Farewell, Mister Cromwell.

Final part of the trilogy. Hilary Mantel, take a bow.

In anticipation of reading The Mirror & the Light, the final instalment in Hilary Mantel’s Tudor trilogy – tales told from inside the mind of one of history’s most intriguing characters, Thomas Cromwell – I went back and looked at some of the lines I had annotated in the first two volumes.

Wolf Hall, the first in the trio, gets its name from the ancestral home of the Seymour family, (and of Jane Seymour) – the place King Henry VIII visits at the very end of the book. Jane is the woman Henry will betroth once he can rid himself, with Cromwell’s assistance, of his current wife, Anne Boleyn. The story tracks the rise and rise of Thomas Cromwell from lowborn blacksmith’s son to his position of tremendous power as principal secretary and chief minister in the court of King Henry VIII.

Bring up the Bodies explores the downfall of Anne Boleyn, with whom Henry has become disenchanted. An intriguing tale of deception, adultery, treason, the Boleyn family do not yield without a ferocious struggle. The title gets its name from the order given to go to the Tower: ‘Bring up the bodies’ – deliver, that is, the accused for trial.

The Mirror & the Light was a long time in gestation. Initially due to be released mid 2019, Hilary Mantel delayed publication because of the sheer enormity of the task in wrangling the complexity and intrigues of this tempestuous time in British history. Running at a weighty 863 pages, Mantel says, ‘it is about all the big important things that matter, about sex and power and high politics, statecraft and forgery and delusion and lies.’ This final book will chart the fall of Thomas Cromwell.

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Some lines from Wolf Hall:

‘It is said he knows by heart the entire New Testament in Latin, and so as a servant of the cardinal is apt – ready with a text if the abbots flounder. His speech is low and rapid, his manner assured; he is at home in courtroom or waterfront, bishop’s palace or inn yard. He can draft a contract, train a falcon, draw a map, stop a street fight, furnish a house and fix a jury. He will quote you a nice point in the old authors, from Plato to Plautus and back again. He knows new poetry, and can say it in Italian. He works all hours, first up and last to bed.’

‘He is tired out from the effort of deciphering the world. Tired from the effort of smiling at the foe.’

‘Henry stirs into life. “Do I retain you for what is easy? Jesus pity my simplicity, I have promoted you to a place in this kingdom that no one, no one of your breeding has ever held in the whole of the history of this realm.” He drops his voice. “Do you think it is for your personal beauty? The charm of your patience? I keep you, Master Cromwell, because you are as cunning as a bag of serpents.” ’

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Some lines from Bring up the Bodies:

‘His petitioners send him malmsey and muscatel, geldings, game and gold; gifts and grants and warrants, lucky charms and spells. They want favours and they expect to pay for them. This has been going on since first he came into the king’s favour. He is rich.’

‘I would back you in any assemblage this side of heaven. You are an eloquent and learned man. If I wanted an advocate to argue for my life, I would give you the brief.’

‘Elizabeth is a forward child, he tells the ambassador. But then you must remember that, when he was hardly a year older than his daughter is now, the young Henry rode through London, perched on the saddle of a warhorse, six feet from the ground and gripping the pommel with fat infant fists. You should not discount her, he tells Chapuys, just because she is young. The Tudors are warriors from their cradles.’

‘Look, he says: once you have exhausted the process of negotiation and compromise, once you have fixed on the destruction of an enemy, that destruction must be swift and it must be perfect. Before you can even glance in his direction, you should have his name on a warrant, the ports blocked, his wife and friends bought, his heir under your protection, his money in your strong room and his dog running to your whistle. Before he wakes in the morning, you should have the axe in your hand.’

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And now, I look forward to the final part of the trilogy, The Mirror & the Light:

Hilary Mantel found the title while researching the story, a phrase in a letter from Thomas Cromwell to his regent, Henry VIII: ‘Your Majesty is the mirror and the light of all other kings.’ Oh, Cromwell, you sweet talking sycophant, you knew what side your bread was buttered on. I am going to miss you.

Camera. Neon-lights. Action.

Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood came alive for me with one notably poignant scene. It was twilight in tinsel town when suddenly, on cue, the neon-lights lit up one by one. Neons, it seems to me, are shorthand for Americana – along with hot dogs, Cadilacs, Wurlitzer jukeboxes and Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks. Among the early evening’s electrical illuminations one sign, in particular, caught my eye: the Vine cinema’s hoarding for Romeo and Juliet (in its eighth month). This would have been Franco Zeffirelli’s Academy Award nominated 1968 version. The inclusion of the Vine would not have been a random decision from Mr Tarantino. Located on the intersection of Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street – the cinema shares its location with the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Fame and infamy being a major motivating factor for this idiosyncratic and audaciously brilliant director.

The Sirens are singing still, Weinstein.

Detail from The Sirens, John Longstaff (1892)

In ancient Greek mythology the song of the sirens lured sailors, tempted by lustful curiosity, onto a rocky shore where they either perished or, if they survived, subsequently died of starvation.

The sirens came to exist, so the story goes, because as companions of young Persephone, whose abduction and rape they had failed to prevent, they were transformed into a hybrid of bird and woman as punishment.

Margaret Atwood’s 1974 poem, Siren Song, proposes that, rather than simply being a song that couldn’t be resisted, “This song is a cry for help.”

Watching the accused movie mogul, Harvey Weinstein, enter court for the first day of his trial clutching feebly to his walking frame I couldn’t help but ponder if the voices of all the women willing to stand against him are the modern day equivalent of the sirens. Their united chorus resonating irresistibly as a powerful call for retribution. Their song dragging, rather than luring, men onto the fateful rocks of the justice system.