Great Ralegh

by Hugh De Sélincourt

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.