An Elizabethan power player

Why isn’t there a great movie about Sir Walter Ralegh? His life had everything a star could want: Born a commoner, he fought, flattered and seduced his way through a byzantine court filled with great men to win the favor of England’s greatest queen. Once he had money and power he devoted himself to establishing colonies in Ireland and America.

And then he failed: His Roanoke colony disappeared; his twin efforts to find El Dorado resulted in tragedy and death; he lost his freedom and ultimately his life after one of the greatest, most dramatic of all show trials. Either as the heroic story of a farsighted man caught out of time, or as a noir portrait of the scheming behind a seemingly glorious period in history, Ralegh’s life begs to be filmed.

Raleigh Trevelyan’s amiable, engaging and thorough “Sir Walter Raleigh” replaces Robert Lacey’s similarly titled book as the best modern biography of the man -- and gives screenwriters all the material they could want.

Temperamentally fair-minded, Trevelyan’s wonderful account steers us through Ralegh’s life but leaves us to our own judgments rather than make a case for what this epic of grand ambition and tragic failure tells us. That is unfortunate for American readers, who no longer know this history.

Trevelyan seems aware that he is speaking to an audience that needs, for example, to be reminded that a “barton” is a farm, or of the later legal views of Sir Edward Coke. But there is a danger that his many fascinating notes will only confirm the sense that this is a distant history, less necessary knowledge than charming antiquarianism. That would be unfortunate, for this book keeps rewarding its readers with new pleasures.

The similarity of name is no coincidence, for Trevelyan is a descendant of Ralegh. (He also explains why he uses the spelling “Raleigh” despite the preference of today’s scholars.) The familial connection is entirely to our benefit, for though the author is not in the least partisan (he is, for example, more attuned to the worldview of Ralegh’s great enemy, Spain’s ambassador Conde de Gondomar, than any previous English author), in his many notes and asides he is the most generous and engaging of guides through the sidelines of local and family history that enhance his main story.

Over the years he has visited the key sites in Ralegh’s life, which gives his narrative the added appeal of armchair historical travel. Yet another personal connection frames his tale, for he begins and ends with a dismissive deathbed evaluation of Ralegh he heard from the great Elizabethan scholar, A.L. Rowse: “He was a liar.” In a sense, this work is Trevelyan’s investigation into whether that is all that need be said about Ralegh. The book clearly answers: It is not.

Ralegh was probably born in 1554 in East Budleigh, Devon. Trevelyan shows his personal touch in describing the town as it is today, and giving us just enough family history -- there is more in an appendix for the genealogy fan -- to get a sense of the family’s status and standing. Though they were neither of noble blood nor especially well off, the Raleghs had two important advantages: As fervent Protestants they were allied with Elizabeth when she became queen, and by close relationship and temperament, they were linked to the great privateer explorers of the day, such as Francis Drake and Humphrey Gilbert. Fighting for faith and sailing off, as he put it, for “gold, for praise, for glory” were Ralegh’s heritage.

The religious wars in which Ralegh fought, perhaps as early as age 14, were grim affairs, and this early exposure to slaughter in the name of God influenced the rest of his life. He was unafraid of death because he had a very clear sense of its inevitability. He had a streak of cold-blooded determination that allowed him to participate in a massacre of Catholics in Ireland and contributed to the image of him as a soulless Machiavellian.

Always theatrical, Ralegh could be the most convincing courtier but he knew it was a show, ultimately a lie. The constant nearness of death also helped him develop a kind of tolerant awareness of human frailty that made him speak in defense of Catholics when he became a member of Parliament. Trevelyan sees Ralegh as ultimately a devout believer, but more a “deist than a true Christian.” That may seem a rather odd assessment to American readers, since our nation was founded by men whose form of Christianity was deism.

Whether through war or exploration across the seas, Ralegh was determined to rise. To his aristocratic enemies, this made him arrogant, proud. But there were very few ways an ambitious man could improve himself, and he explored them all. No one knows if he really spread his cape across a puddle for his queen, but as Trevelyan points out, it is the kind of grand romantic gesture Ralegh favored and he did include a cape on his seal.

Once Ralegh made himself known to Elizabeth, she showered favors on him. It is as if they were truly in love, or at least in heat, not just exchanging romantic gallantries. Trevelyan reports that Rowse was sure some kind of sexual “touching” did take place between the queen and her succession of favorites. In one of his many poems to her, Ralegh said that she “conquered my desire” -- to Rowse, that implied masturbation. As in all of the controversial areas of Ralegh’s life, Trevelyan states the arguments with only a gentle lean one way or the other.

The richer Ralegh became through royal gifts, the more he was hated by the queen’s other courtiers. He dismissed the threat they posed to him, instead gathering around himself a fascinating crew including the mathematician Thomas Hariot, the wizard Dr. John Dee and the geographer Richard Hakluyt. His Durham House was a crossing point of hermetic and proto-scientific thinking, and out of this brew of seance and calculation came plans to settle North America.

Ralegh’s fall began when his well-born enemies brought the queen a younger courtier, the Earl of Essex. Trevelyan is more sympathetic to Essex than most Ralegh biographers, which is in keeping with his general good-natured equanimity, though it deprives his book of the dramatic thrust that comes from taking sides.

For the rest of Essex’s life, he and Ralegh would be paired: as jealous rivals for the love and favor of the queen; as soldiers fighting side by side against the Spanish; triumphant when they cooperated, almost comically ineffective when they clashed; in mortal conflict when Essex finally rose in rebellion and it fell to Ralegh to protect Elizabeth.

Once edged out by Essex, Ralegh chose love and lies over serving his queen. He impregnated Bess Throckmorton, one of Elizabeth’s virginal ladies-in-waiting, then married her in secret, all the while denying any attachment. The queen was furious at the betrayal and the cover-up. Ralegh and his wife were exiled from the court, condemned for a time to the Tower of London. Trevelyan follows Ralegh’s love affairs and tortured responses to his queen through accessible, intelligent readings of his poetry. This is one of the treats of reading about Ralegh: Though he lived a wide-screen life of action, he also wrote poems that allow us partway into his heart.

Exile freed Ralegh, for Elizabeth had never let him wander too far from her side. Now he was able to sail in search of El Dorado. Trevelyan uses Ralegh’s account of the trip as well as Spanish sources to describe the journey, citing famous passages and offering insights from recent trips to the same region of Venezuela, such as a note on prostitutes near the modern town of El Dorado holding umbrellas and “picking their way through the muddy street in high heels.” Trevelyan does a fine job of recounting what is known about Ralegh’s quest but without the flourishes of interpretation that distinguish, for example, Charles Nicholl’s “The Creature in the Map: A Journey to El Dorado.”

After Elizabeth died, Ralegh said she was “a lady whom time had surprised.” He, too, was unprepared for the change, and soon after James came to power in 1603, Ralegh was arrested and tried for treason. Trevelyan recounts the historic trial, the influential “History of the World,” which Ralegh wrote after he was convicted and confined once again to the Tower; his disastrous second voyage to South America aboard the aptly named Destiny that cost the life of his son and best friend; and his ultimate execution in 1618 with the same delicious asides and generous awareness of his readers that appear throughout the text.

Trevelyan shows that Ralegh was far more than a mere liar, but he never tells us why his life matters, why we should care. But perhaps a compelling story that gives up subtlety and balance for dramatic sweep is better seen than read: Scriptwriters, to your keyboards.