Comments on Ralegh's fall—In the prison at Winchester—Ralegh begs mercy—His attitude explained—The King's own farce—Ralegh removed to London.

So ended the worst and greatest day of Ralegh's life. The Lord Cecil was victorious. Ralegh was overthrown. But from despair so poignant that reason yielded to its sway and he was driven to attempt madly to make away with himself, he had risen to make a defence so admirable against his accusers that men who heard and saw him at the trial, heard him with wonder and watched him with astonishment. And well they might. The man whose judgment had saved the situation at Cadiz from the reckless inexperience of Essex, whose patience and courage had taken an expedition far up the dangerous unknown rivers to Guiana, whose insight had discovered the poet Spenser and made him known to the world, showed the same insight and courage and patience and judgment at this trial when he was standing for his life against the combined assault of the cleverest brains in England, combined by the hope of future favours from a new King to work his overthrow. When one tired or stumbled, another was prompt to take his place; but always Ralegh remained alert and ready and steadfast—alone.

Sir Dudley Carleton was present at the trial and wrote an account of it to his friend, Mr. John Chamberlain. Carleton was at that time Secretary to the Earl of Northumberland. This is how he describes Ralegh's demeanour. "He answered with that temper, wit, learning, courage and judgment that save it went with the hazard of his life, it was the happiest day that ever he spent. And so well he shifted all advantages that were taken against him, that were not fama malum gravius quam res, and an ill-name half hanged, in the opinion of all men, he had been acquitted."

Carleton proceeds to tell his friend of two others who were present and who were the first to bring the news of the trial to the King at Wilton. One was Roger Ashton. He said that never any one spoke so well in times past nor would do in the world to come. The other was a Scotchman. He said that whereas when he saw Ralegh first, he was so led with the common hatred that he would have gone a hundred miles to have seen him hanged, he would ere he parted, have gone a thousand to have saved his life. And Carleton comments on this aptly enough: "In one word never was a man so hated and so popular in so short a time."

Dudley Carleton was quite right in saying an "ill name is half hanged." The trial was the merest farce. The judges were determined that Ralegh must be condemned, as soon as Ralegh was arrested. They knew that such was the King's will: and Ralegh's condemnation had become the King's will owing to the astute management of Cecil. There were many reasons for Cecil's line of action. Both James and he knew that there must be a large number of people in England disaffected to the new sovereign. It was advisable to open the reign by an illustrious example. Ralegh was a powerful man, whose powers Cecil knew and feared. Moreover, Ralegh had original ideas about government which fitted ill with Cecil's conception of himself as the chief man in England under an absolute King. So Cecil for a long time had been playing upon the King's fears, knowing well the King's timorous nature. And then, when the time came, he showed his zeal for the King by delivering Ralegh into his power. His known intimacy with Ralegh, upon which he took every opportunity of harping at the trial and elsewhere, would lend bright colour to his loyalty to the King.

The judges are as little to blame as the system of which they were a part is much to blame. Here was Ralegh, whom Cecil, his friend and the first man in England, thought guilty of treason, just at a crucial moment in the history of the nation, when a new King was coming to the throne from another country. Naturally they would do their utmost to show their loyalty. The very vagueness and mystery of the charge increased their anxiety to condemn him. Fear, too, played a prominent part. Which of them could tell, if he showed any clemency to the prisoner, whether it would not be his turn to be charged next for complicity with the traitor? So they vied with one another in eagerness to crush Ralegh. Cecil was well aware of this; he had made his arrangements with infinite precaution. He was the first man in England, partly because he was his father's son, but chiefly because of his astuteness. His astuteness touched genius.

Ralegh was undoubtedly innocent of conspiring against King James. But that he received money from foreign powers is probable, and so laid himself open to the charge of treason. It is easy to exclaim against him for this. But to do so is an error of judgment. It was a common practice of the time. All the chief men in England were in the pay of some foreign prince. It was part of an ambassador's duty to spend money in this way; the custom resembles the custom, prevalent in commerce, of giving presents to customers at Christmas. Lord Cecil is known to have received money from Spain during all the years that he held office. The custom has fallen into abeyance, not so much from the development of morality, as from the improvements that have come about in the means of travelling and communication. By knowledge man advances.

Ralegh was marked down by Cecil, and Ralegh fell. He knew that his career was at an end, as he passed from the palace at Winchester to the castle. His last request had been that his death might not be an ignominious one. His life was filled with great schemes of absorbing interest; he was at the height of his great powers. He had felt them in full play as he withstood the charges. Nothing availed him any more. As he sat in the prison-room of the castle awaiting the news and manner of his death, a sudden furious passion to continue the life, over which he had such mastery, seized and took possession of him. He must live. At any cost he must live. There was so much that he had not yet done. The immense vitality of the man rose within him and tortured him by its resistless strength. He must make one last effort for life; and his wife and child—they would be poor and shamed. He was famous throughout England for his pride. Pride and vitality fought within him. For now his only hope of reprieve lay in the King's mercy, and James liked the consciousness of power that comes from a great man's supplication. Vitality conquered. He supplicated the King for his life. He, who had dared death in all death's guises, could not wait for death to come slowly while still there remained one chance of life. The spirit of life was too strong in him for that.

His letters to the King do not, as many have said, point to meanness of spirit; they bear witness to the indomitable vitality, which was his characteristic, and which would not allow him to rest. Be sure he knew, with that amazing intellect, well enough the stress of his future life; he knew well enough that it was no great boon for which he pleaded. His youth was gone; his possessions had been taken away; his name was sullied. He knew that the four walls of a prison would be his probable horizon, he who desired to explore new countries. But the spirit of life, which made him a great man, mastered him and forced him now to plead for his life like a little man, which he could never be. "No poltroon could have begged for life more abjectly than he did." So they write of him. But his letters sound the deep note of tragedy. They do not make Ralegh's name odious, but they stigmatize the name of the King for whose benefit they could be composed and upon whom they could take effect. Ralegh at last knew the man with whom he was dealing for his life, and he brought all his power of intellect to bear upon making use of the knowledge in this his ultimate emergency.

"I do therefore most humblie beseich my soverayne Lord not to beleve any of thos, in my particuler, who under pretence of offences to kings, doe easily work their particuler revenges. I trust that no man (under the culler of making examples) shall perswade your Majesty to leve the word 'mercifull' out of your stile; for it will noe less profite your Majesty; and becume your gretnes, than the word 'invincibell'.... I do therefore, on the knees of my hart, beseich your Majesty to take councell from your own sweet and mercifull disposition and to remember that I have loved your Majesty now twenty yeares for which your Majestie hath yett geven me no reward. And it is fitter that I should be indebted to my soverayne Lord, then the King to his poore vassall. Save me, therefore, most mercifull Prince, that I may owe your Majesty my life itt sealf; then which ther cannot be a greter dett. Lend it me att lest, my soverayne Lord that I may pay it agayne for your service when your Majesty shall pleas."

Slowly time passed, and little by little all hope of reprieve died in him. The spirit of life was, as it were, appeased at this his effort—this supplication—and allowed him rest. He wrote farewell to his wife.

"You shall receave, dear wief, my last words in these my last lynes. My love I send you, that you may keepe it when I am dead; and my councell, that you may remember it when I am noe more. I would not with my last will present you with sorrowes, deare Bess. Lett them goe to the grave with and be buried in the dust. And seeing it is not the will of God that ever I shall see you in this lief, beare my destruccion gentlie, and with a hart like yourself.

"First I send you all the thanks my hart cann conceive, or my penn expresse, for your many troubles and cares taken for me, which—though they may have not taken effect as you wished—yet my debt is to you never the lesse; and paye it I never shall in this world.

"Secondlie, I beseich you, for the love you beare me living, that you doe not hide yourself many dayes, but by your travell seeke to help your miserable fortunes and the right of your poore childe. Your mourning cannot avayle me that am but dust....

"To what frind to direct thee I knowe not, for all mine have left mee in the true tyme of triall: and I plainly perceive that my death was determyned from the first day.... But God hath prevented all my determinations; the great God that worketh all in all. If you can live free from want, care for no more; for the rest is but vanity. Love God and beginne betymes to repose yourself on Him; therein shall you find true and lastinge ritches, and endles comfort. For the rest when you have travelled and wearied your thoughts on all sorts of worldly cogitacions, you shall sit downe by Sorrow in the end....

"When I am gonne no doubt you shalbe sought unto by many, for the world thinks that I was very ritch; but take heed of the pretences of men and of their affections; for they last but in honest and worthy men.... I speak it (God knowes) not to disswad you from marriage,—for that wilbe best for you—both in respect of God and the world. As for me I am no more your's nor you myne. Death hath cutt us asunder; and God hath devided me from the world, and you from me.... And know itt (deare wief) that your sonne is the childe of a true man, and who, in his own respect, despiseth Death, and all his misshapen and ouglie forms.

"I cannot wright much, God knowes howe hardlie I stole this tyme when all sleep; and it is tyme to separate my thoughts from the world.... I can wright noe more. Tyme and Death call me awaye.... My true wief, farewell. Blesse my poore boye, pray for me. My true God hold you both in His armes.

"Written with the dyeing hand of sometime thy husband, but now (alasse!) overthrowne.

"Your's that was; but nowe not my owne
"W. Ralegh"

It is sad to remember how the thought of some passages in this letter resembles those in the letter which he had written not quite seven years before to Lord Cecil on the death of his wife. "I believe it," he wrote then, "that sorrows are dangerous companions, converting badd unto yevill and yevill in worse, and do no other service then multeply harms."

The first week of December slowly approached. No hope came to the prisoner. But underneath the windows carpenters began to set up a scaffold: he was able to watch them at their work. Then he saw the two priests, Watson and Clarke, led to execution. They were very bloodily handled, writes an eye-witness; the same Carleton, who had written of the trial, for they were both cut down alive. He may have heard Clarke's wild-shouted words after he had been cut down. He saw Brooke beheaded. When it would be his own turn, he was still ignorant.

At last the Bishop of Winchester came to him, at the King's express order. The Bishop found Ralegh well settled for his conscience and resolved to die a Christian: but resolute in the assurance of his innocence. He would not yield to Cobham's accusations. The Bishop left him. Through the rain that was quietly falling Ralegh saw from his window on Friday morning Markham brought to the scaffold. He watched him take leave of his friends, watched him at his last devotions. While he was making ready for the executioner, the Sheriff was drawn aside: a man was whispering—one John Gib, a Scotchman. The execution was stayed. Markham was led away from the scaffold, and locked into the great hall of the castle. Ralegh must have wondered. Then he watched Lord Grey mount the scaffold, escorted by a troop of young courtiers. He had such gaiety and cheer in his countenance that he seemed a dapper young bridegroom. He, too, said farewell to his friends, made confession to his God, and prepared himself for the executioner. The Sheriff again came forward. He said it was the King's will for Cobham to die first. Lord Grey was led away to the great hall of the castle. Cobham was brought on to the scaffold. "The Lord Cobham, who was now to play his part (writes the same eye-witness), and by his former actions promised nothing but matiere pour rire, did much cozen the world; for he came to the scaffold with good assurance and contempt of death." Again, just as he was about to lay his head on the block, the Sheriff came forward and stopped the execution. Grey and Markham were brought from the great hall of the castle back once more to the scaffold. Ralegh, at his window, must have wondered more than ever.

On the scaffold the Sheriff harangued the three men on the heinousness of their crimes, while the rain continued to fall: and he at last brought his harangue to an end with the words, "Now see the mercy of your prince, who, of himself hath sent hither a countermand and given you your lives."

The shouts of applause that greeted the unexpected finish, must have revealed the meaning of the strange scene to Ralegh. The shouting was taken up all through the town. Men loudly rejoiced in the clemency of the new King.

So weak men in authority love to display their power. James had carefully arranged this trivial cat's-play. Nearly it failed of its effect. He forgot to sign the pardon. In Winchester too the messenger, John Gib, the Scotchman, could not get near enough to speak with the Sheriff, but was thrust out among the boys and was forced to call out to Sir James Hayes or else Markham might have lost his neck. Ralegh was to have been executed on Monday. News of his reprieve was brought him after he had witnessed the singular farce on the scaffold, in which the King's feline cruelty was shown.

At Wilton too, where the Court was being held (the plague still raged in London) the new King enacted another farce. He signed the death-warrants of Cobham, Grey, and Markham: Ralegh's sentence he withheld in case more light was thrown upon his case by confessions on the scaffold. He gave special instructions that no hope of pardon should be given to any of the prisoners. He kept his intentions from his most intimate ministers. Then he assembled the council, the day after the execution was to have taken place. He began a complicated speech, which puzzled his hearers, who were expecting a messenger every moment to bring news of the execution. "He contrasted the ardent and resolute spirit of Grey with the base and cowardly nature of Cobham; and then asked if it were at all consistent with kingly justice to execute the high-spirited Grey and to spare that pitiful creature, Cobham." He went on to point out the insolence of Grey who disdained to entreat for his life; the penitence of Cobham, who begged his life with humility. And so he continued until the minds of all the men who heard him were sufficiently muddled, and ended with what Edwards well calls, the triumphant tag, "So I have saved the lives of them all."

Again loud applause broke out in recognition of his clemency. But such applause, though it deafens the ears, does not last on in the hearts of men. His showily arranged mercy captivated the unthinking multitude. Wise men were not pleased that a King could stoop to such pettiness. It boded ill for the country that supreme power should be vested in a man who could behave in this manner. To them the action bore proof that the King was a little cruel man. But the people shouted for joy. The action made him popular: and when the Gunpowder Plot was dramatically discovered the following year, and the King's life was saved by a presentiment, his popularity increased a thousand-fold. Who could doubt that in very truth King James was the Lord's anointed? Only as the years went by, dark events happened. Why did the Prince die suddenly in the prime of his vigorous youth? Who was Car that he should enjoy such favour? Why was Gondomar the Spanish ambassador held in such esteem? There was the scandal of Overbury's death. Men began to wonder and fear. Men heard the bitterness spoken in Troilus and Cressida or in Timon, and the bitterness began to find an answer in their hearts.

A week after the royal farce at Winchester Ralegh was removed to London: first to the Tower, then to the Fleet, and finally to the Tower, where he remained.

Thus Ralegh was overthrown, who, if the time had been ripe, might have proved a Mirabeau to England, and saved the country from Civil War and the destructive power of the Puritans, which eventually became necessary to purge England from the mischief of weak rulers with absolute power, kings who could not carry on the tradition of the great Elizabeth. In very truth, with Elizabeth, as de Thou said of Catherine, not a woman but royalty died.

CHAPTER XVII