Abstract This article proposes a novel interpretation of printed religious polemic in the context of European religious struggle in the Age of Reformations. While recent scholarship has underscored the virulence with which controversialists waged their doctrinal debates, I argue that such work has not yet acknowledged the structuring, autonomous role played by honour in religious polemic. To this end, I consider the case of Guillaume de Reboul, a Protestant-turned-Catholic polemicist who left France to take up service in the Roman Curia, before his arrest and execution under mysterious circumstances. First, I argue that the vocabularies of honour and calumny with which polemicists such as Reboul fashioned their texts played a role at least as important as that of theology, providing the motors which drove debates forward and many of the rules of the polemical game. Secondly, I consider Reboul’s writings as tactical moves in a broader strategy of personal, professional and confessional advancement. As Reboul’s case illustrates, writing was only one weapon among many in the polemical arsenal, and such debates represented forms of social struggle that could entail considerably more dangerous forms of conflict. Thirdly, I reconstruct the ecclesiastical, political and geopolitical landscapes which made a career like Reboul’s possible—and which made it possible to put authors like him to death when expedient. Fourthly, I consider how Reboul and his opponents’ printed appeals conjured into being a reading public. I argue that the culture of honour represented a defining feature of the early modern public sphere. In October 1611, news reached Paris that the Frenchman Guillaume de Reboul, a prolific anti-Protestant pamphleteer in the papacy’s service, had been tried and put to death in Rome, and his corpse exhibited on the Ponte Sant’Angelo. Reboul’s execution ended a colourful career. Raised as a Protestant, he served the Reformed cause during the French Wars of Religion as secretary to the Huguenot grandee Henri de La Tour, vicomte de Turenne (later duc de Bouillon). Reboul converted to Catholicism in 1596, and went on to publish a series of printed attacks on the Calvinist church. Reboul left France for Rome in order to serve the great church historian and perpetual papabile, Cardinal Cesare Baronio. Well-informed sources in London and Paris whispered that Roman authorities had arrested Reboul for having penned a pamphlet attacking James I of England.1 Others speculated that his crime was a libel defaming the French secretary of state for foreign affairs, Nicolas de Neufville, seigneur de Villeroy.2 The royal gazette Le Mercure François, providing no specific information about the charges brought against Reboul, reported only that he merited his fate ‘for having written too much ... his humour, too turned to Satire, pushed him to produce one a bit too inappropriate, which cost him his life’.3 If Reboul’s violent death struck his contemporaries as out of the ordinary, his prolific career as a religious polemicist did not. French readers at the start of the seventeenth century perceived themselves to be deluged by pugnacious religious tracts. Although the Edict of Nantes compelled Catholics and Protestants to lay down their arms in 1598, its qualified guarantee of freedom of religious expression made it possible for men of letters on both sides of the confessional divide to continue their disputes in print and in face-to-face debates. Though the Edict’s requirement that Protestant books be printed and sold only in places where public Huguenot worship was authorised placed limits on Reformed print, it nonetheless made it possible for Catholic and Protestant authors to engage openly in doctrinal debate—a regime of religious expression unique in Europe.4 In the first thirty years after the Edict in France, nearly seventy public debates were held between Catholic and Protestant clergy, and religious writers put out an average of 110 new works of controverse every year. Over 7,000 such books were published in France between the Edict’s promulgation and its revocation in 1685.5 The death of a minor religious polemicist like Reboul thus presents something of a puzzle. What provoked the papacy to arrest, try, and put to death a Catholic man of letters whose religious writings never strayed one millimetre from the straight and narrow of ultramontane orthodoxy? What made ‘writing too much’ anti-Protestant polemic a crime in early seventeenth-century Rome? And, if one of the rumours circulating in Paris was to be believed, why would a pamphlet attacking the Protestant king of England—himself not above taking up the pen to debate Catholic opponents6—have angered a Counter-Reformation papacy energetically rallying Catholic Europe against the forces of heresy? Unravelling the mystery of Reboul’s death might at first glance seem nothing more than an obscure, if fascinating, footnote to the larger history of early modern religious conflict. It certainly does make for a good story, one that leads from the sun-baked Rhône valley along the far-flung diplomatic networks of a fractured Christendom, from the counsels of Huguenot power to the labyrinthine corridors of the Vatican, on the trail of decades-long feuds and secretive abduction plots. What seem on first reading to be lofty, erudite doctrinal debates reveal themselves to have been the tips of imposing polemical icebergs, the products of concerted ecclesiastical and political strategies whose true nature was often concealed behind false imprints, lies and state secrecy—a heady mix that, at its most explosive, could spark feverish hunts for the intellectual proponents of extremist religious terrorism. Beyond the thrill of a tale seemingly sprung from the imagination of some Counter-Reformation John Le Carré, piecing together Reboul’s curious trajectory calls us to rethink important features of early modern religious culture, and of religious polemic as a genre in particular. Reboul occupies at best a marginal place in scholarly literature. Beginning in the seventeenth century, biographical dictionaries and literary histories carved out a role for him as a noteworthy, if relatively minor, figure in controversial and literary history.7 Local antiquarians studied Reboul’s life as a curious chapter in the history of Nîmes.8 Historians of religion generally evoke him to exemplify Catholic polemic, Jesuit influence in Avignon, or the wave of conversions to Catholicism that followed the Wars of Religion.9 Literary scholars have examined certain texts attributed to Reboul in order to analyse features of seventeenth-century literary culture.10 Only three scholars have sought to connect Reboul’s texts with his context in ways that help to make sense of his career. Alfred Soman, in an important article on censorship in the seventeenth century, pointed the way to deciphering Reboul’s demise.11 Irene Fossi’s examination of Reboul in her study of foreign converts in Rome has thrown crucial light on his Roman trial.12 Sylvio Hermann de Franceschi has come closest to solving the mystery, independently uncovering some of the same archival sources and drawing some of the same conclusions that I do here. Yet his analysis of Reboul’s demise as a straightforward consequence of theological and political debates, and of diplomatic give-and-take disconnected from any consideration of Reboul’s professional trajectory or extra-political considerations, misses the social and cultural dynamics that, I will argue, are decisive pieces of the puzzle.13 Drawing from French, English and Roman diplomatic archives, as well as private correspondence, I trace the first complete account of Reboul’s fall. Doing so lays bare some structural features of religious polemic in the post-Edict period that are ordinarily difficult for us to discern. I Traditionally, scholars who have sought to make sense of early modern religious polemic have focused on the texts themselves, seeing them essentially as contributions to a theological debate.14 Some argue that the very phenomenon of debate helped to establish the boundaries separating Protestantism from Catholicism, and that its relentless focus on the specifics of doctrine transformed religion itself into a matter of dogma, thus playing a key role in confessionalisation.15 Intellectual historians and literary scholars have examined how the debate reshaped the very ways—the genres, rhetorical tools, methods of interpreting texts, modes of proof, and use of history—in which theologians wrote about religious doctrine.16 These scholars usually pay only cursory attention to the virulence with which polemicists so frequently attacked their opponents in print. To the extent that they consider vitriol at all, they minimise it as a polemical flourish of secondary importance, a transparent reflection of hatreds forged in civil war, a natural consequence of a worldview that denied the very possibility of confessional coexistence, or a purely rhetorical strategy to be parsed neatly from the doctrinal meat of the matter.17 Such scholars tend to place little importance on polemicists themselves, or on the contexts in which they wrote. I will argue here that such approaches do little to help make sense of Reboul’s career, to attune our ears to the particular aspect of his writings which elicited the Mercure’s disapproval, or to decipher why his head ended up atop a pike on a bridge over the Tiber. They depend on a selective reading of the printed religious polemic of post-Edict France, stripped of its virulent idiom and abstracted from its social context—methodological choices which preclude historicised understandings of its real character, purpose and meaning. Over the past three decades, a few scholars have begun at last to take confessional polemic’s vituperative character seriously as a historical subject, invested with complex internal dynamics that could shape and sway historical experience and events. Some situate vitriol in its cultural context, locating its sources in oral traditions, literary forms, and the quarrelsome conventions of learned humanist exchange.18 Others see in polemic an invective-filled war in print—an extension of armed struggle onto the printed page—that was aimed at convincing adversaries to convert, discrediting the confessional other, distancing co-religionists from a faith deemed heretical, and thereby advancing the destruction of the adversary.19 Some argue that violent polemic did more than fan animosities or reflect culturally inflected portraits of the heretical other; it helped to erect and reinforce confessional divides just as much as did differences in creed.20 While such approaches draw overdue attention to polemic’s virulence, they continue to skirt around the historical dynamics of invective itself. To analyse vitriol as a simple expression of broader cultural attitudes, or to measure its impact after the fact, elides some fundamental questions. What was religious polemic? What specifically drew controversialists’ vitriol? Of what precisely was it meant to persuade readers? Perspectives that limit their scope to the discursive dimension of polemical virulence, at the expense of its context, likewise neglect important considerations. Why did the authors of doctrinal treatises devote so much space to launching ad hominem attacks on their adversaries? What does this conflation of the doctrinal and the personal, the exegetical and the libellous, the theological and the social, tell us about the nature of these books? Only a deeply contextualised analysis of religious polemic—vitriol and all—can account for its extra-discursive dimensions as potent social, cultural and political phenomena. I propose here to avert our hungry gaze from the meat of the disputation—grace and predestination, the Eucharist and the apostolic succession—and focus instead on the seemingly peripheral: the rhetorical and social gristle stubbornly affixed to these debates. I argue that Reboul’s polemical battles can only be understood when situated in their context, understood here as a multidimensional landscape composed of the textual, cultural, social, ecclesiastical, political and geopolitical terrains over which they were fought. I argue further that, even though Reboul’s printed battles were, by nature, public, they were but one battlefield in a broader struggle, fought in part in secret. Printed texts and public claims are thus not always what they seem. In this article, I explore four aspects of Reboul’s career that make it possible not only to understand his singular trajectory, but also to formulate a novel interpretation of early modern religious controverse in general. First, I situate the virulence with which Reboul and his adversaries waged their print war in the cultural context that lent it form and gave it bite: honour. I show that their religious polemics were saturated in a vocabulary of honour, iterated across a rich field of variants. The authors of these polemics dwelt obsessively on questions of esteem, reputation, and respect, defending their own names and throwing insults at their opponents in print. That honour played a role in discussions of matters religious in this period should come as no surprise. A now sizeable historiography has documented honour’s importance in early modern Europe. It mediated social relations and provided the currency for a deeply internalised moral economy, one that took the form of a gendered and socially differentiated system of value that could be used to measure the worth of an individual or a group. As a personal quality that constantly needed to be demonstrated to others, and which demanded acknowledgment via courtesy codes, honour also generated behavioural scripts tailored to each person’s social station. In such a world, slights to conceptions of self-worth could provoke violence, fuel vendetta, and call down vengeance.21 Insult played a central role in social and political life; its forms and uses were shaped by deep-rooted cultural frameworks, and its potential to spark conflict made it an object of moral reflection and judicial regulation.22 Historians of early modern England have demonstrated libel’s importance as a form of political expression.23 Historians of eighteenth-century France have analysed how printed libels, slander and rumour aimed at the royal family or government ministers worked to sway policy and delegitimise the divine-right monarchy.24 Scholars of Old Regime literary life have shown how such logics governed the Republic of Letters too, as men of letters used print to proclaim their status as men of honour.25 An enduring ‘culture of calumny’, Charles Walton has suggested, helped to ignite conflicts and shape debates on freedom of expression during the Revolution.26 Robert Darnton, meanwhile, has called for writing a comprehensive ‘history of political libel’.27 While scholars have long noticed that religious polemicists described their own exchanges as a kind of duel on the field of honour, few have considered the implications of this fact.28 In her study of the cultural politics of libel during the Wars of Religion, Tatiana Baranova analyses political, literary and religious polemicists’ recourse to libel as a potent rhetorical tactic, a literary genre in its own right, and a pressing moral problem.29 Keith Luria has written briefly but suggestively about how the logics of honour drove religious polemic.30 In the context of late seventeenth-century Scotland, Alasdair Raffe argues that the mix of doctrinal debate, verbal abuse and personal attacks found in the printed polemics exchanged by Presbyterians and episcopalians are interconnected features of a broader ‘culture of controversy’.31 Peter Lake has similarly identified a ‘politics of shame’ at work in English Puritan and anti-Puritan polemics.32 I propose to consider invective not simply as an idiom in which polemicists composed their texts, or as a discursive instrument towards a polemical end, as such approaches have tended to do. Rather, I will use Reboul’s case to show how honour both saturated and structured religious polemic. I will argue that the vocabularies of honour and calumny with which polemicists fashioned their texts played a role at least as important as that of theology, providing the motors which drove debates forward and setting the rules of the polemical game. Indeed, honour functioned as an autonomous cultural form, invested with its own moral economy which operated alongside other distinct moral economies such as the defence of true religion, the rules of philological analysis, or the service of one’s prince. In many instances, the dictates of these varied cultural logics lined up, making honour appear to function as nothing more than the expressive vocabulary with which polemic was fashioned; that is, the linguistic medium through which controversialists defended their doctrine (and their princes) and attacked heresy. But in some instances, the moral imperatives dictated by honour could cut against those of confessional truth or geopolitical interest, creating situations of contradiction and even crisis. As with quarrelling nobles who violated royal bans on duelling, the social life of honour could force polemicists into impossible positions, obliging them to choose between irreconcilable but equally legitimate duties. Secondly, I will consider Reboul’s writings not as vehicles for communicating doctrinal arguments, but rather as tactical moves in a broader strategy of personal, professional, and confessional advancement. Here, I take inspiration from scholars such as Christian Jouhaud, who argues that the mazarinades (pamphlets produced during the mid-seventeenth-century civil war known as the Fronde) were not transparent reflection of ideas or opinions, but rather forms of action, interventions in particular political moments, conceived and circulated in order to influence readers and achieve specific goals.33 Scholars of early modern Britain have similarly shown that individual printed polemics must be read as occasional works, contingent interventions in confessional contests which could be mobilised against opponents alongside a host of other cultural forms, including sermons, theatre, ballads and rough music, gossip and rumour, and even crowd violence.34 Authors published religious polemics not only as interventions in broader confrontations, but as crucial components of their own social and professional strategies. A full interpretation of religious controverse, then, must account for their motivations and aims, the specific social and polemical dynamics which bound them to their opponents, the precise chronologies of particular debates, and the other means mobilised by authors to achieve their ends. As Reboul’s case illustrates, writing was only one weapon among many in the polemical arsenal, and such debates represented forms of social struggle that could entail considerably more dangerous forms of conflict. Thirdly, I will reconstruct the ecclesiastical and political structures which made possible a career like Reboul’s. Historians of literature have worked to situate authors, texts and readers sociologically; they seek historicised understandings of texts’ meanings, the mechanisms of their composition, and their contemporary reception. Such approaches entail seeing authorship itself as a contingent, historically inscribed category, embedded within institutions, power relations and social hierarchies. As scholars such as Alain Viala have argued, writers in the early modern period were not autonomous actors, but rather depended on patronage and institutional support for financing, protection and commissions.35 As we will see, the contexts of Reboul’s writings were diverse, and located in varied social, confessional and geographical spaces, ranging in scale from the parochial to the transnational. His polemical exchanges with Protestant adversaries in his hometown of Nîmes represent a local dispute—a minor, albeit revealing, episode in the vexed history of religious coexistence.36 But social context does not merely shed light on these exchanges; it provided the very material with which protagonists fashioned their polemics and invested them with meaning. Reboul’s professional and social trajectory throws light on the diplomatic, ecclesiastical and espionage networks that tied far-flung capitals such as Paris, Avignon, Rome and London together during the confessional cold and hot wars of Reformation-torn Europe.37 More importantly, it makes it possible to observe the interlocking dynamics of social ties, geopolitical relations, confessional solidarities, and honour in action, revealing in particular how the moral economy of honour could force an unexpected reshuffling of religious and political alliances. Fourthly, I consider how the printed appeals of Reboul and his opponents conjured a reading public into being. Taking inspiration from Jürgen Habermas’ ‘public sphere’, scholars have argued that early modern controverse—and political pamphleteering more broadly—helped to lay the foundations for ‘public opinion’ as a space for critical political discussion.38 Historians of Tudor and Stuart Britain have proven especially energetic in putting the public sphere category to the test, in the context of a precociously literate and print-saturated society, riven by lively political and religious debate.39 In the French context, some have seen a nascent public sphere in seventeenth-century pamphlets such as the mazarinades.40 But most focus on the eighteenth century, arguing that the category represents a characteristic feature of the Enlightenment, a discursive construction whose logics and internal contradictions generated political tensions and helped to shape the French Revolution.41 Not all scholars would agree that Habermas’ ‘public sphere’ can be applied profitably to early modern contexts. These critics complain that its normative character as a public conversation among communicative equals engaged in ‘rational-critical’ debate invests the concept with ahistorical assumptions and a Whiggish genealogy.42 In response to such criticisms, scholars such as Peter Lake and Steven Pincus propose to redefine the public sphere category in terms consistent with early modern realities, shorn of any association with a bourgeoisie or post-Enlightenment conceptions of critical rationality. They argue that the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century English public spheres displayed distinctive characteristics: narrow, socially differentiated, fragmented and politically contingent, they constituted spaces for exchange in which the very notion of public debate was never acknowledged to be normative, and in which it could be dangerous for authors to cross certain lines.43 In a similar vein, others emphasise how rulers and elites regularly intervened in the world of textual debate in secret, habitually commissioning works in an effort to manipulate public opinion.44 Drawing inspiration from such approaches, my analysis of Reboul’s polemics will show that the culture of honour was a defining feature of the early modern public sphere. In contrast to scholars such as Raffe, who take the ‘culture of controversy’ to be its antithesis, I argue that religious polemic was in fact constitutive of a structured and intensely scrutinised arena for public opinion.45 As a personal quality that had to be constantly performed before others, honour by its very nature conjured a public into being, one which was called upon to exercise critical judgement concerning the honourability of individuals and actions. Controversialists’ efforts to defend their own reputations, and to smear opponents, signalled to readers that the logics of honour represented one of the appropriate interpretative lenses for assessing religious polemic (along with, say, the internal rules of Biblical exegesis). II How did Reboul become a religious polemicist? Born into the Huguenot elite of Nîmes shortly before the Protestant takeover of the town in 1567, Reboul completed his studies in the local Reformed academy, before embarking on a promising career serving the Protestant leadership during the Wars of Religion. In 1590, Reboul became secretary to the duc de Bouillon, whom he accompanied on a diplomatic tour aimed at winning military and financial support for the Huguenot cause from foreign Protestant governments. Back in the South, managing Bouillon’s landholdings in the Comtat Venaissin, Reboul fell under the sway of Jesuit preachers in the papal enclave of Avignon. Convoked by the Nîmes consistory, who had caught wind of the bad company he was keeping, Reboul refused to reject Catholic doctrine. He was excommunicated on 26 June 1596, and, once safely back in Avignon, formally embraced the Roman faith.46 The conversion of a prominent member of either Church typically set off a prolonged printed exchange between Protestant and Catholic writers. The Church which converts had quit sought to discredit these ‘apostates’, while the Church they had embraced held them up as prizes, confessional triumphs in a wider battle for souls.47 Far from being the initiatives of individuals, these polemical tracts received logistical and financial backing from their authors’ respective churches. Reboul’s case was no exception. The members of the Nîmes consistory wasted no time in preparing a printed offensive against their former co-religionist. On the very same day that it excommunicated him, the consistory commissioned one of Nîmes’ pastors, Jean de Falguerolles, to assail Reboul’s motives for conversion.48 A mere eight days after his excommunication, Reboul in turn obtained permission from Avignon’s Catholic censors to publish a theological treatise already in circulation in manuscript form (and which the consistory appears to have examined on 26 June). In it, he questioned Calvinist justifications for their break with Rome in order to justify his own conversion.49 Having similarly obtained ecclesiastical sanction for its printing, Reboul also quickly dashed off an attack on the Nîmes consistory.50 The speed of these publications illustrates some basic rules of the religious polemic game: make it into print first if possible; respond to printed attacks as rapidly as possible. Over the next three years, Huguenot ministers, with the financial support of the Nîmes consistory and of their provincial synod in Montpellier, traded printed tracts with Reboul, himself backed by the papal legate, the episcopate, and the Jesuit order in Avignon.51 For both camps, print was part of a broader strategy aimed at pummelling individual confessional enemies—one weapon in a wider conflict. In addition to preparing a print campaign against Reboul, the Nîmes consistory took a range of measures to discredit him in the eyes of his protectors, blacken his name, and ruin his career. On the very day that the Nîmes consistory excommunicated Reboul, the body designated two pastors to draft a report critical of Reboul to be sent to the duc de Bouillon—clearly an attempt to hurt his standing with his patron.52 They also began searching for damaging information that could be used to tarnish Reboul’s wider reputation. Within three weeks of his excommunication, Nîmes’ pastors had written to their colleagues in Orange to inquire if rumours that Reboul had impregnated a chambermaid and abducted another young woman had any basis in fact.53 The consistory’s endeavours bore fruit: Bouillon not only dismissed Reboul, but sued his former secretary before Nîmes’ présidial court for embezzling 1,100 écus.54 Reboul in turn mobilised his own patronage networks to mount his legal defence and salvage his career. His half-brother, a Nîmes lawyer, represented him in court against Bouillon, and Reboul dedicated books to the avocat général in Montpellier’s cour des aides, and to the first president of the chambre des comptes in Provence, in order to cultivate well-placed judicial allies. The court found in Reboul’s favour, and the duc’s appeal to Castres’ chambre mi-partie—the appellate court charged with adjudicating disputes between parties of different faiths—was likewise unsuccessful.55 The grateful dedications that Reboul composed to the Avignon-based Jesuit Pierre Coton (future confessor to Henri IV), the papal legate and cardinal Ottavio Acquaviva (nephew of Claudio Acquaviva, the Superior General of the Jesuits), and the cardinal-archbishop of Avignon, the Oratorian Francesco Tarugi, testify to the support he found from a Jesuit order and a papal outpost eager to welcome converts.56 Reboul also succeeded in winning more powerful patrons still: in 1602, Henri IV, the cardinal d’Ossat—who, as the kingdom’s ‘cardinal protector’, represented French interests in Rome alongside the French king’s ambassadors—and the minister of foreign affairs Villeroy all pulled strings to help Reboul win a post with Cardinal Baronio.57 For his good fortune, Reboul could thank the monarchy’s efforts to rebuild French influence in Rome after the king’s abjuration had allowed the resumption of diplomatic relations. Henri, Ossat and Villeroy’s patronage was part of a broader strategy to place within the Curia French subjects sympathetic to the king’s interests.58 It is likely that Reboul worked as one of Baronio’s numerous secretaries, helping him assemble the massive Annales ecclesiastici, a twelve-volume Catholic refutation of the Magdeburg Centuries (a Lutheran version of Church history published between 1559 and 1574).59 Reboul had successfully played his well-publicised conversion, his printed polemics, and the philological skills he had learned at the Nîmes Academy into a career as a writer in the pontiff’s pay. It was his feats of polemical arms in the local confessional contest in eastern Languedoc that earned Reboul a role, however modest, in one of the biggest learned battles of his time. Reboul’s published works, then, should be read neither as isolated texts nor as pure contributions to doctrinal debate. They represent rather a series of attacks and rebuttals in a broader conflict with the Protestant ministers of Nîmes. It was Reboul’s prominence within Nîmes society and the Protestant cause in France that made his conversion a ‘scandal’, mobilised the Huguenot campaign against him, and triggered the printed exchange. The publication of polemical tracts was only one of a number of tactics at the consistory’s disposal: in addition to print, they also worked to turn patrons against him, launch law suits, dig up dirt, and spread salacious rumour. Reboul, too, waged his struggle on multiple fronts: in print, in court, in the assiduous cultivation of a new network of powerful patrons, and in the search for a professionally stable perch from which to publish. His published polemics were forms of action inscribed in a wider social context which gave them meaning—contingent interventions in a crowded, staccato chronology of social struggle. III As in most controverse, doctrine occupies a central role in Reboul’s exchanges with Protestant writers. Three of Reboul’s works are primarily learned treatises that propose close readings of the Church Fathers and the Bible to refute Calvinist doctrine and reaffirm the Roman magisterium.60 Reboul himself defines the basis of the argument between Catholics and Protestants as a disagreement over textual interpretation and the true nature of the Church primitive: ‘the foundation of the dispute. It is this. To know whether in Antiquity one will find the doctrine of the Roman Church’.61 Alongside defences of Catholic positions, Reboul also strives to turn Protestant arguments against their authors by revealing their internal contradictions, using Calvin’s writings, for example, to demonstrate Rome’s primacy: ‘I only use his example against himself’.62 But their theological content is not our concern here. For the purposes of this article, what is significant is the manner in which Reboul and his opponents cast their doctrinal debate in intensely virulent language, fashioned from a vocabulary borrowed from war, honour and duelling. Addressing himself to Huguenot adversaries, Reboul predicts their defeat, declaring that Catholic polemicists ‘will rip your devil-possessed tongue out, which injures the honour of everyone... Attacked from all sides like this, you will doubtless quit the field ... or you will experience far bloodier consequences’.63 Reboul likens the publication of works of controverse to a deliberate decision to take up literary arms against the Huguenot Church, and his books to contributions to ‘a very holy quarrel ... I will pursue it to the very last drop of my blood, and I swear it in holiness on the holy altars of the Catholic Church’.64 His printed disputes are ‘blows’ in a ‘combat’ against an ‘enemy army’, for which he must steel himself with ‘courage’; he hopes ‘for victory, and the justice of my cause guarantees it’. ‘I am called to fight’, Reboul declares, ‘armed with the holy weapons of truth’.65 Like some feudal knight who asks his overlord to bless his weapons before going to war, Reboul presents his own books to his patron the Cardinal Joyeuse (at that time the French king’s cardinal protector in Rome), ‘to entreat you to make me feel the effects of favourable protection in these battles ... that you will accept, that I bring my arms to your feet, which I will use against the enemy, and which I will raise up again, in the name of your greatness’.66 He lauds other Catholic theologians engaged in anti-Protestant controverse as champions of the Catholic cause, praising in martial tones ‘that great Baronius draped in this new purple, worthy recompense for his marvellous learning, or that Bellarmine ... the one the shield, the other the sword of the Church’.67 And he boasts of his rhetorical victories: ‘I, who have so often defeated and laid low my enemies ... entire Legions of Ministers’.68 Reboul does not simply fashion himself as a foot soldier in a broader doctrinal struggle; he imagines his polemical exchanges as personal duels with his Protestant opponents—whom he knew personally from Nîmes—in which his own honour was as much at stake as doctrinal principles. He measures the success of his polemic by its capacity to dishonour particular opponents. He gloats over his Nîmes adversaries, declaring that his Salmonée was ‘cause for my glory, cause for your shame’, and boasting about the rhetorical efficacy of his books: ‘They do not want to live after the loss of their honour’. In turn, he characterises his adversaries’ attacks in precisely the same terms: ‘these slanderers, who out of hatred for my conversion to the Catholic Church, trampled my honour under foot’.69 Huguenot controversialists were every bit as capable as their Catholic adversaries of dipping their quills in vitriol-filled inkwells. Consider Daniel Chamier’s The Confusion of Papist Disputes, a learned refutation of a number of Catholic polemicists, including Reboul, published in 1600. Chamier, an eminent pastor who had served in the Protestant delegation that had negotiated the Edict of Nantes, knew Reboul personally—they had studied together at the Nîmes Academy—and Reboul would later invoke ‘our past friendship’ in a response to him.70 Chamier, too, portrayed the struggle between Christian truth and falsehood as a combat on the field of honour. He likens his opponents to ‘those swordfighters who are defeated, not because they found valorous adversaries: but rather because they brought with them to battle only their own weakness and cowardice’.71 ‘[T]o quit the profession of religion to join the Papacy’, as Reboul and others had done, ‘cannot but be dishonourable for them ... They ... care about nothing more than an extreme love of praise, which will make them die of resentment, when they see that people speak about their madness as they should, which is to say with little honour’.72 To underscore his papist adversaries’ infamy, Chamier plays on honour’s multiple meanings. As it did in other social contexts, honour on the polemical stage functioned in two, not always harmonious, ways: on the one hand, as an absolute measure of the intrinsic value of each person (apostates and cowards are necessarily dishonourable), and, on the other, as a socially determined value, established in the eyes of the public (it is observers who judge whether converts and polemicists are shameful).73 Chamier also draws a distinction between good and bad forms of honour, between that which rewards authentic qualities of virtue, and the kind of public recognition which sates vainglory—it was apostates hungry for earthly rewards and empty praise who embraced popery. Polemicists did not content themselves with describing the doctrinal dispute in virulent terms, nor did they reserve their vitriol for paratexts and liminal justifications. They injected warlike rhetoric, logics of honour, and insult into the very methods and mechanisms of theological debate. They deployed close readings of the Church Fathers and Holy Scripture side by side with calumny as pawns in the same polemical game. Chamier frequently punctuates his refutations of Catholic arguments by trumpeting his glorious philological or conceptual victory over his polemical adversary. After laying bare the problems in an ecclesiological analysis penned by Reboul, for example, Chamier gloats: ‘That, Reboul? That’s it, and nothing more? You were sleeping most of the time, poor man, when you were thinking about your conversion’.74 When dissected, the very scholarly methods deployed by opponents reveal their shameless dishonesty. Reboul relentlessly documents his enemies’ textual trickery and dishonourable exegetical methods: ‘Such is your good faith ... to cite truncated passages from the Church Fathers, in order to lead the Reader’s judgement astray ... you only read and cite them by halves ... You are blackhearted indeed, but I will blacken you in other ways’.75 It was not sufficient to demonstrate that one’s adversaries were wrong on points of doctrine. Polemicists sought to prove that their opponents’ errors represented neither innocent mistakes nor inexact readings of Holy Scripture or Church history; rather, they were the fruit of dishonourable scholarship, calculated dishonesty, and evil dispositions. More than merely a way of describing religious debates, the focus on honour shaped their very dynamics. The doctrinal positions defended by authors in their controverse were always a subject of dispute. Once an author had launched a vitriolic personal attack against an adversary, however, the moral economy of honour dictated that their respective reputations—their competence as scholars, their good faith as authors, their standing as men of honour, or their status as good Christians—were also now in play. Spurred on by these imperatives, authors of religious polemic devoted countless pages to polishing up their own reputations and tearing done those of their opponents. As we have seen, the leaders of the Huguenots of Nîmes mobilised a variety of weapons in their attempts to smear Reboul: the consistory’s print campaign represented an extension of its efforts to put an end to his employment with Bouillon and spread allegations of his corrupt management of the duc’s finances, as well as of his sexual improprieties in Orange. Above all, Huguenot attacks called into question Reboul’s motives for abjuring Protestantism, suggesting that he had fled to Avignon and Rome in order to escape Bouillon’s righteous anger (a charge which was clearly false—Reboul was in Avignon on the duc’s business), or that Reboul had converted out of lust for the same Catholic woman he was accused of kidnapping. These attacks forced Reboul to devote considerable space in his own works to refuting Protestant accusations and defending his character. Reboul rejected these accusations as a villainous campaign by the Nîmes consistory, ‘anxious to avenge themselves at the expense of my honour’.76 His books unmistakably advertise their functions as interventions in a personal and localised quarrel. In his first and most doctrinally oriented work, entitled On the Schism of the So-Called Reformers by the Honourable de Reboul. In which are laid out the reasons which led him to leave this church, and to side with the Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church, drawn from Calvin himself, theological exegesis serves to construct a conversion narrative emphasising Reboul’s good faith and the soundness of his break with Calvin.77 Seeking to neutralise Protestant anathema pronounced against him, Reboul aims his second book, Le Salmonée, ‘against the vain terrors of the Nîmes ministers’ excommunication’.78 Reboul was not always on the defensive. He accused Nîmes’ Huguenot clergy of being ‘Deformed Ministers, who like venomous serpents nourish themselves only on the ruin of the house of God’. They ‘cover their ears so as to hear nothing of a holy reconciliation, vomiting from their stinking mouth a thousand blasphemies, and a thousand heinous insults against the honour, and the reputation, of those who seek it’.79 He ridiculed the pastor of Orange as ‘That fat belly of a Minister’;80 and, just as Reboul’s opponents attacked his sexual propriety, Reboul himself mocked Protestant ministers’ practice of marriage as a systemic form of clerical debauchery.81 Indeed, it was the imperatives of parrying calumny rather than the hermeneutic demands of theological argumentation that dictated both the rhythm with which Reboul’s exchanges unfolded and their form. Vitriol cried for vitriol; calumny demanded rebuttal. Defined in their titles as ‘Apologies’, ‘Repliques’, and ‘Responces’, written ‘against the ministers of Nîmes’ or ‘the ministers of Languedoc’ and their attacks, Reboul’s books punctuate a personalised chronology of polemical struggle, a textual tennis match in which each volley was answered with a counter-volley. ‘The Fury of’ his Nîmois adversaries, explained Reboul at the start of his fourth book published in 1597, ‘compels me to strike yet another blow in public’.82 While combatants cried victory with each new publication, the legal protection extended to religious publication by the Edict of Nantes meant that there could be no textual resolution to such exchanges. By setting the mechanisms of textual attack and defence into motion, the publication of a polemical text represented the starting-point of a potentially endless sequence of printed rebuttals. Reboul himself admitted as much, threatening to hurl sequel upon sequel at his enemies: ‘This Second Salmonée’—his third polemic, which he conceived as a continuation of his second work—‘comes out to pursue again this same objective. The third [Salmonée], if you prove so imprudent as to press on with your lies, will make your misfortune complete. It will probe your wounds to the very bottom’.83 Polemical exchanges were thus less like individual duels—which ended with death, injury, or an inconclusive draw—than ongoing vendettas. In this war of words at a distance, there was no mechanism for resolving the dispute over doctrine, philology, reputation and honour—at least in print. If the dynamics of calumnious tit for libellous tat might seem to posit an equivalency between polemical opponents, they themselves refused any such adequation. Confessional adversaries may have deployed the same rhetorical techniques and vehement tone in their books, but they always insisted that profound ethical and literary differences set them apart from their enemies. Defined as the dissemination of lies with the intention to do harm to others, calumny was not an acceptable rhetorical weapon. Polemicists thus worked hard to distance their methods from those of their adversaries. They figured their own instances of vehemence as legitimate expressions of righteous anger, morally defensible vehicles for communicating truth; they in turn dismissed their opponents’ vitriolic outpourings as illegitimate expressions of unchristian hate, self-serving vehicles for spreading falsehoods. Chamier adopted a fierce register in order to censure papist polemic precisely because of its violence, which, he argued, betrays the perversity of its true nature: the swaggering of their writings, the rantings of their declamations, the violence of their jabs ... these are nothing but old discarded cloths, pedantic sophistries, shameful impostures, everything that has dragged them to their ruin: testimony, not of the goodness of the party that they have chosen but rather, either of an extremely wicked conscience, or of a monstrously clumsy and crude judgement ... there is nothing in all these disputes by our adversaries, except impertinence, sophistry, too great impudence, falsehoods, calumnies, and everything else that can be said on this subject[.]84 Across the polemical barricades, Reboul worked towards precisely the same objective. He catalogued his opponents’ lies to demonstrate the systematic character of their mendacity, positing that this incapacity to speak truth represented a quality intrinsic to the Protestant sensibility: ‘the impostures, and impudent lies of your fine Protestants, which they are accustomed to use ... they feed on nothing but the dirt of calumny and of falsehood, are incapable of telling the truth’.85 Reboul and his opponents conceived of their writings as interventions in a printed duel, textual thrusts and parries on the field of honour. They by no means restricted their combat to the printed page, seeking rather to strike at their opponents by any means available, suing in the courts, swaying the powerful, or turning the rumour mill. At war on multiple fronts, Reboul explicitly linked the various theatres of his personal struggle together, joining discussion of his extra-textual battles to the exegetical debate. He exposed the Huguenots’ own multi-pronged effort to destroy him, ‘these injurious procedures, these bloodthirsty desires, this much sought-after vengeance against my honour, my life, and my fortunes’.86 Following Bouillon’s legal attacks, Reboul published a response written in the form of a courtroom summation, entitled Reboul’s Speech for the Defence, in the Chambre Mi-Partie de Castres, Against the Ministers, in which he analysed the trial as a Protestant retaliation for his conversion and books.87 Doctrinal debates were thus inscribed within wider battles over honour, patronage and status, in which the good name of one’s Church, confessional teachings, and the reputations of individual writers as well as their careers were all on trial. Individual works of confessional polemic were as much episodes in a micropolitics of localised social struggle as they were learned interventions in a broad confrontation between confessional worldviews. To the extent possible, their goal was the social destruction of the adversary (consider what Reboul’s fate would have been had he not found protectors in Avignon, at court and in Rome). Without a doubt, religious controverse was a full-contact sport. While honour certainly constituted an important rhetorical dimension of doctrinal debate, the converse is perhaps still more true: the particulars of theological argument represented one aspect of a broader struggle over individual and collective honour. IV Reboul’s violent end illustrates how honour structured geopolitical relations and transnational religious debates in many of the same ways as it did parochial confessional quarrels. As with the local debates, honour was never the only issue in play in prominent Europe-wide controversies—but, in cases like Reboul’s fall, it functioned as a cultural imperative which, alongside the institutional and social dynamics of state power, diplomatic strategies and religious alignments, served to shape events and help contemporaries to account for actors’ motives. The bigger the public arena for a debate, and the more prominent its protagonists, the greater the risks of a costly misstep on the field of polemical honour for lowly scriveners such as Reboul. Filled with slander, braggadocio and sex, it is no surprise that controverse attracted a wide readership. More unexpected is the fact that foreign diplomats posted to France also paid close attention to this calumnious corpus. The diplomatic correspondence that shuttled back and forth between Paris and Europe’s other capitals in the years after the Edict provides a day-to-day narrative of printed polemic: news of the latest tracts to come off the presses, summaries of their contents, and digests of the reactions they elicited at court and beyond. More than idle information-gathering, this was considered a matter of vital state interest. Rome was appalled at Protestant writers’ freedom to publish in France, and papal nuncios repeatedly intervened at court in the hopes of suppressing the latest printed example of heretical insolence.88 While foreign powers deplored France’s liberal print regime, they also exploited it to disseminate tracts promoting their interests. Consider the polemic which opposed the English Crown and the papacy following the 1605 Gunpowder Plot, when a group of Catholic conspirators were arrested before they could blow up the House of Lords.89 First as king of Scotland, and since 1603 as king of England, James had worked to advance religious reconciliation, which he pursued on several fronts: ending war with Catholic Spain, strengthening ties with the French Crown, loosening restrictions on English Catholics, and lobbying to convene an ecumenical church council encompassing Catholic and Protestant churches. James sent out secret diplomatic feelers to Catholic powers on the continent, including even the pope, through channels which typically passed through the office of the papal nuncio in Paris.90 The spectre of sedition and of a Catholic fifth column put the brakes on James’s irenic efforts after 1605. The king endorsed a Parliamentary bill obliging English Catholics to take an oath of loyalty to their monarch and explicitly reject the pope’s authority to depose kings or liberate subjects from their duty to sovereigns. The papacy in turn called on its co-religionists in England to refuse the oath. The diplomatic confrontation between James VI and I and the papacy rapidly spilled over into print, as both camps engaged in what the Mercure François described as ‘a war in writing between the Pope and the King of England’.91 The debate, perhaps the most important controversy of the period, mobilised enormous intellectual resources, drew contributions from divines and controversialists across Europe, and reached a wide public. The texts raised crucial questions concerning the relationship between secular and religious authority, the autonomy of the state, and the papacy’s temporal authority. Pope Paul V addressed breves to the English Catholic community and enlisted the Jesuit cardinal Robert Bellarmine to pressure clergy in England not to waver in their opposition to the oath.92 A leading architect of Catholic Reformation doctrine, and himself an accomplished controversialist who had taught doctrinal polemic at the Society of Jesus’s Roman College, Bellarmine was an obvious choice to lead the polemical charge.93 An angry James made refuting papal claims a political priority, and devoted considerable personal energy to mounting the counter-attack. He composed a lengthy response justifying the oath and countering the Jesuit’s arguments, which was at first published anonymously.94 With rumours of royal authorship circulating, at the pope’s request Bellarmine published a pointed response (hiding behind the name of his chaplain, Matteo Torti).95 The classic dynamic of religious polemic had been set in motion; but—thanks to the controversy’s oversized stakes for European diplomacy and domestic English politics, the considerable means which states and churches deployed to publicise their arguments, and the rapt attention that educated readers paid them—it escalated at an unprecedented rate. Rome and London mobilised learned allies, ecclesiastical dependents and hired hacks across Europe to churn out contributions, their exchanges hewing to the conventions of polemical exchange we have already explored. Each round of published polemics inspired a new iteration of ad hominem responses, in an open-ended succession of politico-theological affirmations and refutations, cast in the language of the duel. When the German Jesuit theologian Martin Becanus published a Refutation of James’s Apology, the rector of Litchfield William Tooker parried with a defence of the king entitled Duel or Single Combat against Martin Becanus. Wasting no time on searching for an original title, Becanus called his counter-attack Duel ... with William Tooker.96 To gear up for protracted polemical warfare, James even opened a college at Chelsea in 1610 devoted to training controversialists.97 The debate focused on ecclesiology and political theory, but there was plenty of room for invective. One in a series of attacks penned by the dean of Salisbury carried the title Antitortobellarminus, or refutation of the calumnies, lies, and impostures of the lay Cardinal Bellarmine against the rights of kings.98 In France, Crown and controversialists alike got in on the polemical act.99 One of the premier polemicists of the day, Jacques Davy, Cardinal du Perron (himself a convert from Protestantism who had served as Henri IV’s spiritual guide leading up to the king’s 1593 abjuration, and had piloted Henri’s papal absolution), refuted James’s arguments in an oration to the 1614 Estates General. This sent the Stuart monarch back to his study to pen a response.100 Henri IV’s assassination in May 1610 by a former Jesuit student suddenly injected electric relevance into the debate over the Oath of Allegiance. François Ravaillac was believed to have been pushed into action by religious and political ideas promoted by the Catholic League and some Jesuits during the Wars of Religion, which theorised resistance to a heretic king. As the French mourned their king—God’s anointed, according to divine-right theory—James’s arguments on submission to political authority now resonated with particular force. The news from Paris made it all the easier to frame Bellarmine and his fellow polemicists’ arguments as dangerous incitements to regicide, and James’s controversialists were quick to draw comparisons between the Gunpowder Plot and the Bourbon monarch’s murder.101 In France, the horror of regicide, conjoined with a longstanding attachment to the liberties of the French Church, prompted the ultra-Gallican Parlement of Paris to order Bellarmine’s book to be burnt publicly in November 1610. Careful not to provoke a crisis with Rome, the queen regent Marie de Médicis intervened to have the sentence suspended. Gallicans had already helped to engineer the expulsion of the Jesuits from much of France in 1594 after another of their former students had attempted to take Henri IV’s life. Mindful that Bellarmine was a Jesuit defending papal authority, Gallicans once again mounted a polemical campaign against the Society.102 It was precisely in this diplomatic, religious and polemical imbroglio that Reboul, from the apparent safety of his Roman sinecure, imprudently intervened. At the request of Bellarmine and the pope, Reboul published an anonymous tract in French in 1609.103 In it, he addressed James directly, mocking him as a decidedly unkingly monarch who owed his accession to the throne of England to ‘good fortune’ rather than ‘your virtue’, and whose taste for letters rather than war made him unfit to wear a crown. Reboul levelled the same acerbic invective against James that he had against his Nîmes enemies, jeering that the bookish Stuart suffered in comparison with the manly, valorous Henri IV, and even condemning him as the ‘Antichrist’.104 Well aware that he was venturing into hazardous waters, Reboul confided to Christophe Dupuy—the eldest son of a prominent magistrate in the Paris Parlement, who had spent much of the period between 1604 and 1607 in Rome in the service of high French churchmen such as Joyeuse (one of Reboul’s early protectors) and Du Perron—that he intended ‘to have it printed as soon as possible, but secretly, as you might imagine, because of the Alliance between Kings’.105 This was reckless confidence indeed. In revealing his authorship to a well-connected interlocutor in Paris, Reboul displayed a striking ignorance of the political landscape there. First, launching a frontal attack (in French) on the English king cut against the grain of France and England’s diplomatic rapprochement, born of shared fears of Spain, and in particular of James’s efforts since his accession to tighten diplomatic ties with France and to lean on Henri IV in order to promote open dialogue with the papacy.106 It also betrayed a stunning disregard for the intellectual and ecclesiastical affinities between Gallicanism and Anglicanism.107 The Oath of Allegiance may have brought a biting chill to relations between Rome and England, but relations between Henri IV and James remained warm. The Bourbon king told the English ambassador that he had read the revised edition of James’s book and enjoyed ‘many good things’ in it. He had referred it to a panel of French theologians (including Du Perron, as well as Reboul’s old ally, Pierre Coton), who delivered a measuredly positive evaluation.108 Unbeknownst to Reboul, his former protector Henri IV had also promised to work on smoothing things over between the papacy and James.109 The French king told the nuncio in Paris, Roberto Ubaldini, that the papacy should see James’s book as heartening news for the future of Catholics in England and papal relations with the English Crown. Du Perron counselled Rome to abandon its printed attacks on James, which risked inflaming matters and leaving English Catholics vulnerable to repression, and to pursue dialogue instead.110 To this end, the cardinal emphasised James’s moderation, his focus on political theory rather than theology, and his forgoing of vitriol: ‘his book is full of modesty and wisdom, along with good inclinations and ideas, all aimed at defending and preserving his Royal and sovereign authority, rather than offending anyone; there is moreover nothing in the least aimed against the person of the Pope’.111 That Reboul speculated about the ‘the Alliance between Kings’ illustrates that he himself divined that princely affinities might unite Henri with James against his text. Secondly, Reboul’s perilous choice of confidant appears to betray an almost total ignorance of the micropolitics of the French court. Christophe Dupuy was close to his cousin, the prominent historian, royal librarian, and judge in the Parlement of Paris, Jacques-Auguste de Thou, who, as a royal official, had played an active role in the Wars of Religion and the brokering of the Edict of Nantes. De Thou’s circle, in addition to Dupuy and his brother Pierre, included people such as Pierre de L’Estoile, united by their opposition to papal authority and a commitment to pursue, if not confessional reconciliation, at least peaceful coexistence.112 De Thou and his fellow travellers, then, were well disposed towards James, and, as the English ambassador reported, counted themselves among ‘those, who would have a reconciliation of the one and the other’.113 As Reboul navigated the factional landscape of a French court and high officialdom divided between Gallican and ultramontane, Anglophile and Hispanophile sympathies, he could not have done worse than steer straight for the de Thou circle. In his defence, Reboul could not have predicted the ways in which Henri IV’s assassination would prompt a seismic rethinking of strategy in Paris and Rome. The Parlement of Paris took measures to crack down on virulent Catholic polemic of an ultramontane stripe.114 Ubaldini took a dim view of those Jesuits in France who were arguing for a limited conception of monarchical authority, assuring the pope that, as far as France was concerned, a strong monarchy would be necessary to keep the Church’s Eldest Daughter within the Catholic fold. Whatever Claudio Acquaviva’s own papalist inclinations, the Jesuits’ Superior General was cognizant of the fragile situation in which the debate had placed the Company within France, and, on pain of excommunication, he ordered Jesuits to refrain from lecturing or publishing anything that could be remotely construed as justifying tyrannicide.115 Thanks to the diligence of his agents in Paris, James soon read the anonymous pamphlet and, falling into a towering rage, commandeered the full resources of English diplomacy in France to hunt down its author.116 James’s diplomats dispatched their spies, launched discreet inquiries at the French court, and examined the pamphlet’s paper and typeface to puzzle out its provenance. Back in England, both Robert Cecil and the king himself scoured the text for clues to its authorship.117 The English ambassador Thomas Edmondes delivered a formal protest to the regent Marie de Médicis about the book’s ‘base invectives against his Majesties person’, demanding that ‘spetiall care [be] taken to fynde out the Author of the said Booke, & to punish him severely for the defence of his Ma[jes]ties honor’.118 What pushed Reboul’s tract beyond the polemical pale, he explained in an audience with the French secretary of foreign affairs Villeroy and the chancellor, was not the attempt to refute the king’s arguments. Rather, it was that, ‘under pretence of answearing his Majesties Booke’, the book ‘conteyneth nothing els, but a wile deefamation of his Majesties person’.119 Drawing a sharp distinction between controverse’s doctrinal and calumnious matter, Edmondes sketched a portrait of polemic that barely resembled the vitriolic realities of early modern religious debate (as we have seen) and implied that James was above resorting to such base tactics in his own writings (he wasn’t—after all, he had accused the pope of being the Antichrist).120 This focus on honour, rather than strictly political, diplomatic or religious aspects of the crisis, was itself a polemical tactic, one dictated by the king’s wounded pride. It was designed to discredit the libel’s author for his allegedly exceptional ‘malice’ and ‘lewednes’, and calculated to win support at the French court by appealing to sociocultural common ground.121 When the French ambassador in England wrote to the queen regent to pass on Cecil’s request for assistance, he described the affair’s importance for preserving James’s friendship in the strongest possible terms, and urged her to help James: This Prince is by nature infinitely thin-skinned and sensitive with regards to his own person ... I am not exaggerating when I tell Your Majesty to what extent this King is insulted, and far more so than with anything else yet written against him. So much so that if for the good of the service of the King your son you deem it good to oblige yourself to the King of Great Britain in some way, you will not find a better occasion than this one.122 The complaint found a sympathetic ear with the queen, who agreed that such authors ‘were common Enemies to the honor of Prynces’.123 Reboul’s book had ignited a major diplomatic crisis for the simple reason that it had offended a sovereign prince’s honour. As the French ambassador underscores in his missive to Marie de Médicis, Reboul’s was not the only book to impugn the king’s honour. What, then, made it the most offensive in James’s eyes? Consider the texts put out by Reboul’s polemical colleagues in Rome. The leading English Jesuit and rector of the English College in Rome, Robert Persons, took the anonymity of James’s first book at its word, a choice which carried two advantages. It allowed Persons first to deny any intention to slander a monarch, and secondly to turn the king’s authorial tactic against him. No king so honourable as James, Persons proclaimed, could ever have written such a shameful book, which treated its adversaries with so little honour: ‘I take him to be of such judgement and honour, as he would never have let passe sundry things, that heere are published, contrary to them both’.124 Accusing Persons of bad faith, James’s chaplain laid out the social rules of religious polemic: ‘Controversies in Divinitie, there may, there must be; but Schooles and Clerks have nought to doe with Princes Crowne, save in dutie to obey, and with learning to support them’.125 Articulated across a sharply stratified social landscape, the moral economy of honour obliged polemicists to consider the question of authorial reputation based not only on what was said, but on the relative positions of those saying it. James himself tackled the question of authors’ rank head on in the 1609 edition of his Apologie, flatly denying anyone the right to exchange polemical texts with a prince who was not of equal standing. The king put honour, inequality and deference front and centre in his clash with Bellarmine, taking the Jesuit to task for having dared publish against his royal person, and announcing that ‘I was never that man ... that could think a Cardinall a meete match for a King’. Bellarmine shot right back, denying ‘that in Theological disputations it would be necessary to demand equality of birth, or rank, or authority, given that only equality of intelligence and learning are necessary’.126 In taking on James, Reboul’s polemical sin was not just his causticity; it was his modest social station in relation to his exalted opponent. De Thou’s circle wasted little time in moving against Reboul. James first learned about Reboul from the renowned Calvinist scholar Isaac Casaubon. In 1600, Casaubon had left his native Geneva to serve as Henri IV’s librarian in Paris, where he also became active in de Thou’s circle. Following Henri IV’s death and the new uncertainties facing Huguenots in France, he accepted James’s long-standing invitation to come to England to help him in the Oath of Allegiance quarrel. Though the irenic Casaubon took a dim view of religious controversialists in general, he begrudgingly took up his pen on behalf of James to attack the Jesuit Fronton du Duc and Baronio himself.127 Probably clued in to the secret of Reboul’s authorship by Dupuy or de Thou, Casaubon wrote to Du Perron from London about a book published against His Majesty, full of horrific insults, and most impudent calumnies, or rather, a desperate and diabolical rage ... knowing about Reboul, who is in Rome, and having seen, when I was in Languedoc, the writings he has made against the Ministers and Consistory of Nîmes ... I assured His Majesty that the Author of this libel was Reboul, as I had also learned when I was in Paris.128 Casaubon’s letter didn’t just divulge information in order to do Reboul harm, it did so in a way that was calculated to maximise the damage. By tying Reboul’s pamphlet to his professional trajectory and parochial quarrels (while deliberately omitting any mention of the powerful patrons who made his polemic possible), the humanist portrayed him to be a polemical free agent and an ignominious calumniator, blithely ignoring the fact (as Edmondes had also done) that there was nothing unusual about his polemical vitriol. Unhappily for Reboul, it happened that the demands of regency realpolitik coalesced with long-standing personal vendettas against him nursed by key players in the French interest. In what ultimately proved a calumny too far, Reboul had a few years before, in an unpublished manuscript, insulted both the secretary of foreign affairs Villeroy and his son Charles de Neufville, marquis d’Alincourt. As soon as he learned that it was Reboul who had penned the attack on the Stuart king, Villeroy proved only too happy to help James: he tipped off the English ambassador, adding that he and his son had an old score to settle with ‘one of the most wicked persons living’.129 Hungry for revenge, Villeroy and his son (who had twice served as French ambassador in Rome, first in 1600, and again from 1605 to 1608)130 put in place a clandestine operation to lure Reboul out of the city on the pretence of visiting the environs, bring him by closed coach to Civitavecchia, and toss him in a waiting ship bound for France, where he could be quietly disposed of.131 Rome was by this time well aware of James’s sensitivity to printed slights in general, and of his displeasure with Reboul in particular. At the very start of the Oath of Allegiance controversy, the Holy See’s ambassador in Paris had warned the Curia ‘not to target the ears of this King, which are especially delicate’, lest English Catholics come to harm.132 With the Reboul affair in full swing, Scipione Borghese, the cardinal-nephew charged with papal foreign policy, feared that James’s ‘grave indignation’ at Reboul’s book would increase the dangers facing Rome’s flock in England.133 Paul V vigorously denied that he had any hand in Reboul’s book from the very start, a strategy of plausible deniability that reserved the option of hanging his Nîmois scrivener out to dry if it proved necessary. Conveniently, the pontiff’s protestations of polemical innocence reached the English court via Villeroy and English diplomatic channels.134 When Alincourt discreetly made the French Crown’s displeasure with Reboul known to Paul V, the pontiff agreed to withdraw his protection from the polemicist. But the pope opposed Alincourt’s plan: brazenly abducting a man of letters pensioned by the papacy could not be accomplished ‘without giving great offence to the Pope’—preserving the honour of the great was an omnipresent concern in this affair. Villeroy and his son hatched a new scheme: they dangled the promise of imaginary pensions and commissions to entice an unsuspecting Reboul back to France.135 Reboul never made the voyage to his homeland, but, as his frustration over the ever-deferred pension mounted, he took the bait, finally threatening to publish another attack on Villeroy and Alincourt if they did not deliver on their promise. This was pretext enough: Villeroy and his son demanded satisfaction from the authorities, the Roman governor tried Reboul for ‘lacerating the reputation [fama] of a person of such great quality’, and Villeroy kept the English ambassador informed of developments.136 The long arms of the English king, of the French Crown and of the pope were all scrupulously kept concealed, as Reboul was made to answer only for having dishonoured Villeroy and Alincourt. Reboul’s defence, doomed from the start by the social asymmetries that distinguished him from his accusers, as well as by the hidden forces at play, consisted of justifying his written attacks on them as attempts to ‘defend’ his own ‘reputation’ against the ‘odious’ adversaries who had ‘persecuted’ and ‘sought to ruin me’.137 Those who conspired to precipitate Reboul’s fall were motivated by many considerations. De Thou, Dupuy and Casaubon plotted against Reboul because of their opposition to the papacy’s position in the Oath of Supremacy debate, their sympathy with James’s irenicism, his diplomatic overtures and his defence of sovereignty, and their concern that the kind of religious vitriol in which Reboul traded made reconciliation more difficult to achieve. But in the end, what sent Reboul to death was honour: James singled out Reboul’s text, and took extraordinary measures to have its author hunted down, because he believed his honour to have been slighted. He found ready allies in Villeroy and Alincourt because they bore their own personal grievances against the socially inferior polemicist. The much greater social chasm separating Reboul from James both amplified the force of his affront to the king and left him vulnerable as a mere scribbler whose safety depended on the goodwill of his patrons. The same could be said of his social inferiority to Villeroy and Alincourt, albeit to a lesser degree. The sanctity of the honour of princes was an argument that could sway the papacy. Reboul fell because the distinct imperatives of religious conflict, honour and politics came into conflict in the affair of his published attack on James. Reboul’s task as a Catholic polemicist was to besmirch the enemies of Mother Church, whether Huguenot ministers or kings of England. Within the legal and moral calculus of divine-right monarchy, however, Reboul’s book represented nothing less than a crime of lèse-majesté, and James and the French Crown understood the principle of princely solidarity to reach across the confessional divide. For the papacy, while supporting English Catholics as best it could was a high priority, so too was maintaining healthy diplomatic relations with the French Crown—and while disavowing a prince of the church such as Bellarmine for printed attacks on James was out of the question, sacrificing Reboul, the Counter-Reformation equivalent of a Grub Street hack, was an acceptable price to pay. Moreover, a low-ranking writer’s threats to slander powerful, high-born noblemen were not only foolhardy in and of themselves, they also provided the Roman authorities with a credible pretext to act against a servant of the Curia and of a cardinal, since his true crime—having derided a Protestant king on orders from the papacy—was not an accusation fit for public consumption. V Reboul’s case allows us to draw three broad conclusions concerning the nature of early modern European religious polemic. First, his career demonstrates the necessity of situating polemical texts in context. Their tone, their content, their rhetorical techniques, and the very reasons for their composition and publication are incomprehensible without reconstructing the personal relationships, specific circumstances, professional strategies, patronage networks and institutional support that occasioned printed exchanges, fed them content, and gave them life. Secondly, it throws into sharp relief the prominent role that honour played in printed confessional disputes. Alongside Scriptural exegesis and theological disputation, personal and collective honour represented one of the battlegrounds on which polemicists fought. As with any social conflict in this period, honour was one of the available languages in which disputes could be articulated. But honour played a more important role still: on the one hand, it provided a vocabulary with which polemicists described themselves, their opponents, and the nature of their combat; on the other hand, it framed an economy of reputation that drove the cycle of printed attack and response. Honour and invective furnished the conceptual languages that mediated religious debate. Belligerents used the language of honour not only to persuade readers that their doctrinal claims were correct, but also to instruct their publics about honour—that they had it in abundance, and that their opponents had none. As we have seen, disputes over honour as much as Protestant–Catholic conflict could transform confessional polemics into political or diplomatic affairs. Honour constituted one dimension of religious polemic, but this equation must also be reversed: religious polemic represented one arena in a broader struggle for confessional honour. Honour, finally, was animated by a social life of its own, one which operated according to its own autonomous moral logic, and which could, under certain circumstances, rend confessional solidarities and occasion unlikely geopolitical realignments. Thirdly, Reboul’s exchanges make it possible to more fully discern the character of the post-Edict public sphere. It is one that resembled what Peter Lake and Steve Pincus call the post-Reformation ‘public spheres of sorts’.138 Authors appealed in print to an audience to judge their cause; they developed arguments about doctrine and philology and submitted evidence from the Church Fathers and Scripture to readers’ judgment; and they posited such debate to be a temporary state of affairs, a necessary evil to be deployed until the confessional opponent was destroyed. This was a public sphere shaped and policed by powerful actors: states, diplomacy, intelligence operatives, noble clienteles, ecclesiastical power structures and law courts. Finally, it was a space in which one of the most important questions being submitted to readers for adjudication concerned honour. Honour, we might say, structured this polemical public sphere, furnishing the moral calculus for critical debate in the highly stratified, reputation-obsessed societies of early modern Europe. Reboul’s career lays bare the complex mechanisms and multivalent meanings of post-Edict religious polemic. The genre was an intensely charged weapon, produced by men of letters operating within networks of patronage and political and ecclesiastical institutions, wielded in a wider confessional war, embedded within a culture of honour, deployed in conjunction with other tactics, and constitutive of disputes which were at once theological debate and local feud. Differences in religious doctrine were certainly at stake, but so too were the reputations and careers of polemicists locked in decidedly local social struggles. And so too were the vital interests of European states, invested in the defence of ecclesiastical settlements, diplomatic strategies, and their princes’ reputations. These competing imperatives could cut across seemingly absolute oppositions in surprising ways, even forcing a pope, who had commissioned a pamphlet against a Protestant king, to have that pamphlet’s author put to death in order to please that very same king. Footnotes * My warm thanks to Jim Boyden, under whose generous supervision this project began many years ago, and to Stuart Carroll, Natalie Zemon Davis, Grégoire Holtz, Peter Marshall, David Robinson, Charles Walton, Catherine Wright, and EHR’s anonymous readers for their comments on earlier drafts. This research was made possible by a Travel Grant from the Yale College Dean’s Fund and a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada Institutional Grant awarded by the Department of History at the University of Toronto. 1. Isaaci Casauboni Epistolae, ed. Theodore Janson (2 vols., Rotterdam, 1709), ii. 610–12, 630–31 (Isaac Casaubon to Cardinal Du Perron, undated, and to Thomas Morton, London, 2 Jan. 1612). 2. Pierre de L’Estoile, Journal du règne de Henri IV (4 vols., The Hague, 1741), iv. 224. 3. La Continuation du Mercure françois, ou, Suitte de l’histoire de l’auguste regence de la royne Marie De Medicis (Paris, 1615) [hereafter Mercure françois, ii], 2nd foliation, fos. 153v–155v, quotations at 153v, 154v. 4. H.-J. Martin, Livre, pouvoirs et société à Paris au XVIIesiècle (2 vols., 1969; repr. Geneva, 1999), i. 170–76, 267–74, 460–66 (tr. and abridged D. Gerard, Print, Power, and People in Seventeenth-Century France [Metuchen, NJ, 1993], pp. 110–14, 169–73, 311–14). For the Edict’s dispositions regulating religious expression in preaching and print, see Édit de Nantes. Édit general, Apr. 1598, art. 3, 17, and 21, available at http://elec.enc.sorbonne.fr/editsdepacification/edit_12 (accessed 19 Apr. 2018). 5. For an exhaustive inventory of religious polemic published in the period 1598–1628, see L. Desgraves, Répertoire des ouvrages de controverse entre Catholiques et Protestants en France (1598–1685) (2 vols., Geneva, 1984), vol. i, p. I. 6. See The Political Works of James I, Reprinted from the Edition of 1618, ed. C.H. McIlwain (1918; New York, 1965), pp. lv–lxxix; James VI and I, Political Writings, ed. J.P. Sommerville (1994; Cambridge, 2001). 7. [Jacob Le Duchat], ‘Remarques sur la confession de Sancy’, in Agrippa d’Aubigné, ‘Confessions catholique du Sieur de Sancy’, first published in Recueil de diverses pieces servant a l’histoire de Henry III, roy de France et de Pologne. Augmenté en cette nouvelle edition (Cologne, 1693), pp. 538–40; Denis Godefroy, note on Le Duchat’s ‘Remarques’, in [Agrippa d’Aubigné], Journal des choses memorables advenues durant le regne de Henry III, roy de France, et de Pologne, edition nouvelle (4 vols., Cologne, 1720), vol. ii, pt. 1, ‘Remarques Sur Le Chapitre VI’, pp. 370–74; Abbé d’Artigny, Nouveaux mémoires d’histoire, de critique et de littérature (7 vols., Paris, 1749–56), i. 437–43; Prosper Marchand, Dictionnaire historique, ou Memoires critiques et litteraires (2 vols., The Hague, 1758–9), ii. 160–62; Vincens Saint-Laurent, ‘Guillaume Reboul’, in Louis-Gabriel and Jean-François Michaud et al., Biographie universelle ancienne et moderne (1811–28; 2nd edn., 45 vols., Paris, –), xxxv. 291; Eugen and Émile Haag, La France protestante, ou Vies des protestants françois (10 vols., Paris, 1846–59), viii. 395–6; Ferdinand Hoefer, ed., Nouvelle biographie générale (46 vols., Paris, 1857–66), xli. 804; V.L. Saulnier, ‘Guillaume Reboul’, in G. Grente, ed., Dictionnaire des lettres françaises: Le seizième siècle (Paris, 1951), p. 600; U. Langer, ‘Guillaume de Reboul’, in M. Simonin, ed., Dictionnaire des lettres françaises: Le seizième siècle (2nd edn., Paris, 2001), pp. 1007–8. 8. Albert Puech, ‘Le Pamphlétaire nîmois: Guillaume de Reboul, 1564–1611’, Mémoires de l’Académie de Nîmes, vii, no. 11 (1888), pp. 203–98, repr. as Un nîmois oublié: Le Pamphlétaire Guillaume de Reboul, 1564–1611. Étude biographique d’après des documents inédits (Nîmes, 1889), represents the only comprehensive study of Reboul’s life, and reproduces relevant archival documents drawn primarily from Nîmes’ notarial and consistorial archives. See also Michel Nicolas, Histoire littéraire de Nîmes et des localités voisines qui forment actuellement le département du Gard (3 vols., Nîmes, 1854), i. 236–41; L. Guiraud, La Réforme à Montpellier (2 vols., Montpellier, 1918), i. 512–26. P. Chareyre, ‘Le Consistoire de Nîmes, 1561–1685’ (Univ. Montpellier III Thèse d’État, 1987), draws on Reboul’s writings to document life in Nîmes’ Reformed church. 9. H. Fouqueray, Histoire de la Compagnie de Jésus en France des origines à la suppression (1528–1762) (5 vols., Paris, 1910–25), ii. 551–92, esp. 576–7; R. Sauzet, Contre-Réforme et Réforme catholique en Bas-Languedoc: Le Diocèse de Nîmes au XVIIesiècle (Louvain, 1979), pp. 180–81; J. Garrisson-Estèbe, Protestants du Midi, 1559–1598 (1980; 2nd edn., Toulouse, 1991), pp. 98–9, 113–14, 116, 136. 10. C. Anatole, ‘Aux origines d’un type littéraire: “Le Capitaine Gascon” dans un pamphlet anti-huguenot de Guillaume de Reboul: Les Actes du synode universel de la saincte reformation (1599)’, Annales de l’Institut d’Études Occitanes, iv (1968), pp. 361–96; A. Cullière, ‘La Conversion de sainte Thècle, de Guillaume Reboul (1602)’, Travaux de Littérature, xiii (2000), pp. 81–100; J.-P. Cavaillé, ‘L’Extravagance gasconne dans Le Gascon extravagant: Un déguisement “pour parler librement de tout”’, Les Dossiers du Grihl, no. 1 (2007), available at http://dossiersgrihl.revues.org/260 (accessed 19 Apr. 2018); F. Lestringant, Le Livre des îles: Atlas et récits insulaires, de la Genèse à Jules Verne (Geneva, 2002), ch. 9; F. Lestringant, ‘Une Satyre Ménippée au service de la Contre-Réforme: La Cabale des Reformez attribuée à Guillaume Reboul’, in J. Céard, M.-C. Gomez-Géraud, M. Magnien and F. Rouget, eds., Cité des hommes, cité de Dieu: Travaux sur la littérature de la Renaissance en l’honneur de Daniel Ménager (Geneva, 2003), pp. 301–20; F. Lestringant, ‘Une Liberté Féroce: Guillaume Reboul et Le Nouveau Panurge’, in I. Moreau and G. Holtz, eds., ‘Parler Librement’: La Liberté de la parole au tournant du XVIeet du XVIIesiècle (Paris, 2005), pp. 117–31; M.-C. Pioffet, ‘Masques auctoriaux et éditoriaux dans quelques pamphlets anti-huguenots’, Littératures classiques, no. 80 (2013), pp. 135–52. 11. A. Soman, ‘Press, Pulpit, and Censorship in France before Richelieu’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, cxx (1976), pp. 439–63. 12. I. Fossi, Convertire lo straniero: Forestieri e Inquisizione a Roma in età moderna (Rome, 2011), ch. 5. Fossi and I uncovered Reboul’s Roman trial independently. 13. S.H. de Franceschi, La Crise théologico-politique du premier âge baroque. Antiromanisme doctrinal, pouvoir pastoral et raison du prince: Le Saint-Siège face au prisme français (1607–1627) (Rome, 2009), pp. 280–90. 14. The most important study of post-Edict doctrinal debate remains J. Solé, Le Débat entre protestants et catholiques français de 1598 à 1685 (4 vols., Lille, 1985). See also P. Polman, L’Élément historique dans la controverse religieuse au XVIesiècle (Gembloux, 1932); R. Snoeks, L’Argument de tradition dans la controverse eucharistique, entre catholiques et réformés français au XVIIesiècle (Louvain, 1951); L. Desgraves, ‘Aspects des controverses entre catholiques et protestants dans le Sud-Ouest, entre 1580 et 1630’, Annales du Midi, lxxvi, no. 67 (1964), pp. 153–88; M. Péronnet, ed., La Controverse religieuse (XVIe–XIXesiècles). Actes du 1ercolloque Jean Boisset, 6ecolloque du Centre d’histoire de la réforme et du protestantisme (Montpellier, 1980); É. Kappler, Conférences théologiques entre catholiques et protestants en France au XVIIesiècle (Paris, 2011); J.-P. Gay, Morales en conflit: Théologie et polémique au Grand Siècle (1640–1700) (Paris, 2011). 15. A. Pettegree, Reformation and the Culture of Persuasion (Cambridge, 2005), ch. 7 and p. 216; M.-M. Fragonard, O. Millet and T. Wanegffelen, ‘Les Querelles de Dieu—XVIe siècle’, in M. Prigent, gen. ed., and F. Lestringant and M. Zink, eds., Histoire de la France littéraire, I: Naissances, renaissances: Moyen Âge–XVIesiècle (Paris, 2006), pp. 475–500, esp. 481–6; B.J. Kaplan, Divided by Faith: Religious Conflict and the Practice of Toleration in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, 2007), pp. 37–40, 46–67. In the English context, see R. Oates, ‘“For the Lacke of True History”: Polemic, Conversion and Church History in Elizabethan England’, in N. Lewycky and A. Morton, eds., Getting Along? Religious Identities and Confessional Relations in Early Modern England. Essays in Honour of Professor W.J. Sheils (Farnham, 2012), pp. 133–52. 16. Pontien, L’Élément historique; Solé, Le Débat; Snoeks, L’Argument de tradition; P. Joutard, ed., Historiographie de la Réforme (Neuchâtel, 1977), pt. 1, esp. E. Labrousse, ‘Rapport’, pp. 108–13; F. Laplanche, ‘La Controverse religieuse au XVIIe siècle et la naissance de l’histoire’, in A. Le Boulluec, ed., La Controverse religieuse et ses formes (Paris, 1995), pp. 373–404; F. Higman, ‘Les Genres de la littérature polémique calviniste’, in his Lire et découvrir: La Circulation des idées au temps de la Réforme (Geneva, 1998), pp. 437–48; I. Backus, Historical Method and Confessional Identity in the Era of the Reformation (1378–1615) (Leiden, 2003); Fragonard, Millet and Wanegfellen, ‘Les Querelles de Dieu’; N. Salliot, ‘Une “mauvaise Théologie réparée d’une Rhétorique qui s’exhale en exclamations sans propos”? La Polémique confessionnelle et ses influences sur le discours théologique (XVIe–XVIIe siècles)’, in J.-P. Gay and C.-O. Stiker-Métral, eds., Les Métamorphoses de la théologie: Théologie, littérature, discours religieux au XVIIesiècle (Paris, 2012), pp. 131–45. 17. For examples of scholars who understand vitriol to be a minor, albeit characteristic, feature of polemic, see Snoeks, L’Argument de tradition, pp. 335–6; Polman, L’Élément historique, pp. 363–7. For work that sees in it a natural expression of religious hatreds, see Solé, Le Débat, vol. i, pt. 1, ch. 3. For an example of scholars who see it as mere rhetoric, Salliot, ‘Une “mauvaise théologie”’, pp. 134–9. 18. C. Postel, Traité des invectives au temps de la Réforme (Paris, 2004); C.M. Furey, ‘Invective and Discernment in Martin Luther, D. Erasmus, and Thomas More’, Harvard Theological Review, xcviii (2005), pp. 469–88; Fragonard, Millet and Wanegffelen, ‘Les Querelles de Dieu’, pp. 482–3. 19. B. Dompnier, Le Venin de l’hérésie: Image du protestantisme et combat catholique au XVIIesiècle (Paris, 1985), ch. 7 and p. 257; L. Racaut, Hatred in Print: Catholic Propaganda and Protestant Identity during the Wars of Religion (Aldershot, 2002). 20. L. Racaut, ‘The Cultural Obstacles to Religious Pluralism in the Polemic of the French Wars of Religion’, in K. Cameron, M. Greengrass and P. Roberts, eds., The Adventure of Religious Pluralism in Early Modern France (Oxford, 2000), pp. 115–27. On England, see P. Collinson, ‘Ecclesiastical Vitriol: Religious Satire in the 1590s and the Invention of Puritanism’, in J. Guy, ed., The Reign of Elizabeth I (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 150–70; A. Walsham, Church Papists: Catholicism, Conformity and Confessional Polemic in Early Modern England (Woodbridge, 1999); P. Lake and M. Questier, The Antichrist’s Lewd Hat: Protestants, Papists and Players in Post-Reformation England (New Haven, CT, 2002); A. Raffe, The Culture of Controversy: Religious Arguments in Scotland, 1660–1714 (Woodbridge, 2012); P. Lake and I. Stephens, Scandal and Religious Identity in Early Stuart England: A Northamptonshire Maid’s Tragedy (Woodbridge, 2015). 21. A. Jouanna, ‘Recherches sur la notion d’honneur au XVIe siècle’, Revue d’Histoire Moderne et Contemporaine, xv (1968), pp. 597–623, and Le Devoir de révolte: La Noblesse française et la gestation de l’État moderne, 1559–1661 (Paris, 1989); Y. Castan, Honnêteté et relations sociales en Languedoc (1715–1780) (Paris, 1974); F. Billacois, Le Duel dans la société française des XVIe–XVIIesiècles: Essai de psychosociologie historique (Paris, 1986); J.R. Farr, Hands of Honor: Artisans and Their World in Dijon, 1550–1650 (Ithaca, NY, 1988); K.B. Neuschel, Word of Honor: Interpreting Noble Culture in Sixteenth-Century France (Ithaca, NY, 1989); S.G. Reinhardt, Justice in the Sarladais, 1770–1790 (Baton Rouge, LA, 1991), ch. 6; H. Drévillon, L’Impôt du sang: Le Métier des armes sous Louis XIV (Paris, 2005), pt. 4, and ‘L’Âme est à Dieu et l’honneur est à nous: Honneur et distinction de soi dans la société d’Ancien Régime’, Revue Historique, no. 654 (2010), pp. 361–95; S. Carroll, Blood and Violence in Early Modern France (Oxford, 2006); H. Drévillon and D. Venturino, eds., Penser et vivre l’honneur à l’époque moderne. Actes du colloque organisé à Metz par le CRULH (Centre Régional Universitaire Lorrain d’Histoire) (Rennes, 2011); A. Guinier, L’Honneur du soldat: Éthique martiale et discipline guerrière dans la France des Lumières (Seyssel, 2014); P. Arnade and W. Prevenier, Honor, Vengeance, and Social Trouble: Pardon Letters in the Burgundian Low Countries (Ithaca, NY, 2015). 22. On the medieval background, see C. Casagrande and S. Vecchio, Les Péchés de la langue: Discipline et éthique de la parole dans la culture médiévale, tr. P. Baillet (Paris, 1991), esp. pt. 2, chs. 4, 6, 7, and 10; É. Crouzet-Pavan and J. Verger, eds., La Dérision au Moyen-Âge: De la pratique sociale au rituel politique (Paris, 2007). 23. A. Bellany, ‘“Rayling Rymes and Vaunting Verse”: Libellous Politics in Early Stuart England, 1603–1628’, in K. Sharpe and P. Lake, eds., Culture and Politics in Early Stuart England (Stanford, CA, 1993), pp. 285–310, and ‘Libels in Action: Ritual, Subversion and the English Literary Underground, 1603–42’, in T. Harris, ed., The Politics of the Excluded, c.1500–1800 (Basingstoke, 2001), pp. 99–124. 24. J.W. Merrick, The Desacralization of the French Monarchy in the Eighteenth Century (Baton Rouge, LA, 1990), pp. 20–22; T.E. Kaiser, ‘Madame de Pompadour and the Theaters of Power’, French Historical Studies, xix (1996), pp. 1025–44; R. Darnton, The Forbidden Best-Sellers of Pre-Revolutionary France (New York, 1996), esp. ch. 8. 25. J. Martin, ‘Honor Among the Philosophes: The Hume–Rousseau Affair Revisited’, Acta Histriae, viii, no. 1/IX (2000), pp. 181–94; G. Brown, A Field of Honor: Writers, Court Culture, and Public Theater in French Literary Life from Racine to the Revolution (New York, 2002). 26. C. Walton, Policing Public Opinion in the French Revolution: The Culture of Calumny and the Problem of Free Speech (New York, NY, 2009). 27. Darnton, Forbidden Best-Sellers, p. 198; R. Darnton, The Devil in the Holy Water; or, The Art of Slander from Louis XIV to Napoleon (Philadelphia, PA, 2010). 28. Martin, Livre, pouvoirs et société, i. 171–2 (tr. Gerard, Print, Power, and People, p. 111); Labrousse, ‘Rapport’, esp. p. 109; Dompnier, Le Venin, pp. 176–9; Kappler, Conférences théologiques, pp. 251–4; L. Racaut, ‘Education of the Laity and Advocacy of Violence in Print during the French Wars of Religion’, History, xcv (2010), pp. 159–76, esp. 173. 29. T. Debbagi Baranova, À coups de libelles: Une culture politique au temps des guerres de religion (1562–1598) (Geneva, 2012). 30. K.P. Luria, Sacred Boundaries: Religious Coexistence and Conflict in Early Modern France (Washington DC, 2005), pp. 73–84. 31. Raffe, Culture of Controversy, esp. ch. 1. 32. Lake and Questier, Antichrist’s Lewd Hat, pp. 526–30. 33. C. Jouhaud, Mazarinades: La Fronde des mots (Paris, 1985). See also J.K. Sawyer, Printed Poison: Pamphlet Propaganda, Faction Politics, and the Public Sphere in Early Seventeenth-Century France (Berkeley, CA, 1990); Baranova, À coups de libelles. 34. On England, see Lake and Questier, Antichrist’s Lewd Hat; Lake and Stephens, Scandal and Religious Identity; Collinson, ‘Ecclesiastical Vitriol’. On Scotland, see Raffe, Culture of Controversy, p. 17, and esp. ch. 6 and, on crowds, ch. 8. 35. A. Viala, Naissance de l’écrivain: Sociologie de la littérature à l’âge classique (Paris, 1985); C. Jouhaud, Les Pouvoirs de la littérature: Histoire d’un paradoxe (Paris, 2000), and, more specifically on polemic, ‘Les Libelles en France dans le premier XVIIe siècle: Lecteurs, auteurs, commanditaires, historiens’, Dix-Septième Siècle, xlix (1997), pp. 203–17; N. Schapira, Un professionnel des lettres au XVIIesiècle. Valentin Conrart: Une histoire sociale (Seyssel, 2004); G. Turnofsky, The Literary Market: Authorship and Modernity in the Old Regime (Philadelphia, PA, 2010). 36. On France, see Sauzet, Contre-Réforme; G. Hanlon, Confession and Community in Seventeenth-Century France: Catholic and Protestant Coexistence in Aquitaine (Philadelphia, PA, 1993); Cameron, Greengrass and Roberts, eds., Adventure of Pluralism; P. Benedict, ‘Un roi, une loi, deux fois: Parameters for the History of Catholic–Reformed Coexistence in France, 1555–1685’, in his Faith and Fortunes of France’s Huguenots, 1600–85 (Aldershot, 2001), pp. 279–308; D. Boisson and Y. Krumenacker, eds., La Coexistence confessionnelle à l’épreuve: Études sur les relations entre protestants et catholiques dans la France moderne (Lyon, 2009); Luria, Sacred Boundaries. On the European context, see A. Walsham, Charitable Hatred: Tolerance and Intolerance in England, 1500–1700 (Manchester, 2006); C.S. Dixon, D. Freist and M. Greengrass, eds., Living with Religious Diversity in Early Modern Europe (Farnham, 2009). 37. On diplomacy, see T. Dandelet, Spanish Rome, 1500–1700 (New Haven, CT, 2001); B. Barbiche, ‘L’Influence française à la cour pontificale sous le règne de Henri IV’, Mélanges d’Archéologie et d’Histoire, lxxvii (1965), pp. 277–99; O. Poncet, La France et le pouvoir pontifical (1595–1661): L’Esprit des institutions (Rome, 2011). On espionage and diplomacy, J. Bossy, Giordano Bruno and the Embassy Affair (New Haven, CT, 1991); J. Bossy, Under the Molehill: An Elizabethan Spy Story (New Haven, CT, 2001). 38. See J. Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society (1962), tr. T. Burge and F. Lawrence (Cambridge, MA, 1991). 39. D. Freist, Governed by Opinion: Politics, Religion and the Dynamics of Communication in Stuart London, 1637–1645 (London, 1997); A. Halasz, The Marketplace of Print: Pamphlets and the Public Sphere in Early Modern England (Cambridge, 1997); D. Zaret, Origins of Democratic Culture: Printing, Petitions, and the Public Sphere in Early-Modern England (Princeton, NJ, 2000); J. Raymond, Pamphlets and Pamphleteering in Early Modern Britain (Cambridge, 2003). 40. Sawyer, Printed Poison; S. Beam, ‘Apparitions of the Public Sphere in Seventeenth-Century France’, Canadian Journal of History, xxix (1994), pp. 1–22; and H. Duccini, Faire voir, faire croire: L’Opinion publique sous Louis XIII (Seyssel, 2003). 41. For historiographical overviews, see D. Goodman, ‘Public Sphere and Private Life: Towards a Synthesis of Current Historiographical Approaches to the Old Regime’, History and Theory, xxxi (1992), pp. 1–20; A.J. La Volpa, ‘Conceiving a Public: Ideas and Society in Eighteenth-Century Europe’, Journal of Modern History, lxii (1992), pp. 79–116; M.C. Jacob, ‘The Mental Landscape of the Public Sphere: A European Perspective’, Eighteenth-Century Studies, xxviii (1994), pp. 95–113; H. Mah, ‘Phantasies of the Public Sphere: Rethinking the Habermas of Historians’, Journal of Modern History, lxxii (2000), pp. 153–82. Important contributions include J. Landes, Women and the Public Sphere in the Age of the French Revolution (Ithaca, NY, 1988); R. Chartier, ‘The Public Sphere and Public Opinion’, in his The Cultural Origins of the French Revolution, tr. L.G. Cochrane (Durham, NC, 1995), pp. 20–37; K.M. Baker, ‘Public Opinion as Political Invention’, in his Inventing the French Revolution: Essays on French Political Culture in the Eighteenth Century (New York, NY, 1990), pp. 167–99; A. Farge, Subversive Words: Public Opinion in Eighteenth-Century France, tr. R. Morris (University Park, PA, 1994); S. Maza, Private Lives and Public Affairs: The Causes Célèbres of Prerevolutionary France (Berkeley, CA, 1993); D. Goodman, The Republic of Letters: A Cultural History of the French Enlightenment (Ithaca, NY, 1994); Darnton, Forbidden Best-Sellers, esp. ch. 10; and J.S. Ravel, The Contested Parterre: Public Theater and French Political Culture, 1680–1791 (Ithaca, NY, 1999). 42. For example, Baranova, À coups de libelles, pp. 26–31; Raffe, Culture of Controversy, pp. 6–12. 43. P. Lake and S. Pincus, ‘Rethinking the Public Sphere in Early Modern England’, Journal of British Studies, xlv (2006), pp. 270–92. For similar views, see A. Bellany, The Politics of Court Scandal in Early Modern England: News Culture and the Overbury Affair, 1603–1660 (Cambridge, 2002); B.J. Shapiro, Political Communication and Political Culture in England, 1558–1688 (Stanford, CA, 2012). Christian Jouhaud makes similar arguments—though without reference to Habermas—in Mazarinades, pp. 240–41, and ‘Retour aux mazarinades: “Opinion publique”, action politique et production pamphlétaire pendant la Fronde’, in R. Duchêne and P. Ronzeaud, eds., La Fronde en questions. Actes du 18e colloque du Centre Méridional de Rencontres sur le XVIIeSiècle (Aix-en-Provence, 1989), pp. 297–307. 44. On seventeenth-century France, see Duccini, Faire voir; on England, J. Peacey, Politicians and Pamphleteers: Propaganda during the English Civil Wars and Interregnum (Aldershot, 2004). On eighteenth-century France, see V.R. Gruder, ‘The Bourbon Monarchy: Reforms and Propaganda at the End of the Old Regime’, in K.M. Baker, ed., The French Revolution and the Creation of Modern Political Culture, I: The Political Culture of the Old Regime (Oxford, 1987), pp. 347–74; J. Popkin, ‘Pamphlet Journalism at the End of the Old Regime’, Eighteenth-Century Studies, xxii (1989), pp. 351–67; Darnton, Forbidden Bestsellers, pp. 225–6. 45. See Raffe, Culture of Controversy. 46. For an overview of Reboul’s biography, see Puech, Un nîmois oublié. 47. See K. Luria, ‘The Power of Conscience? Conversion and Confessional Boundary Building in Early-Modern France’, in Dixon, Freist and Greengrass, eds., Living with Religious Diversity, pp. 109–25. 48. Registres du consistoire de Nîmes [hereafter RCN], vii, fo. 101, deliberation, 26 June 1596, cited in Puech, Un nîmois oublié, p. 71. The originals are housed in the Archives Départementales du Gard (Nîmes), in the 42 J series. 49. Guillaume de Reboul, Du Schisme des Pretendus Reformez ... Où sons deduites les raisons, qui l’ont meu à s’en retirer, & se renger à l’Eglise Catholique Apostolique & Romaine, tirees de Calvin mesme (Lyon, 1596), Avignon Inquisitor General’s approbation, dated 6 July 1596. 50. Guillaume de Reboul, Le Salmonée ... Contre les vaines terreurs de l’excommunication des Ministres de Nismes (Lyon, 1596), Avignon Inquisitor General’s approbation, dated 6 July 1596. 51. RCN, vii [Puech omits folio numbers here], deliberations, 25 Sept. 1596, 18 Nov. 1597, and 18 Dec. 1597, all cited in Puech, Un nîmois oublié, p. 84 and 84 n. 1. For the Nîmes consistory’s response to Reboul’s attacks, see J. Boulenger, Les Protestants à Nîmes au temps de l’Édit de Nantes (Paris, 1903), pp. 135–6. 52. RCN, vii, fo. 101, deliberation, 26 June 1596, transcribed in Puech, Un nîmois oublié, pp. 70–71. 53. RCN, vii, fo. 108, deliberation, 17 July 1596, cited in Puech, Un nîmois oublié, p. 26. See also Guillaume de Reboul, La Cabale des Reformez, tiree nouvellement du puits de Democrite. Par I.D.C. (Montpellier, 1597), p. 170, and Les Salmonees ... Le Premier contre les ministres de Nismes. Le Second contre les ministres du Languedoc (Lyon, 1597), pp. 110–11. 54. See Guillaume de Reboul, Apologie … sur la cabale des reformez (S.l., 1597), pp. 33–5; id., Les Plaidoyez de Reboul, en la chambre mi-partie de Castres, contre les ministres (Lyon, 1604), p. 14. 55. Archives du Palais de Nîmes, Régistre du Conseil, unnumbered, transcribed in Puech, Un Nîmois oublié, p. 92. For Bouillon’s appeal, see Reboul, Les Plaidoyez (1604), Préface, and Puech, Un Nîmois oublié, p. 38. Dedications in Reboul, Le Salmonée (1596), p. 3, and Apologie (1597), p. 3. 56. Reboul praises Coton and Acquaviva in Les Salmonees (1597), pp. 157, 163; he thanks Acquaviva and the then archbishop of Avignon Tarugi in Apologie … sur la cabale des reformez (S.l., 1599), p. 52; he again thanks Tarugi in Les Plaidoyez (1604), p. 5. Reboul dedicated Du Schisme des pretendus Reformez. Augmenté de quatre parties. Pour replique à la response des ministres du Languedoc, assemblez à Mompellier... (Lyon, 1597), to Acquaviva (pp. 3–6). 57. Letres Du Cardinal D’Ossat. Nouvelle Edition, ed. Amelot de La Houssaie (2 vols., Paris, 1698), ii. 524 (Cardinal d’Ossat to Henri IV, Rome, 21 Jan. 1602), and 533 (Cardinal d’Ossat to Villeroi, Rome, 15 Apr. 1602). See also L’Estoile, Journal du regne de Henri IV, iv. 224. 58. On French diplomacy in Rome, see Barbiche, ‘L’Influence française’; and Poncet, La France, ch. 5, esp. pp. 254–5, 260–62, on French lobbying to place the king’s subjects within the Vatican Curia, and ch. 11 on reconstruction of French–Papal relations. 59. On Baronio’s Annales, see Polman, L’Élément historique, bk. 2, sect. 2, ch. 2. 60. Reboul, Du Schisme (1596), Le Salmonée (1596), and Les Plaidoyez (1604), excepting its lengthy preface. 61. Reboul, Les Salmonees (1597), pp. 198–9. 62. Reboul, Du Schisme ... Augmenté (1597), p. 99. 63. Reboul, Apologie (1597), p. 46. 64. Ibid., p. 107. 65. Reboul, Les Salmonees (1597), pp. 7–8. 66. Ibid., p. 10. 67. Ibid., p. 191. 68. Guillaume de Reboul, L’Apostat, ou il est traicté de la nature de la foy Catholique; & de l’apostasie des ministres (Lyon, 1604), p. 64. 69. Reboul, Les Salmonées (1597), p. 297; Reboul, Apologie (1597), pp. 11–12, 48. 70. Daniel Chamier, La Confusion des disputes papistes (Geneva, 1600). On Chamier, see Michel Nicolas, Histoire de l’ancienne académie protestante de Montauban (1598–1659) et Puylaurens (1560–1685) (Montauban, 1885), pp. 114–54, and Solé, Le Débat entre protestants, i. 48–9. Reboul, L’Apostat (1604), p. 70. 71. Chamier, La Confusion des disputes, p. 1. 72. Ibid., sigs. *ii v–*iii r. 73. For the wider social context of honour, see, for example, Jouanna, ‘Recherches sur la notion d’honneur’. 74. Chamier, La Confusion des disputes, p. 116. 75. Reboul, Les Salmonees (1597), pp. 219, 221. 76. Ibid., pp. 110–11. 77. Reboul, Du Schisme (1596). 78. Reboul, Le Salmonée (1596). 79. Reboul, Du Schisme ... augmenté (1597), p. 191. 80. Reboul, Apologie (1597), p. 52. 81. For example, ibid., pp. 56–8. 82. Reboul, Apologie (1597), p. 3. 83. Reboul, Les Salmonees (1597), p. 297. 84. Chamier, La Confusion des disputes, pp. 2, 5. 85. Reboul, Du Schisme ... augmenté (1597), pp. 173–4. 86. Reboul, Apologie (1597), p. 35. 87. Reboul, Les Plaidoyez (1604). 88. For a foundational article underlining the importance of these sources for book history, see Soman, ‘Press, Pulpit, and Censorship’. Consult, for example, the correspondence for the appropriate years in Archivio Segreto Di Vaticano, Segretario di Stato Francia [hereafter ASV, SS Fra], and The National Archives, State Papers [hereafter TNA, SP] France. On papal diplomacy in France, see Poncet, La France, ch. 10. 89. For a critical overview of the controversy’s bibliography, see P. Milward, Religious Controversies of the Jacobean Age: A Survey of Printed Sources (London, 1978), pp. 86–136. On the controversy, see C.H. McIlwain’s ‘Introduction’, in Political Works of James I, pp. lv–lxxix; D.H. Willson, ‘James I and His Literary Assistants’, Huntington Library Quarterly, viii (1944–5), pp. 35–57, esp. 38–53; D.H. Willson, King James VI and I (London, 1956), pp. 228–42; T.H. Clancy, ‘English Catholics and the Papal Deposing Power, 1570–1640’, Recusant History, vi (1961–2), pp. 114–40 and 205–27, and vii (1963–4), pp. 2–10; T.H. Clancy, Papist Pamphleteers: The Allen–Persons Party and the Political Thought of the Counter-Reformation in England, 1572–1615 (Chicago, IL, 1964); R. Peters, ‘Some Catholic Opinions of King James VI and I’, Recusant History, x (1970), pp. 292–303; K.L. Campbell, The Intellectual Struggle of the English Papists in the Seventeenth Century: The Catholic Dilemma (Lewiston, NY, 1986), ch. 2; J.P. Sommerville’s ‘Introduction’, in James VI and I, Political Writings, pp. xv–xxviii, esp. xx–xxii; W.B. Patterson, King James VI and I and the Reunion of Christendom (1997; Cambridge, 2000), ch. 3, esp. pp. 100–106; B. Bourdin, La Genèse théologico-politique de l’État moderne: La Controverse de Jacques Ier d’Angleterre avec le cardinal Bellarmin (Paris, 2004); J.P. Sommerville, ‘Papalist Political Thought and the Controversy over the Jacobean Oath of Allegiance’, in E. Shagan, ed., Catholics and the ‘Protestant Nation’: Religious Politics and Identity in Early Modern England (Manchester, 2005), pp. 162–84. For works that situate the controversy in the broader context of English political theory, see J.P. Sommerville, Royalists and Patriots: Politics and Ideology in England, 1603–1630 (2nd edn., London, 1999), pp. 182–7, 191–6. For the French contribution to this debate, see J.H.M. Salmon, The French Religious Wars in English Political Thought (Oxford, 1959), pp. 69–79; R. Mousnier, The Assassination of Henri IV: The Tyrannicide Problem and the Consolidation of the French Absolute Monarchy in the Early Seventeenth Century (1964), tr. J. Spencer (London, 1973), pp. 170–76, 252–8; Martin, Livre, pouvoirs et société, i. 173, 180–83 (tr. Gerard, Print, Power, and People, pp. 112, 117–20), and Franceschi, Crise théologico-politique, chs. 3–4. 90. On James’s irenic policy objectives as king of Scotland and in his early years as king of England, see Patterson, King James, esp. chs. 1–2. 91. See summary of this debate in Mercure françois, ii, 1st foliation, fos. 22v–23v, quotation at 22v–23r. 92. On Bellarmine’s role in the controversy, see J. Brodrick, Robert Bellarmine, 1542–1621 (1928; 2 vols., London, 1950), vol. ii, chs. 23–4. 93. See Polman, L’Élément historique, bk. 2, sect. 2, ch. 1. 94. [James I], Triplici nodo, triplex cuneus; or, An Apologie for the Oath of Allegiance, Against the two Breves of Pope Paulus Quintus, and the late Letter of Cardinal Bellarmine to G. Blackwel the Arch-priest (London, 1607), translated into Latin as Triplici nodo triplex cuneus, sive Apologia pro iuramento fidelitatis, adversus duo brevia P. Pauli Quinti, & epistolam Cardinalis Bellarimini, ad G. Blackvellum Archipresbyterum nuper scriptam (London, 1608). See critical editions in Political Works of James I, ed. McIlwain, pp. 71–109, and James VI and I, Political Writings, ed. Sommerville, pp. 85–131. 95. [Robert Bellarmine], Matthaei Torti Presbyteri, & Theologi Papiensis responsio ad librum inscriptum, Triplici nodo, triplex cuneus, sive Apologia pro iuramento fidelitatis ([St Omer], 1608). 96. Martinus Becanus, Serenissimi Iacobi Angliae Regis. Apologiae, Et Monitoriae Praefationis ad Imperatorem, Reges & Principes, Refutatio (Mainz, 1610); William Tooker, Duellum Sive Singulare Certamen cum Martino Becano Jesuita, futiliter refutante Apologiam et monitoriam praefationem ad Imperatorem, Reges et principes et quaedam orthodoxa dogmata Serenissimi ac pientissimi Iacobi Regis magnae Britanniae ([London], 1611); and Becanus’ response, Duellum Martin Becani, Societatis Iesu Theologi, cum Guilielmo Tooker (Mainz, 1612). 97. On Chelsea College, see Patterson, King James, p. 106; D.E. Kennedy, ‘King James I’s College of Controversial Divinity at Chelsea’, in id., D. Robertson and A. Walsham, Grounds of Controversy: Three Studies in Late 16th and Early 17th Century English Polemics (Parkville, VIC, 1989), pp. 99–126. 98. John Gordon, Antitortobellarminus, sive Refutatio calumniarum, mendaciorum, et Imposturarum Laico-Cardinalis Bellarmini, contra iura omnium Regum (London, 1610). 99. See McIlwain, ‘Introduction’, pp. lxv–xx. 100. Jacques Davy, Cardinal Du Perron, Harangue faicte de la part de la chambre ecclesiastique, en celle du tiers Estat, sur l’article du serment (Paris, 1615); James I, Declaration du Serenissime Roy Jacques I Roy de la Grand’Bretaigne ... pour le droit des rois & independance de leurs couronnes. Contre la harangue de l’Illustrissime Cardinal du Perron, prononcée en la chambre du tiers Estat le XV de Janvier 1615 (London, 1615). See also contemporary English translation in Political Works of James I, ed. McIlwain, pp. 169–268. Du Perron’s response was published posthumously: Replique a la response du Serenissime Roy de la Grand Bretagne (Paris, 1620). On Du Perron’s role in the polemic, see P. Feret, Le Cardinal du Perron: Orateur, controversiste, écrivain (Paris, 1877), bk. 4, chs. 2, 4. 101. David Owen, Herod and Pilate reconciled; or, The Concord of Papist and Puritan (against Scripture, Fathers, Councils, and other orthodoxall Writers) for the Coercion, Deposition, and Killing of Kings (Cambridge, 1610); George Hakewill, Scutum Regium, id est, Adversus omnes regidicas et regicidarum patronos (London, 1612). 102. On the assassination’s aftermath, see Mousnier, Assassination of Henri IV. On the role of the Jesuits in the controversy, Fouqueray, Histoire de la Compagnie de Jesus, vol. iii, bk. 2, ch. 1; E. Nelson, The Jesuits and the Monarchy: Catholic Reform and Political Authority in France (1590–1615) (Aldershot, 2005), on the Paris Parlement’s condemnation of Bellarmine’s text, pp. 178–89. See also account in Mercure francois, ii, 1st foliation, fos. 22v–26v. 103. Reboul speaks of Paul V and Bellarmine’s role in Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Manuscrits Dupuy [hereafter BNF, MS Dupuy] 700 (Microfilm 23537), fo. 233r, Reboul to Christophe Dupuy, 14 Oct. 1609; see also Archivio di Stati di Roma, Tribunale Criminale della Governatore [hereafter ASR, TCG], B 98, fo. 1920r–v, Reboul’s interrogation by the Roman criminal tribunal. In contrast, Franceschi, La Crise, p. 228, takes at face value the pope’s claims to have ordered Reboul not to write. 104. [Guillaume de Reboul], Le Roy et la foy d’Angleterre combatus (Cologne, n.d.), quotations at pp. 5, 57. 105. BNF, MS Dupuy 700 (Microfilm 23537), fo. 236r, Reboul to Dupuy (10 Nov. 1609). On Christophe Dupuy, see A. Soman, ‘Introduction’, in his edition of De Thou and the Index: Letters from Christophe Dupuy (1603–1607) (Geneva, 1972), pp. 13–28, esp. 15–16. 106. Patterson, King James, esp. pp. 39–42, 49, 52, 56; M. Lee, Jr, James I and Henri IV: An Essay in English Foreign Policy, 1603–1610 (Urbana, IL, 1970). 107. J.H.M. Salmon, ‘Gallicanism and Anglicanism in the Age of the Counter-Reformation’, in his Renaissance and Revolt: Essays in the Intellectual and Social History of Early Modern France (Cambridge, 1987), pp. 155–88. 108. TNA, SP 75/55, fos. 105r–v, 132v, Carew to Salisbury, 15 June 1609; ASV, Fondo Borghese Ser. I, 915, fo. 227v, Roberto Ubaldini to Cardinal Borghese, 2 July 1609. Both cited in Patterson, King James, p. 99. 109. Patterson, King James, p. 99. 110. ASV, Fondo Borghese, Ser. I, 915, fos. 227v–228v, Ubaldini to Cardinal Borghese, 2 July 1609, quoted in Patterson, King James, pp. 99–100. 111. Antoine Le Févre de La Boderie, Ambassades de Monsieur de la Boderie en Angleterre sous le regne d’Henri IV & la minorité de Louis XIII depuis les années 1606 jusqu’en 1611 (5 vols., s.l., 1750), iv. 378 (Villeroy to La Boderie, 29 June 1609). 112. On de Thou, see I.A.R. De Smet, Thuanus: The Making of Jacques-Auguste de Thou (1553–1617) (Geneva, 2006). On his relationship with Christophe Dupuy, see Soman, ‘Introduction’, pp. 16–17. 113. George Carew, ‘A Relation Of The State Of France’, in Thomas Birch, An Historical View Of The Negotiations Between the Courts of England, France, and Brussels, From the Year 1592 to 1617 (London, 1749), pp. 417–528, quotation at 445. 114. Martin, Livres, pouvoirs et société, i, 461 (tr. Gerard, Print, Power, and People, p. 312). 115. Fouqueray, Histoire de la Compagnie de Jesus, vol. iii, bk. 2, ch. 1, esp. p. 247 on Acquaviva; Clancy, Papist Pamphleteers, pp. 101–3; Nelson, Jesuits. 116. Isaac Casaubon, Ephemerides, ed. John Russell (2 vols., Oxford, 1850), ii. 785. 117. TNA, SP 78/56, fos. 296r–297v, Robert Cecil, earl of Salisbury, to Thomas Edmondes, 16 Oct. 1610. 118. TNA, SP 78/56, fo. 321v, Edmondes to Salisbury, 2 Nov. 1610. 119. TNA, SP 78/56, fo. 321r, Edmondes to Salisbury, 2 Nov. 1610. 120. James I, An Apologie for the Oath of Allegiance: First set forth without a Name, and now acknowledged by the Author ... James by the grace of God, King of great Britaine ... Together, with a Premonition of his Majesties to all most mightie Monarches, Kings, free Princes and States of Christendome (London, 1609), p. 61. 121. TNA, SP 78/56, fos. 321v–322r, Edmondes to Salisbury, 2 Nov. 1610. 122. La Boderie, Ambassades De Monsieur De La Boderie, v. 437–8 (La Boderie to Marie de Médicis, 29 Oct. 1610). 123. TNA, SP 78/56, fo. 322r, Edmondes to Salisbury, 2 Nov. 1610. 124. Robert Persons, The Judgment of a Catholicke English-Man, living in Banishment for his Religion ... concerninge a late Booke set forth, and entituled; Triplici nodo, triplex cuneus ([St-Omer], 1608), p. 2. 125. William Barlow, An Answer to a Catholike English-Man (so by Him-Selfe entituled) who, without a Name, passed his Censure upon the Apology made by the Right High and mightie Prince James ... King of Great Brittaine (London, 1609), sigs. A2v–A3r. 126. James I, An Apologie for the Oath of Allegiance, pp. 4–6 (critical edition in Political Works of James I, ed. McIlwain, pp. 110–68); Robert Bellarmine, Apologia Roberti S.R.E. Cardinalis Bellarmini, pro responsione sua ad librum Iacobi Magnae Britanniae Regis, cuius titulus est, Triplici nodo triplex cuneus (Rome, 1609), p. 20. 127. On Casaubon’s ties with James and his time in England, see Patterson, King James, pp. 127–46. For Casaubon’s polemics, see Isaaci Casauboni Ad Frontonem Ducaeum S.J. Theologum epistola (London, 1611); Isaaci Casauboni Ad epistolam Illustr. et Reverendiss. Cardinalis Perronii, responsio (London, 1612) (in English translation, The Answere of Master Isaac Casaubon to the Epistole of the most illustrious and most reverend Cardinall Peron. Translated out of Latin into English [London, 1612]); Isaaci Casauboni De Rebus Sacris et Ecclesiasticis Exercitationes XVI ad Cardinalis Baronii Prolegomena in Annales, & primam eorum partem ... Ad Iacobum, Dei gratia, Magnae Britanniae, Hiberniae, &c. Regem Serenissimum (London, 1614), esp. pp. 39–46 for refutations of Bellarmine, Becanus and Garnet. On Casaubon’s relationship with Baronio, see A. Grafton and J. Weinberg, ‘I Have Always Loved the Holy Tongue’: Isaac Casaubon, the Jews, and a Forgotten Chapter in Renaissance Scholarship (Cambridge, MA, 2011), ch. 4. 128. Isaaci Casauboni Epistolae, ed. Janson, ii. 630 (Casaubon to Du Perron, undated). 129. TNA, SP 78/56, fos. 321r–324v, 325r–327v, Edmondes to Salisbury, 2 and 3 Nov. 1610, quotation at fo. 322v. 130. Poncet, La France, p. 811. 131. TNA, SP 78/56, fos. 325r–327v, 397r–400v, Edmondes to Salisbury, 3 Nov. 1610 and 22 Dec. 1610. Alincourt was ambassador in 1600, and again in 1605–8: Poncet, France, p. 811. 132. ASV, SS Fra 53, fo. 285r, Ubaldini to Borghese, 18 Aug. 1609. 133. ASV, SS Fra 294, fo. 195r, Borghese to Ubaldini, 22 Dec. 1610. 134. BNF, 500 Colbert 351, pp. 448–9, Savary de Brèves to Henri IV, 14 Oct. 1609, cited in Franceschi, La Crise, p. 228; TNA, SP 78/56, fo. 398v, Edmondes to Salisbury, 11 Dec. 1610. 135. TNA, SP 78/56, fos. 325r–327v, 397r–400v, Edmondes to Salisbury, 3 Nov. 1610 and 22 Dec. 1610. 136. ASV, SS Fra 294, fos. 278v–279r, Borghese to Ubaldini, 24 June 1611; TNA, SP 78/58, fo. 52v, Edmondes to Salisbury, 11 July 1611; ASV, SS Fra 54, fo. 305r–v, Ubaldini to Borghese, 19 July 1611; ASV, SS Fra 54, fo. 313v, Borghese to Ubaldini, 29 Sept. 1611. 137. ASR, TCG, B 98, fos. 1920r, 1926r, 1929r, Reboul’s trial, 20 June–22 Aug. 1611. 138. Lake and Pincus, ‘Rethinking the Public Sphere’, p. 277. © Oxford University Press 2018. All rights reserved. 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Published: Jun 2, 2018
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