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Warning: contains spoilers for The Mirror and the Light finale.
Cromwell kept his composure and shrewdness until the last. Moments from his death, this master of government mastered himself to deliver a final speech the real meaning of which was a secret shared between him and us. Only we could see Wolsey in that scaffold crowd, and so only we understood that when Cromwell prayed heartily aloud for his master’s forgiveness, he didn’t mean Henry. Stripped of his titles, freedom and life, Cromwell ensured that his last words at least belonged to him and to Wolsey – the only man he would ever call father.
It was elegantly done, as was the death scene. Instead of seeing the axe fall, or hearing it connect while the horror played out across anonymous faces in the crowd, we heard the sound of a bee buzzing and were transported with Cromwell to Launde Abbey, his little heaven here on Earth. It’s the place he told his daughter Jenneke that he wanted to retire when all his work is done, and where he’d once imagined her waiting for him in the doorway. She wasn’t waiting there in this version of the scene, presumably because this wasn’t Cromwell’s imagination but his final reward.
Was all Cromwell’s work done? Not by half, but his Reformation had lasting effect even during the post-Henry chop-and-change. Wouldn’t you know, the former Lord Chancellor was dead right in that soothsaying speech to the vultures at the Tower of London – after he was gone, the king’s invasions of France and Scotland did drain the country’s coffers. Then, seven short years after Cromwell was killed, Henry died too.
On the basis of this drama, good bloody riddance. On the basis of this drama, he should have been the last one ever crowned. Rulers who believe themselves to be God’s envoy on Earth, and who think their every magical wish deserves to be granted are dangerous entities, then and now. It leads to this – lives being taken as casually as a sulking child flicks chess pieces off the board in a losing game.
What was behind Henry wanting to hear Cromwell’s letter read aloud a second time? Not his conscience, but his vanity. The pleas for mercy were passed over in favour of a line about Henry living “ever-young” – an idea that clearly appealed to him. However many magic rings Cromwell was rumoured to wear on his hand, he didn’t have the power to turn this ageing, impotent, sclerotic king back into a robust roaring boy, which to Henry, was unforgivable. Oh well, Henry, perhaps marrying a teenager will help? No? Shame.
Cromwell’s fate was sealed long before his arrest – when Henry’s ego was stung by his introduction to Anna of Cleves, or further back during Gardiner and Norfolk’s horse trading with the French. There was certainly no hope in what he interpreted as hopeful signs. Still, he went down fighting. That glorious 18-minute interrogation scene (eat your heart out, Line of Duty) of him facing his accusers and verbally delivering jabs, crosses and uppercuts to their every allegation was wonderful to watch. ( “I cannot always wait for the slow grindings of your brain, my lord” is going straight into my email signature) – or it would have been if we could have shared his confidence that he still had a future to fight for.
Cromwell dominated his attackers, ably defending himself from accusations both ludicrous (the purple doublet, the enchanted ring, the receipt of a pair of gloves) and legitimate (the promise to Catherine, telling Call-Me he’d take arms against the king, not succeeding in killing Pole). He missed no chance to threaten, undermine or twist the knife, and as a result, Call-Me looked as though he would vomit at any moment, while Richard Riche shrank to an ant faced with his terrifying former master bellowing “LOOK AT ME” mid-defence. If there’d been a jury, Cromwell would have walked free, with a fat purse for damages.
Alas, there was no jury because the verdict had already been decided. Cromwell only realised that when Rafe told him that his London home of Austin Friars was being dissolved, and as a result he was a different man in round two – drained and defeated. The shift in tone even forced Norfolk to do something other than hold his nose at Cromwell and call him a plebby poo-pants (this hasn’t been one of Timothy Spall‘s more nuanced performances), when he came out with that strikingly insightful point about Henry seeing them all as merely his hunting dogs. Gardiner too, dropped the schadenfreude for a second and feared for his own safety like a human being instead of a hissing snake.
Even condemned, Cromwell still organised and instructed. Son Gregory and nephew Richard were to repudiate him to save themselves. A bruised and bloody Christophe was told not to fight. He even had words of encouragement for his executioner, from one axe-man to another. If dying bravely was his goal, then he achieved it.
Crucially, Cromwell didn’t die alone. As the birds sang on the morning of his execution, Wolsey returned and granted Thomas the mercy he’d been refused by the king. Or perhaps Thomas’ conscience granted it to himself, depending on how you see the Cardinal’s apparitions. Either way, the accusation of betrayal that had undone him more than any allegation of treason against the king, was soothed. “Well, I dare say daughters sometimes get things wrong,” offered Wolsey.
Perhaps that was the “Light” in this moribund episode. Since Dorothea’s accusation, Cromwell has been his own painful “Mirror” reflecting on the man he is and the man he was. His conscience has been pricked by his past, hence those recurring night terrors. Now, he’s made right with Wolsey’s ghost, and given the many parallels between his death and that of Anne Boleyn, maybe with his own life, he’s paid his debt there too. The nightmares are over. It’s his time to walk in the sweet, quiet air.
All episodes of Wolf Hall: The Mirror and the Light are available to stream now on BBC iPlayer.
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