Characters
THOMAS CROMWELL
ELIZABETH (LIZ) CROMWELL, his wife
GREGORY CROMWELL, their son
RAFE SADLER, a young gentleman – Cromwell’s ward and secretary – later one of the King’s gentlemen
CHRISTOPHE, a French boy and thief – Cromwell’s manservant
KING HENRY VIII
KATHERINE OF ARAGON, the Queen
PRINCESS MARY, their daughter
ANNE BOLEYN, lady-in-waiting to Queen Katherine – later Queen
HARRY PERCY, a young lord – later Earl of Northumberland
THOMAS WYATT, a young knight
CARDINAL ARCHBISHOP THOMAS WOLSEY, Lord Chancellor
MARK SMEATON, his lutenist
WILLIAM WARHAM, Archbishop of Canterbury
STEPHEN GARDINER, later Bishop of Winchester
EUSTACHE CHAPUYS, Imperial Ambassador
THOMAS CRANMER, Anne’s Chaplain – later Archbishop of Canterbury
THOMAS MORE, later Lord Chancellor
SIR THOMAS BOLEYN, later Earl of Wiltshire
GEORGE BOLEYN, later Lord Rochford
MARY BOLEYN, King Henry’s mistress
THE DUKE OF NORFOLK, Thomas Howard
THE DUKE OF SUFFOLK, Charles Brandon, the King’s friend and brother-in-law
SIR HENRY NORRIS, the King’s Groom of the Stool
SIR WILLIAM BRERETON, gentleman of the King’s Chamber
FRANCIS WESTON, one of the King’s gentlemen
OLD SIR JOHN SEYMOUR
EDWARD SEYMOUR
JANE SEYMOUR, lady-in-waiting to Anne Boleyn
JANE BOLEYN, LADY ROCHFORD, wife to George
MARY SHELTON, lady-in-waiting to Anne Boleyn
ELIZABETH, LADY WORCESTER, lady-in-waiting to Anne Boleyn
WILLIAM KINGSTON, Constable of the Tower
HUMPHREY MONMOTH
ROBERT PACKINGTON
DUKE OF RICHMOND, King Henry’s illegitimate son, aged sixteen
HEADSMAN
And SERVANTS, MONKS, DANCERS, LORDS, LADIES, BISHOPS, GUARDS, etc.
For Hilary and Gerald
WOLF HALL
ACT ONE
Scene One
Fanfares. A military dance for young men led by KING HENRY VIII, watched by KATHERINE OF ARAGON and PRINCESS MARY (twelve), who absent-mindedly says her rosary. MEN joined by LADIES. Music softens. KING HENRY dances with MARY BOLEYN. KATHERINE displeased. All eyes on ANNE BOLEYN (yellow dress) who dances with THOMAS WYATT. Then she rejects him and dances with HARRY PERCY – very lovingly – which makes WYATT angry. WYATT leaves. THOMAS WOLSEY enters with his train, followed by STEPHEN GARDINER, upstaging KING HENRY, in every way possible. Thunder and lightning. KING HENRY and KATHERINE go off with PRINCESS MARY. HARRY PERCY and ANNE BOLEYN exit together. It rains. Night falls. Scene becomes WOLSEY’s office.
THOMAS CROMWELL hurrying, wet, in riding gear. STEPHEN scowls as he leaves.
STEPHEN. Cromwell. Late.
THOMAS. Yes – isn’t it?
STEPHEN. No – I mean… (Exasperated, he gives up and goes.)
THOMAS goes into WOLSEY’s splendid golden room. Big fire. Shadows. MARK SMEATON plays the lute. WOLSEY sits with his back to us.
WOLSEY. Where were you when I needed you, Thomas?
THOMAS. In Yorkshire, Your Grace.
WOLSEY. Yorkshire?
THOMAS. Turbulent monks. You sent me there.
WOLSEY. You’ll be hungry then. Fetch him something to eat. Cherries – he likes cherries.
SERVANT. There are no cherries, Your Grace.
WOLSEY. What? Why not?
SERVANT. It’s April, Your Grace.
WOLSEY. Nonsense! It can’t still be April! Why am I so ill-served? Sorry, Tom – no cherries. Well, bring him something – I don’t know – a lettuce? Is there a lettuce? If you don’t give this one his feed he’ll tear the place down.
SERVANTS appear to make THOMAS comfortable – take his wet coat, build up the fire, bring wine and food – giving the lie to WOLSEY’s joke about being ill-served.
What else would you like?
THOMAS. I’d like the sun to come out.
WOLSEY. You ask a great deal. It’s almost midnight.
THOMAS. Dawn would do.
WOLSEY. We shall try the power of prayer.
WOLSEY looks at the SERVANTS – the signal to withdraw. MARK stays.
The King called me this morning – early. (Yawns.) Exceptionally early.
THOMAS. What did he want?
WOLSEY. A son.
THOMAS. He’s got one – young Richmond. And they say Mary Boleyn’s boy is his.
WOLSEY. Might be. It squalls, and it’s ginger. Look, forget Mary Boleyn – he needs a son born in wedlock. An heir to sit on his throne when he’s gone.
THOMAS. His daughter won’t do?
WOLSEY. What – Mary? A girl ruling England? Don’t be absurd! Now you have a son – Gregory’s a fine boy – I, God forgive me, have a boy of my own – every lord, every landed gentleman – every lackey can get boys… Only the King can’t seem to manage it. Whose fault is that?
THOMAS. God’s.
WOLSEY. Nearer the King than God?
THOMAS. Queen Katherine?
WOLSEY. Nearer?
THOMAS. Yourself, Your Grace?
WOLSEY. Myself, My Grace. If the King lies awake at night, asking himself why his children die, the fault must be mine. Enough now, Mark.
Exit MARK.
Henry believes God won’t give him sons because he and Katherine were never truly married.
THOMAS. He’s just noticed? After eighteen years?
WOLSEY. He’s reading his Bible. And though the Pope declared their marriage lawful – gave a dispensation – swept aside all impediment – in the Book of Leviticus the King has found the verse which forbids marriage with a brother’s wife. Katherine was his brother’s widow.
THOMAS. Then show him the contradictory verse. Deuteronomy says marrying your brother’s widow is compulsory.
WOLSEY. The King doesn’t like Deuteronomy. He prefers Leviticus. He says, ‘If this is God’s word, plainly written, no Pope has power to set it aside.’
THOMAS. Well, he’s right there, isn’t he?
WOLSEY. Is he?
THOMAS. You tell me – you’re the Cardinal. Your Grace.
WOLSEY. I am a divided man: the Pope’s voice in England – but first the King’s loyal servant.
Still… If we go to work in the usual way – offer Pope Clement a – a –
THOMAS. A bribe?
WOLSEY. God forgive you, Tom! A loan.
THOMAS. He may grant the King an annulment.
WOLSEY. There are precedents. Gold finds its way into the Vatican and the King gets a new wife. One who can breed.
THOMAS. What does Queen Katherine get?
WOLSEY. Jesu! She doesn’t even suspect. It will be me who has to tell her. The King won’t deliver bad news – he delegates it.
THOMAS. You’ll have to pick the right moment.
WOLSEY. There is no right moment. She’ll say, ‘I am the daughter of two reigning monarchs and they send a butcher’s boy to tip me off my throne!’
THOMAS. Then she’ll threaten you with her nephew – the Emperor –
WOLSEY. But Charles won’t go to war over his old aunt? Surely not!
THOMAS. He doesn’t need to go to war. He can blockade us – starve us out – cut off our trade. When winter comes he can hold back the grain ships – we will be at his mercy. If I were you –
WOLSEY. Tom Cromwell – Lord Chancellor of England – Imagine it!
THOMAS. I’d deal with the King’s case here in London. You have the Pope’s authority – get everything settled before Europe wakes up to what’s happening.
WOLSEY. When Europe wakes up it may break this country apart.
THOMAS. Then tell the King. He listens to you. He always has.
WOLSEY. He’s listening to his conscience now. Which is an acti
ve one – a tender one.
THOMAS. Then… (Taking this in.) He’s sincere in this matter?
WOLSEY. The King always believes what he says – at the time he’s saying it. You know, Katherine and Arthur, they were children when they were married. Fifteen. Katherine always swore they lay beside each other chaste. Like brother and sister saying their prayers. She swears Arthur never touched her. Henry believed she came to him a virgin.
THOMAS. Couldn’t he tell?
WOLSEY. He was a boy – seventeen! He was in love with her – how could he tell? Could you tell – the first time you… I know I couldn’t! Anyway it suited him to believe her.
THOMAS. And now it doesn’t.
WOLSEY. He wants me to find him witnesses. Gentlemen who attended Arthur the morning after… who heard him boast he’d had her.
THOMAS. They’ll be old men now. They won’t remember.
WOLSEY. They may be coaxed into recollection – who knows? Still… if I do part him from Katherine, I could marry him smartly to a French princess.
THOMAS. You’d have to. We’d need the French as allies.
WOLSEY. Never a good position to be in.
THOMAS. Where will poor Katherine go – if Henry casts her off?
WOLSEY. Convents can be comfortable. She’s very pious.
THOMAS. What if she won’t budge?
WOLSEY (yawns). Go home now, Tom. (Calling to SERVANTS.) Send Rafe Sadler in here! Your ward’s been waiting for hours. Ah, Rafe –
Enter RAFE SADLER.
RAFE. Your Grace. I wish you’d talk to God about the weather. It’s been raining for three years.
WOLSEY. I’ll see what I can do. Take this man home to his family.
Starts to usher them out.
RAFE. We’ve missed him, sir. How was Yorkshire?
WOLSEY. Yes – how was Yorkshire? Did we get the money?
THOMAS. Your project’s disliked there.
WOLSEY. I have the Pope’s authority for it.
THOMAS. The Pope’s no help when it comes to converting monks into cash.
WOLSEY. Thirty ill-run, over-wealthy monasteries must – and shall – amalgamate with larger well-run ones – like it or not. They are ill-run, aren’t they?
THOMAS. Yes – treasure flows in at the front door, whores sneak out at the back –
WOLSEY. What became of poverty, chastity and obedience? Thomas, I need those funds – for my Oxford College and the school at Ipswich – my monument – my legacy when I’m gone.
RAFE. Ipswich, Your Grace?
WOLSEY. The town of my birth. Inglorious in every other respect. Go home now.
THOMAS. The laws relating to land –
WOLSEY. The law is an instrument for saying ‘no’. I want to hear you say ‘yes’. Find a way.
THOMAS. The Yorkshire gentry threatened to kill me.
WOLSEY. You don’t look particularly killed.
THOMAS. The populace pelted me with mud –
WOLSEY. I’ll buy you a new coat… I may have to go to Yorkshire myself. I’ve often wondered what it’s like. What do they eat up there? Rabbits and brambles, I suppose… I wonder if they have any lemons.
RAFE. But surely… Your Grace is Archbishop of York? Were you never enthroned?
WOLSEY. When have I ever had time for my own spiritual affairs? Home! Come early tomorrow.
THOMAS (struck by a thought). You say the King is reading the Scriptures? Is he reading them in English?
WOLSEY. That… is forbidden.
THOMAS. Not to the King.
WOLSEY. Careful, Tom. Walls have ears. God bless you both.
They kneel, kiss WOLSEY’s ring, and leave. WOLSEY is robed, goes into his chapel and prays hard. A downpour. THOMAS and RAFE, joined by CHRISTOPHE, are escorted home to Austin Friars by WOLSEY’s LINKBOYS and GUARDS.
Scene Two
Home. THOMAS greets ELIZABETH (LIZ) CROMWELL, his wife. A good fire.
LIZ. Forget where you live?
CHRISTOPHE takes the wet clothes.
THOMAS (relieved to be home with her). Oh, Lizzie…
LIZ. How was Yorkshire?
THOMAS. Oh, Lizzie…
LIZ. You went straight to the Cardinal?
CHRISTOPHE brings drink – exits. LIZ gives THOMAS the cup, they both drink from it, embrace. They’ve been apart a long time.
THOMAS. The children?
LIZ. Blossoming. Anne wants to learn Greek. Grace wants to be an angel.
THOMAS (unable to resist opening letters). I want to learn Greek. We’ll get a tutor… Have we heard from Gregory?
LIZ. Here. (Gives the letter.) It’s in Latin.
THOMAS. Of sorts. (Reads.) ‘Dear Father, I hope you are well. I hope my mother and my lovely sisters, Anne and Grace, are well. I hope your dogs are well. And now no more for lack of time. Your dutiful son, Gregory Cromwell.’ Our son is no Cicero. Well, thank God he’s not like I was at his age.
LIZ. Yes, thank God.
THOMAS. I used to stick knives in people. My father beat me as if I were a sheet of metal. What’s new in London?
LIZ. Word on Cheapside is that a big emerald has been purchased and a setting for a ring commissioned – a woman’s ring. It’s for the King, we think – who else would be in the market for a stone that size? It’s that size. Like a sparrow’s egg. (Shows him.) So who’s the lady?
THOMAS. Don’t ask me. I’m not privy to the King’s affairs.
LIZ. Weasel! They’re saying the King wants to do something very strange. And wrong. They say he wants to divorce the Queen? Is it true – because if it is, he’ll set half the world against him?
THOMAS. Yes – Spain – the Emperor –
LIZ. No. I mean the women. All the women who have lost their children – all women who are forty… All women who have daughters but no sons –
THOMAS. It’s London gossip – don’t listen to it. I never do. What else?
LIZ. Your turn.
THOMAS. Wolsey says the King is reading his Bible. If he’s reading it in English that would be a great thing for us, wouldn’t it? All of us – men and women?
LIZ. Tom… I’ve something to tell you.
THOMAS’s hackles rise.
Thomas More –
THOMAS. What!
LIZ. Thomas More has been here –
THOMAS. Jesus! (Incensed.) Did he threaten you? I’ll kill him –
LIZ. Listen –
THOMAS. He’s a dead man –
LIZ. He was very civil – courteous – you know his manner –
THOMAS. With the Bishop’s men at his back?
LIZ (nods). He said, ‘Your husband won’t mind if I look through his library.’
THOMAS. Oh! (Takes this in.) He didn’t find Martin Luther?
LIZ. No – you’ve Rafe’s quick thinking to thank for that.
THOMAS. Where did he hide them?
LIZ. He thought it best not to tell me. I looked the other way.
THOMAS. Good boy. More wouldn’t dare come here when I’m home.
LIZ. I’ve begged you not to keep those books in the house.
CHRISTOPHE brings THOMAS’s night clothes, a candle, etc.
THOMAS. I’ll find a safer place for them… I might just… open a few more letters –
LIZ. You’ll do no such thing! (Going.) It’s three o’clock. You’ll come to bed. Tell him, Christophe.
CHRISTOPHE. Go to bed now, master, or the mistress will beat me.
THOMAS (half to himself). If the King’s in the market for large emeralds, he’s in the market for a new mistress. ‘So who’s the lady?’ Poor Mary Boleyn! He must be tiring of her –
CHRISTOPHE. And I myself wish to sleep. But until my master sleeps –
LIZ (off). Thomas – come to bed.
House in darkness – silence.
Scene Three
MONKS chanting. The Charterhouse. Dawn. THOMAS MORE, strips to the waist, kneels before a crucifix. He begins to flog himself.
MORE.
Mea c
ulpa, mea culpa, mea culpa!
Hide not Thy face from me, O Lord, on a day when I am sore troubled.
For my heart is smitten and withered like grass – I forget to eat my bread.
I am like an owl of the desert – mine enemies reproach me –
I mingle my drink with weeping – my bread turns to ashes in my mouth –
Because of Thine indignation against me and Thy wrath.
Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa!
Scene Four
Austin Friars. Next morning. Household bustle. CHRISTOPHE sharpening a razor. The house still dark, coming to life. Candles. LIZ, doing six things at once.
THOMAS. Morning, Rafe. Sun shining?
RAFE. Bucketing down, sir. (Slaps down a satchel of books.)
THOMAS. Wolsey’s losing his touch.
CHRISTOPHE (yawns). I shave you?
THOMAS. No, you stay away from me – I lost enough blood in Yorkshire. (Unwraps the books.) Brother Martin Luther – and William Tyndale – His Testament in English. Where did you hide them?
Starts to read. CHRISTOPHE opens the shutters.
RAFE. In little Grace’s bed with little Grace on top of them. When the Bishop’s men looked in I was bathing her head. ‘Not too close,’ I said, ‘she has a fever.’
THOMAS. And they ran?
RAFE. Couldn’t get out fast enough –
LIZ. Those books – Out of my house – This morning.
RAFE. I’ll take them to Gray’s Inn.
LIZ. It’s true about the fever, though – there were two deaths last week in Southwark –
THOMAS. Well… south of the River… It’s only April – too early for the sweating sickness.
Slaps his book shut. RAFE puts it in the satchel.
They go towards York Place. CHRISTOPHE, half-asleep, grabs a loaf, carries THOMAS’s papers.
RAFE. Thomas More took us by surprise.
THOMAS. I put you at risk. Mea culpa –
RAFE. Isn’t it wrong? That the word of God can breed such hatred?
THOMAS. Think about it – we’re all intelligent men here –
Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies Page 7
