exposure of their crimes; and Coke, with his audacious effrontery, was obliged to come to the aid of the crest-fallen Lord Keeper.
In the course of the trial, Essex being accused of saying that the crown of England was sold to the Spaniards, declared that it was said of Sir Robert Cecil that he had declared the Infanta's title to the succession as good as any other. Cecil, who was in the court, but not within view, then came forward, and, by permission of the Lord Steward, was allowed to make a violent attack on Essex, calling him a wolf in sheep's clothing, and a Papist, as was seen by the company he had kept. He called on him to name the man who had said this. Lord Southampton said it was Sir William Knollys; whereupon Sir William was summoned, and, as was to be expected in a courtier where the person accused was the prime minister, qualified the expression so that it meant nothing. He had heard Sir Robert Cecil merely say that the title of the Infanta was maintained in a printed book.
Such were the leading features of this trial, where Essex was certain to be condemned, for he had been guilty, in his wild passion, of really treasonable acts; but innocence itself would not have saved him before such a tribunal. Both were condemned as traitors. The Lord Steward recommended Essex to submit and implore the queen's mercy on the acknowledgment of all his offences. Essex replied that he could not implore pardon for any intention to injure Her Majesty, for that he had entertained none; but that he did entreat her pardon for many short-comings. For himself, he was tired of life, and would neither seek nor refuse mercy; but he earnestly begged that mercy might be extended to his friend Southampton, who had only offended through his affection to him. The edge of the axe was turned towards them, and they were conducted to the Tower. On the way the citizens, hearing of the sentence, ran out to see them. Essex walked on at a swift pace, with his face towards the ground; and though several persons spoke to him, he paid no attention and gave no reply. It seemed as if his thought was that they had not answered to his appeal, and, therefore, now they were nothing to him.
As soon as he was in the Tower, Dove, Dean of Norwich, was sent to him, who exhorted him to reconcile himself to the Almighty by the free confession of his crime, and also of his accomplices. Essex declared that he had committed no offence against God, any more than David in resisting the murderous attempts of Saul; and he refused to be a traitor to his friends, Then one Ashton, his own chaplain, attended him, who is declared to have been a man of the worst and most perfidious character. He so wrought on Essex by the threatened terrors of an omniscient Judge that he declared himself ready to confess everything; and Bacon, Cecil, the Earl of Nottingham, the treasurer, were sent for, whose forgiveness he asked, and to whom he made a confession which filled five sheets of paper. This confession has been thoroughly discredited as Essex's real one, and when we know its contents, and the character of the men who drew it up and witnessed it, we may well believe that whatever the unfortunate earl said of himself, he would not wholly implicate and endanger the lives and fortunes of his associates. Yet he was made to do all that, and to load his friends and himself with crimes of which neither he nor they were guilty. We shall soon see another reason for believing this confession a forgery.
The public were now all curious to know whether Elizabeth would really sign his death-warrant. Some thought that her resentment would certainly carry her that length, others that she would fear to bring him to the scaffold lest he should betray secrets by no means to her credit; but against such an emergency she had provided, and Essex had, by contemning her person, long ago sinned an unpardonable sin. Raleigh declares the real cause of his fall plainly. "The late Earl of Essex told Queen Elizabeth that her conditions were as crooked as her carcass; but it cost him his head, which his insurrection had not cost him, but for that speech."
The story went that her hand trembled so much in signing his death-warrant, that her signature was scarcely discernible; but the autograph remains, and totally contradicts the assertion. It is written with singular steadiness, and so artistically flourished that she might have intended it as a specimen of her best penmanship. The story of the ring, which many historians reject, we believe to be much better founded, and is thoroughly characteristic. It is related by Osborne, and is, says Miss Strickland, "not only quoted by historians of all parties, but is a family tradition of the Careys, who were the persons most likely to be in the secret, as they were the friends and relations of all parties concerned, and enjoyed the confidence of Queen Elizabeth." Lady Elizabeth Spelman, a descendant of that house, gives the narrative in the life of Carey, Earl of Monmouth. It is, that on some occasion Elizabeth gave to Essex a ring, which in any extreme case he was to send to her, and to claim the promise of aid or pardon then made. This ring he contrived to send to the Lady Scrope, his cousin, to convey to Elizabeth; but the messenger, a boy, by mistake put it into the hand of Lady Scrope's sister, the Countess of Nottingham. The countess took it to her husband, one of the most inveterate enemies of Essex, who insisted that she should keep the possession of the ring and the message accompanying it secret. On the one hand, the queen, expecting the arrival of this token, delayed the execution, the warrant for which, with her usual irresolution, she had once revoked. On the other hand, Essex waited the effect of the ring, and no evidence of it reaching him, doomed the queen inexorable. Some years after, when the Countess of Nottingham was on her death-bed, her conscience compelled her to send for the queen and reveal the fact, imploring her pardon, but instead of pardon Elizabeth shook the dying woman in her bed, and said, "God may forgive you, but I never can!"
Many have taken this anecdote to prove that Elizabeth still retained a tenderness for Essex, and would have pardoned him had the ring reached her. We believe neither of these things; but that Elizabeth was glad to have a person to cast the blame upon, as she always strove to have. In her vacillation regarding Essex's death she sent his kinsman, Edward Carey, to forbid the execution, and then again sent Lord Darcy to order its immediate completion. It took place about eight o'clock in the morning of February the 25th, within the court of the Tower. The most careful measures had been concerted to prevent access to him by any but those hostile to him,
