Note: I was a little confused about the events prior to Anne's death, especially Cranmer's role in it. Wikipedia has it: "On 16 May, he saw Anne in the Tower and heard her confession and the following day, he pronounced the marriage null and void. Two days later, Anne was executed." But, on The Tudors, Cranmer first declares her marriage null and void, and then he goes to hear her confession, I guess on the 18th of May, and the next day, May 19, she's executed. Anyhow, I chose the version of The Tudors, but if anyone could enlighten me as to why they changed the actual course of events for the series, then go ahead.
Her True And Last Confession
It was on a chill and misty morning anno domini 1536 that Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, set out at last on his journey from Greenwich Palace to the Tower of London. With a sigh, he boarded the small barge rocking gently on the grey green water of the Thames, nodding a short greeting at the young boatsman, who bowed low before him. Cranmer fell silent as the boy began steering the barge forward with his large paddle. Soon, they were sliding over the river at a steady pace, and the Archbishop lost himself in his gloomy thoughts.
Speaking neither to the boy who was taking him to his destination nor to anyone passing by in one of the other boats, he sat with his head bent, his eyes fixed on his hands. Today, he noitced neither the beauty of the swiftly flowing river, stunning even on such a dreary day, nor the loud calling of the gulls or the impressive sight of the city nestled so comely on the banks of the Thames - for his heart was heavy indeed. As a solitary ray of sunshine made its way through the clouds, Thomas looked up for once and thought that this was surely the most pitiful May he had ever known. Was not May, in all its glory, a herald of summer, a month of pleasant warmth and blue skies? The successor of April with its chill winds, May would always bring life and spirit, the golden kiss of the sun, and people would rejoice.
But not this year. There was no comfort to be found in the cool breeze and the heavy clouds obscuring the brightness of the sun. But how on earth could it be different? he thought with a heavy heart. How on earth could May be as beautiful as ever, how could the sun shine with all its might, when soon a queen was to suffer death? It was as if God in His omnipotence had decided to befog England in order to protest against the unjust treatment of an anointed monarch.
For in the Tower of London, at this very hour, dwelled as a prisoner no other than Anne Boleyn, once wife to the King, mother to a Princess – and condemned to die.
He, Cranmer, was on his way to her, the doomed queen, trapped in her lodgings where she had once lain at her coronation. He, of all people, was now bound for the place where she dwelled, to hear her last confession and cause her further pain. Oh God, forgive me, he thought, sighing deeply once more as they came closer and closer to the riverside. Anxiety and remorse welled up in him as he thought of what he had done.
He had played his part in crushing her. Not contempt for her, but a sense of duty towards his Sovereign and fear for his own life had made him do it, and thus he had contributed massively to her downfall. He had declared her marriage to the King null and void, knowing all the while of the great wrong he was doing this gracious queen, who had always been so dear to him. Coward, that was the only proper name for him. Although he had told Cromwell of his doubts regarding Anne's guilt, he had done nothing to save her. He was a fool, a fool who had not behaved righteously towards a woman who had only ever loved and supported him in all the years of their acquaintance. He was not worthy of her love and the joy she would undoubtedly express upon seeing him again. He was not worth it.
Out of fear, like so many others, he had sacrificed his integrity and true sentiment in order to maintain his position. He had been terrified that his Grace would make him a head shorter. Many nobles and princes of the church had learned brutally that those who defied Henry VIII were lost, and no matter how much Cranmer loved and admired Anne, he was unwilling to lose his life. There were too many things he still wanted to achieve, too many good deeds to be done. He was the Archbishop of Canterbury. The Reformation needed him …
Still, no matter how many justifications he came up with in his troubled mind, he knew he had forsaken Anne, and suddenly he was frightened. Although he had been desirous to see her again and speak with her, he shivered involuntarily at the prospect of facing her so soon. Alas, his conscience was not clear and his tidings were not sweet. Would that this meeting took place under different circumstances, a merry gathering of old friends! How they would joke harmlessly about the old times, rejoice at the strength of their faith. How they would cheer and talk earnestly about the Reformation, how they would …
A sudden jolt shook him out of his reverie. Looking up from his clasped hands he noticed with surprise that they had reached the riverside. Before them loomed the Tower.
The boy navigated the barge to the landing stage and called to the other men at work. They came over, recognized Cranmer, and bowed before they fastened the barge to a post and helped him out. The boy accompanied him down the landing to the entrance of the fortress, where his eyes suddenly went dark, and bowing low he said, "Your Grace, I bid you farewell and ask for your blessing."
Cranmer, moved by the look in the boy's eyes and aware of his own silence during the boat trip, put his hand lightly on the golden head. "May God in His infinite grace bless you and keep you all the days of your life." He made the sign of the cross on the boy's smooth brow and smiled, but as he turned to leave, the young man said suddenly, daringly, "Your Grace, is it true that you have come here to hear the good lady's last confession?" Turning around slowly, Cranmer looked at him, astonished. Since the queen's infamous trial, he had hardly heard anything positive whenever people spoke of Anne, and they hardly ever spoke of anything else these days.
"`Tis true, my son", he replied. "Have you met the lady?"
The boy nodded. "Once, before she was queen, I took her across the river. A strong wind was blowing, and when my cap got lost and fell into the water, she gave me a coin - to get me a new one, she said. Her Ma - " he faltered for a moment, "I mean, Mistress Anne, she was so good and beautiful... methinks she cannot be as bad as everyone claims."
He bowed once more and the Archbishop smiled at the boy's bittersweet story of a time gone by. The Lady Anne would never cross the Thames again, and the last coins she'd ever hold in her slender hands she would give to the executioner of Calais.
Cranmer watched silently as the boy walked back to the landing, and then he turned to walk to the royal entrance of the Tower, wondering what the next hours would bring.
The guards in their red uniforms welcomed him and opened the heavy doors with a crack, revealing to his eyes the interior of London's most famous stronghold. Every time Cranmer entered the Tower a shiver ran down his back, and today was no different. He thought of the versatility of this building. It was a place of torture and execution, and within these walls Death had cut away the light of many days. On the other hand, it was a royal palace. Anne Boleyn herself had dwelled here before her coronation, as was custom. In her lodgings she had feasted and rejoiced, laughed and celebrated her greatest triumph. Now the circle was complete - here, where she had once awaited the most important day of her life, she would be put to death.
It was a short way, but to Cranmer it felt like hell. They led him past the White Tower, across Tower Green, and finally to the beautiful building that housed the Queen's lodgings. There they knocked on the bold black door and waited until the archbishop was ushered in. He stepped inside and was greeted by another guard. "Your Grace, Master Kingston is waiting for you. This way, I pray you." He led him down a gloomy corridor, round a corner, and to a small parlour where indeed the Constable stood waiting. Kingston bowed slightly and dismissed the guard before turning back to the Archbishop.
"Sir, I understand you have come hither to hear the lady's last confession. Let me take you to her."
He held out his hand in the direction of another corridor, and Cranmer obliged. They walked in silence for a moment, and Thomas glanced at the man walking beside him. Kingston was tall, with a stern face and keen eyes that had seen much pain and death. There was something very calm and controlled about his demeanour, as if did not allow the agony of the people he was in charge to touch his heart. But then, Cranmer thought, if Kingston were to weep for all the victims, he would not be able to do his business as Constable of the Tower.
As they approached the queen's chambers, Thomas wondered if Kingston had any sympathy for the Queen. He had been told that the man was a secret promoter of Katherine of Aragon and her daughter Mary - Anne's sworn enemies. But he also knew that Kingston was a man of honour. He would offer nothing but politeness and service to an important prisoner such as Anne, the former wife of a king.
Finally, Cranmer said, "Master Kingston, tell me, how is the lady?"
He watched him anxiously, wringing his hands, but Kingston's features did not change in the slightest way.
"Truthfully, in the early days of her captivity she often spoke rather wildly, for example that it would not rain until she was released. But now, preparations for death have increasingly occupied her thoughts, and so I believe she has reconciled to it."
They had reached the door to Anne's rooms. Cranmer, high-strung and unable to control his nerves, nodded several times. "I'm glad. I'm glad." It relieved him indeed to know that she had accepted her fate, but nevertheless it pained him to think of what he was about to tell her.
Leaning in towards Kingston a little bit, he admitted: "Although it grieves me that I must cause her further pain."
When the door opened, Cranmer beheld a spacious room with high walls that radiated no warmth or coziness. There was a luxurious bed and many things of value, and the furnishing was expensive, but it seemed to him the room was filled with an aura of grief and destiny that was chilling.
He entered the chamber, Kingston following behind him, and the ladies in waiting quickly abandoned their work and curtsied. He did not even look at them.
For there she was.
Cranmer's anxiety returned with full force. What would he say?
Anne Boleyn, her back facing the two men, turned around and stepped forward to greet Kingston with a respectful nod and the Archbishop with a friendly expression.
She was impeccably dressed in a blue gown with wide sleeves and a necklace made of pearls, adorned with a sparkling cross, a symbol of her faith.
Cranmer eyed her face closely and noticed that she was pale and looked a little tired, but she was holding her head high and had obviously not lost the royal aura that had always impressed him so much about her. She was every inch a queen, yet something about her was different. She was not trying so hard to appear important and grand, as she had done for so many years at court. Her beautiful eyes sought neither attention nor praise. Instead, she kept her calm, almost rigid composure and looked at him with neither accusation nor plea in her gaze.
As he had expected, she gave him a cordial smile and slightly bent her dark head to greet him. "Your Grace, she said with that ringing voice of hers, "so you have found me. Tell me, how do you do?"
He stepped closer, wondering if in this hour of sorrow she really was as strong and steadfast as she seemed to be. A wave of true respect for this woman came over him, and he bowed low.
"Your Majesty," he said, using that title on purpose although he knew it was dangerous to do so. But she exuded such quiet grandeur that he could not help himself. "I am … all is well with me. I have come hither to hear your confession. If your ladies would be so kind as to prepare everything."
The women hurried about the romm, provided a chair for the Archbishop and put out the utensils for mass; which would follow the confession. One of them lightened a candle. Cranmer walked over to the desk, trying to calm down, before he faced Anne again. "My lady, I am obliged to tell you that your marriage to the king has been declared null and void."
If that shocked her, she did not show it by any outer sign except for a small intake of breath. Her hands were folded, she did not move. "On what grounds?"
"On the grounds of your close and forbidden degree of affinity to another woman known carnally by the king." He did not dare look at her.
"My sister," she concluded, almost smiling, as if amused at the absurdity of the whole affair. Cranmer was merely able to mutter a "yes".
It seemed to him as if the news of her destroyed marriage did not affect her, or rather, that she had been prepared for such tidings. But he knew she would be saddened by the way this development would affect Elizabeth, her daughter.
"Then my daughter is …" she trailed off.
Thomas gathered all his courage and faced her. "Yes. Elizabeth is to be declared a bastard." She looked up at him for a mere moment and breathed heavily. Her lids closed tightly and her breast rose and fell, as if only now she realized the full impact of her own downfall, and the inevitable consequences for her beloved child. Cranmer felt it, too. He had loved Elizabeth and he loved her still, and he could not imagine Anne's pain. The pain of a mother locked up in prison, her young daughter far away and lost among people who had once served her as their Princess and would now acknowledge her as nothing but the daughter of an adulteress, witch and traitor.
"Madam, I swear to you I will do everything within my power to protect and support her and keep her always in the king's good and kind graces."
He vowed easily, for this he had promised himself: He had failed the mother, but he would not forsake the daughter. And if it was possible, then he would do anything to keep her in Henry's favour and thus secure for her what he and Anne desired most in the world for the little red-haired girl: the crown of England.
He felt Anne's hand on his arm, and found her looking at him with relief in her eyes.
"Thank you," she said. "And now, since my time approaches, I beg your Grace to hear my confession."
He inclined his head and led her over to his chair, but suddenly she let go of him and turned around to hold out her hand to Kingston. "Also, I should like the Constable present when I receive the good Lord."
As always, Kingston's expression revealed nothing, but he obliged and took his seat on a nearby chair. Maybe it would be a good thing to have another person present, Cranmer figured, so that later no one would be able to spread rumours that he, the Archbishop, a protestant and friend of the Boleyns, had embellished or distorted the lady's last confession in any way.
A deep silence fell - it was time. Thomas sat down and Anne kneeled gracefully next to him. The solitary candle spread a warm glow and bathed her incomparable profile in a faint golden light. All was set, priest and sinner ready for the final shrift. This was her last chance to receive the good Lord and repent of her sins, a moment of truth, a moment of destiny. Her last confession.
Cranmer closed his eyes, not sure what to expect. "My child, do you have a confession?"
To his surprise she did not falter for a moment, but her voice was defiant and controlled as she replied with cool dignity:
"Yes. I confess my innocence before God."
He turned to her, astonished and glad. Of course she would not back down, not even now, of course she would not admit something she had not done. She met his gaze proudly, and continued,
"I solemnly swear on the damnation of my soul that I have never been unfaithful to my lord and husband, nor ever offended with my body against him. I do not say that I have always born towards him the humility which I owed him, considering his kindness and the great honour he showed me, and the great respect he always paid me. I admit to you that I had often taken it into my head to be jealous of him. But God knows and is my witness, I have not sinned against him in any other way."
She gazed at him with a look of cool certainty, but then her face softened as she spoke of her impending doom.
"Think not I say this in the hope to prolong my life. God has taught me how to die and he will strengthen my faith. As for my brother, and those others who were unjustly condemned… " Her tone was somewhat cunning now, but there was no harsh accusation in her voice, only bewilderment and sorrow. Cranmer held his breath and his lids fell, and out of the corner of his eye he could see that Kingston seemed to be moved by the lady's words as well. They both knew, as so many others did, that Anne Boleyn's alleged lovers had died without justice. Once again, the Archbishop was reminded that only one day prior, this woman had lost a most beloved brother who had been her confidant and true supporter at court for more than a decade. And as for the other men… it was an outrage.
"I would willingly have suffered many deaths to deliver them," she continued, "but since I see it pleases the king, I will willingly accompany them in death, with this assurance: That I shall lead an endless life with them … in peace."
She inclined her head and looked down. The ladies in the background moaned sadly, and Cranmer let out a sigh. So touching and impressive were her words that he could barely say anything. This was not the confession of a witch but the testimony of an innocent woman who was secure in her belief that there was an almighty God who would now have mercy on her soul.
She had not uttered a word against the King who had loved her once and now was so desirous to see her dead, nor had she spoken of the men, including her own uncle, who had sentenced her, nor had she protested against her unfair predicament. Instead, she had made it clear to all in the room and the world that she was not guilty of the charges laid against her. It was indeed true what even her enemies could not help but admit, that in manners and speech she excelled them all.
He made the sign of the cross on her brow. "In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit." And to the Constable he said, "Master Kingston. Go and report my Lady's true and last confession, so the world know it."
Kingston said, "I will," and, taking a bow, left the room.
Cranmer noticed that Anne was looking at him with a friendly expression, grateful for his belief in her words. She looked calm and composed, but as he got up to prepare himself for mass, she reached for him. "Mister Cranmer! Don't you think that even at this last hour the evangelical bishops we put in place might intervene for me?" Her eyes were a torment to him, pleading, pleading, pleading. So she was frightened after all. Of course she was, poor woman. And he could not help her.
"Your Majesty, I…" He tore himself lose in an attempt to step aside, unsure how to react.
Her face fell. "Of course not. How could they, forgive me."
And she closed her eyes and said nothing.
In the next hour, Cranmer celebrated Holy Mass with her and administered Holy Communion. They prayed together, and he gave her absolution once more when she declared her innocence for a second time. Sometimes her voice fell to a mere hush, the next moment she would speak with fierce conviction. Every time she voiced her fear and hopes for Elizabeth, Cranmer soothed her and reminded her of the benevolence of God, advising her to commit her daughter to His care. As she beseeched Jesus for mercy, the Archbishop could not tear his eyes away from her.
Even now, in captivity, she had lost nothing of her beauty. Her gaze was as striking as ever, her skin showed no sign of age, and the mass of dark hair still surrounded her face like a veil of ebony silk. As she knelt there, her lips moving, Cranmer's eyes wandered with a shudder over her little slender neck. Soon, a sword would slice through it, ending her life, and he thought what a waste and scandal it was.
Everything about her was arresting, tempting, so very desirable. It seemed logical to him that this woman had captured the heart of one of the most powerful and volatile monarchs in Christendom and kept it for years. This had nothing to do with witchcraft. She was a goddess among men, there was no denying, a dark Venus enabled to seduce every living man on earth. But Nature itself must have blessed this lady with charm, elegance, and grace. Truth be told, hers was not the tender grace of Jane Seymour, nor was it the calm dignity of Katherine of Aragon and the Lady Mary - hers was the strength of an amazon, a wild thing, powerful and vivacious, sensuous and provoking. But he knew that underneath her ambition there was a true and loyal heart, a loving and generous soul, a humble believer.
She certainly was a good mother, and a woman of true and firm beliefs, a female with a strong faith - among all women he had always judged her to bear the greatest love towards God and His Gospel.
Unfortunately, few had tried to take a look beneath the surface of the scorching beauty with the wicked smile, the "witch" who had been the passion of the king for so many years, the curse of Katherine and Mary, the damnation of Wolsey, the defender of the new faith, the outrageous seductress who had taken a court by storm. Few had lingered for a moment to eye her without contempt and see her just as she was, a courtier driven by faith, personal ambition and her love for the king, all the while pushed and pulled by her father and her whole clan. And no one, that was for sure, perhaps not even the King himself, had ever known her true inner self, the core of her that was purely Anne Boleyn.
People had paid no mind to the fact that she was so much more than just the Concubine, the whore of Henry VIII … and now it was too late.
For she was doomed to die, and nothing would save her now, unless a miracle would change the King's mind and she was freed.
What a pity that she would be dead before noon, the Queen of England, who had ruled in such splendour for but three years. She was a remarkable woman, and as she hovered there, looking up at him with those dark eyes that had tempted so many, waiting for his blessing, he thought that never had a female shown more courage in the face of doom. Death was in the air, surrounding her, closing in about her, but she was still so strong, bending but not breaking. A spirit worthy of a crown, he thought with some tenderness, and pity welled up in him once more for this woman who had been condemned for nothing but lies.
He blessed her and intoned one last time, "Our father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done…" The message of the verses rang out to him more clearly than ever. He would always remember this hour, this moment, this place, Anne.
At last he said "Amen," and she repeated it, and thus they had come to the end of mass. After he had helped her up and she had smoothed her skirts, a sober look came to her face.
She looked him in the eye, knowing it was their farewell, farewell for good. She would only see him one last time, tomorrow, and there would be no chance to speak.
"Your Grace, I thank you for your coming, the comfort you have given me, and your support... and the love I always judged you to bear towards me and my matters. I ask you to pray for me, tomorrow when we shall meet again, and afterwards. I beg you to beseech Jesus to have mercy on me, so that I may find the way to our good Lord."
Cranmer gulped and nodded. "Majesty, I shall pray for you, now, tomorrow, and always."
She smiled, gratefully, but with tired eyes. "Before you go, I remind you of the promise you have given me, and I recommend unto you my daughter, Elizabeth."
"Madam, I will never let go of that promise. I will never let go."
With this, he took her hand and kissed it. "I beseech your Majesty not to quiver in this hour of sorrow. God will have mercy on you, my blessed lady. I make this vow, that until the end of my days I will keep your Majesty in good memory, all the things you did for me, and the way you supported and promoted God and His Gospel."
Their eyes met, and it seemed to him as if she pardoned him all: the role he had played in her downfall, his lack of courage. There was only love and friendship between them, and the memory of the old days when they had been careless and free of such sorrow.
"Thank you. Be at peace, for I told you, God has taught me how to die and He will strengthen my faith. It will be a comfort to me, when I look down at the crowd, to see your face among them."
At her reference to the scaffold he shuddered inwardly, but for her sake he collected himself and said with as much dignity as possible, "Farewell, my mistress and Queen. May God keep you and bless you, now, and at the hour of death."
And so he left, nodding to the ladies, but when he reached the door and the guards opened it for him, he turned around once more and bestowed on the lady a look of compassion.
She stood watching him with kind regard in her eyes, and Cranmer thought his heart would break at the sight of her. So beautiful, so mighty, so lost.
He inclined his head to hide his sadness from her, and then he walked through the door, never looking back.
He made his way out, taking no heed of the guards offering their help to him. He needed to breathe fresh air, remind himself that he was still among the living. Never in his life had he known such grief and remorse, such rage even.
He could not fathom the injustice of the world that had brought Anne Boleyn to this place at this hour, the unfairness that was spreading at the English court more quickly than the plague itself.
They had brought her to death with their false accusations, Cromwell, Jane Rochford, all of them. There was only one comfort: that God would take vengeance and they would pay for their lies. But Cranmer, a submissive soul if there ever was one, in his rage, also thought of the King. He knew he was in no place to criticise a monarch, but it was as clear as day that Henry VIII, man among men, lord of lords, had gone too far. The breaking with Rome (of which Cranmer wholeheartily approved, of course) and his own insufferable greed for absolute power had set free a monarch who, if necessary, would declare the whole world his enemy if it gave him what he desired. Anne had been in his way, andso he had cast her aside. Loved and admired one moment, hated and despised the next. Desired by a golden prince of Christendom, killed by a tyrant unleashed.
She would die an innocent traitor. When the blow fell, she would be an adulteress before the law, but a queen before God. Of that Cranmer was ultimately sure, and as he left the Tower relief flooded through him. He inhaled the fresh English air and thought the sky was not as grey as before. He straightened his shoulders and made his way over to the landing stage, leaving Anne and the Tower behind.
He had feared this meeting with her, but now that it was done he was glad that he had seen her one last time, in private. For tomorrow… no, he could not think of that now.
They helped him into a boat, and then the Thames took him away, away from the walls of the Tower, to the palace where duty awaited – away from Anne and her destiny. Cranmer did not look back, but he kept his promise and prayed for her, with all of his heart.
Soon the world would know of her true and last confession, the pure and humble words she had spoken upon her last reception of the good Lord. The rich and the poor, the meek and the mighty, the beggar and the princess, they would learn what she had confessed, Anna Regina, the doomed wife of the king, locked up in the Tower of London. To their ears would come the confession of the Great Whore, and they would be silenced, for in her words there was no accusation, only courage and dignity in the eye of inevitable death.
And when at last her words would reach the palace and the rooms of the King, even to Henry VIII her genuine discourse would ring out, and the lion would hush for a moment, wondering about her - brave Anne Boleyn, Queen of the thousand days.