Kurai Extravaganza

A story on Anne Boleyn, written on the 6th of June 2008, out of boredom. Of course, it is full of mistakes, but since it was just a story out of amusement, I am sure it does not matter. After all, it was for entertainment purposes only.

Anne looks back:

A whore, they call me. Maybe I was. I could�ve been simply a puppet in the hands of my father and uncle, also. But no matter what all said to me, I was Queen of England. A simple harlot could never achieve that. And as a matter of fact, I was never a Madame Du Barry, whom actually was a whore before the king of France raised her in rank, or an Eva P�ron, whom slept her way up. I only gave my honour to my husband, the King, although the first time he touched me, I was yet to be his wife. A whore? So be it.

After all, history has called me many names.

But I was not only called a 'whore', but 'Anne sans tête' too. The first of Henry's wives to be actually killed on his account. Katherine he put away, but me he ordered to be executed. After a trial, of course.

But my lords, what means the story of a commoner? I was Queen. Regina. Standing above all law, above the words of a pipe player. He spoke his words after torture. The master-torturer did his work well. Cromwell got his verdict.

As for George, Viscount Rochford and brother to the Queen, myself, he was condamned on account of what that silly Parker girl told the judges, while trying to save her own neck. Didn't do her much good, though. She lost hers for not speaking up about the affairs which Katherine Howard, my lord's fifth wive and Queen, had in her youth.

As for my father, he was stripped of all the titles which he earned through me, and returned to Hever Castle.

As for my sister...? The other Boleyn girl... My lord's little plaything. One of his little harlots whom sat at his knees and whom were simply overwhelmed by his gifts and attention. None knew how to use the power he had given them. Power, I say, for all men in love are fools. At the mercy of the woman they workship and long for... The price of possessing a woman is more than many a man can handle. She was a plaything, nothing more, and yet she was the official reason that he divorced me; the fact that he had been with her. Now, pray tell me, whom commited adultery?!

I would not give myself to Henry like she did, like she gave herself to the king of France before, like she gave herself to her husbands, as she did before she was with the king, and afterwards. I was not risking to get pregnant and loose his interest in me. My lord may have been king, but he was also man and hunter, and thus he wanted always that which he could not get. Such as me.

I knew his weakness. Though he lusted after me as only he could, and tried to buy me, I kept refusing him. He was my king, but he was not my master in that way. That is the true power of women. Not their body which makes men want them in the first place, but the opportunity to make them do anything to get them. As for me? I made my Lord believe that he was in charge, but for most of our time together, he did as I deemed to be fit. It truly was a shame that the king's former wife, Dowager princess of Wales Katherine, did not do the same...

Poor Katherine, she did not know when to take her way out and it led to her death. Whether she was poissoned, or that she died of a disease, is of no importance to me. She should have taken her leave when she was advised so. She might have been educated by her mother, the Queen of Spain, but she never learned to understand Henry. I did. I knew he was dangerous. But nothing is without danger. Would I have mindlessly given myself to him as my sister did, he would have left me pregnant and I could have died in childbirth. My honour was too valuable for that. We, my father, my uncle and I, we knew that the king could never resist a well-looking woman. That and my honour were my most valuable weapons.

Certainly, it was true, that my family wanted power. Desired power. Wanted it more than everything. But seriously, lords, would I have acted the way I did if I did not seek some fame and power for my own? I did as was expected of me, and got the king's attention. I promised him the son which Katherine could not give him. You may say that I had no choice, but the truth is, I could have easily blown it. After all, Henry was as consistent as any woman could be. His affections were as ever changing as the weather. The honours he gave to those close to his favourite of the moment, could just as easily be withdrawn.

And obviously, that was what he did. He tired of me. As did he with all women whom he loved. He rid himself of them. Except for that silly girl Seymour, whom was a lady-in-waiting of mine. Funny how history repeats itself, isn't it? Anne, lady-in-waiting to Catherine, became Queen. And when the king tired of Anne, he took Jane Seymour into his bed. What Henry wants, Henry gets. Henry wanted a son. And he got one, by his third wife. Which ultimately costed her life as the attempts to, cost me mine.

Henry would never learn from his mistakes, and, as to be expected, the process which started when he rid himself of his first Queen, would continue for a long time. Heads would roll for all his life. A great king has a scaffold surrounded by bodies around him, as we know. In his case, it were the bodies of his wives. Certainly he was a perfect example of Machiavelli's "Principe", the feared ruler.

After his disposing of me, he, Henry, may have gotten his son, his desired Tudor-prince, but it was a Boleyn whom would become England's most famous monarch! It was not the son which he so heartly desired and for whom he killed. As Henry divorced me before he rid himself of me, she was no Tudor, but a Boleyn. Bastard or not, it was his daughter by me, under whom England lived it's Golden Age. She may have had his looks, but it was my ambition which kept her on the throne. My Elizabeth!

And of all Henry's wives, I would be the one to be remembered the most, after the passing of time.