Anne Boleyn’s Final Hours: What Really Happened on May 19, 1536

Anne Boleyn’s final hours remain one of the most haunting and iconic moments in Tudor history. On May 19th, 1536, Anne Boleyn, the second wife of King Henry VIII and mother of the future Queen Elizabeth I, faced her execution at the Tower of London. From her calm composure and last prayers to the chilling efficiency of the French swordsman, Anne Boleyn’s final hours were marked by dignity, devotion, and tragedy.

Let’s take a detailed look at the events of that fateful morning—her last words, the people who witnessed them, and the powerful legacy she left behind.

Transcript of Anne Boleyn’s Final Hours: What Really Happened on May 19, 1536

Today is May 19th, so it is a very important day in Tudorland—in Tudor history land—because it’s the anniversary of the execution of Anne Boleyn. We’re going to talk today about the execution of Anne, the final hours of Anne Boleyn.

So it’s May 19th, at the Tower of London. It was just after dawn. It was a Friday, May 19th, 1536, and Anne had been awake all night inside the Queen’s lodging at the Tower, waiting for the end. She had already dressed. She was wearing a dark gray gown with a red kirtle underneath and a cloak trimmed with ermine.

Those who saw her that morning remarked on her composure. Someone even said they had never seen her more beautiful. Sir William Kingston, the Constable of the Tower, even seemed surprised at how steady she was, which he wrote about in his letters.

Outside, a scaffold had been built on Tower Green, just yards away. The swordsman, of course, had been brought from Calais by special order that was seen as one last mercy by Henry VIII. He had arrived earlier that week. Her execution had actually been delayed by a day, they think, because the swordsman was a little late arriving in London.

Some people, though, also lean toward the idea that Henry was still a little undecided about a couple of things—namely, whether her sentence should be commuted or, if not, whether she should be allowed to be buried in consecrated ground. So there was some delay. Anne initially thought she was going to die on the 18th, and it was moved to the 19th.

Anyway, Anne knew exactly what was coming. She was not allowed a confessor, but she did request the Eucharist. At about 7:00 a.m., she received communion, likely from her almoner, John Skypp, and apparently she swore her innocence once more before taking her communion. According to Eustace Chapuys, she declared that she had never been unfaithful to the king.

Taking communion on the morning of an execution wasn’t unusual, but Anne’s behavior did stand out. Kingston later reported that she took the sacrament with great devotion and “seemed more ready to die than any creature I ever saw.”

There was no confession of guilt—only a firm insistence on her own honesty. She remained consistent in claiming that she had not committed any adultery or treason. Her final hours were, of course, being closely monitored. Kingston reported every detail to Thomas Cromwell, who was pulling the strings behind the scenes.

Even Anne’s body language became evidence in the record. He described how she actually made some dark, kind of macabre jokes about her own execution. She apparently said, “I heard say the executioner was very good, and I have but a little neck,” and then she laughed. It’s one of the most chilling lines in the entire story—half gallows humor, half effort to stay in some kind of control.

Anne had expected to die at 8:00 a.m., but the execution was delayed yet again—this time because the scaffold wasn’t ready and the crowd hadn’t fully assembled. You can’t have an execution without the crowd being fully assembled, of course.

Sir William Kingston had to tell her that she would need to wait again, and she reportedly took the news with calm acceptance—though some accounts suggest she showed visible signs of exhaustion at this point. Of course she did. She’d been up all night.

She spent the next hour with the women assigned to her in the Tower. These, of course, weren’t her friends or confidantes. They had been chosen for their loyalty to the king. They had shared her last days, and according to Kingston, Anne told them to be brave and not to weep. She reminded them of her innocence and the peace she had made with God.

When Kingston entered the room again at nine, she told him that she was ready. She was still steady, still composed, and had already arranged her headdress and clothing so that nothing would delay the swordsman.

Just after nine, she was led from her chambers across the courtyard to the scaffold on Tower Green. There was only a small crowd—about a couple of hundred people. This wasn’t a huge public spectacle; it was deliberately kept private. This was the first time a queen had ever been executed, especially by a king, and they wanted to control the narrative as much as possible.

So, it was held within the Tower walls. It wasn’t public—it wasn’t like Tyburn, and it wasn’t on Tower Hill where people could watch. It was within the Tower, and it was deliberately private. There were only a few noblemen present, some Tower officials, and her ladies.

Kingston noted that she walked with a “goodly countenance,” holding herself with dignity. Anne gave a short speech, very carefully worded, of course. She didn’t confess to any crime. She asked those present to pray for the king, calling him “the most gentle and sovereign lord” and saying that he had always been kind to her.

It was a final show of obedience—likely encouraged, if not required. She, of course, was thinking about her daughter Elizabeth and keeping Elizabeth safe. She expressed hope for salvation and forgiveness, and then she knelt down.

Unlike executions by axe, this would be swift. The French swordsman had been instructed to act quickly and cleanly. She removed her hood and blindfolded herself, praying aloud as the moment approached. She was saying things like, “O Lord, Jesu, accept my soul. My soul belongs to Jesus. Lord Jesus, accept my soul.”

The executioner stepped quietly behind her. The sword was already in his hand. According to accounts, he called for his assistant to bring him the weapon. It was a distraction, so that Anne wouldn’t flinch. She kept praying: “To Jesus Christ I commend my soul. Lord Jesus, receive my soul.”

As he called for his assistant to bring the sword, her head turned toward the sound—toward where he was calling. That movement exposed her neck in the cleanest possible way. The sword fell cleanly in one stroke, and she was beheaded instantly.

There wasn’t any cheering. There wasn’t any ceremony. Her ladies were weeping, and they gathered her body and head into a linen cloth. She was buried just steps away inside the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula—in an old arrow chest, because they hadn’t prepared a proper coffin. A Queen of England, buried without a proper coffin.

There were no bells ringing, no public mourning, nothing like that. That same day, Henry announced his engagement to Jane Seymour. In some accounts—especially noted by Alison Weir—witnesses claimed that Anne’s lips were moving when her head was held up. As was customary, the executioner held up her head and declared, “This is what happens to the enemies of the King.” Some said her lips were still moving.

Now, there is a theory that the nervous system can remain active for a few moments after death—that movement and muscle twitches may occur. It doesn’t all shut down instantly. Alison Weir actually did some deep research into this topic—the kind of research that gets a bit queasy, and honestly, it’s a little darker than where I want to take this video, especially this early in the morning. But the idea is out there. I’ll link to the video if you want to dive deeper into what Alison Weir discovered about this type of death and whether people die instantly.

And you can read about it in her book too, The Lady in the Tower. I think she goes into detail about that. I actually read it right before bed—I finished it right before bed. It was years ago, but I remember having a really hard time getting to sleep after reading it. So if you’re queasy about stuff like that, tread carefully before you read it. But, you know, it’s there if you want to check it out.

Heather Teysko is the creator, writer, and producer of The Renaissance English History Podcast, the original Tudor history podcast, started in 2009. She's been writing about history online for over 25 years, since her first site on Colonial American history became number one in history on Yahoo in 1998. In 2019 she created Tudorcon, which is now a yearly event, in addition to writing books, and running TudorFair.com - a whimsical Tudor Merch shop.

She has been passionate about Tudor England since she first read Alison Weir's The Six Wives of Henry VIII 30 years ago, and subsequently moved to London after college to spend her time immersed in Tudor history (how exciting when she got to interview Alison for the first time!). In addition to history, she is passionate about travel, and has lived in 3 countries and 4 states (not counting her perpetual state of confusion), and her family (who help her host her YouTube channel occasionally).

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