The Lady in the Tower: The Fall of Anne Boleyn (13 page)

Henry now summoned Cromwell and Audley to join him, and made Chapuys repeat the Emperor’s terms. Then Chapuys withdrew so they could discuss them, and “made some acquaintance with the brother of the young lady to whom the King is now attached”;
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this encounter appears to have marked the beginning of his collaboration with the Seymours. But he was watching the three in the window closely, and soon became aware that “there was some dispute and considerable anger between the King and Cromwell.”
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There can be little doubt that Henry was furious with Cromwell for exceeding his authority and showing himself so eager for the alliance, and angry at the demands Charles had made; yet it is also likely that, in rejecting them out of hand, the King was cunningly hoping to wrest the concessions he wanted from the Emperor,
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for already he was doing his best to persuade Francis I to put pressure on Charles in that respect. But Francis, who had obtained a copy of the papal bull, was determined to publish it if Henry made a pact with the Emperor.
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No wonder Henry was showing little enthusiasm for an Imperial alliance.

Cromwell must have been listening to his master in mounting consternation, even alarm: He had worked hard for a rapprochement and rightly feared that, in consequence of this stalemate, neither Henry nor Charles would ever agree to each other’s terms. It appeared that Henry even saw Cromwell’s diplomatic overtures as a betrayal, which could only undermine Cromwell’s credibility and his influence. Worse still, with Henry demanding Imperial recognition of his marriage, it now looked very much as if Anne had recovered her ascendancy over the King: Anne, whose repudiation many believed Henry had recently been contemplating; Anne, who was now Cromwell’s open enemy and was doing her best to wreck his carefully nurtured plans and schemes; Anne, who had made it clear that she would bring him down—and worse, if she could, and would surely capitalize on this latest calamity, and take full advantage of his having fallen foul of the King.

Cromwell must have known that, although Henry and Anne had fallen out on many occasions, Anne knew well how to rule her husband, and it now looked very much as if she had exercised her wiles once more to good effect and reestablished her command of him—as she had many times
before. Why else would Henry resolutely have forced Chapuys to acknowledge her at last? In her battle with Cromwell, Anne, it seemed, might very well win.

Chapuys watched as, “after some considerable time, Cromwell, grumbling, left the conference in the window where the King was, excusing himself that he was so very thirsty and quite exhausted—as he really was with pure vexation—and sat down upon a coffer out of sight of the King.” Henry now beckoned to Chapuys and told him that he must put his proposals in writing, otherwise he himself could not lay them before his council, “or make me any reply,” but when Chapuys answered evasively, Henry “insisted wonderfully on having the said writing, and several times said very obstinately that he would give no reply” if he did not receive it. But he reiterated, “confusedly and in anger,” that his dispute with the Pope was none of the Emperor’s concern, that “the princess was his daughter and he would treat her according as she obeyed him or not, and no one else had a right to interfere”—and much more in an irritable vein. All he would agree to was that, the next day, he would look over the treaties he had with the Emperor “and inform me of what they determined” with a view to ratifying them once more.

The audience thus terminated, Chapuys returned later to take his formal leave of the King, whom he found in a slightly more gracious mood, and left the court. By then, word of what took place had already spread, and many courtiers took it upon themselves to accompany him to the palace gates, saying how sorry they were to hear of it.
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After Chapuys had withdrawn, Cromwell attempted to remonstrate with his sovereign. It did him no good, for Henry showed himself angry and obstructive, so much so that Cromwell decided it would be unwise to press him further.
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Soon afterward, Henry wrote to Richard Pate, his ambassador at the Imperial court, and made very clear his intention of ignoring Charles V’s demand that Mary be restored to the succession.
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The next day, the Duke of Norfolk told the Bishop of Tarbes, the French ambassador, that whatever the Emperor might offer or propose, the King would never withdraw from his alliance with France.
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After that fraught confrontation with his master in the window embrasure, Cromwell, out of favor, angry, and in considerable turmoil, and fearful lest Anne Boleyn should seize her chance and exploit the situation, “thought up and plotted” her downfall.
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…

The next morning, Cromwell sought out Chapuys and they “expressed their mutual regret” over what had happened. Cromwell was in despair, and “hardly able to speak for sorrow; he had never been more mortified in his life.” He had far exceeded his remit in showing himself enthusiastic for the alliance—in itself sufficient cause to fear for his future—and now he had to explain himself to the ambassador. Chapuys reported: “He declared to me that although he had all the time dissembled and made me believe that what he said to me was his own private view of the affair, not the King’s, he could assert—nay, swear—that he had done or said nothing without his master’s express commands.” Chapuys asked what had happened to alter the King’s opinion, but Cromwell could give no answer. He merely observed that “princes were endowed with qualities of mind and peculiarities unknown to all other people,” and that “whoever trusts in the word of princes (who one day say one thing and on the next retract it), relies on them, or expects the fulfillment of their promises, is not a wise man.”
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That same day, the council assembled, and—as Cromwell would tell Chapuys—“there was not one of them but remained long on his knees before the King, to beg him, for the honor of God, not to lose so good an opportunity of establishing a friendship so necessary and advantageous; but they had not been able to change his opinion.” The next day, Thursday, Cromwell reported all this to Chapuys and “thanked him on the part of the King for the good office I had done,” begging him to continue and to obtain a letter of credence from Charles
V
, as Henry had demanded. Backtracking furiously, Cromwell explained that “although he had always pretended that what he said to me was of his own suggestion, yet he had neither said nor done anything without express command from the King,” but it was easy for Chapuys to detect “his dissatisfaction at the strange contradictions of his master.” Despite all he had seen and heard, Chapuys was still “in hope of good issue.”
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Later that day, April 20, Cromwell resolved to feign illness and retire from court, seeking refuge at the Great Place, his house by St. Dunstan’s Church at Stepney Green, east of London. Chapuys reported on April 21 that Cromwell had “taken to his bed from pure sorrow.”
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In fact, he was plotting the Queen’s ruin.

Plotting the Affair

T
he fall of Anne Boleyn has long been seen by many as the direct result of a marital breakdown, what Agnes Strickland called “the royal matrimonial tragedy,” but that is too simplistic an interpretation. “A mere estrangement,” such as may have occurred between the King and Queen in the early months of 1536, “cannot explain either the suddenness or the vehemence of Henry’s reaction.”
¹
The evidence therefore strongly suggests that it was Cromwell, rather than Henry VIII, who was the prime mover in the matter.

Cromwell was to tell Chapuys on June 6 that “owing to the displeasure and anger he had incurred upon the reply given to me [Chapuys] by the King on the third day of Easter [April 18], he had thought up and plotted the affair
(il a fantasier et conspirer
l’
affaire)
of the Concubine, in which he had taken a great deal of trouble”
²
—as would become clear. Of course, misleading or even false information could be fed to ambassadors, but the cynical Chapuys was no novice at the game, and he accepted what Cromwell said as the truth. Furthermore, that is supported by the other evidence.

What Cromwell was ambitiously plotting was no less than the removal of the Queen, and the purging of her powerful faction in the Privy Chamber, men who were close to the King and had served him for
years, and who could be counted on to fight for Anne’s rights if Cromwell moved against her alone. He would build his case on the King’s obsessive fear of treason and the Queen’s flirtatious nature.
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By totally annihilating the Boleyn influence, Cromwell could preempt all risk of its resurgence and its power to bring him down. His words to Chapuys were crucially significant, as they prove that it was Cromwell’s determination, rather than any evidence, that brought about Anne’s fall,
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and that it was Master Secretary who instigated the political coup that has been called “one of the most audacious plots in English history.”
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What Cromwell told Chapuys must, once and for all, lay to rest the oft-repeated myth that Henry VIII, tired of Anne, disappointed of a son, and eager to marry Jane Seymour, ordered Cromwell to find incriminating evidence that would send his queen to her death. For there is absolutely nothing to support the theory that Henry VIII “passed on to Cromwell the task of finding the quickest and most effective way of getting rid of her.”
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That is the traditional, and now discredited, view, exemplified by Strickland’s sweeping assertion that “Henry’s vindictive purpose against [Anne] was evident from the beginning.”

More than a century ago, the eminent historian, James Anthony Froude, rightly asked if Henry VIII, his hands full with the crucial issue of European alliances that would impact in one way or another on England’s future, and determined to assert his independence in the face of the great Catholic powers, would have initiated a domestic scandal that would distract himself and his ministers from the tough and demanding negotiations with which they were heavily preoccupied.
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No, the King accepted a case that other men had constructed for him;
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he was “not seeking a way to dispose of a wife of whom he had tired.”
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He did not need to. He now had total command of the Church of England and could call upon the services of effective propagandists to push through and justify an annulment;
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getting rid of Anne by this means would not have been difficult, and indeed
was
not, as time would prove.
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And because Catholic Europe did not recognize the marriage, there would have been no diplomatic repercussions, as there had been with Katherine.
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Paul Friedmann, Anne’s Victorian biographer, thought that an annulment was out of the question because it would have given the impression that the King, upon entering both his marriages, had been careless of any impediments, casting doubts on his scruples of conscience. It is a theory
that gives the historian pause for thought, but the fact remains that Henry did ultimately have his marriage to Anne annulled on the grounds of an existing impediment of which he was aware at the time.

It has also been argued, by several historians, that Henry did not go down the route to annulment because Anne would never have accepted his repudiation of their marriage or the bastardizing of her child. Yet incontrovertible grounds for a nullity suit did exist, as would shortly be proved, and Anne did in the event acquiesce without protest. It is true that she was in extremis at the time, and that she was probably offered significant inducements, but that strongly suggests that earlier on, being aware of the precariousness of her position, she would have been susceptible to persuasive or bullying tactics, rather than risk the further consequences of Henry’s displeasure.

The King had to be aware that Anne was widely unpopular and that her removal would meet with public approval—after all, he had signed the act criminalizing her critics. There would be no political backlash, as with Katherine. Asserting that a displaced Anne might well have allied with her brother Rochford and “some devoted friends” to form an opposition party dedicated to restoring her
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fails to take into account the fact that Anne had few friends and many enemies, and that rejected royal wives were likely to be abandoned by those who wished to remain in the King’s favor, as the history of Katherine of Aragon had proved.