Religious Policies and Civil Conflict: “Italian” Perspectives on the French Wars of Religion

Abstract

This paper investigates the complex relations between the Italian states, particularly Venice and Florence, and France at the beginning (c. 1560–1565) of the French Wars of Religion (c. 1560–1598). Focusing on the early years of the conflict, it highlights the “Italian” perception of France’s politico-religious upheavals and their profound implications for governance and state stability. Drawing on diplomatic correspondence and political reflections, the analysis reveals contrasting approaches among Venetian ambassadors: in particular, Giovanni Michiel advocated conciliatory policies to avert civil war, while Michele Suriano favored uncompromising anti-heresy measures. Niccolò Tornabuoni, serving as the Florentine ambassador in France, evolved from moderate criticism to a rigidly anti-Protestant position, mirroring Cosimo de’ Medici’s shift toward Counter-Reformation policies. This study situates these early reflections within the broader context of Venice’s internal tensions, marked by the diffusion of Reformation ideas and anti-papal currents, and Florence’s strategic alignment with Spain. It also underscores the role of these conflicts in shaping the politico-diplomatic strategies and reinforcing the perceived necessity of religious uniformity as a safeguard against political and social destabilization. The final part is directly linked to the sources and arguments as it contextualizes the diplomatic responses of Venetian and Florentine envoys within the broader political–religious transformations of the period.

1. Introduction

This paper presents some insights and reflections on the relationships between the Italian states, particularly Venice and Florence, and France during the period of the religious wars that devastated the “Most Christian Kingdom” for nearly forty years (c. 1560–1598), as well as the “Italian” perception of these conflicts. This perception played a crucial role in shaping significant domestic and foreign policy decisions within the Italian states and was the subject of careful reflection by contemporary political thinkers, who contributed to the widespread belief that religious uniformity was a cornerstone of state stability. Particular attention is given to the early years of the French politico-religious conflict (the first half of the 1560s). The starting point is the diplomatic correspondence produced by envoys of the Italian states, a type of source which, by virtue of its immediacy and institutional nature, offers a privileged vantage point for examining the orientations and decision-making processes of rulers and other key political actors. The distinctive value of these materials lies precisely in their capacity to capture the formulation and articulation of political strategies at the very moment of their negotiation and implementation. Their hybrid character—situated at the intersection of information gathering, rhetorical construction, and political mediation—renders them particularly suitable for investigating a decisive phase in the history of the Mediterranean and of early modern Europe.

Methodologically, this approach also aligns with recent historiographical developments concerning the circulation of political knowledge and the infrastructures of communication in early modern diplomacy. Scholars such as Filippo de Vivo (see, in particular, De Vivo 2018; see also De Vivo 2011) have made important contributions to this topic, his work having significantly advanced our understanding of the interplay between archival practices, intelligence gathering, and the elaboration of political strategies. The relatively concise nature of this paper reflects the intention of providing an introduction to the key themes of continuity and change in “Italian” diplomatic perspectives during the early years of the French Wars of Religion. The expression “Wars of Religion” is used here in its conventional historiographical sense, while acknowledging the ongoing scholarly debate on the nature of these conflicts. Some scholars prefer the term “French Civil Wars” to emphasize political and dynastic factors over confessional divisions. The choice of terminology in this article reflects the dual nature of the conflict as perceived by Italian observers—religious in origin yet deeply embedded in questions of political legitimacy and governance.

This approach, while aimed at offering clarity and synthesis, also requires methodological caution, particularly when engaging with complex source material and historiographical traditions. Negotiating the complex interplay between contemporary diplomatic sources and historiographical interpretation necessitates a critical awareness of the risks of over-interpretation, in which modern analyses may impose retrospective coherence or theoretical frameworks that are insufficiently anchored in the sources themselves. These risks—further addressed in the concluding section—are especially evident in certain historiographical works that, in the pursuit of originality, privilege speculative constructions over empirical grounding or rely disproportionately on isolated documents to sustain ambitious and often exaggerated claims.

This paper’s primary focus is on the Italian perspective, and its methodology reflects this priority. The focus of this article is not on providing a comprehensive historiographical overview but on foregrounding the Italian perspective, particularly through Venetian and Florentine diplomatic correspondence. This situates this article within the field of transnational perspectives on the French Wars of Religion. Given its focus, this study necessarily foregrounds Italian diplomatic sources, which offer a privileged lens through which to interpret the perceptions, rhetorical strategies, and ideological filters employed by contemporary observers. All quotations from Italian diplomatic documents are presented in their original language for reasons of accuracy and interpretation; English translations are provided to ensure accessibility. Moreover, the interpretive framework adopted here draws on insights from both diplomatic history and the history of political thought. It aims to link the analysis of textual sources with broader historiographical considerations concerning early modern governance, confessional conflict, and the mechanisms through which political and religious authority were negotiated across borders. By emphasizing how Italian diplomats articulated their judgments through ideological filters shaped by both personal beliefs and state loyalties, the analysis positions itself at the intersection of rhetorical strategy and political necessity. The final part of this paper focuses on the broader political environment in which Venetian and Florentine diplomacy operated, highlighting the significant political–religious transformations of the period. Its function is to provide a wider perspective, showing, in particular, how the papacy’s shifting attitudes influenced “Italian” diplomatic priorities.

The following questions underpin this study: how did the ideological and political filters employed by Italian diplomats affect the representation and understanding of the French religious crisis, and what do these filters reveal about broader European perceptions of confessional conflict?

2. France in the Mirror: A Before and an After

In order to more precisely define the interpretive approach of the present analysis, it is worth beginning with an examination of earlier modes of perceiving and representing the political and religious identity of the French kingdom as they emerged throughout the sixteenth century. Far from being incidental, such perceptions—articulated with remarkable lucidity and often with rhetorical sophistication by Italian diplomats, envoys, and curial observers—constitute an essential preliminary framework for understanding the ideological filters through which later events were interpreted. These early appraisals not only reflect a cultural grammar specific to the Italian political imagination but also anticipate, in significant ways, the dialectical oppositions that would come to shape the theological and political language of the Counter-Reformation. The emphasis on obedience, the sacralization of monarchy, and the presumed link between national character and confessional allegiance are all categories that precede and condition the diplomatic reactions to the outbreak of civil and religious violence in France. The explosion of the French political–religious conflict marks a clear shift in the “Italian” diplomatic gaze—an event that defines a before and an after: a fracture separating the initial, confident admiration of a cohesive monarchy from the subsequent, anxious search for principles capable of reconciling political stability with confessional upheaval. The dramatic escalation of events gave rise to a growing sense of disorientation and analytical urgency, as diplomats and political observers found themselves compelled to reassess their interpretive frameworks in light of a kingdom increasingly destabilized by doctrinal fragmentation and civil unrest. This transformation laid the groundwork for more nuanced and layered reflections on the nexus between religious identity and political legitimacy, in which the imperative to safeguard the stability of the state became an overriding concern amid the intensifying pressures of confessional division.

In his “Relazione di Francia” of 1547, the Venetian ambassador Marino Cavalli1 painted a portrait à part entière of the French kingdom, meticulously emphasizing its great wealth of resources and revenues, while also highlighting the extremely obedient nature of the French people and their complete submission to the absolute power of the king: “Molti regni sono più fertili e più ricchi di quello, come Ungaria ed Italia; molti più grandi e potenti, come Spagna e Germania; ma niuno tanto unito né tanto obbediente come Francia“ (“Many kingdoms are more fertile and richer than this one, such as Hungary and Italy; many are larger and more powerful, such as Spain and Germany; but none is as united or as obedient as France”). Despite liberty being the most precious good in the world, the French, according to the ambassador, proved themselves unworthy of it, preferring “unione ed obbedienza” and entrusting all their freedom into the hands of the king. “Ed è andata tanto innanzi questa cosa—the ambassador added somewhat sarcastically,—che ora pur qualch’uno, che ha più spirito degli altri, dice, che siccome prima li suoi re si chiamavano reges Francorum, ora si possono dimandar reges servorum” (“And this matter has advanced so much that now, even someone with more spirit than others says that, just as their kings were once called reges Francorum, they can now be called reges servorum”) (Cavalli 1839, p. 232).

Given the French people’s reputation for obedience—described by Giovanni Michiel2, Venetian ambassador at the time of the Amboise conspiracy in March 1560, as “non solo estraordinaria, ma singolare, non veduta in altro re né principe cristiano” (“not merely extraordinary but unique, unparalleled in any other king or Christian prince”) (Michiel 1853, p. 419)—neither Venetian nor Florentine observers could have foreseen that this kingdom might descend into the disorder and chaos that marked the decades of the religious wars. Nor could they have imagined that a confession hostile to the one professed by the king could achieve such remarkable success.

The relations between Venice and France during these tumultuous years are particularly interesting when viewed against the backdrop of Venice’s unique situation. The Venetian Republic was experiencing the widespread diffusion of Reformation ideas and radical heresies across its territory alongside the rise of increasingly anti-papal political orientations within its patriciate3. These orientations eventually coalesced into the party of the Giovani, thoroughly studied by Gaetano Cozzi (see, in particular, Cozzi 1995), and were intertwined with the traditional sacral exaltation of Venetian institutions, which fostered a natural competition with Rome. In the Venetian context, even in the mid-16th century, a tradition of state–church identity and regarding state justice as God’s justice persisted, which, in some respects, can be considered of Eastern Orthodox and Byzantine origin: a certain sacredness continued to permeate political institutions. The Doge, an emblematic case, besides being a political leader, was regarded, in the consciences of individuals, as a religious leader and rival to the Pope4. Opposing these anti-Roman tendencies, however, was a minority “papista” faction, which nevertheless managed to exert some influence on the Venetian political scene.

This broader context helps illuminate how the diplomatic reception and interpretation of the French religious crisis by Italian observers reveal not only pragmatic concerns related to the maintenance of public order and the preservation of dynastic legitimacy but also deeper anxieties linked to the instability of political and confessional boundaries. The lexical choices and conceptual categories mobilized in Venetian and Florentine diplomatic correspondence—often rich in metaphor and ideological nuance—prefigure what would later become the dominant language of Catholic political thought during the mature phase of the Counter-Reformation. In this sense, these sources should not be viewed merely as passive reflections of external events but rather as active contributions to the formation of a transregional discourse on authority, orthodoxy, and the dangers of religious pluralism. The correspondents’ emphasis on loyalty, obedience, and the unity of faith and sovereignty offers a privileged window into the evolving political theology of the period. Their reflections function, in many respects, as a mirror of broader European anxieties—concerns that revolved around the potential disintegration of social cohesion in the face of confessional fragmentation, civil conflict, and the increasingly urgent quest for new and sustainable equilibria between power, faith, and legitimacy.

3. “Italian” Diplomacy and the “Explosion” of the French Conflict

Within this context, it is particularly illuminating to examine how Venetian diplomats and rulers reflected on the French situation, comparing their perceptions with those of diplomats and rulers from other Italian states, especially Florence, given the Medici family’s close ties to the French kingdom. The degree of “sympathy” or “antipathy” they might have felt towards the Huguenots, the intransigent Catholics, or figures such as Queen Mother Catherine de’ Medici and Chancellor Michel de l’Hospital—who, while remaining faithful to Catholicism, advocated for a conciliatory approach—offers valuable insights into Venetian perceptions of, and reactions to, the religious and political turmoil in France5.

An examination of the diplomatic correspondence and “Relazioni” of the three ambassadors who served in France between the Amboise conspiracy (March 1560) and the First War of Religion (March/April 1562–March 1563)—Giovanni Michiel, Michele Suriano, and Marcantonio Barbaro—reveals the significant influence of each ambassador’s ideological orientation on their interpretation of events. Notably, there is a clear divergence in perspective between Giovanni Michiel, ordinary ambassador from December 1557 to November 1560 (and, not by chance, given his acquired experience and earned trust, sent back to France as ambassador extraordinary in 1572, 1575, and 1578 during highly delicate moments—he was also a witness to the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre), who strongly favored a conciliatory solution, and Michele Suriano6, ambassador from November 1560 to November 1561, who aligned himself with the intransigent Catholic faction. Acting as a mediator between these two approaches, with a tendency toward greater pragmatism, was the position of Marcantonio Barbaro, who succeeded Suriano and served as ambassador in France until June 15647.

The evolution of relations between Florence and France during this same period is also of considerable interest. It is well known that, during the 1540s and 1550s, Duke Cosimo de’ Medici pursued an anti-papal policy and was suspected of heretical leanings—evident in his protection of numerous heretics, including Pietro Carnesecchi, and in the controversial frescoes by Pontormo in San Lorenzo. However, by the early 1560s, particularly from 1562 onward, Cosimo embarked on a dramatic realignment toward the Counter-Reformation8. It is essential to assess how this shift in Cosimo’s stance impacted the ambassador who represented Florence during this dramatic early period of the French Wars of Religion, Niccolò Tornabuoni9.

A comparative analysis of the evolution of Venetian and Florentine relations with France and their respective dynamics with Spain would also be illuminating. Venetian relations with Spain became increasingly strained under Philip II, exacerbated by the strengthening of the Rome–Spain alliance in the name of the Counter-Reformation—developments that foreshadowed the direct confrontation of the Interdict conflict, which set Venice in opposition to Rome between 1606 and 1607. In contrast, Florence maintained a strong alignment with Spain. However, whereas this alliance had previously been with Emperor Charles V, who was often at odds with the papacy and a protector of Spirituali and alumbrados, it now involved his son, Philip II, the “champion” of the Counter-Reformation in Europe. Cosimo’s shift toward embracing the Counter-Reformation mirrored Spain’s political–religious transformation, marked by the triumph of the Inquisition and the Counter-Reformation beginning in the late 1550s.

Diplomatic correspondence from this period serves as a crucial source for a more comprehensive understanding of these events. Until the Amboise conspiracy, French religious conflicts were often downplayed by diplomats, who reacted to the conspiracy with astonishment and surprise. This correspondence thus documents how the issue erupted unexpectedly and provides nuanced analyses that help to identify its underlying causes. Moreover, it offers invaluable insights into the orientations and decisions of the principal actors on the French political stage—and beyond. Particularly significant are the ambassadors’ accounts of their conversations with key court dignitaries and other political players, especially when the ambassador succeeded in establishing a rapport of trust and mutual understanding with his interlocutors.

Giovanni Cappello10, Venetian ambassador to France from 1551 to 1554, noted in his Relazione of 1554 that King Henri II’s “regola principale” had been “tener la guerra lontana dalla Francia, non risparmiando a spesa né ad altra cosa, giudicando che ogni minimo danno sia grande avendolo in casa, ed ogni altro sia minore avendolo lontano” (“to keep war away from France, sparing no expense or effort, believing that even the smallest harm is great when it is within the country, and that any other harm is lesser when it is far away” (Cappello 1840, p. 282)). This observation highlights the monarch’s strategic focus on preventing conflicts within the French borders, preserving internal order and social cohesion as fundamental conditions for the stability of the realm and the effective exercise of royal authority in a period marked by intense geopolitical pressure and growing religious tensions. Rather than indicating a straightforward preference for external over internal engagements, Henri II’s approach suggests a calculated effort to externalize conflict as a means of forestalling its potentially destabilizing repercussions within the kingdom. In this sense, the recourse to foreign war may be interpreted not as a distraction from domestic priorities but as a mechanism for containing them.

An examination of Venetian correspondence and Relazioni reveals the explosive nature of the conflict: until 1559, there were no significant references to France’s religious problems, let alone to the possibility that such issues could politically destabilize the kingdom. The Amboise conspiracy both surprised and alarmed Ambassador Michiel, as well as the prominent figures at court. This event reinforced among diplomats (and their rulers) the conviction that religious unity was inseparably linked to the stability of the state. Michiel observed that it was “cosa ordinaria, confermata con tanti esempi […] che con la mutazione della religione, avvenga di necessaria conseguenza la mutazione degli stati” (“ordinary matter, confirmed by so many examples […] that with the change of religion, the change of states necessarily follows”) (Michiel 1853, p. 428).

While the three ambassadors—Michiel, Suriano, and Barbaro—agreed on the fundamental link between religious unity and state stability, their perspectives on the French political and religious situation diverged significantly, shaped by their ideological convictions and personal backgrounds.

Giovanni Michiel, who seems to have taken a very moderate Catholic position, was openly supportive of a conciliatory policy between Catholics and Protestants. He praised Queen Catherine de’ Medici for her clear opposition to the policies of the Guise family and the more intransigent Catholics. Michiel foresaw two possible scenarios: either an “Interim” or the use of force, “con metter senza rispetto la mano nel sangue nobile” (“to lay a hand disrespectfully upon noble blood”), which would result in an open civil war, “una guerra civile aperta” (Ibid.), a possibility that would have simultaneously led to the ruin of both the kingdom and the religion. He seemed to insinuate between the lines that the “Interim”, publicly desired and requested by the Huguenots “non ad altro fine che per aver delle chiese da poter predicare, leggere, ed esercitar i riti della loro dottrina, senza biasmo o pericolo” (“with no other aim than to have churches where they could preach, read, and perform the rites of their doctrine, without reproach or danger”) (Ibid., pp. 427–28), was the best solution.

Michiel justified his favorable stance toward religious tolerance with practical considerations, arguing that it was the best means of avoiding “una guerra civile aperta”. It is possible that his views reflected a widely held sentiment at court at the time, where tolerance and conciliation were seen as necessary to avert catastrophe. However, it remains less clear whether Michiel was at all influenced by Protestant or Spirituali ideas.

His opinion was partially shared by Florentine ambassador Niccolò Tornabuoni, who also acknowledged the practical advantages of such an approach. Nonetheless, Tornabuoni added a caveat, expressing skepticism about the long-term viability of confessional coexistence: “Ma poiché il male è tanto moltiplicato, il minore che si possa eleggere è di dare abiltà a ciascuno che viva come gli pare, senza ingiuriare nessuno, il che non può durare” (“But since the evil has multiplied so greatly, the least harmful choice is to allow everyone to live as they see fit, without harming anyone, which cannot last”)11.

The perspective of Ambassador Suriano stands in stark contrast to that of his predecessor, Michiel. Suriano not only criticized the proponents of the Reformation but also those who supported a conciliatory policy, whom he essentially equated with heretics. In both his correspondence from France and the Relazione delivered to the Venetian Senate upon his return, Suriano devoted considerable attention to the Lutheran origins of heresy, demonstrating a fervent anti-heretical religious zeal12.

Ambassador Barbaro, for his part, expressed views similar to those of his predecessor Suriano regarding the necessity of punishing heretics but was notably less intransigent and more “diplomatic” in his approach. He displayed a lesser degree of aversion toward heresy, treating it primarily as a political issue rather than a strictly theological one. Barbaro consistently advocated for a moderate approach in diplomatic negotiations and discussions, contrasting his conduct with that of the Spanish ambassador, Thomas Perrenot de Chantonnay, and adopting a more pragmatic and less ideologically rigid stance compared to Suriano (see Barbaro 1860; Layard 1891).

In the broader analysis of ambassadorial perspectives, a few additional considerations may help to clarify certain nuances of the diplomatic attitudes explored. While a comprehensive event-by-event narrative falls outside the intended scope, it is useful to briefly mention some key episodes that exemplify the general climate in which diplomatic actors operated, including episodes that have been rightly emphasized by reviewers as essential to contextualizing the Italian ambassadors’ reports.

In particular, the Estates General of Orléans (December 1560–January 1561) and the colloquy of Poissy (September–October 1561) marked crucial attempts at institutional and theological mediation, which generated considerable interest and concern among foreign observers. Equally significant were the January Edict of 1562, which extended limited toleration to Protestants, and the massacre of Wassy (1 March 1562), which occurred shortly afterward and is generally regarded as the event that triggered the first war of religion. These episodes, emblematic of both hope and rupture, illustrate the intensity of the French crisis and the fragility of the balance that royal authority sought to maintain. While the failure of Poissy revealed the limits of theological reconciliation, the violence at Wassy brutally exposed the volatility of confessional coexistence and the risks of a wavering political line.

Moreover, the rapid succession of royal edicts—each attempting, with varying degrees of ambiguity, to mediate between opposing factions—conveyed to many observers a sense of confusion or hesitation at the heart of the monarchy. This succession of measures, issued with increasing urgency between 1560 and 1562, contributed to an atmosphere of institutional fragility that did not escape the notice of Italian diplomats accustomed to more centralized religious policies. Their perceptions were shaped not only by the events themselves but also by the broader impression of a kingdom losing control over the religious narrative and, consequently, over the instruments of governance.

Suriano, who served as Venetian ambassador to France during a particularly sensitive period (late 1560 to late 1561), witnessed some of these events directly. His correspondence reveals a consistent skepticism toward conciliatory measures. For instance, his reaction to the April 1561 edict forbidding mutual insults between Catholics and Protestants betrays an underlying anxiety about the weakening of royal authority. Suriano noted that such measures, while well-intentioned, risked undermining obedience to the crown precisely because they lacked effective implementation. This comment reveals a broader concern: that the proliferation of edicts without enforcement contributed to the erosion of political order and that attempts to mediate between confessions inevitably favored instability. In his view, the authority of the state was inseparable from religious unity, and wavering in doctrine translated into wavering in governance.

A similar concern emerges in the tone of his Relazione to the Venetian Senate, where Suriano draws a direct connection between the multiplication of religious opinions and the decline of monarchical control. Unlike Michiel, who entertained the possibility of religious compromise as a means of avoiding civil war, Suriano viewed tolerance not as a political necessity but as a form of dangerous weakness. He interpreted the conciliatory efforts of Catherine de’ Medici and Michel de l’Hospital as signs of moral and political equivocation, which ultimately emboldened heretical factions. His reports frequently juxtapose the moderation of the French crown with the perceived firmness of Philip II of Spain, implicitly suggesting the superiority of repression over dialogue.

Regarding Niccolò Tornabuoni, while his correspondence as Florentine ambassador does not offer the same frequency or richness as that of his Venetian counterparts, we may note that it nonetheless displays a gradual hardening of tone between 1560 and 1565. Early in his mission, Tornabuoni observed the religious tensions with a certain detachment, occasionally criticizing both the intransigence of the Guise faction and the passivity of the crown. However, as the civil war progressed and Cosimo de’ Medici’s political strategy shifted in favor of the Spanish–Imperial and Counter-Reformation bloc, Tornabuoni’s tone became markedly more severe. In several dispatches, he hinted at his disapproval of Catherine de’ Medici’s religious leniency, using language that, while formally respectful, echoed the suspicions of heresy that were circulating in certain Catholic circles. His reports gradually moved from cautious moderation to open condemnation of attempts at confessional compromise13.

These evolutions underscore the complexity of diplomatic reporting as a genre: ambassadors did not merely observe events but interpreted them through ideological filters shaped by both personal beliefs and political loyalties. They also suggest that, even within a relatively narrow chronological framework, positions could shift significantly in response to broader geopolitical realignments. It is also evident that diplomatic correspondence served not only as a source of information but also as a tool for persuasion, aimed at influencing the policies of the sending state through a particular reading of events abroad.

The examples cited here are not exhaustive but aim to show how selected moments in the ambassadors’ correspondence reinforce the central argument of this article: that the “Italian” diplomatic perspective on the French Wars of Religion was shaped less by theological reasoning than by pragmatic concerns about political stability and the perceived dangers of religious pluralism. In this sense, the Venetian and Florentine diplomats, despite their varying temperaments and allegiances, often arrived at a similar conclusion: that tolerance might be admirable in principle but was dangerous in practice. This convergence helps explain why, over the course of the 1560s, the Italian states increasingly moved toward the imposition of religious uniformity as a condition for internal cohesion and external credibility. While often framed as a pragmatic necessity, the ideal of religious uniformity was not without internal contradictions. Italian diplomats appear to accept it as axiomatic, yet their correspondence occasionally reveals ambivalence about the means required to enforce it—a tension that merits further comparative investigation.

Despite the divergences, which occasionally shaped their narratives and judgments of events, the ambassadors’ correspondence nonetheless provides valuable insights into the orientations and reasoning behind the decisions of the principal actors on the French political stage during these tumultuous years. For instance, this correspondence reveals that, from the very onset of the conflict, the division between moderate and intransigent Catholics was already pronounced. It sheds light on the conciliatory stance of Catherine de’ Medici and other key court figures, particularly Michel de l’Hospital, whose position was grounded not only in practical considerations but also in Neoplatonic ideals. These ideals were incomprehensible to more rigid Catholics, such as Suriano, who hastily equated them with Protestant heresy.

4. Religious Conflict and the Diplomacy of Stabilization

With the outbreak of the religious wars, conflict penetrated the very heart of France. This was a civil war that, in the eyes of foreign observers, shattered the image of a kingdom previously perceived as grounded in extraordinary unity and a spirit of obedience. In this context, the unifying authority of the monarch was increasingly eroded, giving way to the influence of various grandees and faction leaders. Foreign observers were profoundly struck by the dramatic nature of this conflict, which in turn fueled political reflection and debate across Europe, as highlighted by an important study by Cornel Zwierlein published in 2006 under the title Discorso und Lex Dei, which analyzed the emergence of new conceptual paradigms in the 16th century, focusing on the perception of the French Wars of Religion in Piedmont-Savoy and Germany. The author examined the role of divine law (Lex Dei) and political discourse in redefining the relationship between secular and religious authority, highlighting how the French conflicts influenced both Italian reflections on political stability and German doctrinal interpretations. The combined analysis of diplomatic and theological sources allows the author to demonstrate how these wars accelerated the development of new models of state sovereignty and the governance of religious diversity, contributing to the rise of modern political thought14.

Moving beyond specific aspects, the broader “lessons” drawn by Venetian, Florentine, and other rulers from the French experience were of great significance. These lessons influenced their domestic and foreign policy choices, offering critical reflections on governance and stability amidst religious conflict.

The diplomatic perception of the French conflict effectively “justifies” the repression and suppression of religious dissent within one’s own borders—a dynamic observed not only in Venice but also in other Italian states. The Tuscan case is particularly noteworthy. During the 1540s and 1550s, Duke Cosimo de’ Medici pursued a decidedly anti-papal policy and was even suspected of heresy. However, beginning in the 1560s, and especially from 1562 onward, Cosimo initiated a sudden and striking rapprochement with the Counter-Reformation, marking a dramatic shift in his political and religious orientation (see again Firpo 1997, 2021; Firpo and Biferali 2016, pp. 156–230). The correspondence of the Florentine ambassador to France, Niccolò Tornabuoni, bishop of Sansepolcro, whose long-lasting mission spanned from 1560 to 1565 (see Canestrini 1865, pp. 423–513), succeeding his uncle Alfonso Tornabuoni—also bishop of Sansepolcro and ambassador from September 1559 to June 1560 and a witness to the Amboise conspiracy (see Canestrini 1865, pp. 406–22; see also Arrighi 2019, (DBI))—illustrates a significant evolution in his stance. Initially (1560–1561), Tornabuoni expressed moderate criticism of France’s religious difficulties, occasionally taking a polemical stance against the Guise family and other intransigent Catholics. However, over time, his tone became increasingly uncompromising and anti-heretical. He even directed veiled accusations of heresy toward Catherine de’ Medici, criticizing her conciliatory policies. Tornabuoni’s shifting perspective was further complicated by the strained relationship between Catherine and Duke Cosimo de’ Medici. Despite their familial ties, tensions arose due to Cosimo’s alignment with pro-Spanish policies, which contrasted with Catherine’s more independent and conciliatory approach. This diplomatic tension did not merely reflect diverging foreign policy agendas but also underscored the deeper ideological and confessional fault lines that shaped the political identities of both courts. Tornabuoni’s evolving language—initially cautious and at times ambivalent, then progressively sharper and doctrinally aligned—offers valuable insight into the ways in which personal loyalties, dynastic calculations, and religious allegiances intersected within the broader framework of Catholic monarchic diplomacy. His reports must be read not only as instruments of information but also as vehicles of political positioning, subtly modulated according to the shifting equilibrium between Rome, France, and Spain.

This general dynamic is clearly reflected in several letters sent by Niccolò Tornabuoni as the situation progressively deteriorated and France was engulfed in the chaos of religious conflict. In the correspondence from October 1561, Tornabuoni recorded in vivid terms that the evil was spreading throughout the entire kingdom (“Il male cresce per tutto il regno”), a remark that encapsulates the growing alarm within Catholic circles regarding the unchecked progress of religious dissent. Tornabuoni also conveys increasing suspicion toward Catherine de’ Medici, reporting that many at court attributed the spread of heresy to her decision to grant safe conduct to Protestant leaders, ostensibly to preserve political stability: “Pare che non siano pochi coloro che pensano come i protestanti, e dicesi tutta la colpa essere della Regina, la quale per governare, acconsentì alla domanda di Navarra, e che a costoro si desse salvacondotto” (“It seems that quite a few share the Protestants’ views, and it is said that all the blame lies with the Queen, who, in order to govern, agreed to Navarre’s request that these people be granted safe conduct”) (Canestrini 1865, p. 465). His tone, though formally deferential, aligns with the intensifying hostility found in Catholic diplomatic discourse at the time. In the correspondence from May 1562, Tornabuoni reports on the critical situation in Orléans, where the city had come under the control of Protestant forces. He describes the desecration of Catholic churches, the mistreatment of clergy, and the repurposing of sacred spaces for military use, actions allegedly tolerated—if not directly encouraged—by Admiral Coligny and François d’Andelot. Similar acts of violence and desecration were occurring across various provinces. In Toulouse, Huguenots and their ministers were reportedly massacred in large numbers, while unrest in cities like Rouen and growing fear among Protestants in Paris further illustrated the escalating chaos of the civil war. These events are presented as emblematic of the collapse of religious and social order under Protestant influence (Ibid., pp. 475–80).

In July 1562, Tornabuoni explicitly mentions the expectation of further military support from the Duke of Savoy and the King of Spain. In a report dated 17 July 1562, he recounts an audience granted by Catherine de’ Medici, during which he conveyed, on behalf of Duke Cosimo de’ Medici, offers of assistance for the preservation of both religion and the monarchy. However, the queen expressed hope that the conflict might still be settled peacefully. Moreover, she seemed to prefer monetary assistance over troops, fearing the political consequences of bringing too many foreign forces into the kingdom (Ibid., p. 492).

These descriptions frame the French Wars of Religion not merely as a domestic crisis, but as a European confessional battleground—one that required not only coordinated Catholic military intervention but also the strategic mobilization of diplomatic and financial resources across allied Catholic powers. In Tornabuoni’s reports, France emerges as both a warning and a rallying point: a realm whose internal disorder calls for external solidarity, but whose sovereign remains cautious about the risks of overdependence on foreign force.

In April 1563, shortly after the assassination of François de Lorraine, Duke of Guise (died on 24 February 1563 after six days of agony following a fatal attack carried out by the Huguenot assassin Jean de Poltrot de Méré), and the signing of the Edict of Amboise (19 March 1563), Tornabuoni reported that the situation on the ground remained highly unstable. Huguenot ministers were assassinated in the very places where they attempted to preach, and religious refugees were often turned away or even killed upon their return home. In his words, “Si dubita che la pace non abbi a durare lungamente, perchè nessuna provincia o città obbedisce all’editto. Ai cacciati non si permette il ritorno; i tornati s’insultano, ed è per tutto gran confusione, e non pochi ammazzamenti” (“One doubts that the peace will last for long, as no province or city is complying with the edict. Those who were expelled are not allowed to return; those who do return are subjected to insults, and there is widespread confusion and no small number of killings”) (Ibid., p. 504).

Peace, in this depiction, appears largely illusory, and the social order irreparably compromised—an image that implicitly legitimized the Tuscan state’s alignment with the Counter-Reformation and its repression of dissent within its own borders.

In 1565, Niccolò Tornabuoni was recalled to Tuscany and formally replaced as Florentine ambassador to France by Giovanni Maria Petrucci, who assumed his duties at the French court following the conclusion of his predecessor’s long and eventful diplomatic mission. In a letter addressed to Cosimo I, the French king, Charles IX, expressed high appreciation for the conduct of Niccolò Tornabuoni, whom he referred to as bishop of Sansepolcro: “(…) me contentant grandement des honnestes deportemens dont ledit évesque a usé pendant qu’il a séjourné auprès de moy (…)” (“being greatly satisfied with the honorable conduct shown by the said bishop during his time at my court”) (Ibid., p. 513).

This conclusion to Tornabuoni’s mission underscores the central role of the Florentine diplomatic presence at the French court and confirms that his correspondence, even in its final months, remains a key source for understanding the diplomatic reading of the French confessional conflict.

The analysis provided by Venetian diplomats, for its part, presents an image of a previously well-ordered and disciplined world descending into disorder and chaos due to religious fragmentation. This perspective is particularly significant in understanding why the Republic of Venice, despite strong anti-papal and anti-Roman sentiments within its ruling class and its general aversion to the Habsburgs, ultimately opted for Catholic religious uniformity. While religious divisions had already disrupted the German territories, the events unfolding in France appeared even more destabilizing.

The consequences of the Battle of Mühlberg (24 April 1547) had significantly weakened the German Protestants, making diplomatic interaction with them more difficult. This defeat also undermined the diplomatic leverage of those Protestant princes who had lobbied Venice to not persecute adherents of the Reformation within its territories. Between the mid-1540s and the 1560s—encompassing Giovanni della Casa’s nunciature (1544–1550) and Pietro Manelfi’s denunciation (1551) and, in the later years, coinciding with France’s descent into the abyss of the religious wars and the definitive triumph of the inquisitorial and intransigent faction in Spain—Venice shifted from a policy of moderate tolerance to increasingly stringent repression.

France, at least until the rise of the politique Henri IV, lost its status as a reliable diplomatic partner. This role would only be restored at the turn of the 16th and 17th centuries, within the context of the conflicts between Rome and Venice that culminated in the Interdict crisis (1606–1607). Significantly, however, when a Franco-Venetian alliance against Spain and Rome was proposed, Venetian ambassador Pietro Duodo, in 1598, invoked Venice’s long-standing neutrality—a principle he also credited as a cornerstone of the Republic’s successful maritime expansion15. Long before the turn of the century, however, the eruption of religious violence in France had already confirmed to Venetian rulers the validity of their chosen course: the best antidote to an open civil war was not, as both the Venetian ambassador Michiel and the Florentine ambassador Tornabuoni had argued, a policy of tolerance, but rather the imposition of religious uniformity.

Due to the political instability caused by the religious conflict, France ceased to be both a reliable partner and a potential ally—even for the papacy. The political crisis of the “Most Christian Kingdom” was exacerbated by the military debacle at the Battle of St. Quentin (10 August 1557) and the death of King Henri II (10 July 1559). Within the context of the Italian Wars, France had often acted as an ally of the papacy in its opposition to Spain. However, the French monarchy had shown little interest in religious matters. As Alain Tallon has emphasized, France’s participation in the early sessions of the Council of Trent was negligible—a shortsightedness that French dignitaries would come to bitterly repent from the late 1550s onward (see Tallon 1997).

5. Italian States, France, Spain, and the Counter-Reformation Paradigm: Conclusions

The notion that the Kingdom of France was inherently united and obedient, and therefore immune to the risk of severe political instability stemming from the spread of heresy, was widely held among contemporary political observers. This view is evident in the assessments of Venetian ambassadors prior to the outbreak of the religious wars. Even earlier, however, Niccolò Machiavelli, a keen observer of French political realities, had emphasized this idea in his Ritratto di cose di Francia (1510) (Machiavelli 1971).

These characteristics made France an ideal ally for the Papacy’s ambitions in Italy. The final time that France allied with the Papacy within the context of the Italian Wars was during the pontificate of Paul IV (1555–1559), who had been born Gian Pietro Carafa. While the events discussed so far pertain directly to the years following 1560, a final retrospective glance at the pontificate of Paul IV is essential, as it provides an indispensable backdrop for understanding the ideological framework within which many Italian diplomats operated. The disastrous war waged by this pope against Charles V and Philip II, lasting from September 1556 to September 1557, formed only a minor part of the broader European military conflict between the Imperial and French forces that culminated in the Peace of Cateau-Cambrésis in April 1559. The treaty, profoundly unfavorable to France, proved quite durable as a result of the difficulties into which the Wars of Religion plunged the country16.

Paul IV’s military conflict with the Habsburgs deserves greater attention as a potentially pivotal moment in events. Nurturing the grandiose illusion that he could “conquer” the Kingdom of Naples—his homeland by birth and aristocratic heritage—and expel the Habsburgs once and for all, he succeeded in convincing the French to intervene on his side against Charles V and Philip II, thereby breaking the recently concluded and advantageous truce of Vaucelles (February 1556). In January 1557, a military expedition led by François de Lorraine, Duke of Guise, was dispatched to support the pope. Guise would later play a central role in the first French War of Religion (1562–1563), which he helped to ignite with the massacre of the Huguenots at Wassy on 1 March 1562, and in which he would ultimately meet his death, assassinated while besieging Orléans in February 1563. In contrast, the Republic of Venice (despite heavy papal pressure) and the Duchy of Florence—whose pro-Spanish Duke Cosimo de’ Medici drew Paul IV’s ire—wisely remained neutral17.

Nevertheless, various more or less recent studies addressing Gian Pietro Carafa, Pope Paul IV—a complex and controversial figure in the sixteenth-century church (as Alberto Aubert demonstrated in his work on the assessment of Carafa by Counter-Reformation historians, first published in 1990, some defended him as a ‘saint’, while others declared him an unworthy pontiff18)—have neglected his political vision (intimately tied, it must be said, to his religious convictions) and instead focused on his far more well-known activities suppressing heresy.

Andrea Vanni’s studies, starting with his book on Gian Pietro Carafa, Gaetano Thiene, and the origins of the Theatines, published in 2010 (Vanni 2010; see also Vanni 2018), propose the problematic thesis that the Theatine order co-founded by Carafa in 1524 represented a sort of proto-Inquisition. These studies seem somewhat limited, offering only a few new insights and appearing to overly interpret sources while paying insufficient attention to the most significant phases of Carafa’s career. Giampiero Brunelli, by contrast, in a volume published in 2011 (Brunelli 2011), adopts an institutional approach to analyze the brief but significant experiment of the “Sacro Consiglio”, highlighting the originality of Paul IV’s reformist policies. His work, rigorous and thorough, stands out for its clarity and depth.

A biography of Marcello Cervini by Chiara Quaranta, published in 2010 (Quaranta 2010), provides a useful model for investigating the religious context of the sixteenth century, delving into the future pope’s role in both reform and the Inquisition. In her 2020 volume titled Living under the Evil Pope, Martina Mampieri (Mampieri 2019) offers a valuable edition and analysis of the manuscript chronicle by Benjamin Neḥemiah ben Elnathan, shedding light on the Jewish perspective on Paul IV’s pontificate. However, the book loses focus with an excessively broad reconstruction of the papacy, relying significantly on Ludwig von Pastor’s dated account of Paul IV’s papacy in his monumental History of the Popes (Pastor 1924) and overlooking more recent and innovative contributions.

Paul IV regarded Emperor Charles V as a dangerous adversary for several reasons: his dominance in Italy, his ability to challenge papal authority, and his role as a staunch defender of Catholic orthodoxy, which often conflicted with the political and territorial interests of the papacy19. The emperor had consistently asserted the supremacy of imperial authority over that of the popes but had failed to effectively combat the spread of Protestantism in Germany and sought to use the Council of Trent as a tool for reconciling Catholics and Protestants. Paul IV despised Charles V and his young son Philip II, king of Spain, on a personal level and held deep contempt for the Spanish rulers and people as a whole, considering them “eretici, scismatici e maledetti da Dio”, “feccia del mondo”, “nemici de Dio, marrani, seme di giudei”, “mistura di giudei, mori e luterani” (“Heretics, schismatics, and cursed by God,” “scum of the earth,” “enemies of God, Marranos, seed of Jews,” “a mixture of Jews, Moors, and Lutherans”)20. In the 1550s, the anti-Inquisition faction in Spain remained strong, and the ideas of Italian Spirituali—the influential curial faction opposed to the “intransigents” led by Gian Pietro Carafa—had been brought to Spain through the Neapolitan teachings of Juan de Valdés.

On the uncertainties surrounding the orientations of Spanish and Italian elites during the tumultuous central decades of the sixteenth century, a substantial body of well-documented scholarship exists, with particularly notable contributions from Massimo Firpo and José Ignacio Tellechea Idígoras21. Nonetheless, certain works have proved not to be immune to the risk of over-interpretation, as exemplified by Elena Bonora’s 2014 monograph, Aspettando l’imperatore (Bonora 2014; English translation: Bonora 2022). The study seeks to reconstruct the historical-political context of the Italian peninsula between 1534 and 1549 and thus concludes well before the pivotal developments of the late 1550s, which merit particular emphasis in the broader historiographical discourse. The analysis relies almost exclusively on a single, albeit significant, primary source: the correspondence of Cardinal Benedetto Accolti, a prominent figure within the anti-papal faction. A more methodologically sound approach might have been to frame the research as a focused biographical study of Cardinal Accolti rather than an overly ambitious attempt at a comprehensive synthesis. The reliance on Accolti’s correspondence as the principal source risks yielding a one-sided interpretation, shaped by the cardinal’s personal priorities, biases, and subjective perceptions of the political landscape.

However, the Spanish Inquisition ultimately triumphed over internal opposition between 1557 and 1559, crushing the Protestant communities of Seville and Valladolid and arresting (in 1559) Archbishop Bartolomé Carranza, the key figure in the anti-Inquisition movement in Spain22. It was at this juncture that Paul IV recognized Philip II as a far more effective defender of Catholicism than the King of France. The son of the “imperatore eretico” (“heretical emperor”) gradually transformed in the pope’s eyes from a “giovane mal guidato” (poorly guided young man) to the “figliolo prodigo” (prodigal son) of the pope and the Holy See (see again Santarelli 2008, p. 17).

This marked, in early modern Mediterranean Europe, the beginning of the Counter-Reformation era, one whose defining event was the papacy of Pius V (1566–1572), born Michele Ghislieri. Once Paul IV’s favored disciple, he would later unite Spain and Venice in the Holy League that defeated the Turks at Lepanto on 7 October 1571. Notably absent from this alliance was France, which at that time was experimenting with new forms of tolerance and conciliation following the conclusion of the Third War of Religion (August 1568–August 1570). These attempts tragically collapsed with the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre (23–24 August 1572), an event that would undoubtedly have been celebrated by Pius V (had he still been alive—he died on 1 May 1572) with the same enthusiasm as he did the Battle of Lepanto. Indeed, his correspondence with the King of France had been a constant exhortation to massacre the Protestants (see Lemaître 1994, pp. 258–61, in particular p. 260).

Meanwhile, in the Italian context, the Roman Inquisition expanded its widespread network of tribunals, managed by judges of the faith who were increasingly better organized and trained23.

Between late 1557 and early 1558, a shift in Roman propaganda became increasingly evident: a growing positivity toward the Spanish and criticism of the French, who were now portrayed as unstable and unreliable, directly challenging the long-standing myth of their “obedience”. In January 1558, Cardinal Pietro Bertano remarked to Antonio Milledonne, secretary to the Venetian ambassador in Rome, Bernardo Navagero: “Il papa non vorria altro che persuader al mondo che Filippo habbi fatto ogni cosa per la pace et che sia mancato dal re di Franza per poter poi con qualche color voltarseli contra come ha voglia” (“The pope desires nothing more than to convince the world that Philip has done everything for peace and that the fault lies with the King of France, so that he may later, under some pretext, turn against them as he wishes”). Bertano further delved into the temperament and psychology of the French, adding, “Dolendosi Sua Santità dei francesi, li ho detto che bisogna haver una gran pacientia con loro, perché sono facili a levar l’obidientia alla Chiesa, il che è conosciuto fino dalli soi nemici” (“His Holiness was complaining about the French, so I told him that one must have great patience with them, because they are quick to withdraw obedience to the Church, a fact known even by their enemies”). Bertano also recalled a conversation with Charles V during the papacy of Julius III (1550–1555), when he served as nuncio to the emperor. In that conversation, Charles V made the following observation: “Vi dico che francesi sono pazzi et che se sono molestati dal papa daranno volta et se alieneranno dalla Chiesa né vi torneranno più” (“I tell you that the French are mad, and if they are provoked by the pope, they will turn away and alienate themselves from the Church, and they will not return to it again”)24. This statement, almost a “prophecy” from the “heretical emperor” (as Paul IV was wont to call Charles V), foreshadowed the reality that his son, Philip II, would come to embody for Rome: the sole authority capable of safeguarding the interests and very survival of the Church against the rising challenges posed by Lutheran and Calvinist Churches.

This dramatic perception of change, grounded in both political calculation and long-standing confessional anxieties, illustrates how diplomatic discourse could absorb and reproduce broader ideological and social frameworks. Positioned at the intersection of religious doctrine, political allegiance, and rhetorical strategy, diplomatic correspondence serves as a valuable lens through which to interpret the cultural and political representations of the time. Although this study has necessarily focused on a limited number of voices and contexts, we hope to have contributed—as recent historiography on transnational religious diplomacy in early modern Europe continues to expand—to a broader reappraisal of the role played by “Italian” diplomacy in shaping Catholic responses to confessional fragmentation. In doing so, we ultimately argue that the Italian diplomatic gaze—shaped more by political pragmatism than by theological engagement—provides a crucial lens to reinterpret the French Wars of Religion not only as a domestic civil conflict but as a transnational crisis of legitimacy, governance, and confessional order. From this perspective, the Italian case—too often relegated to the margins of dominant European narratives—may instead be seen as a privileged observatory of the shifting dynamics between monarchy, ecclesiastical authority, and the pressures of religious pluralism. In this way, we have also sought to illustrate a Southern European perspective that has often been marginalized in a field of study still largely shaped by Anglo-French paradigms.