I'd forgotten all about the arrival of Jenneke. I love these sent-to-the-nuns daughters showing up. First Dorothea, who as you noted, knocked him back, making him take another look at his actions during Wolsey's fall. Now Jenneke, who is making him think about his early life and what he left behind and what he's gotten in exchange. All through the books, his attention to women - the things they notice, the things that matter to them, has served him. He seemed even a little smug in his ability to read them/learn from them from time to time. Now - these two young women are showing him himself and how little he sees/knows that women notice, know, and even hide. That said, I'd love a peak at the list of his sins Lizzie kept in her apron pocket. :)
Me too. The sin of not seeing enough of your kids is something to sting most parents. I think her list contained all those kinds of homespun sins that we all commit... before he went on to commit much greater crimes.
It's a good-un. To be fair, Jenneke has not been sent to nuns but has been working in the house of a merchant, Stephen Vaughan. And her faith is very anti-monastic. It is the fiery Protestant preachers who have been influencing her.
Well, she was sent to the nuns briefly at one point (see p 403-4) but I think the more influential factors in her life are Vaughan and the Protestant preachers, as you say. Jenneke is quite interesting. She's VERY smart and politically savvy, it seems to me. I see Cromwell writ large in her.
I think back to the second chapter of Wolf Hall when Cromwell was a "person" in the shadows eluding the Cardinal's grasp from the instincts he learned in his Italian adventures. Then, his personalities, his incarnations, were fluid. Now, he's trapped in his current guise and to recall those days he has to rely on forced memories. This was a very sad chapter.
I think one of the things that makes Cromwell difficult to pin down is that no one is sure whom he serves - who is his master in the end? Himself? I think it's clear that H is his master but - with all the backroom deals and treachery - all the shit-shovelling - he performs in H's service - people imagine him to be without morals and therefore untrustworthy. Whereas, he seems to be very loyal - first to Wolsey, then to Henry. He says to Jenneke of H: 'Who else should I serve? A man cannot be masterless.'
He picked his prince and sees him for what he is, warts, claws and all. He seems to be thinking a lot these days about other lives he could have led. A bit of regret? He can't say he picked blind, but I think now he knows where this is going. No wonder he has hidden his money.
I was struck by your words: *His memories have been brought out of the dark and stretched on hooks. They have been set out in sunlight to be bleached white. The master of the shadows, of concealment and dissimulation, is exposed to the light of day.*
I can't help feel that in the most recent chapters we are seeing a rather significant change of circumstance for Cromwell - he is abruptly a public figure (and a hated one at that). Previously, of course, others in the ruling class and nobility know who he is and the power he wields, but my impression was that he otherwise had a low public profile and was happy to do his work behind the scenes. But now, having risen the ranks to become H's right-hand man and having the 'Pilgrimage of Grace' focus its ire on him, he is no longer in the shadows. He can no longer control the narrative. He IS the narrative. Yet amidst all this upheaval, the advance of the rebels, he is surprisingly sanguine - or am I misreading? His greatest hurt comes not from the hateful gossip circulating about him but from Wolsey's daughter's belief that he betrayed her father.
That's interesting isn't it? I wonder whether he quite likes being hated by the general "mass of men"? There is something of his father in him: he doesn't mind being hated and feared, except by his friends and those he loves. But now of course he sees how it all might end: the king DOES want to be loved by his people and might get rid of Cromwell to please them.
Ah interesting. I hadn't thought about the parallels with his father.
Yes, I think this is the central source of generalised malaise through these chapters. We readers are wondering how long the king will tolerate the negativity C is attracting towards the crown.
Last week the Domestic Comrade and I visited Bedford to see the home of the Panacea Society and of John Bunyan, and an exhibition of Edward Bawden’s work. We were too tired in the end to make it to any of the Bunyan sites—another time—but we did investigate the Panacea Society. Do look it up in Wikipedia, but I mention it here because its followers believed that Bedford was the site of the Garden of Eden; there is a pleasant garden around the house, with an apple tree, and visitors were encouraged to take any fallen apples. We took a large one, and I used it this evening in a meal of various brassicas and pears and apples (better than it sounds!): my plan was to reserve the seeds and grow saplings from them which I would give friends and family, as from the Garden of Eden. Sadly, the seeds in my apple were undeveloped, and that plan has collapsed. However, it was some compensation, of a strange and delightful kind, to turn to this week’s budget of Mantel, and read Crumb’s thoughts on the Garden, ignorant though he was that its site was so close to London.
Stray coincidences like this are one of the pleasures of reading, of course, and are rather common, but I thought this one had an amusing edge which you might enjoy.
*TMatL* is a very long book, and I can imagine that some readers have made a case for abridging it. All I can say is How could anyone choose what to leave out? Each week on our Slow Read, we encounter whole new worlds, so cleverly displayed by Mantel (and explicated further to us by you), none of which I would want to have missed (and too many of which in my previous Fast Reads I did miss). I do not feel sorry for Crumb as he continues to learn to face what he has done and will do—chiefly through seeing how women he respects react to him—but there is a clarity in his thoughts which demands respect.
I didn't know about this, how interesting! I think there must be a list somewhere of all the places that people have thought were Paradise, or Eden. Had Crumb knowns, he could have ordered in the apples.
Of course I agree about the length. Slow down and you stop thinking about how long it is and instead savour every page. Whole new worlds indeed!
I very much enjoyed this chapter and your accompanying notes on it. As always there are wee pieces of information that I hadn't picked up on and rabbit holes to go down. In chapters like this it is easy to think of the Cromwell may have had, and how he may have turned out.
I appreciated your notes on Cromwell's thoughts about Lazarus - that Colm Tóibín book you mentioned sounds amazing!
I also loved the image of Liz checking her "list of his sins, in the pocket of her apron" - like you, I was struck by the contrast of this homely domestic image with his previous reference to the recording angel who "sits in the corner with his quill blunted, wailing and ripping out his curls," unable to keep up now that Cromwell's sins have grown in proportion to his position.
I noticed that Cromwell repeated Jenneke's phrase "against the day": she was taught English against the day when the secret of her father's identity comes out; he has stashed secret funds against the day when he loses Henry's favour. For me, this repetition added to a growing sense of the inevitability of disaster, especially as he then goes on to a concrete description echoing Wolsey's fall at the start of the first book. ("So if one day the Duke of Suffolk and the Duke of Norfolk storm in here, breaking my locks and splintering my chests, and wrecking like the devils at the sack of Rome [...]")
This section also had a few great lines about language & communication that took me back to my fascination with Cromwell's languages earlier in the year:
- "In Antwerp, the more tongues you could master, the more you could succeed. If he lacked a phrase in one language, he had it in another, and his earnest vehemence made up for any gaps."
- "he throws an idiomatic fit" when negotiating with the French merchants
- He is pleased that Jenneke knows the word 'catastrophe' & "In deference to her English, which is good but not perfect, he is speaking simply; a lesson for me, he thinks, a lesson for us all, to converse with Jenneke. Never have events seemed so plain: no nuance, but a clear noonday light."
Really great observations. I was struck by the sins too and the plans for when everything goes bad. I guess Jenneke really is her father's daughter. :) The warning to Avery about what to do when and the repetition really was something. That and his take on the boys - Gregory, Rafe, and Richard - and what they will need/want to do at the time. All the considerations that landed the job on Avery. I found that really touching. Thanks for reminding me of all these pieces.
Late to this section and I have struggled with the last few chapters- the language is exquisite as always but the doom is lurking and growing…all the comments I have ❤️here have really helped me enjoy this part of the trilogy more. Thanks everyone!
I'm not any sort of scholar, but give me a rabbit hole and I'll fall into it. It seems like the poem might be "The Wanderer" from the Exeter Book. Or maybe "The Ruin" from same. Or some melding of them.
I'd forgotten all about the arrival of Jenneke. I love these sent-to-the-nuns daughters showing up. First Dorothea, who as you noted, knocked him back, making him take another look at his actions during Wolsey's fall. Now Jenneke, who is making him think about his early life and what he left behind and what he's gotten in exchange. All through the books, his attention to women - the things they notice, the things that matter to them, has served him. He seemed even a little smug in his ability to read them/learn from them from time to time. Now - these two young women are showing him himself and how little he sees/knows that women notice, know, and even hide. That said, I'd love a peak at the list of his sins Lizzie kept in her apron pocket. :)
Me too. The sin of not seeing enough of your kids is something to sting most parents. I think her list contained all those kinds of homespun sins that we all commit... before he went on to commit much greater crimes.
'Sent-to-the-nuns daughters'. Haha.
Both are so spirited in their own way. What have those nuns been teaching them!
It's a good-un. To be fair, Jenneke has not been sent to nuns but has been working in the house of a merchant, Stephen Vaughan. And her faith is very anti-monastic. It is the fiery Protestant preachers who have been influencing her.
Well, she was sent to the nuns briefly at one point (see p 403-4) but I think the more influential factors in her life are Vaughan and the Protestant preachers, as you say. Jenneke is quite interesting. She's VERY smart and politically savvy, it seems to me. I see Cromwell writ large in her.
Ah good point, thanks.
I think back to the second chapter of Wolf Hall when Cromwell was a "person" in the shadows eluding the Cardinal's grasp from the instincts he learned in his Italian adventures. Then, his personalities, his incarnations, were fluid. Now, he's trapped in his current guise and to recall those days he has to rely on forced memories. This was a very sad chapter.
I think one of the things that makes Cromwell difficult to pin down is that no one is sure whom he serves - who is his master in the end? Himself? I think it's clear that H is his master but - with all the backroom deals and treachery - all the shit-shovelling - he performs in H's service - people imagine him to be without morals and therefore untrustworthy. Whereas, he seems to be very loyal - first to Wolsey, then to Henry. He says to Jenneke of H: 'Who else should I serve? A man cannot be masterless.'
He picked his prince and sees him for what he is, warts, claws and all. He seems to be thinking a lot these days about other lives he could have led. A bit of regret? He can't say he picked blind, but I think now he knows where this is going. No wonder he has hidden his money.
Phew, we are reaching halfway...
I was struck by your words: *His memories have been brought out of the dark and stretched on hooks. They have been set out in sunlight to be bleached white. The master of the shadows, of concealment and dissimulation, is exposed to the light of day.*
I can't help feel that in the most recent chapters we are seeing a rather significant change of circumstance for Cromwell - he is abruptly a public figure (and a hated one at that). Previously, of course, others in the ruling class and nobility know who he is and the power he wields, but my impression was that he otherwise had a low public profile and was happy to do his work behind the scenes. But now, having risen the ranks to become H's right-hand man and having the 'Pilgrimage of Grace' focus its ire on him, he is no longer in the shadows. He can no longer control the narrative. He IS the narrative. Yet amidst all this upheaval, the advance of the rebels, he is surprisingly sanguine - or am I misreading? His greatest hurt comes not from the hateful gossip circulating about him but from Wolsey's daughter's belief that he betrayed her father.
That's interesting isn't it? I wonder whether he quite likes being hated by the general "mass of men"? There is something of his father in him: he doesn't mind being hated and feared, except by his friends and those he loves. But now of course he sees how it all might end: the king DOES want to be loved by his people and might get rid of Cromwell to please them.
Ah interesting. I hadn't thought about the parallels with his father.
Yes, I think this is the central source of generalised malaise through these chapters. We readers are wondering how long the king will tolerate the negativity C is attracting towards the crown.
Last week the Domestic Comrade and I visited Bedford to see the home of the Panacea Society and of John Bunyan, and an exhibition of Edward Bawden’s work. We were too tired in the end to make it to any of the Bunyan sites—another time—but we did investigate the Panacea Society. Do look it up in Wikipedia, but I mention it here because its followers believed that Bedford was the site of the Garden of Eden; there is a pleasant garden around the house, with an apple tree, and visitors were encouraged to take any fallen apples. We took a large one, and I used it this evening in a meal of various brassicas and pears and apples (better than it sounds!): my plan was to reserve the seeds and grow saplings from them which I would give friends and family, as from the Garden of Eden. Sadly, the seeds in my apple were undeveloped, and that plan has collapsed. However, it was some compensation, of a strange and delightful kind, to turn to this week’s budget of Mantel, and read Crumb’s thoughts on the Garden, ignorant though he was that its site was so close to London.
Stray coincidences like this are one of the pleasures of reading, of course, and are rather common, but I thought this one had an amusing edge which you might enjoy.
*TMatL* is a very long book, and I can imagine that some readers have made a case for abridging it. All I can say is How could anyone choose what to leave out? Each week on our Slow Read, we encounter whole new worlds, so cleverly displayed by Mantel (and explicated further to us by you), none of which I would want to have missed (and too many of which in my previous Fast Reads I did miss). I do not feel sorry for Crumb as he continues to learn to face what he has done and will do—chiefly through seeing how women he respects react to him—but there is a clarity in his thoughts which demands respect.
I didn't know about this, how interesting! I think there must be a list somewhere of all the places that people have thought were Paradise, or Eden. Had Crumb knowns, he could have ordered in the apples.
Of course I agree about the length. Slow down and you stop thinking about how long it is and instead savour every page. Whole new worlds indeed!
I very much enjoyed this chapter and your accompanying notes on it. As always there are wee pieces of information that I hadn't picked up on and rabbit holes to go down. In chapters like this it is easy to think of the Cromwell may have had, and how he may have turned out.
Lots of alternative Cromwells running around Europe leading other lives.
Fabulous as ever, and also made me add yet another book to my Book pile - The Testament of Mary. Thank you!
You're welcome! There is an awesome audio version read by Juliet Stevenson which I heartily recommend.
I appreciated your notes on Cromwell's thoughts about Lazarus - that Colm Tóibín book you mentioned sounds amazing!
I also loved the image of Liz checking her "list of his sins, in the pocket of her apron" - like you, I was struck by the contrast of this homely domestic image with his previous reference to the recording angel who "sits in the corner with his quill blunted, wailing and ripping out his curls," unable to keep up now that Cromwell's sins have grown in proportion to his position.
I noticed that Cromwell repeated Jenneke's phrase "against the day": she was taught English against the day when the secret of her father's identity comes out; he has stashed secret funds against the day when he loses Henry's favour. For me, this repetition added to a growing sense of the inevitability of disaster, especially as he then goes on to a concrete description echoing Wolsey's fall at the start of the first book. ("So if one day the Duke of Suffolk and the Duke of Norfolk storm in here, breaking my locks and splintering my chests, and wrecking like the devils at the sack of Rome [...]")
This section also had a few great lines about language & communication that took me back to my fascination with Cromwell's languages earlier in the year:
- "In Antwerp, the more tongues you could master, the more you could succeed. If he lacked a phrase in one language, he had it in another, and his earnest vehemence made up for any gaps."
- "he throws an idiomatic fit" when negotiating with the French merchants
- He is pleased that Jenneke knows the word 'catastrophe' & "In deference to her English, which is good but not perfect, he is speaking simply; a lesson for me, he thinks, a lesson for us all, to converse with Jenneke. Never have events seemed so plain: no nuance, but a clear noonday light."
Really great observations. I was struck by the sins too and the plans for when everything goes bad. I guess Jenneke really is her father's daughter. :) The warning to Avery about what to do when and the repetition really was something. That and his take on the boys - Gregory, Rafe, and Richard - and what they will need/want to do at the time. All the considerations that landed the job on Avery. I found that really touching. Thanks for reminding me of all these pieces.
Enlightening as ever! And thanks for recommending Toibin’s book! Already added to my shopping list!
I recommend the audiobook read by Juliet Stevenson as Mary. Amazing!
Late to this section and I have struggled with the last few chapters- the language is exquisite as always but the doom is lurking and growing…all the comments I have ❤️here have really helped me enjoy this part of the trilogy more. Thanks everyone!
The sense of growing unease is palpable!
I'm not any sort of scholar, but give me a rabbit hole and I'll fall into it. It seems like the poem might be "The Wanderer" from the Exeter Book. Or maybe "The Ruin" from same. Or some melding of them.
Lovely update, as always.
Ah thanks to the lead! 🐇