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It is rarely possible to write biographies of lay people who lived in the Middles Ages. While accounts of clerical, royal, and military life are many, the wider populace has remained in relative obscurity. In Clean Hands and Rough Justice: An Investigating Magistrate in Renaissance Italy, David S. Chambers and Trevor Dean present an extraordinary and previously unknown character from Renaissance Italy, Beltramino Cusadri (ca. 1425-1500). This judge was known as the "terrible commissioner," and he spent most of his professional life acting as criminal investigator and legal adviser to two princely dynasties -- the Gonzaga of Mantua and the Este of Ferrara. The authors investigate and compare the judicial institutions and social conditions in which Beltramino Cusadri worked, the criminal cases that he investigated, and his successes and failures. Their combined presentation of the figure and mentality of Cusadri amounts to something unprecedented in Italian Renaissance historiography: the portrait of a professional man, employed to combat rising crime, but accused of corruption and tyranny by the entrenched interests that he faced. The book follows the major phases of Beltramino's career and offers a broader exploration of the legal history of Renaissance Italy. In his long life Beltramino Cusadri wrote hundreds of letters to his employers and it is upon these letters that this book is based. These letters with their wry, colorfully worded expressions are liberally quoted and provide unique insight into the career, activity, and attitudes of a major Renaissance bureaucrat. The letters of his employers in return are also drawn upon to examine a variety of themes, from the progress of law-making and the pattern of criminality, to the problems of policing and the changing forms of punishment. These provide an extraordinarily vivid picture of face-to-face realities that make an important contribution to the history of crime, law, policing, and punishment.

How early modern Italian painting addressed the ways humans shape and are shaped by their environments.
 
In the sixteenth century, Italian artist Jacopo Bassano painted pictures of herdsmen and animals moving through dark and muddy landscapes. But he also participated in the agricultural development of the region in which he lived, producing topographical maps of local mountains and forests, inventing new methods of drainage and irrigation, and studying the latest techniques of crop rotation and fertilization. The relationship between Bassano’s rustic art and his participation in environmental transformation has, however, never been explored.
 
One of the first studies of Italian Renaissance art to grapple with the connections between visual culture and the environment, Pastoral’s End explores this crucial, formative relationship. James Pilgrim looks at Bassano’s career holistically, demonstrating how his involvement in a world marked by agricultural expansion, industrialization, resource extraction, environmental degradation, social transformation, and radical philosophical development informed his paintings of country life. Introducing new archival and visual evidence of Bassano’s knowledge of hydrology, agronomy, husbandry, and architecture, Pastoral’s End argues that he transformed the more placid rustic imagery of previous Renaissance artists into visions of dangerous ecological instability.
 

Spirituality, Gender, and the Self in Renaissance Italy places St. Angela Merici and her Company of St. Ursula in historical and religious context and examines them from a variety of perspectives: institutional, social, spiritual, and cultural.

Drawing on literature, legal texts, and archival materials, The Ambassador and the Courtesan offers a comparative analysis of these two emerging roles in the early modern period and in Renaissance Italian society. While these two figures may appear unrelated, this book demonstrates their shared relation to the body politic, including the relationship of their very bodies to that metaphorical body. One imagines the early modern ambassador as traveling from one center of power to another, gathering news and disseminating it in writing, as well as negotiating in person. The courtesan, in contrast, is normally imagined employing her body in the service of entertaining elite clients in the enclosed space of the urban salon. These characterizations reinforce their very different roles in Renaissance Italian society and culture, but by placing them in dialogue, salient points of convergence emerge detailing how they were integral to the concurrent emergence of a modern subjectivity of the individual and the formation of the modern state.

Andrea Casali might well have been forgotten. A handsome, young Bolognese nobleman, heir to fabulous wealth, palaces, and artistic treasures, known as a poet and artist, in 1604 he was reported killed at age nineteen during the epic Siege of Ostend. Thirty years later, however, a grizzled, former galley slave appeared in Rome, claiming to be the dead Casali and demanding his inheritance. Was he a noble survivor of captivity under the Ottoman Turks or a cunning impostor, masquerading under an illustrious name?

His claim ignited scandal, vehement public argument, even physical assaults and rioting in the streets. A three-year trial ended with judges convicting him of impersonation but declining to rule on who he really was. Across seventeenth-century Italy and even beyond, writers offered claims and counterclaims as to his identity. The Lord, the Slave, and the Tailor’s Son offers the first comprehensive reconstruction of the Casali affair, drawing upon extensive documentary evidence, much of it newly discovered: trial records, suppressed witness testimony, autograph letters of both Casali and the alleged impostor, wills, and inventories, as well as poetry and polemical tracts. The book reveals an extraordinary, true story of stolen identity, fake news, elite collusion, and manipulation of popular belief in Renaissance Italy, a story that feels strikingly modern today.