Though I grew up in Norfolk, I began serving as a fille d'honneur at a young age for the Archduchess Margaret of Austria in Mechelen, Burgundy before I was transferred to the French court to serve King Henry of England's sister Mary as the French Queen. There I ingratiated myself with Queen Mary, as well as Claude, Francis of Angouleme's wife, which served me well when the King Louis XII died a scant four months after his marriage to Queen Mary--who promptly eloped with Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.
When the former Queen of France, and now Duchess of Suffolk left with her new husband, I elected to stay behind in France and was educated with Queen Claude's children. Though the emphasis at court was on flirtation and fashion, there were also intellectual pursuits, and I became an accomplished musician, singer and dancer. Though my elder sister Mary had become somewhat notorious for her liason with Francis--who called her "my hack, my mule"--"no breath of scandal attached itself to [me] at the time," though I was quite popular at the French court. Francis himself wrote of me: "Venus était blonde, on m'a dit:
L'on voit bien, qu'elle est brunette."
(Venus was blonde, I've been told:
Now I see that she's a brunette!)
With war between England and France imminent, I reluctantly returned home to England leaving the scintillating French court for Henry's dull, provincial one. At that time, King Henry VIII was attracted to my pretty but brainless sister Mary, who came to court before I did. Mary was the King's mistress in the early 1520s and, as a mark of favor, our father was elevated to the peerage as viscount Rochfort/Rochford in 1525. Mary herself would leave court with only a dull marriage and the King's illegitimate son as her reward. I learned much from my sister's example. Men take what they wish and bestow what they wish, for they have all the power. I decided that I would not let myself be trapped like that.
My first years at court were spent in service to Henry VIII's first wife, Catharine of Aragon. I became quite popular among the younger men, though not considered a great beauty; my sister occupied that position in the family, but even blonde and buxom Mary was merely deemed 'pretty'. Hostile chroniclers described me as plain, sallow, and possessing two distinct flaws - a large mole on the side of my neck and an extra finger on my left hand. Such praise as I received focused on my style, my wit and charm; I was quick-tempered and spirited. My most remarkable physical attributes were my almost too large dark eyes and long silken black hair. What set me apart from the other dull milksop girls at court was my vivacity--I took none of the games between men and women seriously and indeed revived the stylings of Courtly Love amongst my admirers.
The King's attraction was focused upon my sharp and teasing manner, and my oft-stated unavailability. Like many a man before him, what he couldn't have, he pined for all the more. But when I had returned to England, plans were already being made to marry me to the son of Sir Piers Butler, James. The reason for this match was genealogical and political. My paternal grandfather, Sir William Boleyn, had married one of the heiresses of Thomas Butler, 7th Earl of Ormonde--namely Margaret Butler. However, Sir Piers, a collateral and the heir-male, took the title in place of Sir Thomas Boleyn, the heir-general. Sir Thomas claimed the Earldom of Ormonde. It was planned to resolve the matter by marrying me off to James Butler, whom I did not care for. I believe this feeling was mutual.
At the time, I was also seriously involved with Henry Percy, the son and heir of the Earl of Northumberland, and a sweet and loving boy; we entered a precontract and declared our true love despite his betrothal to Lady Mary Talbot, the daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury, and my own marriage plans. The King ordered his great minister, Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, to end the match. Wolsey did so, thus ensuring Percy's unhappy marriage to the Earl of Shrewsbury's daughter and my great enmity. It was safer to blame the Cardinal than his King.
Both betrothals fell through, and once my hopes of a great marriage or a loving one were dashed, I avoided Henry's company and was sullen and evasive to him, so he sent me from court, hoping that a few months in the country would persuade me of his charms. It did not work. After all, how could I, a country girl, really, hope to gainsay a King? As my King he had the right to order me to do anything, even be it immoral and against my wishes, whislt I had no choice as a woman but to obey my King and my ambitious father. So I played for time and I told the King in no uncertain terms that I would lie with no man but as husband and wife, just as his own grandmother Elizabeth Wydville had told Edward IV.
One cannot separate the King's desire for a son, indeed its very necessity, from his personal desire for me. The two interests merged perfectly in 1527. Henry had discovered the invalidity of his marriage to Catherine in a convenientpassage in Leviticus. Now it was possible to annul his marriage and secure his two fondest hopes--my hand in marriage and the long-desired heir.
I hardly believed what was happening; how could I, daughter of a new peer, hope to supplant the great Spanish Princess, with all her hundreds of years of royalty in her blood? As the struggle for an annulment proceeded and the Pope prevaricated between Henry and Catherine's nephew, the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, my position at the English court became steadily more prominent, though Queen Catherine ignored all signs in my favor and continued to treat me with her accustomed politeness. There were at first little signs. The King would eat alone with me; I received expensive gifts; I began to dress in the most fashionable and expensive gowns; the King paid my gambling debts since I, like most courtiers, enjoyed cards and dice. I began to enjoy this peciliar position I was in, of maintaining my purity and playing at being Queen.
The King was not too outlandish at first; he had no desire to prejudice the Pope against his case by flaunting a new love. But as the delays mounted, and rumors of his new love spread, Henry realized there was no purpose in hiding the truth. By 1530, I was openly honored by the king at court. I was accorded precedence over all other ladies, and I sat with the king at banquets and hunts while Catherine was virtually ignored. The pretense of his first marriage was allowed to continue; Catherine continued to personally mend his shirts and send him gifts and notes. But it was an untenable situation; it grated on both of us. To placate me, Henry titled me Marquess of Pembroke on 4 September 1532 at Windsor Castle; I wore a beautiful crimson gown and my hair hung loose. Now elevated to the peerage in my own right, the title to descend upon my male heirs of body, I had wealth and lands of my own. But when I accompanied him to France on a state visit a short while later, the ladies of the French court refused to meet with me--a stunning blow, for I had thought the French ladies my friends from my days at their court.
Once we finally consummated our physical relationship, pregnancy soon followed, and we were secretly wed in 1532. Henry the rejected the authority of the Holy See and Thomas Cranmer, archbishop of Canterbury, annulled his marriage to Catharine. Henry and I married again in January 1533 in a small ceremony. But though we were now husband and wife, few recognized the fact.
My coronation was a lavish affair; the King spared no expense. But the people of London were noticeably unimpressed--they already hated me as 'Black Nan, the goggle-eyed whore' and supplanter of their beloved Queen. They cried out 'HA! HA!' mockingly as tapestries decorated with Henry's and mine entwined initials passed by. Henry asked, 'How liked you the look of the City?' I replied, 'Sir, I liked the City well enough - but I saw a great many caps on heads, and heard but few tongues.' I did not know what to do to make the people love me as they did Catherine.
I enjoyed my triumph as much as I could. I ordered new blue and purple livery for my servants and set about replacing Catherine's badge of pomegranates with her own falcon symbol. I flauntingly chose as my motto, 'The Most Happy', in stark contrast to my predecessors. Catharine had been 'Humble and Loyal'; Henry's mother, Elizabeth of York had chosen 'Humble and Reverent'. But humility was not a marked characteristic of Anne Boleyn. I had risen so far from nothing, against everyon's--mine own included--beliefs.
I entered confinement for the birth of my first child on 26 August 1533. The child was born on 7 September 1533. The physicians and astrologers had been mistaken; it was not a prince. But the healthy baby girl called Elizabeth was not the disappointment most assumed, nor did she immediately cause her mother's downfall. The birth had been very easy and quick. 'There was good speed in the deliverance and bringing forth,' I wrote to Lord Cobham that very day, and I recovered quickly.
Elizabeth's christening was a grand affair, though the King did not attend. This fact was much remarked-upon, but it was common then for flesh parents to not attend christenings, but rather godparents. Henry promptly declared Elizabeth his heir, thus according her precedence over her 17 year old half-sister, Princess Mary. I could breathe a sigh of relief, recover, and become pregnant again.
During the two and a half years after Elizabeth's birth, my little daughter received every favor I could bestow; I insisted Henry favor Elizabeth because it strengthened my position. But I was surrounded by fair-weather friends who, at the slightest sign of Henry's disfavor, ignored me. A good example would be that of my lady-in-waiting, Jane Seymour, who played at being dutiful and humble, but was a snake in the grass, poisoning Henry against me. For Henry was frustrated at the country's refusal to accept me, and from the open controversy his marriage had caused in England and abroad; his infatuation with me began to dissapate, exacerbated by my tempramental nature. I trusted only my younger brother, George, whose wife, Jane Rochford, was a treacherous harpy. I still had influence over Henry, but knew only one way to make his favor permanent: I must bear a son. Henry would never dismiss the mother of his long-awaited heir, and my enemies would at last be silenced.
But I had one last chance, and in June 1535, became pregnant again.
