Blue Ridge Community College - Doubling Yearbook (Weyers Cave, VA)

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Illustration by Brenda Bocock 85

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84 My Last Entry May 17 , 1536 In a few hours, I shall be executed; not for what I have done, but rather for what I have not done. Henry, dear Henry, surely you do not really believe I could go to another lover and plot your demise? I have been many times a foolish woman, but never a stupid one. To flirt and conspire publicly, as my accusers have stated, is to reach the heights of stupidity. No my love, you are killing me because I could not give you a son that you so desired. It is ironic how history will repeat itself. Here am I, Anne Boleyn, not so different from Catherine after all, except that my life shall end merciully quick; whereas, Catherine died by bits and pieces. My mind keeps drifting back a million years ago to that young fifteen year old girl, so innocent, entering her King's court for the first time. Was I ever so young and unknowing? Those were such happy days, when each dawning brought forth a new adventure or a new face. How vividly I remember my first true love, Henry Percy, son of the Earl of Northumberland. Oh, how I did love him . My young heart was broken, when that vile Wolsey conspired with the Earl to renounce our friendship in the best interests of the King. That was the day I grew up, and my heart grew hard. I began to see that court life was not as I first saw it, but rather it was a cesspool of intrigue, of political ambitions, and of personal gain. Perhaps a marriage to Henry Percy would have been much better. How foolish my thoughts are! I got what I wanted: Henry Tudor, King of England, not as his mistress, but as his consort. Of course, most of England continues to consider me his mistress. Perhaps I could have held him if I could have borne him a son. Why? Oh God, why couldn't I give him a son. Was it that I did not love him? I felt a deep affection for him, and he was kind and gentle to me. Is that not enough? Strange, but as I stare into the night from this small tower window, I can look down on London. The sleepy town appears so small, quiet and insignificant from up here. Even the looming shadows of the palace are dwarfed and less imposing. The sky outside the window, stretches into miles of pure darkness, dotted here and there with the fading twinkle of the stars. How peaceful and beautiful it is. I wonder what my brother and the others are feeling now. It is tragic that the innocent must die because of my failure. What of our daughter Elizabeth? Will she die at the hands of my successor, as Catherine's Mary nearly dies at mine? Oh God! Forgive me my sins, though I know that I would do the same again. I cannot help but wonder what Sir Thomas felt as he too awaited his last sunrise. Did he feel the fear in his heart, as I do, or was he so secure and serene in his own goodness and in his beliefs in God , that he felt only peace and calm? The sun is beginning to light the sky with its red dawning. Soon, they shall come. Oh dear God! Help me, for I am so afraid and so alone. Let me be brave, and not falter. Help me to accept my final fate. Anne Boleyn was not to die on May 18th. Instead, she suffered one more long day and night, and was finally beheaded on May 19, 1536. Anne Heitzenrater First Place Miscellaneous Category BIBLIOGRAPHY Hackett, Francis, HENRY THE EIGHTH pp. 153-273. Scarisbrick, J.J. , HENRY VIII; pp. 135-854.

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