This volume of some thirty-five essays goes a long way toward elucidating the complex world of “princes of the Church” in the era between Luther and Napoleon. Written by historians of various kinds—political, ecclesiastical, economic, intellectual, cultural, and art—this hefty tome offers an excellent entrée into how and why cardinals did what they did, who they were and how they lived, and why they mattered so much to popes, heads of state, and other powerful figures.

Several of the strongest, most engaging essays in the collection concern literature or the arts. Pamela Jones considers the writing of “lives” of cardinals believed to be saintly, perhaps but a small minority of a kind of high-ranking churchmen often viewed as more worldly than spiritual. Humility was an especially valued virtue for any saint, above all in those whose life and work may have more easily led to pride or arrogance and self-congratulations. In her essay, Clare Robertson examines several painted portraits of cardinals and how they were not intended to be accurate likenesses but rather representations of a person's status or significance. Such portraits might also include members of the pope's family, including papal nephews or indeed grandsons favored with cardinatial appointment. Carol Richardson's essays demonstrates the subtle but not unimportant differences between various cloaks and hats cardinals might wear.

Of other outstanding essays, one especially helpful is that by Jean-Pascal Gay on early modern cardinals and theology. Though he acknowledges that more cardinals were specialists in canon and civil law than in theology, he makes clear that many cardinals were theologians—Robert Bellarmine being one of the best known—and that other cardinals often had theological advisors.

The volume's bibliography and index increase the value of an already very useful work. Most of the many illustrations are of high quality, though a black and white photo from ca. 1960 showing a rather dingy, dirty façade of the Jesuit Church of Saint Ignatius in Rome (531) seems like something an anti-Jesuit (a Jansenist?) might have selected.