Anne, however, was a young girl during an era when her most important teacher was supposed to be her mother. Naturally, Dorothy found it difficult to comprehend her daughter’s obsession with literature. Although she supported Anne’s studies because they had her husband’s sanction, she emphasized that household duties must come first. Still, when Anne had fully recovered her strength, Dorothy seems to have allowed her to spend a few hours a day away from domestic chores, not only to study with the noble family’s tutor, but also to read with her father. By the time Anne was ten or eleven years old, it had become clear that Dudley had anointed his eldest daughter as his favorite, even over Samuel. As the years passed, father and daughter established an intimate bond that excluded the rest of the family. Together they moved beyond the English historians and tackled the classics available in translation: Homer, Aristotle, Hesiod, Xenophon, Pliny, Virgil, Seneca, Ovid, Thucydides, and Plutarch, while continuing to study Scripture and the religious writings that were the more customary texts for literate Puritans.
Their closeness was accepted by everyone except Anne’s younger sister Sarah, who suffered from the loss of her father’s attention. Patience and Mercy were content to follow in their mother’s footsteps, but Sarah, like Anne, resembled Dudley—too restless and passionate to be confined exclusively to her feminine role and religious duties. The time would come when the entire family would have to endure the results of Dudley’s neglect of Sarah, but as it was, Dudley always did exactly as he pleased no matter the cost to his loved ones. Sarah would have to make do with the crumbs she received from her father, and Anne would have to bear the brunt of her younger sister’s jealousy and anger throughout both their lives.
At some point during their long hours closeted in his study, Dudley must have taken the revolutionary step of teaching his gifted daughter to compose verse. But before she could even begin to compose poetry, Anne would have to master the mechanical act of writing, a rare undertaking for a ten-year-old girl of this time. In fact, there were really two kinds of literacy during this period. Most Puritan women could read, since everyone wanted them to be able to study Scripture for themselves, but fewer could actually shape their own letters.11 Fiercely determined, Anne set herself the task of learning to use a pen. Her father made the alphabet look deceptively easy. When he dipped his pen in the ink, ls and rs, entire sentences, even poems, appeared in rotund and stately splendor, as if by divine grace. But her first attempts with a quill were not as graceful, and this was a blow to her dignity. Eventually, though, the figures she traced would become elegant, accurate, and, best of all, easy to read.
Of course, Dudley had no interest in fomenting any sort of feminist rebellion on Anne’s part. With the support of the dowager countess, an excellent example of a writing woman whose wits had not become addled through her intellectual exertions, Dudley told Anne that writing and Christianity went hand in hand, that the poet’s job was not simply to invent a line of pentameter but to consider how best to serve God while reading and composing. In fact, too much concern for flourish and romance, he warned, would lead poet and reader astray; the temptation to overadorn one’s verse must be avoided. One Puritan minister whom Dudley particularly admired wrote: “The task of true art is to conceal art.”12 Anne quickly learned, therefore, that poetry reading and writing should not be simple intellectual or emotional acts. Rather, they should be like ladders to God, like prayers.
Chapter Four
A Man of Exemplary Discretion and Fidelity
WHEN DUDLEY DECIDED to invite a young man named Simon Bradstreet to join his household in 1622, no one could anticipate the impact this would have on the family, and especially on ten-year-old Anne. Simon, who was fresh from Cambridge, was to serve as Dudley’s new assistant, since after two years of managing the earl and his affairs on his own, Thomas Dudley was savvy enough to understand that he needed help. Although he was loath to give up control of the estate, he had found he had less and less time to spend on reading, studying the Bible, writing his own poetry, and educating his favored scholarly daughter. Theophilus’s financial situation had improved steadily—thanks to Dudley’s diligent efforts—and now he could afford to pay for more help managing his properties. Simon was hired, therefore, and the Dudley children began to count the days until his arrival. It was, after all, a momentous event: A young man, whom they had never met, would be arriving in their midst. He would lay claims on their father as his master and their mother as his own, and would even regard them as his surrogate sisters and brother.
This rather odd adoption process was fully in accordance with both English custom and Puritan theology, which held that it was the duty of the father of a household to guard the spiritual well-being as well as the physical health and safety of all of those who slept under his roof, including servants, friends, apprentices, and guests. A solid family unit was the most important building block for creating a Christian society, or so Cotton and the other ministers believed, and English law supported them. Dudley, therefore, became liable for Simon’s behavior and responsible for all aspects of the young man’s care the moment he walked in the door.
Of the Dudley children, Anne and Samuel would have been the most interested in Simon’s arrival. Samuel hoped that he would soon be attending Emmanuel College, from which Simon had just graduated. As for Anne, it would be useful if this ready-made older brother turned out to be learned and wise. Perhaps he would join her father and Cotton in guiding her exploration of her faith.
Neither child was to be disappointed. When Simon arrived at Sempringham, the young Dudleys turned out to meet a relaxed, ruddy-cheeked fellow unlike any man they had ever encountered. Their own irascible father rarely laughed and was more likely to lose his temper than tell a joke. Simon, on the other hand, was affable and eager, loved good food, and found the world a generally pleasant place to live. His genial attitude made him easy to like, though, thankfully, from the Dudley parents’ perspective, he never allowed his good-natured bonhomie to overreach the decorous standards of a good Puritan gentleman.
Simon had been well trained not only in proper manners—he never would have dreamed of disobeying the precepts of his new master—but in the political and theological concerns that preoccupied Puritan leaders. Most important, he had been taught to believe that the reformation of the English church was his duty as a God-fearing individual. A vicar and a devout man in his own right, Simon’s father had died suddenly when the boy was only fifteen, but not before he had arranged for Simon to study with the premier reformed divines at Emmanuel College. With no siblings, and having lost his mother many years earlier, the young Simon was bereft, but the Puritan faith and community filled the chasm left in the boy’s life, just as it had for Dudley many years earlier.
At Emmanuel, the center of Puritan foment in England, Simon quickly learned that English dissent was in more trouble than he had ever suspected. His tutors were under constant attack from the king’s bishops, and Simon was instructed to believe that Anglicans and Catholics, who in Puritan eyes were practically the same entity, were not just misguided but were evil persecutors.
From a theological standpoint, the young man’s mentors at Cambridge preached the same tenets as Anne had learned from Cotton. This was not a coincidence. Many of Simon’s teachers had been taught by the famous minister when Cotton had been a tutor at Emmanuel. The older ones had attended college with the great man when he had been the most brilliant undergraduate of their generation. At their hands, Simon learned the Puritan premise that King James was leading the country toward destruction and that the king’s officials were miscreants.
A position at Sempringham was a coup for Simon, since Thomas Dudley was regarded as one of the most virtuous Puritan civic leaders in Lincolnshire. But once he finally entered the doors of the manor, the young Puritan must have been overwhelmed by the sheer size of the burgeoning Dudley family. Dorothy had given birth to her last child, Mercy, soon after their arrival in Sempringham, and the child’s name
clearly expressed the beleaguered wife’s sentiments on at last being able to settle into their new home. It had been a long road to the manor.
With three young daughters under the age of ten, the house was full of more activity and chatter than Simon had ever experienced, and certainly many more females. His old life had been rather spartan, having consisted largely of the companionship of men, and women were a phenomenon that must have taken him some time to get used to. From all accounts, however, the demands of the toddler, Mercy; the prattle of Sarah and Patience; and the bustling of female servants did not dismay Simon; instead the busy swarm of women and girls seems to have delighted him, since he would one day create just such a household for himself.
Even if he started off on the right foot with the children and Dorothy, Simon still had to pass the standards of the ramrod-straight Dudley. Since Dudley already approved of Simon’s theology and politics, this was less of a challenge than it at first appeared. The older man could immediately see that he had gained a hardworking, admiring youth who would help ease the burdens of being the earl’s overseer. Simon was thoughtful, smart, patient, and in contrast to Dudley, had a pleasant way with people. It also helped that Simon and Dudley were from the same class background. Both men were of the rising middle class, although Dudley may have thought of himself as possessing closer ties to the aristocracy. For Dudley, the similarity in their background made nineteen-year-old Simon a far more congenial and compliant student than Theophilus. Simon was well behaved, obedient, and reverential, while the impulsive Theophilus was arrogant, never listened to advice, and was always on the verge of trouble, since he “was wont to be very quick in his notions.”1
After watching Dudley rein in the impulsive young nobleman, browbeat the tenant farmers into paying rent, and levy fines from those who strayed from manorial law, Simon started to absorb the basic tenets of good stewardship. Managing an estate like Sempringham was like running a small town. You were the magistrate, judge, tax collector, administrator, and financial planner all at once. Dudley even had the right to interfere in tenants’ family matters: For example, those who allowed their daughters to marry someone outside the lord’s estates or who sent their younger sons away from the earl’s service were punished with a fine. None of the older man’s hardheaded tactics bothered Simon. Instead he regarded Dudley’s rigidity as integrity and admired his legal experience as well as his business acumen. As a result, it did not take long for the young man to become Dudley’s devoted disciple. Like Anne, he would prove to be fervent in his loyalty for the rest of his life.
Once the two men had established their working relationship, Dudley, with his typical zeal, made it his business to ensure that Simon’s soul was in good health. The young man should attend church, listen to the conversation and counsel of the leading Puritans who came frequently to Sempringham, and participate in the Dudley family’s religious rituals, from daily prayers to theological discussions and meditations on readings from Scripture, whether they happened at the dinner table or late at night next to the fire.
Simon had little choice but to comply with this spiritual regimen, not that he minded. These sorts of “godly” activity must have reminded him of both his father and his college days. In the evening, after their work was completed, Dudley led the family’s talk by analyzing sermons they had heard, reading from various psalms, and of course, condemning the wrongdoings of the king and his bishops. For example, the Puritans were shocked by the recent publication of the king’s Book of Sport (1618), in which James dismissed the Puritans’ sober observance of the Sabbath and instead touted revelry, games, and drinking. This was a slap in the face for dissenters everywhere, although the king argued that he simply wanted his subjects to enjoy themselves after a week of drudgery. To Anne and her family, the Sabbath was a crucial ordinance of their God and certainly not a time for dashing after bowls on the common or for drunken cavorting.
Although Samuel and Anne were encouraged by their father to contribute their thoughts, it was with the reverence proper in children. On the other hand, Simon, while always deferential to his master, never gave any evidence of being afraid of Dudley. He chimed in with his own ideas, and as they listened, Samuel must have gotten his first taste of what college would be like, while Anne learned to admire Simon’s steadiness in the face of Dudley’s impassioned arguments.
Unusual though it was to include a girl in such exchanges, the times were extraordinary, Dudley felt, and he wanted his exceptional daughter to sharpen her wits for the challenges he believed lay ahead. If the king continued to wage war on the Puritans, Anne must learn to strike back, even if the only weapon she could use was her mind.
Thus Anne found herself in a startling—and even thrilling—new situation. She had never spent so many hours with a young man who came from outside her immediate network of family and friends, and Simon was gentle, handsome, wise, and kind. As for Simon, it is unlikely he had ever known such an intelligent, sensitive young girl, let alone one so well versed in Scripture, politics, and history. And so, before long, a delicate bond grew between the two young people. Anne turned to Simon for guidance in her spiritual travails, and Simon talked to her about his worries and ambitions.2
When Simon first arrived at the manor, Anne was still considered a child, and this allowed their relationship to flourish without any apparent romantic complications or any danger of impropriety. For the truly devout Puritan like Anne and Simon, there were many daily events to discuss in order to dissect their possible divine meanings. Perhaps a sudden thunderstorm was God’s rage, or slow-churning butter was evidence of the family’s sinful condition, or a severe head cold was punishment for misdeeds.
The dark-paneled rooms of the estate lent themselves to the contemplation of darker thoughts as well. Despite her youth, Anne had been instructed by her mentors to cry out: “Lord search me and try me, see what ways of wickedness are in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”3 She never complained about these spiritual exercises, but it was difficult to live with this insistent dread of damnation.
As the months passed, Anne would grow to feel that without Simon near, she was “oppressed” and plunged into “a Chaos blacker than the first.” In the years to come, she would describe not only how much she suffered from bouts of paralyzing spiritual anguish but also how much she relied on Simon to comfort her. He was her “sun,” the man who illuminated her darkness, which seemed to descend all too frequently.4 To Simon the girl’s battles with misery marked her as an especially saintly individual, since Puritans believed that “being cast down” signaled a deepening of convictions on the part of the sufferer.
Happily, Anne and Simon did not have the leisure to spend all of their time repining over their spiritual condition. Living together in such close quarters, the two young people had many opportunities for other kinds of conversation; whether they were reading, eating, chatting, praying, walking, journeying to Boston, or laughing over the antics of Sarah or baby Mercy, the two young people were often together.
Although during these early years, Simon probably regarded Anne as nothing more than a dear sister, it is certainly possible he also regarded her as a prospective marriage partner. But he did nothing to alarm her and, it seems, took no action to further this plan. Eleven-year-old Anne was still too young to think much about the attractions of the opposite sex. The year after Simon had arrived in Sempringham, however, she witnessed a romantic drama that played itself out in the halls of the estate, its urgency driving home how crucial it was to find the right husband, since one’s future, and one’s standing in the community and the church, all hinged upon this terrible decision. As Anne would reflect later in life, getting married “changed [a woman’s] condition” entirely.5
IN 1620 OR SO, the earl’s nineteen-year-old sister, Arbella, had become an enthusiastic follower of Cotton and other dissenting ministers. Like her mother, this young woman was a single-minded and courageous advocate for her beliefs, and what she desired was a drastic
change for England and the English church. But no young woman, regardless of her determination or her aristocratic pedigree, could sway the royal authorities who stubbornly resisted all attempts to modify the Anglican Church. Even Arbella’s brother and his prominent Puritan friends were failing to make any inroads on King James’s policies.
The situation took a promising turn, however, when Arbella encountered a young man named Isaac Johnson, a prominent Puritan whom Dudley and Theophilus had invited to visit Sempringham in 1622. Johnson seemed to combine all the elements they needed to render the dream of departure a reality, should the political climate for Puritans continue to worsen. Johnson shared Arbella’s passion for cleansing the English church of corruption and was excited about the idea of establishing a colony with other like-minded souls. An intelligent, thoughtful clergyman, Johnson was extremely wealthy and had enough resources to help fund such an enterprise. Conveniently, he was also a bachelor on the lookout for an appropriate wife.
Clearly, this was the right man for the idealistic Arbella, but Johnson was a commoner and Arbella was noble. They should find partners from inside their own social class, according to most people’s thinking. Both young persons, however, had an incentive to break the rules. Although Dudley had helped Theophilus clean up the debts his father had left behind, Arbella was far from being a rich woman, and a wealthy husband like Johnson would help her put all her plans into action. As for Johnson, his family stood to gain from a potential connection to nobility, and he seems to have been captivated by Arbella’s adventurous spirit. And so the two immediately became engaged, apparently untroubled by the scandal this might cause.
Mistress Bradstreet Page 5