gallants at that time unmarried, she was not like to cast her eye
upon one that had been then married ten years. And her parents, then
in good and honourable place, resident in court, and themselves of no
mean condition, they would keep, no doubt, a watchful eye over her
to see she should not roam to the hinderance of her own preferment, a
course so foul with one where was no colour of marriage. The King's
eye also was a guard upon her, as also those that pleased the king in
recounting the adventures of love happening in court made it hard,
specially for the shortness of time after her placing there, and the
king's own love. Also she that held out against such a king where was
hope of marriage, what was like she should do to the knight, where his
own lady and her friends were still to attend upon their doings, whose
testimonies of the honourable carriage of that lady are therefore here
most strong for her? And for the knight, if he had enjoyed her, was he
so far desperately wicked and a monster in love, that he would openly,
purposely, and to his own disgrace, vaunt the spoil of a maid of so
good friends and likelihoods of advancements, without all regard of God
or man? especially when she had stood so well upon the assurance of her
own innocence for the matter of the jewel without turning him to any
displeasure thereby. Those that knew him best, knew him far from that
dishonest disposition chiefly in this kind, and for so gross a villany.
And if he had been of that mind, yet was he known not of so little wit
or understanding, upon a point that was not very likely to be known, to
discover his own and her evil; where was a great deal more likelihood
that, the king believing her rather than him, he was to incur a more
certain and greater mischief, that might in all presumption, fall by
the heavy displeasure of them both upon himself ever after. And if
we could imagine him both so wretchedly dishonest, and so very a sot
(neither of which could be found of him), his father then counsellor
to the king, for his wisdom, years, and experience, more grave, would
not have suffered him yet to quit himself so fondly and to be so mad;
especially as when the king had showed not to believe it, then to run
more obstinately to offer when the king had made her privy hereunto,
to bring her that the king should see her also so mad as to yield to
him after she had given consent of marriage to the king. Who would not
believe them also mad, that would believe so mad a carriage of such a
business amongst grave and wise men, howsoever the railing Romanist be
so mad to write it so as he would seem mad with reason? For the king
also, besides that he had more occasion and means than any other to
note and observe her doings, yet much more (as the nature of generous
spirits carries them) he was watchful upon the knight, as in other
things so chiefly in this, not to be outrun at this garland of love;
so as by himself and by the eyes of others, there was not any trip but
would have been spied, no likelihood but would have carried suspicion
with it; how much more would the knight's confession have sunk into
his head? Would he, being so wise a prince, have forgotten that the
soberness of his choice would serve much for satisfying the world,
touching his divorce? Had he not time, had he not leisure to learn, to
inquire and sift out all things? His care used in gathering opinions
of universities, and in informing princes of the whole matter, with
all circumstances in the managing this cause, by the space of some
years, show he was not so passionate a lover, but also withal a wise
and considerate prince. But it is said the king believed it not! Yet
what? when the knight (as this tale saith) offered to make the king see
it, and that avowed to the council! Could such a prince as he swallow
this? Doubtless none that hath his wits will think so, none that knew
the complexion of the king could induce himself to suppose a thing so
incredible. The case of Sir Francis Brian's[207] opening of his love
had another effect, and shows plainly that the king was of another
metal, since he cast off that Lady loved right dearly (as hath been
said) without farther matter. And doubtless in this case, he believing
the matter would have thrown off this lady also, the marriage not yet
consummate, and he having in his own realm and abroad beauties enough
to content him, and means enough also to push on some other. But it
is devised the king believed it not. Not believing it, think we the
knight could have escaped punishment of a slanderer, though he might
by confessing, avoid the punishment of a malefactor (as they say)
after? This no outrageous madman would believe. If the king would or
could have passed it over, the lady in honour could not, nor might. But
suppose also that supposal beyond all suppose. Though they punished
it not, would they, think ye, have put him in credit and advancement
after? Would they have had him chief ewerer even the very day of her
coronation? Would they have employed him ambassador in that matter of
the marriage? Yea, I say more! would the king also have rewarded him
with a good portion of lands soon upon this? But all these were so as
we have alleged them. The Chronicles have his service on that day of
coronation. His embassages were twice about this matter known right
well: I have seen the patents of the grant myself[208]. And these
things, the last especially, I the rather allege, for that the knight
useth them himself as testimonies of the king's good opinion of him, in
his defence before mentioned, which also by the king and his council in
those times was liked and allowed of as his just purgation, by which
they acquitted him. Finally, that his defence then may and is to be
esteemed his defence now also in this case not to be contemned, and
may thus be considered. This reporteth that he was twice winnowed. The
matters were the same both times, the accusations so frivolous, the
inducements and proofs so idle, that they prove nothing more than that
there lacked no wills in his adversary to do him hurt, than that they
had any least colour of matter to work it. Nothing so impertinent,
nothing so unlikely that they allege not. Yea and his most trusty and
best services they had the chief matters of their accusation, nothing
was so fond that they ripped not up to his discredit, at the least
if it might have been. Yet in all this was no word or signification
of any such matter. Though it had not been brought as the ground of
his accusation, would it not have been drawn forth to aggravate or
induce the matter? Undoubtedly it would, either in the queen's life in
his first trouble, and it would have done well to revenge if he had
done her this wrong, or after to her overthrow, or else in his second
trouble against him. But no one word is or was in it touching any such
matters.
After so many cross billets of cunning polities, surmounted by the
guiding providence of God, after so many trials of her truth, passed
through by her wise and virtuous governance, the king having every way
made so thorough proof how deep root honour had taken in her bosom, and
having found it not to be shaken even by him, this royal and famous
prince Henry the Eighth, resolving her matchless perfections meet alone
to be joined with his, now at the length concluded forthwith to knit up
this marriage, although for certain causes the same was thought more
convenient to be performed somewhat privately and secretly. On the
twenty-fifth of January[209], therefore, the ceremony was consummate.
The king also, shortly after having himself more ascertained, and by
more inward trial more assured of her spousal truth, would yet farther
testify that his opinion of her, by giving her that highest honour he
could give her virtues, in having her solemnly and royally crowned. And
thus we see they lived and loved, tokens of increasing love perpetually
increasing between them. Her mind brought him forth the rich treasures
of love of piety, love of truth, love of learning. Her body yielded
him the fruits of marriage, inestimable pledges of her faith and loyal
love. And touching the former of these, it is here first not to be
forgotten, that of her time (that is during the three years that she
was queen) it is found by good observation, that no one suffered for
religion, which is the more worthy to be noted for that it could not
so be said of any time of the queens after married to the king. And
amongst other proofs of her love to religion to be found in others,
this here of me is to be added. That shortly after her marriage, divers
learned and christianly disposed persons resorting to her, presented
her with sundry books of those controversies that then began to be
questioned touching religion, and specially of the authority of the
pope and his clergy, and of their doings against kings and states. And
amongst other, there happened[210] one of these, which, as her manner
was, she having read, she had also noted with her nail as of matter
worthy the king's knowledge[211]. The book lying in her window, her
maid (of whom hath been spoken) took it up, and as she was reading it,
came to speak with her one[212] then suitor to her, that after married
her; and as they talked he took the book of her, and she withal, called
to attend on the queen, forgot it in his hands, and she not returning
in some long space, he walked forth with it in his hand, thinking it
had been hers. There encountered him soon after a gentleman of the
cardinal's of his acquaintance, and after salutations, perceiving the
book, requested to see it, and finding what it was, partly by the
title, partly by some what he read in it, he borrowed it and showed it
to the cardinal. Hereupon the suitor was sent for to the cardinal and
examined of the book, and how he came by it, and had like to have come
in trouble about it, but that it being found to have pertained to one
of the queen's chamber, the cardinal thought better to defer the matter
till he had broken it to the king first, in which meantime the suitor
delivered the lady what had fallen out, and she also to the queen,
who, for her wisdom knowing more what might grow thereupon, without
delay went and imparted the matter to the king, and showed him of the
points that she had noted with her finger. And she was but newly come
from the king, but the cardinal came in with the book in his hands to
make complaint of certain points in it that he knew the king would
not like of, and withal to take occasion with him against those that
countenanced such books in general, and specially women, and as might
be thought with mind to go farther against the queen more directly if
he had perceived the king agreeable to his meaning. But the king that
somewhat afore distasted the cardinal, as we have showed, finding the
notes the queen had made, all turned the more to hasten his ruin, which
was also furthered on all sides.
On the other part, of her body she bare him a daughter on the
seventh[213] of September, to the great joy then of all his people,
both for that the king had now issue legitimate of his own body, and
for the hope of more after. The king also he expressed his joy for
that fruit sprung of himself, and his yet more confirmed love towards
her, caused her child openly and publickly to be proclaimed PRINCESS
ELIZABETH at the solemnity of her baptising, preferring his younger
daughter legitimate before the elder in unlawful wedlock. And after
this again, at the prorogation of the parliament, the thirtieth of
March[214], he had every lord, knight, and burgess sworn to an act of
succession, and their names subscribed to a schedule fixed to the same
statute, where it was enacted, that his daughter princess Elizabeth, he
having none other heir male, should succeed him to the crown.
And after were commissioners sent to all parts of the realm to take
the like oath of all men and women in the land. Neither also were her
virtues only enclosed in her own breast or shut up in her own person.
She had procured to her chaplains[215], men of great learning and of no
less honest conversing, whom she with hers heard much, and privately
she heard them willingly and gladly to admonish her, and them herself
exhorted and encouraged so to do. Also at the first, she had in court
drawn about her, to be attending on her, ladies[216] of great honour,
and yet of greater choice for reputation of virtue, undoubted witnesses
of her spousal integrity, whom she trained upon with all commendations
of well ordered government, though yet above all by her own example she
shined above them all, as a torch that all might take light of, being
itself still more bright. Those that have seen at _Hampton Court_ the
rich and exquisite works by herself, for the greater part wrought by
her own hand and needle, and also of her ladies, esteem them the most
precious furniture that are to be accounted amongst the most sumptuous
that any prince may be possessed of. And yet far more rich and precious
were those works in the sight of God which she caused her maids and
those about her daily to work in shirts and smocks for the poor. But
not staying here her eye of charity, her hand of bounty passed through
the whole land; each place felt that heavenly flame burning in her; all
times will remember it, no place leaving for vain flames, no times for
idle thoughts. Her ordinary amounted to fifteen hundred pounds at the
least, yearly, to be bestowed on the poor. Her provisions of stock for
the poor in sundry needy parishes were very great. Out of her privy
purse went not a little to like purposes. To Scholars in exhibition
very much: so as in three quarters of a year her alms was summed to
fourteen or fifteen thousand pounds.
She waxing great again and not so fit for dalliance, the time was taken
to steal the king's affection from her, when most of all she was to
have been cherished. And he once showing to bend from her, many that
least ought shrank from her also, and some lent on the other side; such
are the flexible natures of those in courts of princes for the most
part. Unkindness grew, and she was brought abed before her time with
much peril of her life, and of a male child dead born, to her greater
and most extreme grief. Being thus a woman full of sorrow, it was
reported that the king came to her, and bewailing and complaining unto
her the loss of his boy, some words were heard break out of the inward
feeling of her heart's dolours, laying the fault upon unkindness,
which the king more than was cause (her case at this time considered)
took more hardly than otherwise he would if he had not been somewhat
too much overcome with grief, or not so much alienate. Wise men in
those days judged that her virtues was here her default, and that if
her too much love could, as well as the other queen, have borne with
his defect of love, she might have fallen into less danger, and in
the end have tied him the more ever after to her when he had seen
his error, and _that_ she might the rather have done respecting the
general liberty and custom of falling then that way. Certainly, from
henceforth the harm still more increased, and he was then heard to say
to her: he would have no more boys by _her_. Having thus so many, so
great factions at home and abroad set loose by the distorned favour of
the king, and so few to show themselves for her, what could be? what
was otherlike but that all these guests lighting on her at once should
prevail to overthrow her, and with her those that stood under her fall?
She and her friends therefore were suddenly sent to the Tower: and this
gracious queen coming unto the entry of the gate, she falling down upon
her knees made that place a reverend temple to offer up her devout
prayers, and as a bale there her soul beaten down with afflictions to
the earth, with her faithful prayers bounded up to heaven. "O Lord,"
said she, "help me, as I am guiltless of this whereof I am accused."
The time approached for the hearing of her cause. The place of her
trial in the Tower may somewhat discover how the matter was liked
to be handled. Nor there was it appointed the better to conceal the
heinousness of the accusation, though that might be the pretence. For
that was published in parliament that it might from thence spread
abroad over all. Her very accusations speak and even plead for her;
all of them, so far as I can find, carrying in themselves open proof
to all men's consciences of mere matter of quarrel, and indeed of a
very preparation to some hoped alteration. The most and chief of them
showing to have come from _Rome_, that popish forge of cunning and
treachery, as _Petrarch_ long since termed it.
_Nido di tradimenti in cui si cuova
Quanto mal per lo mondo hoggi si spandi._
Nest of treasons in which is hatch'd and bred
What ill this day the world doth overspread.
For that most odious of them, something is to be esteemed by the
apparent wrongs of the other evil handling of matters. But for this
thing itself, partly it is incredible, partly by the circumstances
impossible. Incredible, that she that had it her word as it were, the
spirit of her mind, as hath been said, that she was _Cæsar's_ all,
not to be touched of others, should be held with the foul desire of
her brother. Again, she having so goodly a prince to please her, who
also had showed himself able to content more than one, that she should
yet be carried to a thing so much abhorring even womanly years and to
nature itself, much more to so christian a queen. Impossible, for the
necessary and no small attendance of ladies ever about her, whereof
some, as after appeared, even aspired unto her place and right in the
king's love; yea, by manifest prevention before their time. And indeed,
hereof, it was her very accusers found it impossible to have colour
to charge her with any other than her brother, which also made it no
less impossible even for him alike as other. Impossible, I say, because
neither she could remove so great ladies, by office appointed to attend
upon her continually, from being witnesses to her doings; neither for
the danger she saw she stood in, and the occasion daily sought, would
she for her own wisdom, and also by the advertisements of her kindred
and followers, whereof she had many of most great understanding,
experience, and faith, about her. Besides, she could not but be made
more wary and wakeful, if for none other cause, yet even to take away
all colour from her enemies, whose eyes were everywhere upon her to
pick matter, and their malicious hearts bent to make some where they
found none; as plainly enough was to be seen when they were driven to
those straits to take occasion at her brother's more private being with
her; the more grudged at perhaps, for that it might be supposed his
conference with her might be for the breaking off the king's new love.
For the evidence, as I never could hear of any, so small I believe it
was. But this I say, well was it said of a noble judge of late, that
"half a proof where nature leadeth was to be esteemed a whole proof."
On the contrary, in this case he would have said, whole and very
absolute proofs to have been needful in such a case against nature.
And I may say, by their leaves, it seems themselves they doubted their
proofs would prove their reproofs, when they durst not bring them to
the proof of the light in open place. For this principal matter between
the queen and her brother, there was brought forth, indeed, witness,
his wicked wife accuser of her own husband, even to the seeking of his
blood, which I believe is hardly to be showed of any honest woman ever
done. But of her, the judgment that fell out upon her, and the just
punishment by law after of her naughtiness, show that what she did
was more to be rid of him than of true ground against him. And that
it seemeth those noblemen that went upon the queen's life found in
her trial, when it may appear plainly by that defence of the knight
that oft hath been here mentioned, that the young nobleman the Lord
Rochford, by the common opinion of men of best understanding in those
days, was counted and then openly spoken, condemned only upon some
point of a statute of words then in force. And this and sundry other
reasons have made me think often that upon some clause of the same
law they grounded their colour also against her, and that for other
matters she had cleared herself well enough. It seemeth some great
ones then had their hands in drawing in that law to entangle or bridle
one another, and that some of them were taken in the same net, as good
men then thought worthily. Surely my Lord Cromwell and this young lord
were taken in those entanglements, and the knight himself, of whom is
spoken, had hardly scaped it, as may appear by his defence, if he had
not by the well delivering of the goodness of his cause broken through
it. And this may well serve to admonish men to be well aware how far
they admit of laws that shall touch life upon construction of words;
or, at the least, admitting them, how far they leave to lawyers to
interpret of them, and especially that thereby they give not excuse to
juries to condemn the innocent when sway of time should thrust matters
upon them. Thus was she put upon her trial by men of great honour; it
had been good also if some of them had not been to be suspected of
too much power and no less malice. The evidence were heard indeed,
but close enough, as enclosed in strong walls. Yet, to show the truth
cannot by any force be altogether kept in hold, some belike of those
honourable personages there, more perhaps for countenance of others'
evil than for means by their own authority to do good (which also
peradventure would not have been without their own certain perils), did
not yet forbear to deliver out voices that caused every where to be
muttered abroad, that that spotless queen in her defence had cleared
herself with a most wise and noble speech. Notwithstanding such a
trial, such a judgment found her guilty, and gave sentence of death
upon her at home, whom others abroad, living to feel her loss, found
guiltless.
The woful sentence was given; burning or heading at the king's
pleasure, leaving open some small place to pity for the kind of death,
which the king's conscience (no doubt) moved him to take in appointing
the more honourable death. Within those walls this execution was to be
done. What needed that? The love known indeed to her by the people was
not to be feared of the king, her love being such to him as to her last
breath she stood to acquit and defend him by her words at her death,
carrying a very true image of her former love and life. "Christian
people!" said she, "I am come to die, and according to law, and by law
I am judged to death, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I
am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak any thing of that whereof
I am accused and condemned to die. But I pray God save the king, and
send him long to reign over you, for a gentler and more merciful prince
was there never, and to me he was ever a good, a gentle, and sovereign
lord. If any person will meddle of my cause, I require him to judge the
best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you, and I heartily
desire you all to pray for me. O Lord, have mercy on me! To God I
commend my soul." And so she kneeling down said, "To Christ I commend
my soul. Jesu, receive my soul!" The bloody blow came down from his
trembling hand that gave it, when those about her could not but seem to
themselves to have received it upon their own necks, she not so much
as shrieking at it. God provided for her corpse sacred burial, even in
place as it were consecrate to innocents.
END OF THE MEMOIR
OF QUEEN ANNE BOLEYN.
_The following letters, relating to the arrest and behaviour in prison
of Queen Anne Boleyn, are in themselves so interesting that no apology
seems necessary for placing them in juxtaposition with the foregoing
interesting memoir. They have been recently given to the public in Mr.
Ellis's accurate and interesting collection of Historical Letters;
that gentleman has preferred printing them as mutilated fragments,
to supplying the_ lacunæ _by such means as I have ventured to adopt.
Strype saw these letters previous to the calamitous fire in 1731,
which injured so many valuable papers in the Cottonian Collection,
and he has given large extracts from them of the most interesting
passages: from this source, therefore, I have filled up such chasms
as I could, that the reader may not be tantalized by the enigma-like
appearance of a few disjointed words. The passages supplied have been
carefully distinguished by printing them in Italics between brackets,
and as Strype was a sufficiently accurate Antiquary, and faithful
in his extracts, it is presumed that the reader may rely upon the
authenticity of the passages thus supplied._
_The reader is already acquainted with the writer, Sir William
Kingston, the Lieutenant or Constable of the Tower, from the figure he
makes in the Life of Wolsey. See p. 369, et seq._
LETTER I.
_Sir William Kingston to Secretary Cromwell, upon Queen Anne's
committal to the Tower._
[MS. COTTON, OTHO C. X. fol. 225.]