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It has often been said that Bacon, while still at college, planned that great
intellectual revolution with which his name is inseparably connected. The
evidence on this subject, however, is hardly sufficient to prove what is in
itself so improbable as that any definite scheme of that kind should have been
so early formed, even by so powerful and active a mind. But it is certain that,
after a residence of three years at Cambridge, Bacon departed, carrying with him
a profound contempt for the course of study pursued there, a fixed conviction
that the system of academic education in England was radically vicious, a just
scorn for the trifles on which the followers of Aristotle had wasted their
powers, and no great reverence for Aristotle himself.
In his sixteenth year he visited Paris, and resided there for some time, under
the care of Sir Amias Paulet, Elizabeth's Minister at the French Court, and one
of the ablest and most upright of the many valuable servants whom she employed.
France was at that time in a deplorable state of agitation. The Huguenots and
the Catholics were mustering all their force for the fiercest and most
protracted of their many struggles; while the prince, whose duty it was to
protect and to restrain both, had by his vices and follies degraded himself so
deeply that he had no authority over either. Bacon, however, made a tour through
several provinces, and appears to have passed some time at Poitiers. We have
abundant proof that during his stay on the Continent he did not neglect literary
and scientific pursuits. But his attention seems to have been chiefly directed
to statistics and diplomacy. It was at this time that he wrote those Notes on
the State of Europe which are printed in his works. He studied the principles of
the art of deciphering with great interest, and invented one cipher so
ingenious, that, many years later, he thought it deserving of a place in the De
Augmentis. In February 1580, while engaged in these pursuits, he received
intelligence of the almost sudden death of his father, and instantly returned to
England.
His prospects were greatly overcast by this event. He was most desirous to
obtain a provision which might enable him to devote himself to literature and
politics. He applied to the Government; and it seems strange that he should have
applied in vain. His wishes were moderate. His hereditary claims on the
administration were great. He had himself been favorably noticed by the Queen.
His uncle was Prime Minister. His own talents were such as any Minister might
have been eager to enlist in the public service. But his solicitations were
unsuccessful. The truth is that the Cecils disliked him, and did all that they
could decently do to keep him down. It has never been alleged that Bacon had
done anything to merit this dislike; nor is it at all probable that a man whose
temper was naturally mild, whose manners were courteous, who, through life,
nursed his fortunes with the utmost care, and who was fearful even to a fault of
offending the powerful, would have given any just cause of displeasure to a
kinsman who had the means of rendering him essential service and of doing him
irreparable injury. The real explanation, we believe, is this. Robert Cecil, the
Treasurer's second son, was younger by a few months than Bacon. He had been
educated with the utmost care, had been initiated, while still a boy, in the
mysteries of diplomacy and court-intrigue, and was just at this time about to be
produced on the stage of public life. The wish nearest to Burleigh's heart was
that his own greatness might descend to this favorite child. But even Burleigh's
fatherly partiality could hardly prevent him from perceiving that Robert, with
all his abilities and acquirements, was no match for his cousin Francis. This
seems to us the only rational explanation of the Treasurer's conduct. Mr.
Montagu is more charitable. He supposes that Burleigh was influenced merely by
affection for his nephew, and was "little disposed to encourage him to rely on
others rather than on himself, and to venture on the quick sands of politics,
instead of the certain profession of the law." If such were Burleigh's feelings,
it seems strange that he should have suffered his son to venture on those quick
sands from which he so carefully preserved his nephew. But the truth is that, if
Burleigh had been so disposed, he might easily have secured to Bacon a
comfortable provision which should have been exposed to no risk. And it is
certain that he showed as little disposition to enable his nephew to live by a
profession as to enable him to live without a profession.
That Bacon himself attributed the conduct of his relatives to jealousy of his
superior talents, we have not the smallest doubt. In a letter written many years
later to Villiers, he expresses himself thus: "Countenance, encourage, and
advance able men in all kinds, degrees, and professions. For in the time of the
Cecils, the father and the son, able men were by design and of purpose
suppressed."
Whatever Burleigh's motives might be, his purpose was unalterable. The
supplications which Francis addressed to his uncle and aunt were earnest,
humble, and almost servile. He was the most promising and accomplished young man
of his time. His father had been the brother-in-law, the most useful colleague,
the nearest friend of the Minister. But all this availed poor Francis nothing.
He was forced, much against his will, to betake himself to the study of the law.
He was admitted at Gray's Inn; and during some years, he labored there in
obscurity.
What the extent of his legal attainments may have been it is difficult to say.
It was not hard for a man of his powers to acquire that very moderate portion of
technical knowledge which, when joined to quickness, tact, wit, ingenuity,
eloquence, and knowledge of the world, is sufficient to raise an advocate to the
highest professional eminence. The general opinion appears to have been that
which was on one occasion expressed by Elizabeth. "Bacon," said she, "hath a
great wit and much learning; but in law showed to the utmost of his knowledge,
and is not deep." The Cecils, we suspect, did their best to spread this opinion
by whispers and insinuations. Coke openly proclaimed it with that rancorous
insolence which was habitual to him. No reports are more readily believed than
those which disparage genius, and soothe the envy of conscious mediocrity. It
must have been inexpressibly consoling to a stupid sergeant, the forerunner of
him who, a hundred and fifty years later, "shook his head at Murray as a wit,"
to know that the most profound thinker and the most accomplished orator of the
age was very imperfectly acquainted with the law touching bastard eigne and
mulier puisne, and confounded the right of free fishery with that of common
piscary.
It is certain that no man in that age, or indeed during the century and a half
which followed, was better acquainted than Bacon with the philosophy of law. His
technical knowledge was quite sufficient, with the help of his admirable talents
and of his insinuating address, to procure clients. He rose very rapidly into
business, and soon entertained hopes of being called within the bar. He applied
to Lord Burleigh for that purpose, but received a testy refusal. Of the grounds
of that refusal we can, in some measure, judge by Bacon's answer, which is still
extant. It seems that the old Lord, whose temper, age and gout had by no means
altered for the better, and who loved to mark his dislike of the showy,
quick-witted young men of the rising generation, took this opportunity to read
Francis a very sharp lecture on his vanity and want of respect for his betters.
Francis returned a most submissive reply, thanked the Treasurer for the
admonition, and promised to profit by it. Strangers meanwhile were less unjust
to the young barrister than his nearest kinsman had been. In his twenty-sixth
year he became a bencher of his Inn; and two years later he was appointed Lent
reader. At length, in 1590, he obtained for the first time some show of favor
from the Court. He was sworn in Queen's Counsel extraordinary. But this mark of
honor was not accompanied by any pecuniary emolument.
He continued, therefore, to solicit his powerful relatives for some provision
which might enable him to live without drudging at his profession. He bore, with
a patience and serenity which, we fear, bordered on meanness, the morose humors
of his uncle, and the sneering reflections which his cousin cast on speculative
men, lost in philosophical dreams, and too wise to be capable of transacting
public business. At length the Cecils were generous enough to procure for him
the reversion of the Registrarship of the Star-Chamber. This was a lucrative
place; but, as many years elapsed before it fell in, he was still under the
necessity of laboring for his daily bread.
In the Parliament which was called in 1593 he sat as member for the county of
Middlesex, and soon attained eminence as a debater. It is easy to perceive from
the scanty remains of his oratory that the same compactness of expression and
richness of fancy which appear in his writings characterized his speeches; and
that his extensive acquaintance with literature and history enabled him to
entertain his audience with a vast variety of illustrations and allusions which
were generally happy and apposite, but which were probably not least pleasing to
the taste of that age when they were such as would now be thought childish or
pedantic. It is evident also that he was, as indeed might have been expected,
perfectly free from those faults which are generally found in an advocate who,
after having risen to eminence at the bar, enters the House of Commons; that it
was his habit to deal with every great question, not in small detached portions,
but as a whole; that he refined little, and that his reasonings were those of a
capacious rather than a subtle mind. Ben Jonson, a most unexceptionable judge,
has described Bacon's eloquence in words, which, though often quoted, will bear
to be quoted again. "There happened in my time one noble speaker who was full of
gravity in his speaking. His language, where he could spare or pass by a jest,
was nobly censorious. No man ever spoke more neatly, more pressly, more
weightily, or suffered less emptiness, less idleness, in what he uttered. No
member of his speech but consisted of his own graces. His hearers could not
cough or look aside from him without loss. He commanded where he spoke, and had
his judges angry and pleased at his devotion. No man had their affections more
in his power. The fear of every man that heard him was lest he should make an
end." From the mention which is made of judges, it would seem that Jonson had
heard Bacon only at the Bar. Indeed we imagine that the House of Commons was
then almost inaccessible to strangers. It is not probable that a man of Bacon's
nice observation would speak in Parliament exactly as he spoke in the Court of
Queen's Bench. But the graces of manner and language must, to a great extent,
have been common between the Queen's Counsel and the Knight of the Shire.
Bacon tried to play a very difficult game in politics. He wished to be at once a
favorite at Court and popular with the multitude. If any man could have
succeeded in this attempt, a man of talents so rare, of judgment so prematurely
ripe, of temper so calm, and of manners so plausible, might have been expected
to succeed. Nor indeed did he wholly fail. Once, however, he indulged in a burst
of patriotism which cost him a long and bitter remorse, and which he never
ventured to repeat. The Court asked for large subsidies and for speedy payment.
The remains of Bacon's speech breathe all the spirit of the Long Parliament.
"The gentlemen," said he, "must sell their plate, and the farmers their brass
pots, ere this will be paid; and for us, we are here to search the wounds of the
realm, and not to skim them over. The dangers are these. First, we shall breed
discontent and endanger her Majesty's safety, which must consist more in the
love of the people than their wealth. Secondly, this being granted in this sort,
other princes hereafter will look for the like; so that we shall put an evil
precedent on ourselves and our posterity; and in histories, it is to be
observed, of all nations the English are not to be subject, base, or taxable."
The Queen and her Ministers resented this outbreak of public spirit in the
highest manner. Indeed, many an honest member of the House of Commons had, for a
much smaller matter, been sent to the Tower by the proud and hot-blooded Tudors.
The young patriot condescended to make the most abject apologies. He adjured the
Lord Treasurer to show some favor to his poor servant and ally. He bemoaned
himself to the Lord Keeper, in a letter which may keep in countenance the most
unmanly of the epistles which Cicero wrote during his banishment. The lesson was
not thrown away. Bacon never offended in the same manner again.
He was now satisfied that he had little to hope from the patronage of those
powerful kinsmen whom he had solicited during twelve years with such meek
pertinacity; and he began to look towards a different quarter. Among the
courtiers of Elizabeth had lately appeared a new favorite, young, noble,
wealthy, accomplished, eloquent brave, generous, aspiring; a favorite who had
obtained from the grey-headed Queen such marks of regard as she had scarce
vouchsafed to Leicester in the season of the passions; who was at once the
ornament of the palace and the idol of the city. who was the common patron of
men of letters and of men of the sword; who was the common refuge of the
persecuted Catholic and of the persecuted Puritan. The calm prudence which had
enabled Burleigh to shape his course through so many dangers, and the vast
experience which he had acquired in dealing with two generations of colleagues
and rivals, seemed scarcely sufficient to support him in this new competition;
and Robert Cecil sickened with fear and envy as he contemplated the rising fame
and influence of Essex.
The history of the factions which, towards the close of the reign of Elizabeth,
divided her court and her council, though pregnant with instruction, is by no
means interesting or pleasing. Both parties employed the means which are
familiar to unscrupulous statesmen; and neither had, or even pretended to have,
any important end in view. The public mind was then reposing from one great
effort, and collecting strength for another. That impetuous and appalling rush
with which the human intellect had moved forward in the career of truth and
liberty, during the fifty years which followed the separation of Luther from the
communion of the Church of Rome, was now over. The boundary between
Protestantism and Popery had been fixed very nearly where it still remains.
England, Scotland, the Northern kingdoms were on one side; Ireland, Spain,
Portugal, Italy, on the other. The line of demarcation ran, as it still runs,
through the midst of the Netherlands, of Germany, and of Switzerland, dividing
province from province, electorate from electorate, and canton from canton.
France might be considered as a debatable land, in which the contest was still
undecided. Since that time, the two religions have done little more than
maintain their ground. A few occasional incursions have been made. But the
general frontier remains the same. During two hundred and fifty years no great
society has risen up like one man, and emancipated itself by one mighty effort
from the superstition of ages. This spectacle was common in the sixteenth
century. Why has it ceased to be so? Why has so violent a movement been followed
by so long a repose? The doctrines of the Reformers are not less agreeable to
reason or to revelation now than formerly. The public mind is assuredly not less
enlightened now than formerly. Why is it that Protestantism, after carrying
everything before it in a time of comparatively little knowledge and little
freedom, should make no perceptible progress in a reasoning and tolerant age;
that the Luthers, the Calvins, the Knoxes, the Zwinglis, should have left no
successors; that during two centuries and a half fewer converts should have been
brought over from the Church of Rome than at the time of the Reformation were
sometimes gained in a year? This has always appeared to us one of the most
curious and interesting problems in history. On some future occasion we may
perhaps attempt to solve it. At present it is enough to say that, at the close
of Elizabeth's reign, the Protestant party, to borrow the language of the
Apocalypse, had left its first love and had ceased to do its first works.
The great struggle of the sixteenth century was over. The great struggle of the
seventeenth century had not commenced. The confessors of Mary's reign were dead.
The members of the Long Parliament were still in their cradles. The Papists had
been deprived of all power in the State. The Puritans had not yet attained any
formidable extent of power. True it is that a student, well acquainted with the
history of the next generation, can easily discern in the proceedings of the
last Parliaments of Elizabeth the germ of great and ever memorable events. But
to the eye of a contemporary nothing of this appeared. The two sections of
ambitious men who were struggling for power differed from each other on no
important public question. Both belonged to the Established Church. Both
professed boundless loyalty to the Queen. Both approved the war with Spain.
There is not, as far as we are aware, any reason to believe that they
entertained different views concerning the succession to the Crown. Certainly
neither faction had any great measure of reform in view. Neither attempted to
redress any public grievance. The most odious and pernicious grievance under
which the nation then suffered was a source of profit to both, and was defended
by both with equal zeal. Raleigh held a monopoly of cards, Essex a monopoly of
sweet wines. In fact, the only ground of quarrel between the parties was that
they could not agree as to their respective shares of power and patronage.
Nothing in the political conduct of Essex entitles him to esteem; and the pity
with which we regard his early and terrible end is diminished by the
consideration, that he put to hazard the lives and fortunes of his most attached
friends, and endeavored to throw the whole country into confusion, for objects
purely personal. Still, it is impossible not to be deeply interested for a man
so brave, high-spirited, and generous; for a man who, while he conducted himself
towards his sovereign with a boldness such as was then found in no other
subject, conducted himself towards his dependants with a delicacy such as has
rarely been found in any other patron. Unlike the vulgar herd of benefactors, he
desired to inspire, not gratitude, but affection. He tried to make those whom he
befriended feel towards him as towards an equal. His mind, ardent, susceptible,
naturally disposed to admiration of all that is great and beautiful, was
fascinated by the genius and the accomplishments of Bacon. A close friendship
was soon formed between them, a friendship destined to have a dark, a mournful,
a shameful end.
In 1594 the office of Attorney-General became vacant, and Bacon hoped to obtain
it. Essex made his friend's cause his own, sued, expostulated, promised,
threatened, but all in vain. It is probable that the dislike felt by the Cecils
for Bacon had been increased by the connection which he had lately formed with
the Earl. Robert was then on the point of being made Secretary of State. He
happened one day to be in the same coach with Essex, and a remarkable
conversation took place between them. "My Lord," said Sir Robert, "the Queen has
determined to appoint an Attorney-General without more delay. I pray your
Lordship to let me know whom you will favor." "I wonder at your question,"
replied the Earl. "You cannot but know that resolutely, against all the world, I
stand for your cousin, Francis Bacon." "Good Lord!" cried Cecil, unable to
bridle his temper, "I wonder your Lordship should spend your strength on so
unlikely a matter. Can you name one precedent of so raw a youth promoted to so
great a place?" This objection came with a singularly bad grace from a man who,
though younger than Bacon, was in daily expectation of being made Secretary of
State. The blot was too obvious to be missed by Essex, who seldom forbore to
speak his mind. "I have made no search," said he, "for precedents of young men
who have filled the office of Attorney-General. But I could name to you, Sir
Robert, a man younger than Francis, less learned, and equally inexperienced, who
is suing and striving with all his might for an office of far greater weight."
Sir Robert had nothing to say but that he thought his own abilities equal to the
place which he hoped to obtain, and that his father's long services deserved
such a mark of gratitude from the Queen; as if his abilities were comparable to
his cousin's, or as if Sir Nicholas Bacon had done no service to the State.
Cecil then hinted that, if Bacon would be satisfied with the Solicitorship, that
might be of easier digestion to the Queen. "Digest me no digestions," said the
generous and ardent Earl. "The Attorneyship for Francis is that I must have; and
in that I will spend all my power, might, authority, and amity; and with tooth
and nail procure the same for him against whomsoever; and whosoever getteth this
office out of my hands for any other, before he have it, it shall cost him the
coming by. And this be you assured of, Sir Robert, for now I fully declare
myself; and for my own part, Sir Robert, I think strange both of my Lord
Treasurer and you, that can have the mind to seek the preference of a stranger
before so near a kinsman; for if you weigh in a balance the parts every way of
his competitor and him, only excepting five poor years of admitting to a house
of court before Francis, you shall find in all other respects whatsoever no
comparison between them."
When the office of Attorney-General was filled up, the Earl pressed the Queen to
make Bacon Solicitor-General, and, on this occasion, the old Lord Treasurer
professed himself not unfavorable to his nephew's pretensions. But after a
contest which lasted more than a year and a half, and in which Essex, to use his
own words, "spent all his power, might, authority, and amity," the place was
given to another. Essex felt this disappointment keenly, but found consolation
in the most munificent and delicate liberality. He presented Bacon with an
estate worth near two thousand pounds, situated at Twickenham; and this, as
Bacon owned many years after, "with so kind and noble circumstances as the
manner was worth more than the matter."
It was soon after these events that Bacon first appeared before the public as a
writer. Early in 1597 he published a small volume of Essays, which was
afterwards enlarged by successive additions to many times its original bulk.
This little work was, as it well deserved to be, exceedingly popular. It was
reprinted in a few months; it was translated into Latin, French, and Italian;
and it seems to have at once established the literary reputation of its author.
But, though Bacon's reputation rose, his fortunes were still depressed. He was
in great pecuniary difficulties; and, on one occasion, was arrested in the
street at the suit of a goldsmith for a debt of three hundred pounds, and was
carried to a spunging-house in Coleman Street.
The kindness of Essex was in the meantime indefatigable. In 1596 he sailed on
his memorable expedition to the coast of Spain. At the very moment of his
embarkation, he wrote to several of his friends, commending, to them, during his
own absence, the interests of Bacon. He returned, after performing the most
brilliant military exploit that was achieved on the Continent by English arms
during the long interval which elapsed between the battle of Agincourt and that
of Blenheim. His valor, his talents, his humane and generous disposition, had
made him the idol of his countrymen, and had extorted praise from the enemies
whom he had conquered.1 He had always been proud and
headstrong; and his splendid success seems to have rendered his faults more
offensive than ever. But to his friend Francis he was still the same. Bacon had
some thoughts of making his fortune by marriage, and had begun to pay court to a
widow of the name of Hatton. The eccentric manners and violent temper of this
woman made her a disgrace and a torment to her connections. But Bacon was not
aware of her faults, or was disposed to overlook them for the sake of her ample
fortune. Essex pleaded his friend's cause with his usual ardor. The letters
which the Earl addressed to Lady Hatton and to her mother are still extant, and
are highly honorable to him. "If," he wrote, "she were my sister or my daughter,
I protest I would as confidently resolve to further it as I now persuade you";
and again, "If my faith be anything, I protest, if I had one as near me as she
is to you, I had rather match her with him, than with men of far greater
titles." The suit, happily for Bacon, was unsuccessful. The lady indeed was kind
to him in more ways than one. She rejected him; and she accepted his enemy. She
married that narrow-minded, bad-hearted pedant, Sir Edward Coke, and did her
best to make him as miserable as he deserved to be.
The fortunes of Essex had now reached their height, and began to decline. He
possessed indeed all the qualities which raise men to greatness rapidly. But he
had neither the virtues nor the vices which enable men to retain greatness long.
His frankness, his keen sensibility to insult and injustice, were by no means
agreeable to a sovereign naturally impatient of opposition, and accustomed,
during forty years, to the most extravagant flattery and the most abject
submission. The daring and contemptuous manner in which he bade defiance to his
enemies excited their deadly hatred. His administration in Ireland was
unfortunate, and in many respects highly blamable. Though his brilliant courage
and his impetuous activity fitted him admirably for such enterprises as that of
Cadiz, he did not possess the caution, patience, and resolution necessary for
the conduct of a protracted war, in which difficulties were to be gradually
surmounted, in which much discomfort was to be endured, and in which few
splendid exploits could be achieved. For the civil duties of his high place he
was still less qualified. Though eloquent and accomplished, he was in no sense a
statesman. The multitude indeed still continued to regard even his faults with
fondness. But the Court had ceased to give him credit, even for the merit which
he really possessed. The person on whom, during the decline of his influence, he
chiefly depended, to whom he confided his perplexities, whose advice he
solicited, whose intercession he employed, was his friend Bacon. The lamentable
truth must be told. This friend, so loved, so trusted, bore a principal part in
ruining the Earl's fortunes, in shedding his blood, and in blackening his
memory.
But let us be just to Bacon. We believe that, to the last, he had no wish to
injure Essex. Nay, we believe that he sincerely exerted himself to serve Essex,
as long as he thought that he could serve Essex without injuring himself. The
advice which he gave to his noble benefactor was generally most judicious. He
did all in his power to dissuade the Earl from accepting the Government of
Ireland. "For," says he, "I did as plainly see, his overthrow chained as it were
by destiny to that journey, as it is possible for a man to ground a judgment
upon future contingents." The prediction was accomplished. Essex returned in
disgrace. Bacon attempted to mediate between his friend and the Queen; and, we
believe, honestly employed all his address for that purpose. But the task which
he had undertaken was too difficult, delicate, and perilous, even for so wary
and dexterous an agent. He had to manage two spirits equally proud, resentful)
and ungovernable. At Essex House, he had to calm the rage of a young hero
incensed by multiplied wrongs and humiliations) and then to pass to Whitehall
for the purpose of soothing the peevishness of a sovereign, whose temper, never
very gentle, had been rendered morbidly irritable by age, by declining health,
and by the long habit of listening to flattery and exacting implicit obedience.
It is hard to serve two masters. Situated as Bacon was, it was scarcely possible
for him to shape his course so as not to give one or both of his employers
reason to complain. For a time he acted as fairly as, in circumstances so
embarrassing, could reasonably be expected. At length he found that, while he
was trying to prop the fortunes of another, he was in danger of shaking his own.
He had disobliged both the parties whom he wished to reconcile. Essex thought
him wanting in zeal as a friend: Elizabeth thought him wanting in duty as a
subject. The Earl looked on him as a spy of the Queen; the Queen as a creature
of the Earl. The reconciliation which he had labored to effect appeared utterly
hopeless. A thousand signs, legible to eyes far less keen than his, announced
that the fall of his patron was at hand. He shaped his course accordingly. When
Essex was brought before the council to answer for his conduct in Ireland,
Bacon, after a faint attempt to excuse himself from taking part against his
friend, submitted himself to the Queen's pleasure, and appeared at the bar in
support of the charges. But a darker scene was behind. The unhappy young
nobleman, made reckless by despair ventured on a rash and criminal enterprise,
which rendered him liable to the highest penalties of the law. What course was
Bacon to take? This was one of those conjunctures which show what men are. To a
high-minded man, wealth, power, court-favor, even personal safety, would have
appeared of no account, when opposed to friendship, gratitude, and honor. Such a
man would have stood by the side of Essex at the trial, would have "spent all
his power, might, authority, and amity" in soliciting a mitigation of the
sentence, would have been a daily visitor at the cell, would have received the
last injunctions and the last embrace on the scaffold, would have employed all
the powers of his intellect to guard from insult the fame of his generous though
erring friend. An ordinary man would neither have incurred the danger of
succoring Essex, nor the disgrace of assailing him. Bacon did not even preserve
neutrality. He appeared as counsel for the prosecution. In that situation, he
did not confine himself to what would have been amply sufficient to procure a
verdict. He employed all his wit, his rhetoric, and his learning, not to ensure
a conviction,--for the circumstances were such that a conviction was
inevitable,--but to deprive the unhappy prisoner of all those excuses which,
though legally of no value, yet tended to diminish the moral guilt of the crime,
and which, therefore, though they could not justify the peers in pronouncing an
acquittal, might incline the Queen to grant a pardon. The Earl urged as a
palliation of his frantic acts that he was surrounded by powerful and inveterate
enemies, that they had ruined his fortunes, that they sought his life, and that
their persecutions had driven him to despair. This was true; and Bacon well knew
it to be true. But he affected to treat it as an idle pretence. He compared
Essex to Pisistratus, who, by pretending to be in imminent danger of
assassination, and by exhibiting self-inflicted wounds, succeeded in
establishing tyranny at Athens. This was too much for the prisoner to bear. He
interrupted his ungrateful friend by calling on him to quit the part of an
advocate, to come forward as a witness, and to tell the Lords whether, in old
times, he, Francis Bacon, had not, under his own hand, repeatedly asserted the
truth of what he now represented as idle pretexts. It is painful to go on with
this lamentable story. Bacon returned a shuffling answer to the Earl's question,
and, as if the allusion to Pisistratus were not sufficiently offensive, made
another allusion still more unjustifiable. He compared Essex to Henry Duke of
Guise, and the rash attempt in the city to the day of the barricades at Paris.
Why Bacon had recourse to such a topic it is difficult to say, It was quite
unnecessary for the purpose of obtaining a verdict. It was certain to produce a
strong impression on the mind of the haughty and jealous princess on whose
pleasure the Earl's fate depended. The faintest allusion to the degrading
tutelage in which the last Valois had been held by the House of Lorraine was
sufficient to harden her heart against a man who in rank, in military
reputation, in popularity among the citizens of the capital, bore some
resemblance to the Captain of the League.
1 See Cervantes's Novela de la Espanola Inglesa.
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