All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
The Final Hour Of Anne Boleyn
The air is damp and cool. It is an uncommonly cool night for May. But the weather does fit the mood. Within a few hours, I will be dead, my head in a basket, or possibly rotting on Tower Hill alonside my brother and four other supposed "lovers." Would they treat my body like that? So disgracefully and disrespectfully? You would think not, since I am their queen. But what queen has ever been in the position I am in now? What queen has ever been sentenced to death by her own husband? I have not read of any. Well, at least I know I shall make my mark on history. That is a small comfort at least.
Yes, it is hard to believe that this pale, thin woman locked away in the Tower is the Queen of England, but it is true. Yet in a way, it is not. I learned after my brother George's execution that I signed a document which gave up my daughter's claim to the throne. I never signed it. Which makes it a forgery. But it does not matter now. I ruled for a thousand days. A thousand of the most fearful and cautious days of my life. Perhaps I should have taken my sister Mary's advice and become only his mistress. But that would dishonor myself, and make me like my sister Mary. She climbed into the bed of two kings without a moment's hesitation. I refused Henry my bed for six long years. Once he made me Marquess of Pembroke, I realized his impatience was mounting, and I saw no other way.
But I had already brought disgrace to myself, and I didn't even make a wh*** of myself. Even after I was queen and had supplanted the previous Queen Katherine, the people still called me the Great Wh***. But my ambitions had already cost me my life, my brother his life, my daughter her legitimacy, and four other gentlemen their lives. Only hours ago, I had watched my brother George walk out to the scaffold. I watched his handsome head severed from his body, and I heard the moans of his widow, whose testimony condemned him...The jealous and clever Jane Parker Boleyn. Perhaps I should not have been so harsh on the plain-faced heiress my brother was forced to marry. Perhaps I should have convinced him to go to her bed more often. But I did not. Now all three of us would pay the price.
Tears smart when I think of my handsome and witty George. But I dare not cry. The sun is peeking over the horizon, and my ladies will be stirring soon. They have already seen my mourn for my brother enough. Now they must waken and dress me. two of my ladies will march down to the scaffold with me. Then I will die.
"Catherine Carey? Come here, child." My neice's grey eyes were wide as she approached me. Her red Tudor curls had not yet been brushed. It was plain to see that she was another one of my husband's b****** children. She and my dayghter Elizabeth may as well be full-blood sisters. They have the same father, and Catherine's mother is my sister Mary. Both of them have his red Tudor hair, his nose, and his thin, arched brows.
She came up to me and said, "Yes, m'lady?" My hands flew to my neck, and I removed my Boleyn necklace. It is a necklance with a "B" pendant and dangling pearls. I put it in her hand. "Make sure my daughter Elizabeth receives this," I wishpered. She nodded bluntly. I noticed all my ladies were coming towards me. Ah, yes. I had to choose the two who would walk out with me. I raised my eyebrow, and said, "Catherine Carey, Mary Shelton. Stay. The rest of you leave. Now." They gave me sad looks as they left. None of us would ever see each other again.
I turned to Mary Shelton and Catherine Carey and instructed them to dress me. I said, "The blue-grey gown. The silver net. No shoes. I need no shoes where I am going." When they were done dressing me, I went and looked in the mirror. My skin was paler than natural. I was naturally dark-complexioned. My eyebrows were thin and arched naturally. My dark, sensual lips were slack. I managed a smile and my eyes lit up eerily. My black curls had been put into a silver hairnet. I looked well for someone who was about to die. I turned to my ladies and said, "Now we wait."
We did not have to wait long. Sir William Kingston, the tower constable, arrived within moments. He bowed to me and said, "My lady, it is time." I said, "Mr. Kingston, I hear I shall not die afore noon, and I am very sorry therefore, for I thought to be dead this time and past my pain." He replied, his dark eyes damp, "There should be no pain." I laughed and said, "I heard say the executioner is very good, and I have a little neck." Then, we walked through the maze of hallways to the Tower Green.
I gave a brave smile as I faced the crowd. It was time for my speech. I opened my mouth. I expected the voice to come out broken and shaky, but it came out calm and smooth.
"Good Christian people, I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak anything of that, whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray God save the king and send him long to reign over you, for never was there a more gentler nor a more merciful monarch, and to me he was ever a good, gentler and sovereign lord. And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. O Lord have mercy on me, to God I commend my spirit."
I knelt then, and was blindfolded. The executioner spoke. He had a think french accent. Ah, so the king was true to his word. He sent to France for that special swordsman, I thought to myself. "Do you forgive me, madame?" he said. I nodded. "God bless you, sir," I said. "To Jesus Christ I commend my spirit, Lord Jesu receive my spirit." I heard the executioner shout, "Where is my sword?" Then, the swoosh of the sword came. Then nothing else.