Reading Hilaire Belloc’s Characters of the Reformation as an Italian who is not Catholic but who graduated in English and French literature, I found myself pulled in two directions: admiration for the energy of his prose, and skepticism toward the narrowness of his vision.
Belloc’s English style is crisp and forceful, often polemical but never dull. He writes history as though it were a series of dramatic encounters, and his portraits of Henry VIII, Elizabeth, or Cranmer have the vividness of literary caricature. In this sense, his book sits closer to the French moralist tradition—think La Rochefoucauld or Saint-Simon—than to modern historiography. As a literary object, it is rewarding: his sketches are memorable, the pacing brisk, and the moral judgments unambiguous.
Yet Belloc’s approach raises problems. His narrative is unapologetically Catholic in its assumptions, casting the Reformation as a catastrophe for England and for Christendom at large. From the perspective of historical scholarship, this is highly reductive. It ignores the complexity of religious, political, and social transformations, flattening them into a morality tale. Later continental scholarship—such as Lucien Febvre’s analysis of Luther’s religious world or Alessandro Barbero’s studies of the social and political fabric of early modern Europe—has shown just how multi-faceted this era was. Against such nuanced work, Belloc’s book reads more like a polemical intervention than a balanced account.
As an Italian, I cannot help but see Belloc’s story as very English. In Italy, the Reformation was not experienced as a national rupture but as part of the broader drama of the Counter-Reformation, which produced both constraints and extraordinary artistic achievements. For Belloc, however, the Reformation represents a wound, a cultural trauma, and he writes with the fervor of someone defending a lost inheritance. His vision therefore reveals less about Europe as a whole and more about the position of Catholics in the Anglophone world of his time: embattled, self-conscious, and eager to provide a counter-history to Protestant triumphalism.
And yet, I cannot dismiss the book outright. There is a kind of rhetorical grandeur in Belloc’s certainty, an almost classical force in his sweeping judgments. He writes as if he were fashioning characters for a novel or a play, giving us not history in the modern sense but history as moral drama.
I think Characters of the Reformation is best read not for factual authority but as a cultural document: an artifact of early twentieth-century Catholic apologetics, written in prose that reveals Belloc’s literary gifts as much as his biases. For readers outside Catholicism—and for Italians, whose experience of the Reformation was altogether different—it can be exasperating, but also illuminating. It shows us how the memory of the Reformation still shaped English identity in ways we might otherwise overlook.
Four stars.