, 1518–82; then Papacy 7 1567 Annually 1566–91 (except 67,
metropolitan 86), 94?, 95, 1620, 23, 30
PC: 1586
Bosa Sassari Sardinia 14 1591
Bova Reggio Calabria Naples 7 1622/65
Bovino Benevento Naples 5 1578, 1838
Brescia Milan Venice 4 1568 1564, 74/75, 83, 1603, 13, 28
Bressanone8 Salzburg Empire 1609 1603
Brindisi Brindisi Naples 6 1608 1605–14(2), 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,
18, 19, 21, 22
Brugnato Genoa Genoa 8 1581, 1625
Cagli Urbino Papacy 7 1654 1708
Cagliari Cagliari Sardinia 8 1576; 1576, 1628
1622
Caiazzo Capua Naples 5 1564 1681
Calvi Capua Naples 8 1588
Camerino I Papacy 9 1564–65 1571, 87, 97, 98, 1630
1597
Campagna and Conza Naples 7 1827
Satriano
Caorle Venice Venice 7
Capaccio Salerno Naples 6 ?, 1586– 1 pre 1574, 83, 93, 1617, 29
90?
Capo d’Istria Aquileia Venice 6 1637
(Koper)
Capri Amalfi Naples 5
Capua Capua Naples 7 1567 PC 1569, 77, 1603, 1726
Cariati and Cerenza Santa Severina Naples 11 c.1621 1594, 1621?, 1641, 1652
Verzino;
to
Cariati
1635
Carinola Capua Naples 9 1627 1726
Casale Monferrato Milan Piedmont 10 1566 1597, 1622
Caserta Capua Naples 6 1580 1560–63(1), 1745
Cassano all’Ionio Reggio Calabria. Naples 9 1588 1581, 89, 1604, 12
I, from 1597

233
Castellamare Sorrento Naples 8
(Continued)

234
Dioceses Status2: State3 Bishops Seminary Prov. Councils (PC); Synods5
Independent (I), or 1560– founded 4
Archdiocese 1630
(named)

Castellaneta Taranto Naples 5 1590, 95, 1600

Castro Otranto Naples 9 1656
Castro I, Suppressed 1649 Papacy 9 1632?
(Aquapendente Umbria
now)
Cattaro (Kotor) Bari Venice 8
Dalmatia
Catania I, From 1609 Sicily 10 1572 1564, 90, 1609, 15, 22, 23
Monreale
Catanzaro Reggio Calabria Naples 7 ?; failed 1587–1617 annually?,
by 1592; 1634/36, 1677
Cava dei Terreni I, or Benedictine Naples 7 1592 1638
Order
Cefalù Messina Sicily– 9 1590 1584, 1618, 27
Spain
Ceneda (now Aquileia Venice 5 1587 1565, 70, 1628, 42
Vittorio Veneto)
Cephalonia-Zante I, and Venice Venice 6
contesting
Cervia Ravenna, but Papacy 8 c.1590;9 1577?
Bologna 1582– 1827
1604
Cesena I; 1623 under Papacy 6 1569 1564.66, 73, 74, 82, 90
Ravenna
Chieti Chieti Naples 12 1568 1635, 1616
Chioggia Venice Venice 12 1580 1603, 16
Chiusi and Pienza I; under Siena by Tuscany 6 1656 1583
1620
Città delle Pieve. I; created 1600 out Papacy 3 1605 1654
of Chiusi
Città di Castello I Papacy 8 1638 1674
Città Ducale I Naples 7 1658
Città Nova Aquileia Venice 7 1644
Istria
Civita Castellana I Papacy 5 1626, 29
and Orte
Colle di Val d’Elsa Florence Tuscany 2 1615 1594
Created 1592
Comacchio Ravenna Venice 6 1779 1579
Como Aquileia Venice 6 ?; 1646 1564, 79, 98, 1618, 33
Concordia Aquileia Venice 4 1603 1587
Conversano Bari Naples 7 1660
Conza Conza Naples 9 1584, 97, 1647
Corfu I Venice Island 6
Cortona I Tuscany 9 1573 1588, 1615, 24
Corzola10 Durazzo; then Venice 6
Korčula Ragusa Dalmatia
Cosenza Cosenza Naples 11 1566; 1603, 12

235
1590 PC 1579, 9611
(Continued)

236
Dioceses Status2: State3 Bishops Seminary Prov. Councils (PC); Synods5
Independent (I), or 1560– founded 4
Archdiocese 1630
(named)

Crema Created 1580 under Lombardy 4 1583 1583, 86, 90, 91/95, 96, 1600,
Milan; 1612 03, 08, 19, 26
Bologna
Cremona Milan Lombardy 6 1565 1564, 99, 1603
Crotone Reggio Calabria Naples 12
Faenza I Papacy 9 1576 1565, 69–80(10, incl.69, 74),
1615, 20, 29
Fano I Papacy 6 1569 1593, 1613
Feltre Aquileia Venice 4 1594? 1668
Ferentino I Papacy 6 1677 1605
Fermo I Papacy 8 ?1564, 1628, 50
Metropolitan 1589 but by PC 1590
1574
Ferrara I Papacy12 6 1584 1592
Fidenza (Borgo I, later Bologna Parma- 4 1624 1584, 1608, 15, 24
S.Donnino) control? Piacenza
Created 1601
Fiesole Florence Tuscany 7 1636 1564, 85, 1612, 22
Florence Florence Tuscany 4 Early 1569, 89, 1603, 10, 19, 23, 27, 29
1700s
Foligno I Papacy 10 1648/49 1571
Fondi I Naples 6 1596 1605
Forlì I Papacy 8 1659 1564, 1610, 28
Fossano Turin. Created Piedmont 5 1608 1595
1592
Fossombrone Urbino Papacy 7 1581 1629
Frascati and Tuscolo Cardinalate See Papacy 31 1652 1669
Gaeta I Naples 5 1563; 1779
1613
Gallese I, 1563–69. Added to Papacy 2
Città di Castello
Gallipoli Otranto Naples 5 1624 1661
Genoa Genoa Genoa 7 1657 1586, 88, 96, 1603, 04, 19
PC c.1574
Gerace-Locri Reggio Calabria Naples 8 1565 1593, 1651
Giovinazzo Bari Naples 6 1679
Gravina Acerenza-Matera Naples 10
Grosseto I Papacy 6
Guardalfiera Benevento Naples 10 1692
Gubbio I Papacy 5 1601 1632
Iesi I Papacy 6 1564 1600, 26
Imola Ravenna; but Papacy 8 1567 1572, 74, 77, 79, 84, 92, 99,
Bologna 1582–04 1604, 22, 24, 28
Ischia Naples Naples 3 1756 1599
Isola Santa Severina Naples 8
Isernia Capua Naples 7 ?, closed 1693
by early
1600s

237
(Continued)

238
Dioceses Status2: State3 Bishops Seminary Prov. Councils (PC); Synods5
Independent (I), or 1560– founded 4
Archdiocese 1630
(named)

Ivrea Turin Piedmont 4 1565 1584, 88, 89, 90, 92, 98, 1601,
02, 05, 18,22
Lacedogna Conza Naples 7
Lanciano I Naples 8 1610 1878
L’Aquila I Papacy 8 1567; 1581
1601
Larino Benevento Naples 5 1564/66; 1663
1694
Lavello Bari Naples 11
Lecce Otranto Naples 3 1663
Lesina Benevento. Naples 1
Suppressed 1567
Lessina (Hvar) Spalato Venice 3
Dalmatia
Lettere Amalfi Naples 10
Lipari Messina Sicily– 9
Spain
Island
Lodi Milan Lombardy 6 1574 1574, 91, 1619
Lucca I Lucca 2 1574; 1564, 66, 70, 71, 74, 79, 90, 93,
1637 1625
Lucera Benevento Naples 7 1875
Luni-Sarzana I Genoa 5 1591 1568, 82, 91, 95, 1616
Macerata United I; under Fermo Papacy 3 1615 1651
with Recanati 157113 1589
Mantua Aquileia Mantua 8 1594 1564, 67, 77, 85, 88, 91, 94, 95,
98, 1600, 04 ,07, 10, 12, 16
Marsi I Naples 6 1563, and 1612, 25, 53
c.1590 in
Pescina
Marsico Nuovo Naples 1643
Martorano Cosenza Naples 8
Massalubrese Sorrento Naples 7 1627
Massa Marittima Pisa Tuscany 9 1586
Mazara del Vallo Palermo Sicily– 9 1579 1575, 84, 1609, 23
Spain
Melfi and Rapallo I Naples 9 Early 1574–90(1), 98, 1624
1600s;
1665
Messina Messina Sicily– 10 1573 1588, 1621
Spain
Milan Milan Lombardy 3 Four: PC 1565, 69, 73, 76, 82, 1609
1564, 68, 24 Synods 1564–1611
79, 1630
Mileto I Naples 7 1592; 1587, 91, 94
1640
Minervino Bari Naples 4
Modena Ravenna Modena 8 1566 1565, 72, 75, 94, 12, 15, 17, 24

239
Molfetta I Naples 5 1726
(Continued)

240
Dioceses Status2: State3 Bishops Seminary Prov. Councils (PC); Synods5
Independent (I), or 1560– founded 4
Archdiocese 1630
(named)

Mondovì Turin Piedmont 5 1573 1573, 92, and 1 other 90/1601

Monopoli I Naples 7 1668 1585
Monreale Monreale Sicily– 5 1590 1554, 69, 75, 93, 97, 1622
Spain
Montalcino I; separated from Tuscany 3 1613, 18, 48
Pienza 1599
Montalto Created 1586. Papacy 3 1652 1630
Fermo
Montefeltro Urbino Papacy 5 1570 1592, 1601/05(1), 02/6(1), 08,
11, 14
Montefiascone I Papacy 8 1666 1591, 1622
Montemarrano Benevento Naples 5 1727
Montepeloso Trani Naples 12
Montepulciano I Tuscany 6 1561 1642
Motula Taranto Naples 8
Muro Lucano Conza Naples 9 1565 1728
Naples Naples Naples 8 1568 1564, 65, 67, 71, 95, 07
PC 1576
Nardò I Naples 7 1674 1583–95(1), 1619, 74
Naxos and Paros Naxos and Paros Venice 8
Greek islands14
Nebbio Genoa Genoa Corsica 19 1614
Nepi and Sutri I Papacy 11
Narni I Papacy 5 1660 1567, 1625
Nicastro Reggio Calabria Naples 8 c.1570 1858
Nicotera Reggio Calabria Naples 5 1655 1578–82(1), 82–88(2), 90–
92(1), 1705
Nocera de’Pagani Salerno Naples 6 1694 1608
Nocera Umbra I Papacy 3 1569 1606, 5 more before 1630
Nola Naples Naples 4 1568 1588, 94
Noli Genoa Genoa 4 1692
Nona Spalato Venice 6 1598
Dalmatia
Novara Milan Lombardy 12 3:1565/66; 1568, 76, 90
1573; 81
Nusco Salerno Naples 7 1748
Oppido Mamertina Reggio Calabria Naples 8 1699 1671, 99
Oria Taranto. Separated Naples 3 1641
from Brindisi 1591
Oristano Oristano Sardinia 8 PC 1566
1646
Ortona Chieti. Campli Naples 3 1878
Created 1570 added 158815
Orvieto I Papacy 5 1566–71; 1564, 68, 90, 92, 1627
1614–2116
Osimo I Papacy 5 1564 1564, 66, 76, 93, 94
Ossero Zara Venice 4 1660
Dalmatia
Ostuni Brindisi Naples 6 1586

241
Otranto Otranto Naples 5 PC 1567 1641
(Continued)

242
Dioceses Status2: State3 Bishops Seminary Prov. Councils (PC); Synods5
Independent (I), or 1560– founded 4
Archdiocese 1630
(named)

Padua Aquileia Venice 7 1570/71; 1564, 66, 79, 1624

1670
Palermo Palermo Sicily–Spain 7 1583–91 1555, 60, 64, 86, 1615, 22, 34
Palestrina Cardinalate see Papacy 34 1616 1592
Parenzo Aquileia Venice 4 1650
Parma Ravenna Parma- 6 1564/66 1564, 75, 81, 83, 1602, 21
Piacenza
Patti Messina Sicily– 6 1610 1567, 84
Spain
Pavia I Lombardy 7 1564 1566, 71, 1612
Pedena or Piben Aquileia Venice 5
Istria
Penne-Atri I Naples 7 ? till 1681
1570;
early
1600s17
Perugia I Papacy 8 155918 1564, 67, 75, 82, 1606, 15, 18,
21, 32
Pesaro Urbino Papacy 6 1575 1560/76, 80
Piacenza I, claimed by Parma- 7 1568/69 1570, 74, 89, 99, 1610, 22
Milan; Bologna Piacenza
after 1582
Pienza and I, joint 1563–99 Tuscany 1 joint.—
Montalcino ? Pienza
Pisa Pisa Tuscany 12 1552;19 1582, 1615, 16, 24
1627
Pistoia I; 1599 under Tuscany 7 1682 1565, 86, 1604, 25
Florence. Prato Prato;
joins as co-bishopric 1693
1653 with Pistoia
Cathedral status
Pola Aquileia Venice 8
Istria
Policastro Salerno Naples 7 1625 1582/05(1⫹?), 1610/29(1),
1632
Polignano Bari Naples 8
Pontecorvo, 1565 Separated from Naples (1565, in 1632
Sora 1565 Sora);
1625
Porto Cardinalate See Papacy 28
Potenza Acerenza-Matera Naples 7 1581, 1606
Pozzuoli Naples Naples 4 1587– 1602.04
1624–50;
1708–11;
1740–
Ragusa20 Ragusa Ragusa 10 Pre 1616
Modern
Dubrovnik

243
Ravello I Naples 7
(Continued)

244
Dioceses Status2: State3 Bishops Seminary Prov. Councils (PC); Synods5
Independent (I), or 1560– founded 4
Archdiocese 1630
(named)

Ravenna Ravenna Papacy 5 1567 PC 1568, 82

1564, 67, 70, 71, 80, 83, 93, 99,
1607, 09,13, 17, 27, 40
Recanati-Loreto21 I, united with Papacy 4 1571 1572, 83, 88, 92, 1609, 23, 26
Macerata 1571
Reggio Calabria Reggio Calabria Naples 2 1567 1565–92 annually; 1595–1636
(17), 1663
PC 1565, 74, 80, 1602
Reggio Emilia Ravenna Modena 9 1614– 1581, 89, 95, 97, 1613, 14, 27
4822
Rieti I Papacy 10 1564 1645
Rimini I; Ravenna from Papacy 7 1568 1577, 78, 80, 93, 96, 1602, 24, 30
1604
Ripatransone Created 1571. Papacy 8 Post 1576, 84
Fermo 1623
Rome Pope as Bishop Papacy 12 1565
Rossano Rossano Naples 11 1563; 1574, 94
1594
Ruvo Bari Naples 5
Sabina Cardinalate See Papacy 40 1593 1590, 92, 93, 94, 97
Sagona I. (in theory Pisa?) Genoa 7 1574, 1585–1606 (exact nos.
Corsica unclear)
Salerno Salerno Naples 9 1564/65 1557, 64, 65, 67, 79, 88, 1615, 30
PC 1566, 79, 96, 1615
Saluzzo I Piedmont ?; 1629 1585
S. Angelo dei Conza Naples 8 1623
Lombardi and
Bisaccia
San Leone San Severina. Naples 2
Suppressed 1571
San Marco Rossano Naples 19 1580 1723
San Severi, 1586–89 and 1646– Papacy 3
Sanseverino under Fermo; in
between part of
Fermo
San Miniato Florence. Created Tuscany 1 1650 1638
1622 out of Lucca
San Severo Benevento; seat Naples 9 1678 1681
moved here from
Civita 1572,
changing name
Sant’Agata dei Goti Benevento Naples 8 1566–70 1585, 87, 1621
Santa Severina Santa Severina Naples 5 1566/72; 1566–72 (several), 73, 76, 1688
1581 PC 1597
Sarno Salerno Naples 7 1677
Sarsina Ravenna Papacy 3 1643 1575, 86?

245
(Continued)

246
Dioceses Status2: State3 Bishops Seminary Prov. Councils (PC); Synods5
Independent (I), or 1560– founded 4
Archdiocese 1630
(named)

Sassari Sassari Sardinia 8 1568 PC 1606

1555, 1625
Savona Genoa/Milan Genoa 7 1568 1586, 89, 92, 97, 1603, 21, 27
contested
Sebenico Spalato Venice 6 1564, 1602, 04, 11, 14, 18, 23, 26
(Šibenik) Dalmatia
Segni I Papacy 6 1710
Senigallia Urbino Papacy 7 1574/77 1591, 1627
Sessa Aurunca Capua Naples 6 c.1606
Siena Siena Tuscany 7 ?1614 PC 1599
1705
Siponto Siponto- Naples 10 PC 1567
Manfredonia
Sora I Naples 9 1565 1611
Sorrento Sorrento Naples 7 1681 1585, 1627
PC 1567, 72, 84
Sovana I; ? then Siena Tuscany 4 1626
Spalato Spalato Venice 5 1688
modern Split Dalmatia
Spoleto I Papacy 7 1604 1564, 83, 84, 1621
Squillace Reggio Calabria Naples 6 1565 1600, 74
Strongoli Santa Severina Naples 12 1593, 95, 97
Suda Naxos and Paros Venice 6
(see earlier)
Syracuse Monreale Sicily– 8 1567? 1553, 67, 87, 94, 1623, 32
Spain
Taranto Taranto Naples 10 1568 1614
Teano Capua Naples 9 1576 1588, 1690
Telese or Cerreto Benevento Naples 10 1593 1687
Tempio and Ampurias Sassari Sardinia 8 1695
Teramo I Naples 4 ?; 1674 1681
Termoli Benevento Naples 10 Early
1600s
Terni I Papacy 9 1653 1567, 92/09(1)
Terracina I Papacy 7 1650 1784
(later Sezze)
Tivoli I Papacy 6 ?1635 1636
Todi I Papacy 4 1608 1568, 76
Torcello Venice Venice 7 1582, 92, 94, 1628
Tortona Milan Piedmont 4 1565 1595, 1614, 23
Trani Trani Naples 7 1627 1589
Trau/Tragir Spalato Venice 6
Trento Aquileia Empire 4 1593 1593
Trevico Benevento Naples 8 1703
Treviso Aquileia Venice 5 ?1564 1565, 70, 81, 92, 1604, 19
Tricarico Acerenza-Matera Naples 7 1800
Trieste Aquileia Venice 8
Trivento Benevento Naples 6 1575 1721

247
Troia I Naples 8 1735
 248
(Continued)

Dioceses Status2: State3 Bishops Seminary Prov. Councils (PC); Synods5

Independent (I), or 1560– founded 4
Archdiocese 1630
(named)

Tropea Reggio Calabria Naples 6 1593/94; 1586/87, 92, 94, 98, 1618
1615
Turin Turin Piedmont 6 1566 1547, 65, 75, 96, 1606, 10, 14, 24
Ugento Otranto Naples 7 1720
Umbriatico Santa Severina Naples 8 1609 1590s–1610s23, 1597, 1618, 30
Urbino Metropolitan from Urbino; 6 1574 1570, 1628
1563 Papacy PC 1590
Valva and Sulmona I Papacy 5 1629 1603, 29
Velletri and Ostia Titular Cardinal Papacy 18 1570 1673
Venafro Capua Naples 4 1634
Venice Venice Venice 5 1581 1564, 68, 70–71, 78, 92, 93, 94,
1612
Venosa Acerenza-Matera Naples 12 1589, 1614
Ventimiglia Milan Piedmont 10 1608
Vercelli Milan Piedmont 8 1566 1572, 73–84 annually, 1600
Verona Aquileia 1567 5 1567 1566, 1629
Veroli I Papacy 8 1611 1568–92(2), 1595–98(2),
1626–28(1), 1665
Vicenza Aquileia Venice 8 1566 1565, 66, 73, 83, 87, 91, 97, 99,
1611, 23
Vico Equense Sorrento Naples 7
Viesti Siponto- Naples 9 1699
Manfredonia
Vigevano Milan Piedmont 7 1572, 78, 87, 1608
Viterbo I Papacy 6 1637 1564, 68, 73, 84, 1614, 24
Volterra I Tuscany 7 1590 1590, 1624
Volturara and Benevento Naples 10 1631
Montecorvino
Zara Zara; but some Venice 10
Verona influence Dalmatia

249
Notes

1 Religious Crises and Challenges in Early

Sixteenth Century Italy

1. My Early Modern Italy, ch. 1 for an overview; Hay and Law, Italy …
1380–1530.
2. Setton, Papacy and the Levant, III, 404 (quote), 554–6; IV, 581–4. Setton’s
massively documented work highlights the interaction of the religious
and the imperial power struggles.
3. Chastel, Sack of Rome.
4. Fletcher and Shaw (eds) World of Savonarola.
5. Caponetto, The Protestant Reformation; the translators started with the
original 1992 edition, but (possibly rather hurriedly) sought then to
incorporate additions from the 1997 second Italian edition. Silvana
Seidel Menchi’s ‘Italy’, and John Martin’s ‘Religion, Renewal’, provide
very valuable clear surveys; David Peterson, ‘Out of the Margins’, full
bibliography. The classic work of Delio Cantimori (1939/67), Eretici
Italiani del Cinquecento, concentrated most on the impact of those who
went into exile.
6. Silvana Seidel Menchi, ‘Italy’, esp. 181–4.
7. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, esp. 52.
8. John Martin, Venice’s Hidden Enemies.
9. Fragnito, La Bibbia al rogo.
10. Seidel Menchi, ‘Italy’, 193; Carlo Ginzburg, Nicodemismo.
11. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, quoted at 66; for a list of those Italians
seen by him as most influenced by Valdes, 67; Massimo Firpo, ‘Italian
Reformation … Valdes’.
12. Mayer, Reginald Pole, esp. 79, 105, 190, 450–1.
13. Seidel Menchi, ‘Italy’, 186.
14. Setton, The Papacy and the Levant.
15. Seidel Menchi, ‘Italy’, 187.
16. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 23.
17. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 19.

250
 NOTES 251

18. Grendler, ‘Religious Restlessness’, and ‘Utopia’; on Aretino’s less-known

religious writings, Cairns, Pietro Aretino; Ugo Rozzo, ‘Italian Literature
on the Index’, 216–18.
19. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 70–3, 76–93. ‘The “Beneficio di
Cristo” ’, translated, with an introduction by Ruth Prelowski, in
Tedeschi (ed.), Italian Reformation Studies, 21–102 .
20. Prosperi, Tribunali, 22–3.
21. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 67–9, 348–9.
22. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 96–100 on the ‘Ecclesia Viterbiensis’
and its impact. See Dermot Fenlon, Heresy and Obedience, ch. 6; Thomas
Mayer, Reginald Pole, ch. 3.
23. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 100–3, 109, 45 (quote), 49–50,
142–56.
24. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 275–87; Berengo, Nobili e mercanti, esp.
359ff; Prosperi, Tribunali della coscienza, 551–3, 573–4.
25. Hewlett, ‘A Republic in Jeopardy’, 14–19, quote p. 16.
26. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 56–7.
27. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 208–12, quotations from 211, 239–40
(on Siculo); Carlo Ginzburg, Il nicodemismo, 170–81; Delio Cantimori,
Eretici Italiani, 53–6.
28. Seidel Menchi, ‘Italy’, 187; John Martin, Venice’s Hidden Enemies, esp.
150–1, 235–43.
29. Seidel Menchi, ‘Italy’, 191–2.
30. Del Col, ‘La confessione’, with the confession pp. 128–35; see also Del
Col L’Inquisizione nel Patriarchato, esp. LXXXVII–CIX on range of inves-
tigations in diocese of Feltre, CIV–CV on Strigno visit.
31. Del Col, ‘La confessione’, 127.
32. Kuntz, ‘Voices from a Venetian prison’, and ‘Profezia e politica’.
33. Kuntz, ‘Dionisio Gallo’, 173. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 178–9
on Ugoni.

2 The Council of Trent and Bases for

Continuing Reform

1. Modern edition of published decrees: Alberigo, J. (Giuseppe) et al.

Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Decreta (1973 edn used; cited as COD); much
more documentation behind this council work in Concilium Tridentinum
(1901–38) (cited as CT); translations from Canons and Decrees,
ed. Schroeder. The chief modern historian has been Hubert Jedin; his
massive Das Konzil von Trient (4 vols, Rome, 1948) had only its first two
volumes translated, A History of the Council of Trent (1957–61); for our
purposes much more relevant, and readable is his Crisis and Closure
(1967). Quicker digests include: Marc Venard’s ‘Trent, Council of’, in P.
Levillain (ed.) The Papacy, 1517–23; H. Jedin (ed.) History of the Church,
vol. V, chs 35 and 37; Mullett, Catholic Reformation, ch. 2.
2. Jedin (ed.) History of the Church, vol. V, 465–6, 476–7, 496 (for atten-
dance); same, Closure, 80–1.
252 NOTES

3. Jedin, Crisis and Closure, 173.

4. Duval, ‘L’Extrême-onction’, and ‘Confession’. Jedin, ‘Confession’.
5. Jedin (ed.), History of the Church, V, ch. 37; Jedin, Closure, 90–1, 110–11;
Alberigo in Il Concilio (1965), 491, 522; Cozzi, ‘Domenico Bollani’,
esp. 567–70 on divided Venetian views.
6. Alberigo, ‘Potestà episcopali’, 522.
7. Canons and Decrees, ed. Schroeder, 34–5; Mullett, Catholic Reformation, 44.
8. Küng, The Council and Reunion, 112.
9. Canons and Decrees, ed. Schroeder, 75; Mullett, Catholic Reform, 48.
10. Jedin, Crisis and Closure, is best single study both of the final stage, and
digesting his overall views.
11. Mullett, Catholic Reformation, 55.
12. Mullett, Catholic Reformation, 60 quoting Trent texts.
13. Zarri, ‘Il Matrimonio tridentino’, esp. 444–51.
14. Canons and Decrees, ed. Schroeder, 180–90.
15. Zarri, ‘Il matrimonio’, esp. 481–3; Mullett, Catholic Reformation, 65; my
Early Modern Italy, 111–15, 177–9.
16. Alberigo, ‘Potestà episcopali’; CT IX, 49, 147, 179, 218, 588, 620–2 for
main debating points; Canons and Decrees, ed. Schroeder, 161–3, for
Session 23, Cap. IV, esp. canons 6–7, as anathemas.
17. Paolo Sarpi, Istoria del Concilio Tridentino, ed. C. Vivanti.
18. Jedin, Chiesa della fede, 288–9.
19. Canons and Decrees, ed. Schroeder, 192–3.
20. De Boer, The Conquest, 66–7; CT 9, 795–879 (discussion), 982 (article),
1100–1 (Ragazzoni).
21. Barletta , Aspetti della Riforma, 140; Rasi, ‘L’applicazione.’, 236–7.
22. Trisco, ‘Borromeo … and Trent’, 63.
23. ‘Diary of Giambattista Casale’, in Cochrane and Kirshner (eds)
Readings, 412–13.
24. Hufton, ‘The Widow’s Mite’, and The Wiles Lectures, Queen’s
University, Belfast, May 1999.
25. Black, ‘Perugia and church reform’.
26. Küng, Council, 114.
27. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 258–9; Il Sommario, ed. Bianco, Figs 7
and 8 which reproduce admissions from Tamburino and Maranello’s
processi.

3 Centre and Peripheries: The Papacy, Congregations,

Religious Orders

1. Wright, The Early Modern Papacy is an indispensable guide; Kelly, Oxford

Dictionary of the Popes for succinct biographies; Hudon, ‘The Papacy in
the Age of Reform’.
2. My ‘Perugia and Papal Absolutism’.
3. Prodi, Il sovrano, and translation The Papal Prince; Prodi, ‘Il “sovrano
pontefice” ’; Prosperi, Il Tribunale; A.D. Wright The Early Modern Papacy,
 NOTES 253

esp. 1–14, 271–2 summaries of rival views, and his. Krautheimer, Rome of
Alexander VII.
4. L.von Pastor’s monumental History of the Popes devoted much space to
conclaves.
5. Wright, Papacy, 48; Pullapilly, Caesar Baronius.
6. Wright, Papacy, 53.
7. Hudon, Marcello Cervini, esp. 172–3, and his ‘The Papacy’, 53–6.
8. Wright, Papacy, 68–81; uses: Broderick, ‘The Sacred College’.
9. Po-Chia Hsia (1998), Catholic Renewal, 98.
10. Reinhardt, Kardinal Scipione Borghese.
11. Hammond, Music and Spectacle.
12. Reinhardt, Scipione Borghese, 97–8.
13. Duffy, Saints and Sinners, 188.
14. Prodi, Paleotti, vol. 2, 425–526; see Wright, Papacy, 72–5.
15. Prodi, Il sovrano pontefice, 186 (my translation from Latin).
16. Tomaro, ‘Implementation’, 75–6; Agostino Borromeo, ‘Vescovi Italiani’,
30–31.
17. Niccoli. Vita Religiosa, 128–9, for 1605.
18. Wright, Papacy, 235; see also Peter Partner, ‘Papal Financial Policy’.
19. Antonovicz, ‘Counter-Reformation Cardinals’; Evennett, Spirit of the
Counter-Reformation.
20. Wright, Papacy, 81–3.
21. Wright, Papacy, 68–9.
22. Molinari, Card. Teatino Beato Paolo Burali, and Epistolario del Beato Paolo
Burali.
23. Mullett, Catholic Reformation, 143–4.
24. Parisella, ‘ “Liber Litterarum” ’.
25. Tomaro, ‘Implementation’, 76–7, and 83, n. 47 (my trans.).
26. Lefevbre, ‘Congregation du Concile’. See Canons and Decrees, ed.
Schroeder, 183–5.
27. A. Stella, Chiesa e Stato; Chambers and Pullan (eds) Venice, translates
extracts from Bolognetti’s reports, 206–8, 223–4, 236–7; Paul Grendler,
Roman Inquisition, 269–70.
28. Fragnito, ‘Vescovi e Ordini Religiosi’, 14; Borromeo, ‘Vescovi italiani’,
33–4.
29. AdS Perugia, Editti e Bandi 8 fols. 292–3; my ‘Papal Absolutism’, 521, 535.
30. Chambers and Pullan (eds), Venice, 225–7, extracts from case made to
Cardinals for Interdict. See William Bouwsma, Venice and the Defense of
Republican Liberty, 342–50.
31. Bouwsma’s Venice digests much of the debate.
32. Cited Wills, Venice: Lion City, 348, from 341–55 on crisis.
33. Hillerbrand (ed.), Oxford Encyclopedia, vol. 2. ‘Inquisition’, 317–19, and
‘Index of Prohibited Books’, 313–14; Grendler, Roman Inquisition, esp.
ch. II, in Venetian context; L’Inquisizione Romana in Italia nell’età moderna
has various valuable essays; R. Canosa, Storia dell’inquisizione, vol. V,
209–46 on procedures.
34. Prosperi, Tribunali, 38; his chs ii and iii, as a key study of foundation and
spread of tribunals.
35. Setton, Papacy and the Levant, 627.
254 NOTES

36. Grendler, Roman Inquisition, 35–42; Del Col, L’Inquisizione nel patriar-
chato, esp. XXII–XXVII.
37. Davidson, ‘Rome and the Venetian Inquisition’.
38. Eliseo Masini, Sacro arsenale, overo prattica dell’Officio della Santa
Inquisizione, Genoa 1621; modern edition Il manuale degli inquisitori,
Milan, 1990. See Tedeschi, Prosecution of Heresy, esp. Essay 6, ‘The
Organization and Procedures’, and 7, ‘The Roman Inquisition and
witchcraft … an “Instruction” on correct trial procedure’.
39. Dall’Olio, ‘I Rapporti’.
40. Ginzburg, Cheese and Worms, esp. 127–9; A. Del Col, Domenico Scandella,
156–65, quoting 165.
41. Dall’Olio, ‘I Rapporti’, esp. 258–60.
42. Dall’Olio, ‘I Rapporti’, 249–50. Evidence from Ermenegildo Todeschini
Cathologus inquisitorum (1723), and his ms in Archivio di San Domenico,
Bologna ms I.17500, based on what districts reported to the Holy Office
in 1707.
43. Dall’Olio, ‘I Rapporti’, 255 n. 24; AAF, S. Uffizio, Filze 2–3 (1608–1775).
44. Mullett, Catholic Reformation, ch. 3, Po-Chia Hsia, Catholic Renewal, ch. 3,
and Robert Bireley, Refashioning, ch. 2 all provide valuable guides on new
Orders, in a European context. Richard DeMolen (ed.) Religious Orders
has fuller studies of each; Gigliola Fragnito, ‘Ordini religiosi’ for fuller
Italian consideration.
45. Lewis, ‘Recovering the Apostolic Way of Life’, 282.
46. Kenneth J. Jorgensen ‘The Theatines’, in DeMolen (ed.) Religious
Orders; von Pastor, History of the Popes, 10: 418; Giovanni Battista Del
Tufo, Historia della Religione de’Padri Chierici Regolari (Rome, 1609).
Marcocchi, Riforma Cattolica, 2: 444–51. Il Combattimento Sprituale was first
published anonymously (Venice, 1589), but under Scupoli’s name a few
days after he died (Bologna, 1610). Rosa, ‘La Chiesa meridionale’,
338–40, including 1650 figures.
47. Bearnstein, A Convent Tale (quoting 66 and 69), well covers Negri’s story,
and the transition of San Paolo from an open convent to aristocratic
power base behind closed doors and grilles.
48. Zarri, Le Sante Vive; Schutte, Aspiring Saints.
49. O’Malley, The First Jesuits, stands out from the vast literature as the best
lengthy all-round study by a judicious Jesuit scholar.
50. Mullett, Catholic Reformation, 91–2.
51. Irving Lavin, ‘Bernini’s Death’.
52. Mullett, Catholic Reformation, 92.
53. O’Malley, First Jesuits, 182–5, and see below Chapter 7.
54. Jedin (ed.), Atlas (1990), 78 Map.
55. Donnelly, ‘The Congregation of the Oratory’, in DeMolen (ed.)
Religious Orders is a good introduction (by a Jesuit). Ponnelle and
Bordet, St Philip Neri (1932–79), remains a good contextual study.
Pullapilly, Caesar Baronius, deals with some of the Order’s tensions as
well as Baronio’s historical contributions.
56. Grendler, ‘The Piarists’, in DeMolen (ed.), Religious Orders, 263. See now
Karen Liebreich, Fallen Order, for a paedophile scandal leading to the sup-
pression of the Order in 1646, though most schools continued to function.
 NOTES 255

57. Black, Italian Confraternities, 190–1; Camillo Fanucci, Trattato, 68–71;

Rosa, ‘La Chiesa meridionale’, 342–3.
58. Gleason, ‘The Capuchin Order’, in DeMolen (ed.), Religious Orders;
Jedin (ed.), Atlas (1990), 79; Jedin (ed.), History of the Church, 569;
Norman, ‘Social History of Preaching’, esp. 139, 142.
59. Fragnito, ‘Ordini religiosi’, 140.

4 Episcopal Leadership

1. Bergin, ‘Counter-Reformation Church’, 34.

2. CT, V, 984; VIII, 378; XIII, 1, 607–12, 655; IX, 6, 226–41; Jedin, Chiesa
della fede, 464, 565–7, 590; Alberigo, in Il Concilio di Trento (1965), 73,
and 471–523 on episcopal power more fully.
3. Wright, ‘The significance’, 357.
4. Black, ‘Perugia and Reform’. See also Cesareo, ‘The Episcopacy’;
Agostino Borromeo, ‘I vescovi italiani’; Donati, ‘Vescovi e diocesi’.
Sources for the Appendix on Italian Bishoprics are given there, and
apply to much given below.
5. Grosso and Mellano, La Controriforma … Torino, I: 250.
6. Eubel, Hierarchia, IV, 71.
7. Donati, ‘Vescovi e diocesi’, 335–7, also exemplifying misappropriations
of episcopal incomes.
8. Nanni and Regoli, San Miniato, 30–2.
9. Black, ‘Perugia and Reform’, 433–4.
10. Black ‘Perugia and Reform’, 435.
11. Eubel, Hierarchia III, 337; IV, 374.
12. Logan, Venetian Upper Clergy, 456–71.
13. Eubel, Hierarchia, III, 304–5; IV, 323; n. 13: ‘Dr. theol., sed ad docendum
non idoneus; qui denuo tenetur emittere profess. Fidei.’
14. Bouwsma, Venice, 358–61.
15. Hillerbrand (ed.), Encyclopedia, 1: 203–5 (Robert Trisco); Headley and
Tomaro (eds), San Carlo Borromeo, wide-ranging collection of essays, par-
tial substitute for a suitable biography in English; Prodi, ‘San Carlo
Borromeo e il Cardinale Gabriele Paleotti’, on comparison of two ‘mod-
els’; Prodi, ‘Charles Borromée, archevêque de Milan’.
16. Tomaro, ‘Borrromeo and Implementation’, 75.
17. Storia di Milano X, Parte I.
18. ‘Diary of Giambattista Casale’, extracts cited in Cochrane and Kirshner
(eds) Readings, 418–20 (from Diario, 237–8, 243–4); later, Chapter 6, on
Casale’s roles.
19. Alberigo, ‘Carlo Borromeo come modello’.
20. Carlo Bascapé, Vita e Opere, 840.
21. Prodi, ‘San Carlo Borromeo e … Paleotti’, 138–9. My translation from
Italian, with altered punctuation.
22. Hillerbrand (ed.) Encyclopedia, 3: 197–8 (Paolo Prodi); Paolo Prodi, Il
Cardinale Gabriele Paleotti is a densely informative life and works; Prodi,
‘Lineamenti’, digests some of his organisational work.
23. Prodi, Paleotti, 563–6.
256 NOTES

24. Discorso intorno alle imagini sacre et profane (Bologna, 1582), with modern
edition in Paola Barocchi Trattati d’arte del Cinquecento, 2 (Bari, 1961),
117–510, discussed by Prodi, Paleotti, 2, ch. XVIII, and his ‘Ricerche sulla
teorica delle arti figurative’.
25. Quoted by Prodi, Paleotti, 478; his ch. XVII discusses the treatise De Sacri
Consistorii Consultationibus.
26. Prodi’s approach to Paleotti’s disappointments with Rome have been
linked to the disillusion of Prodi’s own group of Christian Democrats in
the 1950s; see Ditchfield, ‘ “In search of local knowledge” ’, 277.
27. Black, ‘Perugia and Reform’, esp. 433–4; letters to and from Ercolani,
and nephew Timoteo Bottonio, in BCP MS 135 (mainly 1568–86, with
Bottonio’s life of his uncle, fols. 243–5), and MS 479 (mainly 1546–69).
28. Fragnito, ‘Ecclesiastical Censorship’, 92–3, 97; Iain Fenlon, ‘Music and
Reform’, 244.
29. BCP MS 479 (G. 68), 26 December 1562.
30. Sonnino, ‘Le anime dei romani’, 349, Table 5.
31. Borromeo, ‘Vescovi italiani’, 41.
32. The collected legislation of Borromeo’s six provincial councils and
eleven synods were first published as Acta Ecclesiae Mediolanensis in 1582.
33. Borromeo, ‘Vescovi italiani’, 52–3.
34. Da Nadro, Sinodi diocesani italiani (1960) was a valuable foundation.
35. Ravennatensia I (1969), 143–53; Black, ‘Perugia and Reform’, 436 n. 28,
435, 437; Decreta et Monita synodalia Ecclesiae Perusinae … Napoleonis
Comitoli (Perugia, 1600).
36. AABol Visite Pastorali vol. 144 contains various “Ordini et avvertimenti”,
before and after Colonna’s second and third synods, 1636, 1637.
37. Black, ‘Perugia and Church Reform’, 437; Statuta et Constitutiones Synodi
Diocesis Perusine (Perugia, 1566); Statuta et Constitutiones Synodalis lecte et
publicatae in Secunda Dicesana Synodo Perusina (Perugia, 1587), held 15–16
October 1567; Decreta et Monita edita et promulgata in Synodo Diocesana
Perusina … 1582 (Perugia, 1584); Istitutioni et Avvertimenti per il Buon
Regimento del Clero Diocesano … , made in various congregations and
reprinted according to Bishop Comitoli’s orders in 1600 (Perugia, 1602).
38. Nubola and Turchini (eds), Visite pastorali; Archiva Ecclesiae vol. 22–3
(1979–80), devoted to studies of Visitations; Mazzoni and Turchini
(eds), Le visite pastorali, more analyses.
39. Borromeo, ‘Vescovi italiani’, 96 n. 143.
40. Chambers and Pullan (eds), Venice, 224 (quotes), 206–8.
41. Scaduto ‘Le “Visite” di Possevino’.
42. Villani, ‘Visita … Orfini’, quoting 17. Places visited from Naples onwards:
Anagni, Arriano, Avellino, Bari, Barletta, Bisceglie, Bitetto, Bitonto,
Brindisi, Conversano, Ferentino, Foggia, Giovenazzo, Misagne, Molfetta,
Monopoli, Naples, Nola, Ostuni, Polignano, Rutigliano, Ruvo, San
Germano, Trani and Troia; Mario Rosa, ‘La Chiesa meridionale’. 295–6.
43. Grosso and Mellano, La Controriforma … Torino, I, 247–50.
44. For example, Donvito and Pellegrino, L’Organizzazione Ecclsiastica, for
southern Italy.
45. Gentilcore, ‘Methods and approaches’, 77; Ditchfield, ‘ “In search of
knowledge” ’, 281–2.
 NOTES 257

46. Personally sampled examples: AAF Visite Pastorali 26, Archbishop

Pietro Niccolini’s Visitation in Florentine countryside, 1635–40 (very
full), and AArchBol Visite Pastorali vol. 123, Fasc. 4, Rev. Rodolfo
Paleotti’s city Visitation, 1598 (crisper).
47. AAF VP26, fols. 130–4.
48. Nubola, Conoscere per governare.
49. Cesareo, ‘The episcopacy’, 78.
50. Borromeo, ‘Vescovi italiani’, 60 and 96, nn. 150–1, quoting
G.P. Guissani, Vita di S. Carlo Borromeo (Rome, 1610), 81–2.
51. Wietze de Boer, The Conquest of the Soul.
52. Wietze de Boer, Conquest of the Soul, esp. ch. 2, quoting from 62.
Borromeo’s Avvertenze … ai confessori nella città et diocese sua are included
in AEM vol. 2, cols. 1870–93.
53. ASB Corporazioni Religiose: S. Sacramento di Bagnacavallo vol. 424 (29
August 1649 entry for veto), and Rosario di Bangnacavallo vol. 394.
54. Greco, ‘I giuspatronati laicali’, 534, 538.
55. Davidson, ‘The Clergy of Venice’; see below Chapter 5.
56. Greco, ‘I giuspatronati’, 547–9, 560–2 is best digest.
57. Carla Russo, ‘Parrocchie, fabbricerie’; Greco, La parrocchia a Pisa,
25–37, 43–4, 58–61, 64–5; Rosa, Religione e Società, 67–8; Donvito and
Pellegrino L’Organizzzazione Ecclesiastica, 8, 11.
58. Donati, ‘Vescovi e diocesi’, 352–4.

5 Parish Priests and Parishioners

1. This chapter draws from my Early Modern Italy, ch. 10, and my
‘Confraternities and the parish’, providing much more detailed refer-
encing.
2. COD (1973), cols. 767–68: trans. from Canons and Decrees, ed. Schroeder,
204.
3. See Kümin, ‘The English parish in a European perspective’. On Italy
key works: Hay, The Church in Italy, esp. 20–5; Mario Rosa, ‘Le parrocchie
italiane’; Salimbeni, ‘La parocchia nel Mezzogiorno’; sources cited in
Black, ‘Confraternities and the parish’, n. 2–7.
4. Gentilcore, Bishop to Witch, 37; Carroll, Madonnas that Maim, 96–104.
5. Greco, La Parocchia a Pisa, 39; on persistence of the pieve systems,
Rogger, ‘Diocesi di Trento’, esp. 199–200.
6. Davidson, ‘The clergy of Venice’.
7. Sources in Black, ‘Perugia and Reform’, n. 43–7.
8. Deutscher, ‘The growth of secular clergy’, 386.
9. Black, ‘Perugia and Reform’, 448; Chiacchella, ‘Storia della parroc-
chia’. A.S. Pietro, Perugia, Libro dei Contratti 32, fols. 22–8 on San
Costanzo issues, and Diverse vols. 38 and 89, passim, on the battles
between Perugian bishops and the abbots.
10. Black, Early Modern Italy, 171; F. Russo, Storia dell’Arcidiocesi di Reggio
Calabria; Deutscher, ‘The growth of secular clergy’, esp. Table 1;
Toscani, ‘Il reclutamento’, esp. 577–85.
258 NOTES

11. Nubola, Conoscere per Governare, ch. 7.

12. Toscani, ‘Il reclutamento’, 586.
13. Mezzadri, ‘Il Seminario’, 39.
14. William Barcham, Grand in Design, 73–8.
15. Davidson, ‘Clergy of Venice’; Greco, La Parrocchia a Pisa, 25–37, 43–4,
58–61, 64–5.
16. De Boer, Conquest of the Soul, 23, 31, n. 56.
17. Masetti Zannini, ‘Richerche sulla cultura’.
18. Gordini, Ravennatensia vol. 3, 171–5; Samaritani, Ravennatensia, 3,
467–9, 483–4.
19. Nubola, Conoscere per Governare, 254–5.
20. Preto, ‘Benefici parrocchiali’; Castagnetti, ‘Le decime’.
21. Preto, ‘Benefici parrocchiali’, 804–5, 808–9; Villari, La Rivolta
Antispagnuola (1976 edn), 62–7; Lopez, Riforma Cattolica, esp. 34–5,
44–5; Volpe, La Parrocchia Cilentina, 10, 17.
22. Toscani, ‘Il reclutamento’, 602.
23. Fanti, Una Pieve … Lizzano, and ‘Il fondo delle ‘Visite Pastorali’.
24. My, Early Modern Italy, 169–70, and n. 5–7.
25. Institutioni et Avvertimenti per il Buon Regimento del Clero Diocesano di
Perugia … (1600, and reprinted 1652).
26. Gordini, ‘Sinodi diocesani’, Ravennatensia, 2, 260, and ‘Formazione del
clero’, Ravennatensia 3, 173–4; Carlo Borromeo, Constitutiones et Decreta
condita in Provinciale Synodo (Brescia 1569); G. Paleotti, Ordinationi …
MDLXVI. Armilla ⫽ Bartolomeo Fumo, Summa casuum conscientiae, aurea
armilla dicta (1550), by Dominican Inquisitor at Piacenza; Antonina ⫽
St. Antoninus of Florence (1389–1459), Summa Theologica (printed
first 1477). New Catholic Encyclopedia 6 (1967), 221, and vols 1: 646–7 and
9: 1121. The vernacular version might have been Antonina vulgar
(Venice, 1500: British Library: IA 23521), which is also called his
Confessionale.
27. Masetti Zannini, ‘Ricerche sulla cultura’, 65–7; Sposato, Aspetti …
Calabria, 198 (Costanzo).
28. ‘La Libreria di un parroco di Città in Padua.’
29. My, ‘Perugia and Reform’, 443–4.
30. De Boer, ‘The curate of Malgrate’, and The Conquest of the Soul, 64, 186,
258–9.
31. Lapucci and Pacciani (eds) Zibaldone … Pinelli.
32. John Bossy, ‘The Mass’; Jean Delumeau, Catholicism, 197–9; on
sexual segregation, Institutioni et Avvertimenti per il Buon Reggimento del
Clero Diocesano di Perugia rinovati 1600 (Perugia, 1612), 23–4, 27;
Cardinal A. Ludovisi, Rinovationi di alcuni ordini (Bologna, 1620),
ch. VII on synodal legislation on Masses; some examples in Ravenna-
tensia, 2, 524–7, 535–6, 541–2, and P. Lopez, Riforma Cattolica Napoli,
14–15.
33. De Boer, Conquest, 246–48, with his translations.
34. Corrain and Zampini, Documenti:Emilia-Romagna, 4, 11–12, Umbria 21,
Marche, 11–12, Piemonte e Ligurie, 19, 21, 43, Italia Meridionale, 10–11, 20,
22; Lopez, Riforma Cattolica Napoli, 10–12.
35. Sposato, Aspetti Calabria, 195; Scaduto, ‘Le “Visite” di Possevino’, 381.
 NOTES 259

36. Jedin, ‘Le origini dei registri parrocchiali’; Ebner, ‘I libri parrocchiali di
Vallo della Lucania’, and ‘I libri parrochiali di Novi Velia’.
37. Corrain and Zampini, esp. Documenti … Marche, 4, 17, 27–8, Emilia-
Romagna, 20, Italia Meridionale 3, 28, Venezia, 5; Ferraris and Frutaz,
‘Visita apostolica … Bonomi’, 45–6, 54–5, 57, 69–71.
38. COD (1973), 753–59; von Pastor, History of the Popes, vol. 15: 355–6, 376;
New Catholic Encyclopedia, vol 9, ‘Marriage’, 258–94, and vol. 13
‘Tametsi’, 929; Dictionnaire de Théologie Catholique, 9.ii (1927), ‘Mariage’,
cols. 2196–207 (sacrament), 2232–61 (Trent and aftermath); Nino
Tamassia, La famiglia, 150–95; Jedin, Crisis and Closure, 140–4.
39. Volpe, La parrocchia Cilentina, 5–6, 70–83.
40. Gabriele Paleotti, Del Sacramento del matrimonio. Avvertimenti alli reverendi
curati (Bologna, 1577, and Venice 1607 (marginally revised), consulted;
Vatican Library); Prodi, Paleotti, 2: 126–8.
41. Rasi, ‘L’applicazione delle norme’.
42. Ebner ‘I libri parrocchiali’ (1973 and 1974).
43. Alessandro Manzoni, The Betrothed and I Promessi Sposi, ch. 8;
Brandileone, La celebrazione, 29–35.; DTC, 9. ii col. 2248.
44. Ferraro, Marriage Wars. She sampled 118 cases for annulment for 29
randomly chosen years between 1565 and 1624, of which 75 per cent
had female petitioners (28).
45. Ferraro, Marriage Wars, 45–9, 33–8.
46. Di Simplicio, Peccato Penitenza, ch. 8.
47. Corrain and Zampini, Documenti etnografici, esp. Emilia Romagna, 16–18,
Lombardia, 11–12, Marche, Umbria e Lazio, 23–4, 30; Corrain and
Zampini, ‘Costumanze’, 61 for ‘Notte di Tobia’ Bandi dell’Illustre et Rmo.
Monsignore Francesco Bossi. Vescovo di Perugia (Perugia, 1575). On ‘scam-
panate’ see also N. Zemon Davis, ‘The reasons of misrule’.
48. Carlo Borromeo, Le piu belle pagine delle omilie, ed. C. Gorla (1926),
117–21; Paleotti, Del Sacramento del matrimonio.
49. Bossy, ‘Social history of Confession’; Lea, A History of Auricular
Confession (1896) remains valuable, esp. vol. 2: 412–60.
50. B. Fumo, Summa (1554), 95v–101r, ‘Confessio Sacramentalis’,
101r–3r, ‘Confessor’; Lopez, Riforma Cattolica, 17; H.C. Lea, Confession, 1:
373–4.
51. Notably Prosperi, especially in his Tribunale; De Boer, The Conquest;
T. Tentler, ‘The Summa … Social Control’.
52. De Boer, The Conquest, ch. 3, with Fig. 2 sketch based on Borromeo’s
description in Instructiones.
53. L. Stone, Family, Sex, and Marriage, 142, 499, 527; Naselli, ‘L’esame di
coscienza’; Sodano, ‘Donne e pratiche religiose’; G. Romeo, Esorcisti,
confessori, 149, 170–3, 196.
54. De Boer, The Conquest, 33–5 on Trent and impact of control of confes-
sion, and ch. 2 on the coercive approach.
55. Prosperi, Tribunali, 230–2; W. De Boer, The Conquest, 62–3; John Martin,
Venice’s Hidden Enemies, 187.
56. De Boer, The Conquest, 277–83, quoting from 278–9, his translations.
(Precise date not given, but c.1568–72?)
57. Martin, Venice’s Hidden Enemies, 185–7.
260 NOTES

58. De Boer, The Conquest, 198–206; John Bossy, Peace, ch. 1 (‘Italy’), esp.
8–11, 25–6.
59. Polecritti, Preaching Peace, 125, 142.
60. Gentilcore, ‘Adapt Yourselves’, 280.
61. Valerio, Donne’, with quote from 67. See Sposato, Aspetti Calabria, 66–7,
142–5; S. Tramontin, ‘Visita apostolica Venezia’; Black, Early Modern
Italy, 174–6.
62. ASBol Visite Pastorali vol. 144, ‘Ordini e Avertimenti … 1598’, no. 11.
63. Di Simplicio, ‘Perpetuas’, and Peccato, Penitenza, ch. 6; Valerio, ‘Donne’,
esp. 83–6 (on Teresa).
64. ASB Tribunale del Torrone vol. 5743 (1628–30), fols. 126r–204v.
65. My, Early Modern Italy, 175–6; AABol Visite Pastorali 44 (1632–43),
‘Ordini et avvertimenti’, fols. i–vii.
66. My, Early Modern Italy, 175, 180–1, 201 (Table); Mariangela Sarra,
‘Distribuzione … inquisizione in Friuli’, Appendice Tavola A.
67. ASV S.U. Busta 80 ‘Gervasio/Gervatio’; APVen, ‘Criminalia S.
Inquisitionis 1586–99’, fols. 85–102 ‘S. Simone’.
68. Gotor, I beati del papa, ch. 5.

6 Religious Education

1. Comerford, ‘Clerical Education’; Grendler, Schooling, 60–1.

2. Black, ‘Perugia’, esp. 441–2.
3. Comerford, ‘Italian Tridentine Diocesan Seminaries’, has a valuable
Table, used in my Appendix. Also: Guasco, ‘La formazione del clero: I
seminari’ for major coverage and bibliography; Negruzzo, Collegij, esp.
11–39 as general introduction.
4. Prodi, Paleotti, 2: 566; F. Russo, Storia di Reggio Calabria 2: 125–9; Sposato,
Aspetti, Calabria, 39–40, 100.
5. De Maio, Le origini del Seminario, esp. 76–81, 88–90, 126–41; Lopez,
Riforma cattolica Napoli, 118–24.
6. Tramontin, ‘Due seminari’; D’Addario, Aspetti, 206–7.
7. Deutscher, Review of Kathleen M. Comerford, Ordaining the Catholic
Reformation (2001), and Negruzzo, Collegij.
8. Comerford, ‘Clerical Education’, 252.
9. Pellicia, Preparazione, 291–2, 302; Sposato, Aspetti, 150 (Table), 39–43,
190, 203–7.
10. Gabriejelcic, ‘Alle origini’; my, ‘Perugia and church reform’, esp.
441–2.
11. Molinari, ‘Il seminario di Piacenza’, esp. Appendix giving rules, 51–65,
and Molinari (ed.) Il Seminario di Piacenza; Guasco, ‘La formazione’, 657;
Rimoldi, ‘Istituzione’; Paschini, ‘Le origini del Seminario Romano’; A.G.
Roncalli, Gli Inizi del Seminario di Bergamo; P. Prodi, Paleotti, 2: 144–6.
12. Duranti, ‘Il seminario di Ravenna’, 150.
13. Negruzzo, Collegij, 27–8; more widely, Waquet, Latin or the empire of a sign,
esp. ch. 2
14. Pellicia, La preparazione, 296–8.
 NOTES 261

15. Rimoldi, ‘Istituzioni’, 431–6; Sposato, Aspetti, 43–4; Gabriejelcic, ‘Alle

origini’, 82–92, 120–41; Diz. Bio. Ital 11 (1969), 676–78, ‘Bonciari
Marcantonio’.
16. Negruzzo, Collegij, 21–2.
17. Negruzzo, Collegij, 26, 30, 41–2, 44–5.
18. Negruzzo, Collegij, 56.
19. Masi, Organizzazione ecclesiasatica Puglia, 93.
20. Following based on my, Italian Confraternities, 223–8, Early Modern Italy,
183–6, and ‘Confraternities and the parish’, 13–15, all citing many
Italian sources. Grendler’s contributions, in his Schooling, esp. ch. 12,
‘The Schools’, ‘Borromeo’, and ‘The Piarists’ are very helpful. COD,
763, for relevant Trent decree.
21. Decreta Diocesanae Synodi Ravennatis primae a Pietro Aldobrandino (Venice,
1607), fols. 8v-10v, ‘De Doctrina Christiana’.
22. Grendler, ‘Borromeo’ and ‘The Schools’; Franza, Il Catechismo a Roma,
esp. 59–67, 95–6, 219–32; Arsenio D’Ascoli, La Predicazione, 268–70 (on
Gregorio da Napoli).
23. Rostirolla, ‘Laudi e canti religiosi’, esp. 700–17, 755–61; Kennedy,
‘Unusual Genres’.
24. AABol, Visite Pastorali, vol. 123, Fasc 4. City Visitation of Rodolfo
Paleotti, 1598, esp. 18–19.
25. Casale, Diario, 329–33.
26. ASVR, Arciconfraternita della Dottrina Cristiana, palchetto 168, vol.
417, Congregationi 1599–1608; Franza, Il Catechismo; Pellicia, ‘Scuole di
Catechismo’; Black, ‘Confraternities and the Parish’, 13–15.
27. Grendler, ‘Borromeo’, 166.
28. Diario fully printed in Memorie storiche della diocesi di Milano 12 (1969),
209–437, with translated extracts in Cochrane and Kirshner (eds)
Readings, 411–26, quote 411 (Diario, 224–5). See also Zardin,
‘Relaunching Confraternities’, 206–7.
29. Carlo Borromeo, Decreta condita in Concilio Provinciali Mediolanoni
Secondo (Brescia, 1575), 4.
30. My Italian Confraternities, 226–7, with sources; Grendler, ‘The Piarists’;
Leibreich, Fallen Order.
31. Grendler, Schooling, 42–4.
32. Baldacchini, Bibliografia delle stampe popolari religiose, esp. 10–11, 20.
33. Norman now provides a splendid readable coverage in her ‘Social
History of Preaching’, with bibliography, highlighting Roberto
Rusconi’s vital contributions; see esp. his ‘Predicatori e predicazione’.
34. Norman, ‘Social History of Preaching’, 136.
35. Cited by Norman, 151–2; Marcocchi, Riforma Cattolica, 713–17.
36. Cited by Norman, p. 178
37. Rusconi, ‘Predicatori’, 95.
38. Polecritti, Preaching Peace on Bernardino of Siena.
39. Orlandi, ‘La missione popolare’, esp. 420–1.
40. Orlandi, ‘La missione popolare’, 423–7.
41. Rusconi, ‘Gli Ordini religiosi maschili’, esp. 242–52; Scaduto, ‘Tra
Inquisitori e Riformati’.
42. Orlando, ‘La missione popolare’, 428–9.
262 NOTES

43. Gentilcore, ‘ “Adapt Yourselves” ’,, esp. 275 for Lecce example;
Rusconi, ‘Gli Ordini religiosi’, 246–52; Orlandi, ‘La missione popolare’,
432–4; Rienzo, ‘Il processo di cristianizzazione’; Bossy, Peace, 8–11, 14,
27–9.

7 Confraternities, Hospitals and Philanthropy

1. Black, Italian Confraternities, esp. chs 7–10 indicate both attitudes to

poverty, and studies on philanthropic activities through confraternities,
and linked hospitals or other institutions. This work documents much
that follows through this chapter. For an update see my ‘The develop-
ment of confraternity studies’, in Terpstra (ed.), Ritual Kinship, with
other articles therein, and our composite bibliography. My
‘Confraternities’ (1996), for brief European-wide context. Fundamental
on attitudes in a European context are Pullan’s articles: ‘The old
Catholicism, the new Catholicism’, ‘Support and Redeem’.
2. Weissman, Ritual Botherhood, ix.
3. Terpstra, ‘Ignatius, Confratello: confraternities as modes of spiritual
community’, esp. 176–7.
4. Zardin, ‘Relaunching confraternities’, 206–7.
5. Black, Italian Confraternities, 3, 258–61; illustrations in: La Comunità
Cristiana, Figs 13–14 and opposite p. 241 (Santi di Tito); Painting in
Naples, colour pl. p. 65; Hibbard, Caravaggio, Figs 138–43, Langdon,
Caravaggio, pl. 32; Age of Caravaggio, Fig. 13.
6. Prosperi, Tra evangelismo e controriforma, 272.
7. COD, 740, Session XXII, Canons VIII and IX; Black, Italian
Confraternities, 63.
8. Châtellier, Europe of the Devout, on network through Europe.
9. On the fascinating background history of the Rosary cult: Winston-
Allen, Stories of the Rose.
10. Black, ‘Confraternities and the parish’.
11. ASBol, Corporazioni Religiose, Compagnia del Ssmo Rosario in Crevalcore,
vol. 1/7813, Miscellanea, 5 May 1605; Greco, La parrocchia a Pisa, 77–80.
12. Fasano Guarini, Prato storia di un città, 2: 540–1; D’Addario, Aspetti della
Controriforma, 319–20.
13. Weissman, Ritual Brotherhood, 201–12; ASBol, Corporazioni Religiose,
S. Sacramento di Bagnacavalo. Vol. 424, Decreti, 22 Nov. 1648.
14. Black, Italian Confraternities, 111–12, based on A. Giovio, Descrittione de
sei Apparati et pompe fatte in Perugia (Perugia, 1610).
15. Torre, ‘Faith’s boundaries’, 248–53.
16. Terpstra, Lay Confraternities, 219–20, updating my Italian Confraternities, 74.
17. Henderson, Piety and Charity, is an excellent study of the range of activ-
ities, for Florence.
18. Giulio Folco, Effetti mirabili de la Limosina et sentenze degne di memoria
(Rome, 1581), but with Preface dated 24 dec. 1573; my Italian
Confraternities, 171, 179–80, and Lance Lazar’s forthcoming book,
Working in the Vineyard of the Lord for a Jesuit context.
 NOTES 263

19. Paolo De Angelis, Della limosina overo opere che si assicurano nel giorno del
final giuditio (Rome, 1615); Alessandro Sperelli, Della pretiosita della
limosina (Venice, 1666), esp. 16, 107–13, 116; see my, Italian
Confraternities, 17 (quoting De Angelis), 145–7.
20. Many articles in Bertoldi Lenoci, (ed.) Le Confraternite pugliese, and her
ed. Confraternite, Chiese Società; with her own survey, ‘La sociabilità reli-
giosa pugliese’.
21. My Italian Confraternities, 49–57 and Appendix 1, my, Early Modern Italy,
160–1; Mackenney, ‘Public and Private’, and ‘The Scuole Piccole’;
Camillo Fanucci, Trattato di tutte le opere pie dell’alma città di Roma (Rome,
1601).
22. Pullan, Rich and Poor (1971) was the pioneering work, see esp. 33–4,
86–98. See also his collected essays, Poverty and Charity (1994). Scuole
Grandi: S. Marco, S. Rocco, Della Misericordia Della Carità, S. Giovanni
Evangelista, and from 1552 S. Teodoro.
23. AdiSP, Religiose Soppresse, S. Domenico, Miscellanea 77. Some names
are repeated.
24. Mackenney, ‘The Guilds of Venice’, 40, and my, ‘The Development’, 15.
25. Eisenbichler, The Boys of the Archangel Raphael; See now also, Polizzotto,
Children of the Promise: The confraternity of the Purification and the socializa-
tion of youths in Florence, 1427–1785.
26. Black, ‘Early Modern Confraternities’ , focused on this.
27. Zardin, ‘Relaunching’, 195–6; ASBol, Corporazioni Religiose,
S. Sacramento di Bagnacavallo, vol. 424 (1635–1734), and Ssmo di
Budrio, vol. 4/7852, vol. 4 (1647–90); Fanti, ‘La parrocchia dei SS.Vitale
e Agricola’, 225–31.
28. Pullan, ‘The Old Catholicism’, and ‘ “Support and Redeem” ’; Cavallo,
Charity and Power, on varied benefactor attitudes and policies.
29. Alessandro Sperelli, Della Pretiosita, 297; see my, Italian Confraternities,
146 for a fuller translated quotation.
30. Lance Lazar’s forthcoming book Working in the Vineyard covers these in
some detail; meanwhile see his ‘The First Jesuit Confraternities’, and
‘Daughters of Prostitutes’.
31. My, Italian Confraternities, 209.
32. Terpstra, ‘ “In loco parentis” ‘, 115–17, and ‘Mothers, sisters, and daugh-
ters’, … ; my, Italian Confraternities, 209–10.
33. My, Italian Confraternities, 184–200 for basis of what follows.
34. Camillo Fanucci, Trattato, but esp. for key hospitals praised below, 15,
17, 34–53, 56–58; my Italian Confraternities, 191–6 for modern sources.
35. Howe, ‘Appropriating Space’. 235.
36. Arrizabalaga and others, The Great Pox, esp. chs 7 and 8.
37. Gregory Martin, Roma Sancta, esp. 188, 205, 232–7.
38. Terpstra, ‘Competing Visions’.
39. Pullan, Rich and Poor, esp. 77–8, 185, 347–9, 353–4. and Poverty and
Charity, no. X; ASV Scuole Piccole e Suffragi, Busta 706, SS. Trinita alla
Salute, Libro 3, ‘Notariato’ 1649–1710.
40. Vianello, ‘I ‘Fiscali delle miserie’.
41. APV Parrochia di S. Lio: Amminstrazione vol. 6; ‘Accordi fra il capitolo
di S. Lio e la scuola del SS. Sacramento’, 23 April 1695; Registri
264 NOTES

degli Infermi vol. 1 included a list of sick in 1630, and some help
offered.
42. My, Italian Confraternities, 217–23, with many sources and examples;
Terpstra, ‘Piety and punishment’, and ‘Confraternal prison charity ’, on
Bologna; Paglia ‘La Pietà dei Carcerati’, and La morte confortata, the key
studies of Roman practices and attitudes, emphasising the new religious
impacts.

8 Nunneries and Religious Women

1. Medioli, ‘The enforcement of clausura’, 143.

2. Zarri, ‘Monasteri femminili’, esp. 402–3, and ‘Dalla profezia’, 210–15.
3. Andretta, ‘Il governo dell’osservanza’, 401–2.
4. Weaver, Convent Theatre, 12–13, esp. n. 6; Zarri, ‘Monasteri femminili e
città’, 402, 421–2; Laven, ‘Venetian Nunneries’, ch. II; Laven, Virgins of
Venice, 202, n. 10; Black, Early Modern Italy, Appendix on Population
(218– 20); Fragnito, ‘Gli Ordini Religiosi’, 126, nn. 10, 11; Sonnino, ‘Le
anime dei romani’, 348–50; Lowe, Nuns’ Chronicles and Convent Culture,
144–54 (her splendid book appeared too late for full consideration
here).
5. Laven, Virgins of Venice, 48, 211–12, n. 12; Sperling, Convents, 26–9. For
pre-Trent circumstances of San Zaccaria: Primhak, ‘Benedictine
Communities’, 92–104.
6. Judith Brown, Immodest Acts.
7. Medioli, ‘The enforcement’; Creytens, ‘La riforma dei monasteri fem-
minili’ (1965); CT IX 1044–69, for decree and discussions; Zarri,
‘Monasteri femminili’, 398–411
8. Medioli, ‘The enforcement’, 149–50, quoting anonymous contributors.
9. Medioli, ‘Lo spazio del chiostro’, 356.
10. Medioli, ‘To take or not to take’, esp. 128.
11. Weaver, Convent Theatre, 21–2.
12. Medioli ‘Enforcement’, 152; cf. Weaver, Convent Theatre, 19–20 for fuller
quotation; Zarri, ‘Monasteri femminili’, 386.
13. Andretta, ‘Il governo dell’osservanza’, 403–4; Weaver, Convent Theatre,
23, n. 30; cf. Lowe, Nuns’ Chronicles, 123–6, 260–3.
14. Novi Chavarria, Monache e Gentildonne, 70–90; Miele, ‘Monache e monas-
teri’, 102–4.
15. Sperling, Convents, 129, 327 n. 65.
16. Medioli, ‘Dimensions’, 166–7.
17. Weaver, Convent Theatre, 24.
18. Baernstein, Convent Tale, 94–7.
19. See Laven, Virgins of Venice, 8, 48, 84, 119–21; APV: Atti Patriarcale
riguardanti le monache, ‘Decretorum et mandatorum monialium’, vol.
for 1591–9, ff. 115r–6r, 24 April 1599 Patriarch to S. Maria di Miracoli,
showing concern with their staying overnight away from their quarters
next to the monastery.
20. APV. ‘Decretorum et mandatorum monialium’, 1591–9, fols. 115r–6r.
 NOTES 265

21. Laven, Virgins of Venice, 96.

22. Laven, Virgins of Venice, 130; Andretta, ‘Il governo dell’osservanza’, 423,
n. 116.
23. Zarri, ‘Monasteri femminili’, 388–92; Novi Chavarria, Monache e
Gentildonne, 120–7.
24. Weaver, Convent Theatre, 26–9; Zarri, ‘Monasteri femminili’, 393, 424.
25. Medioli, ‘Enforcement’, 151.
26. Sperling, Convents, 156–7.
27. Laven, Virgins of Venice, 149 and 233, n. 25, with 150–53 exemplifying
trial cases 1625–6, and 165–6 on priests and friars.
28. Laven, Virgins of Venice, 156–9.
29. Laven, Virgins of Venice, 99, translating Arcangela Tarabotti, L’ ‘Inferno
monacale’, edit. Francesca Medioli (Turin, 1990), 101.
30. Bearnstein, Convent Tale, chs 4, 5.
31. Andretta, ‘Il governo dell’osservanza’, 405–13.
32. Sperling, Convents, 152–3.
33. Lowe, ‘Elections of abbesses’; and now her Nuns’ Chronicles, esp. ch. 6 on
a variety of ceremonies.
34. Sperling, Convents, 137–41, 167–9, 176–7; Laven, Virgins of Venice,
107–8.
35. Sperling, Convents, 121–4. cf. Laven, Virgins of Venice, 1–5, 102–203.
36. ASB Demaniale, S. Cristina, vol. 48/2909, 1622–23, Visitation, 15r–17r,
26r–29r.
37. D’Ambrosio and Spedicato, Cibo e Clausura , esp. 54–61, 77–9; APV,
‘Decretorum et mandatorum monialium’, vol. for 1591–9, vol. for
1620–30; Black, Early Modern Italy, 30; Laven, ‘Venetian Nunneries’, ch.
V, and her Virgins of Venice, ch. 10, ‘Between Celibates’.
38. Sperling, Convents, 158–69; Laven, Virgins of Venice, Figs 14, 16, 17, and
index under ‘parlours’, ‘prostitutes’.
39. Laven, Virgins of Venice, esp. 123–4, 153–4, 171–2, 177; APV:
‘Decretorum et mandatorum monialium’, vol. for 1591–99, ff. 111v–15r,
Instructions in March and April 1599 on the administration of the
Convertite (a monastic institution mainly for repentant prostitutes),
threatened prison conditions on those who gave away food or goods,
even to relatives.
40. ASB Demaniale, S. Cristina, vol. 48/2909, 1622–3 Visitation, 11v, 19v.
41. Zarri, ‘Monasteri femminili’, 396; APV. ‘Decretorum et mandatorum
monialium’, 1591–9, fols. 33v–35v, 2 Nov. 1592. The nunneries named:
S. Servolo, S. Mattio de Mazorbo, S. Anna, S. Iseppo, S. Zuanne
Laterano, S. Rocco et Margarita, S. Girolamo, S. Latia, Ogni Santi,
S. Marta, Spirito Santo. For Rome: Andretta, ‘Il governo dell’osser-
vanza’, 423–4.
42. ASB Corporazioni Soppresse. SS.Vitale e Agricola, vol. 93/3242, folder
of ‘Lettere Diverse’; some transcribed in Zarri, ‘Il monastero dei Santi
Vitale e Agricola’ see also Fanti, ‘La parrochia dei Santi Vitale e
Agricola’, esp. 225, 230–1.
43. ASB … vol. 93/3242, ‘Lettere Diverse’, 25 Feb. 1630 (sister),
12 Dec. 1622 (sermon).
44. Weaver, Convent Theatre, ch. 1.
266 NOTES

45. Caponetto, The Protestant Reformation, 192–3, 216, 224; Zarri, ‘Dalla pro-
fezia’, 209–10.
46. Rusconi, ‘Le biblioteche degli ordini religiosi’, 73–7.
47. Rusconi, ‘Le biblioteche’, 64–6, 74–7; Compare, ‘Biblioteche monas-
tiche’; on Guevara and Malerbi, see Fragnito (ed.), Church, Censorship,
196–7, 125 and 129; and on Malerbi, Fragnito La Bibbia al rogo, esp. 25–43.
48. ASB Demaniale, S. Margherita, vol. 51/3198, Carte Diverse; Monson,
Disembodied Voices, esp. 29–30, 60–61.
49. Zarri (ed.), Per lettera, esp. Scattigno, ‘Lettere dal convento’, 313–57,
and Belardini, ‘ “Piace molto a Giesù” ’, 359–83.
50. Lowe, ‘History writing’, and Nuns’ Chronicles; De Bellis, ‘Attacking sump-
tuary laws’.
51. Scattigno, ‘Lettere dal convento’, esp. 323–4; Riccardi, ‘Mystic
Humanism … Pazzi’.
52. Solfaroli Camillocci ‘La monaca esemplare’.
53. Scattigno, ‘Lettere dal convento’, esp. 329–35; Sobel, To Father, with
English translations opposite the Italian text, unindexed; see her
Galileo’s Daughter for the commentary on the letters and contexts.
54. Letter of 14 March 1629, To Father, 106–111.
55. Weaver, Convent Theatre, for much of what follows (56 n. 20 for geo-
graphical range); and her ‘The Convent Wall in Tuscan Convent
Drama’, for most of what follows.
56. Laven, Virgins of Venice, 134–5.
57. Weaver, Convent Theatre, 113–18 (St Catherine), 71 (David), 151–69 and
passim (Beatrice and her play), 170–8 (Annalena Odaldi), 204–6.
58. Laven, Virgins of Venice, 134–8; Weaver, Convent Theatre, 64. cf. Moderata
Fonte, The Worth of Women, translated by Virginia Cox.
59. Weaver, Convent Theatre, 46–7; Monson (ed.), The Crannied Wall, esp. his
‘Disembodied Voices’, 191–209, and Kendrick, ‘Traditions of Milanese
Convent Music’, 211–33; Bowers, ‘The emergence of women composers
in Italy, 1566–1700’.
60. Monson, ‘Disembodied Voices’, 201. The Componimenti, sung by
Catherine King and others in ‘Musica Secreta’, on CD (CKD 071) by
Linn Products, Glasgow; with comments by Craig Monson; Monson,
‘The making of … Vizzani’s Componimenti Musicali’.
61. Kendrick, ‘Traditions’, 216–26. Cozzolani’s ‘Dialogues with Heaven’
motets, also Musica Secreta, CKD 113.
62. Reardon, Holy Concord, esp. ch. 4.
63. Weaver, Convent Theatre, 37–9, with Fig. 3 for Nelli’s Last Supper;
Trinchieri Camiz, ‘ “Virgo non sterilis” … Nuns as Artists’.
64. Black, Italian Confraternities, 207; Aikema & Meijers, Nel Regno dei Poveri,
225–8.
65. Cohn Death and Property in Siena, ch. 11.
66. Hufton, ‘The Widow’s Mite’.
67. Zarri, ‘Living Saints’, Le Sante vive, and ‘Il “terzo stato” ’,; Zarri (ed.),
Finzione e santità; Schutte, Aspiring Saints.
68. Cecilia Ferrazzi. Autobiography of an Aspiring Saint; analysed by Schutte,
Aspiring Saints, esp. 13–15, 125–31, 164–6, 190–2, 207–11, 225–6; also her
‘Inquisition and Female Autobiography’, and ‘Failed Saints’.
 NOTES 267

69. Schutte, Aspiring Saints, 121–31 (Polacco), 92–3, 260–1 (Barbarigo);

Zardin, ‘Gregorio Barbarigo’.
70. Tomizza, Heavenly Supper. The Story of Maria Janis, by a famous novelist,
but using the archival records.
71. Schutte, Aspiring Saints, esp. 12–13, 162–4, 192–3; and her ‘Santità fem-
minile “simulata” e “vera” ’, 297–9.
72. Signorotto, Inquisitori e mistici; see my Review in Journal of Modern History
63 (1991), 588–90.
73. Schutte, ‘Failed Saints’, 191–2; according to Schutte, ‘Santita fem-
minile’, 292–3.
74. Ciammitti, ‘One Saint Less’, explaining her diagram, 151–3.

9 Repression and Control

1. Ginzburg, The Cheese and the Worms and Night Battles; Del Col, Domenico
Scandella.
2. Levack, The Witch-Hunt, esp. ch. 3 on ‘The legal foundations’ most rele-
vant to this point.
3. Shown in Godman, The Saint as Censor. Robert Bellarmine Inquisition and
Index.
4. Fragnito (ed.), Church, Censorship and Culture.
5. Fragnito, ‘Central and Peripheral Organization’, 22, n. 23, and ‘ … La
censura ecclesiastica’, 5 n. 9 (adding later tribunals).
6. AAF S. Uffizio, Filze 2–3.
7. ASV SU, busta 33, folder ‘Denuncie 1572–3’; APV, Criminalia
S. Inquisitionis 1586–99, fols. 12–15.
8. Tedeschi, ‘Il caso di un falso inquisitore’, 137.
9. Key introductions: Grendler, Roman Inquisition and the Venetian Press,
ch. II, ‘The Inquisition’; Schutte, Aspiring Saints, ch. 2 ‘The Roman
Inquisition in Venice’; Del Col, Domenico Scandella, Introduction, esp.
xxvii–xlix. I have sampled denunciations and cases from ASV SU, Buste
13, 33, 61, 66, 80, 103, 106; AAF S. Uffizio, Filze 2–3; AABol Miscellanea
Vecchie, vol. 774, L’Inquisizione; these buttress my generalisations,
though only a few specific examples can be cited later.
10. ASV SU 33, 14 Nov. 1573, ‘Domenico Longinus portator Farina’: ‘Volta
carta, e varda su’l messal, che trovar il Papa, che buzera / Il Gardenal,
il Garndenal da ca colonna / Che cazza in culo il Papa ghe perdona.’
11. John Martin, Venice’s Hidden Enemies, 180 reproduces Domenico
Beccafumi’s drawing of such a scene.
12. Romeo, L’Inquisizione, 42.
13. Ginzburg, The Night Battles, with Appendix transcribing an early trial.
Nardon, Benandanti e inquisitori, for wider context.
14. Davidson, ‘The Inquisition in Venice’, 128, citing ASV, SU Busta 44,
‘Felino Giuseppe’, 29 Oct. 1580.
15. Grendler, Roman Inquisition, 57–9; Del Col (ed.) L’Inquisizione in Friuli,
33; Schutte, Aspiring Saints, 40.
16. De Frede, Religiosità, 335; Pastor History of Popes, XIX, 302.
17. De Frede, Religiosità, 339–40.
268 NOTES

18. Seidel Menchi, ‘Italy’, 199 n. 44.

19. Dall’Olio, ‘I Rapporti’, 274–7.
20. Prosperi, Tribunali, 170.
21. De Frede, Religiosità e Cultura, esp. 347–50 (‘Ancora sugli Autodafè’),
and 300–1, 307 (‘Autodafè’); M. Firpo and D. Marcatto (eds), I Processi …
Carnesecchi, records his lengthy investigations.
22. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, passim, 57 and 39 for quotes.
23. Ricci, Il Sommo Inquisitore, 136 (quote), 55–8, 136–8, 169–72.
24. Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 69–70; De Frede, Religiosità, 324–6.
25. De Frede, Religiosità, esp. 355–7; Caponetto, Protestant Reformation,
246–8 (Faenza).
26. Prosperi, Tribunali, 170–72; De Frede, Religiosità, 358–60, (quote 360);
Caponetto, Protestant Reformation, 335–36; Déjob, De l’influence de Concile,
Appendix F, 385–91, Marcello Sirleto’s letters to uncle.
27. De Frede, Religiosità, 337.
28. Bujanda, J.M. de (ed.), Index des livres interdits reproduces a whole range
from Europe, in 10 volumes; vol. 8 for 1557, 1559, 1564 Indexes, vol. 9
for 1590, 1593, 1596. Well illustrated for original format.
29. Rozzo, ‘Italian literature on the Index’, 199.
30. Godman, The Saint as Censor, 20–1.
31. Grendler, ‘Books for Sarpi’.
32. Balsamo, ‘How to doctor a bibliography’, 72.
33. Dall’Olio, ‘I Rapporti’, 264–5.
34. Index Librorum Prohibitorum … (Rome, Camera Apostolica, 1596 …
1632), copy in Biblioteca Comunale, Perugia, I.O.1360.
35. Brought out in many essays in Fragnito (ed.), Church, Censorship, which
is basis of much above, and what follows. See my Review in Renaissance
Studies, 17 (2003), 122–5.
36. Grendler, Roman Inquisition, 190–93.
37. ASV SU Busta 80, ‘De Domo Marco, Gemma Aurora’, 29 April 1625;
Busta 103, ‘Antonio Rocco’, 27 Feb. 1635 and 3 Nov. 1648; Busta 103
‘Pro Francesco Valvasense’, 15 Feb. 1648, (a leading printer, including
of Arcangela Tarabotti’s books).
38. Fragnito, La Bibbia al rogo; Fragnito (ed.), Church, Censorship, with her
own article, and Edoardo Barbieri’s ‘Tradition and change in the spiri-
tual literature’.
39. Fragnito (ed.), Church, Censorship, 35 n. 70.
40. Fragnito (ed.), Church, Censorship, 66.
41. Godman, From Poliziano to Machiavelli, Appendix, ‘Machiavelli, the
Inquisition and the Index’, esp. 325–8 (quoting 326); Bujanda, Index,
vol. 9, 350. Ricci, Il Sommo Inquisitore, 350, 355, 385.
42. Grendler, ‘Books for Sarpi’, 111–12.
43. Grendler, ‘Books for Sarpi’, esp. 111–12.
44. Grendler, ‘Books for Sarpi’, 110–11.
45. Grendler, ‘The destruction of Hebrew books’, quoting 130.
46. Ioly Zorattini (ed.), Processi di S. Uffizio di Venezia, transcribes denunications
and trials; his ‘Jews, Crypt-Jews and the Inquisition’, is his recent analysis,
in R.C. Davis and B. Ravid The Jews of Early Modern Venice, which has many
other helpful articles; see also Brian Pullan, The Jews.
 NOTES 269

47. Pullan, ‘ “A Ship with Two Rudders”: Righetto Marrano’.

48. Romeo, Inquisitori, esorcisti, 271; see also his Esorcisti, Confessori e
Sessualità. See bibliography for other authors mentioned.
49. Di Simplicio, Inquisizione Stregoneria Medicina, 85–7.
50. Cardini (ed.), Gostanza la strega.
51. Dall’Olio, ‘I Rapporti’, 278–82, quoting from 279 and 281.
52. Nardon, Benandanti e inquisitori nel Friuli, and ‘Benandanti “funebri” ’.
53. Ginzburg, Night Battles, Appendix transcribed their case.
54. Nardon, Benandanti, 136–8, Tables.
55. Gentilcore, Healers and Healing, ch. 6, quoting 164; also his Bishop and
Witch, 94–5, 107–13, 190–1; Prosperi, Il Tribunale, esp. 418–30; Romeo,
Inquisitori, Esorcisti.
56. Prosperi, Il Tribunale, 427 and 421–2 on the Cortona case, investigated
by the Bishop in 1579.
57. Romeo, Esorcisti, Confessori, 87–9; Gentilcore, From Bishop to Witch, esp.
94–5.
58. Romeo, Esorcisti, 13–14, with comments on source material.
59. Romeo, Esorcisti, 14 n. 3; Prosperi, Tribunali, 339–40.
60. See accessibly Ruth Martin, Witchcraft and Inquisition; Ruggiero, Binding
Passions. I have seen examples of such denunciations in the Buste cited
above, n. 9.
61. ASV SU Busta 59, 30 March 1587; see my Early Modern Italy, 156–67;
Ruggiero, Binding Passions, 118–19, 249; Pullan, The Jews of Europe, 161;
Ruth Martin, Witchcraft, 168. I am grateful to Tricia Allerston for help
with this case.

10 Churches, Cultural Enticement and Display

1. See Mullett, Catholic Reformation, ch. 7, ‘The Catholic Reformation and

the arts’ for another historian’s useful approach to religious art, in
European context, and using the concept of ‘baroque’ style as his key to
discussion.
2. Guerrini, Atti della Visita … Bollani, vol. 3 : 54–7, 72, 117–19;
Montanari, Disciplinamento, esp. 91–103; Grosso & Mellano, La
Controriforma … Torino, vol. 2: 47–55, 190–2, 209; Fiorani, ‘Confraternite’,
120–2 (1624).
3. Storia di Brescia, vol. 2, Il Dominio Veneto, 864–82; Gatti Perer, ‘Cultura e
socialità’. Carlo Borromeo’s Instructionum fabricae et sepllectilis ecclesiasti-
cae libri II (Milan, 1577) became the standard guide to churches and
their fitments; a useful commentary with extracts by E.C. Voelker,
‘Borromeo’s Influences’.
4. Lapucci and Pacciansi (eds), Zibaldone … Pinelli, 90–2, 119–25.
5. Hibbard, ‘Early History of Sant’Andrea’.
6. Wittkower, Art and Architecture (1999 edn), 84–5.
7. Hall, Renovation and Counter-Reformation; Lewine, The Roman Church
Interior; Armellini, Le Chiese di Roma, 2: 668. cf. on church interiors gen-
erally; Wöllflin, Renaissance and Baroque, 111–23.
270 NOTES

8. Lewine, Roman Church Interior, 32–40 (general effects), 86, 89, 226–31 (Il
Gesù), 41–44, 97–100, 316–53 (S. Maria ai Monti); Heydenreich & Lotz,
Architecture of Italy, 273–76, 280; Pirri, Giovanni Tristano, esp. ch. VII on
Il Gesù. cf. Howard, Jacopo Sansovino, 67 for F. Zorzi, quote.
9. Heydenreich & Lotz, Architecture of Italy, 110, 292–94, Pl. 313.
10. G.B. Del Tufo, Historia (Rome, 1609).
11. Avery, Bernini, ch. 8 on both chapels, well illustrated; Lavin, Bernini and
Unity, on theme; Barcham, Grand in Design, esp. 349–54, 364–86.
12. Black, Italian Confraternities, ch. 11; Eisenbichler, The Boys.
13. Fabiani, ‘Sinodi … Ascoli’, 280.
14. ASV SU Busta 33, 18 July 1573. Translated transcript in Chambers and
Pullan (eds), Venice, 232–36; see G. Fehl, ‘Veronese and the Inquisition’;
large sized illustration in Black et al. Atlas of the Renaissance, 98–99.
15. Discorso intorno alle Imagine, in Barocchi (ed.), Trattati, 2: 221, 497; and
see Boschloo, Annibale Carracci in Bologna, 227, n. 3.
16. Barocchi (ed.), Trattati, 3: 195–223.
17. Prodi, ‘Ricerche sulla teorica delle arti figurative’, and Prodi, Paleotti,
vol. 2, ch. xviii on Paleotti’s art theories; modern text of his writings in
Barocchi, Trattati d’arte, 117–509; Boschloo, Annibale Carracci in Bologna,
reflects on Paleotti’s theories. Shearman, Only Connect, illuminates many
aspects of communication in the Renaissance that are more obviously
developed in the ‘baroque’ period; see also Freedberg, The Power of
Images, esp. ch. 12, ‘Arousal by Image’, and Argan, Baroque Age, on
‘Poetics and rhetoric’, ‘Imagination and Illusion’, ‘Imagination and
Feeling’, for issues of artistic intentions discussed here.
18. The website www.artcyclopedia.com/ is a valuable tool for finding illus-
trations and data of known artists.
19. Nichols, Tintoretto, esp. chs 4–5, with colour plates; Fortini Brown,
Venetian Narrative Painting in the Age of Carpaccio, for tradition.
20. Lindner, Madonna della Ghiara (Reggio Emilia, 1954), 80–8.
21. Beny and Gunn, Churches of Rome (London, 1981), 166–8, 218; Wittkower,
Art and Architecture (1999), 1 pl. 53 (Lanfranco), 2 pl. 100 (Cortona).
22. Beny and Gunn, Churches of Rome, 220–1 (Pozzo, colour); Wittkower, Art
and Architecture (1999), 2 pl. 175 (Gaulli), pl.143 (Pozzo).
23. My Italian Confraternities, 261 and pls. 6–7.
24. Whitfield and Martineau (eds), Painting in Naples, pl.16 and details;
Pacelli, Caravaggio: Le Sette Opere di Misericordia (Salerno, 1984), with
many ills for all artists involved.
25. Black, Italian Confraternities, ch. 11 ‘Confraternity buildings and their
decorations’; Nichols, Tintoretto, pl. 20 (S. Marcuola, colour). See above
Chapter 7, n. 5.
26. For the Carracci: www.pinacotecabologna.it and links. Wittkower, Art
and Architecture (1999), 1 ch. 3.
27. Blunt, ‘Gianlorenzo Bernini: illusionism and mysticism’, Art Bulletin 1
(1978), 68.
28. Age of Caravaggio, no. 17 (with colour plate).
29. Emiliani (ed.), Barocci, fullest study, with colour pls. after p. XLVIII for
Crucifixion and Perdono.
30. Freedberg, Painting in Italy (1975 edn, Harmondsworth), Fig. 287.
 NOTES 271

31. Bury, The Print in Italy 1550–1620, excellent illustrated catalogue, and
analyses; no. 45 for St Francis.
32. Roche, North Italian Church Music, is a key guide to the range of church
music produced, even if geographically limited, with many musical
examples. Early chapters deal with the background of Trent and society.
33. Fenlon, ‘Music and reform’, for an initial quick guide.
34. Fenlon, Music and Patronage in Seventeenth-Century Mantua, vol. 1.
35. Translated by Fenlon in his ‘Music and reform’, 235.
36. Silbiger, ‘Roman Frescobaldi tradition’; Bonta, ‘Uses of the Sonata da
Chiesa’.
37. Martin, Roma Sancta, 96; partly cited by O’Regan, Institutional Patronage,
2–3.
38. Thomas Coryat, Coryat’s Crudities, 251–2; CD: Giovanni Gabrieli. Music for
San Rocco 1608, directed by Paul McCreesh, 1996 Archiv 449, 180–2. See
Arnold, ‘Music … San Rocco’.
39. CDs: Carlo Gesualdo. Leçons de Tenebres, directed Alfred Deller, 1970–87,
HMA190220; Gesualdo. Complete Sacred Music for Five Voices, Jeremy
Summerly, 1993. Naxos 8.550742. See Watkins, Gesualdo, esp. ch. 11
‘The Responsoria’.
40. CDs: Monteverdi Music Sacra, directed Rinaldo Alessandrini, 1996, Opus
111, Paris OPS 30–150; Monteverdi Vespro della Beata Vergine (1610),
directed John Eliot Gardiner, 1990, Archiv 429 565-2; Monteverdi Mass of
Thanksgiving, Venice 1631, directed Andrew Parrott, 1989, CDS 749876 2.
From the huge literature on him Fabbri, Monteverdi is the best all-round
study.
41. Fenlon, ‘Music and Reform’, 244–5.
42. Hammond, Music and Spectacle, for a very full picture of Barberini display.
43. Hill, ‘Oratory Music’.
44. Kirkendale, Emilio de’ Cavalieri, 233–94 (quoting 293), and 301–13
(libretto); he recommends as best CD: Hans-Martin Linde, EMI CMS 7
63421 2 (1990).
45. CDs: Luigi Rossi. Oratorios, directed William Christie. 1982 HMA
1901091; Luigi Rossi, Giuseppe Figlio di Giacobbe, directed Carlo Felice
Cillario. 1994. SXAM 2009–2.
46. Hammond, Music and Spectacle, ch. 13. CD: Landi. Il Sant’Alessio, directed
William Christie, 1990. Erato 0630-14340-2.
47. Roche, ‘The Duet’, and North Italian Church Music, ch. II and 51–58
(Viadana).
48. Quoted by Rinaldo Alessandrini, notes to his CD cited above.
49. See my ‘The Public Face’, expanding my Italian Confraternities, 99–100.
50. Biblioteca Comunale, Bologna. Fondo Ospedale 43 ‘Memorie
riguardanti l’uffizio di Priore dell’Arciconfraternita dell’Ospedale di S.
Maria della Morte’, vol. 1, fols. 46–8, and 32–3.
51. Baviero and Bentini (eds), Mistero e Immagine, esp. Fanti, ‘Per la storia
del culto eucharistico’, and some illustrations.
52. McGinness, Right Thinking, 84–5; Norman, ‘Social History of
Preaching’, 161.
53. Weston-Lewis (ed.), Effigies and Ecstasies, cat. No.126 for Pietro da
Cortona design, with my introductory article, ‘ “Exceeding” ’.
272 NOTES

54. My, Italian Confraternities, ch. 5 on processions, plays and pilgrimages,

developed in my ‘Public Face’; Bernardi, ‘Il Teatro’; Fagiolo (ed.), La
Festa di Roma, with many illustrations.
55. Casale, Diario, ed., Marcora; the translated extracts in Cochrane and
Kirshner (eds), are less obvious on this.
56. Barbara Wisch, ‘New Themes’; Gregory Martin, Roma Sancta, 89–91.
57. McPhee, Bernini and the Bell Towers, Fig. 93 (colour): Corpus Christi Procession
in the Piazza of St. Peter’s, from Museo Nazionale di Palazzo Venezia, c.1646.
58. Cerasoli, ‘Diario di cose romane degli anni 1614, 1615, 1616’, Studi e
documenti di storia e diritto 15 (1896), 273–4.
59. Gentilcore, ‘ “Adapt Yourselves” ’, 279, 284–7.
60. Lapucci and Pacciani (eds), Zibaldone … Spinelli, 87–8. My, Italian
Confraternities, 117–21, 194–6 on pilgrimages and Jubilees; updated by
my ‘Public Face’, for what follows.
61. My, Italian Confraternities, 118–21; Julia, ‘L’accoglienza … pellegrini’.
62. Fagiolo and Madonna, Roma 1300–1875, 178–294 for Jubilees
1575–1700.
63. Giacinto Gigli, Diario (1994), esp. 72–5, 106, 146–50, 581–91; Fagiolo
(ed.), La Festa di Roma, for illustrations as well as many articles;
Nussdorfer, Civic Politics, 109–14; Dandelet, Spanish Rome, 110–15,
157–58, 168–70; Hammond, Music and Spectacle, has Appendix sum-
marising the main Roman festivals in Urban VIII’s reign, also paintings
and prints of festivities.

11 Conclusions: Successes and Failures

1. Gentilcore, Healers and Healing, 164.

2. Black, Early Modern Italy, 214, with my ‘Epilogue’ more broadly offering
my guide to the eighteenth century context, and sources; see also
Chadwick, The Popes and European Revolution, esp. ch. 5; De Rosa, Vescovi,
popolo e magia, for both late reform and continuing gross ignorance and
superstition.
3. Ditchfield, ‘ “In search of local knowledge” ’, 256, 259 (quote).
4. ASV SU Busta 103, Anzola Civran, 5 June 1646.
5. ASV SU Busta 106, Elisabetta Thodesca, 16 July 1652; Julia Meretrice,
3 December 1652. See now Ambrosini, ‘Between heresy and free
thought’.
6. Schutte, Living Saints, 92–3; Zardin, ‘Gregorio Barbarigo’, reviewing a
1996 conference about him.
7. Clifton, ‘Looking at St. Agatha’, esp. Figs 3 and 4, Francesco Guarino’s
paintings in a Solofra parish church.

Appendix Italian Bishoprics

1. The chief Sources for this Appendix (and Chapter 4 commentary on

bishops and their work): Eubel (et al.) Hierarchia, vols. 111–V; Gams,
 NOTES 273

Series Episcoporum; Ughelli, Italia Sacra; Mansi, Sacrorum Conciliorum, vols

34–36ter; von Pastor, History of the Popes, esp. vols, XVII–XXXII ; Da
Nadro, Sinodi diocesani italiani; Corrain and Zampini, Documenti etno-
grafici, for printed synodal evidence; many articles from Ravennatensia,
vols; Donvito and Pellegrino, L’Organizzazione Ecclesiastica … Abruzzi, e
Molise e della Basilicata; Sposato, Aspetti … Calabria; F. Russo, Storia …
Reggio Calabria; Comerford, ‘Italian Tridentine Diocesan Seminaries’,
for most of the seminary information.
2. Many dioceses were ‘Independent’, that is, directly under papal control,
though some bishops might cooperate with a nearby metropolitan arch-
bishop holding Councils; and the status of some was contested, or
ambiguous. Some sees around Rome were for Curia-based cardinals.
Some monastic houses acted as bishoprics. Bishoprics on Sicily and
Sardinia are included here, though not usually part of my main discussion
in the text, because appointments could be part of the ‘Italian’ as well as
royal ‘Spanish’ patronage systems. Some Dalmatian bishoprics, Ionian
islands etc. are also listed as they remained part of the Venetian and/or
Papal patronage, despite the Ottoman Turk threats or occupation.
3. This indicates the secular control, primarily in our early period; some
dioceses were in more than one secular state, or subject ecclesiastically
to a metropolitan in another state (e.g. Brescia).
4. If two separated dates are given, this suggests – unless otherwise indi-
cated–a refoundation after the first seminary had folded.
5. To be treated as conservative minimum. The indication of synods is
mainly based on surviving printed documents(which may mislead on
the precise date of the synod meeting), as traced esp. by Da Nadro; evi-
dence of some others comes patchily from Visitation records, which may
be vague on precise dates, with a Bishop claiming he had two in his
time, so given here as 1562–6 (2); I have added others as per chance
noted in articles and monographs of particular bishopics. This can be
misleading as an archdiocese like Ravenna has been better studied for
manuscript records than those in the Kingdom of Naples. My concen-
tration has been on the 1560–1630 period, and later synods are mainly
indicative of how late some diocese came up with a synod of some
impact on the record.
6. The Patriarchate of Aquileia was administered from Portogruaro, or
Udine (suffragan), or even Venice; the ancient great city of Aquileia was
largely ruined. Council and synods were held in different places. The
1602 synod, in Gorizia, was for Germanic and Slavonic nations within
the Patriarchate.
7. Papal enclave within Kingdom of Naples territory.
8. Bressanone, in the Alto-Adige/Tyrol area, though suffragan under
Salzburg, and part of the Holy Roman Empire, sometimes is counted as
‘italian’, because sometimes Italians held posts there; Christopher
Madruzzo, Bishop of Trent 1539–67, also held Bressanone 1542–65, and
he used an Italian suffragan B. Aliprandini 1558–71. Eubel, Hierarchia,
III, 141 and IV 121.
9. A ‘quasi-seminary’ or clerical school existed in Massafiscaglia for Cervia
diocese from c.1590: Ravennatensia, III, 121–8.
274 NOTES

10. Though subject to non-Venetian ecclesiastical control, (Ragusa, mod-

ern Dubrovnik, being an independent Republic), this island remained
part of the Venetian empire, and its Church influence.
11. The 1596 Cosenza PC was also attended by the bishops of Cariati and
Umbriatico (suffragans of Santa Severina), and of San Marco (suffragan
of Rossano): Sposato, Aspetti … Calabria, 31 and n. 85.
12. Effectively independent sub-infeudated state under the D’Este family till
1598.
13. Macerata, Recanati and Loreto had complex relationships, sometimes
having different bishops after 1571. Eubel, Hierarchia, III 220, 231, 281
and IV 227, 293.
14. These islands, and the suffragan Suda, can be seen as a reasonably active
part of the Venetian empire.
15. Campli was separated from Teramo in 1588 to be independent, but
opposed; added to Ortona with town status by 1600, Donvito and
Pellegrino, L’organizzazione. Abruzzi, 9.
16. The episcopal seminary is taken over by Jesuits in 1621.
17. Episcopal seminary vaguely noted at Atri, but Jesuit College probably
doing the main training, Donvito and Pellegrino, 75.
18. A pioneering proto-seminary predating the Tridentine recommendations.
19. Another proto-seminary.
20. Ragusa was now an independent Republic, but with a strong Venetian
influence; according to Eubel, Hierarchia, III 281, IV 291, its bishops up
to 1616 were ‘Italian’ rather than local Ragusan.
21. Recanati, Loreto and Macerata had complex relationships. Loreto had
a separate bishop 1586–91, but in 1592 Recanati and Loreto were
re-united as co-equals (‘aeques principalites’) under one bishop,
(Eubel, Hierarchia, III 220); and see Macerata earlier.
22. Closed, but Barnabites restart one 1654. From c.1590 had had a clerical
school as ‘quasi-seminary’.
23. Synods in 1597 and 1618 claimed that synods were being held annually,
Sposato, Aspetti, 218.
A Brief Reading Guide

The literature behind the writing of this book is considerable, and the
Bibliography only reflects part of it, but should be enough for schol-
ars with overlapping interests, and postgraduates wanting to develop
areas and themes, using Italian. This brief guide is for the student and
general reader looking for the most helpful and stimulating ‘further
reading’. Gregory Hanlon’s Early Modern Italy, 1550–1800 (Macmillan,
2000, pb), provides a good all-round study, but has a more pessimistic
view of the seventeenth century than I provide in my own Early
Modern Italy. A Social History (Routledge, 2000, pb), which starts a little
earlier. John A. Marino (ed.) Early Modern Italy (OUP, 2002, pb) has
two very relevant chapters: John Martin’s ‘Religion, renewal and
reform’, and Anne Jacobson Schutte’s, ‘Religion, spirituality and the
Post-Tridentine Church’. My own Italian Confraternities in the Sixteenth
Century (CUP, 1989; 2003, pb reprint – but no chance was given for
corrections or update), has been frequently cited in several chapters,
and it remains a major guide to religious social activity. For the wider
church and religion context, my preference is for Michael Mullett’s
The Catholic Reformation (Routledge, 1999, pb). A.D. Wright’s The Early
Modern Papacy (Longman, 2000, pb), is an indispensable guide,
digesting the huge literature on Popes and the Papacy. John
O’Malley’s The First Jesuits (Harvard UP), is vital, and balanced, on the
crucial new Order, by a superb Jesuit scholar. Exciting work has
recently been produced on religious women, in and out of convents;
accessible highlights include Mary Laven’s Virgins of Venice (Viking/
Penguin, 2002, pb), judicious and understanding on (mainly) the
more unholy sides of convent life; P. Renée Baernstein, A Convent Tale
(Routledge, 2002), on the battle for women to have a ‘third state’

275
276 CHURCH, RELIGION AND SOCIETY IN EARLY MODERN ITALY

between home and enclosed convent, then for a Milan convent to be

a female power house; and Anne J. Schutte’s Aspiring Saints (The John
Hopkins Press, 2001), for saintly women and frauds, and the problem –
especially for the Inquisition – in deciding which they were. Schutte’s
book is also a good way of looking at aspects of Inquisition proce-
dures. Carlo Ginzburg’s The Cheese and the Worms. The Cosmos of a
Sixteenth Century Miller (1980 trans., John Hopkins, 1997, pb, or
Penguin, 1992, pb), and The Night Battles Witchcraft and Agrarian Cults
(1983 trans., John Hopkins, 1997, pb), are rightly famous studies of
the interaction between inquisitors and local beliefs and behaviour.
David Gentilcore’s From Bishop to Witch (Manchester UP, 1992), though
on a small area in southern Italy, is intriguing and helpful on many
issues on the periphery.
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Corporazioni Religiose. S. Sacramento di Bagnacavallo, vol. 424 Decreti
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Massaria (1633–1794); Compagnia del Ssmo Rosario in Crevalcore,
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Miscellania.
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Index

[Note. For space reasons, the Index does not list Bishoprics listed in the Appendix
which are not mentioned in the main text. With smaller places the heading ‘diocese’
may cover a variety of aspects, which receive sub-headings for major bishoprics.
‘Protestant’ is used, especially in sub-headings, to cover all those showing some
significant interest in northern reform ideas, and also Valdesian and Waldensian
beliefs. Modern authors are only indexed if there is a major comment on them in
the main text. Minor references to non-religious writers and writings, mentioned in
discussing libraries or censorship for example, are not indexed.]

Abruzzi, map 1, 74, 84, 146 Amelia, nunneries in, 163

Acquaviva, family, 84; Claudio, Jesuit, Anabaptism, in Italy, 4, 7, 10–13, 15, 161,
117, 127 173, 187, Table 9.1
Acqui, map 2, diocese, 78 Anagni, diocese, 78, 102, 256n.42
Adria, diocese, seat at Rovigo, map 2, and Ancona, map 3, diocese, 91, 163;
inquisition, 172 inquisitor, 53, 172
Adrian, VI, xvii, 45 Angeliche (Angelicals of St Paul), 56–7, 149
Alatri, map 3, diocese, 66 Anguissola, Elena, nun and painter, 166;
Alba, map 2, diocese, 78 Sofonisba, court painter, 166
Albano, map 3, diocese, 71, 123, 157 Animuccia, Giovanni, composer, 211, 213
Alberigo, Giuseppe, historian, 23, 62 Antonio da Cervia, executed heretic, 35
Alberti, Leandro degli, inquisitor, 11 Antonio ‘marangone’, heretic, 10
Alberti, Romano, on art, 205 Aosta, map 2, bishopric, 63, 98
Albuquerque, Duke of, Aquileia, map 1, Patriarchate, 14, 49, 63,
Governor of Milan, 68 273n.6; inquisition, 172, 176, 189,
Aldobrandini, family, xviii, 157; Pietro, 193; visitations, 14
Cardinal, 41 Aretino, Pietro, writer, 7, 95, 184
Alessandria, map 2, diocese, 115, 118; Arrigoni, Pompeo, Cardinal, 173
inquisition, 172 art, Ch. 10 passim; Bible for illiterate,
Alessandro da Firenze, exorcist, 194 71–2, 198, 204–5; in nunneries, 166;
Alessi, Galeazzo, architect, 202 supervision of, 26, 30, 77, 203–4;
Alexander, VII, xviii, 39, 197, 202, 227 types of religious art, 205–9, 227;
Aliprandini, B., bishop, 63, 273n.8 writers on, 71–2, 203–4

300
 INDEX 301

Ascoli, map 3, diocese, 204 Benevento, map 3, archbishopric, 84,

Asolo, map 5, 215; and Protestants, 12 139; provincial councils and synods,
Assisi, map 3, pilgrims, 137, 220 74–5
Asti, map 2, diocese and bishop, 66, 95; Berezio, Adriano, bishop, 66
inquisition, 172 Bergamo, maps 1, 2 and 5, diocese, 7, 47,
auto autodafè, 176, 178–80 65, 75, 116, 169, 215, 227;
Avellino, map 3, diocese 78; seminary, 78, inquisition, 173; Protestants, 12
256n.42 Bernardino of Siena, San (St), 107,
Avellino, Andrea St, 208 126, 208
Aversa, map 3, diocese, 78 Bernini, Gian Lorenzo, 41, 58, 202–3,
206, 217, 219; Pietro (father), 41
Baglione, Giovanni, painter, 207 Bertano, Pietro, bishop, 23
Bagnacavallo, and confraternities, 82, Bertapaia, Vienna, and inquisition, 106
135, 141 betrothal, see marriage
Balducci, Antonio, inquisition Bible, 94–5, 103, 116, 185; lay challenges
official, 192 to interpretation, 13–14; Council of
baptism, 16, 25, 87, 93–4, 96, 98 Trent on, 24; translations of, 5, 10,
Barbano, Bernardin, anabaptist, 173 13–16, 70, 95, 161–2, 183–6, 198
Barbarigo, Gregorio, bishop, 73, 168, Bicchi, Alessandro, bishop and nunzio, 80
223, 227 bishoprics and bishops, see Appendix for
Barbaro, Daniele, bishop 23; Francesco, bishoprics, maps 2–4, and Ch. 4
bishop, 161 passim; duties and roles, 28–9, 62,
Barberini, family, xviii, 41–2, 157, 200, 73–4, episcopal powers, 22, 28–9;
213–14; Cardinal Antonio, 41, 214; ‘model’ bishops, 32–3, 67–73
Cardinal Carlo, 41, Cardinal Bitetto, diocese, 78
Francesco, 90, 145, 214; Cardinal Bollani, Domenico, bishop, 23, 95, 199
Maffeo, 41, 200, and see also as Bologna, maps 1, 2 and 5, 36, 41, 59, 64,
Urban, VIII 71–2, 104, 207, 214–15;
Bari, maps 1 and 3, diocese, 78, 119, 138, archbishopric created, 64, 71;
256n.42; pilgrims, 220 confraternities and hospitals, 134,
Barletta, 256n42; nunnery, 78 137–8, 140–1, 147–9, 215; diocese
Barnabites, 36, 55–6, 68, 74, 114, 115, and archdiocese, 41, 64, 71–2, 75–6,
118, 143, 167, 198, 201, 216, 274n.22 92–3, 94, 97, 215; Christian Doctrine
Barocci, Federico, painter, 206–9 teaching, 119–23; Council meeting
Baronio, Cesare, Cardinal and historian, in, 21, 66; Eucharist devotions
viii, 40, 42, 50, 59, 64, 144, 181 (Addobbi, Decennale Eucarista,
Bascapé, Carlo, 69 Quarantore), 216; Inquisition, 11,
Basilicata, map 1, 74, 102, 146 52–3, 170, 177–8, 182, 192;
Bassi, Martino, architect, 202 Protestants, 10, 11, 35, 182; S. Pietro
Beccaria, Cesare, writer, 227 cathedral, 201; see Paleotti
Bellarmino, Roberto, Cardinal, xiii, 46, nunneries, 151–65; S. Cristina, 159–60,
50, 67, 104, 117, 121, 206 165; S. Margherita, 162; SS. Vitale e
Bellori, Giovanni Pietro, writer on Agricola, nunnery and parish, 141,
art, 207 155, 160–1; and music, 165
benandanti, or ‘night-battlers’, 171, 175, Bolognetti, Alberto, nunzio, 48, 77–8
191–4, 196, 224 Bonciari, Marcantonio, humanist, 118
Benedict, XIV (Pope 1724–30), 101 Bonelli, Michele, xvii, 41
Benedictines, 24, 54, 66, 89, 160–2, 167 Bonomi, G.F., Visitor, 98
Beneficio di Cristo, 9, 11, 14, 35, 179, 180–1 Bonomo, Pietro, bishop, 7
302 INDEX

Borghese, family, xviii, 157, 214; Camillo, Calasanz, (or Calasanzio), José de, 60, 123
as bishop, 64, see under Paul V; Calepin, Girolamo, printer, 184
Scipione, Cardinal, 40–1 Calvin, Jean, xi, 4, 17–18, 58, 66, 185
Borghini, Raffaelo, writer on art, 208 Calvinism and Calvinists, in Italy, 4, 5,
Borgia, Gaspare, Cardinal, 42–3 9, 10, 16, 17, 34–5, 124, 161, 177,
Borromeo, Carlo, Cardinal Archbishop, 180, 187
xvii, 32–3, 34, 41, 43, 45–7, 57, 59, Camaiani, Pietro bishop, 22, 204
67, 75, 77, 81–2, 91, 95, 97, 103, 116, Camillo de Lellis, and Camilliani (or
122–3, 125–6, 128, 144–5, 180, 183, Ministers of the Sick), 66, 144
200–1, 225; confession and Campania, map 1, 74, 114
confessional society, 104–6; as Canisius, Peter, Jesuit, 58, 120
‘model bishop’, 67–70, 227 Cantimori, Delio, historian, 5
Borromeo, Federico, Cardinal Archbishop, Capaccio, diocese (with Vallo di Lucania,
107, 122, 198; and music 165 maps 3 and 4), 99, 100
Bortoli, Benedetto, bishop, 84 Capecelatro, Giuseppe, archbishop, on
Bossio, Francesco, bishop, 77 clerical celibacy, 108
Bottonio, Timoteo, Dominican, 72, Capo d’Istria, (or Capodistria), map 1,
256n.27 diocese, 9, 66; inquisition, 173
Bovino, maps 3 and 5, Waldensian centre Caponetto, Salvatore, historian, 3–4, 11
Brescia, maps 2 and 5, 2, 57, 168, 273n3; Capua, diocese, map 3, 46
diocese and bishops, 23, 95, 104, Capuchins, 9, 36, 60–1, 107, 120–2,
119, 134, 168, 199, 200; inquisition, 125–8, 136, 139, 143, 147, 216, 218
173; philanthropy, 57, 122, 142; Caraccioli, Decio G., archbishop, 119
Protestants, 10–12, 16, 17 Caracciolo, Giovanni Battista,
Bressanone, bishopric, 63, 273n.8 painter, 207
breviary, 31, 34, 80, 94–5, 162 Carafa, Antonio, Cardinal, 47
Brisegno, Bernardino, Nunzio, 17 Carafa, Carlo, and Pii Operai, 128
Brucioli, Antonio and Bible, 10, 14 Carafa, Gian Pietro, Cardinal and
Brugnalesco, Valeria and daughter Pope Paul, IV, xvii, 6, 8–10, 26,
Splandiana Mariano, magical 47, 51, 55, 176
arts, 196 Carafa, Mario, archbishop, 114
Bruno, Giordano, burned heretic, 52, Carafa, Vincenzo, Jesuit, 127
174, 176 Caravaggio, (Michelangelo Merisi),
Bucer, Martin and influence in Italy, painter, 133, 198, 206–7
10, 11, 15, 179 Cardinal Legates, 22, 48
Budrio, confraternity, 141 Cardinal nephews (nipoti), 41–3, 44; see
Buonarroti, Michelangelo, the Younger, xvii–xviii:The Early Modern
and plays, 164 Popes
Burali, Paolo, archbishop, 46, 65, 81, Cardinal Protectors, 34, 43, 54, 89
116, 191, 225 Cardinals, College of, and consistories, 40,
Busale, Girolamo, anabaptist, 12 42–3, 72; profile of Cardinals, 44–5
Buzio, Giovanni, da Montalcino, Carioni, Fra Battista, da Crema, 56
Lutheran martyr, 178 Carissimi, Giacomo, composer, 214
Carlini, Benedetta, lesbian nun, 151
Cacciaguerra, Buonsignore, 72, 104 Carnesecchi, Pietro, executed heretic, 3,
Caccianemici, Camilla, executed 5, 9, 13, 17, 176, 178–9
heretic, 180 carnival, 67, 198, 214, 216, 219, 222
Calabria, map 4, 4, 65, 74, 84, 226; Carracci, Annibale and Lodovico,
Protestants and Waldensians, 11, 12, painters, 198, 207, 209
128, 181 Càsola, map 5, Protestants, 10
 INDEX 303

Casale, Giambattista, diarist and teacher, Cittanova, diocese, 66

33, 68–9, 122, 135, 215 Cividale, inquisition, 173; nunneries, 159
Casale (Mantua), 180 Civitavecchia, diocese, 123
Casale Monferrato, maps 2 and 5, Civrana, Anzola, and inquisition, 226
diocese, 78; inquisition, 173 Clement, VIII, xviii, 41–4, 144, 148, 181
Casolo, Giacomo Filippo, and Clement, IX, xviii, 214
Pelagini, 169 Clement, X, xviii, 39
Castelli, Giovanni Battista, bishop, 124 clergy, general: see Ch. 5 passim; clerical
Castellino da Castello, and Christian numbers, 89–90; education of, 90,
Doctrine teaching, 119, 122 112–19; immorality of, 84, 107–10
Castiglione, Baldesar, and parish priests, see Ch.5 passim;
censorship, 184 appointment of, 83–4, 93; concorso,
Catania, map 4, diocese, 64 91; duties, 93–6; education, 90–1,
Cateau Cambrésis, peace of, 1 113–19, and see seminaries;
catechisms, 31, 34, 68, 71, 94–5, 112, 117, libraries and literature for, 94–5;
119–24, 134, 140, 161, 185 supervision of, 73–84, 91
Caterina de’ Ricci, St, nun, 72, 162 Colle Val D’Elsa, map 2, bishopric 62
Catholic Reform, as concept, xi–xii, Colonna family, 157, 174; Anna, 157;
67, 72 Girolamo, archbishop, 76, 108, 109;
Cava, map 3, diocese, 66 Vittoria, marchioness of Pescara, 3,
Cecchi, Giovan Maria, playwright, 164 9; Vittoria, nun, 157
Ceneda, and inquisition, 173 Comacchio, map 2, diocese, 64, 91, 123
Cerano, Il (G.B.Crespi), painter, 206 Comerford, Kathleen, historian, 115
Cerbone, Caterina, baroness, 167 Comitoli, Napoleone, bishop, 76, 94, 143
Cerdoni family, Lutherans, 173 Como, map 2, 12; diocese, 114, 115, 118;
Cerliano (Mugello), parish church, 95–6, inquisition, 173
200, 220 conclaves, 40, 42, 45
Cervia, diocese, 273n.9 Concordia, and inquisition tribunal, 176,
Cervini, Marcello, see Marcellus, II 189, 193
Cesarini, Ascanio, bishop, 118 confession, attitudes to, 14–15, 22, 25,
Cesena, map 2, diocese, 76 27, 29–30, 39, 82, 103–6, 128, 130,
Charles V, Emperor, 21, 22, 45 179, 195, 206; confessional box,
chiese ricettizie, 87–8, 93, 134, and see 104–5, 110, 199, and solicitation, 91,
parishes 110; and control, 82, 93, 105;
Chieti, map 3, diocese, 55 practice of, 82, 91–3, 103, 106
Chigi, family, xviii, 165, 203; Fabio, 227, confraternities, Ch. 7 passim; 2, 5, 25, 27,
see Alexander, VII 29, 50, 55, 58, 66, 68, 71, 77, 79, 88,
Chioggia, map 2, diocese, 65, 148, 95–7, 104, 127, 211–12, 225;
215 Christian Doctrine schools, 66, 68,
Christian Doctrine teaching and schools, 69, 93, 119–26, 134, 137, 168;
33, 68–71, 77, 80, 93, 96, 112, control over, 29, 33, 34, 77, 80, and
117–24, 128–9, 133, 160; see also see Visitations; of Divine Love, 55–7,
confraternities 132; and dowries, 130, 139, 142–3;
churches, post-tridentine changes, 23, 30, Holy Sacrament, 68, 82, 120, 134–5,
96–8, 99–100, 197–203; inspection 139–41, 147, 207, 220; names for,
of, 77, 199–200; care of, 95–6, 131; Nome di Dio (Name of
134,199–200, 213; misuse of, 97–8 God), 71, 134, 140; roles, 130–1;
Cilento region, 99 Rosary, 68, 82, 132, 134–5, 140, 221;
Cittadella, map 5, 12 see also hospitals; philanthropy;
Città di Castello, map 3, diocese, 66 processions
304 INDEX

Congregations of the Church, 31, 36, De Angelis, Paolo, on philanthropy, 138

43–8, 69, 111; of Bishops, 43, 68, 75, De’ Cavalieri, Emilio, composer, 214
77, 153; Camera Apostolica, 43, 46; Della Corgna, Fulvio, bishop,
for Convents, 44; Datary, 43, 44, 46, 76, 89, 95
47, 90; of the Council, see under Della Porta, Giacomo, architect, 201–2
Trent; Good Government (Buon Della Rovere, Girolamo, Cardinal
Governo), 43–4, 46; Propaganda Archbishop, 64, 79
Fidei, 44; of Regulars, 153, 160; for Delle Agocchie, Giovanni Paulo, and
Residence of Bishops, 44, 84; Rota, inquisition, 177
43, 47; see also Index; Inquisition Del Tufo, Giovanni Battista, Theatine,
conservatories, orphanages, refuges, 29, 53, 124, 203
55, 132, 134, 141–3, 165, 167–8, 225; De Luca, Giovanni Battista, Cardinal,
see also hospitals 153
Contarini family, 17; Andriana and De’ Rossi, G.D., Governor of
Chiara, philanthropists, 167; Perugia, 48
Gasparo, Cardinal, xi, 6, 9 D’Este, ruling family of Ferrara, 3, 42;
convents, see nunneries Duchess Renée, 3; Duke Ercole II,
Conversano, diocese, 78, 256n.42 3, 16
Convertite, Case delle, Houses for the Deutscher, Thomas, historian,
Converted, 142, 265n.39 114–15
Corsica, map 3, 59, 63 Di Basti, Hieronimo, parish priest, 95
Cortona, map 3, nunnery, 194 Dionigi, Bartolomeo, and Bible, 184
Coryat, Thomas, on Venetian music, Ditchfield, Simon, historian, xvii, 79,
211–12 225, 226
Cosenza, maps 4 and 5, diocese and Divine Love, Company of,
bishops, 60, 95, 123, 138 see confraternities
Cosimo I de’ Medici, Duke and Grand- Domenichino, painter, 205–6, 208
Duke of Tuscany, 17, 22, 133, 143, Dominicans, 22, 53, 54, 56, 65–6, 72–3,
146, 201 110, 118, 132–4, 152, 213, 222;
Corner (or Cornaro), Venetian family inquisitors, 53, 54, 72–3, 178
17; Rome chapel, 203; Soprana, Donà, Leonardo, Doge, 49–50
philanthropist, 167 Donato (or Donà), Zuan, della
Costanzo, Giovanni Battista, bishop, 95 Colombina, and inquisition, 177
Counter Reformation, as concept, Doni, Anton Francesco, writer, 7–8
xi–xii, 51, 69, 171 Donzellini, Girolamo, executed book
Cozzolani, Chiara, nun, composer, 165 dealer, 183
Crema, map 2, diocese, 63–5;
inquisition, 173 Early Modern Catholicism, as
Cremona, maps 2 and 5, diocese, 55–6, concept, xii
64, 115, 118, 166; inquisition, 173; education, religious, Ch. 6 passim;
Protestants, 12 see under : Barnabites, colleges;
Crotone, map 4, diocese, 65 Christian Doctrine teaching; clergy;
Crevalcore, parish, 134 confraternities; Jesuits, colleges;
cult of saints, 8, 13, 15, 30 Leonardi; Scolopi; seminaries
Elisabetta ‘Thodesca’, and Venetian
D’Afflitto, Annibale, archbishop, 90 inquisition, 226
Dal Fosso, Gaspar, archbishop, 90 Emmanuele Filiberto, Duke of Savoy, 17;
Dalmatia, 63, 65, 121, 220, 273n.2 and marriages, 99
Danti, Ignazio, bishop, 66 England, executions, 176
 INDEX 305

Erasmus and Erasmianism, in Italy, 3, 5, 203, 213–14; nunneries, 73, 150, 153,
7–8, 10 155, 162, 164–5, and Le Murate, 155,
Ercolani, Vincenzo, bishop, 66, 67, 72–3, 162; Protestants, 9, 11, 12, 17
76–7, 125, 163; as ‘model bishop’, Folco, Giulio, and Roman
72–3 philanthropy, 138
Eucharist, debates and decrees on, 13, 22, Foligno, map 3, diocese and bishop, 78
25–7, 66, 123, 127; devotions and Fondi, map 5, Valdesians, 9
display of Host, 97, 128, 200, 206, Fontanini, Benedetto da Mantova, 8;
216–17; see Forty Hour Devotion see Beneficio di Cristo
exorcism, 193–5, 224 Fonte, Moderata (or Modesta Pozzo),
writer, 164
Faenza, maps 2 and 5, diocese and Forty Hour Devotions (Quarantore), 56,
bishops, 91, 94, 95; inquisition, 71, 73, 97, 126, 141, 216–17
173, 180 Fragnito, Gigliola, historian, 61, 172, 183
Fano, map 2, bishopric of, 23; France, and Protestant (Huguenot)
music, 215 connections, 16–17, 51; see also
Fanucci, Camillo, on Roman philanthropy Calvinism
and devotions, 60, 139, 144, 219 Francis de Sales, influence, 227
Farfaro, Nicolo on music, 215–16 Franciscans, 9–11, 33, 36, 61, 65, 67, 78,
fasting, 4, 12, 15, 69, 159, 174, 190, 227 82, 111, 125, 146, 151, 153, 159, 170,
Fatebenefratelli, or Hospitalers of 185, 201; see Capuchins
S.Giovanni di Dio, 60, 73 Franco, Veronica, poet, and
Feltre, diocese and bishop, 14, 100 prostitutes, 142
Ferdinand I, King and Emperor, 2 Frescobaldi, Fiammetta, nun
Ferentino, map 3, diocese, 78, 256n.42 historian, 162
Fermo, map 3, 59; inquisition, 173 Frescobaldi, Girolamo, musician, 211
Ferone, Giovanni Battista, concubinous Friuli, map 1, 12, 53, 101, 215, 226; and
priest, 109 inquisition, 53, 110, 172, 187–93,
Ferrara, maps 1, 2 and 5, 4, 17–18, 75, Table 9.1
149, 212, 215; diocese, 75; Frosciante, Caterina Angelica, coerced
inquisition, 173; Protestants, 4, 12, nun, 152
17, 18, 51 Fumo, Bartolomeo, his Summa, 103–4,
Ferrazzi, Cecilia, ‘pretend saint’, 111, 258n.26
167–70, 175, 227
Fetti, Lucrina, nun, painter, 166 Gabrieli, Giovanni, composer, 212
Fiesole, map 2, diocese, 22, 104; Gaeta, map 3, 2
seminary, 115–16 Galateo, Girolamo Capuchin, 9–10
Filarete (Antonio Averlino), hospital Galeota, Mario, Valdesian, 179
architect, 143 Galilei, Galileo, 52, 96, 123, 163–4, 176;
Finetti, Francesco, sodomitic priest, 109 Suor Maria Celeste, his daughter
Fivizzano, map 5, Protestants, 10 and nun, 163–4
flagellation (‘discipline’), 69, 128, 132, Galli, Antonio Maria, Cardinal bishop, 66
136, 139, 203, 217 Gallo, Dionisio, French humanist in
Florence, maps 1, 2 and 5, 3, 72, 83, 123, Venice goal, 16–17
201; churches, 201; confraternities Gambara, Laura, countess,
and hospitals, 133, 135, 140, 147, philanthropist, 142
203, 213; diocese, 80, 83, 114; Gardone, map 5, Protestants, 12
inquisition and indexes, 53, 123, Garfagnana, map 5, Protestants, 10, 12
176, 181, 184, 192; music and drama, Gasparutto, Paolo, benandante, 193
306 INDEX

Gaulli, Giovanni Battista (Baciccio), Greek Orthodox, 15, 108–9, 131, 187,
painter, 206 Table 9.1, 190; and Greek rites,
Gelido, Pietro, Calvinist, 161 108–9
Genetto, Gaspar, of Castel Ivano, captain, Gregorio da Napoli, Capuchin, and
heretic, 14–16 Compendio della Dottrina
Genoa, maps 1, 2 and 5, 60, 77, 123; Christiana, 121
Company of Divine Love, 132, 163; Gregory, XIII, xvii, 47, 70, 97, 144
diocese, 77, 122, 128, 148; Gregory, XIV, xvii, 40, 157
inquisition, 173; nunneries, 163–5; Gregory, XV, xviii, 40, 41, 60
Protestants, 11, 12 Grendler, Paul, historian, 7, 48, 186
Gentilcore, David, historian, 79, 219 Grimani, Giovanni, Patriarch of
Gerace – Locri, map 4, diocese, 84 Aquileia, 6–7, 20; Isabella,
Gervasio, Giovanni Antonio, friar, and philanthropist, 167
solicitation, 110 Guardi, Francesco, painter, 160
Gessi, Berlingiero, nunzio, 185 Guarino, Francesco, painter of
Gesualdo, Alfonso, archbishop. 88, 114; St Agatha, 228, 272n.7
Carlo, Prince, composer, 212 Gubbio, map 3, 138; inquisition, 173
Ghislieri, Alessandro, bishop, 65; Guercino, (Francesco Barbieri), painter,
Michele, inquisitor, xvii, 70, 73, 179, 206–7
and see Pius V Guidiccioni, Bartolomeo, Cardinal, 10
Giberti, Gian Matteo, bishop, xi, 32, 36, Guissani, Giovanni Pietro, 81
87, 104, 133, 147, 223
Gigli, Giacinto, Roman diarist, 221–2 Holy Office, see Inquisition
Ginzburg, Carlo, historian, 193 hospitals, 29, 33, 42–3, 49, 55–6, 59–60,
Gioliti, Gabriele, printer, 16 73, 77–9, 132, 137–47, 167, 225; see
Giovanni Antonio da Foiano, inquisitor, also confraternities; conservatories
182, 192
Giovio, Valentino, parish priest, 95 Iesi, map 3, diocese, 64
Girolamo da Narni, Capuchin, on Imola, map 2, diocese, 66; inquisition, 195
preaching, 60, 126 Impruneta, pilgrims, 220
Giustiniani, Marc’Antonio, and Hebrew Inchino, Gabriele, on preaching, 126
books, 186 Index of Prohibited Books, and
godparents, see baptism Congregation of, 13, 16, 31, 35, 39,
good works, and salvation by, xiii, 2, 7, 66, 72, 172, 180, 182–5; 1596 Index
15, 20, 24–5, 33, 120, 130, 132, (Clementine), 16, 24, 48, 49, 161,
137–8; see confraternities, 182–5
hospitals indulgences, 16, 30, 137–8, 145, 178, 181,
Gonzaga family, 43, 166, 180; Eleonora, 220–1; attacks on, 16
duchess of Urbino, 9; Ercole, Ingegnero, Marc’Antonio,
Cardinal Legate, 23, 32, 36; composer, 210
Francesco, Minim and bishop, 66; Innocent IX, xvii, 39
Giulia, 9, 179; Guglielmo, Duke, and Innocent X, xviii, 41
music, 210; Leonora, Duchess of Innocent XI, xviii, 42, 123, 223
Mantua, and female teachers, 122; Innocent XII, xviii, 40
Luigi, philanthropist, 144; Vincenzo, Inquisition, Roman, (or Holy Office),
Duke, 78 central organisation and control:
Gostanza da Libbiano, midwife, and 4–5, 6, 8–9, 11–13, 30, 34–5, 36,
inquisition, 192 39–41, 43, 47, 51–4, 63, 72, 82,
Gravina, map 3, diocese, 77 105–6, 107, Ch. 9 passim, 224–5;
Graziani, Anton Maria, nunzio, 48 tribunals, list of, 173; see Index
 INDEX 307

Inquisition, Roman – continued Lauretano, Michele, Jesuit, on music,

inquisitors in action, 9, 14–18, 26, 35, 211
52–3, 56, 106, 110, 111, 123, Lavello, diocese, 64, 66
171–96, Tables 9.1. and 9.2; auto Laven, Mary, historian, 156, 159
or autodafè, 178–80, 196; magical Lazzaristi (Fathers of the Missions),
arts, superstition, witchcraft cases, 129
174–5, 186–94, Tables 9.1 and 9.2.; Lecce, maps 1 and 4; diocese, 55, 88, 147,
sentencing, 175–8, and 151, 202–3; Jesuit mission, 124;
executions, 9, 12, 16, 18, 35, 53, philanthropy, 147
176, 178–81, 182–3; torture, 18, Lent, 28–9, 100, 190, 215, 228
175, 190, 191; see under main cities Leonardi, Giovanni, and Leonardini
and towns for local inquisition activity (Clerks Regular of Mother of
Inquisition, Spanish (then Iberian), 8, 34, God), 60
51–2, 57, 69, 173, 176, 191 Lippi, Cesare, bishop, 66
Istria, map 5, 66, 173; and Protestants, Litta, Alfonso, archbishop, 166
10, 12–13 ‘living saints’ (sante vive), and ‘pretend
saints’, 56, 110–11, 149, 167, 170,
Janis, Maria, ‘pretend saint’, 168–9, 227 194–5, 224, 227
Jedin, Hubert, historian, 22, 27 Locarno, map 5, and Protestants, 11
Jesuits, 22, 36, 38, 46, 54, 57–9, 68, 74, Lodi, map 2, diocese, 84, 115, 118
78, 107, 125, 167, 184, 197, 198, 203, Lomazzo, Giovanni Paolo, on art,
205, 207, 218–20, 223, 225, 227–8; 205
and the arts, 58, 201, 205, 212, Lombardy, 1, 21, 34, 40, 52, 69, 77, 95–6,
213–14, 216–17; confraternities and 107, 113; seminaries, 115–19, 121,
congregations, 59, 133, 136, 147; 123, 140–1; see Milan
colleges and education, 59, 114–15, Longhena, Baldassare, architect, 213,
117–19, 121, 123–4, 211; hospitals, Longhi, Pietro, painter, 160
philanthropy and refuges, 59, 143, Longino, Domenico, porter, lewd
144, 148; missionaries in “Indies” of singer, 174
Italy, 58–9, 127–9; Spiritual Exercises, Longo, Pietro, executed book
55, 57–8, 112–13, 124, 126, 197, 205 dealer, 183
Jews and Judaizers, 8, 76, 119, 131, 180, Loredan, Antonio, 17
186, 189–90, Tables 9.1 and 9.2, 227; Loreto, maps 1 and 3, diocese, 274n.13;
Hebrew books, 186 and Virgin’s House, 137, 220
Jubilees, 137, 220–1 Loyola, Ignatius, xi, Jesuit, 57–9, 110–13,
Julia, drunken prostitute, and 121, 127, 143
inquisition, 226 Lucatelli, Eustacchio, bishop, 184
Julius III, xvii, 56 Lucca, maps 1, 2 and 5, 60, 65;
Justification, decree on, 20, 22–5 Protestants, 4, 9–12
Ludovisi, family, 157; Lodovico, Cardinal,
Küng, Hans, theologian, 25, 34 xviii, 41, 155
Lunigiana, map 5, and Protestants,
Lacedonia (Lacedogna), map 3, 10, 12
diocese, 84 Lupari, Antonia Ludovica, nun 160; Don
Lainez, Diego, Jesuit, 22, 145 Alfonso, Theatine, 160
Lando, Ortensio, writer, 7 Luther, Martin, xi, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 10, 16, 18,
Lanfranco, Giovanni, painter, 24, 179
206, 208 Lutheranism, in Italy, Ch.1 passim, 35, 53,
Laude (Lauds), religious songs, 59, 97, 173, 179, 180, 186–7, Tables 9.1 and
121, 128, 132, 136, 164, 213, 219 9.2; see also Protestantism
308 INDEX

Macerata, map 3, diocese, 75, 274nn.13 Matera, map 3, diocese, 84

and 21 Mayer, Thomas, historian, 6
Machiavelli, Nicolò, and censorship, Medici, Catherine de’. Queen of
184–5 France, 17
Maderno, Carlo, architect, 201–2 Medici, Florence family, 42, 45, 136;
Madruzzo, family, 21; Christopher, Cosimo I, Duke, then Grand-Duke,
bishop, 63; Ludovico, bishop, 80–1 of Tuscany, see under Cosimo;
Magenta, Giovanni, architect, 201–2 Francesco I, Grand Duke, 77
magical arts, see Inquisition; superstitious Meietti, Roberto, publisher, bookseller,
practices 182, 185
Magliano, seminary, 113 Melanchthon, Philipp, influence in Italy,
Malerbi (or Malermi), Nicolò, bible xi, 3, 9, 15
translator, 95, 162, 183 Melfi, map 3, diocese, 64, 98
Malgrate, Lombard parish, 95–6 Mellini, Angela, ‘living saint’, 170
Malipiero, Giacomo, heretical lawyer, 17 Menghi, Girolamo, exorcist, 194
Malipiero, Malipiera, prostitute, 155 Menocchio, see Scandella
Manelfi, Pietro, and anabaptists, 11–12 Merici, Angela, Ursuline, 57, 223
Manfredi, Fulgenzio, 185 Messina, maps 1 and 4, diocese, 60,
Manfredonia, map 5, Waldensian centre 123, 163
Mantua, maps 1, 2 and 5, 78, 178, 209, Messita, Scipione, and magic, 176–7
212; bishops and diocese 32, 36, 66, Miani, family, 17; Girolamo, xii,
78, 122, 152, 154, 166, 213; 53,142, 223
inquisition, 173, 181; music, 210–15; Michelangelo (Buonarroti), 7, 9, 201, 202
Protestants, 10–11; S. Barbara Milan, maps 1, 2 and 5; 47, 68–9, 122,
chapel, 210; see Gonzagas 134, 199, 211, 218; archdiocese, 32–3,
Manzoni, Alessandro, The Betrothed, and 68–70, 81, 89–90; diocese, 57, 64, 77,
marriage, 100–1 92, 102, 104, 183, 200; Christian
Marcelli, Cesare, archbishop, 46 Doctrine teaching, 68, 112–13,
Marcellus II, xvii, 39, 40, 210 120–3; inquisition and indexes, 53,
Marche region, 91 169, 173, 181; nunneries, 154–6, 165,
Marchesani, Antonio, bishop, 66 of S. Paolo, 56, 154, 157, of
Marescotti, Claudio, bishop, 67 S. Radegonda and music, 165;
Maria Eufrasia della Croce, nun, Protestants, 11, 12; philanthropy,
painter, 167 143, 147; provincial councils and
Maria Maddalena d’Austria, Grand synods, 74–5, 97; S. Maria presso
Duchess of Tuscany, 65 S. Celso, 202; S. Pelagia and Pelagini,
Maria Maddalena de’ Pazzi, St, nun, 162 169; seminaries, 92, 115–19;
marriage, annulment, divorce, see Borromeo, Carlo and Federico
separation, 101–2; attitudes to, 4, 17, missal, 31, 34, 80, 94–5
23, 25, 68, 95, 99–103, 108, 149, 167, Missini, Giulio, inquisitor, 193, 218
169, 195; ceremonies, 99–100; Trent missions in Italy, 10, 58, 60, 126–9
on, and decree Tametsi, 17, 23, 27–8, Modena, maps 1, 2 and 5; diocese and
32, 48, 75, 76, 80, 94, 98–100; see bishops, 23, 64, 84, 148, 215;
confraternities, dowries inquisition, 35, 173; Protestants,
Marino, Giambattista, poet on art, 205 12, 13, 35
Martin, Gregory, Jesuit on Rome, 142, Moducco, Battista, benandante, 193
145, 212, 219 Molfetta, map 3, diocese, 75, 256n.42
Masini, Elisio and Sacro arsenale Molise, region, 74, 146
manual, 52 Mondovì, map 2, and inquisition, 173
 INDEX 309

Monferrato, map 1, 78 Navagero, Bernardo, Venetian

Monopoli, map 3, diocese, 75, 256n.42 ambassador, 51
Monreale, map 4, diocese, 64 Naxos and Paros, diocese, 65
Montalcino, map 3, diocese, 63 Negri, Virginia, 56
Montefeltro, 103; nunneries, 151 Negruzzo, Simona, historian, 115, 118
Montemarrano, diocese, 64, 65 Nelli, Plautilla, nun, painter, 166
Montepeloso, diocese, 64 Neri, Philip (Filippo), Oratorian
Monteverdi, Claudio, composer, 210, founder, 46, 59, 72, 144–5, 208, 213,
212–13 216, 221
Monti: di Pietà, dei Poveri and di Niccolini, Giustina, convent historian, 162
Frumentari, 29, 146 Niccolini, Pietro, archbishop, 257n.46
Morale, Pietro, priest, 166 nicodemism, 5, 8
Morone, Galeazzo, bishop, 75 Nicotera, diocese, 64
Morone, Giovanni, Cardinal Legate, Norcia, map 3, diocese, 56, 120
9, 22, 30, 71 Novara, map 2, diocese and bishops, 42,
Morosini, Giusto, 17 77, 88, 90, 93; inquisition, 173;
Murano (Venetian island), 215 music, 215; seminaries, 93, 115–18
music, 7, 30, 59, 96, 100, 102, 112, 117–8, nunneries and nuns, xiii, 30, 42, 47–8,
136, 140, 144–5, 150, 159, 162, 56, 68, 72, 77–9, 84, 95, 131, Ch. 8
164–6, 197–8, 203, 209–8, 221–2; see passim, 194; converse, 150, 154, 156,
laude; nunneries; processions 159; cultural life, 72, 160–66;
Muslims (and Mohammedanism), 2, 6, educande, 150, 154–5, 159, 160, 164;
13, 148, 187–9, Tables 9.1 and 9.2, enclosure (clausura), problems, 22,
Koran, 227 30, 32–3, 56, 149–60, 162; music,
Musso, Cornelio, preacher, 125–6 164–6; painters, 166; theatre, 163–4
nunzios, 17, 47–8, 49, 77–8, 90, 98,
Naples, maps 1,3 and 5; 2, 21, 47–9, 59, 153, 185
60, 79, 122, 128, 202–3; archbishops, Nusco, map 3, diocese, 84
46, 64, 114, 191, 226; confraternities,
conservatories and hospitals, 78, Oblates, 119
132, 133, 139–40, 143, 147–8, and Ochino, (or Tomassini), Bernardino,
Pio Monte della Misericordia, 133, 9–11, 14, 36, 60, 72, 143
207; diocese, 55, 63, 64, 78, 83–4, Odaldi, Annalena, nun playwright, 164
88–90, 114, 121, 128, 199; Olivier-Razzali, Séraphin, diarist on
inquisition, 173, 178, 180, 189, Table Congregations, 47
9.2, 191; nunneries, 151, 153, 155–6, O’Malley, John, historian xii
163; Protestants, Valdesians, 3, 6, Oratorians, 36, 40, 46, 59–60, 72, 123,
9–12, 178–80; schools, 59, 121–3, 132, 144–5, 198, 206, 212–14; see
128; seminary, 114 confraternities, of Divine Love
Kingdom of, map 1, 21, 40, 52, 60, 65, oratorios, 213–14
78, 84, 90, 92, 113, 128, 191; Orfini, Tommaso, bishop, 78, 256n.42
inquisition, 173, 178, 180; Ormaneto, Niccolò, 33, 36, 119, 153
Masaniello revolt 1647, 84, 128 Orsini, family, 157; Vincenzo Maria,
Nardo, map 4, diocese, 65 archbishop (later Benedict XIII,
Nardon, Franco, historian, 193–4 1724–30), 73, 84
Narni, diocese, 123 Orsoline, see Ursulines
Narni, Girolamo da, Capuchin, Ostuni, diocese, 78, 256n.42
60, 126 Ottoman Turkish Empire, map 1, 2, 6, 35,
Naro, G., bishop, 65 186, 190, 273n.2
310 INDEX

Padua, maps 1, 2 and 5; diocese and Pelagini, and silent prayer, 169–70
bishops, 33, 64, 67, 92, 100, 168, penance and penitence, attitudes to, 15,
215, 227; inquisition, 173, 183; 30–1, 69, 97, 104, 105–6, 110, 170,
parishes, 90, 92, 95; Protestants, 12; 176, 188, 192–3, 220; see also
university, 66–7, 227 confession
Paleotti, Alfonso, Cardinal Archbishop, Perugia, map 3, 34, 36–7, 48, 59, 208;
148, 165 bishops and diocese, 34, 63, 66, 72–3,
Paleotti, Gabriele, Cardinal Archbishop, 76–7, 88–9, 94, 95, 102, 116, 161–2,
42, 45, 64, 67, 70–2, 75, 95, 99–100, 208; confraternities, conservatories,
102–3, 107, 113, 116, 123, 124, 126, and hospitals, 73, 134, 136, 139–40,
134, 165, 198, 204–5, 217; as ‘model 221, and Casa delle Derelitte, 143,
bishop’, 45, 67–72, 256n.26; see Della Morte, 221; inquisition, 173;
Bologna San Pietro, Benedictine house, 66,
Paleotti, Rodolfo, Visitor, 257n.46, 89; seminary, 116–18
261n.24 Peruzzi, Angelo, vicar general, 14–16,
Palermo, maps 1, 4 and 5; archbishop, 21, 199–200
46; Protestants, 11–12 Pescia, map 2, and Theatine convent, 151
Palestrina, map 3, nunneries, 157 Pesenti, Antonia, ‘living saint’, 170
Palestrina (Giovanni Luigi da), Peter Leopold, Grand Duke of Tuscany,
composer, 210 84, 99, 135, 224
Pamphili, Camillo, Cardinal, xviii, 41; philanthropy, 29, 130, 132–3, 138, 141–8,
Giovanni Battista, see Innocent X 168, 209, 227; see good works, poor,
Panigarola, Francesco, preacher and Seven Acts of Mercy
bishop, 66, 95, 125, 206 Philip II, King of Spain, 1, 20–1, 29, 45,
Papacy, xiii, xvii–xviii Early Modern 52, 69, 78, 173
Popes, 22, 23, 31, 34, 35, 38–43, Piacenza, maps 1 and 2, 122, 161; bishops
64–5, 144, 178, 184–5, 223; see also and diocese, 46, 64, 65, 82, 87,
Rome; and individual Popes 115–17, 122, 160, 163
Papal State, map 1, 8, 21, 34, 37–9, 41, Piarists, see Scolopi
43–5, 47–8, 66, 129, 181, 225 Pico, Paulo, bishop, 66
parishes, pievi, and chiese ricettizie, Ch. 5 Piedmont, map 1, 4, 12, 28, 98, 103, 121,
passim; 25, 29, 34, 55, 73, 74, 76, 146; see Turin
80–1, 114, 225; parish records, 87, Pienza, map 3, bishopric, 63
94; patronage of, 83–4, 93; and see Pietro (Berrettini), da Cortona, painter,
churches; clergy; Visitations 206, 215, 217
Parma, maps 1 and 2, 122, 215; diocese pieve see parishes
and bishops, 46, 64, 122, 151; Pii Operai (Pious Workers), 128
inquisition, 173 pilgrimages, 58, 137, 205, 209, 220–1
Pasqualigo, Angela Maria, ‘living saint’, Pinelli, Matteo, parish priest, 95–6,
169–70 200, 220
Paul III, xvii, 2, 51, 56–7 Pisa, maps 1 and 2, diocese, 83, 87, 91,
Paul IV, xvii, 6, 26, 31, 35, 39, 55, 174, 93, 134, 151; inquisition, 173;
182, 195, 197, 225; see also under university, 114
Carafa Pisani, Alvise, bishop 67
Paul V, xviii, 38, 40–1, 44, 49–50, 57, 59, Pistoia, map 2, diocese, 63; nunneries,
60, 61, 146, 197 155, 164
Pavia, maps 1 and 2, diocese, 118; Collegio Pius IV, xvii, 20, 23, 26, 30, 35, 45, 67–8,
Ghislieri, 115; inquisition, 173 73, 124, 201
peacemaking, 71, 80, 93, 106–7, 128–9, Pius V, xvii, 35, 39, 41, 76–7, 78, 115, 142,
130, 134, 148 178, 180
 INDEX 311

Plantanida, Giuseppe, Capuchin, 216 Quarantore, see Forty Hour devotions

plays and sacred representations, 132,
136, 159, 163–5, 197–8, 218 Ragazzoni, Gerolamo, bishop, 30, 77
Polacco, Giorgio, confessor, 167, 169 Ravenna, maps 1 and 2, 2, 113;
Pole, Reginald, Cardinal, xi, 3, 6, 9, 40 archbishopric, 64; diocese, 117, 120;
Poleario, Aonio, executed heretic, 5 provincial councils, 74, 95
Policastro, map 4, diocese, 99 Reggio Calabria, maps 1 and 4,
Pontani, Giovanni Battista, and archdiocese, 75, 88, 90, 113–14, 116
library, 143 Reggio Emilia, map 2, inquisition, 173;
poor, assistance for, 42, 55, 73, 94, 114, Madonna Della Ghiara and
124, 135, 137–47, 151, 169, 209, 218, pilgrimages, 205, 220
222, 225; see confraternities; Religious Orders, xiii, 2, 6, 21, 25, 29, 30,
conservatories; hospitals 34, 36, 37–8, 39, 42, 43, 46, 54–61,
Portogruaro, map 2, 52–3, 63–4, 215, 74, 77, 83, 88–9, 91, 107, 112,
273n.6 114–19, 127–9, 141, 144, 167, 198,
Possevino, Antonio, Jesuit, 78, 123, 184 216, 224–5; and bishoprics 65–6; see
Pozzo, Andrea, painter, 206 also Capuchins, Jesuits, Oratorians,
Pozzuoli, seminary, 114 Scolopians, Theatines, Ursulines
Prato, map 2, 2, 143; diocese, 63, 133; (Orsoline)
nunneries, 150–1, 153, 163 Reni, Guido, painter, 198, 206
preaching and sermons, 5, 7, 9–11, 14, 15, Riccardi, nunzio, 47
16, 29, 55, 60–1, 72, 75, 78, 96, 97, Rimini, maps 1 and 2, diocese, 95, 102;
103, 107, 117, 125–8, 160, 200–1, 216 inquisition, 173
priests, see clergy Rippa, Zuan Battista, heretical notary,
prisoners, care of, 73, 147–8, 207 14–16
Priuli, Lorenzo, Patriarch, 160, 163; Rome, maps 1 and 3, city of, 36, 38, 73;
Michele, bishop, 147 Christian Doctrine and other
processions, 33, 34, 50, 59, 68, 71, 73, schools, 121–4, 128; colleges and
128, 132, 136, 142, 148, 158, 197, seminaries, 67, 115–19; diocese of,
200, 202, 213, 217–22 38, 88, 89–90, 94, 153; Jubilees and
Prodi, Paolo, historian, 38–9, 225, pilgrims, 218–19, 221; music,
256n.26 209–16, 218–19, 221; nunneries,
Prosperi, Adriano, historian, 39, 192 151, 156–7, 160; Piazza Navona
prostitutes, attitudes to and treatment of, celebrations, 222; Protestants, 12;
17, 48, 94, 123, 155, 159, 168, 184; Religious Orders in, 55–60; Sack of
repentant, and Convertite, 59, 73, (1527), 2
139, 142–3, 169, 265n.39 central government of the Catholic
Protestantism, Ch. 1 passim, 35, 56, 108, Church, xii–xiii, Ch. 3 passim; see
181–2, 188–90, Tables 9.1 and 9.2; also congregations; Index;
list of centres of support, 12, and see Inquisitions; Papacy
map 5; see Anabaptism, Calvinism, churches in, 55, 59, 199–203, 206–7,
Lutheranisn, Valdesians, 214, 215; Chiesa Nuova, (S. Maria
Waldensians in Vallicella), 59, 206, 208; Il Gesù,
provincial councils, see Appendix; 29, 32, 201–2, 206; St Peter’s, 176, 200–1,
47, 68, 73–5, 224 202, 218–19; S. Andrea della Valle,
Puglia (or Apulia), map 1, 74, 128, 139, 55, 123, 200, 206; S. Maria sopra
224; Protestants and Waldensians, Minerva, 72, 142, 178, 213, 221
11, 12, 128 confraternities, conservatories and
Purgatory, 120, 132, 206–7; attacks on, 11, hospitals, 60, 120, 137– 48,
14–15, 18, 179–80; Trent on, 26, 30 213–16, 217–19; Pietà dei
312 INDEX

Rome – continued Scandella, Domenico (or Menocchio),

Carcerati, 137, 145; S. Giacomo and trials, 53, 171, 175, 176
and Spanish ‘nation’, 219; S. Schedoni, Bartolomeo, painter, 207
Giacomo degli Incurabili, 60, 145; Schenk, Albert, baron, Lutheran, 53
S. Spirito in Sassia, 144; SS. Schutte, Anne Jacobson, historian,
Trinità, 145, 221 167–8, 170
Romeo, Giovanni, historian, 105, 191 Scolopi (Scolopians, or Piarists), 60, 114,
rosary, saying of and cult, 68, 82, 96, 132, 118, 123, 128
134, 139–40, 177, 221–2; see Sculco, Stefano, bishop, 84
confraternities Scuole Pie (Pious Schools), see Scolopi
Rospigliosi, Giulio, and opera, 214; see Scupoli, Lorenzo, Theatine, and Spiritual
Clement IX Combat (Combattimento Spirituale), 53,
Rossi, Luigi, composer, 214 58, 113, 124, 162, 254n.46
Rovigo, maps 2 and 5, Protestants, 12 Segneri, Paolo, Jesuit, 128, 223
Ruffo, Vincenzo, composer, 210 Seidel Menchi, Silvana, historian, 4, 7
Ruggieri, Giovann Battista, priest, 170 seminaries, see Appendix; 25, 29, 32–4,
Ruiz, Ferrante, philanthropist, 145 58, 64, 65, 68, 78, 89–92, 112,
Russo, Pietro Paolo, bishop, 84 113–19, 224
Ruzzante, (Angelo Beolco), dramatist, 7 Seripando, Girolamo, Cardinal Legate,
xi, 6, 22–3
Sabina, diocese, 71, 113 Seven Acts of Mercy, 120, 132, 138, 147,
sacraments, decrees on seven, 25, 33 207; see good works
Salerno, map 3, diocese, 64 sexual offenses, 78, 80, 84, 91, 101–2,
Salviati family, 72; Antonio Maria, 106–10, 155–6, 159–60, 167, 187–9,
Cardinal and hospitals, 144–5; Table 9.1, 190–4, 195–6, 220;
Filippo, 163; Portia Massimi, nun, 73 concubinage, 78, 80, 108–9, 195;
Saluzzo, map 2, and inquisition, 173 sodomy and lesbianism, 51, 78, 109,
Salvio, Ambrogio, preacher, 65 151, 158, 195–6; solicitation, 91, 110,
Samuel, Marco, necromancer, 53 104–5, 188, Table 9.1, 195
Sangallo, Antonio, architect, 144 Sfondrati family, 56, 157; see
San Marco, map 4, diocese, 65, 274n.11 Gregory XIV
San Miniato, map 2, city and diocese, Sforza, Alessandro, Cardinal, 180
65, 192 Sicily, maps 1, 4 and 5, 1, 2, 11, 40, 52, 59,
San Sepolcro (or Sansepolcro), map 2, 216 63, 176, 273n.2
Santafede, Fabrizio, painter, 207 Siculo (alias Rioli), Giorgio, 12
Santa Severina, map 4, diocese; seminary, Siena, maps 1, 2, 3 and 5, 74, 164, 189;
117–18 inquisition, 173; nunneries, 162–3;
Santi di Tito, painter, and Seven Acts of Protestants, 11
Mercy, 133 Signicelli, Giovanni Battista, bishop of
Santoro, Giulio Antonio, Cardinal, 177, Faenza, 94
179, 182, 184 Silvani, Gherardo, architect, 201
Sardinia, maps 1 and 3, 1, 52, 59, 63, Sirleto, Guglielmo, Cardinal, 180–1;
273n.2 Marcello, nephew and vicar,
Sarno, map 3, diocese, 66, 72–3, 78 180–1
Sarpi, Paolo, 29, 50–1, 64, 67, 185 Sixtus V, xvii, 39, 40–1, 43, 44, 66, 181,
Savona, map 2, diocese, 123 197, 220
Savonarola, Fra Girolamo, and Somaschi (Somascans or Servants of the
influences, 3, 11, 56, 67, 72– 3, 121, Poor), 55, 114, 115, 118
213, 223 Sommario della Santa Cristiana, 35
 INDEX 313

Soranzo, Giacomo, ambassador, 32 Titian (Tiziano Vecellio), painter, 17, 125

Soranzo, Vittore, bishop, 7, 11 Tiziano, anabaptist, 12
Sperelli, Alessandro, bishop, on Todeschini, G., architect, 200
philanthropy, 138, 142 Tomitano, Bernardo, on preaching, 125
Spinola, Francesco, heretic, 16–18 Torcello, diocese, 64
spirituali, 8–9, 20, 24 Torelli, Ludovica, countess, 56
Spoleto, map 3, 152; inquisition, 173 Torre Paduli (Terra d’Otranto),
Squillace, maps 4 and 5, diocese, and penances, 220
inquisition, 180–1, 225 Tortona, map 2, diocese, 118;
Squinzano, procession, 219–20 inquisition, 173
Stagno (Stanj), diocese, 65 Trent (Trento), map 2 and 5, city, 16,
Staurengo, Bassiano, priest, on 21–2, 31, 66; diocese and bishopric,
confession, 106 63, 80–1, 90, 93
Stella, Bartolomeo, philanthropist, 142–4 Trent, Council of, and impact, Ch.2
Stella, Tomasso, theologian, 66 passim, and xii, 1–3, 9, 13, 15, 36, 41,
Stone, Lawrence, historian, 104–5 54, 57, 66, 68, 69, 71, 73–6, 79–80,
streghe, stregoneria (witches, witchcraft), 86, 91, 94–5, 101–2, 112–13, 120–1,
see superstitious practices; 133, 149–53, 182, 204–5, 218, 225;
inquisition, magical arts and Congregation of the Council,
Strigno, map 5, and Protestants, 14–16 31, 36, 46–7, 68, 73, 100, 152; see
Strongoli, diocese and bishops, 65, 67, under bishops, marriage, synods,
78, 122 provincial councils, visitations
Suarez di Canova, Scipione, Milan Trevisano, Giovanni ( or Giovan
senator, 97 Trevisan), Patriarch of Venice, 23,
Suda, diocese, 65, 274n.14 66, 158
Suleyman I, Sultan, 2 Treviso, map 2, 215; inquisition, 173;
superstitious practices, magical arts, 50, Protestants, 12
76, 97–8, 127, 171, 174, 177, 187–97, Trieste, diocese, 7; Protestants, 10
Tables 9.1 and 9.2, 224, 226; see Turin, maps 1 and 2, 17, 47, 59, 63, 121,
Inquisition 205, 225; archdiocese, 199–200;
synods, or diocesan councils, see inquisition, 173
Appendix; 29, 31, 46, 63, 68, 71, Tuscany, map 1, 53, 84, 113, 114,
75–7, 79, 95, 97–8, 102–3, 227 133–4, 146, 152, 154, 163, 164,
191, 213; Protestants, 10; see
Tarabotti, Arcangela, nun, 156–7, 162, Florence, Siena
268n.37
Taranto, map 4, diocese, 108, 128 Udine, maps 2 and 5, 63, 215, 273n.6;
Teramo, map 3, diocese, 80 inquisitor, 53, 174, 226; nunneries,
Teresa of Avila, St, influence, 162, 203 152, 161; Protestants, 12–13, 161
Terpstra, Nicholas, historian, 131 Ugoni, Giovan Andrea (or Andrea di),
Terracina, map 3, diocese, 78 and trial, 11, 17
Theatines, 36, 46, 51, 54–5, 58, 65, 74, Umbria, map 1, 48, 89, 113, 162–3,
116, 124, 128, 132, 144, 150, 158–9, 164, 213
169, 198, 200, 203 Urban VII, xvii, 39, 40, 142
theatre, see nunneries; plays Urban VIII, xviii, 41–3, 200, 213,
Thiene, Gaetano di, and Theatine Order, 272n.63
55, 208 Urbino, maps 1 and 2, and Barocci
Tintoretto (Jacopo Robusti), painter, paintings, 208
131, 205, 207 Ursulines, 36, 57, 132, 148, 167
314 INDEX

Vacchini, Francesca, ‘living saint’, 111 Vergerio, Coletta, nun, 161; Pietro Paulo,
Valcamonica, 169 bishop, 1–2, 6, 7, 9–10, 161
Valdes, Juan de, reformer, influence in Vermigli, Pietro Martire, 10
Italy, 3–9, 179 Vernazza, Battistina, nun, 163
Valdesians, 4–12, 178–80, 186, 250n.11 Verona, maps 1 and 2, 11, 155; diocese
Valgrisi, Venetian publishers, 183 and bishops, 32, 36, 64, 84, 87, 105,
Valier, Agostino, bishop, 67, 104 133, 147, 215; inquisition, 173
Vallo di Lucania, part of Capaccio Veronese (Paolo Caliari), painter and
diocese, maps 3 and 4, 99 Last Supper painting, 26, 204
Valsugana, map 5, and Protestants, 14–16 Viadana, Lodovico da, composer, 215
Valtellina, map 1, 103 vicari foranei (local vicars), 68, 71, 74–5,
Vasari, Giorgio, artist and writer, 76, 80–2, 88, 108–10, 191
166, 201 Vicars General, 15, 29, 33, 47, 64,
Velletri, map 3, diocese, 113 68, 71, 74–5, 82, 96, 105, 145,
Vendramin, Francesco, Patriarch of 193, 199
Venice, 49 Vicenza, maps 2 and 5, 141; inquisition,
Venice, maps 1, 2 and 5; 10, 12, 13–14, 147, 173, 177, 176; Protestants, 12,
16–18, 31, 45, 48–51, 101, 106, 141, 17, 177
215; Council of Ten, 9–10, 18, 133, Vielmi, Gerolamo, bishop, 66–7
139, 176, 182; education, 112, 114, Vigevano, map 2, diocese, 115, 118
121, 122, 124; music, 165, 210–12; Vincenzi, Francesco, priest, 170
parishes and parish priests (piovani), Visitations, and their records, 14, 29, 46,
83, 88, 90, 110, 146–7, and poor, 94, 68, 73, 74, 76–81, 88–9, 91, 113, 120,
145–7; Patriarchs, 49, 66, 101, 110, 122, 125, 195, 199, 200; apostolic,
147, 153–60, 162–3, 173, 264n.19; 33, 34, 73, 78–80, 125, 158, 163;
printers, dealers and censorship, Congregation for Apostolic Visits,
181–5, 186, 268n.37; Protestants, 4, 44; diocesan, 14, 29, 35, 46, 68, 71,
10–11, 12, 16–18; seminaries, 114; 77–8, 83–4, 89, 92, 97, 107, 133, 159,
San Marco (St Mark’s basilica and 161, 199, 200, 227, 257n.46;
Doge’s chapel), 210, 212–13 ad limina, 46, 79, 118, 138, 273n.5
confraternities (scuole), conservatories, Viterbo, maps 3 and 5, 6, 8, 9, 12, 36;
and hospitals, 50, 131, 132, diocese, 102
134–41, 146–7, 168, 203; Derelitte, Vittelloni, Francesco Maria, confraternity
167; Scuola Grande di S. Rocco, official, 82
131, 203, 205, 207, 211–12; Zitelle, Vittori, Mariano, on confession, 30
167, 263n.22 Vittori, Roberti, Dominican
Inquisition tribunal and inquisitors, confessor, 111
16–18, 48, 52–3, 56, 66, 106, 110, Vivaldi, Antonio, composer, 165
167–8, 176, 182–3, Table 9.1, Vizzana, Lucretia Orsina, nun,
187–9, 204, 226–7; and Index of composer, 165
Prohibited Books, 182–5; see also Volturara, diocese, 66
Friuli
Interdict crisis of 1606–7, 38, 40, Waldensians, in Italy, map 5; 4, 11–12, 58,
48–51, 185, 225 123, 181
nunneries, 150–65, 167–9, 265n.41; Weissman, Ronald, historian, 131, 135
Pietà, 165; Sant’Anna, 156, witchcraft (stregoneria), see Inquisition;
265n.41; S. Vito on Burano, 158, superstitious practices
159; S. Zaccaria, 151, 155 Wotton, Sir Henry, ambassador to
Vercelli, map 2, and inquisition, 173 Venice, 50–1, 156
 INDEX 315

Wright, Anthony, historian, xiii, 39, 44, 62 Ziletti family, Venetian publishers,
Zaccaria, Antonio Maria, Barnabite, 183
55–6, 216 Zuccaro, Federico, painter,
Zara, map 2, and inquisition, 173 206
Zarri, Gabriella, historian, 28, 150, 167 Zwingli, Ulrich, 2, 3, 7, 8, 11, 17