I am getting massive gangster vibes from TC in this part of the novel. He has the qualities that we see in Robert Deniro from Goodfellas or Tony Soorano. He is both revolting and alluring. Terrifying and affable. How can we find his moments of wit so funny when he is committing such atrocities?
And do we care less because of who he is doing it to? Do we revel in the undoing of Norfolk? The comeuppance of William Brereton? The hubris of George Boleyn? And the performative shame of Francis Weston? It is made easier because of who he is doing it to? And I f so, what does that say about us, the reader?
The final paragraph of this section is haunting, and has Mantell thinking about predertminism and choice. How much of this does TC choose? How much of this does Mantell choose? Has it been fated or is it there before we know it’s? “What you dreamed has enacted itself. You reach for a blade but the blood is already shed. The lambs have butchered and eaten themselves.” WOW!
That final passage: Cromwell presented by the gruesome reality of his plan. Even he is alarmed by how quickly it has been enacted, almost as though act preceded intention. It makes him feel sick (he of the "iron belly").
One minor correction: the undoing of Norris, not Norfolk. Some would say he should have undone Norfolk long ago, when he had the chance.
Jonathon, I had just highlighted the very same quote- you're right, Wow! This is first-order writing. I can also completely agree with your parallels between Cromwell, as written by Mantel, and Tony Soprano, although I have to admit that these recent events, knowing they really happened, have made me feel less sympathetic towards T.C. than I had previously been. Although Mantel gives her version of Cromwell's experience moments of queasiness and touches of conscience, the historical record suggests that the whole thing was done with completely cold-hearted precision and detachment.
And it's my quote of the week too. Fabulous stuff.
But isn't that the point? The historical record would show no record of queasiness and conscience. This is a problem with the archive, rather than an absence in reality – and unless our protagonist is a sociopath (which I don't think he is) we would expect him to have at least some scruples.
Oh and I've just remembered. Diarmaid McCulloch cites an interesting case of Cromwell seemingly avoiding mention of More's name, as the death of the "other one". He guesses that the death weighed on his conscience. By its very nature the archive does not show the conscience of political actors, so we must read between the lines. As Mantel's Cromwell says the book of his heart is a private book.
Agreed, it is the privilege of a historical novelist to attempt to 'give life' to these characters from History and, unlike many historical novelists I could mention, Mantel certainly has done plenty of research into what happened and how various biographers have presented them, rather than simply making things up to fit into some romantic plot or to present a spicy story to titillate their readers. As with biographers, and indeed, certain types of historical records, we can also detect a degree of bias in Hilary Mantel's representations of characters: I think her representations of churchmen in particular are rather negative, but then again, maybe they were really all as cruel, corrupt or wet as she makes them appear in her novels?
Not sure I agree that her representation of churchmen is overall negative. Cranmer, Barnes and Latimer are all treated sympathetically. Even Tunstall has a certain charm in Mantel's telling. And of course Wolsey, the biggest churchman of all, gets a glowing write-up. Which I suppose brings us back to the point that Mantel is writing everyone through Cromwell's eyes. Of course churchmen appear corrupt and weak, because that's how Cromwell sees them.
Is Cranmer treated sympathetically? I would argue that, in this section, even Cromwell feels rather disgusted by the slipperiness of this 'man of God' and his ability to so swiftly sacrifice a close ally to save his hide from Henry's wrath, which, of course, prefigures later events, as you have pointed out.
What I found fascinating in this section was how it was possible to feel some sort of sympathy for almost everybody. The accused, as the quote at the top reminds us, may not be perfect but they are possibly not guilty (or not *that* guilty. Cromwell is overcome by his situation (even if it's of his own making). Even Henry seems to be isolated and lonely.
Using revenge as a (secondary) motive is interesting, although it does seem - to me at least - to be a bit of a stretch*. Mantel, of course, manages to make it all totally convincing.
(* It’s not that I don't think revenge is a plausible motive but, in the way I see Cromwell, he'd be wary of being blinded by his urge for revenge. But, as I said, Mantel makes it totally convincing.
I'm really warming to Jane and her sister. Although both are women in a man's world, both seem to face the world on their own terms. And, yes, they understand the political implications of headgear.)
I thought it was interesting to lok at Mark's map and to see that the East Coast Mainline route is there (change at Doncaster for Hull!). Some things don't change.
Today's tangent: while I was writing this, an aria from 'Anna Bolena' came on the radio. If you want a really different - definitely fictional - version of Anne Boleyn's story, that's one for you. Mercy is one of the guilty men and Jane Seymour pleads for Anne's life.
The revenge plot is interesting. It was interesting listening to the historians grapple with Mantel's invention at the Wolf Hall Weekend - it was beyond them because, of course, if it existed, Cromwell would never have left any evidence.
And I agree it is perhaps the most fanciful thread Mantel spins; the one that really holds her story together. But it does take as its starting point the very real matter of why Thomas Wyatt was spared. The sensible, political thing, might have been to add him to the pile. I think Mantel looked at the evidence, and concluded there was something personal about this. Cromwell did appear to value loyalty, and he did make enemies - so are scores being settled here?
Another factor to consider is the precarious nature of the situation. If the King changes his mind at any point then the Boleyns are back and Cromwell is dead. In retrospect, Cromwell looks safe and perhaps vindictive. But I think here he is still fighting for his life.
The revenge plot seems to me more about TC convincing himself that these men, and Anne, deserve to die. That he feels guilt, and is trying to assuage this by finding as many reasons as possible as to why what he is doing is right. He needs to give Henry what he wants, that has become his role. Sometimes he can convince Henry to want something different, but he knows in the matter of wives (and sons), he must do everything possible to please Henry. It's one of things that make Mantel's Cromwell so believable, I think, that he feels for these men even though he is condemning them. Throughout the books (so far anyway!) Cromwell is unselfish, he uses his wealth and power to look after as many people as he can. Mantel needed to find ways for him to reconcile himself with what he has to do.
It's interesting how the sequence of a man's thoughts makes so much difference. I see how he might retrospectively use revenge to assuage his guilt, although I don't see it myself - that "fat book of grief" speaks to a long-standing grudge, something we were viscerally exposed to in the early chapters of Wolf Hall.
I suspect he has long imagined exacting punishment for what they did to Wolsey, but now he is faced with George and Francis, pleading for their lives, and momentarily he wonders if he has the stomach for it. The horror is that it is too late now. He cannot go back without writing his own death warrant.
I think the Wyatt issue seems more plausible to me - it's probably easier to cover up guilt (or presumed guilt) than to fabricate evidence - and if the friendship with Wyatt's father is true, it all hangs together.
It's such a high risk strategy with Norris, Weston, Rochford and (especially) Brereton, that revenge seems an unlikely driver. Having thought about it, I think it's because Cromwell is so obviously behind it - I'd be more easily convinced if he was behind the scenes rather than a protagonist.
That said, Mantel still makes it totally convincing, whatever my doubts.
In Mantel's narrative, the evidence comes from Mark Smeaton's confession (I hope Bea is going to share that document next week? I have the image she sent me from last year)... His confession implicates Brereton.
Is the confession manufactured? We will never know, I guess. But Mantel has Smeaton mention Wyatt's name and Cromwell tells them not to write it down. This is good: we can imagine Cromwell editing a long list of names down to his preferred victims.
That East Coast Mainline is probably the result of leaving on some of the placenames in Wolsey's progress north from an earlier map. We'd need to check, but I suppose much of it is along the old North Road (now the M1). And now I am imagining Wolsey squeezed onto a National Express coach, or negotiating the buffet carriage and dropping crumbs in the quiet coach.
Yes, it was the Great North Road I was thinking of - but that's now replaced by Wolsey on a National; Express coach (courtesy of Divine Comedy). It's an image I will remember for along time.
The revenge plot does seem out of character for Cromwell, but it does make the storyline more personal and adds suspense to it. I really like what you said about headgear and agree. Women had little power but still manage to weld what they had. They sent powerful messages in their own way.
Does it really seem out of character? It has been foreshadowed throughout both books – from his grief at the cardinal's death, to his mental "ledger" of everyone who has crossed him. Not to mention all the pointed thoughts and comments whenever any of these five men have featured. Perhaps this is something that becomes more evident with every re-read, but revenge seems so engrained in his character at this point, even if he has hidden it well behind that arranged face.
I think what I meant to convey (but didn't elaborate on and spoke too soon) is that he let his revenge plot be known out loud to one or two of the men he was interrogating. That part felt out of character to me. I agree, Simon, I can see how everything else has been pointing to Cromwell seeking revenge. However, I always got that idea from the access to his thoughts.
Ah I see! Yes, slight Bond villain vibes. Perhaps! Hard to know whether it is revenge unless you've told your victim why these things are happening. But you're right, Cromwell isn't in the habit of explaining himself.
😆 yes , Bond villain works as a comparison when it comes to that scene lol There is also a sentence (I got to find it ) in which we learn of how hard his heart has become after losing his wife and daughters. He also lost the Cardinal too, who was like a father. 😕
Funnily enough, Bren, I felt myself the reverse of warming to Jane in this episode, since my reading of what was going on depicts Jane as quite a cold and calculating young woman, as opposed to a simple fool being manipulated by her ambitious family into Henry's bed. Perhaps times were very different then, but the idea of a woman behaving as she does while her rival, Anne, is being put on trial for treason and incest/adultery is rather shocking and not at all 'sisterly' in the Feminist sense of the word. Or maybe Cromwell/Mantel's image of her as a holy virgin contemplating martyrdom is true? And pure Jane is willing to be the sacrifice who will return Henry to the true path of Catholicism after the reign of the Heretical Anne Boleyn.?
Rather than “cold and calculating”, I see Jane as “canny and astute”. The family is going to plot to get her to marry Henry anyway, but she is doing it on her terms.
Anne is by then a lost cause, I'm afraid; so looking after number 1 isn't such a bad move.
And I think this is why Cromwell admires her in these scenes (and more generally): she knows how to arrange her face. It's all very well us expecting greater displays of compassion, but they're all in too deep; if they want to survive (thrive?), they must tow the line that Anne is entirely to blame. This is the terrifying consequence of Henry's despotism.
And I must admit that I have a soft spot for people who play their cards close to their chest - and I'll start using the 'arrange their face' expression. I probably aim to not give too much away with my face - which may be why I find it easy to see Cromwell's point of view.
I still have questions about Jane Seymour's 'real' character: is she being presented as similar to one of Jane Austen's heroines, then- a sort of proto-Elizabeth Bennett type?
I don't think of her as anything like Lizzie Bennett. She thinks more than she says - and sees more than people realise. And the men definitely underestimate her - although that's true for many women.
Wow, these interviews...this revenge served so coldly...and fueled by such grief.
"He once thought it himself, that he might die of grief: for his wife, his daughters, his sisters, his father and master the cardinal. But the pulse, obdurate, keeps its rhythm. You think you cannot keep breathing, but your ribcage has other ideas, rising and falling, emitting sighs. You must thrive in spite of yourself; and so that you may do it, God takes out your heart of flesh, and gives you a heart of stone."
The grief is so relatable. Have you felt it? But the stone-hearted revenge is...terrifying.
It’s utterly compelling, this section; I read it through last week unable to stop after Mark and again this week. Forgive my modern feminist take, but all of them, including the King, trapped by a system of masculinity, one that doesn’t allow anyone to back down or consider an alternative. It’s Anne, next week, who uses the word ‘murder’ and of course, here they are, all complicit because none of them will suggest this is wrong. The divine right of kings, despite family wranglings back and forth for years to gain power, twists the mind and how low they go. Someone must be guilty, but not me, say all of them. And then more families lining up to take part in the next stage, as if no one will even consider the horror of what is taking place before them.
You don't have to apologise for any take. And as Cromwell thinks later, everything is ugly about this business – and no one escapes being tainted by it, not even the reader. There are also those ladies in waiting, who feel ashamed and aghast at how easily they talked and helped being Anne down.
I was finally able to visit the Frick Collection in Manhattan and stand in front both Thomas More and Thomas Cromwell, the paintings by Hans Holbein that is =) I turned to the guidebook of the exhibition and was taken aback by the difference in descriptions of these two men: "Sir Thomas More... Humanist, scholar, author and statesman. Thomas More (1478-1535) served as Lord Chancellor to Henry VIII before being executed for reason. Holbein stayed with the More family during his first period in England in 1526-27." Now for the description of the painting of Cromwell: "Henry VIII's Lord Great Chamberlain was largely responsible for Thomas More's execution. He himself was later accused of treason and beheaded." Ouch, I think it is clear whose side history took. I went to the museum last weekend and then continued on with this week's reading and this morning I am feeling a shift myself in how I feel about Cromwell.. I am seeing how he has the capacity of taking it too far. I am sickened by what is happening with the young men. I also feel that trialing More and executing him was a huge mistake. I do love how Mantel has woven all the paths that led to these decisions.
A tangent not pertinent to this week in particular, though I suppose one could argue it’s in the sequence of interrogations in the Tower that we see Crumb stepping into More’s role in the fullest way yet:
A couple of weeks ago I visited the newly re-opened Frick Museum — for those who haven’t been, it’s in a grand building on the Upper East Side of Manhattan that was formerly a private home — and saw Holbein’s portraits of Cromwell and More, placed on either side of a large, ornate fireplace, facing each other. I wonder if the curator has read Mantel? It seemed for all the world as if they were staring one another down, pausing in that epic battle of wits to collect their thoughts.
A must-see for Crumb fans who find themselves in New York City!
Yet to see the portraits in the Frick. The arrangement of the paintings pre-dates Wolf Hall. Mantel says of them in her lecture, The Iron Maiden:
"At the Frick museum in New York, Holbein’s portraits of More and Cromwell hang either side of a fireplace. It is only a fireplace: it’s easy to create a false polarity between the two men, who had so much to say to each other. Thomas More is looking fiercely, attentively at whatever passes before him, and Thomas Cromwell, it seems, is gazing into the next room."
She also gave a talk about Wolf Hall at the Frick, which you can watch here:
1. Interesting: Casual reference to Anne as concubine (NOT by Chapuys!): “at first because he wanted to be with his concubine Anne, and then because he wanted to be without her.”
2. Hilarious: Henry: “The marriage was illicit.” Fitzroy: “What, this one was? This one as well?”
3. Apt: “Henry takes up his little book; absorbed, he turns the pages, and settles down to read his own story.” This is so Henry, telling and believing his own stories.
4. And finally, just the chilling villainy of Crumb, whom I have mostly admired so far. Mantel makes it seem like, due to their tasteless play years ago, he is almost eagerly having them suffer a horrible death. The punishment does not fit the crime. Others are envisioning a convent for Anne, and Crumb is rushing to the chopping block. I know that it all snowballed and took on a life of its own, thus his hasty departure from interrogating Weston. But still. Chilling.
I might suggest that it is not about the play as such – that this four stand in for an entire class of faction who hated the cardinal, and helped kill him. And of course the leader of that group was the king...
1. "What have you done with this [cap string], Jane? It looks as if you've been sucking on it." - this is more evidence for my theory that Jane is autistic
2. Henry quoting Chrysostom was hilarious (even though he thought he was citing Augustine) - Chrysostom was known for preaching against abuse of authority!
I am getting massive gangster vibes from TC in this part of the novel. He has the qualities that we see in Robert Deniro from Goodfellas or Tony Soorano. He is both revolting and alluring. Terrifying and affable. How can we find his moments of wit so funny when he is committing such atrocities?
And do we care less because of who he is doing it to? Do we revel in the undoing of Norfolk? The comeuppance of William Brereton? The hubris of George Boleyn? And the performative shame of Francis Weston? It is made easier because of who he is doing it to? And I f so, what does that say about us, the reader?
The final paragraph of this section is haunting, and has Mantell thinking about predertminism and choice. How much of this does TC choose? How much of this does Mantell choose? Has it been fated or is it there before we know it’s? “What you dreamed has enacted itself. You reach for a blade but the blood is already shed. The lambs have butchered and eaten themselves.” WOW!
That final passage: Cromwell presented by the gruesome reality of his plan. Even he is alarmed by how quickly it has been enacted, almost as though act preceded intention. It makes him feel sick (he of the "iron belly").
One minor correction: the undoing of Norris, not Norfolk. Some would say he should have undone Norfolk long ago, when he had the chance.
Jonathon, I had just highlighted the very same quote- you're right, Wow! This is first-order writing. I can also completely agree with your parallels between Cromwell, as written by Mantel, and Tony Soprano, although I have to admit that these recent events, knowing they really happened, have made me feel less sympathetic towards T.C. than I had previously been. Although Mantel gives her version of Cromwell's experience moments of queasiness and touches of conscience, the historical record suggests that the whole thing was done with completely cold-hearted precision and detachment.
And it's my quote of the week too. Fabulous stuff.
But isn't that the point? The historical record would show no record of queasiness and conscience. This is a problem with the archive, rather than an absence in reality – and unless our protagonist is a sociopath (which I don't think he is) we would expect him to have at least some scruples.
Oh and I've just remembered. Diarmaid McCulloch cites an interesting case of Cromwell seemingly avoiding mention of More's name, as the death of the "other one". He guesses that the death weighed on his conscience. By its very nature the archive does not show the conscience of political actors, so we must read between the lines. As Mantel's Cromwell says the book of his heart is a private book.
Agreed, it is the privilege of a historical novelist to attempt to 'give life' to these characters from History and, unlike many historical novelists I could mention, Mantel certainly has done plenty of research into what happened and how various biographers have presented them, rather than simply making things up to fit into some romantic plot or to present a spicy story to titillate their readers. As with biographers, and indeed, certain types of historical records, we can also detect a degree of bias in Hilary Mantel's representations of characters: I think her representations of churchmen in particular are rather negative, but then again, maybe they were really all as cruel, corrupt or wet as she makes them appear in her novels?
Not sure I agree that her representation of churchmen is overall negative. Cranmer, Barnes and Latimer are all treated sympathetically. Even Tunstall has a certain charm in Mantel's telling. And of course Wolsey, the biggest churchman of all, gets a glowing write-up. Which I suppose brings us back to the point that Mantel is writing everyone through Cromwell's eyes. Of course churchmen appear corrupt and weak, because that's how Cromwell sees them.
Is Cranmer treated sympathetically? I would argue that, in this section, even Cromwell feels rather disgusted by the slipperiness of this 'man of God' and his ability to so swiftly sacrifice a close ally to save his hide from Henry's wrath, which, of course, prefigures later events, as you have pointed out.
What I found fascinating in this section was how it was possible to feel some sort of sympathy for almost everybody. The accused, as the quote at the top reminds us, may not be perfect but they are possibly not guilty (or not *that* guilty. Cromwell is overcome by his situation (even if it's of his own making). Even Henry seems to be isolated and lonely.
Using revenge as a (secondary) motive is interesting, although it does seem - to me at least - to be a bit of a stretch*. Mantel, of course, manages to make it all totally convincing.
(* It’s not that I don't think revenge is a plausible motive but, in the way I see Cromwell, he'd be wary of being blinded by his urge for revenge. But, as I said, Mantel makes it totally convincing.
I'm really warming to Jane and her sister. Although both are women in a man's world, both seem to face the world on their own terms. And, yes, they understand the political implications of headgear.)
I thought it was interesting to lok at Mark's map and to see that the East Coast Mainline route is there (change at Doncaster for Hull!). Some things don't change.
Today's tangent: while I was writing this, an aria from 'Anna Bolena' came on the radio. If you want a really different - definitely fictional - version of Anne Boleyn's story, that's one for you. Mercy is one of the guilty men and Jane Seymour pleads for Anne's life.
The revenge plot is interesting. It was interesting listening to the historians grapple with Mantel's invention at the Wolf Hall Weekend - it was beyond them because, of course, if it existed, Cromwell would never have left any evidence.
And I agree it is perhaps the most fanciful thread Mantel spins; the one that really holds her story together. But it does take as its starting point the very real matter of why Thomas Wyatt was spared. The sensible, political thing, might have been to add him to the pile. I think Mantel looked at the evidence, and concluded there was something personal about this. Cromwell did appear to value loyalty, and he did make enemies - so are scores being settled here?
Another factor to consider is the precarious nature of the situation. If the King changes his mind at any point then the Boleyns are back and Cromwell is dead. In retrospect, Cromwell looks safe and perhaps vindictive. But I think here he is still fighting for his life.
The revenge plot seems to me more about TC convincing himself that these men, and Anne, deserve to die. That he feels guilt, and is trying to assuage this by finding as many reasons as possible as to why what he is doing is right. He needs to give Henry what he wants, that has become his role. Sometimes he can convince Henry to want something different, but he knows in the matter of wives (and sons), he must do everything possible to please Henry. It's one of things that make Mantel's Cromwell so believable, I think, that he feels for these men even though he is condemning them. Throughout the books (so far anyway!) Cromwell is unselfish, he uses his wealth and power to look after as many people as he can. Mantel needed to find ways for him to reconcile himself with what he has to do.
It's interesting how the sequence of a man's thoughts makes so much difference. I see how he might retrospectively use revenge to assuage his guilt, although I don't see it myself - that "fat book of grief" speaks to a long-standing grudge, something we were viscerally exposed to in the early chapters of Wolf Hall.
I suspect he has long imagined exacting punishment for what they did to Wolsey, but now he is faced with George and Francis, pleading for their lives, and momentarily he wonders if he has the stomach for it. The horror is that it is too late now. He cannot go back without writing his own death warrant.
I think the Wyatt issue seems more plausible to me - it's probably easier to cover up guilt (or presumed guilt) than to fabricate evidence - and if the friendship with Wyatt's father is true, it all hangs together.
It's such a high risk strategy with Norris, Weston, Rochford and (especially) Brereton, that revenge seems an unlikely driver. Having thought about it, I think it's because Cromwell is so obviously behind it - I'd be more easily convinced if he was behind the scenes rather than a protagonist.
That said, Mantel still makes it totally convincing, whatever my doubts.
In Mantel's narrative, the evidence comes from Mark Smeaton's confession (I hope Bea is going to share that document next week? I have the image she sent me from last year)... His confession implicates Brereton.
Is the confession manufactured? We will never know, I guess. But Mantel has Smeaton mention Wyatt's name and Cromwell tells them not to write it down. This is good: we can imagine Cromwell editing a long list of names down to his preferred victims.
Actually, I've just realised that Bea has already shared the document I was thinking of in today's post.
That East Coast Mainline is probably the result of leaving on some of the placenames in Wolsey's progress north from an earlier map. We'd need to check, but I suppose much of it is along the old North Road (now the M1). And now I am imagining Wolsey squeezed onto a National Express coach, or negotiating the buffet carriage and dropping crumbs in the quiet coach.
Yes, it was the Great North Road I was thinking of - but that's now replaced by Wolsey on a National; Express coach (courtesy of Divine Comedy). It's an image I will remember for along time.
Actually, now I *need* the fan art: Hilary Mantel and Wolsey side by side on a bus headed north, nattering away and laughing at each other's jokes.
The revenge plot does seem out of character for Cromwell, but it does make the storyline more personal and adds suspense to it. I really like what you said about headgear and agree. Women had little power but still manage to weld what they had. They sent powerful messages in their own way.
Does it really seem out of character? It has been foreshadowed throughout both books – from his grief at the cardinal's death, to his mental "ledger" of everyone who has crossed him. Not to mention all the pointed thoughts and comments whenever any of these five men have featured. Perhaps this is something that becomes more evident with every re-read, but revenge seems so engrained in his character at this point, even if he has hidden it well behind that arranged face.
I think what I meant to convey (but didn't elaborate on and spoke too soon) is that he let his revenge plot be known out loud to one or two of the men he was interrogating. That part felt out of character to me. I agree, Simon, I can see how everything else has been pointing to Cromwell seeking revenge. However, I always got that idea from the access to his thoughts.
Ah I see! Yes, slight Bond villain vibes. Perhaps! Hard to know whether it is revenge unless you've told your victim why these things are happening. But you're right, Cromwell isn't in the habit of explaining himself.
😆 yes , Bond villain works as a comparison when it comes to that scene lol There is also a sentence (I got to find it ) in which we learn of how hard his heart has become after losing his wife and daughters. He also lost the Cardinal too, who was like a father. 😕
Funnily enough, Bren, I felt myself the reverse of warming to Jane in this episode, since my reading of what was going on depicts Jane as quite a cold and calculating young woman, as opposed to a simple fool being manipulated by her ambitious family into Henry's bed. Perhaps times were very different then, but the idea of a woman behaving as she does while her rival, Anne, is being put on trial for treason and incest/adultery is rather shocking and not at all 'sisterly' in the Feminist sense of the word. Or maybe Cromwell/Mantel's image of her as a holy virgin contemplating martyrdom is true? And pure Jane is willing to be the sacrifice who will return Henry to the true path of Catholicism after the reign of the Heretical Anne Boleyn.?
Rather than “cold and calculating”, I see Jane as “canny and astute”. The family is going to plot to get her to marry Henry anyway, but she is doing it on her terms.
Anne is by then a lost cause, I'm afraid; so looking after number 1 isn't such a bad move.
And I think this is why Cromwell admires her in these scenes (and more generally): she knows how to arrange her face. It's all very well us expecting greater displays of compassion, but they're all in too deep; if they want to survive (thrive?), they must tow the line that Anne is entirely to blame. This is the terrifying consequence of Henry's despotism.
And I must admit that I have a soft spot for people who play their cards close to their chest - and I'll start using the 'arrange their face' expression. I probably aim to not give too much away with my face - which may be why I find it easy to see Cromwell's point of view.
I still have questions about Jane Seymour's 'real' character: is she being presented as similar to one of Jane Austen's heroines, then- a sort of proto-Elizabeth Bennett type?
I don't think of her as anything like Lizzie Bennett. She thinks more than she says - and sees more than people realise. And the men definitely underestimate her - although that's true for many women.
Wow, these interviews...this revenge served so coldly...and fueled by such grief.
"He once thought it himself, that he might die of grief: for his wife, his daughters, his sisters, his father and master the cardinal. But the pulse, obdurate, keeps its rhythm. You think you cannot keep breathing, but your ribcage has other ideas, rising and falling, emitting sighs. You must thrive in spite of yourself; and so that you may do it, God takes out your heart of flesh, and gives you a heart of stone."
The grief is so relatable. Have you felt it? But the stone-hearted revenge is...terrifying.
Exactly. The TC Revenge Tour was so grim, so strategic and unrelenting, with Smeaton as poor, foolish collateral damage. It definitely shook me.
It’s utterly compelling, this section; I read it through last week unable to stop after Mark and again this week. Forgive my modern feminist take, but all of them, including the King, trapped by a system of masculinity, one that doesn’t allow anyone to back down or consider an alternative. It’s Anne, next week, who uses the word ‘murder’ and of course, here they are, all complicit because none of them will suggest this is wrong. The divine right of kings, despite family wranglings back and forth for years to gain power, twists the mind and how low they go. Someone must be guilty, but not me, say all of them. And then more families lining up to take part in the next stage, as if no one will even consider the horror of what is taking place before them.
You don't have to apologise for any take. And as Cromwell thinks later, everything is ugly about this business – and no one escapes being tainted by it, not even the reader. There are also those ladies in waiting, who feel ashamed and aghast at how easily they talked and helped being Anne down.
I was finally able to visit the Frick Collection in Manhattan and stand in front both Thomas More and Thomas Cromwell, the paintings by Hans Holbein that is =) I turned to the guidebook of the exhibition and was taken aback by the difference in descriptions of these two men: "Sir Thomas More... Humanist, scholar, author and statesman. Thomas More (1478-1535) served as Lord Chancellor to Henry VIII before being executed for reason. Holbein stayed with the More family during his first period in England in 1526-27." Now for the description of the painting of Cromwell: "Henry VIII's Lord Great Chamberlain was largely responsible for Thomas More's execution. He himself was later accused of treason and beheaded." Ouch, I think it is clear whose side history took. I went to the museum last weekend and then continued on with this week's reading and this morning I am feeling a shift myself in how I feel about Cromwell.. I am seeing how he has the capacity of taking it too far. I am sickened by what is happening with the young men. I also feel that trialing More and executing him was a huge mistake. I do love how Mantel has woven all the paths that led to these decisions.
A tangent not pertinent to this week in particular, though I suppose one could argue it’s in the sequence of interrogations in the Tower that we see Crumb stepping into More’s role in the fullest way yet:
A couple of weeks ago I visited the newly re-opened Frick Museum — for those who haven’t been, it’s in a grand building on the Upper East Side of Manhattan that was formerly a private home — and saw Holbein’s portraits of Cromwell and More, placed on either side of a large, ornate fireplace, facing each other. I wonder if the curator has read Mantel? It seemed for all the world as if they were staring one another down, pausing in that epic battle of wits to collect their thoughts.
A must-see for Crumb fans who find themselves in New York City!
Yet to see the portraits in the Frick. The arrangement of the paintings pre-dates Wolf Hall. Mantel says of them in her lecture, The Iron Maiden:
"At the Frick museum in New York, Holbein’s portraits of More and Cromwell hang either side of a fireplace. It is only a fireplace: it’s easy to create a false polarity between the two men, who had so much to say to each other. Thomas More is looking fiercely, attentively at whatever passes before him, and Thomas Cromwell, it seems, is gazing into the next room."
She also gave a talk about Wolf Hall at the Frick, which you can watch here:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ws2zLiayXs8
Four thoughts in particular this week.
1. Interesting: Casual reference to Anne as concubine (NOT by Chapuys!): “at first because he wanted to be with his concubine Anne, and then because he wanted to be without her.”
2. Hilarious: Henry: “The marriage was illicit.” Fitzroy: “What, this one was? This one as well?”
3. Apt: “Henry takes up his little book; absorbed, he turns the pages, and settles down to read his own story.” This is so Henry, telling and believing his own stories.
4. And finally, just the chilling villainy of Crumb, whom I have mostly admired so far. Mantel makes it seem like, due to their tasteless play years ago, he is almost eagerly having them suffer a horrible death. The punishment does not fit the crime. Others are envisioning a convent for Anne, and Crumb is rushing to the chopping block. I know that it all snowballed and took on a life of its own, thus his hasty departure from interrogating Weston. But still. Chilling.
I might suggest that it is not about the play as such – that this four stand in for an entire class of faction who hated the cardinal, and helped kill him. And of course the leader of that group was the king...
So, how convenient for him to ignore Henry's role? Serving the leader while punishing the minions.
I'm not at all sure it is that simple!
1. "What have you done with this [cap string], Jane? It looks as if you've been sucking on it." - this is more evidence for my theory that Jane is autistic
2. Henry quoting Chrysostom was hilarious (even though he thought he was citing Augustine) - Chrysostom was known for preaching against abuse of authority!