. 7
( 10)


celibacy and combativeness, the associations and didactic messages
evoked by the image would have been very different from those
experienced by the lay person. Mary's submissiveness to her divine
206 Loyalism and exclusion
call would have inspired emulation of her example by missionaries,
and ± as can be seen from the manuscript account of the Valladolid
ceremony ± English Jesuits would have been more aware than a
Valladolid layman of the extent of iconoclasm in England, and
would have interpreted the Vulnerata differently. The solemnity,
instituted by Englishmen, de®es English orthodoxy by adhering to
Spanish; and the centrality of Mary, a character so inconspicuous in
the New Testament and consequently so susceptible to the erasure of
the Reformers, became a symbol of doctrinal de®ance.34 The pious
Catholic conception of England as Mary's dowry had especial
resonance at Valladolid. In The Running Register, Lewis Owen reports
on a picture at the College: Mary spreading out her mantle, with her
hands over kneeling Jesuits who are presenting her a scroll, upon
which is written Sub umbra alarum tuarum manebimus, donec transeat
iniquitas (We will remain under the shade of your wings till the
wickedness passes). The superscription was Anglia dos Mariae
(England, Mary's dowry: p. 54).35
The solemnity was made important by being spectacular. Drapery,
as often in Spanish religious festivals, played an important role in
this. It was a tangible show of patronage: Philip III and Margaret
sent hangings of cloth of gold for the College chapel and porch, and
some time after the Madonna's installation a guild of pious women,
Las Camareras de la Vulnerata, was formed to arrange the mantles with
which the statue's mutilations were concealed. Patronage and piety
are impossible to separate; the rich draperies of the solemnity
displayed ®rstly a decorous public benevolence, and secondly a
reparation and glory foreshadowing that of heaven. The Madonna
herself was clad in a `rich mantle or cloake of sylver curiously
wrought with ¯owers of gould, an with it a crowne of pure beaten
gould, richly inameled and guarneshed with pretious stones' (f.53b).
As well as the hangings sent by Philip III and Margaret, `the
forefront and walles of the Colledge were also covered with other
hangings of silke' (f.56a).36 Pinned on them were `divers poems,
epigrammes, and hieroglyphickes in prayse of our blessed Ladyes
Nativitie, and of the solemnitie and receiving of this her image'
(f.56a). This again was a custom which, although originating in
France, had currency among the Jesuits in Spain and Portugal; it was
even raised to the status of a precept in rulings on the ludus, or Jesuit
literary festival. Nigel Grif®n says of them: `These small works of art,
each operating in more than one direction and at more than one
The subject of exile: II 207
level of perception, might be directly functional in that they
encapsulated ¯attery of important guests attending the ludus . . . but,
more usually, they simply re¯ected the general theme and general
tenor of the items, both verbal and pictorial, that were on display
and contributed to the spectacle as a whole.'37
Flattery is here extended to include hyperdulia, for all the
hieroglyphics preserved at the end of the manuscript account at
Rome are in honour of the Virgin, juxtaposed with a few congratu-
latory carmina to her. They expound emblematic images of her as
protectress against all evils, and particularly those of heresy.
There was payncted a plane tree most beautifull and ¯orishing, under
whose pleasant shade, were men taking their rest, and serpentes ¯ying yt,
as from their contrarie.
The shade of the plane-tree cherishes the bodies of those dried up from too much heat: and
this tree puts crafty snakes to ¯ight by its leaves. You, pious Virgin, are the plane-tree,
driving away heat and the Syrian: lying in this shade, one remains safe from the enemy.
Therefore, rest under the health-giving shade of Mary; you who ¯ee harmful ¯ames and
The other hieroglyphics are, in succession: a palm-tree weighed down
heavily, upon which nevertheless the boughs are growing strongly;39
priests carrying the Ark of the Covenant through the River Jordan
dry-shod, and the people following them; the Virgin as guardian of a
vineyard; a woman treading on a dragon; an eagle-winged woman
¯eeing from a dragon who casts a river between them, which the
earth drinks up; a rose from which bees suck honey and whose
fragrance kills dung-beetles;40 a ship guided by a star and light-
house.41 As is the characteristic of emblems, these hieroglyphics are
complex. But certain themes recur: exile, represented by rivers;
oppression from heavy weights; spiritual guidance, refreshment and
guardianship represented by the star, the lighthouse, the plane-tree
and images of the Virgin; and the loathsomeness of heresy in dragons,
dung-beetles and serpents. These hieroglyphics, like Psyche et Filii Eius,
demonstrate the highly visual, highly ornamental and highly sche-
matic manner in which the English Jesuits often preferred to represent
themselves, their enemies and the Marian protection of their nation.

exile and its polemical advantages
The Madonna Vulnerata may be referred to in at least one Jesuit
drama other than Psyche et Filii Eius.42 Leo Armenus, a tragedy written
208 Loyalism and exclusion
by Joseph Simons and set in Byzantium in the midst of the
controversy between iconodules and iconoclasts, has a scene in
which a statue of Mary is mutilated.43 Theophilus, the young son of
the iconodule hero Michael Balbus, is eavesdropped upon at his
devotions before the statue by Sabatius, the son of the iconoclast
emperor Leo Armenus, who soliloquises `What a disgusting sight!
Are you so foolish as to venerate the images of heavenly beings?
Caesar, he is trampling on your commands.'44 The unwitting
dialogue continues.
t h e o p h i l u s O Mother! Light of the world! World's Salvation! Through
how much danger, and fear of the destroyers, has your child continu-
ously preserved you safely! Allow me to express a few thoughts from
my careworn heart.*
s a b a t i u s Foolish little boy, are you offering words to an image?*45

This establishes the mutual incomprehension of the iconodule and
the iconoclast; and since a pro-iconoclast reading would deplore the
almost complete omission of the Godhead in this scene as an object
of praise and prayer, one must remember that the Counter-Reforma-
tion continued the medieval tradition of intense Marian veneration,
and that in dramatic terms, Marian veneration is a convenient
shorthand way of identifying a Catholic. Whereas for Theophilus
the statue of Mary is holy, both in itself and as a reminder of Mary's
position as chief intercessor to God, Sabatius sees the action as vain:
at ®rst because it is pointless, and then, after Theophilus delivers a
long pictorial litany of the Virgin's beauties, because it demonstrates
a blasphemous reverence for empty ornamentation: Pictam profana
mente veneratur Deam (He venerates a painted goddess with blasphe-
mous thoughts).46 The word `goddess' betrays the theological ques-
tion genuinely at issue in this scene: not whether the veneration of
images is justi®able, the question on which the Iconoclast controver-
sies hung, but whether hyperdulia is no more than Mariolatry.
Somewhat anachronistic in a Byzantine context, this had a direct
and painful relevance for the post-Reformation Catholic, since Mary
± unlike Christ ± was effectively exiled from English worship on a
public level. Theophilus's perception of Mary's intercessory power is
enhanced by the consciousness that she too has experienced aliena-
tion from her country: another pointer to the fact that this scene is
meant to be read primarily as a topical commentary, since up to this
point in the play the iconodules are persecuted, rather than forced
The subject of exile: II 209
into exile.47 The scene continues with Theophilus pouring out his
grief to Mary, in a manner which ®nally stings Sabatius into
t h e o ph i lu s Tell me, Mother, what is the cause of all the heresy that tears
apart the Eastern world? Rare is the faith that holds to the eternal
course. Piety withers, and evil ¯owers bloom.
s a b a t i u s That piety withers and evil ¯owers bloom is your father's doing,
and yours.
t h e o p h i lu s Indeed, even the ¯ock of your faithful ones is dwindling:
victims of the sword, victims of grief, victims of banishment. Of those
who honour you, their Mother, with frankincense ± O Mother, how
immeasurably much you merit such honour ± few are left in the world.
s a b a t i u s Yes, there are a few. But once I gain control of things I shall see
that those impious ones die.48

On Theophilus's ®nal request, O ¯ecte Regem virgo, ne quis te mihi /
Disjungat unquam Regis irati furor (O Virgin, turn the emperor from his
ways so that no rage of his may ever take you away from me),
Sabatius bursts out of his hiding-place in a fury and strikes the image
with his hand. Theophilus de®antly declares that it is unharmed, Sic
¯os inventae vernet illaesus tuae (Then let this ¯ower you have found keep
on growing undisturbed*), and pleads that Mary may stretch out a
hand to help her image and her worshipper. Sabatius wounds the
face of the image with his dagger, since he is unable to smash it by
force, and exits.49 In a long lamentation with the refrain O vulnus!
acre vulnus! immanis manus! (The scar, the savage scar! The ruthless
hand!), an abbreviated version of which is given below, Theophilus
laments the defacement of the image.
Do I see this? Why do my eyes not turn in their sockets and refuse to see
the atrocity? Grief of mine, give vent to your sobbing and ®ll my eyes with a
¯ood of tears . . . Your radiant face, your serenely majestic brow, your
solemn and lovely eyes ± all dis®gured? . . . Stars, hide your radiance, for a
villain has deprived the Virgin of hers. Sun, hide your glorious face, for one
more glorious than yours has been dis®gured. Flowers, do not bloom, for
the Queen of the ¯owers is injured. Roses, wither and fade, for the Mystical
Rose has been seared. Black pitch dis®gures the head white with lilies, see,
Mary's lily-crowned head has been damaged by a thorn.* . . . Heavenly
Advocate, Father of the glorious Virgin, and, of course, you her Son ± I do
not ask that you hurl an angry thunderbolt from heaven to avenge the
outrage done to your Mother. Beyond any doubt, the guilty one will be
punished. Anyone who mistreats your Mother will receive his just deserts.
But do help me to be eternally faithful in my reverence for Mary, and for
210 Loyalism and exclusion
every saint whose picture Leo has done violence to. Grant that I may carry
her image forever in my heart. This is my fondest desire. Mother, help your

Theophilus appeals to God to renew His call for Marian veneration,
and for external and internal iconodulia: `Help me to be eternally
faithful in my reverence for Mary . . . Grant that I may carry her
image forever in my heart'. But his distress is indicative if not of
doubt, at least of an appalled recognition that worship has lost its
innocence. In a play written over a hundred years after the activities
of the ®rst English iconoclasts, the shock of image-breaking to a
Catholic is nowhere given more eloquent or suggestive expression.
The lover's rhetorical device of enumeratio, so often used in medieval
hymns to the Virgin, is twisted to record the devastations that
Sabatius's weapon has wrought on each feature of her face; and
Theophilus himself addresses the mater dolorosa. Roses and lilies,
attributes of Mary and the martyrs, are subjected to acts of violence
and ritual despite: plucked so that they fade, smothered with black
pitch and stabbed with thorns. Reformation is seen as the rape of the
A number of other Jesuit plays ± some surviving, some not ± were
more explicit still. Of those that do not survive, the plays performed
at the English College, Seville in the late 1590s, Anglia Lapsa Resurgens
(1595), devised by Robert Persons, and Cicilus Atheos, Non Anglicanus51
(1598) suggest a sturdy polemic in their titles. Henrico VIII, a lost play
by William Drury, was performed at Douai in 1623, and its content
and tone may have had an analogy in the cluster of historical dramas
performed at the English College, Rome in the early seventeenth
century, dramatising the lives of Sts Thomas Becket, Thomas More
and John Fisher. Other tragedies performed at St Omer make the
same parallel as Leo Armenus between English Catholics and the
oppressed iconodules of iconoclast Byzantium; Captiva Religio and
Psyche et Filii Eius, both discussed above, use allegory to enhance their
anti-Protestant explicitness. In their ef¯orescent, protracted and
unequivocal condemnations of the effect of Protestantism in England,
these plays rank among the most subversive texts ever written by
Tudor and Stuart Englishmen. They could never have been per-
formed publicly on the English stage, nor issued by a mainstream
publisher in England; and through their very outspokenness, they
testify to the practical advantages and incidental consolations of exile.
The subject of exile: II 211
Though the plays dealing with the Henrician Reformation would
have been the most shocking of all to a Protestant Englishman,
much of English history before the Tudors was interdicted in
England as well. Brevis Dialoguismus, the dramatic dialogue on St
Thomas Becket quoted earlier, can be seen as the marginalia to a
later play, St. Thomas Cantuar. This is a ®ve-act dramatisation of the
saint's life, ®rst performed in 1613 at the English College, Rome, and
revived in 1617.52 If not quite a chronicle, it is structurally more
straightforward than the former play; but the supernatural framing
of the play dictates the audience's response. St Joseph of Arimathaea
speaks the prologue and validates what is to come. Legend cast St
Joseph, the disciple who begged Pilate to be allowed to bury Jesus's
body in his own tomb, as one of the ®rst missionaries to Britain and
the founder of Glastonbury. His remarks are directed to those who
follow his example, but achieve the martyr's glory that he himself
was denied.
Saviour, I have submitted to the lot you have imposed, I have given your
faith to the Britons . . . it was not permitted to moisten it with the dew of
our blood; the glory of the martyr, a reward of sweetness, was not yet given
to Britain; thereafter it shall be given, and blood poured out will open
heaven for Britons. And often an Englishman made glorious with blood
will penetrate beyond the stars: Alban saw those covered entrances, and
others deserved to have their laurels touched with their blood. And now a
famous head aspires to the purple ± Thomas. He may be observed
overthrowing the impious commands of powerful kings for your sake. He
will prove this, that there is an easy road from earth to heaven for the
brave: Thomas points the way.53

After only two years as Archbishop of Canterbury, and after a Royal
Council at Northampton during which Becket and Henry II had
come into con¯ict over whether the State should have jurisdiction
over clergymen convicted of crimes, Becket was obliged to ¯ee
secretly to France, where he remained for six years. 54 In Act i ii of
the play he is seen arriving back in England, underscoring the
relevance to seminarians of a story where a return from Continental
exile leads to martyrdom. Act ii chronicles the rekindling of the
quarrel, on account of certain bishops who had infringed the
prerogatives of Becket's see at the King's instigation; a subsidiary
character, Peter Beleius, mediates anxiously between the opposites of
ecclesiastical and royal supremacy. The denouement is set in motion
in Act iii, when the four knights Brito (Richard de Breton), Thracius
212 Loyalism and exclusion
(William de Tracy), Ursius (Reginald Fitzurse) and Moravilla (Hugh
de Morville) are sent on their way by Henry to murder Becket, and it
is dramatised with a sophisticated degree of irony. The knights'
manhunt is counterpointed with a hunt in which the king is taking
part; during it, he receives a supernatural warning of the fatal effect
of his words by an angel disguised as an eremite, and he hurries to
Canterbury, only to arrive too late. But this fatalism is set in the
optimistic context of martyrdom, by an angel who gives Thomas a
similar warning of impending slaughter. The assassination takes
place at the end of Act iv, and it is in Act v that the didactic import
of the tragedy becomes most striking. Henry and the knights repent,
again assisted by the angel-eremite; one may be intended retro-
spectively to equate the knights with four souls returned from
purgatory, who accompany St Joseph of Arimathaea in the prologue.
Thomas and Henry personify Church and State, and where
Thomas is reasoned and adamantine, Henry is immature, grandilo-
quent and wilful. Though the king develops throughout S. Thomas
Cantuar, his development ± for good didactic reasons ± is not towards
an autonomous maturity, but a recognition of his own immaturity.
He is ®rst seen in royal panoply, giving vent to a Marlovian speech
which nevertheless betrays a need to convince himself that his power
is real: `We do not bear imagined sceptres, I do not occupy a theatre
for short dramas as a timid pretend-tyrant up to the applause'
(i iv).55 This emphasis on Henry's youth gives psychological consis-
tency to the blend of bluster and wish-ful®lment that prompt his
fateful words to the knights. Kingly entertainment ± a festival in ii i
and the hunt in iii ii ± turns sour as the distinction between reality
and fantasy becomes forced on Henry, and the words of the Earl of
Leicester, quoted below, become ironic as Henry ends the play in
subservience and shame, having unwittingly awarded Thomas the
prize of martyrdom.
The theatre will give the occasion importance and glory, the king himself
sustains the leading [places] among the ®rst men . . . Let everybody note,
according to your law, who of the chorus abides by the rules unusually well,
so that everyone may carry off the appropriate palm that each has
deserved. (ii i)56

This scene is replete with a double meaning that only becomes
evident when Leicester's addressees are considered. They are
described as feciales, or representatives from the Roman college of
The subject of exile: II 213
priests who performed various ambassadorial functions; and from
Leicester's speech it becomes clear that they are superintending the
games, making the rules and leaving the king as a ®gurehead. The
word praesul means both public dancer and bishop, and motus both
dancing and rebellion; and so the exemplary chorus-member seems
intended as a type of Becket, even before the passage mentions the
palm that rewards both winner and martyr.
State power in S. Thomas Cantuar is portrayed as something not
inherently bad, but ideally to be subjected to Church control for fear
of the havoc that kings ± left to themselves ± will cause and later
regret.57 In this respect, the play is suggestively similar to Edmund
Campion's Ambrosia, probably the ®rst Jesuit drama written by an
Englishman. Put on when Campion was teaching at the Jesuit
College, Prague in 1578, Ambrosia deals in part with St Ambrose's
reproof of the emperor Theodosius for ordering a massacre, and
ends with Theodosius being brought to admit Ambrose's maxim that
`The emperor is within the church; he is not above it.'58 As I have
argued elsewhere, Campion may have written this play as an
autodidactic means of ®tting himself for a career in European
courtly circles, for which he seemed to be destined at the time he
wrote the play.59 Most English Jesuit dramas, though, are preoccu-
pied with exploring the didactic import of history, with particular
emphasis on its applicability to the future lives of the playwrights,
actors and audience; and the personal implications of historical
typology, or truth as re-enactment, also run powerfully through S.
Thomas Cantuar. The story of Becket and Henry II is an historical
one; victory at the festival pre®gures the triumph of Becket's
martyrdom; and the boys acting the parts, together with the boys
and masters in the audience, were being exhorted to act out Becket's
example in their own lives.
Recent history was also incorporated into the scheme. For the
early seventeenth century, Becket occupied a chronologically central
and pivotal place in the roll-call of English martyrs, between the
early Christians and those who suffered at the Reformation. The
angel that warns him of his martyrdom in Act iv ii emphasises the
inspiration he will be to post-Reformation Catholics: not only to
individuals like Persons, Campion, Southwell, Walpole and Garnet,
whom some of the older members of the audience at the English
College would probably have known, but to an earlier generation
who stood out against the Henrician regime.60 The most prominent
214 Loyalism and exclusion
of the Henrician martyrs were St Thomas More and St John Fisher,
heroes of the two other surviving historical plays from Rome, S.
Thomas Morus and Roffensis.61 It is More's story in particular for
which Becket's becomes the type. Both martyrs are called Thomas
and both monarchs Henry; both Thomases move in courtly circles,
and are personal friends of the monarch until the two quarrel over
Church discipline; and Henry VIII, because of these very analogies,
had a personal animus against the cult of Becket.62 There are two
dramatic versions of the story that survive from English Jesuit
colleges, Rome's S. Thomas Morus and Morus, a play from St Omer.63
The ®rst play is an extravaganza and the second a chamber
treatment of the story ± S. Thomas Morus is ®ve acts long, with an
intermedium between each act, as opposed to Morus's six scenes ±
and these differing lengths make for different emphases. But more
important is what they have in common: a willingness to set the
story in a supernatural context, and a selectivity of biographical
detail that downplays More as layman.64
More's life was suited to dramatisation for a number of reasons,
not least because his name lent itself so well to typological re¯ection.
Thomas Stapleton's biographical Tres Thomae (1588, repr. 1612)
places More alongside biographies of the apostle Thomas and ±
again ± Thomas Becket.65 A series of essays on More's personal
qualities rather than a conventional life, Stapleton's biography
becomes of most obvious use to the two dramatists towards the end,
where the events surrounding More's trial and execution are out-
lined. Morus concentrates on these events, with a large cast but few
characters that are other than one-dimensional. The most distinctive
scene, which can only be described as a dream-sequence, is at the
end. Henry VIII is grieving for More, having just heard of his
execution, when an angel appears and identi®es himself as England's
Genius. He introduces a series of visionary tableaux composed in a
baroque idiom, the ®rst of which is described as follows: Deducuntur
vela et apparet in caelo Christus. Hinc Morus, illinc Roffensis; tum alii duo
Martyres, Angelis supra capita eorum palmas et coronas trementibus (The
curtains are pulled away and Christ appears in heaven, More on one
side and Fisher on the other; then two other martyrs, with angels
waving palms and crowns above their heads: scene 6). The angels
sing a panegyric studded with allusions to Virgil's messianic fourth
Eclogue, and then a further scene is discovered with statue-like
representations (instar statuarum) of Edward VI, Mary and Elizabeth.
The subject of exile: II 215
England's genius reminds Henry that this is no mere pageant, but a
theatre of death (funesto hoc theatro) and goes on to describe Edward
and Elizabeth in terms of explicit invective.
You will acknowledge the same [i.e. your fate] as this, your son. Through
truly appalling offences, and through cruelty poured out in every
intemperance, you lust for him so much; but a son of such a kind who, dug
out from the bowels of his mother with a sharp sword, ®rst drained life
from a parent in being born, and deprived her from use of the light whom
he himself should have looked to as a light; a son who will never be his own
master in the future,66 but shall be destroyed by a premature death pledged
for him in a cup poisoned by those very vipers which you now fondle in
your breast ± the last offspring, either male or female, to be begotten from
your pestiferous seed . . . The child in the third place after her tyrant father
will occupy the rear place in your evil lineage ± she is out of that
abominable-souled she-wolf, that shall be begotten because of your
incestuous loves;67 a daughter who puts on in one form all her father's and
all her mother's [iniquities] . . . And here let there be an end of your
abominable stock!68
Rome's S. Thomas Morus also demonstrates the interpenetration of
the political and the supernatural. In Act i ii, even before the
character of More has been introduced, the malign in¯uence that
precipitates the plot and the Reformation is brought on stage in the
form of a `Cacodaemon': a spirit with a name that bespeaks
blindness both physical and moral, who tempts Henry towards
tyranny.69 Before the Cacodaemon arrives, Henry is musing on the
fact that More and Fisher are going to be the prime obstacles to his
divorce from Catherine, which he hopes will secure stability for the
kingdom; and before the spirit goes, it convinces Henry that he is
Henry is shattered after the ®rst visitation, Quam callet omne mentis
arcanum meae! (How it understands every secret of my mind! i ii,
p. [4]); and he calls Cromwell, Audley and Cranmer, who comment
on the signs of his perturbation but are sceptical about the idea of a
ghost. The Cacodaemon then re-enters and speaks prophetically to
the company, renewing the suggestion that the king ought to be all-
powerful. Cromwell is told that he will be led into the way of
corruption with an iron rod, Cranmer that he will be guided by
avarice and a mitre; and both men complain of a sense of burning,
proleptic of hell, after they have received these orders. Audley is the
last to succumb, at the promise of military glory. The Cacodaemon
departs after threatening that they will be unable to enjoy the object
216 Loyalism and exclusion
of their temptation, and foretelling how spiritual illumination will
depart from England, with a few glorious exceptions: `Thus, and
thus, must it happen; may blood poured out by an enemy extinguish
the lights of the lamps; may that precious blood be poured out, even
though it is More's.'70 The Cacodaemon magically ensures that
Henry, Cromwell and Audley retain no memory of his orders, but
they unconsciously act upon them: the plot of S. Thomas Morus after
the Cacodaemon's departure is of escalating court chicanery. The
emphasis is less on More's character than on princes persecuting
him without a valid cause, and the inspiration, consequently, less
Stapleton than Sander. The vivid character-portrayal of More in
Tres Thomae has been smoothed out, and the idealised features of a
martyr superimposed. More and Fisher even engage in dialogue
with the Chorus (ii i), which in this play has a supernatural function,
combining the normative voice with the divine. Being supereroga-
tory to the propagandist requirements for celibates, More's family
hardly ®gure.71
Rome's Roffensis [1610±20] is a companion piece to S. Thomas
Morus. Dealing with the trial, condemnation and execution of
St John Fisher, which occurred directly before More's, it may have
drawn not only on the sources already enumerated but on Richard
Hall's life of Fisher, which enjoyed a wide manuscript circulation.72
Many of the scenes in the two plays ± which may have been written
by the same author ± are almost interchangeable.73 This re¯ects the
inseparability of More and Fisher: not only chronologically as
victims of the same purge, but as men whose perceived integrity was
dif®cult even for ideological opponents to undermine, and whose
posthumous glory embarrassed the Tudors. The differences in the
two characterisations are minor ± mostly referring to Fisher's age
and in®rmity ± which again re¯ects the de-individuating, hagiogra-
phical effect of martyrdom on character. It is not to denigrate
Fisher's considerable achievements to say that, to the lay person
then and now, More's was by far the more charismatic personality.74
But in order to present the clerical and lay experience of martyrdom
as equally glorious, individual character and achievement could be
subsumed to didactic ef®cacy.75 Since Fisher and More were of
equal martyrological stature, Fisher's story is not a predella to that of
More's; instead, the two make up a diptych.
Roffensis differs from S. Thomas Morus most in its feminisation of
the story of the schism. Anne Boleyn is provided with a kinsman,
The subject of exile: II 217
Bolenus, who acts as spokesman for her,76 and the ills of Catherine
of Aragon are lamented in the choruses spoken by four personi®ca-
tions of countries, Roma, Anglia, Germania and Hispania, who in
themselves demonstrate how a slight to a princess could iconogra-
phically be seen as one to her native country. The usual polarisations
of womanhood are imposed on Catherine and Anne Boleyn, making
the one a saint and the other a whore, with the added force of the
fact that one represents Catholicism and the other Protestantism. In
the ®rst chorus, the echo of Revelations in the Vulgate, Cecidit, cecidit
Babylon (Babylon the great is fallen, is fallen: Revelation 14.8, 18.2),
has a miserable irony.
r o m e The queen has fallen, fallen from her throne, and, her marriage-bed
deserted, she laments the preferred embraces of a seductress. What
does violent love not dare, and lust when joined with power? . . .
s p a i n See, a new seductress enters the marriage-bed of our prince. What
does holy piety gain by him? What does the glory of great fathers
gain? Alas, she is despised, she is despised, her great virtue is made
inglorious, and a famous descendant of kings is being driven far away
from the court of the king.77
These English plays' overt condemnation of the religious settlement
in England becomes even more striking when compared with
dramatic treatments of Henry's reign and the Reformation on the
mainland. Mainland playwrights had three main options: to write
with a strong pro-Protestant bias, like Samuel Rowley in When You
See Me, You Know Me (1605); to rewrite contemporary events in such a
way as to leave religion out altogether; or to attempt to leave gaps
which would both satisfy the censor and elicit internalised glosses
from the audience.78 For polemical reasons, Henry's divorce from
Catherine of Aragon and marriage to Anne Boleyn is consistently
identi®ed with the advent of heresy in Catholic accounts of the
Reformation; and for reasons merely chronological, the two are
hard to separate in narrative. In Henry VIII, Shakespeare and his
probable co-author Fletcher bypass the problem, rewriting the
episode as to be almost entirely secular in its implications. Where
religious matters intrude, they are so contextualised as to be without
threat: Wolsey calls Anne a `spleeny Lutheran' (iii ii, l. 100), but, at
this point in the drama, Wolsey is about to fall.79 Catherine's
integrity is made clear in the trial-scene and her ill-luck lamented,
while her death becomes a transmogri®cation; but despite
Anne Boleyn's detractors within the play, she too is portrayed
218 Loyalism and exclusion
sympathetically. As Cranmer points towards England's coming
golden age in the play's last scene, the audience is encouraged
towards a joyous teleological endorsement of Henry's remarriage:
and perhaps, or perhaps not, towards reading the infant Elizabeth as
a Protestantised Truth, the daughter of Time.80
This was only one solution to the internal and external censor-
ships imposed on those mainland playwrights who touched on the
subject of England's break with Rome. But Sir Thomas More, co-
authored by Anthony Munday and others, illustrates a similar
solution to a similar dif®culty.81 Both plays emphasise the humane-
ness of the central Catholic characters ± Catherine of Aragon in
Henry VIII, More in Sir Thomas More ± but sidestep the dif®culty of
explaining without offence the religio-political reasons why More's
execution might have been expedient, or Henry's divorce from
Catherine necessary.82 Of the two, the former was the more dif®cult;
Henry's motivation towards the royal divorce is still a contentious
matter among historians, but there was no doubt about the fact that
More and Fisher were executed because they refused to accept the
royal supremacy in matters of religion. The playwrights' inevitable
dif®culty is well illustrated in Act iv i from Sir Thomas More, where
More and Fisher ®rst refuse to subscribe to the Oath of Succession.

Enter Sir Thomas Palmer.
pa lme r My lords, his majesty hath sent by me
These articles enclosed, ®rst to be viewed
And then to be subscribed to. I tender them
In that due reverence which be®ts this place.
With great reverence.
m o re Subscribe these articles? Stay, let us pause:
Our conscience ®rst shall parley with our laws.
My lord of Rochester, view you the paper.
r o c h . Subscribe to these? Now good Sir Thomas Palmer,
Beseech the king that he will pardon me.
My heart will check my hand whilst I do write:
Subscribing so, I were an hypocrite.
pa l. Do you refuse it then, my lord?
r o c h . I do, Sir Thomas.
pa l. Then here I summon you forthwith t'appear
Before his majesty, to answer there
This capital contempt.
r o c h . I rise and part,
In lieu of this, to tender him my heart.
The subject of exile: II 219
He riseth.
pa l. Will't please your honour to subscribe, my lord?
mo re Sir, tell his highness I entreat
Some time for to bethink me of this task.
In the meanwhile I do resign mine of®ce
Into my sovereign's hands.
pa l. Then, my lord,
Hear the prepared order from the king:
On your refusal, you shall straight depart
Unto your house at Chelsea, till you know
Our sovereign's further pleasure. (ll. 69±93)
Sir Edmund Tilney, Master of the Revels, marked for deletion the
parts of the scene concerned with Fisher's impeachment and More's
resignation, noting in the margin that the whole scene had to be
altered.83 Tilney was as literalistic as most censors, and does not
seem to have queried the play's most explicit reference to religion,
which comes during Margaret Roper's prophetic dream in Act iv ii:
she sees More `in Chelsea church, / Standing upon the rood loft,
now defaced, / And whilst he kneeled and prayed before the
image, / It fell with him into the upper choir, / Where my poor
father lay all stained in blood' (ll. 37±41). But his objection must
have been to the Oath being addressed at all, as much as to the
manner of treatment. The latter is intensely economical and tactful:
economical because it compresses the process of decision-making
into less than a page, reducing to a minimum the possibility of
misreading, and tactful because it presents the king's messenger as
prescient and the king's unnamed oath as indisputable, while
emphasising the element of conscientious private judgement in-
volved both in subscribing and refusing to subscribe. Fisher's point is
not that only hypocrites subscribe to the Oath of Succession, but
that he would be a hypocrite if he did so reluctantly.
As a whole, the scene makes considerable demands on an
audience: they are expected both to supply the historical data that
makes the action explicable, and to decide where they stand when
they have done so. But their judgement is not entirely undirected.
After subscribing, Surrey says to Shrewsbury: `'Tis strange that my
lord chancellor should refuse / The duty that the law of God
bequeaths / Unto the king', and Shrewsbury replies: `No doubt /
His mind will alter, and the bishop's too. / Error in learned heads
hath much to do' (ll. 106±110). This is not a remark that the
audience is invited to condemn; and here, the role of poets in the
220 Loyalism and exclusion
play is suggestive. The character Surrey in the above quotation is
identi®ed by the playwrights with the poet Henry Howard, Earl of
Surrey.84 In Act iii i, a debate between the two poets on the
comparative merits of statesmanship and verse displays More as an
apologist for poetry and Surrey for politics, since `poets were ever
thought un®t for state' (l. 195). To Surrey's claim that the art is at a
low ebb, More retaliates by declaring that `This is no age for poets:
they should sing / To the loud cannon heroica facta' (ll. 203±4).85
Throughout the rest of the play, an opposite point is driven home:
just because these are interesting times, this is no age for poets. This
is done by identifying the poetic temperament with the conscience;
More re¯ects of himself in the Tower:
That part of poet that was given me
Made me a very unthrift.86
For this is the disease attends us all:
Poets were never thrifty, never shall. (v iii, ll. 61±4)

Poetry is seen as the reason for More's decline and death, when he is
transplanted to an alien ideology; it is identi®able in the play's terms
as a kind of quixotry, that of championing an unnamed lost cause.
Even Surrey, the poet who disavows poetry, does not escape; in the
last speech in the play, the playwrights were almost certainly
counting on the audience's awareness that ten years after More,
Surrey ± a fellow-Catholic ± shared More's fate of decapitation on a
charge of high treason.
A very learned worthy gentleman
Seals error with his blood. Come, we'll to court.
Let's sadly hence to perfect unknown fates,
Whilst he tends progress to the state of states. (v iv, ll. 119±22)
Despite Surrey's earlier minimisation of the importance of poetry,
the clear message to the audience is that the poetic temperament,
when faced with the exigencies of statesmanship, invariably comes to
grief. In terms of More, this links poesy with popery as his capital
crime; poeticisation becomes fantasy, and fantasy becomes error.
Were it for no other reason than this, the play would demand to
be read as a critique of Catholic heroism. But the writer whose
contribution to the text was greatest, Anthony Munday, notoriously
had connections with the English College in Rome and with
counter-Catholic espionage.87 In his English Romayne Lyfe (1582) he
describes his time in Rome from February to May 1579, ostensibly as
The subject of exile: II 221
a student at the English College, which he later represented as a
mission to gather information about the English Catholics. On his
return to England, he informed against the College member Ralph
Sherwin at the trial which led to Sherwin's, Edmund Campion's and
Alexander Briant's martyrdom in December 1581.88 From 1582 he
was pursuivant to Richard Topcliffe, the Elizabethan priest-catcher,
and was active in searching out Catholic books; this may have been
how he obtained a manuscript copy of one of the play's major
sources, Harps®eld's Life of More.89 Being a co-authored play
associated with Shakespeare, Sir Thomas More has often been scruti-
nised to establish the authorship of different portions. Even so, no-
one has answered the question of how one of its co-authors could be
a man so rabidly anti-Catholic; and the mystery seems destined to
remain insoluble. But Munday's pamphlet A Discoverie of Edmund
Campion, and His Confederates (1582), though largely devoted to
denunciation of Catholic treachery, includes a description of the
martyrs' exemplary behaviour on the scaffold which can be seen as
pre®guring his characterisation of More; and, by the time Munday
participated in the writing of Sir Thomas More in the early 1590s, it is
possible that through an obligation to understand his quarries, he
may have developed a certain degree of sympathy for them.90
More's integrity and loyalty to the King are never questioned, and
the lack of speci®city about the articles that More refuses to sign has
almost the effect of transforming the action into an allegorical battle
of duty versus individual conscience: a battle that those of puritan
inclination would have been able to sympathise with, even while
deploring More's views. But the dif®culty about mentioning either
Catholic or Protestant tenets leaves a void at the centre of Sir Thomas
More. As performed before a contemporary audience, a play of this
kind could certainly have had its danger-points led up to, and
exploited, with breathtaking dramatic effect; but if this particular
play does not quite come off for a twentieth-century reader, it is
because of the anxious eye kept on Sir Edmund Tilney.
The fate of this scene demonstrates how, even when using extreme
brevity and circumspection, the theatre in England found it dif®cult
to dramatise the break with Rome without running into objections
from the censor. But censorship on this matter ± admittedly of an
opposite kind ± also operated in a Catholic country like Spain. In

Calderon's La Cisma de Inglaterra, which dramatises Henry's infatu-
ation with Anne and its repercussions, the playwright was not
222 Loyalism and exclusion
allowed to say that Henry thought himself head of the church, or to
have Anne or any other villain expounding Lutheranism, since
informing the populace about the details of heresy was considered to

be dangerous.91 Calderon resorts to the technique of decir sin decir
(saying without speaking out) that was often employed by Golden
Age playwrights; by a simple statement made of Anne, y aunque en
‚ ‚
publico la ves / catolica, pienso que es / en secreto luterana (And though she
seems a Catholic in public, / I have a strong suspicion that in
private / She is a Lutheran: Act i, ll. 454±6) the Spanish audience
was prompted to attach to her ®gure all the vivid images of
Protestant wickedness that the term would have implied.92
Like S. Thomas Morus, La Cisma de Inglaterra uses the device of
prophetic dream. The play begins with Henry waking up from a
vision of Anne that pre®gures his passion for her, giving a tragic
inevitability to all his subsequent actions, and leading to a second,
more blatant omen:
Were it lawful to interpret dreams
You might suppose these letters were the subject
I've just been dreaming of. With my right hand
I wrote at ®rst, and this could only mean
I jealously defended the true doctrine,
As represented by Pope Leo's letter.
And that I wanted to dim and quench its light
With my sinister hand well indicates
How I confused the night and day, the poison
And the antidote. To let my greatness say
Which has the victory, let Luther sink
Down to my feet, and Leo rise to my head.
He makes to throw down Luther's letter at his feet, and to put
that of the Pope on his head, but [he confuses them and]
does the opposite.93
Anne, it seems, has literally bewitched Henry. Carlos, her ex-suitor,

describes her as de los hombres bellµsima sirena, / pues aduerme a su encanto

los sentidos, / ciega los ojos y abre los oµdos (That siren who enchants
men's quietened senses, / Blinding their eyes and opening their ears:
Act i, l. 346±8), as en fuego . . . veneno (poison wrapped in ®re: l. 338)

and as a movµl de cristal y plata / en su curso los cielos arrebata (moving
body of crystal and of silver, / That in its course wrenches the very
heavens / From their ®xed place: ll. 339±40), all epithets that
emphasise the power of her sexuality to enchant, confuse and
confound. The further image of Anne as a magnet (ll. 365±72)
The subject of exile: II 223
makes explicit her role as conductor for half-understood but devas-
tating elemental forces. The effect is heightened, if anything,
because Anne is never heard expounding heretical issues; through

the techniques of hint and suggestion that Calderon employed to
circumvent the censor, she is seen as Antichrist's passive agent. As
with Vittoria in The White Devil, of whom the crystalline metaphors
are reminiscent, the religious context encourages the identi®cation
of female religious deviance with hieratic evil;94 and, harking back to
the polemical metaphor with which this study began, Anne may be
seen as the Catholic analogue to Vittoria. Neither the livid ¯ash nor
the glistening religious whore were con®ned to Protestantism.
In their various treatments of the English break with Rome,
Shakespeare, Munday and Caldero all show how a playwright's
referential ®eld and treatment of historical event had to be circum-
scribed, if he was an obedient citizen of either a Catholic or a
Protestant country. The complex disobedience of the clerics at the
English College in Rome ± travelling to the Protestants' Babylon,
being ordained by papal authority and intending, in many cases, to
commit high treason by returning to England ± is compounded still
further by the plays that they wrote and performed; against the
loyalist ingenuities of former chapters, these texts have a stunning
outspokenness. Catholic exiles might lament their geographical
removedness from England; but it meant that of all Englishmen,
they were the most freed from censorship.

How should one measure Catholic failure, or Catholic success? The
Protestant succession is a fact, and plots against it, some sponsored
by leading Catholic ®gures in conjunction with Spain, had a habit of
failing. But in recent historical debate, this judgement has been
tempered by pointing to the visibility and freedom of Catholics
within the Caroline court; though this never translated into tolera-
tion country-wide, it provided opportunities for aristocratic evangel-
ism which were to continue in the courts of Charles II and James II,
with such success that the causes of English Catholicism and
Jacobitism became intertwined after 1688.1 Even without counter-
factual speculation, even if it is legitimate to regard the re-intro-
duction of the Catholic succession as a doomed cause, it was also
one which took over two centuries to die. But Catholicism itself
continued alive in England, in the rest of Britain and in British
outposts on the Continent. Paradoxically, it was through asserting
membership of the universal Church that they became ± as John
Bossy has demonstrated ± members of a sect: and a sect they were to
remain, sometimes almost invisible, sometimes unassimilable and
reproachful, and often routinely disadvantaged, until the emancipa-
tions and second springs of the nineteenth century. Recent historians
have united in describing the Reformation as a success, and England
was a Protestant nation throughout this time; yet because one should
not overlook the Catholic element within that Protestant nation, the
terminology of success and failure has limits. Protestantism did not
win everyone over, Catholicism did not die out; while a cause still
has adherents, one cannot say that it has completely failed. 2
Is it best, though, to measure that adherence quantitatively or
qualitatively? As commented in the introduction, historians have
been very concerned with assessing the regional distribution of
Catholics, on the assumption that statistical prominence is a
Conclusion 225
measure of relative success.3 Perhaps their concern ± though neces-
sary ± has been too narrow, since this line of enquiry is limited by its
own methodology: to be a Catholic sympathizer was to acknowledge
interest but defer commitment, while the whole aim of the church-
papist was to evade visibility. If these historians do not take the
recusant as the ideal in quite the same sense that the missioners did,
recusancy is certainly seen as a benchmark. Yet as historians have
usually concluded, `good' Catholics were only part of England's
Catholic population ± how large a part, we shall probably never
know. The ideological dilutedness of the church-papist is something
which missioners would, of®cially, have regarded as relative failure;
yet in speci®c cases, especially with aristocratic potential converts,
Catholic proselytisers ± sometimes for years on end ± regarded a
combination of conformity and sympathies towards Rome as a
highly promising seedbed. De®nitions of success and failure, as here,
can sometimes collide. In the current ¯uctuating state of early
modern historiography, what is more urgently needed than such
de®nitions is a constant and serious acknowledgement of two things:
the Catholic presence in England, and the English Catholic presence
But whatever methods future researchers develop to extend the
Catholic headcount beyond recusancy-rolls, their approach would
still be largely quantitative if it stopped there. Such lines of enquiry
give little help to those concerned with assessing the distinctiveness of
early modern English Catholicism, and, in particular, the nature of
its grip on some English mentalities, imaginations and souls. Many
of the imaginative reactions to Catholicism discussed above are
highly personal, others pronounce for a group more than for an
individual, and yet others subordinate the personal to the discursive:
but all, in some degree, testify to the lively importance of Catholi-
cism in the biography of an individual. Hagiography is more help
here than some mainstream historians might care to admit, for it has
always recognised the necessity for qualitative history, of a kind
which assesses the nature and degree of the zeal with which a given
individual promotes a given discourse. Zeal, which can be eirenical
as well as polemical, is a constant element in English Catholic
literary culture: not simply because it forms a large part of the
subject-matter of Catholic books, but because of the dif®culties and
dangers that Catholics so often surmounted in producing and
distributing their texts. No-one can deny the bibliographical evi-
226 Conclusion
dence for a vigorous underground Catholic literature, and this book
has, in addition, been particularly concerned to emphasize how
much Catholics contributed to and in¯uenced mainstream imagin-
ative discourse: sometimes visibly, more often not, and sometimes ±
as with the imaginative spectres of anti-Catholicism ± just because
they were there. Zeal can manifest itself not only in clandestine,
separatist literary activity, but in the in®ltration of Protestant
discourse; and it could stimulate a countering fervour in imaginative
Protestant responses to the idea of popery. To trace all these
emanations of zeal, the historian, the literary critic and the biblio-
grapher need to join forces.
Finally, a book built around the idea of the controversial imagin-
ation would be incomplete without a recognition of its most powerful
practical effect. The imaginative use of Catholic-Protestant contro-
versy ideally stimulated a mental impregnability which, when tested
at the scaffold or in jail, could be seen to be spectacularly successful.4
This is a topic which literary scholars are particularly well-equipped
to explore, since Catholic leaders and writers encouraged a sys-
tematic fomentation of imaginative empathy with historical martyrs,
not only by literary exhortation and prayer, but by ballad, drama
and picture.5 From the 1580s onwards6 the evidence of Jesuit drama,
and of other literary and artistic data, demonstrates that the
martyrological ideal was persistently instilled by imaginative means
into boys and young men at the English Catholic colleges and
seminaries on the Continent: a conditioning which has its most
visible effect in priestly lives and deaths, but which must have had a
corresponding ± if less quanti®able ± effect on the male Catholic
laity who also received their education at the Colleges, and the men,
women and children among whom the priests had their ministry.
Something of this has been discussed in chapter six, but in a follow-
up study to this, I hope to examine at length a phenomenon which,
in this study, I have called `autodidacticism':7 how, encouraged by
their teachers' imaginative acculturation, Catholic youths colluded
with them in a self-propelled internalisation of the martyrological
ideal. Drama, in particular, was used for this end, foregrounding a
recognition that, through the role-playing of imaginative projection
and trial, one might become better-equipped to achieve real-life
English Catholics were not braver than English Protestants, and
in the Reformation period, as Foxe and others bear witness, it was
Conclusion 227
Protestants who ®rst wrote in many of the potentially controversial,
potentially autodidactic genres which Catholics were later to adopt:
the complaint, the exemplary prison-verse, the epistle to family
members. But Catholics had to be brave for longer, and their
imaginative techniques for stimulating bravery are consequently
more sophisticated than anything that English Protestantism can
show. Their consistency in behaving like the saints they venerated, at
trial, in prison and on the scaffold, was perhaps the supreme
achievement of the controversial imagination, turning worldly defeat
into spiritual success; and however incredible the idea of suffering
and dying for one's faith has become to the late-twentieth-century
European academic, to acknowledge Catholic success in these
theatres is the least that an un-zealous posterity can do.

1 Guiney's papers for volume ii are held at the Holy Cross College,
Worcester, Massachusetts.
2 There has, too, recently been some interest in the relationship between
Catholic casuistical techniques and ®ctionality: see Steven Mullaney,
`Lying Like Truth: Riddle, Representation and Treason in Renaissance
England', ELH, 47 (1980), pp. 32±47; Ronald J. Corthell, ` ``The
Secrecy of Man'': Recusant Discourse and the Elizabethan Subject',
ELR, 19 (1989), pp. 272±90.
3 E.g. in Stephen Radtke, James Shirley, his Catholic Philosophy of Life
(Washington: Catholic University Press, 1929); Dennis Flynn, John
Donne and the Ancient Catholic Nobility (Bloomington: Indiana University
Press, 1995); B. N. da Luna, Jonson's Romish Plot (Oxford University
Press, 1967); Lisa Hopkins, John Ford's Political Theatre (Manchester
University Press, 1994). Two recent accounts of the literature addressing
the controversy over Shakespeare's Catholicism can be found in
Richard Wilson, `Shakespeare and the Jesuits' (TLS, 19 December 1997,
pp. 11±13) and Peter Milward's letter responding to the article (TLS, 2
January 1998).
4 `Some Aspects of Yorkshire Catholic Recusant History, 1558±1791', in
G. J. Cuming (ed.), Studies in Church History, iv (Leiden: E. G. Brill, 1967),
pp. 98±121 (esp. p. 101).
5 The most recent list of local societies is to be found, with much else, in
J. Anthony Williams, `Sources in Recusant History (1559±1791) in
English Of®cial Archives', RH, 66:4 (1983), pp. 331±442. See also the
Catholic Archives Society's Directory of Catholic Archives in the UK and Eire
6 Ceri Sullivan, Dismembered Rhetoric (London: Associated University
Presses, 1995) is a more recent study of English Catholic prose which
concentrates on rhetorical stratagem. See also George H. Tavard, The
Seventeenth-Century Tradition: A Study in Recusant Thought (Leiden: Brill,
1978); John R. Roberts, A Critical Anthology of English Recusant Devotional
Prose, 1558±1603 (Pittsburgh: Duquesne University Press, 1966).

Notes to pages 4±9 229
7 See G. A. M. Janssens and F. G. A. M. Aarts (eds.), Studies in 17th-Century
English Literature, History and Bibliography: Festschrift for Professor T. A. Birrell
on the Occasion of His 60th Birthday (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1984); and, inter
alia, his Newsletter for Students of Recusant History (1958±1970).
8 Nicholas Tyacke's comments in the introduction to England's Long
Reformation (pp. 1±4), pointing out the similarity of Duffy's arguments to
those in Aidan, Cardinal Gasquet's The Eve of the Reformation (1900),
vividly demonstrate how long it has taken for the contentions of Catholic
historiography to be addressed seriously in mainstream academic circles.
9 Two relatively recent summaries of developments in early modern
English Catholic history are Martin Havran's chapter on the British
Isles in John O'Malley (ed.), Catholicism in Early Modern History: A Guide to
Research (St Louis: Centre for Reformation Research, 1988), and
Lawrence Stone, The Past and the Present Revisited (London: Routledge,
1987), ch. 9. See also Alan Dures, English Catholicism, 1558±1642:
Continuity and Change (Harlow: Longman, 1983); J. C. H. Aveling, The
Handle and the Axe: The Catholic Recusants in England from the Reformation to
Emancipation (London: Blond & Briggs, 1976).
10 English Reformations (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), p. vii.
11 Virgil Nemoianu, `Literary History: Some Roads Not (Yet) Taken', in
Marshall Brown (ed.), The Uses of Literary History (Durham: Duke
University Press, 1995), pp. 18±19 (citing Adorno, Bloch and Fredric
Jameson as advocates and practitioners of the approach).
12 John Bossy, The English Catholic Community, 1570±1850 (London: Darton,
Longman & Todd, 1975), ch. 8 et passim, de®nes a Catholic as one
having regular access to the sacraments.
13 See the introduction to D. George Boyce and Alan O'Day (eds.), The
Making of Modern Irish History (London: Routledge, 1996) concerning the
relationship between differing interpretations of Irish history and overt
political commitment. Their comments engage with the controversy
surrounding Brendan Bradshaw's attack on revisionist `value-free'
history, de®nitively expressed in `Nationalism and Historical Scholar-
ship in Northern Ireland', Irish Historical Studies, 26 (1988±9),
pp. 329±51, repr. as ch. 12 in Ciaran Brady (ed.), Interpreting Irish History
(Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 1994).
14 However, John Morrill rightly praises Hill's role in introducing the
history of religious ideas to a wide audience: The Nature of the English
Revolution (Harlow: Longman, 1993), p. 277.
15 However, it may have been a sign of sensitivity to anti-Catholic
prejudice that Edward Said's comparable use of the term `Protestant',
in the oral version of his 1993 Reith Lectures, was edited out before
they reached print: Representations of the Intellectual (London: Vintage,
1994). Information from Arnold Hunt.
16 Michael C. Questier, Conversion, Politics and Religion in England, 1580±1625
(Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 28±31.
230 Notes to pages 10±12
17 Haigh, English Reformations, esp. ch. 14.
18 See L. I. Guiney, Recusant Poets, vol. i (London: Sheed & Ward, 1938)
under `Myles Hogarde', `William Forrest' and `Poems of Mary I'.
19 Myles Hogarde, A Treatise Declaring Howe Christ by Perverse Preachyng Was
Banished Out of This Realme (1554): quoted in Guiney, Recusant Poets,
p. 128. See J. W. Martin, `Miles Hogarde: Artisan and Aspiring Author
in 16th-Century England', Renaissance Quarterly, 34:3 (1981), pp. 359±81.
20 The Seconde Grisilde, `Oration Consolatorye' (Bod.MS.Wood empt.2),
p. [3]. See The History of Grisild the Second: A Narrative, in Verse, of the Divorce
of Queen Katharine of Aragon, ed. W. D. Macray (London: Roxburghe, 1875).
21 Haigh, English Reformations, p. 252.
22 Historians have been, perhaps, more at odds over how effectively
survivalism was supplanted. John Bossy and Christopher Haigh, with
others, have conducted a high-pro®le controversy dubbed `The fall of a
church or the rise of a sect?' after Haigh's review-article in HJ, 2:1
(1978), pp. 181±6. Haigh's view (®rst set out in Reformation and Resistance
in Tudor Lancashire (Cambridge University Press, 1975), and elaborated
in the above article; `From Monopoly to Minority: Post-Reformation
Catholicism in England', Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th
ser., 31 (1981), pp. 129±47; `The Continuity of Catholicism in the
English Reformation', P & P, 93 (1981), pp. 37±69; and English Reforma-
tions, ch. 16) is that post-Reformation Catholicism was doomed, though
revived temporarily by an English Mission whose mistake was to
concentrate almost exclusively on Catholic landowners; in The English
Catholic Community, Bossy has argued instead that Catholics became a
sectarian community dominated by the laity. Caroline Hibbard's is
perhaps the most important further contribution to the debate, arguing
for a more international perspective, and a greater emphasis on the
Catholic presence in London: `Early Stuart Catholicism: Revisions and
Re-Revisions', Journal of Modern History, 52:1 (1980), pp. 1±34. Marie
Rowlands's forthcoming volume for the Catholic Record Society, on
Catholicism below gentry level in early modern England, will help
future historians to look beyond the communities nurtured by the great
Catholic houses.
23 R. Po-Chia Hsia, The World of Catholic Renewal, 1540±1770 (Cambridge
University Press, 1998), introduction, discusses recent uses of the term
24 NLW, Add.MS. 22250B; Bod, MS.Eng.th.b.1±2.; Folger, X.d.532 (infor-
mation from Jan Rhodes). Some caution is necessary when approaching
post-medieval manuscripts alluding to medieval precedent, as with
early modern medievalising in general: medieval MSS were quite often
used simply as binders' waste or to cover the boards of books; the
antiquarian spirit was not con®ned to Catholics; and Protestants,
Laudian and other, often appropriated the visual effects of medievalism.
25 In the library of Balliol College, Oxford, is a book of hours with an
Notes to pages 12±13 231
early eighteenth-century annotation describing how the book was
hidden by the Lovell family: R. A. B. Mynors, Catalogue of the Manuscripts
at Balliol College, Oxford (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963), p. 362. See also
Janet Backhouse, `The Sale of the Luttrell Psalter', and T. A. Birrell,
`The Circle of John Gage (1786±1842), Director of the Society of Arts,
and the Bibliography of Medievalism', both in Robin Myers and
Michael Harris (eds.), Antiquarians, Book Collectors and the Circles of Learning
(Winchester: St Paul's Bibliographies, 1996); Christopher de Hamel,
`The Dispersal of the Library of Christ Church, Canterbury, from the
14th to the 16th Century', in James P. Carley and Colin G. C. Tite
(eds.), Books and Collectors, 1200±1700: Essays Presented to Andrew Watson
(London: British Library Publications, 1997); the footnotes to Andrew
Watson, `The Manuscript Collections of Sir Walter Cope (d.1614)',
Bodleian Library Record, 12:4 (1987), pp. 262±97, esp. p. 265.
26 For three case-studies of seventeenth-century Catholic antiquarians, see
Theo Bongaerts (ed.), The Correspondence of Thomas Blount (1618±1679): A
Recusant Antiquary (Amsterdam: APA, 1978); and (discussing William
Blundell) D. R. Woolf, `Little Crosby and the Horizons of Early
Modern Historical Culture' in Donald R. Kelley and David Harris
Sacks (eds.), The Historical Imagination in Early Modern England (Cambridge
University Press, 1997); Dennis E. Rhodes, `Richard White of Basing-
stoke: the erudite exile', in Susan Roach (ed.), Across the Narrow Seas:
Studies in the History and Bibliography of Britain and the Low Countries, Presented
to Anna E. C. Simoni (London: British Library, 1991), pp. 23±30. See also
Graham Parry, The Trophies of Time: English Antiquarians of the 17th Century
(Oxford University Press, 1995), ch. 2.
27 I have written elsewhere about the problematic relationship between
Catholic texts and the mainstream book trade, which surfaced in
censorship and censure, and operated more stealthily in the clandestine
distribution of forbidden books: Alison Shell, `Catholic Texts and Anti-
Catholic Prejudice in the Seventeenth-Century Book Trade' in Robin
Myers and Michael Harris (eds.), Censorship and the Control of Print in
England and France, 1600±1910 (Winchester: St Paul's Bibliographies,
1992), pp. 33±57. See also Alexandra Walsham's forthcoming article:
` ``Domme Preachers'': Post-Reformation English Catholicism and the
Culture of Print' (Past and Present ), and Patrick Collinson, Arnold Hunt
and Alexandra Walsham, `Religious Publishing 1557±1640' in the
Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, vol. 4 (1557±1695), forthcoming.
28 John Lilliat gives more of a clue to his beliefs than some compilers of
MS miscellanies, in annotating his version of `Why do I use my paper,
ink and pen?', the ballad on Edmund Campion, as `A good verse, upon
a badd Matter': see Arthur Marotti, Manuscript, Print and the English
Renaissance Lyric (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995), p. 6.
29 BL MS Egerton 2403, ff. 2±32 (dateable ca. 1601) is a manuscript with
the superscription `IHS Maria', apparently compiled by Thomas
232 Notes to pages 13±14
Wenman during a period of imprisonment for Catholicism: see Albert J.
Loomie (ed.), Spain and the Jacobean Catholics, Vol. ii 1613±1624 (CRS 68,
1978), pp. 27±8. Among several signed original loyalist compositions, it
includes a `complaint' poem hostile to Mary Stuart and calling her
followers `popish' (e.g. in stanza 162). This has been taken as a sign of
Protestant authorship by Phillips, Images, though it need only indicate
an author unhappy with papalism; if so, one can probably accept the
traditional attribution of this unsigned poem to Wenman on the
grounds that several shorter pieces in the volume bear his signature (e.g.
by John Fry in his 1810 edition, The Legend of Mary, Queen of Scots, the
poem's only appearance in print). However, for the problems with such
an assumption, cf. Henry Woudhuysen, Sir Philip Sidney and the Circulation
of Manuscripts, 1558±1640 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1996), p. 160. I differ
from Marotti, Manuscript, Print, who sees the piece as criticising
Elizabeth (pp. 182±4).
30 The Scolar Press series edited by D. M. Rogers between 1968 and 1979,
English Recusant Literature, published many of these books in facsimile.
ARCR has been supplemented by Thomas Clancy, English Catholic Books,
1641±1700 (1974: rev. edn. Aldershot: Scolar, 1996); and F. Blom,
J. Blom, F. Korsten & G. Scott, English Catholic Books, 1701±1800 (Alder-
shot: Scolar, 1996).
31 This is despite the fact that Allison and Rogers were involved in the New
Short-Title Catalogue at every stage: see T. A. Birrell's review article
`English Counter-Reformation Book Culture', RH, 22 (1994),
pp. 113±22.
32 See D. M. Rogers, `English Catholics and the Printing Press at Home
and Abroad, 1558±1640. A Bibliographical Survey' (Oxford D.Phil.
thesis, 1951), pp. 30±1 and 58±64, and ` ``Popishe Thackwell'' and Early
Catholic Printing in Wales', Biographical Studies, 1534±1829, 2 (1953),
pp. 37±54.
33 One has some sympathy for the Parisian compositors set to work on the
thick Scottish dialect of John Colville's The Paranaese (1602). Colville
remarks in his epistle to the reader that it is dif®cult `to print any thing
in our vulgar toung on this syid of the sea nanly in France vhar our
langage and pronu[n]ciation seamit so strange, and vhar the prentars
use seldome theis lettres k, y, and double VV' (f.ee1a). Typographical
imprecision was such a recognised feature of Catholic printing that it
was even used, like a false imprint, to conceal when printing had taken
place at a secret press in England. Richard Bristow's A Reply to Fulke
(1580), purportedly printed in Louvain, came from Greenstreet House
in East Ham, and the printer's epistle to the reader elaborates on the
®ction: `my Compositor was a straunger and ignorant in our Englishe
tongue and Orthographie'. Complaining that the printing lacks the
`varietie of letters' requisite in a book of this kind, he concludes with a
proverb that can equally well be read as an apologia for having to lie:
Notes to pages 14±16 233
`having these characters out of England, I could not joyne them
together with any others . . . Remember that when man can not do as
he would, he must do as he may.' (f.Eee4b)
34 See my review of Blom, Blom, Korsten and Scott in The Library, 6th ser.,
19:2 (1997), pp. 158±60; and Anthony Allison and David M. Rogers,
`Ten Years of Recusant History', RH, 6 (1961/2), pp. 2±11.
35 The term of `Romanist' used by Peter Lake and Michael Questier
would be possible, despite its potential anti-loyalist overtones: e.g. in
`Agency, Appropriation and Rhetoric Under the Gallows: Puritans,
Romanists and the State in Early Modern England', P & P, 153 (1996),
pp. 64±107.
36 See also David L. Smith, `Catholic, Anglican or Puritan? Edward
Sackville, 4th Earl of Dorset and the Ambiguities of Religion in Early
Stuart England', in Donna B. Hamilton and Richard Strier (eds.),
Religion, Literature and Politics in Post-Reformation England, 1540±1688
(Cambridge University Press, 1996), pp. 115±37.
37 The work of two students currently completing their doctoral theses,
Paul Arblaster of Brussels and Margaret Sena of Princeton, will clarify
this topic; and I am grateful to them both for letting me see portions of
their work in progress.
38 I shall address these topics in a follow-up study to this, dealing with
Catholics and orality. John Austin's Devotions was ®rst printed in 1668
after an extensive circulation in MS.
39 See Keith Wrightson, English Society, 1580±1680 (London: Hutchinson,
1982), ch. 2; Ernest A. Strathmann, `Robert Persons's Essay on
Atheism', in James G. McManaway et al. (eds.), Joseph Quincy Adams
Memorial Studies (Washington: Folger Shakespeare Library, 1948).
40 William Crashaw, Manuale Catholicorum (1611), ff.7b±8a; Luke Fawne/
Francis Cheynell, The Beacon Flameing With a Non Obstante (1652), p. 20.
41 Carol Z. Weiner, `The Beleaguered Isle: A Study of Elizabethan and
Early Jacobean Anti-Catholicism', P & P, 51 (1971), pp. 27±62. See also
Robin Clifton, `The Popular Fear of Catholics During the English
Revolution', P & P, 52 (1971), pp. 23±55; and Peter Lake, `Anti-Popery:
the Structure of a Prejudice', in Ann Cust and Richard Hughes (eds.),
Con¯ict in Early Stuart England (Harlow: Longman, 1989); Paul Chris-
tianson, Reformers and Babylon: English Apocalyptic Visions From the Reforma-
tion to the Eve of the Civil War (University of Toronto Press, 1978); William
Haller, Foxe's Book of Martyrs and the Elect Nation (London: Jonathan
Cape, 1963); William M. Lamont, Godly Rule: Politics and Religion,
1603±1660 (London, 1969); Helgerson, Forms of Nationhood, ch. 6; Claire
McEachern, The Poetics of English Nationhood, 1590±1612 (Cambridge
University Press, 1996); and Julia Gasper, The Dragon and the Dove: The
Plays of Thomas Dekker (Oxford: Clarendon, 1990). For its links to anti-
Spanish sentiment, see William S. Maltby, The Black Legend in England
(Durham: Duke University Press, 1971).
234 Notes to pages 16±25
42 Questier, Conversion, ch. 2.
43 I am grateful to Raymond D. Tumbleson for allowing me to read, at
proof stage, his monograph Catholicism and the English Protestant Imagin-
ation: Nationalism, Religion and Literature, 1660±1745 (Cambridge University
Press, 1998).
44 Examples of Catholic texts expurgated for use by Protestants are
discussed in Victor Houliston, `Why Robert Persons Would Not Be
Paci®ed: Edmund Bunny's Theft of the Book of Resolution', in McCoog
(ed.), Reckoned Expense; Shell, `Catholic Texts', pp. 42, 56.
45 In Dyce MS 44.25.f.39 (National Art Library, London): see Robert F.
Fleissner, Resolved to Love: The 1592 Edition of Henry Constable's `Diana'
(Salzburg: Salzburg Studies in English Literature, 1980), p. 72. Though
Constable may not have been a Catholic at the time, he was concerned
with convincing James I of the solidarity of the Roman church (p. xi).
46 Arthur Marotti of Wayne State University is currently writing a study of
Catholicism and manuscript culture.

1 the livid flash: decadence, anti-catholic revenge
tragedy and the dehistoricised critic
1 Donna Tartt, The Secret History (London: Penguin, 1992), p. 646. The
close association between revenge tragedy and the thriller is discussed
in John Kerrigan, Revenge Tragedy: Aeschylus to Armageddon (Cambridge
University Press, 1996), ch. 3. Ngaio Marsh, Singing in the Shrouds (1st
edn., London: William Collins, 1958), illustrates how a taste for revenge
tragedy is used as shorthand for criminal depravity; the character who
prefers The Duchess of Mal® to Shakespeare turns out to be the murderer.
2 John Wilks, The Idea of Conscience in Renaissance Tragedy (London: Rout-
ledge, 1990), p. 194.
3 A recent discussion and checklist can be found in Ann Rosalind Jones,
`Italians and Others: The White Devil (1612)', in David Scott Kastan and
Peter Stallybrass (eds.), Staging the Renaissance (New York: Routledge,
4 Davis J. Alpaugh, `Emblem and Interpretation in The Pilgrim's Progress',
ELH, 33 (1966), pp. 299±314 (quotation p. 300); Ronald Paulson,
Emblem and Expression (London: Thames & Hudson, 1975) p. 53.
5 For a guide to the vast corpus of work on apocalyptic studies, see the
bibliography to C. A. Patrides and Joseph Wittreich (eds.), The Apocalypse
in English Renaissance Thought and Literature (Manchester University Press,
1984). See also Katherine Firth, The Apocalyptic Tradition in Reformation
Britain, 1530±1645 (Oxford University Press, 1979).
6 Bernard's commentary epitomises a number of apocalyptic anti-Catho-
lic commonplaces and will be referred to extensively.
7 For a succinct account of the history of the interpretation of the Whore
of Babylon, see Harold R. Willoughby and Juliette Renaud (eds.), The
Notes to pages 25±7 235
Elizabeth Day McCormick Apocalypse. Volume 1 (University of Chicago
Press, 1940), pp. 476±8.
8 Christopher Hill, Antichrist in Seventeenth-Century England (Oxford Univer-
sity Press, 1971), esp. ch. 1; Peter Lake, `The Signi®cance of the
Elizabethan Identi®cation of the Pope as Antichrist', JEH, 31 (1980),
pp. 161±78.
9 See Henry Chadwick, `Royal Ecclesiastical Supremacy', pp. 169±203 in
Brendan Bradshaw and Eamon Duffy (eds.), Humanism, Reform and
Reformation (Cambridge University Press, 1989).
10 See Tessa Watt, Cheap Print and Popular Piety (Cambridge University
Press, 1991), ch. 4.
11 For the necessity to cover profane fabulae with the veil of Christian
allegory, see Michael Camille, The Gothic Idol (Cambridge University
Press, 1989), pp. 98±9. Nigel Smith, Perfection Proclaimed (Oxford: Clar-
endon, 1989), pp. 233±4, discusses the veil and links it to other
metaphors of concealment.
12 Matthew 23.27: see also Acts 23.3. As with a number of anti-Catholic
topoi, this can also be used for Puritans by conformists: the overlap
comes because of the commonplaces associated with hypocrisy, because
some conformists discerned popery in Puritanism, and ± possibly ± as a
means of blackening Puritans by association. Sphinx Lugduno-Genevensis
(1683) is an extended example of language normally anti-Catholic being
transferred. John N. King, English Reformation Literature (Princeton Uni-
versity Press, 1982) discusses how hypocrisy became an epithet for
Catholicism (pp. 157±60, 351).
13 In Elizabethan Pamphleteers (London: Athlone, 1983) Sandra Clark points
out apropos the association of cosmetics and rich clothes with rotting
¯esh that the linking of commonplaces in a `complex referential ®eld'
controlled the literary form of pamphlets (pp. 191±3, 211±14).
14 Ronald Paulson, Breaking and Remaking (New Brunswick: Rutgers Uni-
versity Press, 1989), p. 18.
15 Hill, Antichrist, p. 25, describes it as an almost universal corollary of
Protestantism; for a more nuanced view, see Anthony Milton, Catholic
and Reformed (Cambridge University Press, 1994).
16 Peter Lake, `Anti-Popery: The Structure of a Prejudice', in Cust and
Hughes (eds.), Con¯ict in Early Stuart England, pp. 73±5.
17 There will be no extended discussion of A Game at Chess in this chapter,
since its anti-Catholic content has been well and frequently discussed.
See Edgar C. Morris, `The Allegory in Middleton's A Game at Chess',
Englische Studien, 38 (1907), pp. 39±52; Edward M. Wilson and Olga
Turner, `The Spanish Protest against A Game at Chesse', MLR, 44 (1949),
pp. 476±82 (printing and translating the shocked letter of the Spanish
ambassador describing the production); G. Bullough, `A Game at Chesse.
How it Struck a Contemporary', MLR, 49 (1954), pp. 156±8; Margot
Heinemann, Puritanism and Theatre: Thomas Middleton and Opposition Drama
236 Notes to pages 27±30
Under the Early Stuarts (Cambridge University Press, 1980), pp. 151±71 et
passim; Jerzey Limon, Dangerous Matter (Cambridge University Press,
1986), ch. 4; Paul Yachnin, `A Game at Chesse: Thomas Middleton's
Praise of Folly', MLQ , 48 (1987), pp. 107±23; Richard Dutton, Mastering
the Revels (London: Macmillan, 1991), pp. 237±46. Quotations are taken
from the edition by T. H. Howard-Hill (Manchester University Press,
1993). See also the introduction of Howard-Hill's facsimile edition
(Oxford: Malone Society, 1990).
18 Cf. King, English Reformation Literature, p. 143, for comments on Latimer's
observation that the lax preacher feeds his congregation on strawber-
19 Cf. Thomas Middleton's pamphlets, discussed in Heinemann, Puri-
tanism, ch. 3.
20 The unique copy was edited by J. P. Collier in 1841 (no imprint).
21 See R. D. Harley, Artists' Pigments c. 1600±1835 (London: Butterworths,
1970). The use of monochrome is often characteristic of Protestant

aesthetics: see Attilio Agnoletto, `La ``Cromoclastia'' Delle Riforme
Protestanti', Rassegna, 23.3 (1985), pp. 21±31.
22 See Charles R. Forker, `Webster and Barnes: The Source of the
Cardinal's Arming in The Duchess of Mal® Once More', Anglia, 106:3±4
(1988), pp. 415±20.
23 See Katherine Eisamann Maus, `Proof and Consequences: Inwardness
and Exposure in the English Renaissance', Representations, 34 (1991),
pp. 29±52, esp. pp. 36±7.
24 Bernard, Key, pp. 85±107.
25 King, English Reformation Literature, discusses the devotional importance
of blinding light for the Protestant (p. 154).
26 This reference is taken from the reprint (London: E. Palmer, 1825).
27 This has an obvious similarity to the use of central curtained niches on
Renaissance stages, behind which scenes were `discovered'. More
generally, a staging of this kind has its effect compounded by the
ambiguity of the theatrical medium: see Jonas Barish, The Antitheatrical
Prejudice (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), and Jonathan V.
Crewe, `The Theater of the Idols: Theatrical and Antitheatrical
Discourse', in Kastan and Stallybrass (eds.), Staging the Renaissance.
28 Frances Yates, The Art of Memory (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul,
1966) is the classic discussion; see also Mary J. Carruthers, The Book of
Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture (Cambridge University
Press, 1990).
29 See Jan Ziolkowski, `Avatars of Ugliness in Medieval Literature', MLR,
79 (1984), pp. 1±20.
30 Camille, Gothic Idol, p. 307.
31 See Mary Tom Osborne, Advice-to-a-Painter Poems 1633±1856 (Austin:
Texas University Press, 1949), nos. 24, 25, 27 and 31; Annette Drew-
Bear, `Face-Painting in Renaissance Tragedy', Renaissance Drama, 12
Notes to pages 30±5 237
(1981), pp. 71±93; Shirley Nelson Garner, ` ``Let Her Paint an Inch
Thick'': Painted Ladies in Renaissance Drama and Society', Renaissance
Drama, 20 (1989), pp. 123±139.
32 Laudians before the Civil Wars, and Anglicans after the Restoration,
sometimes joined with those of more traditionally Calvinist af®liations
to criticise Catholicism's cosmetic outside: A Catholick Pill to Purge Popery
(1677) criticised ®ne churches as `splendida peccata, glittering dross, and
beautiful deformities' (pp. 60±1).
33 See Carol Z. Weiner, `The Beleaguered Isle: A Study of Elizabethan
and Early Jacobean Anti-Catholicism', P & P, 51 (1971), pp. 27±62, esp.
p. 46.
See Margaret Aston, England's Iconoclasts. Volume i. Laws Against Images
(Oxford University Press, 1988), p. 468; Robin Clifton, `Fear of Popery',
pp. 144±67 in Conrad Russell (ed.), The Origins of the English Civil War
(London: Macmillan, 1973), p. 146.
35 Julia Gasper describes this as the `de®nitive militant Protestant play':
The Dragon and the Dove, p. 9.
36 Camille, Gothic Idol, pp. 18, 224, 346, 348. A summary of recent
iconoclasm scholarship can be found in Linda Gregerson, The Reforma-
tion of the Subject: Spenser, Milton, and the English Protestant Epic (Cambridge
University Press, 1995), introduction: commenting upon the perceived
logocentricity of Protestantism, she says `It was incumbent upon the
verbal artifact at this period to register and guard its own referential
states and its comparative inutility for idolatrous purposes' (p. 3).
37 Kenneth Clark, Moments of Vision (London: John Murray, 1981), p. 68.
38 Quoted from Cust and Hughes (eds.), Con¯ict in Early Stuart England,
p. 82.
39 See Camille, Gothic Idol, pp. 63, 306.
40 See also The Popes Great Year of Jubilee (1675), and Lambeth Faire (1641). A
twentieth-century example is Ernest Phillipps's Papal Merchandise
(London: Chas. J. Thynne, 1911).
41 Cf. J. J. Scarisbrick, The Reformation and the English People (Oxford: Basil
Blackwell, 1984), p. 141.
42 See Frederick F. Waage, The White Devil Discover'd (New York: Peter
Lang, 1984): cf. John Raymond, An Itinerary (1648), f.A11b: `Observe
what machivillian unheard of Weapons they devise to surprize an
enemy unawares. At Venice I saw a pocket Church Booke with a Pistoll
hid in the binding, which turning to such a Page, discharges. A plot (I
conceive) to entrap him you hate, whilst yon [sic] are at your devotions
together, when there's least suspition.'
43 Walter Raleigh, `The Lie', ll. 7±8. Taken from Emrys Jones (ed.), The
New Oxford Book of Sixteenth-Century Verse, pp. 371±3.
44 Cf. A Game at Chess, iii i, where the Black Knight says of the Fat Bishop,
`Here's a sweet paunch to propagate belief on, / Like the foundation of
a chapel laid / Upon a quagmire.' (ll. 76±8)
238 Notes to pages 35±41
45 See note 39.
46 Aston, England's Iconoclasts, p. 344. One must stress that medieval and
Counter-Reformation Catholics also condemned idolatry.
47 Of those that have not, A. H. Bullen dismisses it as a `damnable
piece of ¯atness' and Margot Heinemann as a `pious religious
exercise' (Puritanism, pp. 51±2). Quotations and references are taken
from the ®rst edition of 1597, as A. H. Bullen's edition in The Works
of Thomas Middleton, 8 vols (London: J. C. Nimmo, 1885±6), viii, is
48 King, English Reformation Literature, pp. 130±1, comments on the paradox
of how the Protestant insistence on Scriptural plainness combined with
a need for exegeses.
49 Though the preponderant moralism of the Wisdom of Solomon would
have made it unexceptionable, Protestants differed in the validity that
they ascribed to the Apocrypha as a whole. See A. A. Bromham and
Zara Bruzzi, `The Changeling' and the Years of Crisis (London: Pinter, 1990),
pp. 138±41.
50 The Complete Works of John Marston, ed. A. H. Bullen, 3 vols (London:
J. C. Nimmo, 1885±7), iii, ll. 79±84. R. C. Horne comments of the
poem that it exploits the ambivalence of a time when the word `image'
was widening its connotations to include statues that were not speci®c-
ally religious: see `Voices of Alienation: The Moral Signi®cance of
Marston's Satiric Strategy', MLR, 81 (1986), pp. 18±33. The Scourge of
Villainie 8 also compares the language and actions of courtship to
idolatry: see The Poems of John Marston, ed. Arnold Davenport (Liverpool
University Press, 1961), pp. 150±7. For Marston's ideas on idolatry, see
Philip J. Finkelpearl, John Marston of the Inner Temple (Cambridge, Mass.:
Harvard University Press, 1969), pp. 98±9.
51 Quotations are taken from The Works of Cyril Tourneur, ed. Allardyce
Nicoll (London: Fanfrolico Press, 1929).
52 See John N. King and Robin Smith, `Recent Studies in Protestant
Poetics', ELR, 21:2 (1991), pp. 283±307.
53 Cf. the title of E. Lee, Legenda Lignea: With an Answer to Mr. Birchley's
Moderator Pleading for the Toleration of Popery (1653). The title puns on
Voragine's popular compilation of saints' lives, Legenda Aurea.
54 Aston, England's Iconoclasts, pp. 406±7.
55 Camille, Gothic Idol, p. 117.
56 Samuel Harsnet, A Declaration of Egregious Popish Impostures (1603), p. 150:
`Our Daemonopoiia, or devil-®ction, is Tragico-Comoedia, a mixture of
both . . .' He de®nes the comedy as the cunning of Jesuits and the
juggling of exorcism, and the tragedy as the winning of souls to
Catholicism. Simon Shepherd, Marlowe and the Politics of Elizabethan
Theatre (Brighton: Harvester, 1986) discusses the similar phenomenon in
Dr. Faustus (p. 137). Stephen Greenblatt, `Shakespeare and the Exor-
cists', in Geoffrey Hartman and Patricia Parker (eds.), Shakespeare and the
Notes to pages 41±4 239
Question of Theory (London: Methuen, 1985), relates Harsnet's pamphlet
to other public exposures of Catholicism.
57 Rupert Brooke, John Webster and the Elizabethan Drama (London: Sidgwick
& Jackson, 1916), p. 158.
58 `The Democritean Universe in Webster's White Devil', in Clifford
Davidson et al. (eds.), Drama in the Renaissance (New York: AMS, 1986).
59 The ®rst complete English translation was not published till 1682 (Wing
L3447). Lucretius's atheism would also have facilitated the polemical
link with anti-popery.
60 H. A. J. Munro (trans.), Lucretius: On the Nature of Things (Chicago:
William Benton, 1952), pp. 44, 46, 53.
61 Cf. Revenger's Tragedy i ii, ll. 4±10.
62 I am working on the assumption that Middleton wrote The Revenger's
Tragedy, now the critical orthodoxy: see David J. Lake, The Canon of
Thomas Middleton's Plays: Internal Evidence for the Major Problems of Authorship
(London: Cambridge University Press, 1975); M. W. A. Smith, `The
Revenger's Tragedy: The Derivation and Interpretation of Statistical
Results for Resolving Disputed Authorship', Computers and the Humanities,
21 (1987), pp. 21±55 and 267, and `The Authorship of The Revenger's
Tragedy', N & Q , 236 (1991), pp. 508±13. A recent articulation of the
opposing view occurs in Heinemann, Puritanism, pp. 104±5, 287±9. New
evidence would, in any case, not greatly alter an argument based on the
general anti-Catholic imaginative habits of Jacobean tragedians.
63 I have largely omitted Middleton's Women Beware Women, for reasons of
space, and The Changeling, in which the language is less iconic.


. 7
( 10)