No. 121 Francis Bacon, Baron Verulam, And
VISCOUNT ST. ALBANS.
BORN 1561, DIED 1626.
Black dress. Ruff. Cloak. High hat.
The second son of Sir Nicholas Bacon, by Anne, daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke, sister-in-law to Lord Burghley. Nicholas was Keeper of the Great Seal to Queen Elizabeth, who, visiting him one day at Gorhambury, observed that the house was too small for him. ‘No, Madam,’ replied the courtier, ‘it is you who have made me too big for my house.’
The Queen had a great liking for little Francis, and delighted in asking him questions, which the boy generally answered pertinently.
‘Come hither,’ she said to him one day, ‘and tell me how old you are.’
‘Just two years younger than your Majesty’s happy reign.’
The reply pleased Elizabeth, who in these early days dubbed the child jestingly ‘My Lord Keeper.’
Francis Bacon was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. He accompanied Sir Amias Powlett on his embassy to Paris, and was employed in several diplomatic missions, but the sudden death of his father brought him back to England. Finding himself unprovided for, he studied the law with great zeal at Gray’s Inn; but he did not succeed for some time in getting any official employment, which was his aim. He formed a close friendship with Lord Essex, which displeased his relations of the Cecil faction, who in consequence were not willing to exert themselves in his behalf, save perhaps by obtaining the reversion of the office of Registrar-General. He also sat in the House of Commons.
In 1596, the post of Solicitor-General being vacant, Lord Essex endeavoured to obtain it for Bacon, but, failing in this attempt, was much disgusted, and, we are told, went over from Richmond to his friend at Twickenham to tell him so. The particulars of this interview are related by Bacon himself—Lord Essex expressing the anger he felt towards the Queen for denying his suit, and thanking Bacon ‘for that you have spent your time and thoughts in my matters,’ pressed on his acceptance a piece of land, i.e. Twickenham Park, with a delightful house denominated ‘The Garden of Paradise.’
Essex also strove, but with the same lack of success, to assist Bacon in his design of forming a wealthy matrimonial alliance. Lady Hatton, (born Cecil,) granddaughter to Lord Burghley, and therefore a cousin of Bacon’s, was the rich widow of Sir William Hatton, nephew and heir to the Lord Chancellor. The lady was witty, capricious, violent in temper, and of a worldly spirit, but all these qualities were thickly gilded, and Francis Bacon was needy.
Lord Essex once more stood his friend, and wrote to the lady’s father and mother, to the effect that ‘were she my sister or daughter, I would as confidently resolve to further the match as I now persuade you.’
But the wayward fair one had fixed her fancy elsewhere, and instead of her handsome and accomplished cousin—a rising man between thirty and forty—she preferred crabbed old Sir Edward Coke, a widower of advanced age, ‘to whom there were seven objections—himself and his six children.’ She induced her elderly lover (the future Chief-Justice) to elope with her, and the marriage was performed in so irregular a manner, that the newly-married pair were summoned before the Ecclesiastical Court.
Not content with running off with Bacon’s mistress, Sir Edward Coke gained the post of Solicitor-General—thus bearing away the two prizes. But if Francis Bacon had any revengeful feelings against his rival in love and law, he might be consoled by learning that Sir Edward had a sad life of it with his rich wife, till she left him, his very children being taught by her to neglect and disobey him.
Bacon did not prove grateful for the friendly attempts, however unsuccessful, which Essex had made to serve him.
When the favourite fell into disgrace, he came forward to plead against him at the bar, and, not contented with so doing, published a pamphlet accusing the prisoner of treason, and the like. It was supposed that he hoped by so doing to ingratiate himself with the Queen, in which aim he failed, and finding he was much censured, he prepared an apology for his conduct, which he addressed to the Earl of Devonshire, the attached friend of the Lord Essex. Disappointed in his hopes of public employment, our philosopher now devoted himself to scientific studies, and to the prosecution of those labours and those writings which have rendered his name immortal and gained for it a world-wide fame.
The next Sovereign was more propitious, for James I. was a great admirer of Bacon’s genius and learning, while he on his part was very useful to the King in the House of Commons. He became Solicitor-General, Attorney-General, etc., Baron Verulam, Viscount St. Albans, and Lord Chancellor of England. But troublous times were in store for the new peer. He was now very unpopular in the country, and all the more so for his adherence to the falling fortunes of the Duke of Buckingham, while Sir Edward Coke proved a dangerous enemy. He was first charged with corruption in having accepted large bribes from two suitors in Chancery, an accusation that was fully proved; and although the Upper House, to which he had just been admitted, showed a willingness to deal leniently with him, fresh and startling disclosures of the same nature, followed fast one upon another. James evinced much sympathy for Lord St. Albans, and thought to serve him by procuring an adjournment of Parliament, which only gave his enemies time to gather more evidence against him. The accused deemed it the most prudent course to make a full confession of his guilt, which he did in a letter universally cited as a model of style and eloquence.
The letter was presented by Henry Prince of Wales, but was of no avail. Lord St. Albans was deprived of the Great Seal, and sentenced to a fine of £40,000, or to be imprisoned in the Tower; also to be declared incapable of holding any public office or sitting in Parliament for the future.
James, however, soon released him, and remitted the whole of the sentence, with the exception of the Parliamentary prohibition. Lord St. Albans never again succeeded in obtaining any employment, although his means were so necessitous that he did not disdain to apply for the Provostship of Eton College, and was much mortified by receiving a flat denial. The remainder of his life was given to study, but the most important of his works were, curiously enough, written during the years of his official life.
The great philosopher was no true lover. He wrote in slighting terms of the tender passion, such as: ‘Amongst all the great and worthy persons, of whom the memory remaineth, either in modern or ancient times, there hath not been one man transported to the mad degree of love, which shows that great spirits and great business do keep out this weak passion.’ Might one dare to call in question the validity of so great a man’s opinion?
We have seen what strenuous efforts he made to marry an unamiable woman for her wealth, and late in life he sought the hand of Alice Barnham, daughter to a rich London alderman—‘pour les beaux yeaux de sa cassette’ alone.
The marriage was most unhappy. They lived for some time together on wretched terms, and at length separated, the husband, in his last will, revoking every bequest he had made in his wife’s favour, and only leaving her what she might claim by settlement. Seldom could the line of ‘the ruling passion strong in death’ be more appropriately applied than in the case of Bacon, who indeed fell a victim to his love for scientific research.
Journeying from Gravesend to Gorhambury with the King’s physician (a congenial spirit) in winter, they fell into a discussion which caused them to set about making the experiment whether snow and ice would prove efficient substitutes for salt in the preservation of dead flesh.
The two companions immediately began to search for snow, and having found a sufficient quantity, they entered a cottage, and purchased a fowl, which Lord St. Albans stuffed with snow with his own hands.
The weather was intensely cold, and he was shortly taken with a shivering fit, and became so alarmingly ill that he could not prosecute his journey, but was conveyed to a house in the neighbourhood, belonging to Lord Arundel. A splendid house, as it appears, and the servants placed their noble guest in the state bed, but alas! the room was cold, the sheets damp, and the consequences fatal.
In his last moments he seems to have found consolation in likening himself to the elder Pliny, who fell a victim to his scientific ardour, being suffocated by the fumes of Vesuvius from having approached too near the raging crater, in order to investigate the phenomena of the eruption. Bacon—we call him by the name he generally bears as an author—died on Easter Day, in the arms of Sir Julius Cesar. He was of middle height, limbs well formed, but not strongly built, ample forehead, bright eyes and genial smile, with deep lines of thought on his face, as became a philosopher. His manners were attractive. He was fond of the country and rural pursuits, and found a relaxation from profound study in gardening and planting.
His faithful secretary erected a noble monument to his beloved patron in St. Michael’s Church, at St. Albans, with an excellent portrait of the great philosopher sitting in a chair, his head resting thoughtfully on his hand. He appears to have been in constant pecuniary difficulties, having once been actually arrested for debt, and dying insolvent. He deplored his childlessness, for though children, he said, increase the cares of life, they mitigate the remembrance of death—laying, however, the flattering unction to his soul, that great men have no continuance.