It was strange, thinking back over all those years—but such thoughts will come on these occasions—to those days when as a little girl I had accompanied the proud beauty to France. Now I was a Queen and she was a dying woman.
I stepped into my litter. My surcoat was of silver tissue and my cloak was of the same material lined with ermine. I wore my hair flowing about my shoulders, and on my head was a circlet of rubies. My litter was made of cloth of gold, and my two palfreys, which drew it, were in white damask. They were led by sumptuously clad footmen, and the company stretched out behind me.
There were wonderful pageants on the way; we stopped to marvel at their ingenuity and to listen to the speeches of praise. One of these represented Mount Parnassus, from which sprang jets of Rhenish wine. Of course, the white falcon figured in these scenes. One was particularly effective—the falcon uncrowned in the midst of red and white roses; as I approached, an angel appeared and placed a golden crown on the falcon's head. In Cheapside the wine flowed freely—white in the conduit on one side, red on the other.
And so we progressed through the city to Westminister, where I was to spend the night with the King.
I went to bed that night exhausted, but deeply content. I reminded myself that I was not only the Queen but the idol of the people. Well… perhaps for a day or so. The joy was so exquisite that I must savor it to the full. This was no time for analyzing my thoughts and finding uneasy portents there. It was a time for absolute rejoicing, and I gave myself up to it.
The morning dawned… that day for which I had waited through the years. The first day of June. In four months’ time my joy would be complete. Then I would hold my son in my arms and I would have the King's gratitude forever. People would no longer revile me. They would realize that I, Anne Boleyn, had won the love of the King so that he had discovered his first marriage had not found favor in the sight of God. So he had married me and I was giving them their new King, thereby saving the country from split loyalties and perhaps civil war. Henry was not yet old—forty-two years of age. He had time to bring up a son to be a good King to follow him. Had it not been for this marriage and my production of the heir, what would have happened on Henry's death? The old wars of the roses might well have broken out. Any country which has endured civil war would go to any great lengths to prevent that happening again.
I was up early, ready for the great day. My ladies helped me to dress in surcoat and mantle of purple velvet lined with ermine. Then came the walk from Westminister Hall to the Abbey. The barons of the Cinque Ports held the canopy over me; the Bishops of London and Winchester walked beside me; and the ladies, led by the Duchess of Norfolk, carried my train.
I sat in a chair between the choir and the altar, and then I went to the high altar where Cranmar was waiting for me. Finally the crown of St. Edward was set on my head, and the Te Deum was sung.
The ceremony continued and afterward we left the Abbey for West-minster Hall where a banquet was being prepared. Then we sat at a table which had been decorated in a most splendid manner; we were served with twenty-seven dishes and ate to the accompaniment of music.
The King was not present. This was my occasion. He watched, he told me afterward, through a window, for he wanted to see the whole company do honor to me. I was to be the most important person at the table; and had he been there, of course, that honor would have fallen to him.
The meal went on until six o'clock, and when I had drunk from the golden cup which had been brought to me by the Mayor, I presented him with the cup as a reward for his services. I gave the canopy, with its golden bells, to the Barons of the Cinque Ports as payment for their services in accordance with custom. Then I thanked them all for what they had done for me.
Very tired, but deeply contented, I left the hall.
The great day had come to an end and I was Queen of England.
Into Danger
I HAD THOUGHT THAT when I reached the pinnacle of my ambition I should be completely happy. Here I was, Queen of England, soon to bear the heir. My tribulations were over. Whatever the Pope did could not harm me now. Cranmer was the King's man and he had declared the King's first marriage invalid; and if there was any difficulty from Rome, Cromwell had his solution. Oh, I knew it was a drastic one and that the King was nervous of putting it into practice; but we were married now. This was the culmination of all our efforts for seven years.
But it was not quite perfection. Perhaps there is a reaction after such a conclusion is reached. Perhaps the continual plans, the upheavals, even the setbacks gave a zest to the days. I wondered if the King felt as I did. The excitement of our encounters had waned a little. Perhaps it was because the excitement of doing what was forbidden was removed. There is a spiciness in sinning which acting virtuously lacks. It was now perfectly legitimate for us to share the same bed. We were almost like a long-married couple; and there was I, no longer alluring, for how could a woman heavy with child be that?
The King was very tender toward me, very solicitous that I should take great care. But I began to ask myself whether that was really for the sake of the child.
I was surrounded by all the ceremony which is a Queen's natural right; I was the most talked-of person in the country. Soothsayers and astrologers were making prophecies about my child. They all declared it would be a boy. They would have received little thanks from Henry for a girl.
I was learning more about my husband. When I thought of all the warning signs I had had during the last years, I marveled at my lack of perception. I had been adored so long that I thought it would go on forever. I had come to believe that I was possessed of some special powers to draw men to me. I should have looked more closely at men's motives— more than that, I should have looked to myself. I had been the most attractive woman at Court, and I had been convinced that this was due to some special quality I possessed. Now I perceived that, although I was not without attractions, it was the ardent desire of the King which had enhanced my allure. There must be something very exciting about a woman for whom a man would do so much. That was what they told themselves, and they promptly fell in love with me. I should have seen that Henry was tired of Katharine and that his mixture of piety and sensuality made it necessary for him to indulge his desires while placating his conscience. He had never taken mistresses to the extent that François had. He wanted a regular union because he thought that was pleasing in the eyes of God, and Henry sought favor in that direction—just as his courtiers did with him. Thus there had been a combination of events: boredom with Katharine and the need to remove her but in a manner which could be seen to be righteous; desire for me, who had stood out against anything but marriage; the obstinacy in his nature which could not bear to be balked; and above all the overriding need and desire for a son. That was what had motivated Henry, and I had deluded myself into believing that it was entirely due to his passion for me.
My brother George had been my main supporter through all my triumphs and tribulations. He was closer to me than any other person. I loved him dearly and I knew he was the only one whom I could trust absolutely. My father, for whom I had some natural feeling of affection, was, first and foremost before he was a father, an ambitious man. He saw me not so much as a daughter but as the Queen of England, who had made the grandest marriage of all those obliging Boleyn ladies. I knew that he would always think first of the fortunes of the family. George would think first of my well-being.