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  • - Good evening.

  • I'm Susan Galassi, Senior Curator at The Frick Collection.

  • And it's my privilege to welcome all of you here

  • and our viewers on this live webcast

  • to this very special event this evening.

  • It's a great honor for The Frick

  • to have Dame Hilary Mantel as our speaker,

  • and to have her husband, Gerald McEwen, with us as well.

  • We've been very eager to have her here

  • ever since the publication, in 2009,

  • of her landmark historical novel Wolf Hall,

  • based on the life, um, which was followed in 2012

  • by the spectacular sequel Bring Up the Bodies.

  • Both books, based on the life of Thomas Cromwell,

  • Henry VIII's powerful minister,

  • were awarded the Man Booker Prize

  • and took off into the stratosphere.

  • They were translated into 36 languages

  • and adapted for the stage by the Royal Shakespeare Company

  • in sold-out runs in Stratford-on-Avon

  • in London's West End,

  • and were made into an award-winning BBC miniseries

  • that will soon air here on PBS.

  • She is currently at work on the last book

  • in the Cromwell trilogy, The Mirror and the Light.

  • Earlier this year, Prince Charles conferred on her

  • the honor of Dame Commander of the British Empire

  • for her contribution to literature,

  • an extraordinary achievement encompassing

  • 14 books, 11 of them novels.

  • In her non-literary life, recently,

  • she has also played an important role

  • in helping England save the famous bronze sculptures,

  • the Wolsey Angels,

  • which are now on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum.

  • Now, here in New York this month,

  • she is attending rehearsals for the opening on Broadway

  • of Wolf Hall Part One and Part Two,

  • directed by Jeremy Herrin.

  • Previews at the Winter Garden begin in only two days.

  • We are very lucky to have her for this hour.

  • For making this evening possible,

  • I would like to extend warm thanks

  • to the Drue Heinz Trust and to Mrs. Hines.

  • For the past dozen years, her Trust has funded a series

  • of lectures by distinguished artists, writers, and poets,

  • who have brought contemporary viewpoints

  • to our collection of Old Master paintings.

  • She is also a longtime admirer of Hilary Mantel's work.

  • Thanks are due, as well, to past and present members

  • of the staff of Henry Holt and Company,

  • Francis Codie, James Meter, and, especially,

  • Patricia Eisemann, and to the Frick's

  • Manager of Education and Public Programs, Adrienne Lei.

  • Tonight, we have the pleasure of hearing Dame Hilary

  • speak in a special context.

  • Right outside this door hang the original portraits

  • by Hans Holbein the Younger

  • of the central figures in her trilogy,

  • Thomas Cromwell and his archenemy Thomas More.

  • These iconic images were painted

  • from drawings made from life

  • in Holbein's meticulous, highly illusionistic manner.

  • In her fluid prose, Dame Hilary lets the portraits

  • circulate again in time,

  • almost as characters in their own right.

  • In one particularly moving scene in Wolfhall,

  • we look at the portrait of Cromwell

  • through the eyes of the sitter

  • as he takes in Holbein's image of himself,

  • with a combination of admiration and alarm.

  • For the past century, that portrait has hung

  • face-to-face with the portrait of Thomas More

  • in the Living Hall, the heart of The Frick Collection,

  • where Henry Clay Frick placed them.

  • More, the presumed saint, on the left,

  • and Cromwell, the presumed villain, on the right,

  • until Hilary Mantel reversed their roles.

  • (audience chuckles)

  • After the lecture, we invite you to view the paintings

  • in the Living Hall and to join us for a glass of wine

  • in the Garden Court.

  • Signed copies of the Cromwell books

  • are also available in our bookstore.

  • Now please give a very warm welcome to Dame Hilary Mantel.

  • (audience applauds)

  • - Good evening.

  • May I say it's absolutely lovely to be here.

  • People have said to me,

  • "What, you've not been to The Frick?

  • "You've not seen the two famous images

  • "in that wonderful context?"

  • And, uh, I had to confess that until a few days ago

  • that was the case.

  • But I am here now.

  • And I have been told

  • by a historian I know

  • that on at least one occasion

  • the great Tudor historian Geoffrey Elton

  • stood in front of the fireplace by the portraits

  • and said, "Here we have

  • "one self-serving, ruthless,

  • "and cunning politician,

  • "and one far-seeing and dedicated statesman."

  • And then, of course, upset the prejudices of his audience

  • by indicating the hero and the villain.

  • Elton, okay, it was a piece of mischief.

  • But...

  • Geoffrey Elton was the grandfather

  • of modern Tudor studies

  • and he placed Thomas Cromwell where he should be,

  • at the heart of the history of the reign of Henry VIII,

  • as a shaper of his age, as a maker of history.

  • My purpose is to introduce him to a wider public

  • as a modern hero or anti-hero,

  • flawed and equivocal,

  • to persuade us to look at the world from behind his eyes,

  • and walk a mile in his shoes.

  • My purpose has never been

  • to set up false oppositions

  • nor to valorize one of these men

  • at the expense of the other.

  • Though, like Elton, I have my preference.

  • And that's fair, because a novelist

  • is not obliged to neutrality.

  • Neutrality would make dull reading.

  • She can be partisan I think

  • as long as she's well informed.

  • The choices she makes must be considered ones.

  • And as a novelist, I want to know

  • how these two men experienced each other,

  • and what was their experience of the world.

  • In Wolf Hall, this is what Thomas More

  • thinks of Thomas Cromwell.

  • "Lock Thomas Cromwell in a deep dungeon in the morning

  • "and by the time you come back that night,

  • "he'll be sitting on a plush cushion

  • "eating larks' tongues,

  • "and all the jailers will owe him money."

  • Well, that's the whole fascination

  • of the boy from Putney.

  • Time and time again, you would look at him and you'd say,

  • "How did he do that?"

  • Where does he go when he goes off the map?

  • How is it possible, his rise in the world?

  • How did he think it might be possible?

  • Unlike More, he's not a self-revealing character.

  • He's an expert communicator,

  • but he never tells us what we'd like to know.

  • It's all questions, questions, and no answers.

  • One of our best Tudor historians, Diarmaid MacCulloch,

  • is writing a biography of him,

  • which won't be out for a little while yet,

  • but I think will be authoritative.

  • It's much needed.

  • Unlike so much writing about Cromwell,

  • this will be different I think.

  • Not just a recycling of venerable errors and prejudices.

  • There is an in-built frustration to the task.

  • Diarmaid MacCulloch says

  • he's like Macavity the Mystery Cat.

  • He's called the Hidden Paw.

  • Wherever you think you'll find him, you don't.

  • Wherever you don't look for him, there he is.

  • Like Macavity, "he always has an alibi,

  • "and one or two to spare.

  • "At whatever time the deed took place,

  • "Macavity wasn't there."

  • These two men were not enemies in the beginning.

  • And perhaps not enemies in the end,

  • in quite the way we think.

  • And I've not written my book to make them so,

  • or to set up false oppositions.

  • They were the two great commoners who served Henry.

  • Now, it's true, that Cardinal Wolsey,

  • who was Thomas Cromwell's patron,

  • was also from a humble background,

  • but Wolsey climbed through the Church,

  • and through the Church, he dignified himself,

  • so that in England he was not only Cardinal,

  • but, as the Papal Legate, he exercised

  • a quasi-papal authority.

  • And in the state, in its executive arm,

  • Wolsey was Lord Chancellor,

  • Henry's chief minister.

  • Henry took the glory and Wolsey did the work.

  • Now, that status as churchman elevated Wolsey

  • into a different sphere from a layman,

  • where his background didn't matter.

  • Now, of course, the fact that he was a butcher's son

  • was held against him by the noblemen he bossed around,

  • and by the common people, too,

  • who thought it was against nature

  • for ordinary men to hold power,

  • and frequently rioted in support of their right

  • to be governed by lords.

  • Now, if you were not a churchman,

  • then background did matter.

  • Thomas More wasn't from a wealthy family,

  • but he was from a mercantile, legal background

  • in the city of London.

  • Comfortable, well-networked.

  • So he was able to make his way as a city lawyer

  • and a member of Parliament.

  • Cromwell's career was much less likely.

  • It's often suggested that the Cromwells

  • were originally a gentry family who had decayed,

  • fallen on hard times.

  • Cromwell himself said not.

  • When the heralds tried to foist on him

  • a coat of arms to make him look respectable,

  • he wouldn't have it, he said,

  • "There may be other Cromwells, but they're not my people,

  • "and I won't wear another man's coat."

  • And for the age he lived in

  • that was a very unusual reaction,

  • as if he wanted to step, not just out of his place

  • but out of his time.

  • He did eventually get a coat of arms and more.

  • He became the King's Secretary,

  • his Deputy in Church Affairs,

  • Master of the Rolls, Chancellor of Cambridge University,

  • a Knight of the Garter, and eventually Earl of Essex.

  • And the fact that the historians tried to bump the Cromwells

  • up the social scale shows how threatening

  • we find the idea of the man

  • from nowhere, even now.

  • How disruptive it is to the way

  • we still understand the world,

  • where we can predict what a man's interests are

  • and his needs.

  • I spoke to you of Geoffrey Elton.

  • He was German in origin,

  • so he was able to look

  • at the English and their class fetishes

  • with a sharp eye.

  • And he thought that Cromwell was the victim

  • of several kinds of snobbery.

  • Victorian scholars,

  • which meant Oxford and Cambridge dons,

  • couldn't grasp that Cromwell hadn't been to University.

  • It made them suspicious,

  • because if you're not an Oxford man

  • and you're not a Cambridge man,

  • then what in God's name are you?

  • Now, even a couple of generations after his death,

  • Cromwell was being reconstructed

  • as more advantaged than he was.

  • More advantaged, therefore, less mysterious.

  • There's an Elizabethan play,

  • a really bad and chaotic play,

  • which shows every sign of being written

  • by several playwrights and the tea boy.

  • And it is, however, highly entertaining,

  • and informative about the way

  • the Elizabethans looked at him.

  • And it begins in Putney,

  • in his father, Walter's, blacksmith shop.

  • I think there are few writers for the theater

  • who could resist a blacksmith's shop

  • and its sound effects.

  • The stage direction is,

  • "They beat with their hammers within."

  • But as soon as the young Cromwell steps onto the scene,

  • it's obvious that you're looking

  • at one of nature's gentlemen.

  • He comes out and he says to the workmen,

  • "Could you stop that hammering, please.

  • "Because I am trying to get on

  • "with my very important studies at the University."

  • And this is the key thing.

  • This is how you know he's going places.

  • The workmen speak prose,

  • but he speaks verse.

  • Now...

  • it is, as I said, a very confused play,

  • but what it does, it sets up an interesting archetype.

  • It's the boy who leaves home and crosses the sea.

  • The poor boy, who's got only his wits to live by.

  • Cromwell, in the play, is a trickster figure,

  • wandering through Europe

  • with a trusty

  • but stupid servant at his side.

  • Suffering dire misfortunes,

  • but outsmarting everybody.

  • And, then, comes back to England

  • and he falls from grace

  • because of popish plots among his fellow Councillors.

  • And then, when he's on the scaffold,

  • the King realizes how he has been misled

  • by these evil Papist Councillors.

  • And he sends a swift message with a reprieve.

  • Too late.

  • The trickster's head is off.

  • It's not too far from what really happened.

  • It took Henry a matter of weeks

  • to express his dismay

  • and accuse his Councillors

  • of rushing him into executing.

  • He said, "The most faithful servant I have ever had."

  • By contrast,

  • no word of regret survives for Thomas More,

  • whom Henry had known since he was a child.

  • The age set a great premium

  • on friendship, on loyalty.

  • Now Cardinal Wolsey had been a patron to More,

  • but Thomas More helped bring him down.

  • More then agreed to succeed Wolsey as Lord Chancellor

  • even though he knew he was in direct opposition

  • to the chief object of the King,

  • which was to have his first marriage annulled.

  • I suppose More must've thought

  • that he was going to save Henry from himself.

  • He purported to be a man

  • not moved by personal ambition.

  • But nobody goes into politics by accident.

  • I do believe

  • he felt the call of public duty very strongly.

  • But it's hard to be a saint

  • and climb the career ladder,

  • so I'm skeptical about the saintliness.

  • In our plays, Thomas Cromwell asks him

  • how he happens to be wearing Wolsey's chain of office.

  • "It has fall from heaven around your neck, did it?"

  • When More resigned, he didn't say

  • that he opposed the annulment

  • of the King's first marriage.

  • He didn't say he opposed Anne Boleyn

  • or the break with Rome.

  • In fact, he said as little as possible,

  • which was a clever tactic

  • and a new and startling departure

  • for a man who was such a gifted self-publicist.

  • So relentlessly communicative.

  • As Cromwell says in the books,

  • "He never had a thought till now

  • "but he took it to the printer."

  • More refused to take an oath to the succession

  • of the children of Henry and Anne.

  • And, in refusing that, he refused to recognize

  • Henry as head of the Church in England.

  • In refusing that oath, Henry believed,

  • he was resisting the break with Rome,

  • he was resisting his title as Supreme Head of the Church,

  • he was asserting that England

  • was not supreme in English affairs,

  • he was derogating the powers of Parliament,

  • he was giving aid and comfort to England's enemies

  • who were threatening to invade.

  • And in my unpopular view, Henry was right.

  • Now, these two men are studies in reputation.

  • Posterity has been kind to Thomas More.

  • He cultivated his legend in his lifetime

  • and it stuck.

  • Succeeding generations couldn't believe

  • he died for a principle that was, for them,

  • so abstruse or so self-evidently wrong

  • as papal supremacy,

  • for the elevation of Roman jurisdiction

  • and canon law over the law of the land.

  • So they elevated his cause

  • into freedom of conscience,

  • which is not remotely a value that Thomas More recognized.

  • And art came to his assistance

  • by way of Robert Bolt's famous play

  • and subsequent film.

  • A Man For All Seasons is a very beautiful play.

  • It's wonderfully structured, it's eloquent,

  • it's well judged, and that's why it's lasted,

  • and the film that was based on it

  • carried More's name worldwide

  • and it gave us a portrait of him,

  • which is almost as indelible as this one.

  • Sometimes art supplies

  • the undiagnosed deficiencies of the body politic.

  • Robert Bolt was writing in an age

  • where moral certainties were on the wane,

  • the end of the 1960s, and so he supplied us

  • with what we wanted,

  • a man of moral weight and conviction.

  • As our play script says of the silent saint,

  • "Thomas More is a man of principle.

  • "He just won't say what those principles are."

  • (audience laughs)

  • It's funnier when Ben Miles does it.

  • But this one,

  • this is an age of faith,

  • of blazing and violent collisions

  • between systems and ideologies.

  • So it's with a certain relief

  • that we greet Thomas Cromwell,

  • detached, pragmatic, sardonic,

  • and with a realistic view of human nature.

  • So I accept that when we deploy our historical imagination,

  • we're writing out of our own time,

  • filtering the products of our imagination

  • through the sensibilities of our age.

  • But all the same, Robert Bolt's recreation of More

  • as a 1960s liberal doesn't stand up to scrutiny.

  • In the play, you may remember,

  • Thomas Cromwell,

  • his aid Richard Rich, he takes his hand

  • and he holds it in a candle flame.

  • Now somebody did do that.

  • But not to Richard Rich, and it wasn't Thomas Cromwell.

  • It was Bishop Bonner, in the reign of Bloody Mary,

  • showing a Protestant heretic

  • what was in store for him if he didn't recant,

  • showing him what fire felt like.

  • Now, should a playwright do that?

  • Offer a transposition so startling?

  • We all draw the line in a different place

  • 'round historical accuracy,

  • and the transfer of material from one context to another.

  • Dramatically, the moment is beautiful.

  • So I've no doubt Robert Bolt would've said to himself,

  • "All in a good cause."

  • And that is exactly what Thomas More said

  • about the heretics he persecuted.

  • It's all in a good cause,

  • it's all for the solidarity of Christendom,

  • the buttressing of good authority,

  • the salvation of their souls.

  • He sincerely believed this.

  • But it was dismaying when Wolf Hall was published,

  • that readers asked me if I'd made up More's record

  • as a heresy hunter.

  • Because he didn't hide it, he was proud of it.

  • Now the details of what he did

  • to this person and that are disputed.

  • And my novels, which are about,

  • very much about the power of rumor and gossip,

  • always question the status of evidence,

  • and they don't accept every wild allegation about More,

  • but there is no doubt that he tormented and killed

  • those who disagreed with him,

  • and he gloried in it.

  • Tolerance was not a virtue in that age.

  • And we misunderstand him if we seek to excuse him,

  • as if cruelty were a flaw

  • in an otherwise sound character.

  • More thought that certain beliefs

  • were so pernicious,

  • so threatening, that the normal rules didn't apply.

  • Even before they were found guilty by any formal process,

  • a heretic was outside the protection of the law.

  • You could hurt them, you could trick them,

  • you could make a promise and break it.

  • All was permissible if you could get them to recant,

  • and if you couldn't, then burn them.

  • It would be wrong to judge him

  • by the standards of our age,

  • but his contemporaries judged him.

  • They argued with him strenuously

  • through the 1520s and the early 1530s.

  • And More was a stubborn man, and he dug in.

  • We always concede reluctant respect

  • to a man who just goes on being wrong.

  • And we respect More with good reason, for being brave.

  • He says in our plays, at the very end,

  • before he's led out to his death,

  • "I'm my own worst enemy.

  • "I've been told that all my life."

  • Because he was a writer and an astute self-publicist,

  • More's life, his career path, his thought, it's accessible.

  • Cromwell's, much less so.

  • Cromwell's background, it wasn't dirt poor,

  • but it was disorderly.

  • We don't know the name of his mother

  • or his date of birth.

  • His father, Walter, who some think was his step-father,

  • was a small businessman and a parish bully.

  • He had a brewery,

  • he had an interest in a fulling mill,

  • and a blacksmith shop, as I've mentioned.

  • Now...

  • Walter comes onto the historical record

  • through his appearances in court,

  • in the law courts, that is.

  • He gets drunk, he assaults people,

  • he falls foul of the authorities

  • for watering his beer

  • and for various other anti-social nuisances.

  • We don't know about Thomas' education

  • or the exact circumstances in which he left England

  • when he was about 15.

  • He was running away from the law,

  • from his father,

  • possibly both.

  • He said to Archbishop Cranmer,

  • "I was a ruffian in my youth."

  • And he didn't tell large on that.

  • He seems to have fought in the French armies.

  • He worked for merchant bankers in Italy.

  • In Antwerp, he was a clerk to the English merchants there,

  • which meant he knew about finance and commercial law,

  • but we don't know where he learned it.

  • When he came back to England, he set up as a lawyer.

  • He made a good marriage.

  • And he went into the service of Cardinal Wolsey.

  • When Wolsey fell, he remained loyal,

  • fighting a rearguard action

  • to keep his master out of the Tower

  • and to clear his name.

  • On All Hallows' Eve, 1529,

  • Wolsey's servant George Cavendish

  • saw him standing in a window recess at Esher,

  • in the empty house where Wolsey had fled

  • after being forced out of his London palace.

  • Cromwell was holding a prayer book and he was crying.

  • And if George Cavendish had not come

  • on Thomas Cromwell at that point,

  • we would understand even less about him than we do.

  • George didn't need to tell us, to tell his reader,

  • when he wrote his memoir later,

  • he didn't need to tell us

  • that those were the days of the dead,

  • when the souls come back to make contact with the living.

  • In the last few years, Thomas Cromwell had lost

  • his wife, his daughters.

  • Now his master was being pulled down

  • and he thought that he was finished.

  • Now, the original scripts for the plays

  • didn't contain that scene at Esher.

  • And it was the actor who plays Cromwell, Ben Miles,

  • who asked for it to be put back.

  • "Not that I want more to do," he said.

  • If you see the plays, you will understand that,

  • because he is on stage

  • almost every minute of both plays.

  • "Not that I want more to do, but it is, "he said,

  • "it is the man's lowest point."

  • And George Cavendish, in his memoir, recounts the scene.

  • He tells us how Cromwell weeps.

  • How he pulls himself together and he says,

  • he'll go to London, and he says,

  • "I will make or mar before I come again."

  • "Make or mar."

  • It was his common saying, George tells us.

  • He was a calculating man, a strategist.

  • He knew when the time for action had come,

  • the time to take risks.

  • And from that low point, he bounced,

  • and he bounced high.

  • This loyalty he showed to Wolsey

  • was an extraordinary spectacle.

  • And the King, who was perhaps short of true friends,

  • saw Master Cromwell at work,

  • and took him into his confidence.

  • According to the Spanish ambassador,

  • "He was talking to him in private,

  • "long before it became public,

  • "long before Cromwell was sworn in as Councillor."

  • You can see why Henry was dubious.

  • Cromwell was very different from his other courtiers.

  • He was a European.

  • He'd been 12 years out of England.

  • He was formed elsewhere.

  • Yet wherever he got his education,

  • he had a common background intellectually with More.

  • They were both guided, in a broad sense,

  • by Renaissance humanism and its values.

  • They both believed the Church needed reform.

  • More was a deeply religious man.

  • Cromwell's letters, which are what remain of him,

  • seemed to be the letters of a man

  • who takes his God very seriously.

  • There's no justification for describing him

  • as the next thing to an atheist, as some writers have.

  • What we don't know is the exact status of his belief.

  • People are misled by his having said on the scaffold,

  • "I die in the Catholic faith."

  • That doesn't mean he was a secret Papist,

  • and that all those years

  • he'd been working for the other side.

  • He meant"Catholic" in the sense of "universal."

  • He meant that he regarded himself

  • as a member of the universal Church,

  • as perhaps the Pope wasn't.

  • Is the Pope Catholic was a very good question

  • in the 16th century.

  • He's often said to be a Lutheran, my own belief.

  • He was probably close to Swingli

  • and the Swiss reformers,

  • but he was careful not to be specific.

  • When some German ambassadors to the Court

  • urged him to commit

  • and say that he was one of them,

  • that he shared their Protestant beliefs,

  • he indicated Henry and said, in effect,

  • "I believe what he believes."

  • After his wife died,

  • round about 1527,

  • Cromwell didn't marry again,

  • though it was usual to do so.

  • The fact of remaining unmarried

  • caused a fatal complication

  • late in his life.

  • That story is for the next book.

  • He wasn't lonely though.

  • There's a modern belief

  • that anyone as clever as Cromwell

  • will be introverted and maybe a bit weird.

  • But the 16th century didn't share that prejudice.

  • Cromwell was a gregarious man.

  • He was good company.

  • And people told him things.

  • They were disarmed by him.

  • None of the charm

  • of which eyewitnesses speak

  • comes over from the portrait.

  • I'm very much preoccupied

  • with working out what went on in that room

  • where the picture was painted.

  • And I will come back to it

  • in the third book.

  • We will go in there with Hans Holbein

  • and negotiate this image.

  • In the Holbein minature,

  • in the National Portrait Gallery in London,

  • he looks more human,

  • there's less of him,

  • and he looks, frankly, like someone

  • you'd pass in the street and not look twice at.

  • Hans was Cromwell's friend.

  • And you would say, in that case,

  • God save him from his friends.

  • In my book,

  • when he first sees the picture,

  • his reaction is,

  • "I look like a murderer."

  • And his son Gregory says,

  • "Didn't you know?"

  • (audience laughs)

  • As a novelist,

  • writing about real people,

  • you're always trying to work out

  • where they met.

  • What could that first contact have been?

  • When Thomas More was 14,

  • he was a page in the household of Cardinal Morton,

  • the Archbishop of Canterbury.

  • So he was living at Lambeth Palace.

  • This was just before he went up to Oxford.

  • Now at the same time,

  • John Cromwell, Walter Cromwell's brother,

  • was a cook in the Lambeth Palace kitchens.

  • Thomas Cromwell would then, we think,

  • have been about seven years old.

  • So I thought, maybe, maybe,

  • that's where their paths crossed.

  • Because in real life

  • Thomas Cromwell does appear

  • to know about food, about cuisine.

  • There's a bizarre episode,

  • and I mean in real life,

  • in which, before he's famous,

  • he turns up in Rome

  • as part of a delegation

  • from the town of Boston in Lincolnshire,

  • and makes a jelly for the Pope.

  • Now, I know it sounds like fantasy,

  • but it's well sourced.

  • So where did he get his dessert-making capacities?

  • So I thought of Uncle John Cromwell, the cook,

  • and I thought where does a little boy

  • from a disorderly home seek refuge?

  • He goes where he'll get fed.

  • So I found the child Thomas Cromwell a job

  • as an occasional kitchen boy.

  • So he is a scruffy seven year old

  • looking in awe and wonder

  • at Master More, the golden boy,

  • sent upstairs with a supper tray,

  • where he finds the young scholar at his books.

  • One day he brought a wheaten loaf

  • and put it in the cupboard and lingered,

  • and Master Thomas More said to him,

  • "Why do you linger?"

  • But he did not throw anything at him.

  • "What is in that great book?" he asked.

  • And Master Thomas replied, smiling,

  • "Words, words, just words."

  • And later the child stands wrapped in a courtyard

  • as Thomas More plays the recorder

  • at an open window.

  • It's a still evening

  • and a blackbird picks up the note

  • and sings from a bush by the water gate.

  • And their lives wobble to a moment's stillness,

  • serenity, they draw to a point,

  • and Thomas Cromwell keeps the moment in mind

  • as you might keep the image of an angel.

  • But later, Thomas More

  • doesn't remember having met him

  • when he was a child.

  • And Cromwell thinks,

  • "That's just it, you never saw me.

  • "You never even saw me coming."

  • In the third novel, in the book in progress,

  • we go back to Lambeth Palace,

  • to those days,

  • in flashback,

  • and a somewhat different picture emerges.

  • There's a retelling.

  • And what we find

  • in this new version

  • is the infant Cromwell

  • exercising a reign of terror

  • over the young scholar.

  • Uncle John says to him,

  • "See the trays?

  • "That's the young gentlemen's suppers.

  • "They're all studying hard.

  • "So if they wake up in the night,

  • "they're turning over in their heads

  • "a hard problem about Pythagoras

  • "or Saint Jeremy,

  • "and it makes them peckish.

  • "So they need a little bite of bread in their cupboards,

  • "and a measure of ale.

  • "Now, you know the third staircase.

  • "Up the top, you'll find

  • "Master Thomas More.

  • "He doesn't like disturbing.

  • "So, Thomas, you creep in like a mouse.

  • "If he looks up,

  • "you make your reverence.

  • "If he doesn't,

  • "you just creep out again.

  • "And not so much as a Bless You.

  • "Have you got that?"

  • He's got it.

  • He's got the tray, too.

  • What if he sat down on the bottom step

  • and ate the bread and drank the ale himself?

  • Would he hear in the night

  • Master More crying out with pangs in his belly?

  • "Oh, feed me, feed me,"

  • he whimpers,

  • as he mounts the stair,

  • "Oh, St. Jeremy, feed me."

  • On the top step, the devil enters into him.

  • He kicks open the door and bawls,

  • "Master Thomas More!"

  • The young scholar looks up.

  • His expression is mild and curious,

  • but he circles his book with his arm,

  • as if to protect it from molestation.

  • "Master Thomas More, his supper."

  • He rams it in the corner cupboard.

  • The hinge wants oiling.

  • He creaks it to and fro

  • so it makes a double squeak.

  • One high, one low.

  • He wants to ask, "What's Pythagoras?

  • "Is it a wild animal?

  • "Is it a disease?

  • "Is it a shape you can draw?

  • "Master Thomas More, God bless him," he shouts.

  • "Good night."

  • He is about to slam the door

  • when Master More calls him.

  • He intrudes himself back into the room.

  • Master More sits blinking at him.

  • He's 14, 15, skinny.

  • Walter Cromwell would laugh him out of the smithy yard.

  • Master More examines him,

  • says gently,

  • "If I gave you a penny,

  • "would you not do that another night?"

  • He bounces down the stair, richer.

  • He bounces on every tread

  • and whistles.

  • Fair is fair.

  • He was only paid to be quiet in the room,

  • not quiet outside it.

  • Master More will have to dig deeper into his pocket

  • if he wants to live in the silence of the tomb.

  • He runs away towards his football game.

  • When I wrote that last summer,

  • our plays were already in progress in West End.

  • But one Saturday, lunch time,

  • I left it at the stage door for Ben Miles.

  • And he shared it with Jon Ram, who plays Thomas More.

  • And that very afternoon it rippled

  • straight through their performance.

  • Something they knew about each other,

  • a shared memory.

  • We are asking

  • of actors, like the personnel in my book,

  • to walk again the long road

  • from Lambeth Palace to the Tower of London,

  • where the year 1535 finds them

  • head to head.

  • In the Tower, More was asked to swear an oath

  • to accept Henry as head of the Church in England.

  • He wouldn't swear,

  • but Cromwell swore an oath,

  • a terrible and heartfelt one.

  • He said he would rather see

  • his only son dead

  • than see More

  • refuse his cooperation to the King,

  • because the King, he knew,

  • would put the worst construction

  • on this silence of his.

  • And we know this from More's own account.

  • From the letters he wrote back to his family.

  • It doesn't fit with the received picture

  • of Thomas Cromwell as a passionless functionary.

  • It challenges us.

  • In another letter,

  • More describes Cromwell's efforts for him.

  • He describes the moment he warned him,

  • lawyer to lawyer,

  • that he was about to fall into a trap.

  • And he calls him

  • "my special, tender friend."

  • Now those words are sometimes construed as sarcasm.

  • But only by those who haven't read

  • the whole letter,

  • or seen it in its context.

  • Of course,

  • Thomas Cromwell's efforts were self-serving.

  • He had nothing to gain from More's death.

  • He had everything to gain

  • by his surrender.

  • It would've been a propaganda coup

  • for Henry's regime.

  • And it was a coup

  • that Thomas Cromwell couldn't engineer.

  • Henry didn't seem to blame him for it.

  • Nor did Thomas More's family

  • see Thomas Cromwell

  • as the agent of his destruction.

  • That destruction came about,

  • as More's wife said,

  • "as such a long-continued

  • "and deep-rooted scruple

  • "as passeth his power to avoid and put away."

  • It was a lonely and eccentric sacrifice,

  • which only he saw as necessary.

  • The great irony is

  • that our age preserves its reverence for More

  • only by comprehensively misunderstanding him.

  • He, the great communicator.

  • We make him a martyr for a cause

  • he would've despised.

  • And it's our systematizing imaginations

  • that set these two men

  • in perpetual opposition.

  • One of More's biographers, Richard Marius,

  • sees More and Cromwell

  • as fundamentally alike.

  • Passionate men,

  • fiercely repressed.

  • And I think that's probably right.

  • Once Cromwell became Henry's minister,

  • he did what his old master, Wolsey, couldn't do.

  • He cut the knot that bound Henry

  • to his first wife,

  • and made it possible for him to marry Anne Boleyn.

  • He masterminded the huge body of legislation

  • that severed England from Rome,

  • but he also put forward,

  • from time to time,

  • measures that would have transformed his country.

  • Comprehensive law reform,

  • a new relation between state and people.

  • A resistant Parliament

  • and a sheer lack of time

  • meant that most of his rejected reforms

  • were not achieved.

  • But the vision matters.

  • He had a quality

  • that's rare in politics,

  • creativity.

  • He could see the big picture,

  • but he could also

  • take care of every detail.

  • The first quality made him audacious.

  • The second made him effective.

  • John Fox described him like this.

  • "In judgment, discreet.

  • "In tongue, eloquent.

  • "In service, faithful.

  • "In stomach, courageous.

  • "In his person, active.

  • "Nothing was so hard,

  • "which with wit and industry,

  • "he could not compass."

  • Cromwell was a realist.

  • He was a radical working

  • in a profoundly traditional, conservative society.

  • And he knew that people would not accept change

  • unless it put them,

  • as he said,

  • "in better ease."

  • We think of the pace of life in his era as slow.

  • But if you look at his letters,

  • the words that come up again and again

  • are "haste" and "speed."

  • And sometimes "hasty speed."

  • And the instruction, "please accelerate this."

  • This is what the writer Nicola Shulman said of him

  • in her recent Thomas Wyatt biography.

  • "He came as his enemies said, from the dunghill.

  • "That is to say, a mushroom man.

  • "Come up over night, you see.

  • "The traditional routes to eminence

  • "were blood and the Church,

  • "but he rose without either

  • "and subdued both.

  • "A consummation more to be admired

  • "in our secular, egalitarian age

  • "than it was in his own.

  • "The sheer executive competence.

  • "He was a phenomenon,

  • "on the scale of Mozart or Shakespeare.

  • "A man who seems to have moved

  • "in his own element of decelerated time,

  • "to achieve a week's work in a day."

  • Of course, we are less interested

  • in executive competence

  • than in sex and violence.

  • So...

  • wrongly, the year 1536

  • is seen as the important year

  • in Thomas Cromwell's life.

  • The year of Anne Boleyn's execution.

  • Anne didn't make Cromwell's career,

  • but they helped each other to the top.

  • That spring, he ditched her.

  • Or rather, the King did,

  • and Cromwell facilitated the process.

  • And who did what and why

  • is the subject of my second novel

  • Bring Up the Bodies.

  • It's one of those episodes in English history

  • endlessly worked over by historians,

  • by novelists, by filmmakers.

  • You assemble all the facts.

  • You tell yourself the story.

  • And you still don't understand it.

  • You start again.

  • You tell it over.

  • And still there's something missing.

  • Perhaps it's the holes in the documentation.

  • Or something in the human heart we're not grasping.

  • Or, perhaps, it's the operations

  • of Macavity the Mystery Cat.

  • For me, as a writer,

  • there is an impossible brief to fulfill.

  • Real life is untidy.

  • Historians impose patterns,

  • and a novelist tries to negotiate

  • with the ambiguities.

  • But a reader

  • understandably demands shape and form.

  • The artist wants freedom.

  • The consumer of art wants something tidy,

  • a package, a book, a picture,

  • a portable set of ideas.

  • And then the process of adaptation

  • into another medium

  • imposes further constraints.

  • Constraints can be good.

  • They make you nimble.

  • You have to think your way

  • out of all sorts of problems

  • while trying to keep faith

  • with all the possibilities

  • that you've glimpsed in the material.

  • In the end, I offer my best guesses.

  • And sometimes I have to say,

  • "Look, this is Tuesday's best guess."

  • On Wednesday, I may have further and better particulars,

  • and my best guess might be different.

  • The time comes

  • when you part with your version,

  • but it goes on in your mind, still alive,

  • still active and changing.

  • What's on the page

  • is only a report from the front line.

  • Often it's a graveyard, a graveside dispatch.

  • Anne Boleyn died, I conclude,

  • because she became a political liability

  • and a threat to Cromwell,

  • not just to his success

  • but to his survival.

  • And the men who died with her

  • were collateral damage in some cases.

  • And, in others, victims

  • of Cromwell's ruthless, tidy mind.

  • He believed in economy of means,

  • and the removal of those men

  • solved certain niggling problems for him

  • and cleared the way for people of his own

  • he could put around the King.

  • And in 1540, Cromwell himself died

  • because, I think,

  • Henry became afraid

  • of what he had created.

  • But Henry soon knew

  • that he had made a calamitous mistake.

  • And the rest of the reign

  • shows how bad the error was.

  • From 1540 onwards,

  • war, an emptying treasury,

  • a debased coinage,

  • vicious faction fighting,

  • another dead queen.

  • People ask

  • why I have taken on this 10 year project.

  • It started out as one novel.

  • It's become three.

  • And plays,

  • and a TV series.

  • Possibly, in the course of time,

  • a third play,

  • a third TV series.

  • It's an act of reverence.

  • And it's a work of mourning,

  • not entirely for Cromwell,

  • but for all my characters.

  • It's because I can't bear it

  • that they're dead.

  • Simple as that.

  • I want to talk to them.

  • I want to keep open

  • the possibilities of their lives.

  • It was an age when flexibility

  • was needed.

  • And disputes, that in calmer times,

  • in the 1520s,

  • might have been settled

  • over the supper table at More's house in Chelsea,

  • or in after dinner debate

  • at one of the inns of Court,

  • were settled in the 1530s

  • on Tower Hill.

  • The final arguments were with the headsman.

  • And I don't want him

  • to have the last word.

  • Thank you.

  • (audience applauds)

  • - [Susan] Do, um,

  • would you like to take a few questions?

  • - [Dame Hilary] Sure.

  • - [Susan] The floor is open for a few questions.

  • We won't go on too much longer.

  • - [Audience member] Uh, Miss Mantel,

  • in Wolf Hall,

  • after Wolsey's fall,

  • there is a,

  • there's a satiric farce performed,

  • where there's an effigy of the Cardinal

  • that is pulled down,

  • and this offends Cromwell,

  • and slowly he gets even.

  • Which shows his tremendous cleverness.

  • How much of that was history

  • and how much of it was you?

  • - That is a brilliant question

  • because it goes right to the heart of it.

  • The masque was real

  • and the four men,

  • they treated the Cardinal as if he were an...

  • well, it was an effigy,

  • but it was the carrying of Cardinal Wolsey

  • off to hell.

  • So they had him by the hands and the feet.

  • Four men,

  • four masked men.

  • And then someone

  • was inside the Cardinal figure.

  • And that intrigues me, you see.

  • The masked men.

  • No one knows who they were.

  • So this is where the novelist

  • can begin to operate.

  • (laughs) And what we find is

  • that they are Henry Norris, George Boleyn...

  • Will Brereton, Francis Weston.

  • The four men who died with Anne Boleyn.

  • In the book,

  • the person inside the doll

  • is the King's jester, Sexton.

  • And Cromwell follows him behind the scenes

  • and he sees him take off his mask.

  • And he watches the other gentlemen unmask.

  • In our plays, however,

  • we have to move on,

  • we have to come to a neater version still.

  • So the person inside the Wolsey doll

  • is the young minstrel Mark Smeaton,

  • the fifth man who died with Anne Boleyn,

  • so there you are.

  • He's got 'em.

  • (laughs) But it's the essence of the process.

  • You begin to invent,

  • in my view,

  • legitimately where the facts run out.

  • If the identity of the masked men ever turns up,

  • I shall be deeply disconcerted.

  • (audience laughs)

  • - [Audience member] I was just commenting,

  • unless all the characters prove accurate.

  • - [Susan] Any more questions?

  • Um, one more.

  • - [Audience member] What was your experience

  • kind of taking all this history

  • and then turning it into a novel,

  • and then turning it into a play,

  • and a TV series.

  • How do you change history

  • as you go through these different medias?

  • - Well...

  • in both cases,

  • I haven't been primarily responsible.

  • In the case of the TV scripts,

  • I did work with a scriptwriter

  • in the initial stages.

  • In the case of the plays,

  • I worked with the adapter

  • for some two years.

  • I went through 10 drafts

  • before we got near a rehearsal room.

  • And I haven't been involved

  • in the development of the plays,

  • and have now, in effect, taken over,

  • because the adapter has moved on

  • to other projects, quite naturally.

  • I am still in the middle of my third book.

  • I'm still with the project,

  • so I've taken over as writer

  • for the Broadway plays,

  • which are a slightly different version.

  • Now what you have to do, I think,

  • is think not of the limitations

  • but how can the medium,

  • whether it's screen or the stage,

  • serve the story best?

  • Now, obviously,

  • you've got to be highly selective.

  • There are over 130 characters in the book,

  • in the books.

  • And multiple locations.

  • Now in the TV series,

  • multiplying the

  • characters in the form of bodies, extras,

  • is not a problem.

  • But there is a limit

  • to how many story lines the reader,

  • the viewer, will follow.

  • So you have to pick your way

  • and think what will work for television.

  • The decisions are different in the play

  • and in the film,

  • in the TV version.

  • For the stage,

  • we have 22 people to tell our story.

  • Some of them play four parts

  • and do a number of alarmingly rapid changes,

  • but that is all we have.

  • And it is really, then,

  • about selection,

  • but we have always tried

  • not to compromise the history.

  • We've had to find a different way of telling.

  • And sometimes we have had to say,

  • well, what do we do

  • when we close the plays

  • with a wonderful remark

  • that Thomas Wriothesley makes

  • at the end of Bring Up the Bodies.

  • The remark that Thomas Cromwell feels

  • like a knife between the shoulder blades.

  • What do we do?

  • We haven't got Thomas Wriothesley.

  • Well maybe Stephen Gardiner can say it.

  • Then I say, to my adapter,

  • "Good idea,

  • "but Bishop Gardiner was in France."

  • Ah! Well, okay.

  • How long did it take to cross the Channel?

  • (audience laughs)

  • Let's suppose the winds are in his favor.

  • Okay, we're going to bring over

  • Bishop Gardiner for a day trip.

  • Those are the kind of compromises you make.

  • And yet I remember,

  • going back to this gentleman's question,

  • about the Wolsey masque.

  • There is a voice,

  • there was a voice,

  • that cried out, "Shame,

  • "shame on you."

  • Who was it?

  • We don't know.

  • In the books, it's Thomas Wyatt.

  • I really, really wanted it to be Thomas Wyatt,

  • but what do I find?

  • I find he's in Calais.

  • At least, he's in Calais the previous week.

  • And I can trace him up to two days before.

  • I can't say for certain he was in England,

  • but there's a possibility he was back.

  • So I say, "Okay, good enough.

  • "It's Thomas Wyatt who shall shout shame."

  • Which if you are at the Winter Garden,

  • you will hear him do

  • from one of the balconies.

  • You know, there is a special magic

  • in bringing this to the New World.

  • (audience laughs)

  • Hearing these people speak

  • in a land they never even imagined.

  • - [Susan] Well, I think we should probably

  • conclude, and thank you so much.

  • (audience applauds)

- Good evening.

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