s a weapon in the royal armoury to be thrown away, or be let
rust; that though law condemned, the national conscience had acquitted
him, and cancelled his sentence. His trust, at all events, in public
opinion was justified. In 1603 it was not plain to his contemporaries
that not a shadow of evidence had ever existed on which he could justly
be sent to trial. They saw no absurdity in the association of his name
as a traitor in scurrilous ballads with those of Watson and Brooke. But
they had seen him in the dock. He had compelled them to weigh the proofs
against him and recognise their hollowness and inconclusiveness. The
manliness with which he had stood at bay against Coke's insolence,
Cobham's perfidy, and Cecil's damaging apologies for estrangement had
brought over to him the sympathy of public opinion. The tide of popular
feeling turned, and ceased henceforth to run turbulently against him.

[Sidenote: _Public Opinion._]

The Court had been densely thronged. A multitude of eye-witnesses spread
through the kingdom their own 'great admiration.' 'Never man,' writes
Sir Toby Matthew, 'spoke better for himself. So worthily, so wisely, so
temperately he behaved himself that in half a day the mind of all the
company was changed from the extremest hate to the extremest pity.' His
demeanour was extolled as perfect; to the Lords humble, yet not
prostrate, to the jury affable, not fawning, rather showing love of life
than fear of death, to the King's counsel patient, but not insensibly
neglecting, not yielding to imputations laid against him in words.
Michael Hickes wrote to Lord Shrewsbury that his conduct 'wrought both
admiration for his good parts and pity towards his person.' His
demeanour and eloquence, Hickes heard, had elicited some tears from Mar
and Cecil. It was 'wondered that a man of his heroic spirit could be so
valiant in suffering that he was never overtaken in passion.' Carleton's
account to Chamberlain was that he answered Coke and the rest 'with that
temper, wit, learning, courage, and judgment, that, save it went with
the hazard of his life, it was the happiest day that ever he spent. And
so well he shifted all advantages that were taken against him, that,
were not _fama malum gravius quam res_, and an ill name half hanged, in
the opinion of all men he had been acquitted. In one word, never was a
man so hated and so popular in so short a time.' James wished to have an
independent account of the trial, and had