CHAPTER III.

Innocence.

1536.

His

1. No time was to be lost by Audley in the suit; for his offences were as rank as Cromwell's; and the Queen's return to Greenwich would be the signal for his fall. The axe which he had dropped on More stood waiting for himself. chance of safety lay in pushing on the plot, and hurrying Anne out of existence ere the King had time to change. Three weeks were gone. In four weeks more the peers and burgesses were to meet, and bad as Henry was, his Chancellor could not tell where he might stop.

2. Already he was wavering in his thoughts. Inflamed by love for Jane, he wanted a divorce from Anne; yet he was not unwilling, if she yielded in the main, to let her live in peace. The world was large enough for both, and Anne was not unused to bear an exile's lot. Antwerp was mentioned as a place to which she might retire. On Friday, May the fifth, Henry sent a message to the Tower, offering the Queen a pardon if she would "confess." It was a repetition of the promise held to Norreys, which had not induced that gentleman to swear a lie. He may have thought the woman likely to be weaker than the man; the more so, as she stood

in more immediate peril. He was much deceived. Anne snatched a pen and wrote to him these memorable lines.

3. "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 so obtain your favour), by such an one whom you know to be mine ancient professed enemy. I no sooner received this message by him, than I rightly conceiv'd 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 ever 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 myself, if God and your Grace's pleasure had so been pleased. Neither did I at any time so far forget myself 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 alternation 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 counsel 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 princess 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 shames. 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 unfaithful wife, but to follow your affections already settled on that party, for whose sake, I am now as I am, whose name I could some good while since have been 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 strait account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me at his general judgment-seat, where both you and myself must shortly appear, and in whose judgment I doubt not (whatsoever the

world may think of me), mine innocence shall be openly known and sufficiently cleared.

"My last and only request shall be, that myself may only bear the burthen of your Grace's displea sure, and that it may not touch the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen, who, as I understand, are likewise in strait imprisonment for my sake. If ever I have found favour in your sight, if ever the name of Anne Boleyn hath been pleasing in your eyes, then let me obtain this request. And I will so leave to trouble your grace any further; with mine earnest prayers to the Trinity to have your grace in His good keeping, and to direct you in all your actions. From my doleful prison in the Tower, this 6th day of May.

"Your most loyal

"and ever faithful wife,

"ANNE BOLEYN."

4. This bold demand for a "lawful trial," an "open trial," made some of the pretenders and their followers feel a little faint. In wrestling with so high a spirit as Anne's, they never could feel safe until her head was off. "Try me, good King!" Nothing had yet been got by them in way of proof. "No man will confess anything against her, but only Mark of any actual thing," wrote Baynton, Latimer's opponent in an early stage of the divorce. Great efforts had been made to get a witness in support of Smeaton's lies. Audley was perplexed, for he had fancied it was only necessary to threaten Norreys and Weston, as he had threatened Smeaton, History of two Queens. VI.

in order to obtain the evidence he wished to find. Brereton was added to his list of "conspirators,” for Brereton held a place at court, and, being in trouble on his own account, it was conceivable that he might turn King's evidence, to save his life. Imagine this brave soldier's scorn when told the price at which he might obtain a royal pardon, not only for a crime he had never committed, but for all his splendid services to the crown!

5. Cromwell was ill at ease. Suppose he were to fail? The chances of success were not so great that he could look them in the face and show no fear. Though Henry might be tired of Anne's bright eyes, and smitten by the younger charms of Jane; yet, in his lonely hours, the master had a knack of pondering on the future of his crown. Suppose he were to think of that fair child who bore his mother's name? That infant was his legal heir. To brand her mother as a traitress was to rob his family and his kingdom of that lawful heir. Suppose he were to pause in his career? Whose head would then be near the axe? Cromwell began to fence and hedge. Though pushing on his labour, he affected to be overwhelmed with grief. He felt, he said, the Queen's misfortune as his own. vapory language he was hinting, even to the archenemy, that he had only entered on this business to protect the Queen from calumny. A prophecy had come to him from Flanders, that the King was threatened by conspirators near his throne. He wished to stop such prophecies and calumnies. While the Queen and Rochford were lying in the

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