English Histories - The Six Wives of Henry VIII Part 4

The sack of Rome was to have far-reaching consequences for Henry and Katherine. Their marriage had failed, for many reasons. On a personal level, the age gap seemed wider than ever, and there had long ago been a divergence of interests. With the French alliance newly signed, it no longer seemed desirable for the King to have a Spanish queen. More importantly, Katherine had failed in her crucial duty, that of bearing an heir. But, above all, the King, for some years past - or so he later claimed - had, when reading the Bible, turned again and again to the pa.s.sage in chapter 20 of the Book of Leviticus, which warned of the severe penalty inflicted by G.o.d on a man who married his brother's widow: 'And if a man shall take his brother's wife, it is an unclean thing: he hath uncovered his brother's nakedness; they shall be childless.' To Henry's mind he was as good as childless, lacking a male heir, and years of worrying whether the prohibition in Leviticus applied to his own marriage had by now crystallised into the conviction that indeed it did. He and Katherine had offended against the law of G.o.d by their incestuous marriage and, because of this, G.o.d, in His wrath, had denied them sons. By the spring of 1527, the King was 'troubled in his conscience' about this; the more he studied the matter, the more clearly it appeared to him that he had broken a divine law, and that something must be done to rectify the situation.

Just how long the King's conscience had been troubling him we do not know. In 1527, he declared he had had doubts about his marriage 'for some years past', though there is no mention of the matter in contemporary records before May of that year. It is likely that these doubts first became serious around 1524, when Katherine went through the menopause and Henry ceased to have s.e.xual relations with her; but they could have been in the King's mind as far back as 1521, for in that year he quoted the critical verses from Leviticus in his treatise against Luther, an indication that he was already aware of a possible impediment to his marriage. At the same time, Dr John Longland, Bishop of Lincoln, became the King's lord almoner (or confessor), and it was to him that Henry first confided his doubts; Wolsey's secretary, George Cavendish, confirms this in his biography of his master, quoting Henry as saying he himself 'moved first in the 138matter, in confession to my lord of Lincoln, my ghostly father'. Longland later bore this out, revealing that for a time he and Henry had waged a spiritual battle over the issue. 'The King never left urging me until he had won me to give my consent,' declared the Bishop in later years.

By 1524, Henry's conscience had become tender as far as his marriage was concerned; although he no longer desired his wife, and may have found s.e.x distasteful because of the mysterious female ailment she suffered, these were not the only reasons why he decided to cease having intercourse with her. He had persuaded himself that their marriage was incestuous, and that any s.e.xual congress would be a sin. Nevertheless, it was not until three years later that he resolved to act upon his doubts and seek an annulment of his marriage.

Two separate factors combined in the spring of 1527 to provoke the King to action. One was the questioning by the Bishop of Tarbes of the Princess Mary's legitimacy, which only served to compound Henry's own doubts. Nor was this the first time that the validity of his union with Katherine had been questioned. Others, among them his own father and the conservative William Warham, now Archbishop of Canterbury, had spoken out about it as far back as 1502. Henry VII, however, had inclined to the view that the law as laid down in Leviticus only applied where the first marriage had been consummated, and he had been satisfied that Arthur had left Katherine a virgin. However, as a precaution, Ferdinand and Isabella had insisted that the Bull of Dispensation issued by Pope Julius II in 1503 provided for the marriage of Katherine and Henry, even in the event of her first marriage having been consummated.

For Henry VIII, Katherine's virgin state when she came to his bed was not the issue to be disputed, although he did his best to cast doubts upon it. Katherine, on the other hand, would come to see it as the crux of the matter, for, to her understanding, Leviticus only applied when the first marriage had been consummated, and hers had not. Henry, of course, must have known this, and realised that for his case to succeed he had to take his stand on the Levitical law applying whether the marriage had been consummated or not. Here he was treading on dangerous ground, for of course the dispensation of 1503 permitting his marriage to Katherine had had precedents, 139notably in the case of Katherine's own sisters, Isabella and Maria, who were married in turn to the same King of Portugal. What Henry VIII was really questioning, therefore, was the power of the Pope to dispense at all in such a case as his. This was not immediately apparent as the central issue in the affair, but it would soon become so, and then the shock waves would reverberate around Europe, for to question the Pope's authority, which all good Catholics believed was invested in him by Christ, was tantamount to heresy. Yet the European climate was ripe for it: for two centuries the papacy had been recognised as corrupt, and was held in disrepute by those who argued the need for reform of a church riddled with abuses, not all of them followers of Luther. Given this, it is not perhaps surprising to find a devout Catholic, as Henry undoubtedly then was, calling the Pope's authority into question over a matter of canon law.

The other factor spurring the King into action in the spring of 1527 was that he was, by a fortuitious coincidence, pa.s.sionately in love for the first time in his life, and wished to remarry. This has often - and erroneously - been understood to have been the real basis for the King's doubts of conscience, which has tended to trivialise the whole issue. In fact, Henry VIII did, desperately, need a male heir; his wife of eighteen years was now barren. His concern for the succession and the future of his kingdom was sincere and genuine. He had been questioning the validity of his marriage for several years, long before he had fallen in love with this latest mistress. Moreover, he and the Queen had had little in common for years. It was a sensible decision, therefore, to consider applying for the annulment of his marriage and taking another wife who could bear him children. Falling in love was merely the final spur to action.

Like all the others, this latest affair was conducted in the strictest secrecy, yet Henry was hinting at it in courtly fas.h.i.+on from the beginning of 1526, when, on Shrove Tuesday, at a joust held at Greenwich, he appeared in the lists decked in a splendid outfit of cloth of gold and silver, on which was embroidered in gold the deviceDeclare je nos('Declare I dare not'), which was surmounted by a man's heart engulfed in flames, typical of the symbolism so beloved by the Tudor court. The King's affair with Mary Boleyn had ended, probably in the previous year, so this pretty conceit could only mean that he had found someone else. The Queen was by now used to his 140 infidelities, and probably attached little significance to this evidence of a new one.

In May 1527, the affair was still going on, although the ident.i.ty of the chosen lady was still a well-kept secret. Yet Henry could not resist dropping hints, for he was now completely enslaved by her, and wanted the world to know it. One evening, he entertained the court with a poignant song he had written that told of the heart's torment when spurned by the beloved: The eagle's force subdues each bird that flies; What metal can resist the flaming fire?

Doth not the sun dazzle the clearest eyes, And melt the ice, and make the frost retire?

The hardest stones are pierced through with tools, The wisest are with princes made but fools.

Few present were aware to whom the song was addressed, nor guessed that she was probably present at the banquet in her official capacity as one of the Queen's maids of honour. Nor did anyone realise that this love affair, which had now been gathering momentum for more than fifteen months, was to be the most significant of them all. For the King was pa.s.sionately, abjectly in love, a novel experience for him. Even more novel was the fact that the object of his desire was holding herself tantalisingly aloof, and would not even agree to being named his mistress in the courtly sense. This was surprising indeed in an age when it was considered almost honourable, and was at least lucrative, to become the mistress - in the s.e.xual sense even - of a king. Yet this lady was keeping him firmly at arm's length and loudly proclaiming her virtue, which of course only served further to inflame the King's pa.s.sion. She would have marriage, and the crown of England, or nothing. Her name was Anne Boleyn.

141.

'The Great Matter'

142142.

143.

Mistress Anne The story of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn began with pa.s.sion and ended with a b.l.o.o.d.y death. At its outset, Henry VIII was still a youthful ruler much praised by his contemporaries; by the time it ended he had degenerated into a ruthless tyrant, feared by his subjects, vilified throughout most of Europe, and capable of sending the woman he had so pa.s.sionately loved to her execution.

Throughout those years, Henry's motives remained clear, even though he was fast gaining a reputation for keeping his own counsel and being excessively secretive. Anne Boleyn, conversely, is an enigma. Her biographers, both before and after her death, were never impartial. On the one hand, we have the Jezebel portrayed by hostile Catholic writers, the 'Concubine' who would use any means at her disposal to ensnare a king and be rid of his wife and child, and who would not stop at adultery or incest to provide her husband with a son and so save her own skin. This violent hostility towards Anne Boleyn began in her own lifetime, and when she was beheaded in 1536 there were few who did not believe her to be guilty of at least some of the crimes attributed to her. The Spanish amba.s.sador, who detested her, referred to her at this time as 'the English Messalina or Agrippina', and Reginald Pole, the son of the Princess Mary's former governess, openly called Anne 'a Jezebel and a sorceress'. In many ways, Anne was her own worst enemy: she attracted the enmity of Catholics because she openly espoused the cause of church 144reform, and was widely, but erroneously, reputed to be a Lutheran. She was also indiscreet, arrogant, vindictive in her treatment of her enemies, and given to abrupt mood swings. Although there is very little evidence that she was ever promiscuous, she was regarded as immoral from the first simply because she was the 'other woman' in the King's life. Her enemies, and they were many, thought her a she- devil, a tigress, and - according to a later Catholic source - the 'author of all the mischief that was befalling the realm'.

On the other hand, we have the saintly queen of the Protestant writers, who did so much to further true religion in England, gave her protection to the followers of Luther, and produced the great Queen Elizabeth. These writers saw Anne as a veritable saint. 'Was not Queen Anne, the mother of the blessed woman, the chief, first and only cause of banis.h.i.+ng the beast of Rome with all his beggarly baggage?' asked John Aylmer, the renowned Protestant scholar, in the reign of Anne's daughter. Likewise George Wyatt, grandson of the poet Thomas Wyatt and Anne's first biographer, who compiled his work at the end of the sixteenth century from the reminiscences of his family and those who had known her, such as her former maid of honour, Anne Gainsford; he concluded that 'this princely lady was elect of G.o.d'.

Both these conflicting portraits of Anne Boleyn have in them some degree of truth; and both are partially inaccurate. Anne was no saint, but neither was she an adulteress nor guilty of incest. She was however, ruthless and insensitive, and if she was not as black as the Catholics tried to paint her, it is likely they were nearer the truth. Nevertheless, she was a remarkable woman of considerable courage and audacity, who knew exactly what she wanted, and made sure she got it. Once she had achieved her goal, and was expected to conform to conventional ideals of queens.h.i.+p, disaster overtook her, for she was demonstrably unsuited to her role, and incapable of playing the part of a docile, submissive wife.

Much is known about Anne, but there are also vital gaps. Her date of birth was not recorded, and even the date and place of her marriage to the King were kept secret. The best-doc.u.mented period of her life is the last seventeen days of it, which were spent in the Tower of London, when her courageous bearing at her trial and execution were in stark contrast to her hysterical fits on her arrest, 145 and a world away from the days when she held sway over the court with such hauteur as the King's mistress.

Anne Boleyn was only the second commoner to be elevated to the consort's throne in England - the first had been Elizabeth Woodville, wife of Edward IV. Anne's origins were uninspiring, although, like all Henry VIII's wives, she could trace her descent from Edward I. She was well-connected on her mother's side, but her father's origins were in trade. The Boleyn family came from Norfolk, where there are no records of them before 1402. Anne's forbears lived at Salle, near Aylsham, which was then a thriving community grown prosperous as a result of the profitable wool trade with the Low Countries. Salle is now a deserted hamlet, and the only trace remaining of its former prosperity is its incongruously large church where several early Boleyns are buried.

Geoffrey Boleyn, who died in 1471, was the first member of the family to make a name for himself. A mercer by trade, he became an alderman of the City of London in 1452, and Lord Mayor in 1457. By then he was a wealthy man, having purchased the manor of Blickling in Norfolk from Sir John Fastolf in 1452, and a 200-year- old castle at Hever in Kent in 1462. His wife, Anne, was the daughter of Lord Hoo and Hastings, and his marriage to her was of great social value; he now mixed with the local gentry - such as the Paston family - and the lesser n.o.bility, and even with the much more exalted Howard family. It was probably through their influence that Geoffrey was knighted by Henry VI.

Sir Geoffrey's son, Sir William Boleyn, made an even more impressive marriage, to Margaret Butler, daughter of the Irish Earl of Ormonde. Lady Margaret bore four sons: Thomas, James, William and Edward. Thomas was the eldest, being born around 1477, when his mother was only twelve years old. When he was twenty, he fought with his father for the King, Henry VII, against the men of Cornwall, who had risen in protest against high taxation. The Boleyn family was loyal to the Crown, and came early on to the favourable notice of the Tudor kings, who preferred 'new men' of merchant stock to members of the old n.o.bility.

At around the turn of the century, Thomas Boleyn was married to Elizabeth, the daughter of Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey. It was fortunate for Thomas that the Howard fortunes had suffered a 146reversal after the Battle of Bosworth, when Surrey's father had fought on the losing side, otherwise Elizabeth might have been considered too grand for him. Yet it was still in every way a brilliant match: Elizabeth's brother, Lord Thomas Howard, was then married to the Queen's sister, Anne Plantagenet, and as the Howard family was gradually received back into favour, Thomas Boleyn's status increased accordingly.

Elizabeth Howard proved a fertile bride. 'She brought me every year a child,' Thomas recorded later, remembering what a struggle it had been to provide for them all on an income of only 50.00 per annum. But only three of the children grew to maturity: Mary, Anne and George. Of those who died in infancy, Thomas was buried in Penshurst Church in Kent, and Henry in Hever Church. There has been some dispute as to which of the surviving Boleyn children was the eldest, but it seems clear that Mary was. In 1597, her grandson, George Carey, Lord Hunsdon, referred to her in a letter to Lord Burleigh as 'the eldest daughter' of Sir Thomas Boleyn. This is supported by the wording of the Letters Patent creating Anne Boleyn Marquess of Pembroke in 1532, which refers to Anne as 'one of the daughters' of Sir Thomas Boleyn. Had Anne been the elder, the Patent would surely have said so.

Even more controversy surrounds the dates of birth of Anne and her siblings. Their parents married around the turn of the century, and thus the earliest date for Mary's birth would have been around 1499-1500. George was the youngest of the three: he was not more than twenty-seven when he was preferred to the Privy Council in 1529, and therefore cannot have been born before 1502. It is likely also that his dead brother Thomas was the eldest son, and that George was actually born after 1502, probably in 1503-4.

Until recently, it was accepted that Anne Boleyn was born in 1507; this was the date noted by William Camden in the margin of his ma.n.u.script copy of his biography of Elizabeth I, printed in 1615; another late source, Henry Clifford'sLife of Jane Dormer, d.u.c.h.ess of Feria,based on the reminiscences of one of Mary Tudor's maids of honour as told to her secretary in old age, published in 1645, also gives Anne's date of birth as 1507, stating that she was 'not 29 years of age when she was executed'. However, if Anne was born in 1507, she could not have been more than six years old when she entered the 147service of Margaret of Austria in 1513, an impossibly early age. For a more realistic date we must turn to Lord Herbert of Cherbury's biography of Henry VIII, written during the early seventeenth century and based on many contemporary sources now lost to us. Herbert states that Anne was twenty when she returned from France in 1522; this would place her date of birth in 1501-2, and make her around eleven or twelve when she entered the Archd.u.c.h.ess's household. Two other late sources support an even earlier date of birth: Gregorio Leti's suppressed life of Elizabeth I, which suggests 1499-1500, and William Rastell's biography of Sir Thomas More, both written in the late sixteenth century.

If Anne Boleyn was born in 1500-1501, she would have been around thirty-five when she died, middle-aged by Tudor standards. Life had not been kind to her, and stress had aged her prematurely. In 1536, the Spanish amba.s.sador referred to her as 'that thin old woman', and there is other evidence that Anne was ageing visibly: the portrait of her (in a private collection) painted at this time is in striking contrast to earlier portraits, which show her as youthful and vivacious. None of this evidence is conclusive, but it all points to an earlier date of birth than 1507, probably 1501.

Finally, there is conflicting archaeological evidence. In 1876, during restoration work in the Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula within the Tower of London, workmen found Anne Boleyn's bones beneath the altar pavement. Victorian archaeologists described the bones as those of a woman of delicate frame; the neck vertebrae, which had been severed, were very small. They estimated that Anne had been aged between twenty-five and thirty at her death. It is a fact, however, that the science of pathology was then in its infancy, and this estimate may easily have been inaccurate.

If we date Anne's birth to around 1501, we are able to establish exactly where she was born, for - prior to Sir William's death in 1505 - Thomas Boleyn and his family lived at the manor house at Blickling in Norfolk. Anne's chaplain, Matthew Parker, confirmed her birth here in later years when he referred to himself as her 'countryman', in the sense that he came from the same part of the country that she did; he, too, was born in Norfolk. It has sometimes been claimed that Anne was born at Hever Castle, but her father did not move his family there until after Sir William Boleyn's death. As 148the eldest son, Thomas inherited both properties, but made over Blickling to his brother James, preferring to settle at Hever which was more convenient for the court.

Here, in the moated castle amid the Kentish countryside, Anne Boleyn spent most of her childhood. If we are to believe Lord Herbert, Thomas noticed early on that Anne was an exceptionally bright and 'toward' girl, and 'took all possible care for her good education'. As well as receiving the usual 'virtuous instruction', Anne was taught to play on various musical instruments, to sing and to dance. She quickly became accomplished in all these things, excelling on the lute and virginals, and soon learned to carry herself with grace and dignity. Her academic education was limited to the teaching of literary skills, including a fine Italianate hand and - achieved after some struggle - French. Under her mother's guidance, she became expert at embroidery, and also learned to enjoy poetry, perhaps as a result of a.s.sociating with the young poet Thomas Wyatt, who lived nearby at Allington Castle. Anne, too, had a talent for composing verse. In sum, her education was similar to that enjoyed by many girls of her cla.s.s, its purpose being to perfect those feminine accomplishments that were so prized, both in the marriage market and at court. With this behind her, and her undoubted charm and vivacity, she would not fail to attract the right kind of husband.

During Anne's childhood, her father's career traced an upward curve. After the accession of Henry VIII in 1509, he was often at court, and by 1511 already figured prominently in the King's circle of intimates. He was an affable man and highly cultivated, if at times somewhat brusque, and he was a natural diplomat, sent by the King on a succession of emba.s.sies to foreign courts. Henry's favour also brought a string of honours his way, and with them came increasing wealth and status. Some attributed this to s.e.xual favours bestowed upon the King by Lady Boleyn, but this was categorically denied by Thomas Cromwell, in Henry's presence, in 1537. Thomas Boleyn was nothing if not ambitious; when sent on an emba.s.sy to the court of Margaret of Austria, Regent of the Netherlands, at Mechelen in Brabant, he quickly ingratiated himself with his hostess and wasted no time in extolling to her the virtues and accomplishments of his daughter Anne, the brightest of his children. Margaret responded by offering to take Anne into her household as one of her eighteen 149maids of honour, and when Thomas returned to England in the spring of 1513, Anne was despatched immediately to the Low Countries in the care of a knight surnamed Broughton.

The Regent was delighted with her new maid of honour, and wrote to thank Sir Thomas for sending her, for Anne was a present more than welcome in my sight. I hope to treat her in such a way that you shall be quite satisfied with me. I find in her so fine a spirit, and so perfect an address for a lady of her years, that I am more beholden to you for sending her than you can be to me for receiving her.

To improve Anne's command of the French language, Margaret appointed a governess called Simonette to tutor her, and insisted that Anne's letters to her father be written in French, so that Sir Thomas, who spoke that language fluently, would be suitably impressed. Anne herself later wrote and confessed to him that these early letters were dictated by Simonette but 'the work of my hands alone'. By then, however, she would be as proficient in French as if it were her native tongue.

Anne stayed at the court of Brabant for about eighteen months, until her father found a better position for her as maid of honour to Mary Tudor, who was betrothed to Louis XII of France in August 1514. There was the usual rush to obtain places in the future Queen of France's household, and Sir Thomas was influential enough to secure two, for both his daughters. Yet only one 'Mistress Boleyn' was listed amongst her attendants when she sailed to France in October 1514; this was probably Mary, for it appears that Anne travelled to France direct from Mechelen. Anne's position in Brabant had latterly become slightly uncomfortable due to the deteriorating relations.h.i.+p between England and the Empire, though the Regent recorded in a letter that she was sad to lose her. Anne herself was delighted at the prospect of serving Mary Tudor, and wrote to her father: Sir, I find by your letter that you wish me to appear at court in a manner becoming a respectable female, and likewise that the Queen will condescend to enter into conversation with me. At this 149 I rejoice, as I do think that conversing with so sensible and eloquent a princess will make me even more desirous of continuing to speak and to write good French.

The transition to Mary Tudor's service could only be to her advantage, she reasoned. She and her father were kindred spirits in their desire for advancement, their ambition, and their self-interest. Even at this age Anne had a shrewd eye to the future.

Once in France, Anne was reunited with her sister Mary, and they were among the six young girls permitted to remain at the French court by King Louis XII after he had dismissed all Mary's other English attendants. When Louis died in 1515, Anne and Mary remained in the service of his young widow until she married Suffolk and returned to England. They were then invited to serve Queen Claude, the long-suffering wife of the new King, Francis I - perhaps because both of them by this time spoke French so well.

Claude of Valois was a virtuous woman, crippled from birth by lameness; her household resembled nothing so much as a nunnery. Places in it were much sought after, and the Boleyn girls were honoured to be accorded them. They would now be expected to follow the Queen's example and conduct themselves with modesty and decorum by observing an almost conventual routine based upon prayers, good works and chast.i.ty. Claude's marriage had brought her little happiness; she was constantly pregnant, while her philandering husband entertained scores of mistresses and set the tone for one of the most licentious courts of the period. Because Claude was ill at ease in such an environment, she lived mainly at the chateaux of Amboise and Blois in the lush countryside of the Loire valley. On the occasions when her presence was required at court, the Queen was extremely watchful over her female attendants, knowing full well that they were morally at risk from Francis and his courtiers.

In such contrasting worlds did Mary and Anne Boleyn grow to maturity. The experience would shape their characters in strikingly different ways. Mary succ.u.mbed early on to the temptations so feared by Queen Claude, briefly shared her favours with Francis I, and then went on to become Henry VIII's mistress. Anne, however, was more discreet, and learned from the example set by her sister. She benefited from the regime observed in Claude's household in 150.

that she learned dignity and poise. 'She became so graceful that you would never have taken her for an Englishwoman, but for a Frenchwoman born,' wrote the French poet, Lancelot de Carles. She adopted becoming French fas.h.i.+ons, and the French courtier Brantome tells us in his memoirs that she dressed with marvellous taste and devised new modes which were copied by all the fas.h.i.+onable ladies at court; Anne wore them all with a 'gracefulness that rivalled Venus'. Later, she would be responsible for introducing the French hood into England, a fas.h.i.+on that would last for sixty years. Even the Jesuit historian, Nicholas Sanders - who was responsible for some of the wilder inaccuracies that later gained currency about Anne Boleyn, such as the tale that she was raped by one of her father's household officials at the age of seven - felt moved to praise her inventiveness, saying she was regarded in France as 'the gla.s.s of fas.h.i.+on'.

Brantome remembered Anne Boleyn in his later years as 'the fairest and most bewitching of all the lovely dames of the French court'. According to Lancelot de Carles, her most attractive feature was 'her eyes, which she well knew how to use. In truth, such was their power that many a man paid his allegiance.' She used her eyes, he tells us, to invite conversation, and to convey the promise of hidden pa.s.sion. It was a trick that enslaved several men. Even King Francis was smitten by the fascinating Anne, and wrote: Venus etait blonde, on m'a dit: L'on You bien, qu'elle est brunette.

Anne's charm lay not so much in her physical appearance as in her vivacious personality, her gracefulness, her quick wit and other accomplishments. She was pet.i.te in stature, and had an appealing fragility about her. Her eyes were black and her hair dark brown and of great length; often, she would wear it interlaced with jewels, loose down her back. But she was not pretty, nor did her looks conform to the fas.h.i.+onable ideals of her time. She had small b.r.e.a.s.t.s when it was fas.h.i.+onable to have a voluptuous figure, and in a period when pale complexions were much admired, she was sallow, even swarthy, with small moles on her body. George Wyatt says she had a large Adam's apple, 'like a man's'. This was described by the hostile 152 Nicholas Sanders as 'a large wen under her chin', which Anne always concealed by wearing 'a high dress under her throat'. Nowhere is this borne out by other contemporary writers, or by portraits. Anne did, however, have a small deformity, which her enemies sometimes delighted in describing as a devil's teat. Wyatt tells us she had a second nail 'upon the side of her nail upon one of her fingers', about which she was rather self-conscious, for she took pains to hide it with long hanging oversleeves, another of her fas.h.i.+onable innovations. Sanders described it as a sixth finger, as did Margaret Roper, the daughter of Sir Thomas More.

Even Sanders, however, conceded that Anne was 'handsome to look at, amusing in her way, and a good dancer', while John Barlow, a divine who was later in Anne's service, thought her 'very eloquent and gracious', but less beautiful than Elizabeth Blount, Henry VIII's former mistress. Anne Boleyn undoubtedly had charm and personality in great measure, as well as that indefinable quality, s.e.x appeal. It was this that made her appealing to so many men. Though not beautiful in the conventional sense, she had the gift of making men think she was.

Her portraits - and there are several extant - show in nearly every case a dark-haired woman with a thin face, high cheekbones and a pointed chin - facial characteristics all inherited by her daughter, Elizabeth I, who resembled her in everything but colouring. Portraits claiming to be of Anne Boleyn as a young woman at the French court are all spurious. The most famous portrait of her is that in the National Portrait Gallery, a copy of a lost original, painted between 1533 and 1536. The Gallery portrait, as well as other versions (notably at Windsor Castle, Hever Castle, and the Deanery at Ripon), once formed part of a long gallery set of royal portraits, popular in Elizabethan and Jacobean times. This portrait type still has something of the charm and vivacity that made Anne so attractive. She wears a black velvet gown with furred sleeves, a French hood edged with pearls, and a rope of pearls with a 'B' pendant. Anne was fond of initial pendants, and had at least two others - an 'A' and an 'AB', both of which were inherited and worn by her daughter. Some versions of the portrait show Anne wearing a golden filet and carrying a red rose in her hands. The miniaturist John Hoskins made a fine copy of the lost original of the National 153Portrait Gallery picture in the seventeenth century; now in the collection of the Duke of Buccleuch, its quality is striking, reflecting the artist's great skill in this medium.

Other authentic representations of Anne Boleyn are little known. Her features were faithfully depicted on a medal struck in 1534 bearing the legend 'A.R. The Moost Happi'; Henry may have intended to issue it when Anne presented him with a son, for she was pregnant with her second child that year. Now it is defaced, but, in spite of this, the image is clear, in essence the same as the portraits already discussed, and the face depicted on an enamelled ring now at Chequers, the Prime Minister's country house. This was made in 1575 for Elizabeth I by an artist who had perhaps seen Anne Boleyn, or copied a lost portrait.

Some portraits said to be of Anne are of doubtful authenticity, such as the Holbein sketch at Weston Park. The sitter wears an English gable hood of the 1530s, and has dark hair, large eyes, a long nose and full, sensual lips; her face is fuller than shown in authentic portraits, and her chin not so pointed. Copies in oils exist; one is at Hever Castle, and one was at Warwick Castle until recently. (At Hever, there is a companion portrait of Mary Boleyn, of doubtful authenticity.) Yet is this Anne? Because the sitter is shown from a different angle, it is hard to tell. Holbein was a far better artist than any of the workshop limners who produced copies of authentic portraits, and his portraits are stunningly realistic when compared with the flat portrait panels produced in the studios of the age. Moreover, the portrait was first identified as Anne Boleyn in 1649, not too late to be accepted as proof of a reliable traditionofauthenticity.

Anne Boleyn was highly accomplished, intelligent and witty, and in her younger years, according to George Wyatt, 'pa.s.sing sweet and cheerful'. She loved gambling, played both cards and dice, had a taste for wine, and enjoyed a joke. She was also fond of hunting and the occasional game of bowls. At the glittering French court, she shone at singing, making music, dancing and conversation, and became friendly with the King's sister, the blue-stocking Margaret of Alenqon, a lady of great talent and humour, who encouraged Anne's interest in poetry and literature.

Not surprisingly, the young men of the court swarmed round her.

154Francis I was impressed by the way she handled them, and told her father in a letter that she was discreet and modest. He had heard a rumour that she desired to be a nun; 'This I should regret,' he wrote. It is highly unlikely that Anne Boleyn had any inclination whatsoever towards the religious life; perhaps she used it as a weapon with which to ward off unwelcome suitors, or whet the appet.i.tes of those men she found attractive. There is some later evidence that she was perhaps not so virtuous during her years in France as has. .h.i.therto been supposed. Brantome tells us that 'rarely, or never, did any maid or wife leave that court chaste', and in 1533, Francis I confided to the Duke of Norfolk, Anne's uncle, that she 'had not always lived virtuously'. More tellingly, Henry VIII told the Spanish amba.s.sador in 1536 that Anne had been 'corrupted' in France, and that he had discovered this when s.e.xually experimenting with her. Whatever the extent of Anne's s.e.xual experience in France, however, she was certainly much more discreet than her sister Mary, for no breath of scandal attached itself to her at the time. Nor would this have been in her interests, for she was eager to make a good marriage. One slip, and that ambition would be finished.

Anne's prospects of marriage came under discussion while she was still in France. In 1515, her great-grandfather, James Butler, Earl of Ormonde, died without any male heir of his body to succeed him. The earldom was claimed both by his cousin, Sir Piers Butler, and by Sir Thomas Boleyn, his grandson. It was a contest that would drag on for fourteen years before a solution was reached, although in 1520 Sir Thomas saw a way of resolving the dispute. He proposed a marriage between his daughter Anne and James Butler, the son of Sir Piers. James was described by Cardinal Wolsey as 'right active, discreet and wise', and Thomas was agreeable to the earldom devolving upon him if he married Anne. Boleyn's brother-in-law, the Earl of Surrey, agreed to lay the proposal before the King, whose consent was necessary in such matters. Anne, of course, was not consulted, and no one thought to question whether she would be happy to exchange the sophistication of the French court for a primitive castle in Ireland.

Henry VIII told Surrey he would consult Wolsey on the matter, and Surrey immediately wrote to the Cardinal, hoping to enlist his support, for James Butler was at that time a member of Wolsey's 155household, one of many young artistocrats who were sent to him to complete their education and gain experience of the court.

Wolsey took his time. It was not until November 1521 that he informed the King that he intended to 'devise with your Grace how the marriage betwixt [James Butler] and Sir Thomas Boleyn's daughter may be brought to pa.s.s'. However, although negotiations dragged on, they were mysteriously abandoned in the autumn of 1522. It may be that Sir Thomas Boleyn had had second thoughts, and decided to pursue his own claim to the earldom of Ormonde after all. Whatever the reason, at the end of 1522 Anne Boleyn was no nearer to being betrothed than she had ever been.

Anne had left France early that year. The recent pact between Henry VIII and Charles V had brought England and France to the brink of war, and English subjects living in France were advised to return home. Anne left Paris around January 1522, when English scholars were curtailing their studies at the Sorbonne. Queen Claude regretted losing a valued attendant, and King Francis, in a letter to Wolsey, expressed himself saddened by the 'strange' departure of the fascinating Boleyn.

The Anne Boleyn who returned home to Hever was a very different person from the girl who had left it more than eight years before. Everything about her was now very French: her mode of dress, her manners, her speech, her behaviour. Having lived at the most civilised court in the world, she stood out by reason of her wit, her grace and her accomplishments. It was no time at all before Sir Thomas had secured her a place in the household of Katherine of Aragon, which she entered around February.

At the English court, Anne's social skills brought her instant admiration from all quarters, and she was immediately chosen by the Master of the Revels to take part in one of the pageants planned for Lent. On 4 March Cardinal Wolsey gave a great banquet for the King and Queen at York Place, his London palace near Westminster. After dinner, the hall was cleared and a model of a castle called theChateau Vertwas wheeled in; from it issued five ladies and five gentlemen, who danced together before the court, the King, as Ardent Desire, being one of the dancers. However, he had eyes for no one but his partner, Mary Boleyn, who was then his mistress. The other ladies were the King's sister, Mary Tudor, his aunt the 156Countess of Devon, Jane Parker, daughter of Lord Morley, who was betrothed to Anne's brother George, and Anne. All wore gowns of white satin embroidered with gold thread.

In April 1522, Sir Thomas was appointed Treasurer of the royal household. Rather than deploring his daughter Mary's immorality, he was in fact capitalising on it, and hoping for greater rewards to come. Nor did he have to wait long, for in 1525 he was elevated to the peerage as Viscount Rochford. But by that time, Henry's interest in Mary Boleyn had waned: if Wolsey's secretary and biographer, George Cavendish, is to be believed, he was casting amorous eyes in her sister Anne's direction, and had in fact been doing so since 1523. However, he had refrained from actively pursuing her, and had not disclosed his secret inclinations to anyone, least of all to the lady herself. Cavendish's information was probably correct; he was an eyewitness of the events of the period who was often taken into Wolsey's confidence, and Wolsey, of course, knew nearly all his master's secrets and made it his business to learn about the private intrigues of the court.

In 1523, Anne Boleyn's life revolved around her duties within the Queen's household. Katherine liked to surround herself with attractive young women, often to her own detriment, and was a benevolent mistress to those who served her, never failing in courtesy towards them, and taking an almost maternal interest in their lives. Young men were made welcome in the Queen's apartments, and there were plenty of opportunities for flirtation. Anne had attracted a number of suitors, and one young man who was smitten with her charms was Henry Percy, the 21-year-old heir to the earldom of Northumberland. Percy had served on the Council of the North in 1522 before joining the household of Cardinal Wolsey, hoping like many other young men of similar rank to find preferment. Percy was the Cardinal's servitor at table; whenever Wolsey went to court, Percy would go with him, but as soon as he had been excused from his duties, he would resort to the Queen's apartments, there to chat and flirt with the maids of honour. Thus he had met Anne Boleyn, and before very long he had eyes for no one else.

Anne Boleyn was not for nothing her father's daughter; she saw in Henry Percy not only an ardent suitor to whom she was attracted, 157 but also the heir to one of the greatest and most ancient earldoms in England. The prospect of becoming Countess of Northumberland and chatelaine of Alnwick Castle, was a glorious one, and falling in love with Henry Percy was consequently very easy. He was quick to declare his feelings for her, and that summer he proposed marriage and secretly contracted himself to marry Anne before witnesses. But although their betrothal was to be kept a secret for the time being, the lovers could not conceal their feelings, and there was talk. It reached the ears of Cardinal Wolsey and alarmed him, for he was aware that Percy had been betrothed since 1516 to Lady Mary Talbot, daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury. Percy had been very rash to involve himself with Anne Boleyn, a precontract being then as legally binding as a marriage. Anyway, in Wolsey's opinion, Anne Boleyn was no fit bride for a Percy, and it was unlikely that the Earl of Northumberland would ever have agreed to such a match.

Wolsey wasted no time in laying the matter before the King, without whose permission no aristocratic marriage could be contracted and who was angry at not being consulted. According to Cavendish, who relates the whole episode as one with inside knowledge of it, the thought of Anne Boleyn betrothed to another man disturbed him, so much so that he reluctantly confessed to the Cardinal the 'secret affection' he had been nurturing for her, and ordered Wolsey to break the engagement. This Wolsey agreed was the best course, and when he arrived back at York Place, he summoned Percy and proceeded to lecture him sternly over his folly in involving himself with 'that foolish girl yonder in the court, Anne Boleyn'. In front of Cavendish and other onlookers, the Cardinal accused the young man of having offended his father and his sovereign; Anne was 'one such as neither of them will be agreeable with the matter', and anyway, 'His Highness intended to have preferred Anne Boleyn unto another person, although she knoweth it not'. Henry, of course, had done no such thing: he was reserving Anne for himself.

Percy was dismayed at his master's words, but he outfaced the Cardinal and argued that he was 'old enough to choose a wife as my fancy served me best', emphasising Anne's 'right n.o.ble parentage, whose descent is equivalent with mine'. But Wolsey was not to be swayed, and called Percy a 'wilful boy'. Percy retorted that he had 'gone so far, before so many worthy witnesses', that he knew no 158 way of extricating himself from his engagement without offending his conscience. Too late, he realised his error, for the Cardinal, well- versed in canon law, swooped. 'Think ye that the King and I know not what we have to do in as weighty a matter as this?' he interrupted smoothly. Percy was beaten, and he knew it. His father was sent for, and he was commanded in the King's name not to resort to Anne's company again. When the Earl of Northumberland arrived, he soundly berated his son, threatening to disinherit him if he did not do his duty. Then he had a long talk with the King and Wolsey, which resulted in a decision that Percy should marry Lady Mary Talbot as soon as it could be arranged. After that, Wolsey put in hand the legal process whereby Percy's contract with Anne Boleyn was 'clearly undone'.

Forbidden to see Anne, Percy was frantic with worry about her, having no means of knowing what she had heard. In desperation, he sent her a message via his friend, James Melton, begging that she would never allow herself to be married to another man: 'Bid her remember her promise, which none can loose but G.o.d only.' But Percy's hopes were futile. In September 1523, he married Lady Mary Talbot, and went home to Northumberland. His marriage would prove a very unhappy one, blighted not only by incompatibility but by his own advancing ill health.

Anne's first reaction, upon hearing that her betrothal to Percy had been broken, was not sorrow but anger. The Cardinal had ruined her life, the upstart butcher's son had dared to dismiss her as a 'hasty folly', and had had the effrontery to refer to her as 'a foolish girl'. Worst of all, he had proclaimed her unfit to mate with a Percy. Of the King's involvement in the affair, she suspected nothing; it was Wolsey with whom she was 'greatly offended'. If ever it lay in her power, she openly declared, 'she would work the Cardinal as much displeasure as he had done her.' However, it seemed she would have little opportunity to do so, for an order arrived almost immediately for her to return to her father's castle at Hever for a time. This made her so angry, says Cavendish, that 'she smoked'!

Anne was left to simmer and sorrow at Hever for a year or more. As for the King's interest in her, this would seem to have been a case of out of sight out of mind; he was still preoccupied with her sister anyway, although his interest in Mary dwindled as the months went 159by. Anne's life during her exile is not doc.u.mented. She may have attended the wedding of her brother George to Jane Parker in 1524; as a wedding present, the King granted George the manor of Grimston in Norfolk, which proves that any displeasure he may have felt towards the Boleyns on accountofthe Percy affair was transitory.

Anne returned to court some time in 1524 or 1525, and resumed her duties in the Queen's household. In the months of her absence she had learned the hard way to be wary of men, although she still attracted them and once more established herself as one of the brightest young women at court.

In 1525, the King's interest in Anne reawakened. He was intrigued by her grace and her sharp wit, while her sophistication and s.e.xual allure were in delightful contrast to Queen Katherine's piety and grave dignity. Anne was twenty-four, Katherine approaching forty: in every way Anne was in direct contrast to his ageing wife. He himself was still magnificent, larger than life, in his middle thirties, and ripe for an affair. When he looked at Anne, he found himself drawn to her as he had been to no woman before her; and in view of the ease with which he had made his past conquests, he did not doubt that he would succeed in seducing her.

He was destined to be quickly disillusioned, for no sooner was the object of his desire firmly established back at court than she seemed to be encouraging the advances of the poet Thomas Wyatt, a married man whose wife's adulteries were notorious. In reality, Anne's partic.i.p.ation in this affair was at best half-hearted, for she knew there was no brilliant future in it. She did not see any more in Wyatt's attentions than the polite conventions of the courtly affair, nor did she have any intention of granting s.e.xual favours to the poet, for all his fervent protestations of love. For her it was an enjoyable flirtation, but the King, of course, did not know this and, suspecting the worst, grew tense with jealousy.

Wyatt's grandson, George Wyatt, later recounted how the poet had been taken with Anne's beauty and her witty and graceful speech, and tells us that Wyatt was supposed to have expressed his feelings for her in some of his verses. In fact, his poems tell us very little about the affair, as few of them can be proved to relate to it, while one or two of those once accepted as referring to Anne Boleyn 160 are now thought not to have been composed by Wyatt at all. One verse, which is in the form of a riddle about a disdainful lover, has as its answer the name 'Anna'; but which Anna cannot be proved. What is clear, though, is that Wyatt was far more interested in Anne Boleyn than she was in him, and before his courts.h.i.+p went too far she 'rejected all his speech of love' as kindly as she could, m m encouraging friends.h.i.+p rather than amorous advances. Wyatt went I on hoping and dreaming, writing of 'the lively sparks that issue from those eyes, sunbeams to daze men's sight', and seeking her company. What he failed to realise was that it had dawned at last upon Anne Boleyn that other, more august eyes were upon her. encouraging friends.h.i.+p rather than amorous advances. Wyatt went I on hoping and dreaming, writing of 'the lively sparks that issue from those eyes, sunbeams to daze men's sight', and seeking her company. What he failed to realise was that it had dawned at last upon Anne Boleyn that other, more august eyes were upon her.

In February 1526, Henry VIII appeared in the tiltyard wearing the jousting dress embroidered with the words 'Declare I dare not'. This was the first indication that he had begun paying court to Anne Boleyn in secret, and doubtless his courtiers a.s.sumed that once more their sovereign had taken a new mistress. They would have been wrong: Henry had asked Anne to become his mistress, but - to his astonishment - she had refused. She would not be his mistress in the courtly sense nor in the physical sense. She had seen what had happened to her sister, who had been cast off without so much as a pension, and she told the King (according to George Wyatt): I think your Majesty speaks these words in mirth to prove me, but without any intent of degrading your princely self. To ease you of the labour of asking me any such question hereafter, I beseech your Highness most earnestly to desist, and to take this my answer in good part. I would rather lose my life than my honesty, which will be the greatest and best part of the dowry I shall have to bring my husband.

Henry, who was used to women surrendering the instant he beckoned, was intrigued. It was new for him to be placed in the position of having to beg for s.e.xual favours; far from being angry or irritated, he was captivated, and Anne at once became infinitely more desirable. 'Well, Madam,' he told her, 'I shall live in hope.' But then it was Anne's turn to express astonishment: 'I understand not, most mighty King, how you should retain such hope! Your wife I cannot be, both in respect of mine own unworthiness, and also because you 161 have a queen already. Your mistress I will not be.' Besides, she added, referring to the Queen, 'how could I injure a princess of such great virtue?'

Whether these were Anne's actual words is really immaterial; she must have said something of the sort, for she made it very clear to Henry VIII that she would only surrender her virginity after marriage. The only way that Henry would ever enjoy her would be by making her his wife, and that, as she pointed out, was impossible. It may be that he had told her already of his doubts about the validity of his marriage; if not, he would soon do so. Nor was it long for the seed once sown to take root in Henry's mind. Wyatt says the King told Wolsey he had spoken with a young lady with the soul of an angel and a spirit worthy of a crown who would not sleep with him. Wolsey, who failed to see the significance of what the King was really saying, observed in his worldly-wise way that if Henry considered Anne worthy of such an honour, then she should do as he wished. 'She is not of ordinary clay,' sighed the royal lover, 'and I fear she will never condescend in that way.' 'Great princes,' Wolsey insisted, 'if they choose to play the lover, have means of softening hearts of steel.'

Henry chose to play the lover. He sent Anne expensive gifts as tokens of his affection; these she accepted, which led him to hope that she might come to relent, given time. Yet already Anne was playing for the highest prize of all. As soon as she learned from the King of his doubts about his marriage, she saw her advantage. If he obtained an annulment, which might not be very difficult in the circ.u.mstances, then he would be free to marry again and father the heirs he so desperately needed. A Percy had considered her worthy, and a strain of Plantagenet blood ran in her veins. Why should she not become Queen of England?

Anne was setting out on a dangerous path, which she would have to tread with the utmost care. Whatever happened, she must not surrender to the King: his interest cooled too quickly. For the moment, she contented herself with dropping subtle hints, intimating that in the right circ.u.mstances she was ready to give heart, body and soul to him, and Henry, like any man kept at bay, grew daily more intent upon having her. Her studied aloofness only added to his torment lest she was harbouring some secret pa.s.sion for Wyatt.

162 Anne was on friendly terms with the poet, who, blithely unaware of his sovereign's interest, was still paying court to her. One day, he playfully s.n.a.t.c.hed a small jewel hanging by a lace out of her pocket, and thrust it into his doublet. Anne begged for its return, but Wyatt kept it, and wore it round his neck under his s.h.i.+rt. Presently, Anne forgot all about it, the jewel being of little value. However, not long afterwards, Wyatt was the King's opponent at a game of bowls; Henry thought the winning cast was his, and pointing to it with a finger on which a ring Wyatt recognised as Anne's was displayed, said, 'Wyatt, I tell thee, it is mine!' Thomas, not to be outdone, rashly produced Anne's trinket from about his neck, and taking the chain, said, 'If Your Majesty will give me leave to measure it, I hope it will be mine!' The winning cast was indeed his own, but he had not been referring to that, and the King, to whom his meaning had been clear, lost his temper. 'It may be so, but then I am deceived!' he snapped, and broke up the game.

Henry was not only jealous, he was hurt, because the ring he wore had been given to him by Anne, under some pressure, as a token of her affection. It was not, as has sometimes been supposed, a betrothal ring, because Anne had not received one in return. Nevertheless, it was not long before Henry did make up his mind to 'win her by treaty of marriage'; in his mind, he was a free man, having convinced himself that his marriage was uncanonical, and that for the Pope to declare it so would be a mere formality. He now wanted Anne more than anything else in the world, except, perhaps, a son, and he could see no reason why he should not enjoy lawfully what she would not permit him illicitly. His proposal to her was made in the latter part of 1526 or early in 1527, yet there was a delay of some months before he sought Wolsey's advice about obtaining an annulment. This delay was caused by Anne's reluctance to commit herself, a ploy calculated to banish any regrets the King might have had after asking her to become his wife. She had cleverly manoeuvred him into proposing marriage; now she would make him play a guessing game, while she affected to consider whether she would accept him.

Anne had a.s.sured the King that Wyatt meant nothing to her, and that the poet had taken her trinket without her permission. She had also made it clear to Wyatt that his courts.h.i.+p of her must end. Henry 163was taking no chances, however, and sent Wyatt off on a diplomatic mission to Italy, from which he would not return until May 1527, when it was becoming obvious to everyone just how serious the affair between the King and Anne Boleyn was. Wyatt accepted defeat with good grace, and drowned his sorrows in some very apt verse: Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt; As well as I may spend his time in vain. And graven with diamonds, in letters plain, There is written her fair neck round about:Noli me tangere,for Caesar's I am, And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

Wyatt soon recovered from his loss and shortly afterwards found a new love, Elizabeth Darrell, who remained his mistress until his death in 1542. Soon, he was celebrating her in a new poem: Then do I love again; If thou ask whom, sure since I did refrain Her, that did set our country in a roar; The unfeigned cheer of Phyllis hath the place That Brunette had.

Later, Thomas amended the third line of this verse to 'Brunette, that set my wealth in such a roar,' deeming it wiser to delete all references to his affair with Anne Boleyn, which is perhaps why very few of his poems about it survive today.

Having eliminated his rival, the King may now have hoped that his way was clear to ecstasy with his sweetheart. Anne found his ardour hard to deal with, and retaliated by withdrawing from the court to Hever Castle. This only inflamed the King more, and he began sending her pa.s.sionate love-letters, of which this is one of the first: My mistress and my friend, I and my heart commit ourselves into your hands, beseeching you to hold us recommended to your good favour, and that your affection to us may not be by absence diminished. For great pity it were to increase our pain, seeing that absence makes enough of it, 164and indeed more than I could ever have thought; remembering us of a point in astronomy, that the longer the days are, the farther off is the sun, and yet, notwithstanding, the hotter; so it is with our love, for we by absence are far sundered, yet it nevertheless keeps its fervency, at the least on my part, holding in hope the like on yours. Ensuring you that for myself the annoy of absence doth already too much vex me; it is almost intolerable to me, were it not for the firm hope that I have of your ever during affection towards me. And sometimes, to put you in mind of this, and seeing that in person I cannot be in your presence, I send you my picture set in a bracelet. Wis.h.i.+ng myself in their place, when it should please you. This by the hand of your loyal servant and friend, H.R.

Anne was better able to cope with separation than Henry, for she was not so deeply involved emotionally. Seven years in France had taught her skill in the game of courts.h.i.+p, and she sent the King the gift of a jewel fas.h.i.+oned as a solitary damsel in a boat tossed by a tempest. The allusion was clear. At the same time, she wrote her lover a warm letter, hinting at her inner turmoil, but implying that she might, with some rea.s.surance from him, see her way to accepting him as her future husband. Sadly, this letter, and all the others written to the King by Anne, have not survived. His to her, however, she kept, but they were stolen by a papal servant in 1529, and today rest in the Vatican archives.

Anne's letter and love-token provoked a pa.s.sionate reaction from Henry, who wrote: For so beautiful a gift, I thank you right cordially, chiefly for the good intent and too-humble submission vouchsafed by your kindness. To merit it would not a little perplex me, if I were not aided therein by your great benevolence and goodwill. The proofs of your affection are such that they constrain me ever truly to love, honour and serve you, praying that you will continue in this same firm and constant purpose, ensuring you, for my part, that I will the rather go beyond than make reciprocal, if loyalty of heart, the desire to do you pleasure, even with my whole heart root, may 165 serve to advance it. Henceforth, my heart shall be dedicate to you alone, greatly desirous that my body could be as well, as G.o.d can bring it to pa.s.s if it pleaseth Him, Whom I entreat once each day for the accomplishment thereof, trusting that at length my prayer will be heard, wis.h.i.+ng the time brief, and thinking it but long until we shall see each other again.

Written with the hand of the secretary who in heart, body and will is your loyal and most ensured servant.

H. autre^B'ne cherche R.

'Henry the King seeks no other than Anne Boleyn.' And around Anne's initials the King drew a heart, as lovers have done from time immemorial. Anne may have been flattered, yet her resolve remained firm, and she stayed tantalisingly out of reach. When Henry, driven to desperation, made a brief visit to see her at Hever, she told him she was returning to court. Then, when he had gone, she changed her mind, and sent a message to say she could not come after all, even in her mother's company, which Henry had suggested as a means of preserving her good name. Frantic in case her feelings had cooled, he complained bitterly in his next letter that she had not written often enough and that she was being unduly hard on him: To my mistress, Because the time seems to me very long since I have heard of your good health and of you, the great affection that I bear you has prevailed with me to send to you, to be the better ascertained of your health and pleasure, because since I parted with you I have been advised that the opinion in which I left you has now altogether changed, and that you will not come to court, neither with my lady your mother, nor yet any other way. I cannot enough marvel, seeing I am well a.s.sured I have never since that time committed fault; methinks it is but small recompense for the great love I bear you to keep me thus distanced from the person of that she which of all the world I most do esteem. And if you love me with such settled affection as I trust, I a.s.sure me that this sundering of our two persons should be to you some small vexation. Bethink you well, my mistress, that your absence doth not a little grieve me, trusting that by your will it should not be so; 166but if I knew in truth that of your will you desired it, I could do none other than lament me of my ill-fortune, abating by little and little my so great folly.

Unknown to Anne, the King had already made the decision to test the validity of his marriage in the ecclesiastical courts; this was a matter too sensitive to be written of in his letter, so he entrusted the bearer with a message for Anne, 'praying you to give credence to that which he will tell you from me'. The news had the desired effect, and elicited a prompt reply, in which Anne, as his humble subject, professed her love and devotion to a gracious sovereign. This was not quite what Henry had hoped for, but it was enough to provoke him into a fervent declaration of his intentions towards her in his next letter, written in the spring of 1527. He was in great distress, he said, because he did not know how to interpret her last letter, and he prayed her, with all my heart, you will expressly certify me of your whole mind concerning the love between us two. . . . If it shall please you to do me the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give yourself up, heart, body and soul to me, who will be and have been your very loyal servant, I promise you that not only shall the name be given you, but that also I will take you for my only mistress, rejecting from thought and affection all others save yourself, to serve you only.

He ended by beseeching her for an answer, if not in writing, then in person.

It is clear from this letter that the King was using the word 'mistress' in its honourable, courtly context, yet equally clear that he meant Anne to interpret it in its fullest sense. But there is more to the letter than that. She was to be placed above all others, including, presumably, the Queen herself. Henry was not yet free to marry her, and saw no reason why they could not be lovers while he was waiting for his freedom: he wanted Anne to commit herself publicly to the relations.h.i.+p. For her, this was a prospect fraught with danger and insecurity, and therefore not to be considered. If she became the Ki