Fragments of Anne Boleyn & the Man who Smashed Her

December 17, 2021

What is known today about historical figures is diluted, as accurate written records are lost and destroyed. The modern day audience has only media representations to learn about people of the past, whether they are historically accurate or not, there is almost no way to tell other than comparing written records. In addition, late twentieth century and twenty-first century media depicting prominent historical events are often dramatized for marketing purposes. In addition, racism, sexism, and homophobia have muddled the history of many noted female and POC figures, resulting in an imprecise present day view and an unreliable understanding of their accomplishments and actions. In the case of Anne Boleyn, second wife of King of England Henry VIII, her true identity has been diluted over time due to historical records and sexism of their keepers, so what people know about this ex-queen is based solely on adaptations through film or literature, such as Wolf Hall, The Tudors, and The Other Boleyn Girl. When viewed through multiple, disparate lenses of modern-day media, Anne Boleyn, as a character, is never given a consistent representation.

In Hilary Mantel’s 2009 historical novel Wolf Hall, Anne Boleyn is depicted as quiet and independent, unique from other noblewomen in the book, but nevertheless is still underestimated by her male acquaintances. Anne’s introduction to the throne is all due to the actions of her ambitious older sister, Mary Boleyn. Here, the sisters are compared more drastically, with the opinionated narrator saying, “Mary Boleyn is a kind little blonde, who is said to have been passed all around the French court before coming home to this one, scattering goodwill, her frowning little sister always trotting at her heels” (Wolf Hall 61). Mary is painted as whore who was placed into the kingdom (first the French, now the English) by her parents and forced to sleep her way to power, while Anne remains the younger sister who is prepped to snatch power once it is in her reach. Consistently throughout the book, Mary is referred to as a whore. After Anne birthes a girl, baby Elizabeth, Henry is immediately reassured that maybe next time she will birth the male heir that he wants by Thomas Cranmer, saying that “The queen is strong and her family are fertile. You can get another child soon” (397). This statement in the middle of the book refers to her family members, namely Mary, sleeping around a lot — a mark that she never seems to dispossess. In opposition to Mary’s reported lewdness, Anne is continually described by the men around her as a clean and god fearing young woman. Cromwell describes her as “stand[ing] by the window, her fingers tugging and ripping at a sprig of rosemary. When she sees him, she drops it, and her hands dip back into her trailing sleeves” (164) and later by the narrator as “wear[ing] a gold chain. Sometimes her fingers pull at it impatiently, and then she tucks her hands back in her sleeves. It is so much a habit that people say she has something to hide” (198). In her descriptions, both by the narrator and the men of the court, she is seen as a coy and timid young woman, her body hidden behind layers of fabric, pure and even in her appearance. After wedging her way into the heart of Henry VIII, she refuses to become his mistress, as he is still married to Katherine of Aragon. During a conversation between Cardinal Wolsey and his friend George Cavendish, they begin to realize the cunningness behind Anne’s plan to get into (or at least near) the throne. After stating that Anne only liked Harry Percy, her significant other at the time, for his title, Cavendish realizes that the king only prohibited the marriage of Anne and Harry Percy so that he could make the move himself, it already being slightly known around the court that Henry is having an affair with Anne’s older sister, Mary. The narrator says of the affair, “Queen Katherine, whose boys have all died, takes it patiently: that is to say, she suffers” (63). confirming that the current Queen Katherine is aware of and tolerates Henry’s infidelity with Mary, and assumably will not do much about other women that Henry surrounds himself with, such as Anne Boleyn. As Henry begins to enjoy having Anne around more in hopes of making her his mistress instead of her sister, the narrator says “The Lady Anne, whom he has chosen to amuse him, while the old wife is cast off and the new wife brought in, refuses to accommodate him at all. How can she refuse? Nobody knows” (66). The narrator conveys the shock of the Royal Court — how a woman with no solid social standing is able to attract the eyes of the king while not having sex with him and actively refusing to before marriage. Even though Anne was born into a family that held no power or land titles, he has still chosen to marry her over any other woman, even the sitting Queen. She denies his physical and sexual advances, however, he is still outwardly in love with her. Cromwell is talking to Wolsey, the two men plotting to get Anne onto the throne to remove the cruel Katherine:

“If the king doesn’t tire of Anne quickly,” he tells the cardinal, “I don’t see what you are to do. We know princes please themselves, and usually it’s possible to put some gloss on their actions. But what case can you make for Boleyn’s daughter? What does she bring him? No treaty. No land. No money. How are you to present it as a credible match at all?” (77)

Eventually, Anne convinces Henry to break apart from the Catholic church in order to divorce Katherine so that they can be married and have marital intercourse. When Mark, a young musician is practicing a piece he is to play as a present for Anne, he is giddy, asking “So when I am with Lady Anne she is sure to notice me, and give me presents… and look on me with favor. Don’t you think?” (139). He is reminded by an unnamed and out of sight servant that “[Anne] is no maid. Not she” (139). Her being known for her refusal of premarital sex and therefore purity and perfection remains associated with her — the idea that she would even think of cheating on Henry is immediately shut down. However, a rumor has begun concerning Anne’s loyalty to Henry and her past partner Harry Percy, with the narrator saying “Well, perhaps, [Cromwell] says, but he tells him about the boy Mark, the musician, who seems sure Wyatt’s had her; if the story’s bouncing around Europe, among servants and menials, what are the odds the king hasn’t heard?” (160). In an attempt to refute these claims, Cromwell says:

Yes, but Anne…’ he senses, from his glimpses of her, that she is unlikely to be moved by anything so impermanent as beauty. ‘These few years she has needed a husband, more than anything: a name, an establishment, a place from which she can stand and negotiate with the king. Now, Wyatt’s married. What could he offer her?’ (160)

Once the adultery rumors start amongst the servants, her original presence of being wholesome and maidenly is instantly forgotten. Cromwell, who feels like he knows her best out of the men of the Court, attests that these rumors cannot be true as she is not shallow enough to have an affair just because the other man is attractive. In the novel, despite Anne’s confiningly royal marriage, she still manages to display a definite independence throughout her presence in the novel. She is a unique character for a piece of literature set in this time, she is fierce and fights for her own leadership. Even though her husband is the sitting King of England, Anne acts with bravery, the narrator saying that “Anne lets [Henry] treat her fairly normally, except when she has a sudden, savage seizure of I-who-will-be-Queen, and slaps him down” (194). Rather than being an obedient wife who stands only as a symbol of beauty, she acts as a strategist and helper to Henry. Speaking of Henry and Anne, Cromwell says, “He’s frightened of her, you know” (52). All can tell the difference between how Henry made Katherine act versus Anne’s apparent freedom. Even Anne herself sees it, proclaiming while about to give birth, “They say the people love Katherine, but really, it is just the women, they pity her. We will show them something better. They will love me, when this creature is out of me” (383). Her competitive nature is evident here — she is not content with herself, even when she is the sitting Queen of England. Additionally, in a conversation with Cromwell, Norfolk, Anne’s uncle but also one of Henry’s closer councilmembers, says that “‘Anne’s out for bloody murder. She wants [Wolsey’s] guts in a dish to feed her spaniels, and his limbs nailed over the city gates of York” (198). Anne’s dislike of Wolsey is due to his religion and therefore his denial to divorce Katherine and Henry. A woman that has been thirsty for power as early as her sister began sleeping around for it, Anne’s ruthlessness is displayed here, but due to the book being based around Cromwell, there are no solo scenes with Anne — shutting out the audience at the proposed aggressiveness that she would not want the public to see about herself. In Wolf Hall, Anne has proved herself unconventional when compared to other women shown in the novel. From the beginning of the novel, Anne presents as beautiful and quiet on the surface, but is observant and strong-willed when needed.

In the 2007 television series The Tudors, Anne Boleyn begins her rule as a resilient and promising monarch but is swallowed by her unwavering demand for revenge. In the first season she emotionally acts very erratic and distant. She shows cruelty only to those who stand in or near her path to the throne, but is kind and sweet to those who show her love. When Katherine or Henry enter the room, the entire court is supposed to bow. When helping prepare the queen for bed one night, Anne begins to help Katherine to tie on her nightcap, but Katherine pushes her hands away. She turns to Anne, aware of her desire for Henry:

KATHERINE: Lady Anne! I know what you are doing. But do not think you can take the king away from me. Let him play with you, let him… give you gifts. But he cannot give you his true heart… for I have that in my keeping. (“True Love”)

Anne curtsies, and leaves Katherine’s chambers. Katherine, who obviously fears Anne and the idea that her crown may be taken from her, attempts to warn Anne away from the heart of her husband. Still, Anne, as her lady-in-waiting, does a slight mock of a curtsy to Katherine whenever she enters the room, in retaliation for still being married to the man she loves. Sir Thomas More says of Katherine regarding Anne’s advances “I fear for the Queen. They say Anne Boleyn hates her openly and her daughter, too. She’s made threats against the child” (“Checkmate”). An unnamed female member of the court waves away this statement, reminding him that he has children of his own and by spreading false rumors about the new lover of the king, they might not be safe. These reported threats are later shown in a conversation between Anne and her brother George:

ANNE: I’m unable to give a King a son. As long as Mary is alive, she could be Queen.

GEORGE: No, your daughter will be made heir to the throne.

ANNE: The king can change his mind. (“The Act of Succession”)

Relatively early on in their marriage, Anne exhibits that she has lost trust in her husband, if it was ever there at all. This account also displays that the less important members of the Royal Court are aware of Henry’s growing distaste for Katherine and his plans to leave her, in the end pursuing Anne. Anne’s actions towards Katherine remain stony-hearted, such as making direct eye contact with Katherine whenever she makes her entrances into the court, both women knowing that the queen is losing her grip on Henry — fast. In season two, the pair are still yet to be married as the other pair has yet to be divorced. They have begun making public appearances together, such as attending communion together at church. Shortly after Henry informs Anne that he has just made himself Head of the Church of England in an attempt to both win her over and also solidify her hand in marriage, just scenes later he ruins it for himself again. Anne comes to Henry in his chambers, stomping indignantly. She interrogates him, stating that she has just found out that Katherine still makes Henry’s clothing. Forcing eye contact with him, she says “You can’t have three people in a marriage!” (“Everything is Beautiful”). Without a sensible retort, Henry takes this as her last straw. In the third episode, a lot of information is crammed in. Henry and Anne rushedly wed in secret, having had sex for the first time the night before. In addition, Anne gives birth to her healthy baby girl Elizabeth. Upon being told that the baby is a girl, Anne bursts into tears. Itching for a male heir, Henry is told of the baby’s gender and halts mid-chortle, his face expressionless. Immediately Anne looks to him, saying “I’m so sorry.” With a dull expression, Henry takes a deep breath and sternly reminds her “You and I are both young and by God’s grace, boys will follow” (“Checkmate”). This is the first time that the audience sees Anne in a truly emotive state. The episode ends as Anne is holding her newborn child, smiling slightly, then the scene abruptly cuts to Henry passionately kissing Lady Eleanor, a woman he had already arranged to meet with earlier that day, even before the birth of his baby girl, then cuts back to the new queen, now elated. This is the first time that the audience sees her actually smile due to happiness, the other times, such as her coronation (“Checkmate”) and revenge-seeking glances at Katherine (“His Majesty, the King”) seem to be smiles out of spite. Her happiness in this scene, though short lived in the overall series, foreshadows the true love and affection she would give her daughter, unlike how she treats anyone else in show save for her beloved sister Mary. After the suffering and guilt she felt upon birthing the incorrect result, even though it was out of her personal control, she tries harder to get pregnant again, but eventually brutally miscarries, possibly driven by the stress her husband has placed on her to conceive a male heir. This is revealed brutal scene where Anne is surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, she coats her fingers in the bloody stream of her miscarriage, crying, she faints at the thought that she could let her husband down again (“His Majesty’s Pleasure”). In following episodes, Anne continuously has dreams that Katherine and her daughter Mary Tudor are trying to take her down, proclaiming again to her brother:

ANNE: I had the dream, again.

GEORGE: Anne.

ANNE: I told you — I am her death and she is mine.

GEORGE: For God’s sake!

ANNE: So long as they are both alive, I can’t be safe. Why doesn’t Katherine just die? Everyone keeps telling me how ill she is. Why doesn’t she die?

GEORGE: Stop it!

ANNE: And, I had a thought. The next time Henry goes abroad, I shall be left as

Regent. I can just order their deaths.

GEORGE: You’re crazy! Stop it! Stop it. You’re the Queen of England. For the love of God, act like it! After all, you were a Lady to Queen Katherine. You saw and heard how she behaved. It seemed to me she never betrayed her real feelings. Can you not be more like her? … At least seem happy, not a heap of misery. (“Matters of State”)

This scene marks the beginning of the transition of Anne’s power-craze into just a normal craze. The honor and force that she holds has driven her into a state of madness — the idea that she can truly do anything triggers the megalomania that had propelled her to the crown in the first place. In George’s attempt to straighten Anne’s violent thoughts out, he instead makes her feel more isolated. Her routine of showing both verbal and physical hostility to those that stand in her way of gaining power while acting sweet and kind to those that show her true familial love displays her inconsistent and temperamental pathos and how it rules her decision-making. Both in her decisions and as a person, Anne Boleyn is brazen and brave, even standing up to Henry when they first meet. As Mary Boleyn has already slept with Henry on-and-off as one of his mistresses, hers and Anne’s father Thomas Boleyn suggests that perhaps Anne has a turn, in order to give more power to their family:

THOMAS: His Majesty is tiring of your sister. He no longer invites her to his bed.

ANNE: They say that all his liaisons are soon over.

THOMAS: Sweet Anne, perhaps you could find a way to keep his interest more prolonged? (“In Cold Blood”)

Thomas, trusting in Anne’s diligence and cunningness, chooses his younger daughter to take the place of Mary in the bed of Henry VIII. In a masquerade event, they meet, and Henry first sets his eyes on Anne. (“Wolsey, Wolsey, Wolsey!”) The next time he sees her, however, Henry tells her that he desires her with all of his heart and that he needs to have him. He also gifts her a necklace, which she reveals to George, who raises his eyebrows and smirks, proud of her endeavors (“His Majesty, the King”). While her other variations in Wolf Hall and The Other Boleyn Girl state that they do not kiss until the night before they are married, he then grabs Anne by the throat and forces her into a kiss. She pulls herself off him, smiling, saying “Her majesty expects me” (“His Majesty, the King”). Her actions here — choosing to be with the queen rather than have intercourse with the king — reveal her purity and piety to him, which makes Henry desire her even more. As her plan furthers, Henry continues to fall for it. He carries on courting her, with her refusing to do anything farther than kiss him until the season one finale. In the woods, she finally gives in and she does not allow him to reach orgasm, which sends him into a rage. However, she is aware that the throne is in very, very close reach, as he chose to start their physical affair in the forest rather than in his chambers, where his servants and subjects would begin to catch on. To Anne, this means that he plans to marry her somewhat soon, so they cannot be messing around in public together. Much later on, in season two, as their marriage falls apart, and Anne, drunk, tormented by him continuing on his habit of having affairs, and at the end of her rope comes to him in his chambers.

ANNE: No, no you told me. You said we should always be truthful with each other. You said it was the definition of love. 

HENRY: Then there’s truth. You must shut your eyes and endure, like your betters have done before you.

ANNE: How can you say that to me? Don’t you know I love you a thousand times more than Katherine ever did?

HENRY: Don’t you know I can drag you down as quickly as I raised you? ‘Tis lucky you have your bed already, Madam. Because if you did not, I would not give it back to you again. Francis won’t accept the betrothal [with Elizabeth].... Because the Pope and the Emperor all agree she is a bastard. And you are not my wife. (“The Definition of Love”)

Anne sinks back into the bed and shakily stares at the wall as his words set in — she has lost her place as queen to Anne Seymour, whom she has seen leaving Henry’s chambers multiple times. As her romanticized view of royalty begins to fade, her fate begins to be solidified by Henry’s iron decision-making. Due to the visual tangibility of a TV show, the audience is able to see a more emotional view of Anne. When she informs Henry that she has become pregnant for the second time (which will become the aforementioned miscarriage in “His Majesty’s Pleasure”), she, knowing and unwillingly accepting of his chronic infidelity, heads for her lady-in-waiting, and cousin, Madge. She sits Madge down:

ANNE: But would it surprise you to learn that one of your admirers is the king?

MADGE: It’s not true.

ANNE: It is true.

MADGE: But I always remember what Your Majesty told us about not being lewd and setting a standard. (“The Act of Succession”)

Anne explains to Madge the unspoken rule of pleasing the king that the ladies-in-waiting must tend to if she herself cannot. She presents the invitation to Madge while smiling and knitting, happy to please her husband in the public eye of her chambers. Shortly after, however, Anne runs to her bed and cries, with her head placed in her bedding, revealing that she is truly not able to give up Henry to another woman, even though she did so of her own volition. Jane Seymour is asked to be brought to court by Henry to her father, and the next day she becomes a lady-in-waiting to Anne. Anne, now heavily pregnant, is experiencing stomach pains so she comes back to her chambers to lie down. As she walks in, verbally groaning in pain, she sees her newest lady-in-waiting, Jane Seymour, sitting on Henry’s lap in her chair. Originally shocked at seeing this blatant mockery of the sanctity of Her Majesty’s chambers, it turns to fury as she slams the door, making a scene. She bursts into more tears alone in her room, feeling betrayed by her ladies-in-waiting and especially by her husband. In an attempt to control his imminent infidelity by gifting him Madge (which took a lot of her own courage), she is mad that he could not even be satisfied with just one woman, one that Anne trusts, and had to go off and bring another to court. Anne, knowing that this was exactly how she got the crown in the first place, sees a brand new necklace on Jane’s neck and sees that her future as the queen is truly done for. In The Tudors, Anne Boleyn is perceived not as a quiet monarch but as a brutal and easily jealous woman who had cunning ideals at first, but as Henry becomes fed up with her independence and seals her fate, she is shown as the weak and emotional woman that was hidden by her rise to power in the public eye.

In the 2008 film The Other Boleyn Girl, Anne Boleyn is portrayed as a jealous and ambitious vixen that uses manipulation to get her way. As she is in the other historical adaptations, Anne and Mary begin close, hugging and holding hands before Mary is to be married off. However, as the film progresses, Anne is used as an oversexualized pawn in order to gain power for herself and her father. Thomas Boleyn greets his daughter, having spoken with Norfolk about incorporating his daughter as one of Henry’s mistresses. Thomas proposes to her:

THOMAS: An opportunity has arisen. An opportunity in which, were you to succeed, you could secure for yourself and for this family incalculable wealth and position.

...

ANNE: So that I can bed him instead?

NORFOLK: Exactly. (Chadwick, 2008, 0:11:23)

Bewitched by her father’s explanation of the wealth and social status that she could hold if she succeeded in gaining the king’s affection, which she refers to when telling her sister as “a commission” to “divert him” (0:15:53). Mary soon becomes displeased with her relationship with her husband, and is summoned to go to court by the king himself despite Mary’s pleas on how she does not want to go (0:28:18). From Anne’s perspective, this is where she begins to gain her reputation as a whore who is attempting to ruin Anne’s plans to be queen. Mary begins to fall for the king, and they have a passionate affair while he is still married to Mary, who soon becomes pregnant with his child. With the situation being orchestrated by the girls’ father and uncle, they immediately call to send in Anne to please Henry while Mary is “too ill to perform intercourse” (0:46:17). With both sisters’ hearts set on the same man — Mary for love and an escape from her husband and Anne for the gaining of riches and power — they both see each other as an act of betrayal. In an attempt to seduce the king, she stands out to the king as she speaks out loudly against the French king (0:59:10). Her bright green dress amongst the grey and dark blue outfits of the court shows to the audience that she stands out, and that her thoughts are even being enjoyed by the king. Her individuality and ingenuity enchants Henry as she begins to keep his attention while Mary is in bed. (1:01:41). Anne, confident in herself, knows that she is succeeding, smiling and smirking at every opportunity she has to see him. Henry gifts her a necklace and she instructs the messenger to send it back (1:05:38), in a deliberate attempt to flirt, not as a wannabe mistress to him, but as a prospective future wife. She seems to taunt him in front of him, but not let him be with her until she has secured her position. Jealous of the attention her sister may receive if she brings a male heir to term, Anne lets her absolutist behavior take hold, even if that means leaving her family behind. Her jealousy does indeed help spur her on farther towards the throne. She goes to see Mary, when ill in bed carrying Henry’s child:

ANNE: Do you feel as awful as you look? You know, in France, no woman would allow herself to get in such a state.

MARY: Why did you come, Anne, if all you desire is to torment me?

ANNE: Perhaps now you know how it feels to be deceived by your sister. (1:06:58)

With both women seeing each other not as sisters but as traitors, both tasked with amusing the king, their hatred grows and swells until only one can healthily stay in the kingdom. While Mary is in the middle of childbirth, Henry leaves her side to find Anne, who he tells “I vow I will never lie with my wife nor speak to your sister again. Just allow me to hope. I will take care of Mary and the child” (1:12:17). They are interrupted by the announcement of Mary’s birth of a son, meaning a male heir. However, Anne smiles and accepts his offer before he can rejoice. Keeping his promise, he calls Anne his one true love, and stops in the doorway to look at the baby before leaving, as Anne walks into frame and smirks at Mary (1:13:58). Her instructions, Anne says, are that “Mary and her bastard child will go back to the country. It is the King’s wish… and mine” (1:14:52). Emotionlessly, she watches as her mother leaves the room, Anne having just isolated herself from her family for the sake of gaining power. Now, Anne only knows peace once her sister has left the area, meaning she no longer has to fight for Henry’s affection. Anne is seen as a manipulative woman who betrays her family when it will serve her best. When Henry tries to send her yet another gift, Anne again instructs it to be sent back (1:07:21). Mary’s mouth gapes open in surprise that she is refusing the king’s advances, Anne turning to her and saying “You see? I have your interests at heart” (1:07:35). However, it is just another trick for Anne to win over the king — which happens. He stomps to see Elizabeth Boleyn, the girls’ mother, who points him in Anne’s direction, and he tries to kiss her. She again puts on the act of purity when he comes to her door, showing the king that she will not even kiss him before marriage but that she was “pleased by his sending of gifts” (1:09:13), showing that she does indeed want him. After forcing him to leave the Catholic Church so that his and Katherine’s marriage can be annulled, Anne is brought in as new queen (1:35:04). This scene is sandwiched between her brutal rape by Henry on the night before her marriage and her name-calling by a majority of the court, calling her a witch, on the night after. This scene foreshadows the unhealthy relationship the two are destined to have and echoes how being a queen was not the beauty she once imagined. As their marriage and their love for each other both dwindle upon her catching him beginning another relationship with Jane Seymour, Anne feels completely alone in the castle, having pushed away her family and other ladies-in-waiting. Lost, the only person she feels she can turn to is her own brother George. After birthing a daughter and two miscarriages, she is desperate to get pregnant again with a male heir to redeem herself, as that is the only way she can keep the crown for sure. She begs George to impregnate her, having driven herself insane by the king’s demands. As he begins to undress himself, George begins crying and refuses to commit incest as Anne hurriedly removes his shirt (1:48:41). She accepts, within it accepting her own fate that she will in all likelihood be removed from the throne and put to death. While power was what her family wanted in order to stay strong, all it has done is tear them apart, and will eventually have them beheaded.

Modern media adaptations of the life of Anne Boleyn provide conflicting details of her history and legacy due to a lack of relevant and factual records. Therefore, today’s historians, although they try, will forever be unable to correctly target and pinpoint her motives and ideas. Most of what is known about her in the present day comes through the written history from (mostly male) acquaintances and people near her in life. As a woman, her history and struggle relating to gender has been diluted over time, and is seen only through the minds of people like Cranmer, Cromwell, and Henry VIII. The greatest example of this sexist overturning of history is her being brought to trial for incest, infidelity, and treason, all of which she probably did not commit. Whether or not the historical adaptations helped or hindered her story is up to the individual. In these modern pieces of media, film, television, and radio options are often dramatized for the purpose of marketing, leading to factual imperfections. What is evident through the outer coating of dramatic amplification is that she was a brave and uniquely independent woman, unafraid of her husband, the king. The changes in each adaptation are her motives for gaining power: in Wolf Hall, she is seen as quiet and calm, acting for the good of England, more powerful in the backgrounds of decision-making than Henry will allow her to seem in the forefront; in The Tudors, she reveals herself as power-hungry yet family-motivated, working to gain power and wealth under her last name; and in The Other Boleyn Girl, she is narcissistic and cruel to all, only trying to advance her own riches, even though she is originally spurred on by her family to pursue Henry. However, one thing that stays the same, and most definitely stands out, throughout all three editions is the dedication that Anne and Mary Boleyn have to each other, despite their ever-present rudeness and cruelty. In The Tudors, even after Anne has had Mary exiled from the kingdom for months, she is invited back to serve as Anne’s lady-in-waiting once she becomes pregnant for the first time. The two sisters are seen hugging and happily laughing as fireworks go off in the background for the celebration of Anne’s coronation ceremony. Anne happily exclaims “Oh Mary, and it’s all for me!” (“Checkmate”), and Mary appears genuinely happy at her sister’s success. In The Other Boleyn Girl, Anne returns to Mary’s chambers, after ordering Henry to never make contact with Mary again. Anne, standing in front of Mary but unable to look her in the eyes tells her how Henry raped her. Instead of turning a cold cheek to Anne as she did to her, Mary reaches to Anne’s cheek from behind her and caresses it lovingly. This show of affection reveals how Mary and Anne’s link of sisterhood is stronger than their moments of inhumanity. In Wolf Hall, Mary and Anne end on a poor note, with Mary telling Jane, Henry’s adulteress, that she “has the only kind head in court” (650). However, Wolf Hall’s timeline of Anne’s story is relatively shorter than the film and TV show productions, with their relationship repairing in Mantel’s sequel Bring Up the Bodies. As the series of charges is as old as the events themselves, people of the modern day still do not know the truth about the behind-the-scenes of her downfall. Even with the reliability of certain historical happenings forever astir, Anne Boleyn will forever be remembered in history as the power-mad conwoman who was halted by the lust and greed of Henry VIII, whether that is the truth or not.

Blood and the Spilling of It

4 November 2021

Analyzing women in Shakespearean history plays is a difficult task: female characters are written realistically to the period in question, meaning that, due to the lack of freedom of speech in regards to women in the Middle Ages, the true voice of what the female character thinks is barely ever heard. In fact, women characters, if even present in the piece at all, are seldom given speaking lines. In Shakespearean literature especially, women stand out only by their actions, or in some cases the lack thereof, rather than their words, due to their limitations by the societal rules of the time. In his second tetralogy, Shakespeare’s female characters base their decisions on options that favor keeping blood and family together, while men, who have uncontested authority over women and are therefore never challenged, always choose what will assist them in gaining power.

In Shakespeare’s second tetralogy, non-British women, although perceived as foreign and strange by the male protagonists, maintain the same ideal of siding with blood as British women have, but it is only exhibited via actions due to the language barrier. While there are some women that were never given lines in the first place, multiple women throughout Shakespeare’s second tetralogy are non-English speakers that are married into the British court to someone who they cannot verbally understand. These women, although given spoken lines, are not often understood by the audience and deemed, in the moment, useless. In the 1400s when the history play is set, marriages were often not done due to love (although love may later be generated between the two) but instead for international or empirical alliances. Awkwardly, this may create a situation where the husband and wife do not speak a common language. Such is the case with Mortimer, who speaks only English, and Lady Mortimer, who speaks only Welsh. However, the two verbally communicate through the translations of Lady Mortimer’s father, Welsh nobleman Glendower. In Henry IV Part 1, Lady Mortimer is not given a single spoken line save for her singing, which is done fully in Welsh. As he departs from the stage, Glendower says of Lady Mortimer “I am afraid my daughter will run mad, / So much she doteth on her Mortimer” (Henry IV Part 1 3.1.14-141). During this time in England, the Welsh were seen as a volatile and untrusted force, so the appearance of multiple Welsh people in this play would be alarming to the English audience that would be seeing the physical play during the lifetime of Shakespeare. Hotspur, who is obviously annoyed by this verbal show of affection between the noble couple, speaks of Glendower once he has left the stage: “I cannot choose. Sometime he angers me” (Henry IV Part 1 3.1.143). Because of his distaste towards the Welsh, he sees Mortimer as a traitor for marrying one. Afterward, Mortimer positively describes his father-in-law, saying he is “exceedingly well read and….holds [Hotspur’s] temper in great respect and curbs himself... when [Hotspur] come[s] across his humor” (Henry IV Part 1 3.1.161-167). This dependable mutual respect between Glendower and Mortimer, along with the woman they share in their lives, reveals how dedicated Mortimer and Lady Mortimer are to each other despite their cultural differences. Not much later, Lady Mortimer enters the stage with her father, seemingly sobbing as she delivers a short song. Glendower speaks to Mortimer for her: “My daughter weeps; she’ll not part with you. / She’ll be a soldier too, she’ll to the wars” (Henry IV Part. 1 3.1.189-190). Here, Lady Mortimer attempts to volunteer herself to join her husband in the war rather than stay at home alone. This act of bravery demonstrates not only an immense loyalty to her husband but maybe even a glimpse of actual love between them. Following Lady Mortimer’s suggestion, Mortimer lovingly says to her “I understand thy kisses and thou mine, And that’s a feeling disputation; / But I will never be a truant, love, / Till I have learned thy language for thy tongue” (Henry IV Part 1 3.1.199-202). During the most passionate display of love throughout the play, Mortimer delivers a small speech to his lover describing how they truly care for each other despite the communication barrier. Here, we see how both individuals seem to be devoted spouses, but Lady Mortimer’s offer to give up her current life in England in order to help serve her own country in battle shows her dedication to her family -- this case being both her husband and her father. Another similar situation in the play is the relationship of Princess (soon-to-be Queen) Catherine of France and Henry V. Despite her being the wife of the namesake of the play, her lines are only in French and often unintelligible to the English audience at the time. The couple has a much different dynamic than the Mortimers -- here, Shakespeare has clearly established that Catherine to be married to the king for treaty purposes, saying that she is “[England’s] capital demand, comprised / Within the foreank of our articles” (Henry 5 5.2.98-99). Rather than getting married for love, Catherine has been willfully handed over from the French court to the English as if she is just another bullet point on their alliance pact. Speaking only French, she is prematurely instructed by her father, the King of France, to learn English. It is also very telling into King Henry’s personal ideals that he would rather make a woman queen that he cannot fluidly verbally communicate with, maybe showing his inner fear of her possibly speaking out. By marrying a non-English speaker, he does not need to worry about her dealing with the public or English court, as they do not understand her. Throughout a somewhat comedic passage of Henry V hastily and messily confessing his love for the Princess, he describes his own “good heart” (Henry 5 5.2.157) despite his plainness and lack of zeal, but Catherine, not really understanding much of the language, treats him rudely. All of his attempts to woo her consist of complementing what she could do for England, not who she is as a person, referring to her that she would make a good “soldier-breeder” (Henry 5 5.2.196). She decides to stay with the king so as to advance her own country and keep France safe from whatever England could bring. Even though it is extremely evident in the text that she does not love him, she makes this personal sacrifice out of care for her country’s well-being. Especially in the arranged marriages of the 1400s, women are seen making sacrifices for their country in order to keep their bloodline and family safe.

Men, in contrast to women, are repeatedly seen throughout Shakespeare’s second tetralogy betraying their wives or close family members in order to obtain power or fame. In Richard II, the Duchess of Gloucester is present in only one scene at the beginning of the play. Once alone, Gaunt turns to the Duchess:

GAUNT:

But since correction lieth in those hands

Which made the fault that we cannot correct,

Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven;

DUCHESS:

Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?

Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?

Edward’s seven songs, whereof thyself art one,

Were as seven vials of his sacred blood

… 

Call it not patience, Gaunt; it is despair: (Richard II 1.2.4-29)

The recently widowed Duchess of Gloucester is pleading with her brother-in-law Gaunt to avenge the death of the Duke of Gloucester, killed by order of King Richard II. However, Gaunt is also Richard’s uncle and serves as his key advisor. Rather than killing the king or one of his other advisors in order to retaliate upon the killing of his brother, he decides to continue his loyalty and fawning, sycophantic behavior toward the king and leaving his sister-in-law to care for and protect herself. Her final words to Gaunt before they exit the stage are “Desolate, desolate, will I hence and die: / The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye” (Richard II 1.2.73-74). Not long after leaving his sister-in-law to die, which she does soon after her family fails upon carrying out her wishes, Gaunt finds himself on his own deathbed due to illness, saying to his brother the Duke of York: 

JOHN OF GAUNT

Through Richard my life’s counsel would not hear,

My death’s sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.

 DUKE OF YORK

No; it is stopp’d with other flattering sounds,

As praises, of whose taste the wise are feared, (Richard II 2.1.15-18)

Despite King Richard ordering the death of his own brother the Duke of Gloucester, Gaunt still believes that the king will treat him well, possibly even listen to his parting words of wisdom. The king does not want to listen, calling his uncle a “lunatic lean-witted fool” (Richard II 2.1.115), and, after his death, assumes all of Gaunt’s money, possessions, and land. By Gaunt betraying the people in his life that truly seem to care about his welfare, his continuing to follow and obey the corrupt rule of King Richard II in hopes of gaining more political influence actually may have expedited his demise. This situation is similar to that of the couple of Hotspur and Lady Percy. In her pivotal scene, she enters the stage after Hotspur has just read a letter summoning him to war. He snaps at her upon arrival and announces his nearing departure to battle to which Lady Percy, seeing him noticeably distraught, delivers a lengthy statement combining a reflection of their happy past with a current yearning for his attention. She says:

For what offense have I this fortnight been

A banished woman from my Harry’s bed?

Tell me, sweet lord, what is ‘t that takes from thee

… 

Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,

And I must know it, else he loves me not. (Henry IV Part 1 2.3.33-59)

Quite angrily, she repeatedly inquires why Hotspur has been so cold and what has been shifting his moods towards her. Judging from her descriptions of his disturbed sleep and how “in thy face strange motions have appeared / Such as we see when men restrain their breath” (Henry IV Part 1 2.3.33-59), we can see that Hotspur is exhibiting some sort of PTSD-like symptoms affiliated with the nearing war. Of course, this medical explanation would not be known until long after Shakespeare’s time or Hotspur’s. Instead, Lady Percy sees his actions as him acting suspicious and wants to know what is bothering him. Hotspur cruelly responds “Away, you trifler. Love, I love thee not. / I care not for thee, Kate” (Henry IV Part 1 2.3.83-84). Whether these are his true feelings or not, Hotspur speaks sharply at Lady Percy, worked up by the anger of the moment. Rather than staying with his wife, who passionately wants to nurse him back to a place of mental and physical health and assist his concerns, he erratically decides to head off to war, where he is soon killed by Hal. Women in the second tetralogy are always wholly devoted to their family, but are in the end deceived by false hope set up by the men in their lives.

Only once is a woman able to successfully overpower the decision of her husband, showing a potential for a single triumphant revolutionary female character throughout the entire second tetralogy. When the Duke and Duchess of York find out that their son, the Duke of Aumerle, has committed treason against King Henry Bolingbroke, they have opposite reactions. The Duchess wishes to save the life of her own son, as she believes her “teeming date [has] drunk up with time” (Richard II 5.2.99), meaning this child is the only chance of carrying on the family line. She states that she would rather “hide the trespass of thine own” (Richard II 5.2.96) and be corrupt herself than lose him. The Duke of York, who is the brother of the aforementioned John of Gaunt and late Duke of Gloucester, wants to turn in and therefore sacrifice his one and only son, saying to the king “Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies, / Or my shamed life in his dishonour lies: / Thou kill’st me in his life; giving him breath / The traitor lives, the true man’s put to death” (Richard II 5.3.70-73). Here, the Duke of York very viciously informs him of Aumerle’s wrongdoings while simultaneously attempting to flatter the king. Upon hearing her husband refer to their son as a “fester’d joint”(Richard II 5.3.86), the Duchess storms onto the stage, striving to save her son from this untimely death. Bravely, she turns to the king, who reluctantly lets her talk:

[The Duke of York’s] words come from his mouth, ours from our breast:

He prays but faintly and would be denied;

We pray with heart and soul and all beside:

Our prayers do out-pray his; then let them have

That mercy which true prayer ought to have. (Richard II 5.3.104-112)

In order to get her son pardoned, she targets the only loophole in the English monarchy -- religion. She begs the king, telling him how both she and her son have prayed rigorously to God and that Aumerle deserves a second chance, as God would give him one. The king, after additional pushing by the Duchess, accepts, and officially pardons Aumerle, even though all of the other participants in the attack are to be killed. The Duchess’ quick thinking and use of religion as an escape clause for the rules of the Royal Court has saved the life of her only son as well as overturned the wishes of her husband, a high-ranking noble Duke. This bravery and fearlessness, especially against the King of England, carves out a space for the Duchess of York as arguably the singular successful strong female character within Shakespeare’s second tetralogy. The Duke of York, however, has a past of letting his personal life interfere with his loyalty to the crown and the Court, such as allying with Bolingbroke’s side army against King Richard II after gaining Richard’s trust and being put in charge of a kingdom. York’s tendency to switch from side to rebel side in the past reveals that he himself has struggled with his own loyalty. In fact, to Richard II, he would be considered a traitor, so his rapidness to label his son as one instead may show that York is still embarrassed by his actions long ago and does not want to be associated with it in the present. While neither the Duke nor Duchess are mentioned again in the play after this moment, this courageous action of a woman shows that despite the accepted lack of powerful female figures during Shakespeare’s day, he successfully committed to having a female character be a true changemaker, even though the change was just in her family.

In Shakespeare’s second tetralogy, women will always maintain the ideal of keeping a family together and fighting for their own blood whilst male characters will remain consistently loyal to whatever will get them power. His writing of women characters does not divulge much from the commonplace misogyny and patriarchy that encompassed society both in the 1400s when the plays are set and also in the late 1500s when they were written. Even when reflecting current day, Shakespeare’s writing has never been seen as feminist or firmly pro-woman, which is expected. The lack of stage presence of female characters in history plays where women are known to play a role, such as the complete omission of Lady Percy and Lady Mortimer in some revised versions of the play, shows the audience how little society in Shakespeare’s time period valued women. In addition, during the time in which the plays were set, the circumstances for women were arguably even worse: for example, the mass rape of an entire town’s female population was expected and allowed (by the laws of war) during Medieval pillagings as would take place throughout the second tetralogy. As male characters in these plays move from group to group, seeking a higher position of power and leaving behind those now lesser to them, the female characters always stay with the group they know best -- their own family. 

Frames of History

December 19, 2021

In a typical history play, there are multiple time frames — the past, which is given to the audience as context or in anecdotes from characters, the present in relation to when the play is set, and there is the present concerning the original audience viewing the play in the year that it is published. The capability of the audience to witness these multiple periods and take in their additions to the plot concurrently creates a distinct way of storytelling where the audience has the gift of knowing the future, something the characters do not. In the present (when the play was written or published), the audience can therefore see what happens past the deaths of the individual characters, their overall legacy, and if they can accomplish their personal goals. In the history plays Benefactors, Arcadia, and The Invention of Love, the use of multiple time frames grants the audience the unique ability to see past the eventuality of death which allows the audience to observe the unfolding of events toward the ensuing and known outcome.

 With the layout and tangibility of the play showcasing multiple perspectives, the audience can see a character lose control as they grow older. Still, there is the undeniable continuity of life: life will always continue forward, whether one is prepared for it or not. And humanity, within this, is evidently so small and powerless. The idea of the evitable loss of control of one’s life is something explored in these history plays. In Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia, set in the 1800s, teenage prodigy Thomasina sits with her tutor Septimus as they discuss a poem. She says to Septimus: 

THOMASINA: When you stir your rice pudding, Septimus, the spoonful of jam spreads itself round making red trails like the picture of a meteor in my astronomical atlas. But if you stir backward, the jam will not come together again. Indeed, the pudding does not notice and continues to turn pink just as before. Do you think this is odd? (Arcadia 1.1.pg 4-5) 

Thomasina’s thoughts on the inability to undo actions is now known as chaos theory, as is later mentioned in the play. Her realization that the action of stirring jam into pudding, once done, cannot be undone, which leads her to discuss and edit Newtonian theories. This happening is Thomasina’s introduction to chaos theory, which reveals to her how little control humanity truly has over the universe and its occurrences. In Michael Frayn’s Benefactors, architect David struggles with a loss of control, but over pleasing his management and collaborators. Over his project of rebuilding what his partners call the ‘slums’ of English housing, David wants to build a layout of housing that would both provide comfort and a neighborhood-like feel, while still being efficient and cost-effective. However, he seems to be alone in this task. He says, regarding the making of a skyscraper:

DAVID: I’m not going to go high. But if I don’t go high we won’t qualify for the high-rise subsidy, and if I don’t get the high rise subsidy we won’t be rising at all, high or low. And of course I’ll fight. We’ll reach compromises. I’ll get waivers. But when I think of the struggle it’s going to be! When I think of all the words, all the paper, all the anger, all the dust, all the mud… Because I’m not going to build towers. No one wants to live in a tower.

COLIN: I’d like to live in a tower.

DAVID: You’d never meet your neighbors. You wouldn’t see a living soul from one week’s end to the next.

COLIN: This isn’t a block of flats you’re describing, David. This is paradise. (Frayn 1.1.pg 7)

His coworkers, such as the devious Colin, would rather have a cheap and ugly skyscraper than something that both looks and feels like a home. Colin, assumably more well-off than the slum-dwellers, thinks of a tower as a luxury high-rise apartment rather than the tall, cheap, and hollow apartment that will be built. His desire of not wanting to see neighbors stems from his want to avoid small talk with other wealthy people in the hypothetical high-rise relationship, not recognizing that neighbors are a way for young children to create friendships. Battling this group of executives (not seen in the play, but symbolized by Colin) that would rather have a grouping of dull, inexpensive, and zestless towers than a bumbling and blossoming neighborhood, David eventually gives in, realizing that he, alone in his opinion, will never be able to serve the community. As he goes against his own morals, David and his wife Jane downheartedly surrender to Colin’s idea, understanding that sometimes the good does not win in a capitalist world. In Stoppard’s The Invention of Love, protagonist A. E. Housman has just died and is standing, about to board the boat to the Underworld, watching as people and memories from his life occur in front of him. AEH, a closeted gay man, reflects upon his lifelong attempt to woo his friend Moses Jackson, who never returns his affection. This play features multiple imaginary conversations, such as AEH talking and giving advice to his younger college self. One of these visions that AEH witnesses pass in front of him is now-esteemed homosexual poet Oscar Wilde, who lived his life as a gay man in the late 1800s, for which he was persecuted and defamed Wilde is regarded in present day as an amazing writer and poet and even an early advocate for homosexuality along with his partner Lord Alfred Douglas, affectionately referred to as Bosie. AEH sees a part of himself in Wilde, as a gay scholar and writer, the only difference is that Wilde was unafraid and loved in the public eye. With Wilde being dead for almost a hundred years in the year the play is set, AEH is well aware of Wilde’s downfall due to his pride, Wilde’s work only being honored posthumously. Wilde says to AEH:

WILDE: The betrayal of one’s friends is a bagatelle in the stakes of love, but the betrayal of oneself is a lifelong regret. Bosie is what became of me…. but before Plato could describe love, the loved one had to be invented. We would never love anybody if we could see past our invention. Bosie is my creation, my poem. In the mirror of invention, love discovered itself. Then we saw what we had made — the piece of ice in the fist you cannot hold or let go. (He weeps.) (The Invention of Love 2.1.pg 95)

Giving Wilde the titular line shows the influence he has upon AEH as well as his importance as a character, with Stoppard deciding to include him even though he was not a part of AEH’s life. Due to the multidimensionality of a play (as opposed to the intangibility of a written book), the audience is able to see, through his actions and maybe even his line delivery, the tinges of regret that spike AEH’s words when reflecting on not living as his true self. Wilde, noticing this, attempts to comfort him. While Wilde and his lover did cultivate a beautiful and loving relationship, he refers to it as an ice shard — hold it too tight and it will melt, but let go completely and it falls to the ground and breaks. Although AEH has already died and there is nothing that can be amended about his life at this point, Wilde, as someone in AEH’s same position, hints that maybe he should have been quiet about their relationship, so as to not damage the piece of ice. Even though they had an affectionate love affair, they still had to walk the boundaries for their own safety to stay out of the public prominence and maintain the lives of their families. AEH seems to feel that he has lost his control over being himself, instead, he was silenced and swayed by the negative connotations of homosexuality within his lifetime and how it may have cost him his livelihood just to be out as himself, but Wilde assures him that as long as he should maintain self-love, he will never deceive himself. Until the end of the play, however, AEH holds onto the shame of letting society’s standards of the time derail and steer his life until it has ended.

Due to the time lapses present in history plays, characters and their timelines interact in a non-linear way, leading to confusion and chaos in the storyline that parallels the chaos of figuring out one’s own life. Consequently, in a play that is set two hundred years ago but written more recently, it can be assumed that the characters are all dead by present day. When a character dies, their entire life is laid out within the play itself — the troubles they experienced, the issues they overcame, the struggles experienced in finding themselves, and the love they gave. When able to view the character’s entire lifespan inside of the boundaries of the play, such is the case with many characters in Stoppard’s Arcadia, the audience is able to see the chaos within one’s own life and the decisions they make. The idea of chaos is a main theme in Arcadia once young Thomasina begins to explore unchangeability with her rice pudding discovery, a concept that confounds present-day Hannah and Valentine, who find Thomasina’s journals. According to her writings of the past, Thomasina described the concept of chaos theory years before it was properly discovered. Almost two hundred years in the future, given the gap in historical and professional knowledge, Hannah and Valentine are shocked by the substantial evidence of this young girl’s genius. Valentine, a mathematics graduate student, explains the concept to Hannah:

VALENTINE: The unpredictable and the predetermined unfold together to make everything the way it is. It’s how nature creates itself, on every scale, the snowflake and the snowstorm. It makes me so happy. To be at the beginning again, knowing almost nothing. People were talking about the end of physics. Relativity and quantum looked as if they were going to clean out the whole problem between them. A theory of everything. But they only explained the very big and the very small. The universe, the elementary particles. The ordinary-sized stuff which is our lives, the things people write poetry about — clouds — daffodils — waterfalls — and what happens in a cup of coffee when the cream goes in — these things are full of mystery, as mysterious to us as the heavens were to the Greeks. (Arcadia 1.4.pg 40)

Here, the audience that also may be unaware of the immensity of chaos and its role on earth is able to absorb the realness of the discovery of Thomasina’s brilliance (if true). In Arcadia, chaos is shown as the book threads together timelines, popping between Thomasina, Valentine working as the voice of reason and affirming her actions, then back to learning about the past. In the same vein of using multiple time frames to clear up confusion and chaotic order, AEH in The Invention of Love attempts to explain his past struggles to himself as a young boy to both smooth out the confusion he felt as a young man but also to ease his own shame, as his advice to himself will never have any effect on him as his life is already up. The already-dead AEH says:

AEH: Love will not be deflected from its mischief by being called comradeship or anything else.

HOUSMAN: I don’t know what love is.

AEH: Oh but you do… Love, said Sophocles, is like the ice held in the hand by children. A piece of ice held fast in the fist. I wish I could help you, but it’s not in my gift. (The Invention of Love 1.1.pg 43).

AEH, seeing his younger self move through the River Styx that borders the Underworld, engages in a conversation in an attempt to show more clearly to him the possibilities that Housman could have in the future. This passage comes before his meeting of Wilde in Act 2, where love is again compared to a sharp shard of ice. As a young and confused college student, navigating not only Oxford but real life and love. This conversation distorts the reality inside the play while also deadening the boundaries between life and death, resulting in an even more puzzling timeline in the mind of the audience. The chaos present in this play comes from the unorder of its characters and their individual and warping timelines, which is all in the mind of a dead man reminiscing on his personal memories. In Benefactors, the same disorder exists but is instead strengthened by the inclusion of the audience in dialogue in addition to the character-only conversation. When reading the written screenplay, it is at first hard to catch on to, with characters speaking to the audience, clarifying a situation, then next to their costar on stage within the same stanza. In the beginning scene, Jane and David are in conversation, interspersed with Jane rushedly explaining her relationship with her husband. He talks to her, asking unnoticeably rhetorical questions, but instead having a conversation with himself:

DAVID: It would be a huge job — I’d have to double the size of the office. But that’s where the work is, Jane, in local authority housing. That’s where the real architecture’s being done. So what do you think?

JANE: What did I think? I don’t know. I can’t remember…. That was the way we operated then. David was for things, I was against them. Government and Opposition. And we’d always settle the question democratically. One for, one against — motion carried.

DAVID: I’ll go and have a quick look at the site. (Frayn 1.1.pg 2)

Here, David is blatantly not paying his wife attention. She simply talks to the audience and lets David drone on as if she has said a single word to him at all since the beginning of the scene. This exchange between the two is interrupted by Colin’s introduction and entrance. He says to Jane:

COLIN: What do you think about [the slum clearance], Jane?

JANE: King opposite king. Queen on her colour.

COLIN: I said what do you think about it?

JANE: A twilight area.

COLIN: A twilight area.

JANE: Not a slum clearance scheme, Colin. Not a slum.

COLIN: A twilight area. It sounds very beautiful. (Frayn 1.1.pg 3)

With Colin, Jane finally speaks (her first line in the play) after he asks her a question. Jane responded only to Colin, her own husband ignoring her presence, the conversation phasing in and out of unclarity of who is talking to whom. In addition, dramatic irony is ever present in this timeline — the present audience of Benefactors can correctly assume that, due to gentrification, the people that lived in the slums, after the cobblestone streets and fenced in houses are kept, they are slightly remodeled and the prices are raised, thus kicking out the original residents that David was fighting so hard to keep. While the physical structures were allowed to remain, its inhabitants did not. The written script features all four characters shifting between updating the audience and having blunt and sharp business conversations with each other adding to the chaos of the history play — its overlapping timelines, dramatic irony to present audience, nonlinear conversation, and its possible editing of history.

In a history play, there are multiple truths present in the total truth that the storyline conveys. With each character, and their knowledge gained from their individual timeline(s), everyone has a different perspective. In Benefactors, set in the 1960s, David exists as the ‘good guy’ in the eyes of the audience, standing up for those who live in this area of slum housing. His stretch of defending his own beliefs gets immediately shut down by Colin, the dense higher power. The present audience of 1984, when the play was first published and performed, would presumably remember the 1960s — an era that would begin an invasion of social change and optimism for the future. In the eyes of the audience, his inability to fight for the people that seemingly have no voice is almost inconceivable, in their present-day vocalization on issues such as the AIDS crisis, abortion, women’s rights, drug abuse, and more. His silence, to the modern (or 1984) audience, stands out, in an era of protest against wrongs that was the 1980s. When Colin decides to become a government official and turns on his partner David, the present audience sees and possibly relates to this simple example of corruption and its ease of permission. Colin, an ex-journalist himself, launches a campaign to run for Parliament and releases articles against David’s architectural projects, tearing apart the projects that he swayed David to create in the first place: 

SHEILA: ‘…[Colin Molyneux is] a familiar figure to television viewers in his jeans and tee-shirt with the legend Get ‘em down! emblazoned across the chest…’

… 

SHEILA: ‘The slogan refers to the notorious twin skyscrapers planned by the local Housing Department…’ (Frayn 2.1.pg 59)

Sheila reads her husband’s slanderous words to David, whom she has fallen in love with. As the quartet’s relationship suffers, husbands start doubting wives, with some cheating and infighting between them, and Colin’s decision to run for a governmental position, although he is annihilated in the final running, his reason to run being the project he forced onto David, ruins any chance of warmth between all four again. In Arcadia, Thomasina, at this point already dead, is at an event dancing with Septimus, while Hannah and Gus dance by their side. Septimus invites her to dance:

Septimus and Thomasina start to waltz together. Gus comes forward, startling Hannah.

Gus nods several times. Then, rather awkwardly, he bows to her. A Regency bow, an invitation to dance. (Stoppard 1.7.pg 96-97)

Although their lives are separated by two hundred years, they are brought together by Thomasina’s knowledge and the research of it. This fairytale-like ending to the play soothes the audience by noting the beauty of the situation, with two sets of lovers dancing gracefully. However, with Stoppard’s failing to re-mention Thomasina’s death, she, confusingly enough for the audience, reappears post-mortem to dance with her still-living lover (even though, in Hannah’s present day they are both dead), showing that anything can happen due to the puzzling time spans of the play. In the same way, AEH in The Invention of Love, row past him in the River Styx. In addition to seeing a handful of historically significant characters, he sees his past self, his friend Pollard, and his crush, his friend Jackson. As they row past, AEH overhears their conversation:

POLLARD: It just goes to show you don’t know much about dogs, and nothing at all about Jackson’s dog whose soul is already bespoke for the Elysian Fields, where it is eagerly awaited by many of his friends who are not gone but only sleeping. 

AEH: Not dead, only dreaming! (The Invention of Love 1.1.pg 4)

The trio, obviously fake in AEH’s dead mind, is able to acknowledge him and his journey to the Underworld. AEH, unknown to the audience whether he knows if he is truly dead or not, speaks to the three young men. Crossing over the boundaries of multiple truths, he is able to speak to his younger self, who is himself but already dead, meaning that the words AEH says to Housman do not matter at all. In his head, even the short sight of seeing his lost lover, begins to reveal the rules (or lack thereof) in this history play, how any person of memory in AEH’s mind can arrive and converse with him. 

In history plays, time is malleable and death can be overcome. The unique metafictional present can both foresee and prevent the future, while still not affecting the modern day. The characters, while not aware of the fact that they are indeed fictional, are at least aware of the chaos of the chronology and inexplicability present in their existence. Even still, there is confusion. The modern day audience is only seen as current in the year of production or publication, as the mind of any year after first viewing will be tainted with new inventions, information, and discussion. The shock and confusion that comes with the first reading or viewing of a history play is instrumental in its message. Time is an unreliable narrator, and, to the audience, no character can be trusted. 

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