declared that he had consulted with no one, it was a matter entirely of his own private fancy. But this would not do for these government leeches; the torture was applied to extract some confession from him, and we have Mr. Secretary Winwood's report, which he says was drawn up as the racking went on, "before torture, in torture, between torture, and after torture." For two months this diabolical process was going on, when the poor old man, weakened and nearly torn to pieces, got up a rambling story that he had denied any other person's knowledge of the sermon "wholly out of fear, and to avoid torture," but that the sermon was really not his, but the production of a person of his name, "a divine, a scholar and traveller, that came to him some years past—the certainty of the time he could not remember—and lay at his house a quarter of a year, and took so much upon him, as he had scarce the command of his own house or study, and that he would be writing sometimes in the church, sometimes in the steeple, and sometimes in his study." This was a too palpable and useless invention, for no trace of such a second Peacham could be found, and James drew up with his own hand what he styled "The true state of the case," which was, in fact, directing the judges what to find against the prisoner, his guilt being, as he declared, nothing less than high treason. Bacon did all in his power to get the sentence passed. He went to each of the judges scriatim, and found them all ready to condemn the poor old man except Coke, who declared this taking the private and particular opinion of each judge to be contrary to the custom of the realm.
This independent act and sentiment of Coke incensed James beyond measure, and prepared a severe punishment for Coke, for judges were not yet independent of the crown. It was not, however, difficult to accomplish the king's will. The chief baron and judge Hobart, who were ready to condemn Peacham, were appointed to the western circuit, and Edmund Peacham was sent down thither to be tried; where, as a matter of course, he was convicted of high treason, but not being immediately executed, died in Taunton gaol soon afterwards. In fact, he was not killed on the scaffold, but by the rack, a mode of dungeon execution, of which thousands have perished by the hands of lawless tyrants and their slaves.
Amongst other cases of wholly illegal punishments, we may select those of Owen and Williams. Owen was charged with saying that "princes being excommunicated by the pope, might be lawfully deposed and killed by any one." For this he was arrested and tried for high treason. He contended that he was guilty of no treason, for the king never having been excommunicated, the words did not apply to him. Coke declared that this was good law, but James took him to task so severely for his opposition, that he gave way, saying that he found the king had been excommunicated, and therefore Owen's words were treason. Consequently he was condemned to be hanged, drawn, and quartered. Williams had gone further, and written a book predicting the king's death in 1621, for which he was also convicted of high treason. These cases, though marking a fatal stretching of the law to flatter the arbitrary will of the king, bore no proportion to the atrocity of the treatment of Peacham.
A new era now arrived in the history of the king's favourites. Though the countess of Somerset was hardened enough to stalk through adultery and poison to the gratification of her desires, and show no remorse, it appears that her new husband was not altogether of so callous a nature. From the moment of the death of Overbury, he was a totally changed man. All pleasure in life had deserted him, he had lost all his gaiety, and went about moody and morose. His person became neglected, his dress disorderly, and even in the king's company he was absent of mind, and took no pains to please him. This was not lost on those courtiers who envied the favour of the Howards, who now enjoyed complete ascendancy through their wicked kinswoman. The earls of Bedford, Pembroke, and Hertford maintained a sharp watch for a new favourite to bring before James, confident that a suitable man once found, the day of Somerset was over. This man soon appeared in a youth of the name of George Villiers, the younger son of Sir Edward Villiers, of Brookesby, in Leicestershire. Sir Edward was dead, and young Villiers had been brought up under the care of his mother, who was at once one of the most beautiful and infamous women of her time. She saw in the beauty and grace of this boy the means of advancing the fortunes of the whole family. She therefore carefully educated him to win the favour of the favourite-loving king, confident that if he once attracted his attention, the result was sure. This far-seeing and ambitious woman therefore sent the lad to France, to acquire the gay and easy manner of that court.
His courtly education being considered perfect, at the age of one-and-twenty, the post of cup-bearer to his majesty was purchased amongst the lavish sale of offices of the time, as one that must unavoidably place him under the eye of the king. Accordingly, he appeared in that employment with a fine suit of French clothes on his back, and as many French graces as any silly modern Solomon could desire. He was a fine tall young fellow, and pre-eminently handsome, at the same time that he was one of the emptiest, haughtiest, and most profligate men that ever lived. Time, however, was yet to display these qualities; they were at present concealed under a garb of finished courtesy and agreeable manners. The Herberts, the Russells, and the Seymours were delighted, and it was planned that young Villers should discharge his office of cup-bearer at a supper entertainment at Baynard's Castle, in such a manner as must strike the imagination of the king. James was, according to expectation, smitten with the looks of the youth, and pointed out his imagined likeness to a beautiful head of St. Stephen at Whitehall, whence he gave him the pet name of "Steenie," which he always after used.
But there was a difficulty to be surmounted by the court cabal who were pushing Villiers forward for their own purposes. James had been so mercilessly twitted by the queen on account of his favourites, that he was afraid of acknowledging a fresh one without her sanction; for, says archbishop Abbot, who played a great part in this affair, "the king would never admit any to nearness about him, but such as the queen should commend to him, that, if she should complain afterwards of the dear one, he might make answer, 'it is long of yourself, for you commended him unto me."
