Translating the ‘ Hebraeo-Hellenic Apostles ’ : Hugh Broughton and the Scholarly Context of the English New Testament

It is well known that the sixteenth century ’ s surge of vernacular biblical translation was enabled by a greater knowledge of Greek and Hebrew. But by the century ’ s end, the most exciting work on these languages had far surpassed issues of comprehension. In the chiefly continental, Latinate world of the most advanced biblical scholarship, scholars studied the Semitic influence on New Testament Greek, explained strange features of the Gospels through post-biblical Judaism, and analysed the historical-philological connections between the Testaments. Despite the significant implications such work had for vernacular translation, the relationship between these two fields has rarely been explored. This article will offer a preliminary study by using new evidence relating to the biblical scholarship and translation efforts of the English Hebraist Hugh Broughton (1549 – 1612). It will demonstrate how the theories and methods he developed in the course of his own research into Apostolic Greek were not only central to his vision of the English Bible, but also affected such details of translation as style and lexical choice. In doing so it argues that, for Broughton, it was within vernacular translation that the implications of the most innovative contemporary biblical scholarship were applied, explored, and developed further.


I. INTRODUCTION
In 1610, the English Hebraist Hugh Broughton wrote a letter to James I protesting against the on-going King James Bible translation, and offering to stage a last-minute intervention in the project. Within this epistle Broughton made many striking comments, but one stands out: his complaint that the great number of chosen translators could not be capable of properly rendering the 'Hebraeo-graecos Apostolos' ('Hebraeo-Hellenic Apostles'), since there were in fact 'vix duo … in toto orbe' ('scarcely two men in the whole world') who could manage such a task. 1 I would like to thank Peter McCullough, Nicholas Hardy, Finola Holyoak, Alexander Wright, the anonymous readers and the editors of this journal for their very helpful feedback on drafts of this article. I also would like to thank Mordechai Feingold for discussing his forthcoming edited collection with me, and Nicholas Hardy for sharing a prepublication copy of his monograph with me. This work was supported by the AHRC-Polonsky Studentship. The term 'Hebraeo-Hellenic Apostles' is not commonly found within the context of the English Bible. This is because its intellectual origins lie not in the world of vernacular translation, but rather in the innovative, restless world of neo-Latin biblical scholarship, in which scholars had long been preoccupied with theologically and philologically challenging topics like the peculiar nature of New Testament Greek, the Jewish context of the Gospels, and the linguistic-historical relationship between the Testaments. Given the specialised nature of these endeavours, it can be difficult to see how they had any impact, except indirectly and in diluted form, on the vernacular enterprise of biblical translation. Indeed, the connections between these worlds have not usually been the object of studies of the English Bible, which have historically focussed instead on the idea of the Bible as literature, and particularly on the importance of vernacular scriptural translation to the development of modern English style. 2 In recent years, however, a more suggestive branch of study has emerged, as literary scholars and historians have been drawn to the ways in which contemporary philological, historical and theological scholarship influenced the making of the English Bible. 3 Such developments parallel the longer-standing trend in wider studies of vernacular religious culture to approach their subjects in a manner which incorporates ideas from disciplines as various as intellectual, ecclesiastical and political history. 4 These studies have now, most notably for early modern sermons, produced some of the most dynamic and exciting advances in the field of early modern religious writing.
There is, however, still much to be explored, especially with respect to our understanding of the influence of specialized continental, Latinate scholarship on the English Bible. This is particularly true in the case of Broughton, since scholars have often neglected the wider intellectual contexts that informed his work, and focussed instead on isolated statements from his published pamphlets. 5 With this in mind, this article will use new evidence to sketch an alternative, richer picture of the role that scholarship could play in vernacular biblical translation. In the process it will allude in passing to the diverse contexts-theological, controversial, philological and political-to which Broughton applied his biblical scholarship throughout his career, and gesture towards the range of his contemporaries, from Lord Burghley, William Cecil to female lay readers, for whom it was important. In doing so, it not only argues for the importance of learned Latinate culture to studies of the English Bible, but also shows that vernacular translation was not a parochial, less ambitious corollary of its Latinate counterparts. Instead, it could function as a vehicle in which the implications of the most advanced contemporary biblical scholarship were applied, explored and developed more fully.

II. NEW TESTAMENT SCHOLARSHIP IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY
The idea of the Apostolic writings being 'Hebraeo-Hellenic', a compound of Hebrew and Greek features, is representative of fundamental developments in sixteenthcentury New Testament scholarship. As is well known, the sixteenth century saw Christian scholars become increasingly interested in the cultural aspects of Judaism and their potential applications to New Testament studies. Joseph Scaliger's work is a commonly cited landmark in this process, as his comments on the 'Hellenistae' (the Greek-speaking Jews whose customs he saw permeating the New Testament, among other texts) are understood both to have ignited the major seventeenthcentury controversy over the nature of New Testament Greek, and also paved the way to John Lightfoot's 1658-1674 Horae Hebraicae et Talmudicae, considered a milestone of biblical scholarship due to its extensive illumination of the Gospels through rabbinic sources. 6 However, the origins of Scaliger's readings lay earlier in the sixteenth century, when several factors coalesced so as to encourage the reading of the New Testament alongside Jewish sources. These included the patristic precedent of explaining certain New Testament practices via Jewish material; the still-circulating medieval commentary tradition, the best of which (Nicholas of Lyra's Postilla Litteralis) was celebrated for its use of rabbinic material to illuminate the Jewish context of both Testaments; and, finally, the burgeoning interest of Christian scholars in Semitic languages and Jewish traditions (so-called 'Christian Hebraism') that was to be a crucial difference between sixteenth-century biblical scholars and the majority of their medieval forebears. 7 To understand Broughton's notion of the 'Hebraeo-Hellenic' Apostles, however, it is necessary to deconstruct this picture of progress. As is perhaps already clear, the approach of early modern Hebraists to the New Testament has been implicitly split into two categories, most notably diverting after Scaliger but evident too before him. One approach studied it in a culturally attuned and practice-orientated way, seeking to explain (for theological, Christian ends) New Testament practices with information from post-biblical Jewish writings. The most famous example of this is Scaliger's reading of the Last Supper as a Passover Seder. 8 The second approach was more linguistically inclined, focusing on the Semitic elements in Apostolic Greek. This approach would lead to the seventeenth-century lingua hellenistica debates, in which Daniel Heinsius, appropriating (and misconstruing) Scaliger's idea of the 'Hellenistae', argued that the language of the New Testament was 'Hellenistic Greek'. This Greek was a Hellenized expression of Semitic concepts of which the first exemplar was the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible composed around the third century BCE. 9 The foundations of this idea lay in the early sixteenth century when a series of innovative Hebraists, from Sebastian Münster on, realized that the vernacular of Jesus was a form of Aramaic; learnt to distinguish Aramaic from Hebrew; and then applied this knowledge to the many transliterations of Aramaic phrases and words in the New Testament, as well as to the strangely un-classical features of its Greek. 10 These developments meant that by the late sixteenth century the best scholars, such as the Flemish grammarian Johannes Drusius, analysed the New Testament through far more languages than Greek alone and with many different sources, including the Septuagint, rabbinic writings, classical texts, the Targums (Aramaic paraphrases of the Hebrew Bible) and patristic sources. 11 Before studying any particular verse or chapter, scholars had to make choices about which context, and which associated set of sources would best explain the passage at hand. This is what Broughton meant when he complained that James' AV translators were incapable of translating the Hebraeo-Hellenic Apostles: that they could not navigate the variegated 'Hebraeo-Hellenic' landscape of Apostolic Greek well enough to identify the correct sources needed to translate any given biblical passage. At least, that was Broughton's rough meaning: we can be more precise thanks to the survival of his annotated copy of Estienne's 1550 Greek New Testament. This was in the hands of the diplomat William Boswell after Broughton's death, but in January 1627 Boswell sent it to the biblical scholar Joseph Mede who had inherited much of Broughton's library. 12 Mede likely left it in Christ's College, Cambridge upon his death in 1638, and this is where it still resides today.
Given the scholarly developments outlined above, it is unsurprising that Broughton annotated his Greek New Testament primarily in Hebrew. Moreover, these annotations show Broughton using post-biblical Jewish traditions for purposes broadly in accordance with the scholarly tendencies described above. One use, for example, was to explain strange textual omissions, such as Mary's absence from the list of Christ's ancestors in Luke 3. Here, Broughton cited the Talmud to explain that her exclusion was because the Evangelist had followed the patrilineal model of Jewish ' ('There were ten generations from Adam to Noah to show how long it took for God to become angry'). 14 Finally, like his contemporaries, reading the New Testament in a Jewish context went hand in hand with reading it typologically and prophetically as a fulfilment of the Old Testament, and therefore just as many of Broughton's annotations search for continuity between the Testaments following his belief in the internal coherence and harmony of the Bible. 15 However, as well as these predictable tendencies, Broughton's annotations also reveal a method of reading which drew more deeply on the increasing linguistic importance of post-biblical Jewish texts, particularly the Septuagint, in New Testament exposition. Many of Broughton's marginal notes are simple, and consist only of a few Hebrew words keyed to Greek words in the main text, often accompanied by biblical citations. Once each instance has been examined, it becomes clear that this pattern of annotation shows Broughton systematically searching for correspondences between Greek New Testament and Hebrew Old Testament words that were already attested 12  in the Septuagint. In other words, Broughton repeatedly annotated Greek words with the Hebrew words which they translated in the Septuagint, and then noted the biblical verse where this correspondence occurred. This method is best understood through an example, and a clear one occurs in a note on Hebrews 11. In the main text of this chapter, Broughton drew a small circle above the word 'τεχνίτης' ('architect'), used in verse 10 to describe God as builder of the heavenly city. Linked to this word Broughton scrawled the following note: ' ‫ח‬ ‫ר‬ ‫ש‬ Deut.27.15 1.Par.29.5 Jer.10.9. 24.1. 29.2.' 16 In unpacking this annotation, we must first observe that ' ‫ח‬ ‫ר‬ ‫ש‬ ' ('artisan') is a loose synonym for 'τεχνίτης' and occurs in every biblical citation Broughton noted: Deuteronomy 27:15, 1 Chronicles 29:5, Jeremiah 10:9, 24:1 and 29:1. But it also occurs in many other places in the Hebrew Bible, thirty-five in total. So why choose these five places specifically? There is only one common factor which could be the reason: in the Septuagint, each of these five places has 'τεχνίτης' as the translation for ' ‫ח‬ ‫ר‬ ‫ש‬ '.a 17 Here, as described earlier, Broughton's annotation must have been motivated by a search for Hebrew and Greek synonyms whose equivalence was certified by the Septuagint. This combination of features (a circle above a Greek word in the main text, Hebrew words scribbled in the margin beside it, and sometimes a biblical reference) is repeated again and again in Broughton's New Testament, and testifies to the extent to which finding these Old Testament-Septuagint-New Testament lexical correspondences dominated his reading practices. 18 The objective of these searches is not clear from his New Testament alone, though it does provide some clues.
An initial hint is at 1 Timothy 1:8-9. Here Paul describes how the law was not 'for the righteous but for the lawless and rebels, the ungodly and sinful, the unholy and irreligious'. Broughton marked out three words from this list of sinners: 'ἀνόμοις' ('lawless people'), 'ἀσεβέσι' ('ungodly people') and 'ἁμαρτωλοῖς' ('sinful people'), and wrote in the nearest margin: We must here observe how Broughton noted the Hebrew word ' ‫ז‬ ‫ד‬ ‫י‬ ‫ם‬ ' ('arrogant men'), and then repeated it in its masculine singular (lemma, i.e. dictionary entry) form ' ‫ז‬ ‫ד‬ ' beside the Greek lemma 'ἀσεβέω'. The reader will remember that 'ἀσεβέσι' (ungodly, from ἀσεβέω) was one of the words Broughton marked in the main text, and indeed 'ἀσεβέσι' is used as the translation for the Hebrew ' ‫ז‬ ‫ד‬ ‫י‬ ‫ם‬ ' in the Septuagint at Isaiah 17:11. So Broughton found his Hebrew synonym for 'ἀσεβέσι' through the Septuagint and noted it in the margin; but why did he then repeat the two synonyms as lemmata alongside this? 20 The front flyleaf provides further clues. This contains a mixture of Hebrew and Greek words with sporadic biblical references. Matching these Hebrew and Greek words with their nearby citations reveals what Broughton was doing: collecting the results of his Old Testament-Septuagint-New Testament reading in one place, by recording each Hebrew-Greek correspondence with a note of the biblical text at which the Septuagint used that Greek word to translate the Hebrew term. Indeed, there are even several places at which Broughton identified multiple Greek correspondences for one Hebrew word via several different Septuagint translations. 21 Some pairings are not matched with a linking biblical reference, but this is likely because Broughton's collation was left unfinished: a long list of Hebrew words fills the lower half of the page, presumably to be collated with their Greek synonyms and biblical citations later.
Although Broughton abandoned this flyleaf collation, he did not abandon the project his reading had started. A manuscript in Lambeth Palace Library reveals where this annotation was headed, and where the lemmata Broughton noted in his New Testament were deposited: a Hebrew-Greek Lexicon, composed by Broughton before 1607, ordered following the Hebrew alphabet, including occasional biblical references noting the places where the Septuagint linked each Hebrew word with its Greek synonym. 22 The flyleaf, moreover, contains an inscription by Broughton which perfectly captures the enterprise leading to this work: λέξικον ἱερόν continens Hebraea quae N.T. donat Hellade' ('A Sacred Concordance: A Sacred Lexicon, containing the Hebrew words which the N.T. renders in Greek'). Thus evidently Broughton, in the process from his New Testament to the Lambeth Lexicon, was developing a tool that could find the Hebrew equivalent for any New Testament word by using the Septuagint as a bridge between the vocabulary of the two Testaments. This would be an invaluable exegetical aid, and indeed, it is worth noting that in the letter to James I mentioned earlier, Broughton advised the AV translators to consult this prototype concordance while translating. 23 Moreover, Broughton was not alone in thinking that such a tool would aid New Testament exposition: the Lutheran Conrad Kircher, in his preface to the first printed Hebrew-Greek concordance (published after Broughton had compiled the Lambeth Lexicon), explicitly said that the purpose of his compilation was to improve comprehension of the New Testament. 24 This method of analysis, then, was obviously one way to read the 'Hebraeo-Hellenic' Apostles which Broughton thought the AV men ought to employ. There is, however, even more to his comment than this. It has been mentioned how contemporary biblical scholars recognized multiple influences on New Testament Greek beyond that of the Septuagint alone, and that these were understood to be especially important for the analysis of any particular biblical verse. After all, if a verse imitated the norms of classical Greek and it was expounded using rabbinic writers instead, the 21  resulting interpretation would not be reliable. Broughton was fully aware of these implicit scholarly rules and, in his published works from around 1597 on, he codified them into a theory of language which never received a holistic outline, but was most fully expressed in his final work of New Testament exegesis, the 1610 A Reuelation of the Holy Apocalyps. I have named it the 'four dialects theory' because it was (probably inspired by the growing sixteenth-century scholarship on the dialects of Italian and Classical Greek) Broughton's attempt at breaking down New Testament Greek into four dialects which he called 'the Attiq, Iudean, Thalmudiq, Apostoliq'. 25 'Attique Greek' did not mean 'Attic' Greek in the sense of the dialect spoken in ancient Attica, but rather any 'commune Greeke for matters knowen to heathen'; i.e. it covered various styles and vocabularies taken from the best Greek pagan writers, and was adopted by the Apostles when engaging the would-be heathen convert. 'Iudean Greek' was the dialect captured by the Lambeth Lexicon, and covered the words and phrases which the New Testament borrowed from the Septuagint. This was used 'when the speach is most to Iewes.' 26 'Thalmudique Greek' was again a style employed 'when speach is to Iewes', but consisted solely of expressions from rabbinic sources. 27 Finally 'Apostolique Greek' was 'the Apostles owne [dialect]' used whenever 'they expresse Ebrew [of the Old Testament] in a new manner', i.e. whenever they did not follow the Septuagint. 28 For Broughton, these dialects were important because they provided essential exegetical guidance in tricky philological situations: for example, the debate over the meaning of Christ's descent into hell from Broughton's perspective arose precisely because scholars did not realise that the word 'haidēs' (commonly rendered 'hell') was an example of 'Attique' Greek, which could consequently only be expounded by pagan literature, in this case Homer. 29 Moreover, Broughton saw these dialects as strong evidence of the New Testament's perfection: firstly because their diversity was providentially designed to ensure maximum appeal among pagan and Jewish audiences; secondly because their preservation was proof of the New Testament's incorruption; and finally because the rhetorical variety they granted was evidence of its literary perfection, containing the best examples of every Greek style from Homeric to Hellenistic. 30 As this theory developed within the controversy over the descent into hell, there is not space to delve into detail about its evolution and diverse dimensions here. Instead, the most important point for now is that Broughton Testament took place within the terms of contemporary Latinate biblical scholarship and his beliefs about the nature of scripture. The methods and theories he developed throughout his reading of the New Testament were probably more inflexibly codified than his peers would like, but the basic assumptions which structured them were widely accepted within the polyglot scholarly community of the late sixteenth century. And when Broughton turned to translation, he had the norms and expectations of this scholarly community as much in mind as he did the needs and deficiencies of the common people. Even the most abstruse theories about the dialects of Apostolic Greek were not too much for the unlearned: as Broughton wrote near the end of his letter to James I, it was essential for a translator to show how 'the sweet-speaking Apostles pass through the four dialects' ('Dialectos 4 permeant suavi-loquentes Apostoli'). 31 The aim, after all, in fashioning an English Bible was not to erase the complexity of contemporary biblical scholarship, but rather to communicate it to lay readers while allowing for their more limited capacity to understand it.

III. REVISING THE GENEVA NEW TESTAMENT
It is one thing to have an elaborate theory about Apostolic Greek, but another entirely to put it into practice. This section will focus on how Broughton's scholarship actually affected his methods of translation as well as his overarching vision of the English Bible. While his published work provides some hints, evidence would be scant were it not for two annotated Geneva New Testaments, both currently in New York Public Library.
The first of these is a 1610 Geneva New Testament annotated by Edward Holyoke (1585-1660), who moved to Massachusetts in 1637. Holyoke knew Broughton personally during his lifetime and, after his death, started collecting his works, even helping Lightfoot compile his 1662 edition of Broughton's Works. 32 Holyoke wrote in the back of his Bible that he copied his annotations from those in a 1596 Geneva New Testament corrected in Broughton's own hand, which was sent to him in November 1615 by John Turner, host of the English House in Middleburg where Broughton had once resided. 33 Holyoke also noted that he had copied these annotations specifically for a 'Mrs Baynard' in May 1616: this Mrs Baynard is, I suspect, the same woman whom Lightfoot claims learnt Hebrew from reading Broughton's books. 34 Certainly she owned many Broughton-related manuscripts and copied them for interested parties, as a note in a British Library manuscript attests. 35 It is likely that she worked with Holyoke as he collected 'Broughtoniana', and that this emended Bible was part of their exchange of resources. At the very least Holyoke's copying of Broughton's annotations for her show much care: he diligently 31  noted whenever he had mistakenly blotted a verse and wherever he had struggled to decipher Broughton's cryptic abbreviations. 36 The marginalia of the second annotated (1577) Geneva New Testament are anonymous and less carefully copied. They are, as a later note on the bind page attests, from the same autograph correction as that which Edward Holyoke used, but made by someone who could not read Hebrew (unlike Holyoke, who competently signed his name in the language) and struggled even with Greek. 37 Interestingly, however, it does indicate on the bind-page note that Turner sent Broughton's corrected New Testament from Middleburg specifically 'in order that copies might be taken from it.' All of this points suggestively towards a culture of copying and circulating handemended English Bibles in the early seventeenth century, involving female and male lay readers who wished to enjoy the fruits of contemporary biblical philology. And indeed, Broughton's corrections were still copied towards the latter half of the century, with the English Bishop Richard Kidder copying them from Holyoke's copy into his own collection of notes on vernacular translation. 38 However, for all its broader cultural interest, the anonymous 1577 New Testament is less reliable as a resource for Broughton's corrections than Holyoke's. As such, the following analysis will rely mainly on the latter, using the former for corroboration.
The first question we might ask is how tools such as the Lambeth Lexicon and the method of exposition it represents might be used in translation. One revealing example is in Broughton's correction to Matthew 26:12. This verse contained Jesus's explanation for why a woman had poured expensive ointment over his head, an action which his disciples deemed wasteful. The 1577, 1596 and 1610 Geneva texts all translated Christ's explanation as 'she did it to bury me' ('πρὸς τὸ aeνταφιάσαι με aeποίησεν'). While serviceable, this translation did not much clarify the woman's actions: how was drenching someone in perfume akin to burying them? The Genevans' difficulty came from the rare Greek verb 'aeνταφιάζω' behind their translation: this verb only appeared twice in the New Testament (here and at John 19:40), both times in the context of a burial but both times without further clues as to exactly what action in the burial process it denoted. 'To bury me' was a safe if imprecise bet, and one which all previous English translations, as well as the Vulgate and Erasmus ('ad sepeliendum me'), had followed. 39 Broughton, however, managed to render the Greek verb more precisely: in Holyoke's New Testament the words 'to bury me' are underlined and replaced with 'to spice my burial,' a description which plainly designated what burial service the woman performed for Jesus when she poured ointment on him, namely the act of 'spicing' or embalming a corpse. 40  ' is indeed translated with the Greek 'aeνταφιάσαι' in the clause meaning 'to embalm his father'. In other words, in this case Broughton used his method of finding Old Testament-Septuagint-New Testament lexical correspondences, as developed in his annotated New Testament and enshrined in the Lambeth Lexicon, to clarify the meaning of a rare, ambiguous Greek verb via the more precise meaning of the Hebrew verb it translated in the Septuagint.
This example is representative of how Broughton used his method of lexical correspondence across all of his corrections to the Geneva New Testament: to clarify the meaning of local hapax legomena (words occurring only once in the New Testament), rare words and truncated or strange Greek expressions. 42 This pattern mirrors the tendencies in his New Testament, in which Broughton was overwhelmingly drawn to annotating words which were difficult, rare, or unusually used. 43 Indeed, Broughton even explicitly mentioned this method of clarification as an important use of the Septuagint when he met his long-time patron, William Cecil, in the mid 1580s to discuss how best to remedy defects in the English Bible. Broughton described to Cecil how the Apostles often 'folowed the 70…in some rare vse of a worde', and thus how the same text could be used to provide better translations of such esoteric terms. As an example he explained how the uncommon adverb 'ἑκουσίως' in Hebrews 10:26 should be understood not as a neutral term meaning 'willingly' but as a negative word meaning 'wylful, or malicious spiteful' by identifying its use in the Septuagint to translate the Hebrew terms ' ‫צ‬ ‫ד‬ ‫ה‬ ' ('to lie in wait') and ' ‫י‬ ‫ז‬ ‫ד‬ ' ('to act presumptuously') in Exodus 21:13-14. 44 The Lambeth Lexicon, then, and the method of analysing Apostolic Greek via the Septuagint which Broughton developed in reading his own New Testament could not have had clearer implications for vernacular translation. Indeed with this technique Broughton produced renderings of problematic verses like Matthew 26:12 which were more illuminating for the lay reader than even the Genevan translators had managed.
This, then, shows how the development of scholarly tools like Hebrew-Greek concordances influenced the practices of vernacular translation. It does not, however, illuminate how the more diffuse developments in scholarly understanding of the Jewish cultural contexts of the New Testament affected its translation. At this point it is necessary to mention that there are parts of the New Testament which make little or no sense if they are not read in light of post-biblical Jewish texts. One such example is the unidiomatic Greek expression 'πυγμῇ νίψωνται τὰς χεîρας' from Mark 7:3 describing how unless the Pharisees and Jews washed their hands 'πυγμῇ', they would not eat. The word πυγμῇ (dative singular of 'fist') had long caused problems for translators, and those with minimal interest in Judaism or Hebrew, such as Erasmus, had to assume textual corruption to make sense of it: in this case, 'πυγμῇ' was emended to something like 'πυκνῇ', 'πυκνὰ' or 'πυκν À xς' and so translated as 'crebro' ('frequently'). 45 Later scholars found such emendations problematic not least because they included readings which were at least as uncommon as those they replaced, such as 'πυκνῇ' for 'πυγμῇ'. With a wider range of linguistic material to hand, however, they could make some progress: Beza, for example, followed the translation of ' ‫ד‬ ‫ב‬ ‫ט‬ ‫י‬ ‫ל‬ ‫א‬ ‫י‬ ‫ת‬ ' in Immanuel Tremellius' Syriac New Testament and so translated 'πυγμῇ' as 'sedulo' or 'accuratè', understanding the term to signify that such ablutions were undertaken with great zeal by the Jews; the Hellenist Isaac Casaubon thought the same. 46 The grammarian Drusius also turned to the Syriac translation, but concluded that the strange term meant 'saepissime' ('very frequently'). 47 However, in this case, illumination could only come from understanding the expression comprehensively within the cultural context of rabbinic writings. This is precisely how Broughton understood the phrase. In his own New Testament he drew a circle above 'πυγμῇ' at ' ('to the wrist'). 49 Far from needing emendation, it testified to the extent to which Jewish practices and documents lay beneath the surface of the New Testament. It is worth observing, as an aside, that this same interpretation of the verse stands today, though modern scholars credit Lightfoot with its discovery. 50 It is unsurprising, then, that in Holyoke's New Testament at this verse the faulty Erasmian-Vulgate translation 'oft' is underlined, with 'πυγμῇ' written in one margin and a 'q' in the other ('q' or 'q. leg.' being how Broughton noted places needing major correction, possibly standing for 'quare legendum' or 'quare legatur'). 51 It is obvious why Broughton noted the error in the Genevan translation; what is less obvious is why, just beside this error, he noted a number as well: '4'. This number is in fact significant, as both Holyoke's 1610 New Testament and the anonymously-emended 1577 edition are heavily annotated (there are over a hundred instances) with numbers from 1-4. These are mainly focused in the Synoptic Gospels, sometimes accompanied by corrections and notes, but occur as frequently without explanation. It is only once they are catalogued that their meaning becomes transparent: each number represents one of the four dialects Broughton identified in New Testament Greek, '1' denoting an instance of Apostolique Greek, '2' Heathen Greek, '3' Judean Greek and '4' Talmudique Greek. Hence why there is a '4' beside Mark 7:3; because 'πυγμῇ' is a clear instance of the Evangelist adopting a rabbinic phrase. Collation of the verses marked in the revised Geneva New Testaments with comments Broughton made in his published works shows that there are some places Broughton identified as belonging to a certain dialect which are not marked in the Geneva New Testaments, though this is unsurprising given the incomplete state of Broughton's revision. 52 The numbering of the four dialects across the Gospels raises the question of the broader relationship between Broughton's New Testament scholarship and his vernacular translation. How would complex linguistic features such as the four dialects theory manifest in Broughton's ideal English Bible? The presence of numbers in the Genevan New Testaments suggests that these dialects would be explicitly marked through a system of marginal annotation. This hypothesis is confirmed by a passing comment Broughton made in a 1608 work on biblical genealogy, where he described how the 'New Testamentes translater should profitablie joine to the Greke, the Ebrew, set to the lxx, or to their owne new translation: and the Thalmudiq; to their phrases; and note the Attiq by their auctours.' More interestingly, after this Broughton stated how there should also be joined to the Bible 'an absolute Table of all these [dialects]', in which all the authors, peoples and texts which influenced the New Testament should be catalogued for ease of reference. 53 In an aside in a later work Broughton repeated this injunction, declaring that each dialect's phrases 'should be all in a table: that all might read them quicklie'. 54 Broughton's English Bible, in other words, would have been one which came with an entire scholarly apparatustables of dialects, lists of extra-biblical writers, marginal annotations-designed to help the English lay reader manoeuvre their way through the complex linguistic terrain of the Apostles with its kaleidoscopic array of styles, influences and sources.
Aside from being embedded in biblical paratexts, Broughton also wanted these dialects to be translated in an unusually careful way: as he put it in 1608, the translator should 'regard [them] all in English.' 55 Precisely what this means can be understood more clearly from Broughton's revision of Acts 17:18. In this verse a group of Epicurean and Stoic philosophers were debating with the Apostle Paul (who was distressed by the presence of idols in Athens) and referred to him pejoratively as a 'σπερμολόγος.' This word only occurred once in the entire New Testament, and was translated by the 1577, 1596 and 1610 Geneva as 'babler', with a note explaining that 52 Holyoke himself noted that Broughton's revision was incomplete, listing in his copy all the 'places we found not (we thinke) fully amended. '  the literal meaning of the Greek term was 'seed-gatherer', a term 'taken of birds which spoyle corne, and is applied to them which without all arte bluster out such knowledge as they haue gotten by hearing this man and that man.' 56 In Holyoke's New Testament, however, 'babler' is crossed out and replaced with 'Rob-altar.' This is strange not only because 'rob-altar', now obsolete, seem to have little relation to the meaning of the Greek word it was meant to translate, but also because it is a word of Broughton's own coining. 57 What drove Broughton to invent a new English word in this case, especially one so seemingly far removed from the original Greek term?
The first thing to note is that Broughton identified 'σπερμολόγος' as an instance of 'Attique Greek', i.e. a word taken from the pagans, in this case, from 'the deadliest [insult] that Demosthenes there aboue 300 yeres afore bestowed vpon Aeschynes.' 58 In other words, Broughton believed that this term was an import from Demosthenes's speech against Aeschines for Ctesiphon, in which Demosthenes, arguing that Aeschines was guilty of high treason, attacked him for being uneducated, calling him a mere 'σπερμολόγος', i.e. empty chatterer. 59 This alone is not helpful until it is paired with another comment Broughton made in the early 1590s, that Demosthenes' insult here needed to be understood 'as Vlpian expoundeth.' 60 'Vlpian' is Ulpianus of Antioch, contemporary of Constantine the Great and rhetorician, to whom the scholia on Demosthenes were often attributed. In one of these scholia, 'Ulpianus' had given several definitions of the word 'σπερμολόγος'. His first definition of 'seed-gatherer' was the most common and the one followed by the Geneva translators, but it was the second which interested Broughton: 'ἢ σπερμολόγος, ἀσεβής, ἀπὸ τ À xν βωμ À xν συλλέγων τὰ aeπιτιθέυμενα øπὸ τ À xν ἄλλων' ('or spermologos [could mean] profaner, one who takes for himself from the altars the items placed on them by others'). 61 In the context of Acts 17:18, this definition of 'σπερμολόγος' was not only the most rhetorically effective but also made the most sense. After all, the Greek philosophers debating with Paul were not merely accusing him of idly babbling, but of proselytising a new and false religion. In this respect to call him a 'σπερμολόγος' in the sense of a profaner, or an altar-stealer, would be especially damning as it would suggest that Paul was guilty of sacrilege, that to promote his fraudulent God he had stolen scraps of religious rhetoric from the truly pious just as a thief steals items from an altar. This is why Broughton had to coin a new word, 'rob-altar', to translate the term: he could not otherwise concisely transmit the force of the philosophers' insinuation, which was more targeted and incriminating than a simple aspersion. This, then, is the type of care Broughton thought should be taken when translating words from the four dialects: care that involved not only returning to the original 56  There are many broader points about Broughton's method of translation which can be gleaned from these emended New Testaments. In general, Broughton adhered as closely as he could to the original Greek text. He preferred to transliterate specialized terms such as currency words and place names rather than, as the Geneva had done, turn them into their modern English equivalents. 62 Equally, if a Greek word itself was a transliteration of a Hebrew word, Broughton preserved that transliteration in the English: so whenever, for example, the Geneva translated 'ἀμήν' as 'verely', Broughton replaced it with 'amen.' 63 Likewise, if a Greek phrase was clearly modelled on a Semitic syntactical pattern, Broughton preferred to keep the English translation as close as possible to its Hebrew precedent, so that, for example, while the Genevan translators rendered the common introductory expression 'καὶ aeγένετο' in various ways all equivalent to 'so it was', Broughton preferred to construe it consistently as 'it came to pass', following the traditional translation of its Hebrew model ' ‫ו‬ ‫י‬ ‫ה‬ ‫י‬ '.a 64 As far as he could, he changed word order and phrasing to match the Greek, but there were limits to his fidelity, and these came when literalism would have distanced the sense of the English translation from that of its original. For example, whereas Greek adds emphasis and elegance through the inclusion of extra particles and syntactically unnecessary parts of speech, Broughton recognized that English tends to lose rhetorical strength as it loses its simplicity. Therefore while phrases like 'Ἐγὼ ἄνθρωπος μέν ε2μι Ἰουδαîος' or 'Ἐγώ μὲν εἰμι ἀνὴρ Ἰουδαῖος' are powerful and emphatic in Greek, they sound very convoluted if literally rendered into English, as shown by the Geneva's translation of 'Doubtless I am a man which am a Iew' and 'I am verily a man which am a Iew' respectively. 65 In both of these cases Broughton was happy to sacrifice strict equivalence for the more natural translation of 'I am a Jew', which conveyed the force of the Greek expression in a way which was impossible under the constraints of strict fidelity.
In light of the above discussion these general observations only augment the impression that, for Broughton, the best biblical translation should enable its reader to access the original scriptural text as the best contemporary scholars might have accessed it, whether this meant filling the page with dialect marks, cross-references and classical citations, or departing from strict fidelity to give the lay reader of English the same experience as the scholarly reader of Greek.

IV. CONCLUSION
It has been shown throughout this study that Broughton's ideas about the English Bible were deeply informed by contemporary developments in biblical scholarship and that, as such, they are only comprehensible if approached with a thorough knowledge of the norms and standards of contemporary neo-Latin intellectual culture. This demonstration is important not only because it reveals the tangible impact such scholarship could have on translators' ideas and working practices. It is also methodologically significant, as its divergence from previous accounts of Broughton's approach to vernacular translation highlights the problems that have arisen from analysing the works of men like Broughton without proper reference to the intellectual culture which informed them.
After all, in this case, modern scholars have overwhelmingly characterized Broughton's attitude to translation with reference to his belief in the doctrines of Reformed scripturalism. They have emphasized his demands for uniformity in the translation of repetitions, his anxieties about chronological and genealogical contradictions in scripture and his insistence on the divine infallibility and perfection of the Bible. 66 While these are all important principles guiding Broughton's work, it is only by looking beyond them, by reconstructing their scholarly underpinnings and disentangling their intellectual debts and borrowings that we can really get to grips with Broughton's ideas about translation. Furthermore, as this article has shown, such a reconstruction reveals a vision of the English Bible more provocative, creative and ambitious than anything previous scholars have supposed. It is a vision characterized by far more than its scripturalism, notable instead for such features as Broughton's radical plan for a paratextual apparatus accommodating advanced biblical scholarship to the lay reader, or his innovative approaches to translating Apostolic Greek.
In light of this, it is necessary to ask more generally why Broughton's scripturalism has so dominated past studies. The answer is related to the on-going influence of stereotypes about the intellectual limitations of those who believed in the absolute purity, inerrancy and infallibility of the Bible, i.e. those 'godly', 'Reformed' or, in an older terminology, 'puritan' scholars. 67 The power of these stereotypes is clearly evident in the fact that even those literary scholars who have studied such phenomena as the early modern historicization of the style and statements of the Bible have often viewed them as the hallmark of a distinctively Anglican tradition, which arose in implicit or explicit opposition to the ideas of 'Puritan detractors'. 68 It is, moreover, equally evident in the history of scholarship, in which Reformed scripturalists such as Broughton are often opposed to the proponents of more liberal Protestant or Catholic theological traditions who, on account of their more relaxed scriptural doctrines, are considered to have had privileged access to historical and contextualizing scholarly methods. 69 Indeed, even the occasional recognitions that 'Puritan' appreciation of the Bible's rhetorical richness could sometimes lead to a loose kind of contextualization have not been enough to dislodge the conviction that 'Puritan' hermeneutics, like 'Puritan' scholarship, was essentially ahistorical. 70 This conviction is one that by now should be overturned. After all, in contrast to previous conclusions, this study has shown that one of the most unwavering scripturalists of the period, Hugh Broughton, not only analysed biblical style as an historically determined entity which required substantial polyglot erudition to break down and translate, but also that he did so by engaging with the latest continental, Latinate biblical criticism. Furthermore, it has demonstrated that this historicizing, polyglot erudition was eagerly absorbed by later generations of godly nonconformists (such as Edward Holyoke) who not only sought out Broughton's unpublished works, but were determined to disseminate them. This should conclusively prove that, far from being the sole preserve of mainstream Anglicanism or liberal theological traditions, scholarly, historicized readings of the Bible could and did arise from Reformed theological principles.
All of this, however, raises one final question. Why did Broughton think it so important to transmit this advanced scholarly knowledge about the dialects, linguistic history and Semitic contexts of the New Testament to vernacular, lay readers? What response did he hope to achieve?
The answer is not simply that he wished them to become educated in matters of biblical scholarship. Rather, it is to do with Broughton's anxieties about contemporary presentations of the direction in which biblical criticism was heading. This statement requires some explanation. Throughout most of his life, and especially throughout the 1590s, Broughton noticed that multiple contemporary publications strongly implied that the most advanced biblical scholarship worked to problematize the Reformed views of scriptural authority to which he subscribed, and would ultimately prove to undermine them. This impression was given not only in the controversial contexts of Roman Catholic scholarship, such as the work of the Jesuit Robert Bellarmine, but also in the work of Protestants like Joseph Scaliger and even in mainstream second-generation Calvinism, as represented by Beza's New Testament editions and his accompanying Annotationes. 71 It was brought about by the fact that these works (particularly Beza's) at once loudly identified corruptions in the Greek New Testament while also ostentatiously drawing on the very latest scholarship: this combination strongly implied that historical criticism represented an existential threat to the doctrines of biblical infallibility and perfection, and could serve only to disprove them. 72 Worse yet, this threat to Reformed scripturalism penetrated not only across the highest echelons of continental Latinate scholarship, but even trickled down into England and vernacular English Bibles, where Beza's work was deeply influential. 73 This was not limited to the Geneva Bible: the Bishops' Bible too contained traces of this implication, especially as its own more limited annotations were so often derived from its Genevan predecessor. 74 When vernacular readers picked up their Geneva or Bishops' Bible, therefore, they were (in Broughton's view) unwittingly subjected to a dangerously biased view of the theological direction in which biblical scholarship was heading. Broughton's English Bible, in contrast to this, would show that the best contemporary scholarship in fact supported the doctrines of Reformed scripturalism, and was moreover developing so as to confirm the inerrancy and perfection of scripture. Here, the 'errors' which scholars such as Beza had identified and excised by text-critical means would instead be redeemed from fault by recourse to rabbinic customs, Jewish idioms, or any other of the brilliant new exegetical tools which critical scholarship had provided. 75 Moreover this Bible would provide a positive inducement to scripturalism, by showing how contemporary biblical scholarship could unlock an unprecedented sense of awe and admiration for the Bible in lay readers by revealing to them the richness of its dialects and intertextual allusions. 76 In other words, Broughton's Bible would not merely inform vernacular readers about innovative philological scholarship, but also suggest a trajectory for it which ended in Reformed scripturalism. This is not, of course, to suggest that Beza et al. would have concurred with Broughton's representation of their work; they might well also have thought that scholarship would ultimately uphold scripture. Rather, it is to argue that this vision of a scholarly, scripturalist English Bible should above all demonstrate the fallacy of assuming that those 'puritans' with similar theological views to Broughton would naturally have opposed the application of advanced philological criticism to the Bible. On the contrary, it shows that to early moderns, especially to those of Broughton's generation, it seemed far from inevitable that the paths of critical scholarship and religious belief would eventually intertwine so as to bring about a secular modernity.