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During the so-called 'Gallican crisis' between 1551 and 1552, Pope Julius III accused the French king of preparing an ecclesiastical schism, while the possibility of establishing a French patriarchate was discussed in the royal council. Before long, however, the conflict gave way to a close alliance between the Pope and King Henry II. Was the 'Gallican crisis' just a tool of political pressure on Julius III? To what extent were the plans of the king and his entourage to reform the Gallican Church serious? The lack of sources can be filled, at least in part, by turning to the work by Raoul Spifame, a lawyer of the Paris Parliament, titled Dicaearchiae Henrici Regis Christianissimi Progymnasmata (1556). In its essence, it is a collection of rhetorical exercises in the field of jurisprudence written in the form of royal decrees designed to reform everything in the kingdom. Surprisingly, some of these fictional measures later would be actually implemented. The reason for the author's 'clairvoyance' lies in his contacts with the secretaries of state who were then preparing large-scale reforms, which would eventually be cancelled due to the unexpected death of the king and the outbreak of the Wars of Religion. A considerable part of the decrees is devoted to plans of the reform of the Gallican Church: from the elevation of the Bishopric of Paris to the rank of an archdiocese to tightening control over the morals of prelates. This article pays special attention to how the Dicaearchiae regulated the elements of 'everyday piety' — the rituals of blessing of the bridal chamber, purification after childbirth, and belief in the existence of limb. A limitation of 'luxury' was also to be introduced: refusal of precious ecclesiastical ornaments, redundant bells, and a reduction in the number of holidays associated with the veneration of saints. Without abandoning the cult of saints, Spifame undertakes a reform of the ecclesiastical calendar and creates a sort of national martyrology of warriors who died for their homeland and 'are venerated as saints without a canonisation'.

This essay contains reflections on a new book by renowned historian Denis Crouzet on children's violence, and, more broadly, on the image of children during the French Wars of Religion. In the book under review, the novelty lies in the fact that the images of 'innocent infants' make part of a separate plot. Just as novel are Denis Crouzet's reflections on the 'sources of inspiration' of the young French persecutors of heretics. The author indicates the anthropological correspondences inherent in the culture of both Italian and French cities, such as the carnivalesque inversion of the 'world inside out' and the social function of youth associations taking part in the 'charivari' rites. Denis Crouzet pays attention to sources that are novel to him, like children's Christmas chants, mystery plays, and 'miracles'. While impersonating the Innocents persecuted by Herod but also angels carrying retaliation to this villain, urban children learnt what and how to do in the face of a carnival challenge. The ways to leave the eschatological activism are of particular interest. After 1572, the gangs of executioners-children left the scene. Only the murder of the Guises on Christmas Day, 1588, threw crowds of children into the streets of Paris. Now they were described differently, however, — as a disciplined mass, occupied not with outrages but with prayers. The author speaks of 'Catholic consciousness', but that was already a different reformed Catholicism, departing further and further from the old 'corporate Catholicism'. The religious political activity of children would become a thing of the past, however. The image of an innocent child would once more be in demand only after the Revolution, when, this time in a desacralised context, children became the embodiment of the French nation.