Bring Up The Bodies

Initially, Cromwell hopes to dissolve Anne and Henry’s marriage based on the argument that she was contracted to Henry Percy (the Earl of Northumberland, an English nobleman) before her marriage to Henry. If this contract met certain terms, including consummation, it could be seen as a valid marriage that therefore negated her subsequent marriage to Henry. As Cromwell explains to Anne’s father, “[I]t would be better for your daughter if she had in fact been married to Harry Percy” (250). Ironically, when Cromwell had been working to ensure Henry could marry Anne, he had pressured Henry Percy to claim that he and Anne had never made promises to one another or had sex. Now, the entire narrative is reversed because a different story suits Henry’s purposes (and by extension, Cromwell’s). This incident provides a powerful example of the theme of Ambiguity Between Truth, Lies, and Rumors, as well as the chasm of power between King Henry and his wives. Anne had no power over her destiny even when she was Henry’s favorite, and now that she has fallen out of favor, her life is in his hands. This emphasizes The Precarious Nature of Favoritism. Additionally, the powerlessness of women in this era, particularly at the hands of the king, becomes apparent not only in Bring Up the Bodies but in the history of Henry VIII and the Tudors, as Anne is not the last wife that Henry executes.

In the cases of both Anne and Katherine (whose annulment was also based on a claim that she had sex with another man before Henry), public policy revolves around private acts, and women’s accounts of what happened to their own bodies are negated. Both Katherine and Anne insist that they have not had sex with other men, but men determine the official record by stating that they have. This pattern only escalates after Cromwell accuses Anne of adultery, including having sex with her brother. Most historians do not believe Anne was guilty of adultery, although it is likely that a flirtatious atmosphere did exist in her interactions with various male courtiers. Mantel leaves it ambiguous as to whether Cromwell thinks Anne is guilty. He muses “[W]hat if, one day, it’s yes, yes, yes […] to whoever happens to be standing by” (269), and later he concludes that “she is not innocent; she can only mimic innocence” (343). Cromwell is never depicted explicitly thinking or saying that he is convicting five men and one woman for crimes they did not commit. Mantel instead implies that in Cromwell’s world, it doesn’t matter. They need to be guilty, and so they are. Cromwell’s ruthlessness in creating a narrative that meets his needs is also apparent when he extracts a confession from Mark Smeaton. Smeaton unwittingly boasts that Anne is in love with him, only to realize with horror that he has provided information that Cromwell and his allies will use against him as well. Cromwell does not need to resort to physically torturing Smeaton (although he is willing to entertain the idea of doing so) because he is psychologically astute and knows how to pressure Smeaton and bend him to his will. Throughout the trial, Smeaton is the only one who pleads guilty; as a man of modest birth, he may naively believe that deference to those in power will help him. His malleability may also reflect his youth—Smeaton was likely about 23 years old when he was arrested and executed in May 1536. This also illustrates the power gap between the social classes in this era; while Smeaton sees other men gain from accusing Anne Boleyn of adultery, such an accusation from him implicates rather than spares him.

As Cromwell builds his case against Anne and the men accused of being her lovers, he relies on several of the women who serve as her close companions: Lady Worcester, Mary Shelton, and Lady Rochford (Anne’s sister-in-law). This develops the theme of Rivalry and Cruelty Between Women. Because of the largely sex-segregated world of the Tudor court, these women are the only ones who can convincingly attest that Anne was having sex with other men. They have a variety of motivations for their willingness to testify (accurately or not) to what they observed, but their claims reveal that the women are just as fractious and motivated to consolidate their own power as the men at court. However, the fact that they must rely on accusations of sexual impropriety reveals the gendered difference; as Cromwell muses, women “fight with the poor weapons God has bestowed—spite, guile, skill in deceit” (296). Anne’s cunning, plotting, and focus on advancing her own interests becomes her downfall when the women around her show little hesitation in turning against her.

While the events around gathering evidence, preparing accusations, and making arrests largely show Cromwell as cold and ruthless, his steadfast protection of Thomas Wyatt adds complexity to his character. Historically, Thomas Wyatt was a well-regarded poet who is credited with introducing the sonnet (a 14-line poem structure originally developed by Italian poets) into the English language. Many other English writers, ranging from William Shakespeare to Elizabeth Barrett Browning (in her famous Sonnets to the Portuguese) would subsequently utilize this poetic form. Many historians believe that Wyatt was infatuated with Anne Boleyn, and some of his poems from the period before 1536 seem to allude to her. He was arrested along with the others in May 1536 but subsequently released, and many believe that Cromwell’s interventions protected him. In Mantel’s novel, Cromwell explicitly protects Wyatt, even though others point out that Wyatt would be one of the most believable coconspirators to support the accusations of Anne’s adultery. Cromwell’s protectiveness adds nuance to his character at a moment in the plot when he risks appearing morally abhorrent; he seems in part to value Wyatt because of the poet’s sensitivity and artistic skill, noting that Wyatt “understands the world without rejecting it […] his eyes are open, and his ears for sounds others miss” (283). In Wolf Hall, Cromwell also promised Wyatt’s father to protect the younger man and he demonstrates a certain form of integrity by honoring this commitment.

Over a period of several days in early May 1536, five men are arrested along with Anne herself: Mark Smeaton, Henry Norris, George Boleyn, Francis Weston, and William Brereton. Cromwell muses that during this time, “[T]here is a climate of fear […] nobody knows how long the arrests will go and who else will be taken. He feels even he does not know, and he is in charge of it” (321). All the men who are arrested have antagonized Cromwell in some way and have some connection to the downfall of Wolsey, Cromwell’s beloved mentor. The arrests and eventual execution are chilling examples of Cromwell’s political and strategic acumen; they please Henry, cement Cromwell’s own power, ensure that a woman connected to his political allies is on the throne, and allow him personal vengeance, all at the same time.

Historically, only days passed between the arrests and the executions (the five men were executed on May 17, 1536, and Anne died on May 19, 1536), and the accelerated pacing reflects the inevitability of events once the plans begin to unfurl. Cromwell accepts that “with this trial, with these defendants, there is no way but one, no exit, no direction except the scaffold” (347). The novel’s title refers to the command given when prisoners held in the Tower were to be brought to stand on trial in Westminster Hall; the command “bring up the bodies” reveals that the prisoners are already considered dead. It also hints that even powerful and confident individuals are always vulnerable and a few blows away from becoming a corpse. The fickle nature of fate aligns with the theme of The Precarious Nature of Favoritism since individuals try to align with power to exert some control over their destiny. The grotesque and visceral nature of the deaths is reinforced when Mantel includes the brutal details of what beheading would involve; she writes that George Boleyn “needed three blows of the axe” (387), and that after Anne’s death, “the body exsanguinates, and its flat little presence becomes a puddle of gore” (395). Anne, a vivid, charismatic character, immediately vanishes from the text, and what is left is “the body,” symbolizing the dehumanizing treatment of women in this era, particularly by nobility and royalty.

After the bloody climax of the executions, both Henry and Cromwell look relentlessly toward the future, revealing that both men thrive by firmly compartmentalizing their pasts. Henry marries Jane Seymour within days of Anne’s death, treating women as disposable and interchangeable. For his part, Cromwell is aware that he still faces dangers, and these will likely only increase as he continues to accrue power and wealth. However, the novel ends with Cromwell confidently and unrepentantly looking to a future in which “he has laws to write, measures to take, the good of the commonwealth to serve, and his king: he has titles and honors still to attain, houses to build, books to read” (403). Whatever he has done, Cromwell believes he is justified in doing so, and the novel leaves readers to ponder whether they agree.