On my last nerve!

Anne Boleyn in The Tudors (2007-2010)

Reblog to make it die faster

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The last sight she saw on this earth was an edifying one: moved by her bravery, Sir John Aleyn, the current Lord Mayor of London, sank to his knees. One by one, just before the Queen was blindfolded, she saw two thousand people sink to their knees. Upon the scaffold, she looked utterly feminine, utterly fragile – a fragility that was to be lost for centuries within a few moments. Every sign of weakness, of believable human psychology, would be excised as the relentless legend of Anne Boleyn gathered momentum. History was watching her that day and she knew it. She was still praying – low, calm, fervently – when, on the third swing, the sword descended. The executioner crossed himself, the ladies rushed forwards, the crowd remained silent and, high above their heads, the cannon fire roared out over London. A solicitor in the crowd wrote home: “The Queen died boldly. God take her to His rest.” Too often people attempt to act as if her vindication can be found in the undeniable glory of her daughter’s forty-five year reign, but that is to do Anne a disservice. In her own life, in her own personality, can be found her vindication. No one can look at her final weeks and not conclude that this was not a woman of substance and courage and, as Anne herself pointed out, such things do not spring at the end unless they have been there from the beginning. - GARETH RUSSELL

I just love them so much.