The Pilgrim

by Hugh Nissenson

  I said, “Nay, Mistress. I shall not chide you. I shall never chide you. Why, my sweet, of course I forgive you.”

  She said to Bess, “Did you hear? Master Charles called me ‘sweet’!”

  I said, “Pray, Mistress, show me your countenance.”

  Her entire face and neck were scarred with small lumps of flesh. At the center of each was a little hollow. Her swelled nose looked like a pig’s snout.

  I said, “Methinks, I am at this moment looking upon a reflection of mine own diseased face. Our complexions seem to me to be decayed. They appear as they will in our graves. Only your beautiful blue eyes look alive.”

  She said, “As do yours as well.”

  “Let us gaze awhile into each other’s eyes.”

  Said she, “Yours shine.”

  Said I, “So do yours.”

  Said she, “How good God is to light up our eyes in our ruined faces with love.”

  • • •

  I went to Rigdale’s chambers late that very night and said, “My father is among the Saints. I am sure of it. I envy his being saved. My envy of his salvation torments me all the day and in the night season.”

  He said, “Envy? Who is exempt from envy? I envy you your education at Cambridge. I envy our rector, the young Reverend Doctor Childerly, that he is licenced to preach to his heart’s content. What would I not give for that? The preaching of the Word is a gift not tied to the person of a Minister!

  “I’m consumed with envy of Childerly every time he mounts the pulpit. I oft preach the Gospel in my dreams. I’m at Paul’s Cross, addressing a throng, or at St. Dunstan in the East, and my text from Scripture is always the same: Isaiah 6:6 and 7: “Then flew one of the Seraphims unto me with a hot coal in his hand, which he had taken from the altar with the tongs. And he touched my mouth, and said, ‘Lo, this hath touched thy lips, and thine iniquity shall be taken away, and thy sin shall be purged.’ And lo, it comes to pass in my dreams that the iniquities of my congregation are taken away, and its sins purged.

  “Speak not to me of envy, Charles. It gnaws on my soul in church every Sabbath while Childerly speaks. The whole of humanity is rotten with envy, Charles. What doth Scripture say? Envy is the rotting of the bones. Verily, Charles, the whole of humanity is rotten in its bones.

  “Your envy of your father’s salvation is the Devil’s work. He so envied God’s preference for man over the angels that he tempted us to eat of the forbidden fruit and bring death into the world. How passes the night abroad? Can you tell?”

  “Methinks some half hour past midnight.”

  “Not too late to pray. ’Tis never too late at night to pray. Sit down at this table, the work of mine own hands. Let us pray for strength to resist the temptations of the Evil One, who hath fathered in us the envy that rots our bones.”

  But I had no power to turn to God. I still see Zachariah, seated at the finely carved oaken table that he had made, with his bright blue eyes closed and his powerful, veined hands clasped together before him.

  I thought of Mistress Sarah. To my surprise, I had called her “sweet.” It had not been devised with forethought; the word had fallen unwittingly from my tongue. I searched my heart and learned that I did not love her; I pitied her. But that, mysteriously, made her very sweet in mine eyes. That, and the prospect of an ample dowry.

  I needs must be honest before God: an ample dowry made her sweeter to me still. On a sudden, I knew I did not need decoctions to urge me to procreate. ’Tis mysterious, I know, very mysterious indeed, but pity for Sarah and the prospect of a goodly sum of money provoked my flesh.

  But could a happy marriage come from those things? The morning following, I wrote my uncle Roger for his opinion on this matter. He answered me in part as follows:

  The new school master, Nicholas Hopkins, is writing my words down. He is trying to teach me to read and write, but, alas, like at school so long ago, it is for some reason beyond my poor powers. What is wrong with me? Alas, alas, my love for words shall never be fulfilled.

  Dearest Charles, my pity for your aunt when she discovered that she was barren hath, in truth, sustained our marriage through all our difficult times together. Is it not written, “In His love and in His mercy, He redeemed them”(Isaiah 63:9)?

  You love Sarah not? As the saying is, “Marry first, and love after by leisure.” That she is likewise disfigured by the smallpox seems to me all to the good. As the saying is, “Matching with marriage must be with equality.”

  I reckon that Sarah’s dowry will come to one hundred and fifty pounds—perhaps more. A third saying that comes to my mind is, “Love is potent, but money is omnipotent.”

  Therefore I say unto you, “Marry your Sarah and find happiness.”

  I asked my master’s permission to court his daughter.

  He said, “I am well disposed to a match. Sarah is my heart’s blood, the only child left to me, and above all else, I want her to be happy. You shall find me very careful for her good. Do you love her, Charles?”

  “I find her sweet and gentle and kind—she hath a very kind heart. I cherish her and will strive to make her happy.”

  “Spoken honestly! I could not ask for more. I did not love my good wife when I married her. I liked her, true, but loved her not. Love came to me in time, as it will come to you. Have you asked Sarah how she feels about you?”

  “Not yet, but I believe she’s fond of me and will have me for her husband.”

  Said he, “I believe so, too. You are big and tall, and you are both disfigured. Who else would marry her? Moreover, you have, like her, a kind heart, though it seems to me that you both have an inordinate concern for the poor. She, in particular. Why, you would not believe how charitable she is! She gives alms to half the beggars of Westminster. Well, she can afford to. She hath a rich father.

  “But you—you have no resources, apart from what you earn from me and your two meager investments. Money, I warrant, is very important to you. Good! You will come into a goodly amount by marrying Sarah—we shall discuss it anon—and I trust a man who knows the value of a farthing. I trust you to give me an ample return for what I shall settle on you. And what return is that? Why, to make my daughter happy! She hath not had much happiness in her young life. Two beloved sisters dead, a ruined face. With tears in mine eyes, I oft think of her as she was before eleven years of age, with smooth, rosy cheeks and a cheerful disposition. She spake with the prettiest lisp imaginable.

  “Yes, I give you my permission to court Sarah. Be good to her, Charles. Make her happy.

  “And give me a grandson. Thus I beseech you. But I have learned from life that beseeching you to make my Sarah happy is as good as a shoulder of mutton to a sick horse. Still, I have hope that I’m buying me a suitable son-in-law.”

  I said, “You may be sure of it, sir. As I love God!”

  “God hath many lovers in this world. My daughter hath but you.”

  • • •

  I said to Mistress Sarah, “Women are creatures without which there is no comfortable living for man. They are a necessary good. It is not meet that man should be without a woman. Therefore, Mistress Sarah, I ask you to become my wife, that we may live together and fulfill all the duties of the covenant of marriage as appointed by God.

  “I shall cherish you all the days of my life and, in so far as it is within my power, make you happy, rectifying the unhappiness you have hitherto endured. Marry me, Mistress, I entreat thee. Complete me as I shall complete you, for as you have said, we are opposite reflections of each other. Let us join together and become one. What say you?”

  “You once called me ‘sweet,’” she said. “Why not again?”

  “Marry me, my sweet, I implore you.”

  “Say ‘my sweet’ again. Call me ‘my sweet Sarah.’”

  “My sweet Sarah, marry me.”

  “Say ‘I love you.’
”

  “I love you.”

  “You do not.”

  “Not yet. ’Tis true. I do not yet love you. But as the saying is, ‘Marry first, and love after by leisure.’”

  “Is that the saying? Ah, Charles! I want to be loved now.”

  “Will you not wait on me? Most dainty and honey-sweet mistress, marry me. I know I shall come to love you after a time.”

  “‘Most dainty and honey-sweet mistress!’ Fie! Your excess of sweetness cloys, Charles. Call me simply ‘My Sarah.’ My head aches extremely on the sudden, Charles. We shall talk of our marriage anon. Meanwhile, my thanks to you for asking me to be your wife. I am grateful to you. I shall think on your considerate offer, and we’ll talk of it again.”

  She bade me wait upon her reply till the twenty-seventh of December in the year of Christ 1619.

  That day she said, “Well, Charles, I accept you to be my husband. I love you, Charles. In truth, I have loved you since first we met at dinner and you said, ‘You are very young, Mistress, to wrestle with God.’ It seemed to me that you peered through my veil into my soul and witnessed its bitter travail. You perceived my inward self and looked through mine eyes upon the world which was indifferent to my suffering. You immediately understood my perpetual struggle to reconcile myself with God’s will. I instantly loved you for your understanding heart, though in truth, I would rather be loved than understood.

  “Nonetheless, you are big and tall, Charles. All these attributes of yours commend themselves to me, and I am satisfied—at present. My mother made my father fall in love with her after they were married. She hath taught me how, and I shall work my woman’s gentle magic upon you. I shall rouse your love for me by my tenderness. Methinks, no woman hath hitherto been tender to you.”

  “There was one—my nurse—but, bidden by the Evil One, she strangled her infant and was hanged.”

  “Poor Charles! My poor Charles!”

  “What’s this world but a gilt bitter pill that the Devil forces down our throats?”

  She said, “I do not believe it. This is the world that God loves and wherein love between man and woman thrives, and likewise love between them and their children. Let us marry, Charles, and pray that God blesses our union with issue. I want a boy and girl, and, by God’s grace, the complexion of each shall assuage the pain of our mutual disfigurement. We shall rejoice in their unmarred features that they inherit from each of us: your cleft chin, perhaps, or the slight slant of mine eyes or my full lower lip, as once they were. Our babes shall shape our countenances anew and, in doing so, renew us.”

  I said, “So be it! Take off your veil. Let me kiss you.”

  Afterwards, she said, “That was my first kiss.”

  “Mine, as well.”

  “You want practice, Charles.”

  “Then let me give you another.”

  “No. You shall earn the rest. I want you to court me in the old English manner. Give me five tokens of your love in as many days.”

  • • •

  During the next five afternoons, we went walking through St. James Park. Despite the cold wind, Sarah went without her veil. The first token of my love that I gave her was my mother’s kid gloves. I told her their history and how I had covered them with kisses when I was a child.

  She said, “Then so shall I!”

  “Hath my token earned me a kiss?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Warm my lips.”

  My second token was a Geneva Bible. My third was a gold ring worth eighteen shillings; my fourth was a girdle and five red ribbons. My last token was an ivory comb that cost me twelve shillings.

  On the selfsame day, my Sarah said, “I give you this shilling, my darling Charles, as a sign that I will marry you and be your wedded wife.” At that, we kissed again, mingling our warm breaths made visible by the icy air. All in all, in that time, we kissed five times at a total cost to me of one pound, nine shillings.

  On the Sabbath following, without her veil, she accompanied me to St. Dunstan in the East, wherein we prayed with Rigdale. He wished us joy in God, many children, and years of happiness together. Then he said, “I count the days until, by God’s grace, I am with my beloved Anna and our daughter in heaven. What is death but the entrance to heaven and living out eternity as one of the Elect? God be praised, all this winter, my faith in my election hath returned! I once again relish the taste of the sweetness of the Lord’s love, the scent and savour of it.

  “I am grateful for each day allotted me upon this earth, that I may praise God in my flesh. Alas, though, not a day passes but He calls me to war with some temptation or other.”

  I said, “And me.”

  Sarah said, “Why, then, sirs, I am in good company.”

  They fell to talking about the poor. Rigdale said, “God prefers the humble poor and gives voice for their precedency. There are some of them who are saved. How horrible to think that they might live without hope of heaven for want of a preacher to open their hearts to their love of Christ. Someday, by God’s grace, I shall preach to the poor, without a licence, and gladly pay my fines. All I ask is to reveal from my preaching one elected soul concealed by the sufferings of poverty from its destiny in heaven.

  “Meanwhile, let us give the humble poor plenteous alms not only to satisfy the hunger of our brethren but to fulfill and accomplish God’s command.”

  My Sarah said, “Charles and I most heartily agree.”

  After the service, in frosty Tower Street, we were beset by eight or ten unruly beggars. It cost me two shillings to be rid of them. My Sarah said, “Why, my darling Charles! Except these warm gloves of your mother’s, those two shillings are your love tokens that please me most. You are a righteous man.”

  “Aye,” said Rigdale. “And one of the Elect, Mistress, I am confident of it.”

  “I too am sure of it,” said she.

  I said, “At this instant, God’s love is washing over me again, Zachariah, just as you said it would. My faith in my salvation hath immersed my heart. The world is crystalline! God’s love shines through it. My soul hath never before known this sweet peace! I cannot describe the pleasure I feel! No, not pleasure—is there no word that can describe what I feel? Fie! Is there not a word for this?”

  Zachariah said, “Be silent, friend! Be silent. Let your silence speak for you.”

  I said, “Look! Look you into my Sarah’s luminous eyes! Therein you can see what I feel.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I too am saved. I am sure of it.”

  I said, “That makes the three of us. Saved! Saved! By the grace of God, we are all of us saved! Praise Him! Let us thank Christ, who hath given us a moment together of surety and bliss—for want of a word unknown to me.”

  It began to snow; Sarah caught some flakes on her tongue. She said, “Bliss!”

  • • •

  Appletree and I had a conference in his chambers, wherein we signed the marriage contract, with free consent on both sides. As a dowry, he presented me with a draft on the goldsmith, John Loop, for two hundred pounds, which I was free to convert to coin or invest with Loop at five percent interest for future use. At his suggestion, I decided to invest it with Loop. He said, “I tried to get you eight percent, but Loop is as mean as a Jew.”

  I thanked Appletree profusely for his generosity. He said, “If, God forbid, Sarah should die before you, whatever money remains shall, according to our contract, be returned to me in one year. You have a considerable fortune there, Charles. Use it wisely. I propose you rent a house, live therein, and work in the front chamber.”

  “But at what, sir? At what? What am I capable of doing?”

  “Why, being a conscientious scrivener! Hire two or three clerks. I will send you work aplenty and recommend you to my attorney friends. You should make a good living.”

  “A scrivener!”

  “Do you not enj
oy your work?”

  “I do, sir. Oh, I do.”

  “I should find it tedious.”

  We dined at the fashionable Sign of the Bell in Kings Street with Mistress Appletree, her spaniel that licked the matron’s greasy lips, and my Sarah, who said, “Thank you, Father, thank you for everything.”

  “Sarah, do me this service. Henceforth, wear my magical ring. I know you do not believe in its power but wear it to please me.”

  “I will, Father.”

  It proved too big for her slim fingers, so she wore it upon her right thumb. I said, “Nay, not there, my sweet. You are a freeborn Englishwoman! As I remember, thumb rings were worn by Roman slaves.”

  “Then my thumb is the appropriate place for me to wear it, for look you, sir, I am henceforth your humble slave. How now! My nails want paring!”

  I poured me another cup of sack and asked, “Are thy nails good and sharp?”

  “Like a cat’s.”

  “Then come, puss, and scratch my itchy back.”

  “Ubi, domine?”

  “In the middle. No, lower down. There! Ah! Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.”

  Her tipsy parents applauded; the spaniel barked. But what I now remember best is the portent from Providence in my Sarah’s mention of paring her nails.

  She never wore her veil again; I grew a beard.

  We were betrothed in St. Martin in the Fields on the fifteenth of April in the year of Christ 1619. When I promised to take her to be my betrothed wife in time convenient, Appletree said, “The time convenient shall be five months hence, on my birthday, which is the fifth of August.”

  Sarah said to me, “I was going along in the street this morning, coming to church, when on a sudden a voice called, “See here, mistress, fine cobweb lawn, good cambric, or fair bonelace,” and I thought of us in the linen shop. I bought two ells of cambric, I remember, and I recall the drooping white feather in your hat. Charles, have you not noticed? Your feather droops like an ass’s ear. And the sleeves of your suit are too short. Never mind. I shall find you a goodly tailor, my love, and a haberdasher, too. You also need new shoes.”