Page:The Works of Francis Bacon (1884) Volume 1.djvu/51

Rh your favour from me, and now I have lost many friends for your sake, I shall lose you too: you have put me like one of those that the Frenchmen call enfans perdus, that serve on foot before horse men, so have you put me into matters of envy without place, or without strength; and I know at chess a pawn before the king is ever much played upon: a great many love me not, because they think I have been against my lord of Essex; and you love me not, because you know I have been for him: yet will I never repent me that I have dealt in simplicity of heart towards you both, without respect of cautions to myself, and therefore vivus vidensque pereo. If I do break my neck, I shall do it in a manner as Master Dorrington did it, which walked on the battlements of the church many days, and took a view and survey where he should fall: and so, madam,' said I, 'I am not so simple, but that I take a prospect of mine overthrow, only I thought I would tell you so much, that you may know that it was faith, and not folly that brought me into it, and so I will pray for you. Upon which speeches of mine, uttered with some passion, it is true her majesty was exceedingly moved; and accumulated a number of kind and gracious words upon me, and willed me to rest upon this, Gradia mea sufficit, and a number of other sensible and tender words and demonstrations, such as more could not be; but as touching my lord of Essex, ne verbum quidem. Whereupon I departed, resting then determined to meddle no more in the matter, as I saw, that it would overthrow me, and not be able to do him any good." Bacon's anguish, when he felt that the queen's displeasure was gradually taking the form most to be dreaded, the cold and severe aspect of offended justice, can be conceived only by those who had seen his patient watchfulness over his wayward friend. Through the whole of his career, Bacon had anxiously pursued him, warning him, when it was possible, to prevent the commission of error; excusing him to his royal mistress when the warning had proved fruitless; hoping all things, enduring all things; but the time seemed fast approaching, when, urged by his own wild passions, and the ruffian crew that beset him, he would commit some act which would place him out of the pale of the queen's mercy.

Irritated by the refusal of his patent, he readily listened to the pernicious counsels of a few needy and interested followers. Essex House had long been the resort of the factious and discontented; secretly courting the Catholics, and openly encouraging the Puritans, Essex welcomed all who were obnoxious to the court. He applied to the King of Scotland for assistance, opened a secret correspondence with Ireland, and, calculating upon the support of a large body of the nobility, conspired to seize the Tower of London and the queen herself, and marshalled his banditti to effect his purposes.

The queen, who had been apprized of the unusual concourse of persons to Essex House, was now fully acquainted with the extent of his treasons. In this emergency she acted with a firmness worthy of herself. She directed the Lord Mayor of London to take care that the citizens were ready, every man in his own house, to execute such commands as should be enjoined them. To Essex she sent the lord keeper, the lord chief justice, and the Earl of Worcester, to learn the cause of this treasonable assembly. He said "that there was a plot against his life; that somewere suborned to stab him in his bed; that he and his friends were treacherously dealt with, and that they were determined on resistance." Deaf to all remonstrances, and urged by his faction, he seized and confined the officers of state, and, without plan, without arms, and with a small body of conspirators, he proceeded into the city, calling upon the citizens to join him, but calling in vain. Disappointed in his hopes, and proclaimed a traitor, after a fruitless attempt to defend himself, he was seized, and committed to the Tower.

No man knew better, or felt more deeply the duties of friendship, than Bacon: he did not think friendships mere abstractions, metaphysical nothings, created for contemplation only; he felt, as he has taught, that friendship is the allay of our sorrows, the ease of our passions, the sanctuary of our calamities; that its fruits are peace in the affections, counsel in judgment, and active kindness; the heart, the head, and the hand. His friendship, therefore, both in words and acts, Essex constantly experienced. In the wildest storm of his passions, while others suffered him to drive onward, the voice of the pilot might be heard, pointing out the sunken rocks which he feared would wreck him; and when, at last, bound hand and foot, he was cast at the feet of the queen, to undergo her utmost indignation–he still walked with him in the midst of the fire, and would have borne him off unhurt, but for the evil spirits which beset him.

It is impossible to form a correct judgment of the conduct of Bacon at this unfortunate juncture, without considering the difficulties of his situation, and his conflicting duties. Men of the highest blood and of the fairest character were implicated in the treasons of Essex: men who were, like himself, highly favoured by the queen, and in offices of great trust and importance. Bacon's obligations to Essex, and his constant efforts to serve him were well known; and the queen had of late looked coldly upon him, and might herself suspect his fidelity; for sad experience had proved to her that a monarch has no true friend. In the interval between the commitment of Essex to the Tower, and his