Part 45 (2/2)

But, as before, the Queen used him, and withheld ”the bounty of her hand”; from her he received no State appointment. He did indeed receive 1200 pounds in money. It was scarcely as much as Ess.e.x had once given him out of friends.h.i.+p. To Bacon it seemed too small a reward for his betrayal of his friend, even although it had seemed to mean loyalty to his Queen. ”The Queen hath done somewhat for me,” he wrote, ”though not in the proportion I hoped.” And so in debt and with a blotted name, Bacon lived on until Queen Elizabeth died. But with the new King his fortunes began to rise. First he was made Sir Francis Bacon, then from one honor to another he rose until he became at last Lord High Chancellor of England, the highest judge in the land. A few months later, he was made a peer with the t.i.tle of Baron Verulam.

A few years later at the age of sixty he went still one step higher and became Viscount St. Albans.

Bacon chose the name of Baron Verulam from the name of the old Roman city Verulamium which was afterwards called St. Albans. It was near St. Albans that Bacon had built himself a splendid house, laid out a beautiful garden, and planted fine trees, and there he kept as great state as the King himself.

He had now reached his highest power. He had published his great work called the Novum Organum or New Instrument in which he taught men a new way of wisdom. He was the greatest judge in the land and a peer of the realm. He had married too, but he never had any children, and we know little of his home life.

It seemed as if at last he had all he could wish for, as if his life would end in a blaze of glory. But instead of that in a few short weeks after he became Viscount St. Albans, he was a disgraced and fallen man.

He had always loved splendor and pomp, he had always spent more than he could afford. Now he was accused of taking bribes, that is, he was accused of taking money from people and, instead of judging fairly, of judging in favor of those who had given him most money. He was accused, in fact, of selling justice. That he should sell justice is the blackest charge that can be brought against a judge. At first Bacon could not believe that any one would dare to attack him. But when he heard that it was true, he sank beneath the disgrace, he made no resistance. His health gave way. On his sick-bed he owned that he had taken presents, yet to the end he protested that he had judged justly. He had taken the bribes indeed, but they had made no difference to his judgments. He had not sold justice.

He made his confession and stood to it. ”My lords,” he said, ”it is my act, my hand, my heart. I beseech your lords.h.i.+ps be merciful to a broken reed.”

Bacon was condemned to pay a fine of 40,000 pounds, to be imprisoned during the King's pleasure, never more to have office of any kind, never to sit in Parliament, ”nor come within the verge of the Court.”

”I was the justest judge that was in England these fifty years,”

said Bacon afterwards. ”But it was the justest censure in Parliament that was these two hundred years.”

Bacon's punishment was not as heavy as at first sight it seems, for the fine was forgiven him, and ”the king's pleasure,” made his imprisonment in the Tower only a matter of a few days.

And now that his life was s.h.i.+pwrecked, though he never ceased to long to return to his old greatness, he gave all his time to writing and to science. He spent many peaceful hours in the garden that he loved. ”His lords.h.i.+p,” we are told, ”was a very contemplative person, and was wont to contemplate in his delicious walks.” He was generally accompanied by one of the gentlemen of his household ”that attended him with ink and paper ready to set down presently his thoughts.”*

*J. Aubrey.

He was not soured or bitter. ”Though his fortunes may have changed,” says one of his household,* ”yet I never saw any change in his mien, his words, or his deeds, towards any man. But he was always the same both in sorrow and joy, as a philosopher ought to be.”

*Peter Boerner, his apothecary and secretary.

Bacon was now shut out from honorable work in the world, but he had no desire to be idle. ”I have read in books,” he wrote, ”that it is accounted a great bliss to have Leisure with Honour.

That was never my fortune. For time was I had Honour without Leisure; and now I have Leisure without Honour. But my desire is now to have Leisure without Loitering.” So now he lived as he himself said ”a long cleansing week of five years.” Then the end came.

It was Bacon's thirst for knowledge that caused his death. One winter day when the snow lay on the ground he drove out in his coach. Suddenly as he drove along looking at the white-covered fields and roads around, the thought came to him that food might be kept good by means of snow as easily as by salt. He resolved to try, so, stopping his coach, he went into a poor woman's cottage and bought a hen. The woman killed and made ready the hen, but Bacon was so eager about his experiment that he stuffed it himself with snow. In doing this he was so chilled by the cold that he became suddenly ill, too ill to return home. He was taken to a house near ”where they put him into a good bed warmed with a pan”* and there after a few days he died.

*J. Aubrey.

This little story of how Bacon came by his death gives a good idea of how he tried to make use of his philosophy. He was not content with thinking and speculating, that is, looking at ideas.

Speculate comes from the Latin speculari, to spy out. He wanted to experiment too. And although in those days no one had thought about it, we now know that Bacon was quite right and that meat can be kept by freezing it. And it is pleasant to know that before Bacon died he was able to write that the experiment had succeeded ”excellently well.”

In his will Bacon left his name and memory ”to men's charitable speeches, to foreign nations and to the next ages,” and he was right to do so, for in spite of all the dark shadows that hang about his name men still call him great. We remember him as a great man among great men; we remember him as the fore-runner of modern science; we remember him for the splendid English in which he wrote.

And yet, although Bacon's English is clear, strong, and fine, although Elizabethan English perhaps reached in him its highest point, he himself despised English. He did not believe that it was a language that would live. And as he wanted his books to be read by people all over the world and in all time to come, he wrote his greatest books in Latin. He grieved that he had wasted time in writing English, and he had much that he wrote in English translated into Latin during his lifetime.

It seems strange to us now that in an age when Spenser and Shakespeare had show the world what the English tongue had power to do that any man should have been able to disbelieve in its greatness. But so it was, and Bacon translated his books into Latin so that they might live when English books ”were not.”

I will not weary you with a list of all the books Bacon wrote.

Although it is not considered his greatest work, that by which most people know him is his Book of Essays. By an essay, Bacon meant a testing or proving. In the short chapters of his essays he tries and proves many things such as Friends.h.i.+p, Study, Honor; and when you come to read these essays you will be surprised to find how many of the sentences are known to you already. They have become ”household words,” and without knowing it we repeat Bacon's wisdom. But we miss in them something of human kindliness. Bacon's wisdom is cool, calm, and calculating, and we long sometimes for a little warmth, a little pa.s.sion, and not so much ”use.”

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