The threat of an inconstant king
Shakespeare's "Henry VIII"; Netflix's "Ripley" series; how shape-shifting leaders create political and social instability
I’m reading through Shakespeare’s plays in an attempt to make sense of the world. Today I’m writing about “Henry VIII.” For a quick reference to posts on previous plays, click here. Next week, “The Two Noble Kinsmen,” Shakespeare’s 37th and last play.
Netflix’s series “Ripley” delivers a stunning re-imagining of Patricia Highsmith’s enigmatically villainous character Tom Ripley. Multiple filmmakers have interpreted Highsmith’s Ripley novels. Preparing to watch yet another version may feel like picking up a worn paperback with many dogeared pages, a faint whiff of dust and incipient mold rising as the pages flip. Dismiss that thought. This is a breathtaking tour-de-force. Its characters and story feel crisply new despite their familiarity.
The director, Steven Zaillian, trains the camera on the face of Andrew Scott’s Ripley for most of its nearly eight hours of screen time. Holding on the planes of Ripley’s face, the camera witnesses as he processes thoughts, as he performs in response to another character, as he poses and play-acts in quiet moments alone. The camera notes the lightning-quick adoption or removal of a social mask. It is a profound study in psychopathy, offered to you as if you were a museum-goer, strolling through a room of magnificent, dynamic masterpieces.
The series places its characters amidst Italy’s natural and artistic beauty, conveyed by masterful cinematography that creates a full-body sensation of immersion in the story. The chiaroscuro of Caravaggio, with whom this Ripley finds his only true human connection, suffuses this black-and-white film. The series is both starkly real and also obscure, as if one of Caravaggio’s tableaux had been brought to life.
After studying Ripley for eight hours, you might assume you’d know the character, be able to read his face, anticipate his actions. But the essence of this character is that there is no there there. He must adopt a character to come to life, which he does, in succession, one identity following another.
How do you protect yourself against someone whose central truth is their inconstancy, and who recognizes no ethical bounds?
That Steven Zaillian crafted an utterly new creation from a well-worn text shouldn’t come as a surprise to any of us who read and watch re-interpretations of texts that are more than 400 years old. Today’s play, Henry VIII, takes us to a part of English history that’s still in our cultural lexicon, whether you were a fan of Hilary Mantel’s “Wolf Hall” series, or have listened to the pop inanity from Herman’s Hermits called “I’m Henry the Eighth I Am.”1
Central to Shakespeare’s play is a title character who can be counted on only to pursue his own comforts. The risk of not knowing this king’s mind has mortal consequences. Not even those closest to him are spared. As its Prologue states when opening the play:
PROLOGUE
I come no more to make you laugh. Things now
That bear a weighty and a serious brow,
Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe—
Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow
We now present. [….]Summary
Opening the play, the Duke of Norfolk tells the Duke of Buckingham about the recent event at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, an extravagant display of wealth orchestrated by Cardinal Wolsey for King Henry VIII and met in kind by the King of France. Intended to improve relations between the two states, this costly outing yielded nothing of substance, a fact that Buckingham finds disgusting.
Buckingham denounces the ‘fierce vanities’ of the Cardinal, a man close to the king and therefore someone not to be crossed. Buckingham’s outspokenness lands him in the Tower of London, charged with treason on Wolsey’s order.
Queen Katherine advises Henry of Wolsey’s heavy taxation, which has caused widespread outrage amongst the English people. Henry claims this is news to him, and he pardons all subjects who resisted the tax. Buckingham’s surveyor, who’s been bribed for testimony against his former friend, recounts Buckingham’s supposed treachery, convincing Henry that Buckingham should be tried in court.
Wolsey puts on a festive dinner for Henry, who dances with and courts Anne Boleyn. While Wolsey may have lost some favour with the king in his taxation scheme, he’s more than made up with it in charming the King with the prospect of a new and beautiful mistress.
Buckingham is convicted and taken to his execution. Facing death, Buckingham demonstrates his courage and humility, and offers mercy for his accusers. His speeches on the precipice of execution impress the crowd. Through them, we hear the gossip that Henry and Katherine have separated.
Norfolk, Suffolk, and the Lord Chamberlain join together against Wolsey, blaming him for the King’s separation from Katherine. They allege that Wolsey is trying to engineer a marriage between Henry and the French king’s sister. (This is just one rumor of many that swirl through the play; like most rumors it’s much ado about nothing.)
Anne declares she would not want to be a queen, sympathizing with the current queen’s impossible position. The Lord Chamberlain brings her news that Henry has given her the title Marchioness of Pembroke, which comes with a stipend of a thousand pounds a year. {In an aside, the Lord Chamberlain remarks on Anne’s beauty and honour, which ‘from this lady may proceed a gem / To lighten all the isle,” an allusion to the future Queen Elizabeth I.}
Katherine is tried in a scene of great pageantry that demonstrates the king’s and Rome’s power in opposition to Katherine, who pleads her own case. Katherine charges Wolsey for trumping up this case against her, and she refuses to recognize Wolsey’s authority. She leaves, saying that she will only be judged by the Pope.
Henry admits Katherine’s blamelessness after she departs. In an about-face, Wolsey declares he’s had no hand in bringing charges against Katherine, and bids Henry to make this a matter of record; Henry excuses him.
Henry goes on to note that his marriage to Katherine, formerly his brother’s wife, had been recently called into question. The Bishop of Bayonne had been looking into a proposed marriage between Princess Mary (Henry and Katherine’s daughter) and the Duke of Orléans, and had asked the king to affirm that Mary was legitimately born. This question had so unsettled Henry, he contends, that it led him to seek a divorce. (More likely, the fact that someone else questioned the validity of his marriage gave him the opening he sought for divorce.)
Cardinal Campeius, a papal legate brought in to judge the proceedings, declares that since the queen is absent, he must delay the trial until she can be present. Henry, in an aside, declares that he’s done with these cardinals who are standing in his way, and he eagerly awaits the return of Cranmer, Henry’s close advisor, who will do his bidding.
Katherine receives Wolsey and Campeius with some suspicion (“all hoods make not monks”). They try to convince Katherine to acquiesce to Henry’s wishes. She overwhelms them with rhetoric and passion, but in the end submits to them. After all, she’s powerless to do otherwise.
Norfolk, Surrey, Suffolk, and the Lord Chamberlain join in an effort to get rid of Wolsey, who appears to be sinking from Henry’s favour. The gossip is that a letter from Wolsey to the Pope had come into Henry’s possession. The letter accused Henry of trying to rid himself of his queen, so that he could marry his new love, Anne Boleyn. Wolsey asks the Pope to stay the judgement of the divorce.
Henry receives assurance from Cranmer that he’s free to divorce Katherine and marry Anne. With this cover, Henry weds Anne and orders her coronation. Katherine has been demoted to “Princess Dowager” and “widow to Prince Arthur.”
Henry’s also come into possession of an inventory of Wolsey’s wealth that’s so lavish it piques Henry’s greed. Henry tests Wolsey’s loyalty to him with a series of questions, deeming each response well-spoken. But in the end, Henry thrusts two documents at Wolsey, advises him to read them, and leaves.
Reading the papers, Wolsey realizes he’s doomed. Norfolk and his colleagues apprehend Wolsey on the king’s orders and confine him to Asher House. Surrey proclaims that this sentence exacts revenge for Wolsey’s mortal pursuit of Buckingham (who was Surrey’s father-in-law). The lords assail Wolsey with their charges against him, and tell him that he must forfeit all his wealth to the king. In actuality, Henry simply wants Wolsey’s estate and to be rid of a critic.
Left alone, Wolsey muses on his fall from greatness, the brevity of his time in Henry’s good graces, and the inevitability of his fall. Cromwell,2 who’s come to commiserate with Wolsey, brings news that the king has chosen Sir Thomas More to replace Wolsey as Lord Chancellor, that Cranmer is now the Archbishop of Canterbury, and that the secret marriage of Anne and Henry is now out in the open. Wolsey advises Cromwell to ingratiate himself with Henry, while warning him of the risks in serving the king.
Anne’s coronation fills the stage with another great show of pageantry, and we learn that Katherine has been divorced and is under house arrest. The Dukes who opposed and imprisoned Wolsey have all been promoted to new roles in Henry’s court. Henry has decreed that York Place, formerly owned by Wolsey, is renamed Whitehall. Henry has brought Cromwell into his Privy Council and named him Master of the Jewel House.
Katherine learns of Wolsey’s death as she lies sick and dying. Katherine, who herself was imprisoned by Wolsey, recounts all of his faults; her attendant urges her to also consider the good in his legacy (“Men’s evil manners live in brass, their virtues / We write in water.”). Katherine falls asleep and dreams a vision of eternal happiness. She wakes unhappily to the wretchedness of dying.
Katherine receives an ambassador from the king, whom she asks to convey a letter from her to Henry. In the letter, she implores him to treat her daughter well, take care of her women in waiting, and to pay the men who attend her. With that, she says farewell and exits, to her death.
Back at the king’s castle, Anne is in labour. Gardiner, who rose from being Henry’s secretary to become the Bishop of Winchester, remarks to Sir Thomas Lovell that he’s happy for the king’s new child, but would like to see the end of Anne, Cranmer, and Cromwell.
Henry charges in and asks for news of his heir, before sending everyone away. He calls for Cranmer. Henry tells Cranmer of the complaints against him, then assures Cranmer he will protect him. Henry tells Cranmer to present himself to the Privy Council to hear their complaints against him. Henry gives Cranmer his ring to demonstrate to the Council Henry’s love for Cranmer. When Cranmer breaks down in tears of gratitude, Henry sends him away, barely hiding his disgust (“He has strangled / His language in his tears.”)
Henry receives a messenger from the delivery room:
KING HENRY Now by thy looks
I guess thy message. Is the Queen delivered?
Say, ‘Ay, and of a boy.’
OLD LADY Ay, ay, my liege,
And of a lovely boy. The God of heaven
Both now and ever bless her! ‘Tis a girl
Promises boys hereafter.
-Act 5 Scene 1The Privy Council humiliates Cranmer by refusing to see him on his demand, leaving him to cool his heels with ‘pages and footboys.’ Finally the Council allows him to enter. They charge him with heresy. Cranmer argues that he must face his accusers; the Council says the fact that he’s a Councillor means that technically, no man can accuse him. They cut to the chase: the King wants them to convey Cranmer to the Tower as a private man, one who can be accused and tried. In a last ditch effort to save himself, Cranmer shows them the king’s ring.
The king, who’s been watching the show, steps in. Gardiner, one of the Councillors, attempts to flatter Henry but the king is having none of it. Henry chastises the Council and praises Cranmer. He turns to Cranmer and asks him to be godfather to his new daughter.
The scene of the princess’ christening is mobbed by a rabble of onlookers. Cranmer blesses the baby Elizabeth, foreseeing a great future reign for her, a long life, and a death without having wed or borne children. Another great ruler (James) will succeed her, alike in virtue in success. Henry ends the play in good cheer and in wonder of this prophesized future.
Thoughts
This play was alternatively billed as “All is True,”3 which could have served in its time as our modern film advisory: Based on true events. Since it ends with a deep bow to the future King James (Shakespeare’s royal patron), the play might have been signaling the greater importance of James than his predecessor King Henry VIII. It’s an interesting title to place on a play packed with deceit and political trickery, and perhaps that is the point.
Pageantry galore
This play goes big. It’s notable for having the most detailed stage instructions of any Shakespearean play. The cast of characters numbers more than 100: even if actors doubled (trebled, quadrupled) the roles they played, many scenes must have filled the stage(s)4 to capacity. The Globe Theatre burned in 1613 during a performance of this play, from a fire ignited by a cannon used in the play. So imagine, if you will, a true spectacle along the lines of Broadway’s “Spider-Man: Turn off the Dark” lavish production, doomed by technical mishaps.
And indeed, the first scene draws attention to the ostentatious show of wealth staged by Wolsey for no real political advantage over the French. The play’s staging reinforces this idea of excess repeatedly. In the scene leading up to Wolsey’s dinner (at which Henry first meets Anne), several courtiers chat about a recent royal proclamation against young fops who’d adopted French style after returning from France. Then the dinner starts, and we see that it’s a foppish costume ball, with Henry and his courtiers all dressed up as shepherds. Katherine’s trial is a showy display of regal and papal power. Anne’s coronation is a huge event. Elizabeth’s coronation is such an over-the-top spectacle that a path must be forged through the onlookers to allow for characters to exit the cathedral.
This pageantry must be paid for somehow, and the purses dispensing those funds swing on the hips of the common people whose taxes support the Church and State. Henry claims ignorance of Wolsey’s unconscionable tax charters, relying on Katherine to explain it to him, but his claims are flimsy. Neither Wolsey nor Cranmer answer first to Rome; their loyalty is with Henry. What Henry wants, Henry must have.
Knowing the mind of the king
The penalty for obstructing Henry’s reach is death. Buckingham is executed for speaking truth about Wolsey. Wolsey is kicked out, his assets forfeited to Henry; he dies soon enough. Katherine stands between Henry and his next wife, so Katherine’s placed under house arrest, her daughter dis-inherited (and therefore thrown out of succession); Katherine dies. Serving in the court of Henry VIII required walking a tightrope with no safety net, teetering on the thin line of Henry’s ever-changing favour.
Most difficult is interpreting the mind of a king whose signature trait is inconstancy. The king’s statements don’t necessarily reflect what he really thinks, since he says whatever’s expedient for him in the moment. After hearing Katherine defend her faithfulness to him against his charges of treason, he remarks that she really is a good woman, and blameless of the charges. But then, there’s the unpleasant fact that he needs to not be married. Pity.
Cranmer discovers himself in the position of a puppet, toyed with by Henry, and at risk of being tossed on an ever-rising heap of former favourites. Cranmer’s hopeful but unsure he won’t be discarded on a whim, despite what he’s accomplished for Henry. Cranmer did the heavy lifting to ensure Rome supported Henry’s divorce from Katherine, a job made even more difficult due to Katherine’s deeply religious ties to Rome and her home country, Spain. Cranmer is Henry’s go-to man in the play. And yet, even he’s at risk. When the Privy Council starts to circle in for the kill, Henry gives him a token, his ring, which Cranmer hopes will be his salvation. The Council stands ready to pounce when Henry finally steps in at the last moment, having watched them humiliate and threaten Cranmer. Henry saves Cranmer, then asks off-handedly if Cranmer wants to be Elizabeth’s godfather.
In another play, Hamlet notes “that one may smile and smile and be a villain.” Treachery, in Shakespeare’s canon, usually cloaks itself in virtue to pursue evil ends. Richard III was such a villain, using duplicity as a means to most of his achievements. Henry VIII is from the same seam, but a different vein altogether.
Unlike Shakespeare’s other villains, from Iago to Claudius to Richard III to Macbeth, Henry is no schemer. He can’t be bothered to plan and plot; he has people for that. Appetite and whim lead him from one thought to the next. He’s ruled not by fealty to the Church or the State, but by self-interest.
One massive ego rules the state. Circling around it are groups of people who talk amongst themselves, scene by scene, trying to understand the current rumor, how it affects them, and what they should do to protect their own interests. When what is good for the King aligns with what is good for the nation, such happy circumstance is worth celebrating, which is how the play ultimately ends.
Many more heads would roll in the time between Elizabeth’s baptism and the end of her father’s inconstant rule, a history that’s beyond the scope of the play but was current in the memories of its first audiences, who were only a few generations removed. The play chooses its end point with Elizabeth’s baptism, before her mother would be beheaded on order of her father, who was displeased she hadn’t produced a male heir. The baptism marked a time of optimism during Henry VIII’s reign, one that could send the audience home with a smile while pleasing the current king, James I.
Inconstancy in a leader destabilizes a nation politically and socially. How is trust possible without assurance that what a leader says is true and will remain true tomorrow? And without trust, how does a society sustain itself?
If you sense a curiously contemporary resonance between the play and the world we inhabit, you’ve understood the central truth in All is True.
Thanks for reading,
This tune was in constant rotation when I was just a little kid. It was silly enough for the under-10 crowd to make it a hit for a quick minute.
To anyone who’s read Hilary Mantel’s “Wolf Hall'“ series, this play’s weepy Cromwell may be unrecognizable (as will the humble Anne character). This is a good reminder that it’s not the events of history that shape our understanding of the past, but instead the writers who bring those facts to life in our imaginations.
Not to be confused with the 2018 movie by Kenneth Branagh, which was a Shakespearean biopic.
The Globe theatre (both the original and the one standing today that’s been rebuilt to the original’s specifications) has a main stage and an upper stage. The upper stage is useful for scenes like Romeo and Juliet’s balcony scene that require different spaces for actors sharing a scene. They’re also a useful space for musicians in comedies that make extensive use of songs and tunes (e.g., Twelfth Night). In this play, they’re used several times for characters to observe the action, so that we’re aware they’re eavesdropping or looking in. It makes the audience aware of their presence as well as the consequences for the characters who are on the main stage.