If we admit him to be the author of these lines, it may be considered as not among the least singularities in the incomprehensible character of Henry, that he was, perhaps, not the most contemptible poet of his time, and possessed a soul susceptible of the charms of music.* His letters to Boleyn have been preserved, and are now in the Public Library of Paris. They are much superior, both for style and sentiment, to his miserable polemical productions. The hand-writing is strong and clear, and might be easily deciphered, but for the numerous abbreviations. How the French became possessed of these letters is an historical fact which was not explained to the writer of this memoir, when he visited that celebrated literary establishment; but it may be presumed that they found their way to France upon the death of Charles I., when his papers and libraries were sold and dispersed. When the cause itself was evoked to Rome for the decision of the church, and the ingenuity of Cranmer had secured to the king the means of obtain ing his divorce, in defiance of the people's authority, he determined to stand all consequences, and give a loose to his new attachment. In September, 1532, he created Boleyn Marchioness of Pembroke, that he might raise her by degrees to the elevation he designed for her; and on the 25th of January following, he privately celebrated his marriage. Rowland Lea, afterwards Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry, officiated at the ceremony, in the presence of the Duke of Norfolk, uncle to the new queen, her father, mother, and brother. The early pregnancy of Anne, while it added to the satisfaction of the king, was considered, by the people, as a strong proof of her former modesty and virtue. It also, necessarily, accelerated the measures of Henry, who, in order to evince his disregard to the pope, publicly avowed his marriage; and, to remove all doubts of its legality, he prepared measures for declaring, by a formal sentence, the invalidity of his former marriage with Katharine-a declaration which ought naturally to have preceded his union with Anne. Cranmer accordingly pronounced the sentence which annulled the former marriage, as unlawful and invalid, and ratified the nuptials of Boleyn, who was, on the 1st of June, publicly crowned Queen, with all the pomp and solemnity which corresponded with the magnificence of Henry's temper. To complete his satisfaction on the conclusion of this intricate and vexatious affair, the queen was safely delivered, on the 7th of September, of a daughter, who received the name of Elizabeth, and who afterwards swayed the sceptre with so much renown and felicity. He was so much delighted with the birth of this child, that he soon after conferred on her the title of Princess of Wales; a step somewhat irregular, as she could only be presumptive, not apparent heir to the crown. His regard for his new queen appeared rather to increase than to diminish by his marriage, and all men expected to see the entire ascendant of one who had thus mounted a throne, from which her birth had seemed to exclude her; and who, by a proper mixture of severity and indulgence, had managed so untractable a spirit as that of Henry. In order to efface, as much as possible, all marks of his former marriage, * He was skilled in music, could sing his part, and used to compose services for his chapel. Vide English Worthies, page 12. A service composed by him is still performed in some cathedrals. In the British Museum is preserved, a missal, which belonged to Henry VIII, after his breach with the church of Rome;—in the Kalendar he has blotted out all the saints that had been Popes. There is a song, said to have been written by Anne Boleyn, in Sir John Hawkin's History of Music. Lord Mountjoy was sent to the unfortunate and divorced Katharine, to inform her that she was thenceforth to be treated only as Princess Dowager of Wales; and all means were employed to make her acquiesce in that determination. The queen soon became extremely popular with the nation, and she was universally admired and beloved for the sweetness of her temper, and a spirit of munificence that uniformly characterized her. In the last nine months of her life, she is supposed to have bestowed not less than £14,000 in charitable donations; besides engaging in several noble and public designs. Her partiality to the new religion also contributed greatly to this popularity among the reformers, who ascribed the rapid increase of their followers to her influence with the king; but it exposed her to the resentment and enmity of a still powerful and bigotted party, who lamented her triumph over the weaker party of Katherine, and eagerly watched every indiscretion that could lead to her destruction. But it is probable that all their efforts would have been unavailing, if she had not been fated to experience the decay of the king's affection, and the usual caprice of his temper. The love which had subsisted and increased under so many difficulties, had no sooner obtained secure possession of its object, when it languished from satiety, and Henry's heart was apparently estranged from his consort. The enemies of Anne soon perceived the fatal change, and they hastened to widen the breach, when, from the king's indifference, they found they incurred no danger by interposing in such delicate concerns. She had heen delivered of a dead son, and Henry's extreme fondness for male issue being thus disappointed, his violent temper, and the superstitious turn of his mind, which made him conclude that his second marriage was as unpleasing to God as the first, determined him to make the innocent mother answerable for the misfortune. He was still more inflamed by the jealous suspicions which the enemies of the queen took care to instil into his mind. Anne, though she appears to have been entirely innocent, and strictly virtuous in her conduct, yet possessed a certain gaiety, if not levity of conduct, that frequently betrayed her into acts of imprudence; which, though in themselves nothing, were highly dangerous in her critical situation. That freedom of manner which she imported from France, was considered as evidence of a dissolute life, and was certainly incompatible with the strict, and sometimes gloomy ceremonial, which prevailed in the court of Henry. Less haughty than vain, she was pleased with the general admiration which her beauty excited; and too frequently indulged herself in familiar conversation with persons who were formerly her equals, and who, perhaps, might sometimes forget the awful distance which afterwards separated them. The dignity of the king was hurt by these popular manners, and though their novelty, and the grace with which they were accompanied, had pleased and dazzled the observation of the lover, they could not, when indiscriminately directed, escape the discernment and disapprobation of the husband. The most malignant interpretations were given to the harmless liberties of the queen-the most odious insinuations were daily poured into the king's earparticularly by the Viscountess Rochford, whose profligate character, though the wife of the queen's brother, had occasioned a breach between the two sisters-in-law. In revenge, she and her emissaries poisoned every action of the queen, and represented every instance of favour which she conferred, as a mark of affection. They indirectly accused her of a criminal correspondence with several gentlemen of the bed-chamber, and even with her own brother!— so lost was the infamous Rochford to shame, so regardless was she of decency, truth, and humanity, that she could willingly sacrifice her own husband, provided the innocent object of her hatred and enmity also suffered with him. The king believed all, because he wished to be convinced:-His love was transferred to another object. The charms of Jane Seymour, maid of honour to the queen, had completely captivated him; and as he appears to have had little idea of other connection than that of marriage, he now thought of nothing but the means of raising her to his bed and throne. We have already noticed this peculiarity in his disposition, proceeding either from indolence, or an aversion to gallantry, which involved him in crimes of a blacker dye than those he sought to avoid. Before he could marry Jane, it was necessary that he should get rid of his once beloved Anne, now, unfortunately for her, become an obstacle in the way of his felicity. The first open indication of the king's jealousy, and of her own destruction, appeared in a tilting match at Greenwich, where the accidental circumstance of dropping her handkerchief was interpreted, by Henry, into a concerted signal for one of her lovers. He retired, frowning and displeased;sent her word to confine herself within her apartment, and gave orders for immediately arresting the Lord Rochford, her brother, Norris, WestonBrereton, and Smeton, upon whom his suspicions principally fell. The next day the unfortunate queen was sent to the Tower. Astonished and confounded by so sudden a reverse of fortune, her innocent mind could not suggest to her a single incident in which she had seriously offended her cruel husband; but when she began to reflect upon his obdurate and unforgiving temper, it is said, that she immediately prepared herself for the fate which, she was convinced, awaited her. When informed of the crimes laid to her charge, she made the most earnest protestations of her innocence. Upon entering her prison, she fell on her knees, and prayed to God so to help her, as she was unconscious of the sins imputed to her; and sank into hysterical convulsions, which lasted a considerable time. When she recovered, in her eagerness to acquit herself of serious guilt, she acknowledged some expressions of familiarity and gaiety, which her good humour and careless levity had betrayed her into, in various conversations with her attendants.—Norris, Weston, and Smeton, were observed to be much in her favour, and they served her with a zeal and attachment, which, though chiefly derived from gratitude and respect, might, not improbably, be mixed with tender admiration of so amiable a woman. The innocent tendency of these confessions, and the artless sincerity with which she made them, deserved, and should have obtained, implicit credit; but bythe barbarous jealousy and eager impatience of the king, they were considered as certain evidences of more serious and substantial guilt. The queen and her brother were tried by a jury of peers;-her uncle, the pliant and ambitious Norfolk, presiding as high steward. The evidence of the horrible accusation of incest amounted to no more than this, that the Lord Rochford had been observed to lean on her bed before some company. Another charge was, that she had affirmed the king had never possessed her heart; and had declared to each of her supposed paramours, that she loved him better than Henry, "which was to the slander of the issue begotten between the king and her." By this strained interpretation, her guilt was brought within the meaning of the Act of Parliament, which declared it criminal to throw any slander upon the king, queen, or their issue. By such palpable absurdities was this innocent queen sacrificed to the cruel violence of Henry. She defended herself with dignity and presence of mind; and no doubt of her innocence remained with the unprejudiced spectators.-But sentence of death was passed upon her, and her brother and she was condemned to be burned, or beheaded at the king's pleasure. When she heard the dreadful annunciation of the fate which awaited her, she was more surprised than terrified, and, lifting up her hands to heaven, exclaimed, Father! O Creator! thou who art the way, the truth, and the life, thou knowest that I have not deserved this fate!" and turning to her judges, continued to make the most earnest protestations of her innocence. She then prepared to suffer the death to which she was sentenced, and if any argument were necessary to convince us of her innocence, her serenity and even cheerfulness while under confinement, ought undoubtedly to have their weight, as they are, perhaps, unexampled in a woman, and could not well be the associates of guilt. "Never prince," says she, in a letter to Henry, "had a wife more loyal in all duty and affection, than you have found in Anne Boleyn, with which name and place I could willingly have contented myself, if God and your Grace had been so pleased; neither did I, at any time, so far forget myself in my exaltation and received queenship, but that I always looked for such an alteration as I now find; for the ground of my preferment being on no other foundation than your grace's fancy, the least alteration, I knew, was fit and sufficient to draw that fancy to some other object." In another letter to the king, she says, "You have raised me from a private gentlewoman to a Marchioness from a Marchioness to a Queen;-and since you can exalt me no higher in this world, you are resolved to send me to heaven that I may become a saint!" She renewed her protestations of innocence, and recommended her infant daughter to the king. Before the Lieutenant of the Tower, and all who approached her, she made the like declaration, and continued to behave herself with calmness, and even vivacity. "The executioner, I hear, is very expert," said she, to the lieutenant," and my neck is very slender," grasping it with her hands, and smiling. The fear of involving her innocent offspring in a similar fate, made her, on the scaffold, soften the expression of that indignation she could not avoid feeling. She said, she was come to die according to her sentenceprayed for the king-called him a just and merciful prince-and added, that any one should think proper to canvass her cause, she desired him to judge the best. She was beheaded on the 19th of May, 1536, by the executioner of Calais, who was sent for, as more expert than any in England. Her body was carelessly thrown into a common chest of elm-tree, and buried in the Tower. Her brother, and the gentlemen of the bed-chamber, were also the victims of the king's suspicions, or rather were sacrificed to hallow his nup. tials with Jane Seymour. if On the innocence of the unfortunate Boleyn, it is impossible to hesitate a moment. Henry, in the violence of his rage, knew not whom to accuse as her lover. The whole tenor of her conduct forbids us to ascribe to her that licentiousness of manners, with which she was charged. His impatience to gratify a new passion, made him lay aside all regard to decency, and his cruel heart was not softened by the bloody catastrophe of a woman, who had so long been the object of his most tender affections, HIS, the most unfortunate, and perhaps the most innocent of Henry's wives, was the fourth daughter of Ferdinand, King of Arragon, and of Isabella, in her own right, Queen of Castille and Leon; so celebrated under the names of Ferdinand and Isabella, catholic sovereigns of Spain. Many circumstances had concurred to unite Henry VII. of England in a strict alliance with Ferdinand, whose vigorous policy, always attended with success, had rendered him the most considerable monarch in Europe. There was a remarkable similarity of character between the two kings; both were full of craft, and intrigue, and design; and though a resemblance of this nature be in general of a slender foundation for confidence and friendship, such was the distant situations of Henry and Ferdinand, and so little did they clash in politics, that no jealousy had, on any occasion, ever subsisted between them. The King of England was anxious to complete a marriage which had been seven years in agitation between Arthur, his eldest son, and the Infanta Katharine; and the union took place when the Prince of Wales was in his sixteenth, and the Princess in her eighteenth year. The portion given with Katharine, was two hundred thousand ducats-the greatest that had been given for many ages with any princess, and her jointure was the third part of the principality of Wales, the dukedom of Cornwall, and of the earldom of Chester; and in case she should live to be Queen of England, her jointure was left indefinite :-but it was agreed that it should be as great as that of any former queen. But the marriage proved, in the issue, unprosperous. The young prince, a few months after, sickened and died, much regretted by the nation. Henry VII. desirous of continuing |