commonly called upon in such prosecutions. He was not employed by Cecil
in the Winchester trials of Raleigh, Grey, and Cobham, three years
afterwards, nor in those connected with the Gunpowder Plot. He was
called upon now because no one could so much damage Essex; and this last
proof of his ready service was required by those whose favour, since
Essex had gone hopelessly wrong, he had been diligently seeking. And
Bacon acquiesced in the demand, apparently without surprise. No record
remains to show that he felt any difficulty in playing his part. He had
persuaded himself that his public duty, his duty as a good citizen to
the Queen and the commonwealth, demanded of him that he should obey the
call to do his best to bring a traitor to punishment.

Public duty has claims on a man as well as friendship, and in many
conceivable cases claims paramount to those of friendship. And yet
friendship, too, has claims, at least on a man's memory. Essex had been
a dear friend, if words could mean anything. He had done more than any
man had done for Bacon, generously and nobly, and Bacon had acknowledged
it in the amplest terms. Only a year before he had written, "I am as
much yours as any man's, and as much yours as any man." It is not, and
it was not, a question of Essex's guilt. It may be a question whether
the whole matter was not exaggerated as to its purpose, as it certainly
was as to its real danger and mischief. We at least know that his
rivals dabbled in intrigue and foolish speeches as well as he; that
little more than two years afterwards Raleigh and Grey and Cobham were
condemned for treason in much the same fashion as he was; that Cecil to
the end of his days--with whatever purpose--was a pensioner of Spain.
The question was not whether Essex was guilty. The question for Bacon
was, whether it was becoming in him, having been what he had been to
Essex, to take a leading part in proceedings which were to end in his
ruin and death. He was not a judge. He was not a regular law officer
like Coke. His only employment had been casual and occasional. He might,
most naturally, on the score of his old friendship, have asked to be
excused. Condemning, as he did, his friend's guilt and folly, he might
have refused to take part in a cause of blood, in which his best friend
must perish. He might honestly have given up Essex as incorrigible, and
have retired to stand apart in sorrow and silence while the inevitable
tragedy was played o