matter by whom committed, and to hold a special Court to try the persons
accused. With this instrument in his pocket, Cromwell held at will the
lives of those whom he sought to destroy. Anne, as we have seen, had loved
and courted the admiration of men, even as her daughter Elizabeth
afterwards did to an extent that bordered upon mania. Her manners were
free and somewhat hysterical, and her reputation before marriage had been
more than doubtful, but the stern Act of Succession, which in 1534 made it
treason to question the legitimacy of Anne's daughter, barred all
accusation against her except in respect to actions after Elizabeth's
birth.

Cromwell was well served by spies, even in Anne's chamber; for her star
was visibly paling, and people feared her vengeance little; and not many
days passed before the Secretary had in his hand testimony enough to
strike his first blow. It was little enough according to our present
notions of evidence, and at another time would have passed unnoticed. A
young fellow of humble origin, named Mark Smeaton, had by Anne's influence
been appointed one of Henry's grooms of the chamber in consequence of his
skill as a lute player. Anne herself, who was a fine musician and
composer, delighted in listening to Mark's performances; and doubtless, as
was her wont, she challenged his admiration because he was a man. A
contemporary who repeated the tattle of the Court[148] says that she had
fallen in love with the lute player, and had told him so; and that she had
aroused the jealousy of her rival admirers, Norreys, Brereton, and
others, by her lavish gifts and open favour to Mark Smeaton. According to
this story, she endeavoured to appease the former by renewed flirting with
them, and to silence Mark's discontent by large gifts of money. Others of
her courtiers, especially Sir Thomas Percy, indignant that an upstart like
Mark should be treated better than themselves, insulted and picked
quarrels with the musician; and it is evident that Anne, at the very time
that Cromwell was spreading his nets for her, was hard put to it to keep
the peace between a number of idle, jealous young men whose admiration she
had sought for pastime.

On the 29th April, Mark Smeaton was standing sulkily in the deep embrasure
of a window in Anne's chamber in the palace of Greenwich. The Queen asked
him why he was so out of humour. He replied that it was nothing that
mattered. She evidently knew the real reason for his glo