Simon Forman was born at Quidhampton in Wiltshire. His grandfather had been governor of Wilton Abbey but, with the suppression of the Monasteries, was robbed of that post and given inferior employment about the Park.
One of Simon’s early occupations was to compile a genealogical tree which, he insisted, revealed that the Formans were a family of some gentility and that several of his forbears had been knights.
His pride had been deeply wounded in his childhood, for poverty was humiliating to one who was certain that he possessed unusual powers. But he never lost sight of the need for education, and when William Riddout, an ex-cobbler turned clergyman who had fled from Salisbury on account of the plague, came to live near the Forman family, Simon was allowed to take lessons with him.
Simon’s father had the same respect for learning as his son, and had in fact imbued Simon with this desire to improve himself; and when it seemed that Riddout could teach him no more, Simon was sent to a free school in Salisbury.
He had suffered there under a master named Bowle, who had beaten him severely on more than one occasion, so under him Simon lost a little of his desire for learning; but he was a sharp lad and managed to elude whippings more successfully than his fellow students.
Simon was pleased when his father decided to take him from this school and put him into the care of a Canon of Salisbury Cathedral. This man, whose name was Minterne, lived very austerely, and life in his household was sheer misery. There was never enough to eat and in winter the cold was almost unbearable.
Canon Minterne did not believe in self-indulgence and would not have coal in the house, although he did permit a little wood to be used—but not for burning. “Exercise,” he told Simon, “brings more comfort to the body than sitting over fires. If you are cold, boy, do as I do. Take these faggots and carry them up to the top of the house at great speed. When you have reached the top, come down again; repeat this until you are warm. That is the way to enjoy comfort in cold weather.”
The boy had been sorry for himself during his stay in the Canon’s house; but he had to suffer greater misery than that of austere living when his father had died and his mother, harassed by poverty, declared that she had not patience with a boy wasting his time on learning, and Simon must earn his keep now.
What humiliation! He, Simon Forman, the possessor of special powers, to be apprenticed to a dealer of Salisbury; moreover one with a wife who thought it her right to lay about her husband’s apprentices with a stick when the mood took her. He had no intention of giving up his dream of becoming a scholar though, and found a means of doing this. Lodging in the house of his master was a schoolboy, and Simon cajoled this boy into teaching him by night all that he had learned by day.
When he considered himself sufficiently learned to teach others, he ran away from the merchant’s house and became a schoolmaster; he then had a stroke of luck. He made the acquaintance of two lighthearted young men who were studying at Oxford—or pretending to. They needed a servant. This gave Simon his opportunity. While looking after these young men, helping them in their courtship of a certain lady (they were both her suitors, which simplified matters) Simon was able to study at the university—a great asset for future use, even though circumstances prevented his attaining his degree.
He took several small posts at schools after that and, believing that there was more money and prestige to be won by using what he called his miraculous powers than by teaching, he decided to make a career for himself. He studied astrology and medicine and had certain success. It was inevitable though that some should consider him a quack, and he was brought to court to answer a charge of quackery.
When he was bound over on an injunction to cease his practices he went abroad for a while, and on his return set up as a doctor and astrologer in Lambeth. That was in the year 1583. There had been occasions when complaints were made against him, and he was imprisoned for a while; but his reputation was growing; and many wealthy people were coming to him and recommending him to their friends.
Although he was nearly sixty, he was as vital as he had been in his youth; he lived comfortably with several servants to attend to him. The females among them shared his bed whenever he had the fancy to invite them to, which was often—a fact which his wife had found necessary to accept. He was a man who had always been very fond of women—his clientele was largely made up of this sex—and it was a great pleasure to him to hear of their love affairs, their need to attract this lover, or rid themselves of that. He enjoyed a vicarious delight, of which they were not aware, as they sat in this darkened room and allowed him to peer into the secret places of their minds.
It was remembered in some of the poorer districts of London that during times of plague he had come where no other doctor had ventured, and that his remedies had saved many lives. So that he had his followers among the poor as well as the rich.
The authorities might despise him, and from time to time bring him before the justices. They might call him a charlatan and a quack with little knowledge of medicine. Simon would laugh.
“I look to the stars,” he retorted. “They tell me all I want to know about disease.”
He was vain and longed for the approbation of the world, and like most men of his trade he made long and frequent experiments in search of the philosopher’s stone; and because now and then his prophecies came true, like many of his kind and those who followed him, he remembered such occasions and conveniently forgot the many times he failed.
“I came to my present position the hard way,” he often told one of the maids whose young bodies kept him warm at night, “and that is the best way, my dear; for when a man has experienced hardship and opposition on his long climb upward he is ready for any contingency which presents itself.”
Now a rather intriguing contingency was about to present itself. Frances Howard, Countess of Essex, was on her way to see him.
Frances was overawed by the character of the room into which she was ushered. She was even more impressed by the man in his long black robes—decorated with colorful cabalistic signs—which gave a glimpse of blood-red lining as he moved toward her.
“Do not be afraid, my daughter,” he said.
“I am not afraid,” answered Frances.
“Call him ‘Father,’” whispered Anne Turner.
And strangely enough, so impressed was Frances that she did.
Jennet remained standing by the door, her eyes wide with wonderment.
“Be seated,” said Simon Forman.
Frances sat in the chair which was offered her; and Simon placed a crystal ball in her hands. Then with long bony fingers he himself threw back her hood.
Her beauty was startling in this dark room. Even Simon was astonished. His tongue licked his lips. What kind of man is this who needs to be wooed by such a beauty? he asked himself.
His expert eye saw there was more than beauty to this girl. Fire, passion, desire … and all directed toward one who was not eager for it.
He could bless his daughter Anne for bringing her to him.
He rubbed his hands together. Now he was going to uncover a spicy strip of Court scandal. He would have the pleasure of brooding on that—and counting the money it would bring him. This one could be considerably milched, he doubted not, for she was young, inexperienced and very eager in her desires.
“My daughter,” he said, “tell me all as clearly as you can.”
So Frances once more told of the unfairness of her marriage, of her dislike for her husband, of her love of another; and how it was imperative to her happiness that she be rescued from a position which was intolerable to her.