The Mirror and the Light

Throughout Part 4, there is attention paid to the legendary past of England. It is as if King Henry’s reign—shot through with his cataclysmic decision to separate from the Holy Roman Empire and divest his people of the Pope—is the crux that anchors that past to the uncertain future. It rests with Henry to provide a throughline for the legendary heroics of King Arthur and the mythological escapades of Robin Hood to be inherited by the England of the future: “His [Robin Hood’s] blood runs into the soil, red into green, and another Robin springs up, to wear his jacket and bear a quiver of arrows at his back” (457). These myths nurture the English soil, revivify the English soul, and vice versa. Henry aspires to become such a figure, though one might argue that Cromwell holds more in common with the likes of Robin Hood than the king: “All these men”—the “other outlaws whose deeds are renowned”—have a reason for leaving home,” as did Cromwell (457). And most come from humble roots. Henry is captivated by fairy tales, seeking the proverbial princess “while he does his valiant deeds, and they spin out their fates from a single thread, growing the while their long golden hair” (483). Reminiscent of Rapunzel, the new queen is but a fairy tale, and the king “amuses himself with the creation of the new palace, the rarest ever seen: and the name of the palace is Nonsuch” (483), a palace of mythological perfection. It is symbolic of Henry’s desires and fantasies for his queen; he seeks perfection which is inherently unattainable—a fable for the ages.

The book emphasizes the importance of inheritance in the search for a new queen, wherein, as in a game of chess, the king “is more averse to risk than he pretends” (458). Alliances must be considered and advantages weighed carefully when considering who will next sit on the throne of England beside Henry. This takes patience and skill: “In the space of hours, the game may be kicked over. One might bring arrangements to a point, only to be knocked back by a coup within some foreign chancellery. Or just as you are signing off the finances, the girl might die” (459). In this chess match, the women are interchangeable, mostly nameless and faceless pawns: “Don’t fret, he [Cromwell] tells his clerks, you don’t need to remember all these ladies individually: not till the king chooses one, and changes her fate” (459). The king, with Cromwell as his agent, is master of the board.

Still, not even Cromwell is safe, and throughout the book it is clear that many of noble blood find it offensive that he has the king’s ear—not to mention that many powerful people still hold papist views. This danger is made clear when martyrs begin to burn: The heretic Father Forrest goes up in flames first, followed by John Lambert the Lutheran. This reminds Cromwell of the burning of a Lollard woman—a follower of John Wycliffe, whose views eventually influenced Luther—he witnessed in his youth. Traumatized by the event, he withdraws under the Tower when the smell of burned flesh attracts a hungry pack of dogs; these new burnings remind him that the dogs are circling: “Nothing protects you, nothing. In the last ditch, not rank, nor kin. Nothing between you and the fire” (481). Later, at the shrine of Becket at Canterbury, Cromwell himself uses dogs to terrify the recalcitrant monks.

The author suggests that Cromwell’s beliefs are not always perfectly aligned with the king’s views—a dangerous position in which to be. When he is questioned about prosecuting all those who have spoken an unfavorable word about Henry, he rails in response: “Let me live another year or two, and I will make sure what we have done can never be undone, not by any power on earth. And even if Henry does turn, I will not turn” (518). The words are treasonous, and it becomes increasingly clear how precarious Cromwell’s position is. He and Archbishop Cranmer worry about Henry’s unbendable will on the matter of corpus Christi, among other points of belief: Cranmer points out, “If the king can burn this man [Lambert] he can burn us” (529), implying that they too share the Lutherans’ beliefs that the sacrament is symbolic rather than literal. Still, Cromwell, the ever-wily politician, hedges his bets, having the bones of Becket transported to his home at Austin Friars: “He thinks, I want to be able to locate the knave at a moment’s notice. The king spits at the name of Becket, but give him a year or two and he may change his mind, and make him a saint again” (502). Cromwell wants to ensure his relevance and indispensability in the face of any whim of the king; thus, “[a]t Austin Friars the strongrooms and cellars are filling with relics” (533). Yet Cromwell vacillates about the depth of his belief: On the one hand, he worries with Cranmer that they could be considered heretics in Henry’s eyes; on the other hand, he thinks, “I believe, but I do not believe enough” (531). He simply wishes to survive.