cowed others must be frightened herself; that the stinging injustice
which led a proud man to expect, only to see how he would behave when
refused, deserved to be brought to reason by a counter-buffet as rough
as her own insolent caprice. He drifted into discontent, into
disaffection, into neglect of duty, into questionable schemings for the
future of a reign that must shortly end, into criminal methods of
guarding himself, of humbling his rivals and regaining influence. A
"fatal impatience," as Bacon calls it, gave his rivals an advantage
which, perhaps in self-defence, they could not fail to take; and that
career, so brilliant, so full of promise of good, ended in misery, in
dishonour, in remorse, on the scaffold of the Tower.

With this attractive and powerful person Bacon's fortunes, in the last
years of the century, became more and more knit up. Bacon was now past
thirty, Essex a few years younger. In spite of Bacon's apparent
advantage and interest at Court, in spite of abilities, which, though
his genius was not yet known, his contemporaries clearly recognised, he
was still a struggling and unsuccessful man: ambitious to rise, for no
unworthy reasons, but needy, in weak health, with careless and expensive
habits, and embarrassed with debt. He had hoped to rise by the favour of
the Queen and for the sake of his father. For some ill-explained reason
he was to the last disappointed. Though she used him "for matters of
state and revenue," she either did not like him, or did not see in him
the servant she wanted to advance. He went on to the last pressing his
uncle, Lord Burghley. He applied in the humblest terms, he made himself
useful with his pen, he got his mother to write for him; but Lord
Burghley, probably because he thought his nephew more of a man of
letters than a sound lawyer and practical public servant, did not care
to bring him forward. From his cousin, Robert Cecil, Bacon received
polite words and friendly assurances. Cecil may have undervalued him, or