(1) Since this Review was written, Mr. Jardine has published
a very learned and ingenious Reading on the use of torture
in England. It has not, however, been thought necessary to
make any change in the observations on Peacham’s case.
It is impossible to discuss within the limits of a note, the
extensive question raised by Mr. Jardine. It is sufficient
here to say that every argument by which he attempts to show
that the use of the rack was anciently a lawful exertion of
royal prerogative may be urged with equal force, nay with
far greater force, to prove the lawfulness of benevolences,
of ship-money, of Mompesson’s patent, of Eliot’s
imprisonment, of every abuse, without exception, which is
condemned by the Petition of Right and the Declaration of
Right.
{395}are persons “scientia tanquam angel’ alati, cupiditati-bus vero
tanquam serpentes qui humi reptant;” (1) and it did not require his
admirable sagacity and his extensive converse with mankind to make the
discovery. Indeed, he had only to look within. The difference between
the soaring angel and the creeping snake was but a type of the
difference between Bacon the philosopher and Bacon the Attorney-General,
Bacon seeking for truth, and Bacon seeking for the Seals. Those who
survey only one half of his character may speak of him with unmixed
admiration, or with unmixed contempt. But those only judge of him
correctly who take in at one view Bacon in speculation and Bacon in
action. They will have no difficulty in comprehending how one and the
same man should have been far before his age and far behind it, in one
line the boldest and most useful of innovators, in another line the most
obstinate champion of the foulest abuses. In his library, all his rare
powers were under the guidance of an honest ambition, of an enlarged
philanthropy, of a sincere love of truth. There, no temptation drew
him away from the right course. Thomas Aquinas could pay no fees, Duns
Scotus could confer no peerages. The Master of the Sentences had no rich
reversions in his gift. Far different was the situation of the great
philosopher when he came forth from his study and his laboratory to
mingle with the crowd which filled the galleries of Whitehall. In
all that crowd there was no man equally qualified to render great and
lasting services to mankind. But in all that crowd there was not a heart
more set on things which no man ought to suffer to be necessary to
(1) _De Augmentes_. Lib. v. Cap. 1.
{396}his happiness, on things which can often be obtained only by the
sacrifice of integrity and honour. To be the leader of the human race in
the career of improvement, to found on the ruins of ancient intellectual
dynasties a more prosperous and a more enduring empire, to be revered by
the latest generations as the most illustrious among the benefactors of
mankind, all this was within his reach. But all this availed him nothing
while some quibbling special pleader was promoted before him to the
bench, while some heavy country gentleman took precedence of him by
virtue of a purchased coronet, while some pandar, happy in a fair wife,
could obtain a more cordial salute from Buckingham, while some buffoon,
versed in all the latest scandal of the court, could draw a louder laugh
from James.
During a long course of years, Bacon’s unworthy ambition was crowned
with success. His sagacity early enabled him to perceive who was likely
to become the most powerful man in the kingdom. He probably knew the
King’s mind before it was known to the King himself, and attached
himself to Villiers, while the less discerning crowd of courtiers still
continued to fawn on Somerset. The influence of the younger favourite
became greater daily. The contest between the rivals might, however,
have lasted long, but for that frightful crime which, in spite of all
that could be effected by the research and ingenuity of historians, is
still covered with so mysterious an obscurity. The descent of Somerset
had been a gradual and almost imperceptible lapse. It now became a
headlong fall; and Villiers, left without a competitor, rapidly rose
to a height of power such as no subject since Wolsey had attained.
{397}There were many points of resemblance between the two celebrated
courtiers who, at different times, extended their patronage to Bacon.
It is difficult to say whether Essex or Villiers was more eminently
distinguished by those graces of person and manner which have always
been rated in courts at much more than their real value. Both were
constitutionally brave; and both, like most men who are constitutionally
brave, were open and unreserved. Both were rash and headstrong. Both
were destitute of the abilities and of the information which are
necessary to statesmen. Yet both, trusting to the accomplishments which
had made them conspicuous in tilt-yards and ball-rooms, aspired to rule
the state. Both owed their elevation to the personal attachment of the
sovereign; and in both cases this attachment was of so eccentric a
kind, that it perplexed observers, that it still continues to perplex
historians, and that it gave rise to much scandal which we are inclined
to think unfounded. Each of them treated the sovereign whose favour he
enjoyed with a rudeness which approached to insolence. This petulance
ruined Essex, who had to deal with a spirit naturally as proud as his
own, and accustomed, during near half a century, to the most respectful
observance. But there was a wide difference between the haughty daughter
of Henry and her successor. James was timid from the cradle. His nerves,
naturally weak, had not been fortified by reflection or by habit. His
life, till he came to England, had been a series of mortifications and
humiliations. With all his high notions of the origin and extent of his
prerogatives, he was never his own master for a day. In spite of his
kingly title, in spite of his despotic theories, he was to the last a
slave at heart. Villiers treated him like {398}one; and this course,
though adopted, we believe, merely from temper, succeeded as well as if
it had been a system of policy formed after mature deliberation.
In generosity, in sensibility, in capacity for friendship, Essex far
surpassed Buckingham. Indeed, Buckingham can scarcely be said to
have had any friend, with the exception of the two princes over whom
successively he exercised so wonderful an influence. Essex was to the
last adored by the people. Buckingham was always a most unpopular man,
except perhaps for a very short time after his return from the childish
visit to Spain. Essex fell a victim to the rigour of the government
amidst the lamentations of the people. Buckingham, execrated by the
people, and solemnly declared a public enemy by the representatives of
the people, fell by the hand of one of the people, and was lamented by
none but his master.
The way in which the two favourites acted towards Bacon was highly
characteristic, and may serve to illustrate the old and true saying,
that a man is generally more inclined to feel kindly towards one on
whom he has conferred favours than towards one from whom he has received
them. Essex loaded Bacon with benefits, and never thought that he had
done enough. It seems never to have crossed the mind of the powerful
and wealthy noble that the poor barrister whom he treated with such
munificent kindness was not his equal. It was, we have no doubt, with
perfect sincerity that the Earl declared that he would willingly give
his sister or daughter in marriage to his friend. He was in general more
than sufficiently sensible of his own merits; but he did not seem to
know that he had ever deserved well of Bacon. On that cruel day when
they saw each other for the last time at the bar of the Lords, Essex
{399}taxed his perfidious friend with unkindness and insincerity, but
never with ingratitude. Even in such a moment, more bitter than the
bitterness of death, that noble heart was too great to vent itself in
such a reproach.
Villiers, on the other hand, owed much to Bacon. When their acquaintance
began, Sir Francis was a man of mature age, of high station, and of
established fame as a politician, an advocate, and a writer. Villiers
was little more than a boy, a younger son of a house then of no great
note. He was but just entering on the career of court favour; and none
but the most discerning observers could as yet perceive that he was
likely to distance all his competitors. The countenance and advice of
a man so highly distinguished as the Attorney-General must have been
an object of the highest importance to the young adventurer. But though
Villiers was the obliged party, he was far less warmly attached to
Bacon, and far less delicate in his conduct towards Bacon, than Essex
had been.
To do the new favourite justice, he early exerted his influence in
behalf of his illustrious friend. In 1616, Sir Francis was sworn of the
Privy Council, and in March, 1617, on the retirement of Lord Brackley,
was appointed Keeper of the Great Seal.
On the seventh of May, the first day of term, he rode in state to
Westminster Hall, with the Lord Treasurer on his right hand, the Lord
Privy Seal on his left, a long procession of students and ushers before
him, and a crowd of peers, privy-councillors, and judges following in
his train. Having entered his court, he addressed the splendid auditory
in a grave and dignified speech, which proves how well he understood
those judicial duties which he afterwards performed so ill. {400}Even
at that moment, the proudest moment of his life in the estimation of
the vulgar, and, it may be, even in his own, he cast back a look of
lingering affection towards those noble pursuits from which, as it
seemed, he was about to be estranged. “The depth of the three long
vacations,” said he, “I would reserve in some measure free from business
of estate, and for studies, arts, and sciences, to which of my own
nature I am most inclined.”
The years during which Bacon held the Great Seal were among the darkest
and most shameful in English history. Every thing at home and abroad was
mismanaged. First came the execution of Raleigh, an act which, if done
in a proper manner, might have been defensible, but which, under all
the circumstances, must be considered as a dastardly murder. Worse was
behind, the war of Bohemia, the successes of Tilly and Spinola, the
Palatinate conquered, the King’s son-in-law an exile, the house of
Austria dominant on the Continent, the Protestant religion and the
liberties of the Germanic body trodden under foot. Meanwhile, the
wavering and cowardly policy of England furnished matter of ridicule
to all the nations of Europe. The love of peace which James professed
would, even when indulged to an impolitic excess, have been respectable,
if it had proceeded from tenderness for his people. But the truth is
that, while he had nothing to spare for the defence of the natural
allies of England, he resorted without scruple to the most illegal
and oppressive devices, for the purpose of enabling Buckingham and
Buckingham’s relations to outshine the ancient aristocracy of the realm.
Benevolences were exacted. Patents of monopoly were multiplied. All
the resources which could have been employed to replenish a beggared
{401}Exchequer, at the close of a ruinous war, were put in motion during
this season of ignominious peace.
The vices of the administration must be chiefly ascribed to the weakness
of the King and to the levity and violence of the favourite. But it
is impossible to acquit the Lord Keeper of all share in the guilt. For
those odious patents, in particular, which passed the Great Seal while
it was in his charge, he must be held answerable. In the speech which
he made on first taking his seat in his court, he had pledged himself to
discharge this important part of his functions with the greatest caution
and impartiality. He had declared that he “would walk in the light,
that men should see that no particular turn or end led him, but a
general rule.” Mr. Montagu would have us believe that Bacon acted up
to these professions, and says that “the power of the favourite did not
deter the Lord Keeper from staying grants and patents when his public
duty demanded this interposition.” Does Mr. Montagu consider patents of
Monopoly as good things? Or does he mean to say that Bacon staid every
patent of monopoly that came before him? Of all patents in our history,
the most disgraceful was that which was granted to Sir Giles Mompesson,
supposed to be the original of Massinger’s Overreach, and to Sir Francis
Michell, from whom Justice Greedy is supposed to have been drawn, for
the exclusive manufacturing of gold and silver lace. The effect of this
monopoly was of course that the metal employed in the manufacture was
adulterated to the great loss of the public. But this was a trifle. The
patentees were armed with powers as great as have ever been given
to farmers of the revenue in the worst governed countries. They were
authorised to search houses and to arrest interlopers; and these
formidable {402}powers were used for purposes viler than even those
for which they were given, for the wreaking of old grudges, and for the
corrupting of female chastity. Was not this a ease in which public duty
demanded the interposition of the Lord Keeper? And did the Lord Keeper
interpose? He did. He wrote to inform the King, that he “had considered
of the fitness and conveniency of the gold and silver thread business,”
“that it was convenient that it should be settled,” that he “did
conceive apparent likelihood that it would redound much to his Majesty’s
profit,” that, therefore, “it were good it were settled with all
convenient speed.” The meaning of all this was, that certain of the
house of Villiers were to go shares with Overreach and Greedy in the
plunder of the public. This was the way in which, when the favourite
pressed for patents, lucrative to his relations and to his creatures,
ruinous and vexatious to the body of the people, the chief guardian
of the laws interposed. Having assisted the patentees to obtain this
monopoly, Bacon assisted them also in the steps which they took for the
purpose of guarding it. He committed several people to close confinement
for disobeying his tyrannical edict. It is needless to say more. Our
readers are now able to judge whether, in the matter of patents, Bacon
acted conformably to his professions, or deserved the praise which his
biographer has bestowed on him.
In his judicial capacity his conduct was not less reprehensible. He
suffered Buckingham to dictate many of his decisions. Bacon knew as
well as any man that a judge who listens to private solicitations is
a disgrace to his post. He had himself, before he was raised to the
woolsack, represented this strongly to Villiers, then just entering on
his career. “By no {403}means,” said Sir Francis, in a letter of advice
addressed to the young courtier, “by no means be you persuaded to
interpose yourself, either by word or letter, in any cause depending in
any court of justice, nor suffer any great man to do it where you can
hinder it. If it should prevail, it perverts justice; but, if the judge
be so just and of such courage as he ought to be, as not to be inclined
thereby, yet it always leaves a taint of suspicion behind it.” Yet he
had not been Lord Keeper a month when Buckingham began to interfere in
Chancery suits; and Buckingham’s interference was, as might have been
expected, successful.
Mr. Montagu’s reflections on the excellent passage which we have quoted
above are exceedingly amusing. “No man,” says he, “more deeply felt
the evils which then existed of the interference of the Crown and
of statesmen to influence judges. How beautifully did he admonish
Buckingham, regardless as he proved of all admonition!” We should be
glad to know how it can be expected that admonition will be regarded by
him who receives it, when it is altogether neglected by him who gives
it. We do not defend Buckingham: but what was his guilt to Bacon’s?
Buckingham was young, ignorant, thoughtless, dizzy with the rapidity of
his ascent and the height of his position. That he should be eager to
serve his relations, his flatterers, his mistresses, that he should
not fully apprehend the immense importance of a pure administration of
justice, that he should think more about those who were bound to him
by private ties than about the public interest, all this was perfectly
natural, and not altogether unpardonable. Those who intrust a petulant,
hot-blooded, ill-informed lad with power, are more to blame, than he for
the mischief which he may do with {404}it. How could it be expected of a
lively page, raised by a wild freak of fortune to the first influence
in the empire, that he should have bestowed any serious thought on the
principles which ought to guide judicial decisions? Bacon was the ablest
public man then living in Europe. He was near sixty years old. He had
thought much, and to good purpose, on the general principles of law. He
had for many years borne a part daily in the administration of justice.
It was impossible that a man with a tithe of his sagacity and experience
should not have known that a judge who suffers friends or patrons to
dictate his decrees violates the plainest rules of duty. In fact, as we
have seen, he knew this well: he expressed it admirably. Neither on this
occasion nor on any other could his bad actions be attributed to any
defect of the head. They sprang from quite a different cause.
A man who stooped to render such services to others was not likely to
be scrupulous as to the means by which he enriched himself. He and his
dependents accepted large presents from persons who were engaged in
Chancery suits. The amount of the plunder which he collected in this
way it is impossible to estimate. There can be no doubt that he received
very much more than was proved on his trial, though, it may be, less
than was suspected by the public. His enemies stated his illicit gains
at a hundred thousand pounds. But this was probably an exaggeration.
It was long before the day of reckoning arrived. During the interval
between the second and third Parliaments of James, the nation was
absolutely governed by the Crown. The prospects of the Lord Keeper were
bright and serene. His great place rendered the {405}splendour of his
talents even more conspicuous, and gave an additional charm to the
serenity of his temper, the courtesy of his manners, and the eloquence
of his conversation. The pillaged suitor might mutter. The austere
Puritan patriot might, in his retreat, grieve that one on whom God had
bestowed without measure all the abilities which qualify men to take the
lead in great reforms should be found among the adherents of the worst
abuses. But the murmurs of the suitor and the lamentations of the
patriot had scarcely any avenue to the ears of the powerful. The King,
and the minister who was the King’s master, smiled on their illustrious
flatterer. The whole crowd of courtiers and nobles sought his favour
with emulous eagerness. Men of wit and learning hailed with delight
the elevation of one who had so signally shown that a man of profound
learning and of brilliant wit might understand, far better than any
plodding dunce, the art of thriving in the world.
Once, and but once, this course of prosperity was for a moment
interrupted. It should seem that even Bacon’s brain was not strong
enough to bear without some discomposure the inebriating effect of so
much good fortune. For some time after his elevation, he showed himself
a little wanting in that wariness and self-command to which, more than
even to his transcendent talents, his elevation was to be ascribed. He
was by no means a good hater. The temperature of his revenge, like that
of his gratitude, was scarcely ever more than lukewarm. But there was
one person whom he had long regarded with an animosity which, though
studiously suppressed, was perhaps the stronger for the suppression. The
insults and injuries which, when a young man struggling into note and
professional practice, {406}he had received from Sir Edward Coke, were
such as might move the most placable nature to resentment. About the
time at which Bacon received the Seals, Coke had, on account of his
contumacious resistance to the royal pleasure, been deprived of his
seat in the Court of King’s Bench, and had ever since languished in
retirement. But Coke’s opposition to the Court, we fear, was the effect
not of good principles, but of a bad temper. Perverse and testy as he
was, he wanted true fortitude and dignity of character. His obstinacy,
unsupported by virtuous motives, was not proof against disgrace. He
solicited a reconciliation with the favourite, and his solicitations
were successful. Sir John Villiers, the brother of Buckingham, was
looking out for a rich wife. Coke had a large fortune and an unmarried
daughter. A bargain was struck. But Lady Coke, the lady whom twenty
years before Essex had wooed on behalf of Bacon, would not hear of the
match. A violent and scandalous family quarrel followed. The mother
carried the girl away by stealth. The father pursued them and regained
possession of his daughter by force. The King was then in Scotland, and
Buckingham had attended him thither. Bacon was, during their absence, at
the head of affairs in England. He felt towards Coke as much malevolence
as it was in his nature to feel towards any body. His wisdom had been
laid to sleep by prosperity. In an evil hour he determined to interfere
in the disputes which agitated his enemy’s household. He declared for
the wife, countenanced the Attorney-General in filing an information in
the Star Chamber against the husband, and wrote letters to the King and
the favourite against the proposed marriage. The strong language which
he used in those letters shows that, sagacious {407}as he was, he did
not quite know his place, and that he was not fully acquainted with
the extent either of Buckingham’s power, or of the change which the
possession of that power had produced in Buckingham’s character. He soon
had a lesson which he never forgot. The favourite received the news
of the Lord Keeper’s interference with feelings of the most violent
resentment, and made the King even more angry than himself. Bacon’s eyes
were at once opened to his error, and to all its possible consequences.
He had been elated, if not intoxicated, by greatness. The shock sobered
him in an instant. He was all himself again. He apologized submissively
for his interference. He directed the Attorney-General to stop the
proceedings against Coke. He sent to tell Lady Coke that he could do
nothing for her. He announced to both the families that he was desirous
to promote the connection. Having given these proofs of contrition, he
ventured to present himself before Buckingham. But the young upstart did
not think that he had yet sufficiently humbled an old man who had been
his friend and his benefactor, who was the highest civil functionary in
the realm, and the most eminent man of letters in the world. It is said
that on two successive days Bacon repaired to Buckingham’s house, that
on two successive days he was suffered to remain in an antechamber among
foot-boys, seated on an old wooden box, with the Great Seal of England
at his side, and that when at length he was admitted, he flung himself
on the floor, kissed the favourite’s feet, and vowed never to rise
till he was forgiven. Sir Anthony Weldon, on whose authority this story
rests, is likely enough to have exaggerated the meanness of Bacon and
the insolence of Buckingham. But it is difficult to imagine {408}that
so circumstantial a narrative, written by a person who avers that he
was present on the occasion, can be wholly without foundation; and,
unhappily, there is little in the character either of the favourite or
of the Lord Keeper to make the narrative improbable. It is certain that
a reconciliation took place on terms humiliating to Bacon, who never
more ventured to cross any purpose of any body who bore the name of
Villiers. He put a strong curb on those angry passions which had for the
first time in his life mastered his prudence. He went through the
forms of a reconciliation with Coke, and did his best, by seeking
opportunities of paying little civilities, and by avoiding all that
could produce collision, to tame the untameable ferocity of his old
enemy.
In the main, however, Bacon’s life, while he held the Great Seal, was,
in outward appearance, most enviable. In London he lived with great
dignity at York House, the venerable mansion of his father. Here it was
that, in January, 1620, he celebrated his entrance into his sixtieth
year amidst a splendid circle of friends. He had then exchanged the
appellation of Keeper for the higher title of Chancellor. Ben Jonson was
one of the party, and wrote on the occasion some of the happiest of his
rugged rhymes. All things, he tells us, seemed to smile about the old
house, “the fire, the wine, the men.” The spectacle of the accomplished
host, after a life marked by no great disaster, entering on a green
old age, in the enjoyment of riches, power, high honours, undiminished
mental activity, and vast literary reputation, made a strong impression
on the {409}poet, if we may judge from those well-known lines;
“England’s high Chancellor, the destined heir,
In his soft cradle, to his father’s chair.”