ther and sister, were made the pleas for a guilt, the bare notion of which never could be contemplated save with horror. The improbability of such a charge being credited induced the foes of Anne to prefer other accusations against her, and to name individuals holding appointments in the royal household as being her paramours.

If Catherine found none to plead in her favour, Anne was less likely to do so; for having excited the enmity of the catholics by her support of the reformers,' and these last being too few in number to give importance to any defence they might wish to offer for her, she found herself unprotected against the machinations put in practice for her ruin; the known estrangement of her husband having turned her secret foes into open enemies. Yet, though tortured by the pangs of jealousy, Anne exercised sufficient self-control to appear calm and courteous, in the hope of winning back the affection of her cruel husband, once so devotedly her own. She could not bring herself to believe that it was irrecoverably lost, that all the love he once bore her, all the hours of happiness they had known, were forgotten for ever; and while he was concerting plans against, not only her honour, but her life, she was decking her face in smiles to please him, and cheating herself with hopes of success. The king convened a parliament, the motive for which was kept a profound secret, except to his private advisers, for the purpose of annulling the act of succession in favour of Anne and her offspring.

"The Austrian party about court-all that misliked the divorce from Catherine, and all that opposed the reformation, which she was supposed to favour-were her bitter enemies."-Carte, book xv. p. 133.

2 "Quand les ennemis d'Anne de Bollen se furent apperçus qu'elle n'occupoit plus, dans le cœur du roi, la même place qu'elle y avoit tenue autrefois, bien loin de craindre de l'accuser d'infidélité envers le roi son époux, ils crurent, au contraire, faire plaisir à cet époux, qui commençoit à devenir lui-même infidèle, en lui fournissant un prétext qui autorisât son changement."-Rapin, tom. vi. p. 376.

Meanwhile, the constant interviews between Henry and Jane Seymour increased his passion for her, and rendered him more impatient to break all obstacles that opposed its gratification. He avoided the society of the queen, and treated her with a marked coldness, most ominous to one who so well knew the implacability of his nature. The last occasion on which Anne appeared in regal state was at a tournament held at Greenwich, on the 1st of May,' and it was observed that her beauty, though lately dimmed by care and anxiety, shone forth resplendent. Lord Rochford challenged Norris, and the queen, like all present, looked on with interest at the playful combat, when the king abruptly left the sport, exhibiting an angry aspect, as if displeased by something which he had noticed, a movement which alarmed Anne, and induced her soon after to retire from her place. It was not until the following day that she learned that Lord Rochford, Norris, and two other gentlemen, had been arrested and sent to the Tower; but distressing as was the arrest of her brother, how was her affliction increased, when, after dinner, her uncle the Duke of Norfolk, in whom she knew she had an enemy, with Sir Thomas Audley and some others, entered the room, followed by the governor of the Tower, and revealed to her that she was instantly to depart to that place. The duke gave the order so rudely, as to indicate that it afforded him more pleasure than pain. "I am ready to obey the king's pleasure," said Anne, with calmness, though her pallid face announced the effort it cost her to appear tranquil. She waited not to change her dress, but immediately resigned herself to the custody of those who had arrested her, and entered the barge. Her stern and cruel uncle then informed her that denial of her guilt was vain, as her paramours had confessed it; but she earnestly and 1 Carte, book xv. p. 133.

passionately declared her innocence, and demanded to see the king. The Duke of Norfolk contemptuously refused credence to her protestations, and his companions, with one exception,' followed his example, no longer treating her with respect; a proof that they well knew she was prejudged. Having reached the Tower, she was confided to the custody of Kingston, its governor, a man remarkable for his cruelty, and who, having witnessed the disrespectful conduct of the Duke of Norfolk and the other members of the council to his prisoner, was not disposed to treat her better. She inquired whether she was to be shut up in a dungeon. "No, madam," replied he, "but in the same chamber you lodged in before your coronation.” 2

What bitter memories did these words evoke! and how did her present misery become aggravated by the recollection of her past splendour and happiness, when she was last a cherished guest in the place now converted to her prison! Well has Danté said

"Nessun maggior dolore, Che ricordarsi del tempo felice, Nella miseria,"

and deeply did the unhappy queen now experience this wretchedness. As a flood of tears streamed down her pale cheeks, "Oh! where is my sweet brother?" inquired Anne; but Kingston, though not given to pity, could not tell her that Lord Rochford was now in the same prison. "I hear I shall be accused with three men," said the queen, "but if they open my body," and therewith she opened her gown, "I can but say Nay, nay. O my mother! thou wilt die for sorrow. sorrow."3

The agony of her first hour in the Tower was so intense, that even Kingston was moved to pity. But by degrees it

1 Sir Thomas Audley.

2 Letter the first, from Sir William Kingston to Secretary Cromwell, upon Queen Anne's committal to the Tower. MS. Cotton. Otho cx. fol. 225.

* Idem.

subsided into a deep sadness, and she entreated that she might receive the sacrament in a closet adjoining her chamber, and resigned herself to the will of God. The unfortunate queen had still new humiliations to endure, for Henry, with a malice that haunted his victim even to her prison, appointed those of her ladies whom she most disliked to be her attendants there her aunt, Lady Edward Boleyn, and Mrs. Cosyns. These ladies fully entered into the spirit of the cruel tyrant by whose will they were placed as spies on his unhappy wife. They allowed her no respite from their hated presence, and reported every word she uttered, even while she slept, and in her troubled dreams revealed the terror and grief of her tortured breast. But not satisfied with this inquisitorial espionage, they put the most artful questions to her, in order to inculpate her by her own admissions. Frank and unguarded as Anne's nature was admitted to be, it cannot be believed that to two women whom she disliked she would have made the avowals which these declared, relative to her conversations with Norris-conversations fraught with danger to her.

The reports made to Cromwell by the governor of the Tower were founded on the information given to him by the two female spies, who repeated every word—nay, more, commented on every gesture and look of the unhappy prisoner; each and all so wholly at variance with Anne's character and manner, that hatred alone could give credence to such vile tales. Instead of a woman remarkable for talent, education, and refinement-rare advantages in an age like that in which she lived—and with a quick apprehension of the peculiarities of those around her, and of a ready wit, the conversations of Anne, while in prison, as represented by her spies and gaoler, betray a levity, giddiness, want of feeling for her own terrible position, and a total absence of self-respect and dignity, which

accords perfectly with the gossipping style of talk of two uneducated and envious women, like those who reported it, but which is wholly at variance with what might be expected from Anne Boleyn, so far in advance of her own times in education and elegance.

The queen's love of music furnished another degrading charge against her, for Smeaton, a low-born musician, was one of the men with whom she was accused of familiarity, because he had occasionally played on the virginals by her command. Such a charge must have naturally excited the liveliest indignation in the breast of any proud woman, but more especially in one who had worn a crown; yet Anne is reported to have referred to this matter without anger or surprise! That she was fully aware that Lady Edward Boleyn and Mrs. Cosyns were placed as spies over her, is proved by her saying that "the king wist what he did when he put such women as those about her." And yet, the assertions of these very persons as to what she said have met believers. Of all those who had offered adulation to Anne, when she basked in the sunshine of her cruel husband's favour, Cranmer was the only one who attempted to speak in her defence, and Cromwell alone treated her with respect.

Notwithstanding the bitter trials she had endured, there were moments when Anne's heart, touched by the key of memory, opened to hope; and as she retraced the proofs of Henry's past love for her, she could not believe that one who so lately had all but adored her could will her death. “He does it to try me," would she say, after one of those deep reveries into which she would sometimes fall, when her present misery seemed but as a troubled dream, from which he would at last awake her. But when her most cruel enemy, Lady Rochford, was deputed by the king to convey a message 1 Rapin, tom. vi. p. 378.