The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn

by Robin Maxwell

  “Who gave you leave to go from the Queens presence!” I shrieked. She froze where she stood. “Turn to me, Mary. Let me see the face of an ungrateful sister who dared without the Kings permission to give her self away to a simple soldier when there was some good value to be got from a marriage of alliance.”

  “You must forgive me, Sister, but he was young and love overcame reason. I true believed the world set so little by me, and he so much, that I thought there was no better way but to take him and forsake all other ways, and live a poor honest life with him. Our Mother, Father, even Brother George are cruel against us and have turned their backs on me.”

  “And so do I!” I shouted then at her. “Get out, I have room for only one fool in my Court!”

  Stung as she was by my words she held a proud posture, no doubt bolstered by her husbands love, and backed from my bedchamber. Sick as I was, sicker still did I become. I cried and raged until I vomited, hating my happy sister no more than I hated my miserable self.

  Secretary Cromwell, when I next saw him in his private offices, showed me a letter Mary’d writ to him begging him to speak gently on her behalf to Henry, who should likewise speak to me and soften my resistance. She said she knew that she could have a man of greater birth, but never one who loved her so well, nor one more honest. “I would rather beg my bread with him than be the greatest Queen in Christendom,” she wrote.

  “If I may be so bold as to give advice to you, Your Majesty,” said Secretary Cromwell, “I would forgive your sister. She is, after all, your blood … and the damage has been done. The King …” He paused as tho he had lost his words.

  “What about the King?”

  “I think he would not like to be bothered with this business.”

  “Quite so,” I told him evenly. I did not say I knew full well the King would find the mention of his old mistress’s name offensive, nor did I deign to educate him on the great remorse I’d lately suffered on account of my scurrilous treatment of my sister. “Send Mary and her new husband my blessings and the King’s as well. And when the child comes we’ll send a rich gift so she will know our love’s sincere.”

  “Very good, Your Majesty. Leave it in my hands.” As I left Cromwell’s apartments I wondered at the spareness and the modesty of his rooms for a man so high in the King’s favor. Surely he could have a soft cushion on his chair, fresher rushes on the floor, a few fine hangings to keep out the draughts. Perhaps in his sincere and undivided attention to the King’s business, he does neither see nor feel the cold and harsh surroundings.

  By that time Henry’d had the news of my miscarriage, and in public was little colder than he’d been before. But in my bed late at night where he had come to exercise his rights — since he no longer came to take his pleasure — I found him rough and crude. He reeked of ale and I could smell another woman’s scent upon his body.

  “How does my Queen?” he inquired with that particular ugliness of voice which told of his loathing. “We shall try again, Anne, tho your womb seems an uncomfortable place for my sons.”

  I held my tongue on which hung some bitter words. I spread my legs for him and bore his stinking breath and hateful seed, for this is the bed that I have made and I have nought to do but lie within it.

  Yours faithfully,

  Anne

  24 February 1535

  Diary,

  Despite my growing miseries my maids and I spent last evening in our cups and laughing very merrily, for the fool I have in my employ — a woman named Niniane — we all like right well. She finds many marvellous ways to make jests of all our woes. Nonsense and puns, bawdy songs with verses that, once sung, we ladies sing along with. She makes unimaginable contortions of her body and her pliable face, juggles, tells ribald stories all complete with accompanying sounds like horses clop-ping, bells ringing, thunder pealing. Most times and to our great delight she makes men the butt of her jokery, pratfalls and impersonations — feeble brained noblemen, vainglorious fops, clumsy clods and lecherous Bishops. A cuckolded man who’d caught his wife in bed with her lover, she described as looking like a dog falling out a window. We howled with laughter till we cried, but begged the girl for more till she could hardly stand. I paid her handsomely in praise and gold, and bid her stay close to me, for I have troubles multiplying daily and need a respite now and then.

  Henry, not content with whores kept in private brothels, even maidens kept above his chambers for satisfaction of insatiable venereal cravings, has again taken Elizabeth Carew as his lover. She seems no passing fancy and they do not hide their amorous liaison from my eyes, in deed flaunt the romance for all the Court to see. Of late this handsome waiting lady wears hung round her throat rich jewels which could only be of royal origin, and a smirk upon her face born in confidence of Henrys protection. I had endured this humiliation several months in silence, then let my rage overtake my reason and commanded Mistress Carew from the Court. Henry heard of it and quickly nullified my order, sending me a harsh message that I had better be content with what he’d done for me, for he would not do it now were it to begin again. O sweet Jesus, this man my husband does humiliate my very soul. To have suffered all that I have as recipient of his unwanted love, and then to be treated poorly as Queen Katherine was! And this is not the end of it.

  Henry’s now begun to show some fair affection to his daughter Mary. He sent a fine new litter and rich hangings for her rooms in Hatfield Hall. But worse than this, I fear he speaks more lovingly of her than of Elizabeth to his courtiers. Last visit that I made my daughter, I was accompanied to Hertfordshire by a complement of Lords and Ladies not the least of which were Dukes of Suffolk and of Norfolk. We spent a most congenial ride together and I anticipated some happy hours spent within the royal nursery, all these courtiers gathered round the Princess paying homage due her self. But when once we’d come to Hatfield’s door and our carriages and horses led away, all but two of my ladies like magick disappeared, and without a word of warning (tho surely was a plan rehearsed) made their way to Lady Mary’s chambers there to pay her homage! I stood speechless with my remaining loyal ladies trying hard to hide the crimson flush my indignant cheeks were showing. My maids, too, were taken by surprise by this rude mutiny, and in their kind way made light of it, urging me to go directly to my daughter, the very sight of whom they knew would ease my angry disposition.

  Elizabeth is not yet two, but bold in spirit and strong upon her tiny feet like a tiny whirlwind. She is a happy child and so beautiful it almost makes me weep. I spoke with Lady Bryan who says my child does suffer with her great teeth which come forth very slowly. I promised I would send nigh some lavender oil to soothe her aching gums and calm her nighttime wailing.

  The afternoon which might have then passed pleasantly enough was later marred when I received a most insulting note from Lady Mary, stating her refusal to come out from her apartments, as she did not wish to see me. And when I later gave Mistress Shelton orders that the girl be punished for her rudeness, Henry him self had those orders countermanded.

  I confess, where I once shrank from accusations of Marys poisoning, these days I wonder if her execution is the only end for such a traitorous subject. She and that scabrous mother of hers! Both continue to refuse the oath that each and every person in the land must swear to or face execution. Let God hear me now, I shall be that girl’s death and she shall be mine!

  Yours faithfully,

  Anne

  2 March 1535

  Diary,

  I fear the French have now deserted me as rats desert a sinking ship! My good allies, country of my education, supporters of my marriage, make certain mockery of my friendship. This was made clear upon the coming of King Francis’ delegation headed by the Admiral of France and my old friend Chabot de Brion, whom I have received most lavishly in England on his many visits, and in Calais previous to my wedding. We understood one another, this man and I, spoke the same language, held the same thoughts. His prodigious flattery I believed sincere.

/>   On their arrival of this occasion to discuss a royal marriage, tho, Chabot made no attempt to seek an audience with me as he is wont to do, or bring a token of affection from Francis, or even greetings from that King. When Henry did inquire if the Admiral wished to pay his respects to the Queen he replied that he would do so if it pleased the King] He abstained from all the revels, jousts and tennis games I’d planned so carefully for him. And when he chanced to see me, he was cold and so ungracious that a strange thought passed thro my mind — that this man was not Chabot at all, but some stranger disguised as him. For I was sore confused by such behavior. Confused, that is, until negotiations opened for the English-French alliance and my daughter’s hand in marriage.

  It seems that King Francis’ loyalty has flown in the direction of Rome. Tho he still grants Henry’s marriage to Katherine invalid, Mary, he asserts is still the heir and thus demanded an old betrothal of the wretched girl to his son the Dauphin be fulfilled. Threats were made, yes threats that if the pledge was not honored they would tie the French Prince in matrimony to the Emperor’s daughter.

  All of these ugly surprises tore at my mind’s fabric leaving its edges ragged and frayed, so that at the final feast given for the French emissaries I imbibed too freely, and thus had no guard upon my tongue. Chabot sat coldly at my right making inconsequential conversation and I, in turn, chattered like a mindless girl. Then my eyes caught sight of Henry cross the room catching sight of his beloved mistress. The King was stopped dead, and the look of his face — so fraught with passion and so like the look he once held for me — caused to rise in my throat a sudden bitter laugh which, loosed by wine, became a great unstoppable torrent. Chabot was quite offended and asked whether I was mocking him, which led to even more of my laughter. He spluttered, turned a furious red and rose indignantly to go. I sobered quickly then and held his arm, knowing this momentary lapse of sanity could harm irreparably my daughter’s yet endangered cause. Nothing short of truth would, I knew, calm the man and so humiliating my self as I spoke, I admitted seeing Henry’s loving actions toward his mistress. I was grateful that Chabot believed my explanation, but I cringed at the pity for me I saw within his eyes.

  Upon the Frenchmen’s departure Henry sent word that their proposal would not do, and offered up Instead Elizabeth for the Duke d’Angouleme’s bride. The delegation sailed with stiff and formal promises of a swift reply. I believed that Henry was as cold as he could be to me, but I was wrong. His eyes after their departure fixed me with a steely stare and he said, “You should pray God, Madame, that their answer comes in your daughters favor, for what use have I for either of you if not for such alliances?”

  Many weeks have come and gone and we wait in vain for their decision. Eastertide is now upon us but I feel no celebration. I make the motions that are expected of a queen — ordering new gowns, planning feasts and masques and special masses — but each day of silence from across the Channel tolls in my head like some dread and heavy bell down an empty abbey corridor. I pray God takes my part in this, for I have never sinned as much as I am being made to pay for.

  Yours faithfully,

  Anne

  14 April 1535

  Diary,

  My prayers are answered! The French have finally agreed the Duke d’Angouleme shall wed Elizabeth. The marriage shall be negotiated in Calais the latter part of May. And happily I do report my brother George is back in England, his long assignment into France completed. A most welcomed friend to my inner circle, he brings more than divertissement, French songs and ditties, latest fashions, books and new ideas. He brings me love and loyalty that I have sort missed. He pays his Queen and sister so lush a measure of attention that her life has flowered and turned fragrant once again. He and Francis Weston, Henry Morris and Mark Smeaton often join my ladies for late night revelries, music, dancing, gaming, laughing at Niniane’s anticks.

  I know that God has not been so kind to some men. Severa! monks of the Carthusian Order who‘ve refused the oath have recently been jailed. Thomas More and John Fisher, too, languish still within the Tower for their refusal to comply. Often Secretary Cromwell visits them, offering every easy way to save face and do as all others have. Even members of Mores family have sworn. But he remains so stubbornly opposed that Henrys temper grows daily more fierce upon the subject of his old friend, now enemy. Mayhaps reason will steal upon More suddenly from the shadows of his cold cell, and he will swear to end for once and all so needless an imprisonment.

  George often rides with me to Hatfield where he finds his pretty niece growing quickly. Plans for Elizabeths weaning have been taken up with Master Cromwell, Henry and my self. The Lady Mary still ensconced at Hatfield holds Court with her supporters, not so secret as she supposes, who court her and rally round Ambassador Chapuys. His constant letters to the Emperor are no doubt filled with schemes and plots (all failed) to place her first in the succession.

  Have I forgot to say that Clement is dead and a new Pope, Paul III, stands in his place? This man, stronger in resolve by far than doddering Clement ever was, threatens Henry’s peace directly with a declaration that for his foul act of marriage to me, he is deprived of his Kingdom, and even a promise of invasion. The King worries little since France and Spain will soon be at war, and thus the Emperor will be so much involved that no invasion could be mounted upon England. And such a war would cause Francis’ call for aid, and his alliance with Henry, which would give the King great satisfaction.

  So much improved is my mood that some schemes of my own foment inside my head. But I will leave them for another day.

  Yours faithfully,

  Anne

  20 May 1535

  Diary,

  I am pregnant and new hope grows in me as a spring seed pushes for the light of day. Forgive me, Elizabeth, but my prayers of late are that this child’s a boy, Henry’s Prince and our saviour. This hope, together with a great need to endure, survive this chosen life, this fate, has born inside my head a master scheme which, once fulfilled, will restore my place and power on the throne. I must make the King love me once again. Find within this worn body and battered heart that bold and arrogant girl whose flashing eyes lured Henry deep within a dark maze of desire, and held him there for six long years. Find pretended lust for that once steely frame now grown mottled, fat and loathsome. But even more than body’s passion I must make him know that all his sacrifice and pain in having me was not in vain. That his proud plots and plans, his Great Matter and marriage to me did come to some good, after all was said and done, not merely death to friends, excommunication from the Church and hatred from his subjects. I will think on this a while longer, fix the details of intrigue within my head, for I cannot fail in this.

  Niniane, my fool, makes high jest round my pregnancy. Methinks she must have borne children of her own to know with such perfection all the inward rumblings, weird cravings, painful pleasures that condition brings. One evening when she and I were quite alone in my bedchamber she jumped upon my bed and curling small into a ball, became the babe inside my belly, squalling, kicking, quite spoiled and demanding crisp apples, sugared newt’s toes and lullabies be sung to him. “I am the little Prince!” he cried (or so she cried for him). “I am Prince and future King and I am tired of the darkness. Bring me light! And sweets! And much jewels and gold, for I am my father’s son and desire above all else to be rich!”

  Master Holbein has made a drawing of me, unbidden. Tho no one else would say, I knew it most unflattering, my face bloated with pregnancy, hair tucked up in a gable hood. Only Niniane on seeing this portrait cried, “Who is this matronly sow with several chins? Never you, Your swan necked Majesty!” When I said that it was in deed my self, she grabbed the offending picture and danced round the room with it singing a wild tune about Holbein’s appropriate punishment for so treasonous an act — being strung up naked by his two thumbs at Tyburn and the offending picture rolled and stuck up his arse. O, she does make me laugh, and in a way so strange brings a fair fri
endship, for in her bold humor lies Truth. And that is something rare, for few will share the same with me.

  All queries that I make of Niniane’s own life she turns completely round about and makes jokes of them, keeping her self most private and mysterious. I wonder often on this woman, crude and wild who also shines with much intelligence and goodness. How did she come to this life? Who were her kin? What was her class? Perhaps one day she’ll say.

  Yours faithfully,

  Anne

  7 June 1535

  Diary,

  My star has risen once again, and I am Henry’s only sweetheart. He dotes upon me more than ever now, keeping me close by his side in all things. I will tell you how this came to pass. First the child within me brought a healthy roundness to my hollow cheeks and what wrinkles round my eyes and mouth had appeared, I fought with several applications of quicksilver which, tho biting and malignant to the skin, did their wondrous work to leave my face smooth in its appearance. A fine white lead I used for paleness, then a touch of alum for a rosy cheek, and cochineal for lips did make me young and looking lovelier than I had for some time been. Nets and headdresses were put aside. My hair I wore long and unbound as I had in our courtship days. My gowns were all his favorite hues, deep russet, rose, gleaming black and emerald green. Jewels I chose for their compliment to me as well as sentimental value, those which he had given me when our love’d been most in bloom. I paid mightily for divers French parfums and bathing oils and cremes, so I would float in fragrant clouds wherever I would go.

  Thus I presented myself to the King, at first in fleeting moments as I swept across a crowded chamber where he was. No words but some seductive smiles, a sideways glance, a look of admiration for him self. The May Day Revels did provide a sweet opportunity for me to shine. I was cast as Queen of the Spring, my gown a riot of silken flowers. In the masque I danced a graceful sprightly dance and sang a song which all applauded heartily. I was pleased to see the Kings gaze fixed not on his mistress, but glowing proud after his wife. When I took my bow I curtsied low in his direction, held his eyes and knew that he was once more mine for the taking. When the dancing had begun he crossed the room to ask for my hand and when we partnered to the galliard his kicks and leaps were like a young stag again. He was happy, I could see this clearly, and so that evening late I waited in my bedchamber and the King came to me.