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Hilary MantelA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
It is the aftermath of the beheading of Anne Boleyn, King Henry VIII’s second wife. He broke away from the authority of the Catholic Church in order to marry her, but after only three years he has tired of her. She had not produced a male heir—which was also the case with his first wife, Katherine of Aragon—and there were many, likely manufactured, rumors about her numerous infidelities. In the wake of her execution, the matter of succession is muddled: Henry has three “illegitimate” children, none of whom is a clear heir.
Thomas Cromwell, the king’s trusted secretary, is at the height of his power and influence. He loyally assisted the king in dissolving his first marriage and arranging his second, and then was instrumental in getting rid of Anne to make way for a third wife, Jane Seymour. Along the way, however, he has acquired many enemies: From the Catholic loyalists to the Duke of Norfolk and the “old families,” who will rally behind Mary, Katherine’s daughter, Cromwell is caught in the crosshairs of history. It is an uncertain time, and everyone’s loyalties are in question—even Cromwell’s. He insists, however, that “[a]ny notion that I hold a grudge against my sovereign—it is some fantasy out of the bishop’s [Stephen Gardiner’s] sick brain. What have I, but what my king gives me? Who am I, but who he has made me? All my trust is in him” (20).
King Henry marries Jane Seymour, and the court is abuzz with fear and excitement. The court questions whether Jane will be able to produce a male heir, and whether Henry—whose manhood is the subject of numerous rumors—will be able to perform. Henry is now saddled with three children, none of whom are seen as legitimate heirs: Henry Fitzroy, the Duke of Richmond; Mary, born of his first wife, Katherine of Aragon; and Elizabeth, born of his recently disgraced and executed second wife, Anne Boleyn. Out of necessity, these marriages must be declared illegitimate for Henry to retain his grip on the English throne, and to provide an avenue for the succession of a male heir born of a legitimate union—which he hopes to secure with Jane. For her part, Jane is the picture of a demure, devout, and domesticated woman. She is Anne’s opposite in every way.
In the background are also rumors that Henry will abandon his attempts to remain head of the English church. The split with Rome—instigated by the Pope’s refusal to annul his first marriage to Katherine—has been costly, both politically and financially. Many people, like the ambassador to the Holy Roman Empire, Eustache Chapuys, hope that Henry will “take England back to Rome” (29). Cromwell has much to lose in this enterprise; his new status as Secretary to the king and Lord Privy Seal is in jeopardy, along with his very life. He keeps his house guarded well: “‘I neglect no precaution,’ he had said. ‘The times being what they are, a man may enter the gate as your friend and change sides while he crosses the courtyard’” (38).
Loyalist families, like the Carews, and old rivals, like the Plantagenet descendants the Poles, would very much like to see Mary on the throne. Mary remains loyal to her Spanish Catholic mother Katherine, and she would like see England return to the Catholic fold. The king’s supporters encourage Mary to sign the oath—“all subjects must take it, when the king requires” (43)—which affirms Henry to be both the legitimate king of England and the rightful head of the Church of England. Mary balks at the latter stipulation.
Henry is racked by suppressed guilt and embarrassment with regard to the Anne Boleyn scandal; if all that was said against her was true, Henry was made a cuckold a hundred times over. He is also battling ill health, the result of a leg injury he suffered in a fall last winter. There are hints that his excessive consumption of food and drink have also taken their toll. England itself is vulnerable, with both France and Spain allied to Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor. Nevertheless, King Henry VIII is still a strong prince with a strong will, and he will demand that Mary acquiesce to his wishes.
Meanwhile, the city is haunted by the executions of Anne and of her alleged lovers, including her own brother. Thomas Wyatt, another supposed lover, remains locked in the Tower under Cromwell’s protection; he promised Wyatt’s father he would try to keep him alive and releases him as soon as he is able. Henry’s son Henry FitzRoy, despite having no legitimate claim to the throne, confesses to Cromwell that he is the one fit to rule England: “With every breath he commits treason and does not hear it” (74). Cromwell negotiates delicately between many parties, always looking out for his own interests and bolstering the strength of his king on whom he depends.
Eventually, Cromwell convinces Mary to sign the oath, albeit in such a way that it will be easy for her to recant should the opportunity arise: “She shouted out, ‘I will sign. I must. Ambassador Chapuys counsels it, and my cousin the Emperor demands it, and the Pope will forgive it, for I am enforced, and so it is no sin’” (113). Arrangements are made for a reunion between father and daughter, and Mary meets Jane, who submits politely to her. The king and queen then return to court, where “Queen Jane is [finally] shown to the Londoners” (140).
For all the worry over succession, there is a contingency plan: “If Jane the queen shall fail and if Fitzroy [Henry’s illegitimate son] cannot command the support of Parliament, [Henry’s niece] Margaret Douglas will some day rule England” (142). Though she is a Scottish princess, she has lived so long in England that she is considered practically English. However, there is a problem with this plan: It has been rumored that Meg has betrothed herself—or besmirched herself, in the eyes of the courtiers and the king—in a relationship with Thomas Howard the Lesser, the Duke of Norfolk’s half-brother.
Meg is at first tearful and defiant, and she swears her allegiance to “Tom Truth,” as he is known for his rather wretched verse. But Cromwell and Thomas Wriothesley, 1st Earl of Southampton, slowly convince her that the king will not be pleased. If he has come to the brink of executing his own daughter for breaking her allegiance, there is no telling what he will do to his disobedient niece. Meg is to be kept in the Tower for now, while Cromwell works to turn the king’s heart to mercy. Memories of Anne’s last days flash through Cromwell’s mind. He also recalls the men, both noble and common, who were sacrificed to the rumors of infidelity, to make way for a new queen. He wants the killing to stop: “It would be a meagre triumph to have saved the king’s daughter, if he now turns and executes his niece” (156). The dead haunt Cromwell, and his many responsibilities burden him.
Cromwell also goes to visit Bess Darnell, Wyatt’s lover who is allegedly with child. He has promised Wyatt to find her a safe place to lodge; for now, she is housed by Margaret Pole, whose son makes threats against the king. Bess will spy for Cromwell, though she is most likely herself a papist, having once been Katherine’s maid. Still, she shows Cromwell what she has been sewing at the Poles’: It is a cloth emblazoned with the Pole’s signet commingled with Mary’s marigold, proof of their intentions.
Meanwhile, there are rumors across the continent that Henry has promised his daughter Mary to Cromwell; this is potent ammunition against the now knighted Sir Cromwell. The rumors are not true, of course, but Cromwell is surprised that the diplomat Eustace Chapuys has proved so treacherous, as he is the likely source of such rumors. Cromwell meets also with the French ambassador who warns Cromwell to counsel Henry to relinquish Calais, the one French garrison still in the hands of the British.
News closer to home brings grief: Henry FitzRoy has died. Cromwell worries about the king’s state of mind: “Forty-five years on this earth, twenty-seven of them as King of England—and all he has to show for it are three bastard children, one of them now a corpse” (193). In turn, Jane is worried about bearing Henry an heir; she does not enjoy his amorous attentions and fears that will thwart her ability to conceive. Cromwell recalls the conversation he had with Margaret Pole about the intentions—and treasonous writings—of her son, Reginald, also known as Reynold. The health of the king—“[t]his summer, [he] will not hunt on horseback” (210)—is never certain, and the line of succession remains undecided.
The kingdom of England has been roiled by the scandal of Anne Boleyn, who is rumored to have cuckolded the king many times over. She has been put to death, as have several men—including her own brother—who have been implicated in her infidelities. Thus, the court is full of intrigue, and both loyalty and lies fly from the lips of the various characters caught up in the action. Thomas Cromwell, the protagonist, stands at the center of the action. He is a common man who has been elevated by his service, first to Cardinal Wolsey and then to the king. He was instrumental in securing the king’s separation from his first wife, Katherine of Aragon, and now has served the king in getting rid of Anne Boleyn to make way for yet another bride, Jane Seymour.
Cromwell and Anne were not friends, though his thoughts turn often to the guilt he feels at her undoing. He feels an unnatural connection with her and is haunted by her ghost, as well as the ghosts of the dead men swept up in the scandal. These many deaths bring to mind martyrdom. Earlier, there had been talk of redecorating the castle for the coronation, and one of the panels would show St. Veronica wiping blood from Christ’s face: “[S]he holds up the bloody cloth, and there we may see the image of Christ, printed clearly in his precious blood” (8). Later, Cromwell has a dream about Anne’s death, seeing “her severed head, smothered in linen” and the “image” the blood makes “into the weave” (21). However, “[i]f her face is imprinted, he is too dazed to see it” (21). Anne is denied martyrdom, at least in the eyes of Cromwell. In contrast, Cromwell casts himself as a savior. After arranging the truce between Mary and Henry, Cromwell is weary of his delicate machinations and thinks of himself as similar to “Jesus, walk[ing] on the water” (133)—that is, performing miracles. Looking about his wealthy household later, he thinks, “When you are Lord Privy Seal you must walk abroad with solemn countenance, looking chosen by Jesus” (186). This is all relevant to Cromwell’s fate, foreshadowing what is to come, but it is also a reference to the larger issues that consume the fate of England—namely, those of religion and allegiance.
As soon as Boleyn is executed, the Holy Roman Emperor begins pressing Henry to “take England back to Rome” (29). The ambassador Chapuys passes along the message: The Emperor wants England “[t]o recognize Henry’s first marriage as valid, and the daughter of that marriage as his heir. To break off diplomacy with the German states. To forswear the Gospel, embrace the Pope, and bow the knee to idols” (29). In short, Henry is pressured to renounce his role as head of the Church of England and return England to Catholicism—which also means rule from abroad. This is all entangled with talk of Anne as a witch, who led Henry astray and struck men dead with her intentions. servants are busily ridding the land of the “initials [...] of Henry and the late queen: so fondly intertwined, like snakes breeding” (71). The association with evil and sin are clear; Anne has been an even more wicked Eve, bringing about Henry’s fall from paradise.
Henry himself often appears weak and overwhelmed by guilt and shame: “The king is restless; he looks as if prayers are his best hope” (35). He does not sleep well and is constantly troubled by a leg that will not heal—his own stigmata that mark yet another Christ-like figure. His weakness also reflects the lack of stability and strength of the country itself: “They [European leaders] think England is low-hanging fruit. Exhausted game” (34). Still, when the king is insistent, he will have his way: “For I have never varied,” he tells his courtiers. “Mary knows what declaration I require of her, and has known since the oath was first framed. If she chose to believe my title and right was some whim of that woman lately dead, she was much mistook, and much misled, and if she has entertained some notion that I will creep back to Rome, she is a greater fool than I thought her” (96-97). King Henry VIII, having separated his kingdom from the interference of the Holy Roman Empire, will not go quietly back into that fold. Power is a potent justification unto itself.
Cromwell’s star continues to rise, and he often appears resolute when the king wavers: “Set me to guard something, and I will do it” (135), he says. This explains not only his loyalty to the king, but also his loyalty to Mary—he pledged to Katherine that he would try to protect her—and to Thomas Wyatt, one-time lover of Anne Boleyn. This, however, may be the end of him; it is dangerous to show support for those the king abhors. Though the king and Mary are reconciled, the truce is fragile, and Cromwell could be viewed as her supporter—which would also mean he supports the Catholic cause. Upon reuniting with the king, “Mary takes in a deep, ragged breath. And he [Cromwell] stands behind her: because, what else can he do?” (130). He is there by accident, but the symbolic power of the arrangement is palpable. Early in the book, Cromwell absently thinks of his unlikely rise to power, from ragged commoner to Secretary to the King and Lord Privy Seal. A few lines of doggerel come to his mind: “When Adam delved and Eve span/Who was then the gentleman?” (24). These lines were once the rallying cry for the peasants during the great revolt against the landed classes in the spring and summer of 1381. The fate of the leaders—Wat Tyler, Jack Straw, and John Ball—are well-known to Englishmen: All were summarily executed. The rise of the commoner Cromwell could very well spell his doom at the hands of the aristocrats.
Part 1 largely concerns the problem of succession: On the one hand, there is the problem of old families and papist sympathizers who wish to “take England back to Rome” and amass power for themselves and their ancient names. On the other hand, there is the problem of female rule: “Choose a husband for a future queen”—whether that be Mary, Margaret Douglas, or some other female heir—“and you are also choosing a king for England” (142). Women, it is implied, are too often ruled by their senses and passions; this is the “wreckage” that provides the title of Chapters I and II. There is the wreckage in the aftermath of Anne Boleyn’s alleged affairs and execution; there is the wreckage that is Meg’s inauspicious dealings with power-hungry men; and there is the wreckage, in general, of Henry’s roaming eye and ravenous appetites—for women, especially. After bearing his first bastard with one of Katherine’s maids-in-waiting, it was said that “all the maids in England wished to become concubines. Harlots had flocked to the king’s vicinity, they said, hoping for rich rewards” (192). There is the sense that Henry, even the upstart House of Tudor itself, has brought corruption to England. Battle-scarred men—veterans of the Wars of the Roses—give way to pampered princes who succumb to corruption or disease, as the weight of history bears down.
By Hilary Mantel