23. Crossing into the Middle Ages 023

Anthony Scott knew right after that Halloween banquet that his female student was not the usual timid and meek young lady. More than just courage, she evidently possessed considerable eloquence—though this had little to do with teaching itself. A bold debater might not be foolish, but pride could hinder one's ability to learn.

Thus, during the first class, he tested Louisa’s level.

Indeed, he was only responsible for teaching Louisa the language, script, and grammar of the Eastern Roman Empire, but if her cultural foundation was too weak, it would affect the pace of instruction. Besides, he was not starting from scratch… After all, enlightening a scholar of her caliber was unnecessary.

On the other hand, Louisa did not oppose having an additional tutor. Life in the Middle Ages was dull, especially for noblewomen; aside from daily prayers repeated several times, there was little to occupy their time. This was similar to ancient Chinese women, for whom the only commendable pastime might be needlework.

Beyond that, even reading was a contentious matter. Some believed that noblewomen making literary achievements was positive, while others thought women should not even be literate, as it could lead them astray—such as reading love letters written by men, which might increase the risk of corruption. Of course, such extreme views were not mainstream even in the male-dominated Middle Ages.

This resembled the Chinese saying, “A woman’s virtue lies in her lack of talent,” but among the true nobility, it did not mean illiteracy. A typical example is Li Wan from "Dream of the Red Chamber," who was no literary genius but could read and write and had thoroughly studied works like the “Rules for Women” and “Biographies of Exemplary Women.”

Therefore, learning from a tutor was itself a pleasant diversion. Given the bleak environment, even studying was a form of entertainment.

“Miss Louisa, have you read the Bible through?” After introductions and some small talk, Anthony cautiously posed his first question.

This was no mere formality. Although religion was nearly universal at the time, this was not the era of the Protestant Reformation! People had neither the right nor the ability to interpret the Bible themselves; only the clergy could. If ordinary believers were “lambs,” then the clergy were the “shepherds.”

Hence, it was unsurprising that most faithful never read the Bible in their lifetimes. Those who had were undoubtedly proficient in Latin, as the Bible was primarily in Latin then.

Noblewomen of the Middle Ages were often pictured clutching a Bible, never putting it down, but the reality was that they usually focused on the Psalms. Few had read the entire scripture.

“Yes, sir,” Louisa replied naturally. “I spent ten years at the Fontro Convent, where I learned Latin and read the Bible five times through. As for some important passages, I haven’t counted.”

Convents often had a reputation for valuing education, and nunneries similarly so, though their teaching quality was generally inferior to monasteries. However, this depended on the nunnery’s tradition and the abbess’s scholarly level. A nunnery with a strong academic atmosphere and a learned abbess could rival renowned monasteries.

Fontro Convent was such a place; otherwise, the Balzac family would not have habitually sent their female members there.

Having asked this fundamental question, Anthony felt reassured to inquire further. From his investigations, Louisa had evidently received a comprehensive liberal arts education by contemporary standards.

Liberal arts education was divided into two stages: first, the “trivium” — grammar, rhetoric, and logic (all in Latin). Completing these meant one was literate in Latin, able to read, write, and converse. Next came the “quadrivium” — arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy. Mastering these elevated one to the intellectual class.

Though Anthony doubted that Louisa, so young, had fully completed this education or achieved a high level, perhaps due to her gender and the less rigorous teaching at Fontro, she should at least have some foundation in all subjects.

Louisa had spent the past year or so at the Brudo court studying the language and script of the Eastern Roman Empire under a court minstrel—who, like most minstrels at court, was usually a noble’s younger son without inheritance rights.

This learning was hardly systematic, and given the short duration, Anthony found her final level unremarkable. Yet this was unimportant; to reach this level in a year indicated she was intelligent and had a decent attitude toward study. With that assurance, he looked forward to teaching.

Soon after Louisa happily embarked on her “foreign language” studies, a few more students joined. First, several young knights serving at the Brudo court, intrigued by the Eastern Roman language, asked the count to audit the class.

Then came Louisa’s half-sister Eva. Though uninterested in learning and with the countess seeing little use in the Eastern Roman language, since the count had Louisa study it, Eva could not be left behind, so she was enrolled as well.

This attitude was essentially “If others have it, so must I,” regardless of the subject.

Anthony cared little about extra students; one sheep or ten were the same to him. He remembered clearly that the count had invited him specifically to teach Louisa. The others were auditors, and unless exceptionally diligent and to his liking, he would teach but not pay them much attention.

As the “foreign language” lessons progressed, Anthony quickly realized that his sole official student was indeed capable.

Her language acquisition skills were not exceptional, and intelligence alone could not speed her progress. However, her attitude was excellent: serious, proactive, and once she understood something, she made no mistakes thereafter. For ordinary students, Anthony might prefer a “genius,” but for tutoring a noble child on assignment, such a student was preferable.

Geniuses had their quirks, and noble birth often amplified these, making them harder to teach.

Compared to Louisa, Eva was a far “lazier” student. Not that this was her fault; she hadn’t chosen to study. Rather than learning a “foreign language,” she preferred to study the court’s etiquette, which, though dull, was at least useful to display a noblewoman’s demeanor.

“...Women should be like this: casting nets everywhere to catch all men.”

Noble girls’ daily lives were not solely study; more often, women at court gathered around the countess to engage in various activities. For instance, weaving, embroidery, or adding lace to sumptuous garments while maidens recited poetry aloud and played instruments. The most popular poem at the time was “The Romance of the Rose.”

“Because, since she does not know from whom she may gain benefit, she should hook all men, so that at least one will finally be caught.”

Louisa listened to the poetry while embroidering and could not help but smile—this poem’s popularity was understandable. This passage, spoken from the perspective of an old woman advising young women on how to adorn themselves and comport, ultimately concluded that the goal was to “catch at least one.”

This was clearly at odds with the era’s moral exhortations for young women to be chaste, meek, and passive, but it conformed to “human nature.”

From a modern ethical viewpoint, it seemed manipulative, like a fisherwoman tending her nets. Yet given the harsh expectations placed on women then, such behavior was understandable. Their entire happiness hinged on this; thus, employing cunning was justifiable.

This showed that no matter how strict the “ladies’ teachings,” theory and practice diverged. This was true in both China and the West.

“Oh, what a charming song,” the countess said, releasing her embroidery to look up. “I don’t know who wrote it, but it truly captures the nature of love… Let’s stop here for today. Eva, Louisa, please delight us with music.”

Thus, Louisa and Eva sent a maiden to fetch their instruments. Eva played a small harp she could hold in her arms, while Louisa chose a lute. The harp was almost the default instrument for noblewomen at the time; the lute was less common, its popularity rising only during the Renaissance, but still considered mainstream.

Eva played first, a typical medieval piece—graceful, ethereal, pastoral, polyphonic, and improvised. Louisa liked the musical style of the era but found it monotonous after hearing it repeatedly, as most compositions sounded similar.

Louisa followed with a rendition of the well-known English folk song “Greensleeves.”

Aside from “cultural subjects,” noblewomen’s education included religion, needlework, morals, etiquette, and arts centered on music. Poets extolled noble ladies and maidens as “gifted singers and dancers” and “masters of melody.” Indeed, many were skilled musicians, able to sing and play at least one or two instruments.

Dance was more questionable; religion disapproved, so even if they knew some dances, these were seldom publicly acknowledged.

Louisa’s playing was already among the best for noblewomen of her time, earning unanimous praise. Though Eva’s performance had been similarly applauded, everyone knew she was far less skilled.

Louisa considered it normal to surpass Eva by two years’ experience. However, the countess thought otherwise, as did others familiar with her. The countess took great pride in her own musical accomplishments, and court poets composed verses celebrating the lady of the court’s musical expertise.

Consequently, she was strict about Eva’s musical education. Having Louisa and Eva perform together was intended to use Louisa as a stepping stone for Eva. When things did not go as hoped, the countess was naturally displeased.