Then the gates of the fortress opened; and at this moment, when she was crossing the threshold under the charge of heinous crimes, Anne remembered how, three years before, she had entered it in triumph for the ceremony of her coronation, in the midst of the general acclamations of the people. Struck by the fearful contrast, she fell on her knees 'as a ball,'[302] and exclaimed, 'O Lord, help me, as I am guiltless of that whereof I am accused!' The governor raised her up, and they entered. She expected to be put into close confinement. 'Mr. Kingston,' she said, 'shall you put me into a dungeon?' 'No, madam,' answered the governor; 'you will be in your own lodging, where you lay at your coronation.' 'It is too good for me,' she exclaimed. She entered, however, and on reaching those royal chambers, which recalled such different recollections, she knelt again and burst into tears. The violence of her grief presently brought on convulsive movements, and her tears were succeeded by hysterical laughter.[303] Gradually she came to herself, and tried to collect her thoughts. Feeling the need of strengthening herself by the evidences of the Lord's love, she said to Kingston, 'Entreat his Majesty to let me have the sacrament.'[304] Then, in the consciousness of innocence, she added, 'Sir, I am as clear from the company of man as I am of you. I am the king's true wedded wife.'[305]
=ANNE'S SYMPATHY.=
She was not absorbed in her own misfortunes: she was moved by the sufferings of the others, and uneasy about her brother. 'Can you tell me where Lord Rocheford is?' she asked. Kingston replied that he had seen him at Whitehall. She was not tranquillized by this evasive answer. 'Oh, where is my sweet brother?' she exclaimed. There was no reply. 'Mr. Kingston,' resumed Anne, after a few moments, 'do you know why I am here?' 'No, madam.' 'I hear say that I am to be accused of criminal familiarities.' (Norfolk had told her so in the barge.) 'I can say no more than—Nay!' Suddenly tearing one of her garments, she exclaimed, as if distracted: 'If they were to open my body, I should still say—No.' After this her mind wandered. She thought of her mother, and the love she felt for the countess of Wiltshire made her feel more than anything else the bitterness of her situation: she imagined the proud lady was before her, and cried, with unutterable agony, 'O my mother, my mother, thou wilt die for sorrow!' Then her gloomy thoughts were turned to other objects. She remembered that, while in the barge, the duke of Norfolk had named Norris and Smeton as her accusers, which was partly false. The miserable musician was not grieved at being wrongfully accused of a crime likely to make him notorious, but Norris had stoutly rejected the idea that the queen could be guilty. 'O Norris, hast thou accused me!' she ejaculated; 'and thou too, Smeton!' After a few moments' silence, Anne fixed her eyes on the governor. 'Mr. Kingston,' she asked, 'shall I die without justice?' 'Madam,' answered the governor, 'the meanest subject of the king has that.' At these words the queen again laughed hysterically. 'Justice—justice!' she exclaimed, with disdainful incredulity. She counted less upon justice than the humblest of her subjects. Gradually the tempest calmed down, and the silence of the night brought relief to her sorrow.
The same day (May 2) the news spread through London that the queen was arrested. Cranmer, who had received the royal intimation to go to his palace at Lambeth, and wait there until further orders, had arrived, and was thunderstruck on hearing what had happened. 'What! the queen in prison! the queen an adulteress!'... A struggle took place in his bosom. He was indebted to the queen for much; he had always found her irreproachable—the refuge of the unhappy, the upholder of the truth. He had loved her like a daughter, respected her as his sovereign. That she was innocent, he had no doubt; but how account for the behavior of the king? The unhappy prelate was distracted by the most painful thoughts during the whole of Tuesday night. This truly pious man showed excessive indulgence towards Henry VIII., and bent easily beneath his powerful hand; but his path was clearly traced—to maintain unhesitatingly the innocence of her whom he had always honored. And yet he was to be an example of the fascination exerted by a despot over such characters—of the cowardice of which a good man may be guilty through human respect. Doubtless there are extenuating circumstances in his case. It was not only the queen's fate that made the prelate uneasy, but also the future of the Reformation. If love for Anne had helped to make Henry incline to the side of the Reformation, the hatred which he now felt against his unhappy wife might easily drive him into the other direction. Cranmer desired to prevent this at any price, and accordingly thought himself obliged to use extreme precaution. But these circumstances are really no extenuation. No motive in the world can excuse a man from not frankly defending his friends when they are falsely accused—from not vindicating an innocent woman when she is declared to be guilty. Cranmer wrote to the king: 'I cannot without your Majesty's command appear in your presence; but I can at least desire most humbly, as is my duty, that your great wisdom and God's help may remove the deep sorrow of your heart.
=CRANMER'S LETTER TO HENRY.=
'I cannot deny that your Majesty has great cause to be overwhelmed with sorrow. In fact, whether the things of which men speak be true or not, your honor, Sire, according to the false appreciation of the world, has suffered; and I do not remember that Almighty God has ever before put your Majesty's firmness to so severe a proof.
'Sire, I am in such a perplexity that I am clean amazed; for I never had a better opinion in woman than I had of her, which maketh me think that she cannot be culpable.'[306]
This was tolerably bold, and accordingly Cranmer hastened to tone down his boldness. 'And yet, Sire,' he added, 'would you have gone so far, if you had not been sure of her crime?... Your Grace best knoweth that, next unto your Grace, I was most bound unto her of all creatures living. Wherefore I must humbly beseech your Grace to suffer me in that which both God's law, nature, and her kindness bindeth me, unto that I may (with your Grace's favor) wish and pray for her. And from what condition your Grace, of your only mere goodness, took her, and set the crown upon her head, I repute him not your Grace's faithful servant and subject, nor true to the realm, that would not desire the offence to be without mercy punished, to the example of all others. And as I loved her not a little, for the love I judged her to bear towards God and His holy Gospel; so, if she be proved guilty, there is not one that loveth God and His Gospel that will ever favor her, for then there never was creature in our time that so much slandered the Gospel.
'However,' he added, appearing to recover his courage, 'forget not that God has shown His goodness to your Grace in many ways, and has never injured you; whilst your Grace, I am sure, acknowledged that you have offended Him. Extend, therefore, to the Gospel the precious favor you have always shown it, and which proceedeth not from your love for the queen your wife, but from your zeal for the truth.
'From Lambeth, 3d of May, 1636.'