You know all those people (including me) that say they’re in
love with a fictional character? Well, there are also those of us that are in
love with a historical figure. I know, I know, but it happens.
There are several different historical figures I have a bit
of a crush on. I can read about people like Caesar, Cleopatra, and Marie
Antoinette until the cows come home, which since I don’t live on a farm means I
do a lot of reading. But while their stories are interesting, and even though I
have a bit of a vendetta against Octavian, it’s nothing like the way I get
about my true historical love.
Who is it, you may wonder. A great American like George
Washington? A prime man specimen such as Marc Antony? No, my love is none other
than the glorious and misunderstood Anne Boleyn.
I’m not entirely sure why I love Anne quite so much. Henry
VIII’s wives and scandals are certainly fascinating. Sometimes I’ll read about
the other wives or about Henry himself, but it’s not really the same. I want to
scream with frustration when Henry starts to stray to that simpleton Jane
Seymour. Nor can I ever bring myself to deal with anything that is sympathetic
to Catherine of Aragon.
Which is actually a fascinating example of what my mother
calls my “delightful inconsistencies.” By all accounts I should be on the side of Catherine. She did nothing wrong. She was
a faithful wife, a wonderful person, and she stubbornly refused to submit. Why
do I hate her? I don’t know! But I can’t stop myself!!
If it wasn’t for Catherine, Henry would have been able to
marry Anne much earlier. If Anne could have married Henry earlier instead of
having to draw him on for years (and years… and years) she would have been less
stressed and probably could have given birth to a son instead of having a
miscarriage. If she had given Henry a son, he wouldn’t have killed her. Yeah,
he probably would have gotten tired of her eventually and had more mistresses
on the side, but he wouldn’t have needed to get rid of her because she would
have provided the one thing he wanted.
Not only was my poor Anne killed over the ridiculous whims
of a fat, stupid man, she has been horribly slandered since her death. The
rumors of her time that she was a witch continue to pop up again and again.
There are websites that list her having a 6th finger and a huge mole
on her neck as FACTS that caused the witchcraft charges. Um, what? You really
think a spoiled brat of a king would pursue a “deformed” woman for years?
Even popular novels like The
Other Boleyn Girl malign Anne’s character. They make it seem like she was a
selfish, ruthless girl that didn’t even care about her own siblings.
Anne wasn’t a saint. She had to make some sacrifices to make
it to royalty and there’s some evidence she may have some vendetta issues (which
I totally support). I believe she was a good person though, and if you look for
it there is just as much evidence on her side too.
Why do I love Anne so much? I don’t know. Some of it is so
instinctive I can’t really explain it well. When my love loses her head, I lose
my mind. Want to see my cry? Any movie/show that shows her being beheaded is
guaranteed to make me start tearing up. And disclaimer, in case you don’t know
me that well, I DO NOT cry easily.
On the other hand some of it is more apparent. Anne Boleyn
was clever, pretty, and intelligent. Instead of accepting society’s role that
she could be the king’s mistress or nothing, she made it so she could be queen.
She managed to keep the king enthralled for years despite the easy availability
of so many other pretty, easy women. It wasn’t magic like they claim, but it
was still damn impressive.
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