What did it take to be the ideal courtier throughout the courts of Europe? It was one of most popular subjects of Renaissance political writing – scholars such as Desiderius Erasmus, Niccolò Machiavelli, and Baldassare Castiglione wrote extensively on the theme.
BALDASSARE CASTIGLIONE
Baldassare Castiglione, the count of Casatico, a small town 50 miles (80km) north of Pisa, was an Italian courtier, diplomat, soldier and a prominent Renaissance scholar. His most famous work Il Libro del Cortegiano (The Book of the Courtier), was first published in Italy in 1528. In this he detailed his expert and experienced advice to fellow courtiers like himself and received considerable acclaim. The book was a series of fictional dialogues set in the ducal palace of Urbino, where, over the course of four evenings, the characters engage in a series of debates all focused on a courtier’s life.
Reading Castiglione, it is not difficult not to catch glimpses of Cromwell: the ideal courtier was multi-faceted, at home with a sword and a quill, possessed knowledge of art and literature, and was crucially, ‘of humble birth who, through their virtues, won glory for their descendants’.
Castiglione is mentioned briefly in Wolf Hall, with Henry and Cromwell discussing one of his main themes, the art of sprezzatura, which is:
‘The art of doing everything gracefully and well, without the appearance of effort. A quality princes should cultivate, too.’ He [Henry] adds, rather dubious, ‘King Francis has it.’
Neither the fictional portrayal nor the historical Cromwell seemed to practice sprezzatura – the art of studied carelessness. However, we do know that he owned a copy of Castiglione’s book, and might have been one of the first. Edmund Bonner, a chaplain in Wolsey’s household and future Bishop of London, wrote to Cromwell in 1530, asking to loan ‘the book called Cortegiano in Ytalian’. Bonner also desired to become more Italianicized so his future Italian embassies might be successful, and who better to teach him?
NICCOLÒ MACHIAVELLI
Cardinal Reginald Pole was the first to suggest that Cromwell had been influenced by Niccolò Machiavelli, the famed Florentine author, soldier, diplomat and philosopher, whose works, in Pole’s view, bordered on the satanic. Machiavelli makes a minor appearance in Wolf Hall: it is 1527 and we learn that Cromwell:
... has got Niccolò Machiavelli’s book, Principalities. It is a Latin edition, shoddily printed in Naples, which seems to have passed through many hands.
Mantel is suggesting Cromwell’s talents and political acumen – that is deceit, realpolitik and cunning – must be because he had been influenced by Machiavelli’s work. But we have to look at Pole’s accusations which we find in his Apologia Ad Carolum Quintum, written in 1539, where Pole falsifies Cromwell’s rise to power: he armed Cromwell with Machiavellian arguments and guile which misled the king on matters of religion.
Pole wrote that in 1528 he and Cromwell had discussions regarding the duty of a counsellor to his king, and maintained that Cromwell offered to lend him a copy of the infamous Il Principe. However, some historians argue that Cromwell would have more likely offered Pole Castiglione’s book, Il Cortegiano, which we know he owned. While Machiavelli’s book was written for rulers, Castiglione’s book was a manual for courtiers; though there is no reason why a book intended for princes could not be read by or influence courtiers, or the nobility. The issue is more a question of timing. Pole’s accusation is suspect primarily because he vehemently opposed Cromwell’s strategic plan. Pole was desperate to show that Henry could never have devised such depraved measures: the break with Rome; the declaration of supremacy over the church; and the dissolution of the monasteries. Such deeds had to have been the work of the devil, at least influenced by a heretical doctrine, that of Machiavelli’s Il Principe, all of which was Cromwell’s doing. As it happened Pole’s Apologia, printed in 1539, came at a time when Cromwell had launched a systematic attack on the Pole family who were suspected of engaging in treasonous behaviour and plotting against the king.
Pole clearly blamed Cromwell for leading Henry astray politically and religiously, and accused Cromwell of being a demon and a disciple of Machiavelli – it is not clear which was worse. But these are the historical details around the controversy. The outstanding issue is whether Cromwell could have read the book as early as 1527, the year Machiavelli died. Il Principe had not yet been printed in 1527: the first printed edition was in 1532, and the Latin edition was not available until the 1560s, long after Cromwell’s death. In The Mirror and the Light, Mantel suggests Cromwell was familiar with Machiavelli’s work prior to its publication, and that he even possessed a printed version – perhaps it was an illegal copy, possibly dictated by someone who had seen the original. Mantel also draws on correspondence between Cromwell and his friend Henry Parker, Lord Morley, Jane Rochford’s father, who was a respected courtier and translator. Morley sent Cromwell a copy of Machiavelli’s printed work in the late 1530s, and his letter suggests that Cromwell had not yet seen it. Surely Cromwell would have told the like-minded Morley that he had an unprinted version and shared it with him, for it was not deemed a heretical work in England. There is no historical evidence that shows Cromwell saw a copy of Il Principle in the 1520s, nor that Morley’s edition was the first to pass into Cromwell’s hands, but it is tempting to draw a line from Machiavelli’s political brilliance to that of Cromwell.
HANS HOLBEIN (THE YOUNGER)
I can, whenever I please, make seven lords of seven ploughmen, but I cannot make one Holbein of even seven Lords.
Henry VIII
There are many benchmarks to measure one’s ‘arrival’ at court; one is when you sit for Mr Holbein to have your portrait painted. The German-born Holbein spent several years training in Basel before journeying to England in search of work in 1526. Armed with credentials from the great scholar Erasmus, he sought out Thomas More, who gave him his first commission, thus launching Holbein’s career in England, where he spent most of his life. Holbein counted Cromwell among his patrons, as well as the Boleyns, for whom he designed jewellery and an exquisite cup for Anne complete with the falcon crest. By 1532 he was established as a royal painter, and his portraits for Henry VIII created the sense of majesty that exists today. He is responsible for some of the most iconic paintings of the period, including the now-lost Whitehall mural, The Ambassadors, and Cromwell’s rather unflattering portrait. In 1534, Mantel’s Cromwell appraises his face, forever inscrutable on canvas. In a conversation with his son he recalls that he once overheard a friend of George Boleyn’s say he looked like a murderer; he will proceed to ask everyone who views the portrait if they feel the same. Holbein would also paint the famous portrait of Anne of Cleves which so captivated Henry, but escaped any blame when Henry declared the portrait had deceived him. With the fall of Anne and Cromwell, Holbein lost two of his greatest benefactors, and returned to painting private commissions. He died in London, but his final resting place remains a mystery.
THE OATH OF SUCCESSION
Wolsey returns in 1534, a spectre shadowing Cromwell as he moves up in the world, speaking to his darkest fears:
Wolsey says, you know he will take the credit for your good ideas, and you the blame for his bad ones? When fortune turns against you, you will feel her lash: you always, he never.
Cromwell’s ascendency continued, being confirmed as Principal Secretary and Chief Minister, positions which he had already occupied unofficially for some time.
March and April of 1534 continued apace as Cromwell secured Henry’s first goal, the Act of Succession declaring Elizabeth legitimate and Mary illegitimate, which was passed by Parliament. Cromwell also visited Mary to inform her of her new status and her new position: she would now serve in the household of her half-sister, Elizabeth, whose very existence was the cause of her diminished status. Mantel’s Mary is like a little doll, somewhat confused and disoriented, unable to grasp the dramas around her. However, the real Mary Tudor was far more feisty and understood every attempt of Henry’s to weaken her sta
tus; she often sent Henry’s councillors scurrying from her rooms. Although Mary and Katherine still had their loyal supporters, Henry was determined to expunge them from his new life.
The Act had a sting in its tail: all subjects, if required, must swear an oath recognizing the Act as well as the king’s marriage to Anne Boleyn. Henry, Cromwell and Anne had two individuals in their sights whom this Act was designed to force into submission: Thomas More, who thus far had tried to keep out of the drama; and Bishop John Fisher, Katherine’s staunch defender.
The day of reckoning came on 13 April, when More was summoned to appear before a commission, comprising Archbishop Cranmer, Thomas Cromwell, Lord Chancellor Audley and the Abbot of Westminster, William Benson, at Lambeth Palace, and swear his allegiance to the Act of Succession. While More was willing to accept Henry’s marriage to Anne, he could not abide the new law of succession, which declared Mary a bastard. He was immediately sent to the Tower – decades of friendship extinguished in a mere matter of minutes.
The year 1534 became an annus horribilis. Not only were Henry and Anne struggling to cope with events domestically, they were then dealt a major blow as news reached England of Charles V’s triumph over the Ottoman ruler, Suleiman the Magnificent, and his general Hayreddin Barbarossa, in the battle for Tunis as part of their constant struggle for supremacy in the region. As Francis I was Suleiman’s ally at the time, a victorious Charles took the opportunity to force France into another alliance. Cromwell, Chapuys reported, was scarcely able to breathe when he heard the news. France now cooled towards Henry.
Events were already taking a toll on the royal marriage; the new queen is frustrated and agitated, Henry seems darker too. His enemies are closer to home: he is determined to destroy Thomas More and Bishop Fisher, despite Cromwell’s reluctance. For the first time, Cromwell glimpses malice, a portent of things to come. Henry says:
‘I keep you, Master Cromwell, because you are as cunning as a bag of serpents. But do not be a viper in my bosom. You know my decision. Execute it.’
Bishop Fisher and Thomas More were sentenced to execution for refusing to swear the Oath of Succession. Like More, Fisher was willing to swear allegiance to Henry and Anne’s children, but they also refused to repudiate papal supremacy over the English church. The denial of the royal titles was, by 1535, treasonable, and Bishop Fisher was facing execution. In a clever attempt to protect Fisher, Pope Paul III, who had succeeded Clement VII in 1534, formally made Fisher a cardinal, wrongly assuming that Henry would hardly dare to execute him.
History tells us that Cromwell tried to save More by persuading him just to acquiesce and accept the oath: just say ‘Yes’. Wolf Hall conjures conversations within the recesses of the Tower, relating frank discussions in which Mantel gives us a glimpse of a very human and vulnerable More, even if, like Cromwell, we cannot fathom a principle strong enough to die for.
Fisher was executed on 22nd June followed by More on 6th July 1535. More’s last words were: ‘I died a servant of the King’s, but God’s first.’
Cromwell has no time for sentimentality – life must go on – and he is already planning Henry’s calendar for the last few weeks of summer, before the winter chill rolls in and Henry can no longer hunt:
‘Now here, before we go to Winchester, we have time to spare, and what I think is, Rafe, we shall visit the Seymours.’ He writes it down. Early September. Five days. Wolf Hall.
AROUND THE THRONE THE THUNDER ROLLS
In Bring Up the Bodies, the summer of 1535 sees a despondent and depressed Henry as he faces disappointment and broken promises. Three years on, his marriage to Anne Boleyn has not produced a male heir, and the marriage is met with skepticism, in England and throughout Europe. There are no royal houses seeking a union with England through a marriage to the young Princess Elizabeth, whose legitimacy remains in doubt. Henry has little enthusiasm for his summer progress and travels with only a small selection of gentlemen, Cromwell included. None of Henry’s visions have come to fruition; Katherine, rather than Anne, still held the hearts and minds of the English people, and the struggle to validate his second marriage was constant. There was hope – Anne was pregnant again, but by now Cromwell knew that a pregnancy guaranteed nothing.
The book opens with Henry’s visit to Wolf Hall in 1535, the home of Sir John Seymour of ‘Wulfhall’, Wiltshire. Henry knows the family well but now suddenly notices the young Jane Seymour as if for the first time, although he has seen her many times at court.
Bring Up the Bodies also gives us a sense of Henry’s advancing years:
... he looks bloated and puffy, and a vein is burst here and there, and even by candlelight you can see that his faded hair is greying.
Henry begins to cultivate the Seymours, his gracious hosts at Wolf Hall, Cromwell watching as Henry fawns over Jane. There is no one single moment when the reader can say with certainty that Cromwell’s allegiance has shifted, but there is something about his choices which suggest a turning point. Relations between Anne and Cromwell have soured, he resents George Boleyn who treats him as an inferior, and he has little time for Thomas Boleyn; but he has unravelled Anne, and is seeing her in a different light.
... they are uneasy now, each of them vigilant, watching each other for some slip that will betray real feeling, and so give advantage to the one or the other: as if only dissimulation will make them safe.
Anne Boleyn was now around now thirty-four years old, and Mantel’s Anne is still a skilful manipulator of men; it seems it is just Cromwell and now the king she is unable to please. Anne and Cromwell’s alliance had always been a marriage of convenience and upon their return to court Mantel’s Cromwell makes a snap decision: he tells Rafe to fetch Jane Seymour from Wolf Hall.
In the autumn of 1535, Mantel’s Anne orders Cromwell up north: she and Henry have heard that Katherine is ill, but they want confirmation. Cromwell takes his leave but is accosted by Lady Worcester, one of Anne’s ladies-in-waiting, who shares some tantalizing gossip. It is here Mantel plants some rather large seeds:
We all know where Harry Norris would like to lie tonight. Shelton is only his bedwarmer for now. He has royal ambitions. He will tell anyone. He is sick with love for the queen.
THE DEATH OF KATHERINE
Historically, we cannot know with certainty what Cromwell was thinking at the turn of the year. After all, Anne was pregnant, and whatever clashes she and Henry had, so far they had always come back together. But crucially, in January 1536, word reached court that Katherine, who had been exiled and separated from her daughter for years, was close to death.
Mantel’s Cromwell visits her at Kimbolton, Cambridgeshire, noting that she is indeed ill, but instead of a sense of anticipation, he feels empathy:
... perhaps she dreams of the gardens of the Alhambra, where she grew up: the marble pavements, the bubbling of crystal water into basins, the drag of a white peacock’s tail and the scent of lemons.
The meeting Mantel describes is poignant. Cromwell is respectful and frank, but he does not shy from the truth. Katherine is dying, and he wants her to save her daughter by reconciling with the king. Mantel sees the futility of Katherine’s fearless determination, and utter hope, that she and her daughter will stand united and that Henry will yield to them. Historically, it was Chapuys who tried to advise Mary and balance Katherine’s influence. Chapuys wanted to protect Mary at all costs, a sentiment that Mantel apportions to Cromwell. An anxious Chapuys begged Cromwell for permission to visit Katherine, but he was delayed a day as Henry wanted to see him before his departure, a scene which Mantel stages. The informal audience with Henry only serves to irritate him further: Chapuys is greeted with a bear hug from the exuberant king, who has heard Katherine is on her deathbed and can hardly contain his excitement.
As it happened, Chapuys would reach Katherine in time and was able to spend several days consoling her, assuring her; a devoted servant to the end. Katherine was heartened and seemed to rally so Chapuys returned to London, but o
n 8th January he is overtaken by news of her death and returned to a jubilant court. In many historical and fictional accounts, Thomas and George Boleyn remark loudly that it was a pity Mary had not joined her mother, but Chapuys, who wrote the dispatch, actually reported that the men must have said such a thing to themselves – an assumed sentiment, rather than a remark.
Jousts and tournaments were planned to celebrate not only Katherine’s death, but also Anne’s pregnancy. But that afternoon, at the jousts at Greenwich, the king was thrown from his horse, which reared and then fell on top of him. Henry lay unconscious for two hours. The court was thrown into complete chaos, described in Bring Up the Bodies – an hysterical Norfolk rushing at Cromwell: ‘“By God, Cromwell!” he snarls.’ Cromwell has a moment of realization:
‘How many men can say, as I must, “I am a man whose only friend is the King of England”? I have everything, you would think. And yet take Henry away and I have nothing.’
All believe Henry is dead, except Cromwell who sees he is breathing, but he is shaken. The news of Henry’s fall and the initial belief that he has died is delivered with little tact by Norfolk to his niece, Anne, who is genuinely distraught. Five days later, the day Katherine is buried, Anne miscarries a boy. Cromwell knows that Henry now wants to be rid of Anne, and curiously, Katherine’s death has paved the way. Henry could hardly be rid of his second queen while his first was still living. Cromwell spends the next weeks in conference with the Seymours, coaching Jane on how she is now to behave with the king, grooming her. The stakes have been raised, and marriage may well be on the table. Jane is the antithesis of Anne, and the dutiful Cromwell makes sure everyone sees the contrast:
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