As queen, Anne took it upon herself to assume a newly vital position in matters of state – a direct result of her sharp intelligence, excellent education and her innate desire to be heard with a voice equally dynamic to those of the men who surrounded her. At times, Henry appeared proud of her abilities. But alternately he lashed out, reminding her of her place as his wife. Following England’s break from the Church of Rome, a plan had been established to dissolve many of the Catholic monasteries throughout the land and plunder their riches. Anne and Cromwell disagreed markedly over how this exercise was to be conducted, and especially over the disposition of the resulting funds. Here we see a distinctly benevolent characteristic of Anne’s in her desire to use the proceeds to support the poor and create a charitable endowment to underwrite education.4 Cromwell, on the other hand, felt that the money should be poured back into the diminishing coffers of the Crown. Cromwell knew that the only person who had a greater influence over the king than he himself was Anne. Jointly, Anne recognised Cromwell’s leverage with Henry – it reminded her of her husband’s former subjugation to Cardinal Wolsey, which she had fought to disjoin. The existence of each threatened the position of the other. And so the rivalry between Anne Boleyn and Thomas Cromwell grew.
Jane Seymour was the young lady-in-waiting who, through careful coaching by her powerful family and the conservative faction at Court who opposed Anne and the Boleyns, had attracted Henry’s attention. The Seymours had always been supporters of Katharine of Aragon, and remained staunchly aligned with the Catholic Church of Rome. The Imperial ambassador to England, Eustace Chapuys, was a friend of the Seymours, and united with them against Anne and the Boleyns. Chapuys was an opponent of Anne’s from her very first appearance as Henry’s paramour. He served the Spanish king, who was the nephew of Katharine of Aragon, and he deeply resented Anne’s usurping Katharine’s role as queen. He was relentless in his guarded attacks on Anne and privately referred to her as The Concubine, even after her marriage to the king and her coronation.
It was against this unsettled backdrop that Anne’s opponents began to coalesce. The Seymours courted the favour of Chapuys, promising their advocacy for the Lady Mary, Katharine and Henry’s daughter, who had long since been banished from Court. Chapuys was receptive to their overtures and he established his plan to persuade Cromwell to join forces. Cromwell’s view of the Lady Mary, and perhaps also his opinion of the ousted Queen Katharine, may have been more sympathetic than he had revealed. For these and other reasons Cromwell dangerously began to strengthen his relationship with Anne’s foe, Eustace Chapuys.
In April 1536, Anne carried out a fateful tactic. She had been known in her years at Court as Henry’s sweetheart to make missteps. Not a woman to meekly hold her tongue, she expressed what she thought – a trait that didn’t always derive the desired conclusion. In this instance, she collaborated with her preacher and almoner John Skip, who was responsible for organising her charitable contributions as queen, in the construct of a sermon he gave at Mass. This particular Mass was held on Passion Sunday and was attended by a full congregation, including most of the Court. Skip proceeded, by skilful use of Scriptural allegory, to comment on the reform of the monasteries. His parable served to sharply criticise royal counsellors for their position, accusing them of greed and misappropriation of the treasures and land which would be released. His lecture heightened in its rancour and symbolically pointed directly to Thomas Cromwell.5 In addition to creating a furore amongst the council and other nobility, this event caused a rift between Anne and Cromwell that was never repaired.
Two weeks later, Chapuys and Cromwell attended an audience with the king. Cromwell had committed to the Imperial ambassador that he would support the discussion Chapuys hoped would lead to a reinstatement of privileges for Lady Mary, and a re-establishment of friendly diplomacy between Henry and Chapuys’ master, the emperor Charles V. On the contrary, Henry’s wish was for Chapuys, at long last, to pay homage to Queen Anne, fully acknowledging her position. As the encounter became ever more truculent, Cromwell attempted to mediate, confident that he could soothe the king and bring him around to deliver the outcome Chapuys had anticipated. Instead, Henry loudly berated them both, demonstrating his obstinacy with no possibility of being swayed by Cromwell. Cromwell was visibly angered and extremely distressed by the encounter, and had to retire from the room to regain his composure.6
This decisive event proved to Cromwell that he was a true adversary of Anne’s. Furthermore, he had by then aligned himself with Chapuys, a treacherous position in which to be, should Anne discover it. It became clear that Henry was not willing to abandon Anne and her daughter Elizabeth in favour of Mary, no matter how much influence Cromwell thought he had with the king.
Therefore, Thomas Cromwell, who had been emboldened beyond his position by the many accolades and rewards granted by his king, and by his long-standing ability to whisper in the king’s ear and sway him, decided that Anne posed too great a risk for his position, his career, his financial status and, ultimately, for his life.
He determined that he must devise a plan to remove her.
It is documented that Cromwell, after the debacle of the meeting with Henry and Chapuys, claimed he had fallen ill and was confined to his residence. It is now widely believed that during those days of Easter in 1536, he hid in order to formulate his strategy to bring about the downfall of Anne Boleyn.
Cromwell knew that implicating Anne in a strictly political or theological argument would never have sufficient strength to encourage Henry’s action against her. His needed to be a plan of cunning, and he would strike where Henry was most vulnerable: his sense of manhood. Anne was known for her enjoyment of courtly romance and flirtations, and often held festive entertainments in her chambers. Thomas’s scheme centred on inflaming the jealousy between Anne and Henry, and would incorporate comments Anne had made along with her behaviour, which could now be called into question. Cromwell engaged the assistance of courtiers who were antagonistic towards Anne, one of whom was her own uncle, Thomas Howard, the Duke of Norfolk.
Individuals were questioned, stories were told.
On 30 April, just two weeks after the infamous meeting between the king, Cromwell and Chapuys, the young court musician Mark Smeaton was summoned to Cromwell’s manor. There, Cromwell himself interrogated Smeaton, possibly aided by force, until Smeaton confessed to having had sexual relations with the queen on three occasions. He was arrested, thrown into the Tower prison, and Anne’s fall from grace began.7
1 Ales, Alexander, Calendar of State Papers Foreign, Letter to Queen Elizabeth, 1558-1559.
2 Strype, John, Ecclesiastical Memorials Under the Reign of King Henry VIII King Edward VI and Queen Mary I, Vol I, 1816, p 447.
3 Elton, G.R., Reform and Renewal: Thomas Cromwell and the Common Weal; University of Chicago Press Cambridge, 1974.
4 Latymer, William, Cronickille of Anne Bulleyne, Camden Miscellany Vol 39, Royal Historical Society, 1990, p 56.
5 Ives, Eric, The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn, Blackwell Publishing, Oxford, UK, 2004, p 307.
6 Calendar of State Papers, Spain, Volume 5 Part 2, 1536-1538,
pp. 85-104.
7 Ives E.; The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn; p 325; Ridgway, Claire, The Fall of Anne Boleyn: A Countdown, MadeGlobal Publishing, 2012.
Anne’s brave assertion
Robert Bruce Cotton was born in 1571 in Denton, Huntingdonshire in England, to Thomas and Elizabeth Cotton. The son of well-to-do parents, he was carefully educated and from early on in life acquired a love of reading, books, manuscripts and libraries. His early training was at Westminster School, where his study and passion for learning was influenced by the erudite antiquarian and historian William Camden. While at Westminster, Cotton started to study antiquary science, mentored by Camden. He was taught that a true antiquarian is not simply a historian, or an individual with a passion for history, but instead one who reveres, collects, preserves and develops historical perspe
ctives derived from original documents. Cotton graduated with a Bachelor of Arts from Jesus College, Cambridge, in 1585, and then attended Middle Temple in 1589.8
Robert Cotton formed a lifelong friendship with William Camden, who was a revered scholar, writer and collector of rare documents. Under Camden’s tutelage, at the early age of seventeen, Cotton began amassing his collection of rare and important documents, the dedication to which remained with him throughout his life. With Camden he was a founder of the Society of Antiquaries. He served as a member of parliament on several occasions, and was active in politics and governance. By the end of his life, his collection of manuscripts, letters and artefacts was impressive, and when he died in 1631, he left all in the safe-keeping of his son and grandson. His grandson, Sir John Cotton, transferred the collection to the care and preservation of the nation, which was confirmed by an Act of Parliament in 1701. This marvellous collection formed the basis for the British Library, in which the compilation resides even today.9
Figure 3 - Portrait of Robert Cotton,
attributed to Cornelis Janssens van Ceulen, circa 1626
On 23 October 1731, the collection of documents and priceless relics that comprised the Cotton Library was damaged significantly in a fire at Ashburnam House in London, where it was being temporarily stored. In the library were 958 manuscripts, and approximately 110 were ruined. Another 100 were severely damaged. These damaged documents, along with many burnt segments found in a warehouse in 1837 and determined to be part of the original Cotton collection, were subject to a restoration and stabilisation project. Although early attempts were clumsy, many documents that might otherwise have been entirely lost were salvaged, and remain in the British Library’s archives. A double-sided letter, which is signed “Anne Boleyn” from “my doleful Prison the Tower, this 6th of May”, scorched and ravaged by flames, is an item in that collection.10
Also in the Cotton Otho manuscripts (Robert Cotton catalogued his documents using names of Roman emperors from ancient times – Otho being one – and by grouping the manuscripts from A through E), adjacent to the damaged letter from Anne Boleyn are four of the five letters that the constable, William Kingston, wrote to Thomas Cromwell, on his orders, so that Cromwell might be fully informed of the queen’s actions and state of mind while imprisoned. These letters, like Anne’s, are charred and fragmented. Fortunately, Kingston’s reports and the letter signed from Anne had been copied – perhaps numerous times – before the fire in 1731. It is due to the diligent work of antiquarians and their scribes that we know today the complete text of each of these six letters.
How, then, did Sir Robert Cotton come to hold the documents from Kingston to Thomas Cromwell, and the letter from the queen to her husband? And why is the derivation of the letter so important?
This is where the sleuthing becomes very challenging. Yet the answers, if they are to be discovered, are extremely meaningful, because if we can follow the provenance of these documents, it may reveal facts that support their authenticity. Most notable perhaps, the validity of Anne’s letter in particular would provide additional evidence toward reinforcing her claim of innocence of the crimes for which she was indicted. It’s interesting that the legitimacy of the letters from Kingston to Cromwell has not been called into question. It is Anne’s that has confounded historians and scholars through the years. The Kingston letters indicate that they were presumably handed by Kingston himself to Cromwell, during Cromwell’s several visits to the Tower to assess the situation. While there he saw Kingston, but there is no documentation to imply that Cromwell ever saw or spoke with Anne. It is probable, though, that he provided Kingston with a reply to Anne’s plea to be allowed to see Henry. The answer: unequivocally, no.11
Once ensconced in the Tower, attended by ladies not of her choosing or liking, Anne’s every word was monitored and her behaviour noted and recorded by William Kingston. Within two days of her arrest and imprisonment, she learned the shocking and horrible news that Francis Weston, Henry Norris, William Brereton and her brother George had been accused along with her and were likewise imprisoned. She anguished at the thought of her mother being informed of the fate of two of her three children, and grieved that her poor lady mother would die of sorrow. She asked for, and received, Holy Communion, thereby demonstrating her innocence before God. And all the while she must have hoped and prayed that she would have a chance to see and speak with her husband, so that she might work her magic with Henry as she once had, restore his love for her and convince him that she had ever been a devoted wife to him and him alone.
It is not difficult to imagine that once her hopes of an audience with the king were crushed, she desired – and probably insisted upon – the opportunity to write to him. It would be entirely unlike Anne to meekly shrink from having her say. She needed to express herself to her husband, and she would do so in writing if not personally. In fact, Kingston himself references Anne’s desire to compose a letter, and she asks Kingston if he will be the messenger who will deliver it to Cromwell, presumably with the belief that he would then convey it to the king:
I shalle desyre you to bayre a letter from me […] [to Master] Secretory. And then I sayd, Madam, telle it me by [word of mouth, and I] wille do it. And so gaf me thankes, sayinge I ha[ve much marvel] that the Kynges conselle commes not to me.12
Cromwell would have been informed by Kingston that Anne intended to compose a letter. Whether he believed her desire to communicate with the king would be prudent in terms of his own personal strategy or not, he would certainly have realised the inadvisability of refusing her that privilege. She was, after all, the queen, and the king her husband. Thus, the letter was formulated and written.
It is unknown if, on 6 May, Anne put her own hand to quill and parchment. She may have. Conversely, it seems more likely that she would have been compelled to dictate her well thought out and carefully composed remarks to someone who scribed the letter for her. What we do know today is that the document that is in the Cotton collection in the British Library is not in Anne’s handwriting. Although there are few examples of Anne’s original writing, it is clear, upon observation, that her script does not match this letter’s. That being the case, might it be the writing of one of the ladies who served her in the Tower? It’s possible, though not likely. The writing is not that of Cromwell, nor does it match William Kingston’s either, so he did not scribe for Anne. Although the scrivener is unknown, the letter’s message is strong and unmistakable:
Sir, Your Grace’s Displeasure and my Imprisonment are Things so strange unto me, as what to Write, or what to Excuse, I am altogether ignorant. Whereas you send unto me (willing me to confess a Truth, and to obtain your Favour) by such an one whom you know to be my ancient professed Enemy; I no sooner received this Message by him, than I rightly conceived your Meaning; and if, as you say, confessing a Truth indeed may procure my safety, I shall with all Willingness and Duty perform your Command.
But let not your Grace ever imagine that your poor Wife will ever be brought to acknowledge a Fault, where not so much as a Thought thereof proceeded. And to speak a truth, never Prince had Wife more Loyal in all Duty, and in all true Affection, than you have ever found in Anne Boleyn, with which Name and Place I could willingly have contented my self, if God, and your Grace’s Pleasure had been so pleased. Neither did I at any time so far forget my self in my Exaltation, or received Queenship, but that I always looked for such an Alteration as now I find; for the ground of my Preferment being on no surer Foundation than your Grace’s Fancy, the least Alteration, I knew, was fit and sufficient to draw that Fancy to some other Subject. You have chosen me, from a low Estate, to be your Queen and Companion, far beyond my Desert or Desire. If then you found me worthy of such Honour, Good your Grace let not any light Fancy, or bad Councel of mine Enemies, withdraw your Princely Favour from me; neither let that Stain, that unworthy Stain of a Disloyal Heart towards your good Grace, ever cast so foul a Blot on your most Dutiful Wife, and the Infant Prince
ss your Daughter:
Try me good King, but let me have a Lawful Trial, and let not my sworn Enemies sit as my Accusers and Judges; yea, let me receive an open Trial, for my Truth shall fear no open shame; then shall you see, either mine Innocency cleared, your Suspicion and Conscience satisfied, the Ignominy and Slander of the World stopped, or my Guilt openly declared. So that whatsoever God or you may determine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open Censure; and mine Offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace is at liberty, both before God and Man, not only to execute worthy Punishment on me as an unlawful Wife, but to follow your Affection already settled on that Party, for whose sake I am now as I am, whose Name I could some good while since have pointed unto: Your Grace being not ignorant of my Suspicion therein.
But if you have already determined of me, and that not only my Death, but an Infamous Slander must bring you the enjoying of your desired Happiness; then I desire of God, that he will pardon your great Sin therein, and likewise mine Enemies, the Instruments thereof; and that he will not call you to a strict Account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me, at his General Judgment-Seat, where both you and my self must shortly appear, and in whose Judgment, I doubt not, (whatsover the World may think of me) mine Innocence shall be openly known, and sufficiently cleared.
Anne Boleyn's Letter from the Tower Page 2
