Essex, in his reckless habit of accusing others, had falsely charged Cecil with espousing the Spanish claim to the succession—a charge of all others most perilous for his reputation with Elizabeth or her successor- -this is his calm statement : 'If I could have contracted such a friendship with Essex, as could have given me security that his thoughts and mine should have been no further distant than the disproportion of our fortunes, I should condemn my judgment to have willingly intruded myself into such an opposition. For who know not that have lived in Israel, that such were the mutual affections in our tender years, and so many reciprocal benefits interchanged in our growing fortunes, as besides the rules of my own poor discretion, which taught me how perilous it was for Secretary Cecil to have a bitter feud with an Earl Marshal of England, a favourite, a nobleman of eminent parts, and a councillor, all things else in the composition of my mind did still concur on my part to make me desirous of his favour.'* The statement is strictly true. His forbearance towards the Earl, after many provocations, was remarkable. Even after the close of his unfortunate Irish expedition, from which Essex had returned in direct violation of the Queen's command, Cecil continued to befriend him. Surprised for the moment by his unexpected appearance, and ignorant of the cause of it, Elizabeth had received him graciously, but her anger returned with double force upon reflection. Such flagrant violation of his duty and disobedience to her express commands could not be suffered for example's sake to remain unpunished. But she had stronger reasons even than these for her displeasure. She had learned from various quarters his designs in Ireland-designs wholly incompatible with his loyalty as a subject. Yet throughout this period of his disgrace until his traitorous attempt against her person, Cecil interposed his best offices in the Earl's favour. It was through his interposition that Essex was committed to the care of Lord Keeper Egerton, his friend, instead of being sent to the Tower. It was Cecil who conveyed to Essex his satisfaction that the Council appointed to examine him-of which number Cecil was one-were to report favourably of his conduct to the Queen, and I will do anything to further your contentment.' It was Cecil's speech in the Star Chamber, when the conduct of the Earl was called in question, that was marked with a greater tone of moderation than that of any other of the judges, though Egerton was of the number. When, to avoid being tried in the Star Chamber, the Earl, at his own earnest * Hatfield MSS., cxxxv. p. 55, published by Bruce for the Camden Society. request, request,* was brought before a Commission, though Cecil condemned him for abandoning his post contrary to the Queen's command, he mitigated the severity of his remarks by giving Essex credit for his services in Ireland. His conduct on this and other occasions when the Earl was concerned, won for him general approbation. Sir Robert Cecil,' says a writer of the time, by no means his indiscriminate admirer, 'is highly commended for his wise and temperate proceeding in this matter, showing no gall, though perhaps he had been galled, if not by the Earl, by some of his dependants. By employing his credit with her Majesty in behalf of the Earl, he has gained great credit, both at home and abroad.'† Exasperated at their own disappointments and their master's disgrace, the followers of Essex vented their vengeance against the supposed author of their misfortunes. They threatened Cecil with violence. They posted lampoons on his doors in Salisbury Street and elsewhere. Here lieth the toad at Court, and here lieth the toad at London.' They attributed to him the injustice, as they were pleased to call it, of keeping Essex in prison. They vilified his person in taverns and eating-houses, observing 'that it was an unwholesome thing to meet a man in the morning who had a wry neck, a crooked back, and a splay foot.'§ So powerful was the influence of the Earl, or so audacious were his followers, that none dared to contradict them. But this animosity was not confined to the humbler dependants of the Earl. From Ireland Lord Grey had already written to Cobham to complain that Essex had resolved to shut out from advancement all who wished to maintain a good understanding with Cecil; and though many may doubt Grey's prudence, few will question his veracity. My Lord of Essex,' he says, 'doubting whereupon I should be so well favoured at Court, and especially by her Majesty, hath forced me to declare myself either his only, or friend to Mr. Secretary [Cecil] and his enemy; protesting that there could be no neutrality. I answered that no base dependency should ever fashion my love or hate to his Lordship's passions. As for Mr. Secretary, I had diversly tasted of his favour, and would never be dishonest or ungrateful. In conclusion, he holdeth me for a lost child, and in plain terms told me he loved not my person, neither should I be welcome to him, or expect advancement under him.'|| *He sent a letter to the Queen begging that 'this bitter cup' (appearing in the Star Chamber) 'might pass from him.'-Chamberlain's Letter, p. 77. + J. B. (Petit) to Peter Halins. State Papers, Domestic, by Mrs. Green, 14th June, 1600. Ibid. Hatfield MSS., lxxxiii. p. 53. But But our limits warn us to be brief. We cannot pursue the erratic career of this nobleman any further. Yet for one or two observations on the romantic incident connected with the close of it we must find a place. In the story of the ring and the Countess of Nottingham we place no credit; not merely for the reasons alleged by Ranke that this gossip came to light several generations after the event, embellished as such anecdotes are with new colours and new incidents at every repetition, but because the details are in themselves inconsistent and improbable. To those who know how carefully all prisoners were guarded in the Tower when left for execution, it will appear incredible that the Earl suspicious of those about him' for so the original story runs—and not caring to trust any one of them with the ring, as he was looking out of his window one morning'-where did the narrator suppose he was confined ?-' saw a boy, with whose appearance he was pleased; and engaging him with money and promises his keeper of course taking no notice-directed him to carry a ring, which he took from his finger and threw down, to Lady Scroope, a sister of the Countess of Nottingham, with a request that she should present it to her Majesty.' These directions he must have given to a boy wandering about the Tower, whom he had never seen before, and must have furnished him with sufficient instructions how to find Lady Scroope, and what to say to her, without attracting the notice of the warders. The boy carried the ring by mistake to Lady Nottingham, who showed it to her husband, and insisted upon her retaining it.' The story goes on to say, that when the fatal secret was revealed to the Queen, she burst into a furious passion, and shaking the dying Countess in her bed, exclaimed, that God might pardon her but she never would, and from that day resigned herself to the deepest melancholy.' The reader is left to infer, or is plainly told, that Elizabeth-whose 'fond attachment' was shocked by the Earl's silence and obduracy in never applying to her for pardon-had consented to his death in a moment of resentment, and thus learned too late how much she had been deceived by those around her. *Hume, whose shrewd good sense is shocked with the obvious absurdity of this portion of the story, conveniently omits it, and states that he [Essex] committed the ring to the Countess of Nottingham, whom he desired to deliver it to the Queen,' thus coolly departing from his authority, and falling into a greater absurdity than that which he avoids. Would Essex commit the ring to his known enemy, and desire her to deliver it to the Queen? It was not Lady Nottingham but Lady Scroope, who was a friend of his Lordship.' And then how does Hume suppose that Essex in the Tower, communicated with Lady Nottingham at the Court? But sceptic as Hume was, he dearly loved a little sentimentalism; as credulous and indulgent a critic in history, as he was rigid and exacting where Christianity was concerned. But when was credulity ever severed from scepticism? Of Of the death of Essex and the last illness of the Queen the most minute and authentic details have been preserved, not only by those who sedulously picked up the gossip of the day, like Chamberlain and like Carleton, for the amusement of distant friends, but like Cecil, Cary, Howard, Northumberland, Cobham, Raleigh, and others, who were about the Queen and at the very centre of information. Yet to all of them, judging by their correspondence at the time and afterwards, this story and its tragic ending were utterly unknown. Essex was tried and condemned on Thursday the 19th of February; in due course of law he should have been executed on the Saturday following, but was reprieved till the next Wednesday (Ash-Wednesday). On the Friday after his condemnation he sent a message to the Queen, requesting that Egerton, Buckhurst, Nottingham, and Cecil might be sent to him, especially the last, whom he had wronged by asserting at the trial that Cecil had sold his country to Spain. The Queen ordered these four to visit him on the Saturday; when he requested their forgiveness, and made 'a very humble suit to her Majesty that he might have the favour to die privately in the Tower, which she granted, and for which he gave her most humble thanks.'* The day before his execution the Queen herself nominated seven or eight noblemen who were to be present on the occasion and take the necessary warrants to the Tower.† Every step in the whole proceeding was marked with the greatest order and deliberation. It betrays nothing of the vacillation which romantic historians attribute to Elizabeth or of reviving tenderness and attachment. It is clear from Raleigh's letter to Cecil, printed by Murdin from the Hatfield MSS., that to the last Cecil was reluctant to shed blood. It is certain, also, that he was extremely anxious to save 'the poor Earl of Southampton,' as he calls him, who merely for the love of Essex had been drawn into this action;' but he felt how difficult the task would be to find arguments to persuade the Queen. And yet,' he says, when I consider how penitent he is, and how merciful the Queen is, as I cannot write in despair, so I dare not flatter myself with hope.' If Elizabeth had wished to pardon Essex, such despondency on the part of Cecil would have been unintelligible. She could not with justice have condemned the subordinate agents and have allowed the principal culprit to escape. To us her conduct on * See Cecil's letter to his intimate friend, Sir George Carew. Carew MSS., iv. 35. + State Paper Office, sub an., p. 591. Letter to Essex and the Irish Council, 10th August, 1599. Hatfield MSS., xxxiii. 182. this occasion seems exactly consistent with her actions throughout her reign, and with her treatment of the Earl in particular. Though her personal feelings might occasionally predominate, they were only transient. In the end, the Queen universally rose above the woman, as in Mary she invariably sank below. In Elizabeth the responsibility of a great ruler predominated over her weaker inclinations. To use her own language on another occasion, she could in her own nature dispense with severity as well 'as any power that liveth,' where error had been committed, not out of lack of duty but of circumspection;' but she could not allow her kingdom and the lives of her subjects to be dallied with, for God had given her these upon other conditions; and whilst He vouchsafeth to continue us over them we will not be accusable for any thing within our power to perform.' Passer solitarius, as Cecil calls her, and as all great rulers and great thinkers must be, the melancholy observable at the close of her life had more or less taken possession of her long before the fall of Essex. How could it be otherwise? She had a great task before her formidable enemies on every side-a kingdom of small dimensions, assailed by the Scotch and the Irish nearer home-by the Spaniard, the Pope, and the Jesuit, abroad. In her fearlessness, in her confidence in God and her people, she never fenced herself round with guards or ramparts. The most accessible person in her kingdom, her ears, like her palace, were open to all comers-she trusted her safety and her life to her subjects, reposing implicit confidence in their loyalty. If she reaped ingratitude, where she had shown the greatest indulgence-if in the man the most boastful of devotion to herself and her service she had found treason and disloyalty—is it so surprising that the retrospect should sometimes have filled her with melancholy? But that to the very last she maintained her composure, her dignity, her strength of mind and sense of duty unimpaired, is clear from her interview with Sir W. Browne, to which we have already referred, and with Scaramelli, the Venetian envoy, only one short month before she died-and no idle impure gossip of Spanish malignants or of other traducers of her memory can impair this evidence. If she exacted from those who served her the strict fulfilment of their obligations, if she was less tolerant to those who failed to make good what they had undertaken to perform, she set them an example in her own person of rigorous attention to the duties of her station. No melancholy, no plea of indisposition, no infirmities of advancing age were sufficient to withdraw her from the burdens of royalty, or could tempt her to sacrifice them to personal ease and convenience. To the last she sat |