By Adler Schultz
Utensils commonly used by medieval writers after the large-scale phasing out of reed pens
Whether it's a warm greeting over the phone from a grandparent or a flirtatious text between spouses, humans have relentlessly developed means to transmute our feelings into words that can be sent across an unfathomably long distance in a matter of seconds. Perhaps due to the effortlessness of our modern communication, it feels as though the care for detail and appreciation for deep emotion has left the world of intimate correspondence – especially when compared to the distant past of the medieval world.
Scribing instruments were valuable, writing was a more exclusive skill, and correspondence times were incredibly lengthy – the perfect environment for ‘qualified’ people to dominate the space of intimate writing, using their elevated academic skills to produce many of the wondrous works that have become staples in both literary-artistic and social history.
While we can learn a lot from the other writings of ‘qualified’ academics, such as on the deeds of kings, or the stories they inspire, there is something charming and chaste about these types of writings meant to be under a higher level of privacy. To a greater extent, they lay bare the true feelings of the involved individuals, allowing them to ignore the social stigmas and speak more openly with their intimate pair.
Thankfully, many manuscripts of these private correspondences were immortalized in their print and circulated throughout academic communities to glean into the social customs, history, and interpersonal relationships of the past. To set a tasteful introduction, two prominent representatives exemplify the appeal and academic relevancy of this medium – those being: the Letters of Abelard and Héloïse and the Liber Manualis.
Among the most famous of medieval correspondences are the Letters of Abelard and Héloïse, written in 12th-century France. Exchanged between Peter Abelard – a philosopher and theologian, who at the time was a cloistered monk – and Héloïse d’Argenteuil – a French nun, and eventual prelate nullius of the Catholic Church, these letters explore the relationship itself held between the two as well as the complex context surrounding it.
With the ability to ‘peek behind closed doors’ and read their personal conversations, we are able to read their philosophies and the application of those philosophies in a more intimate setting. Through the many steps of their communication, we learn more than just their fairly well-circulated philosophical work, but also general gender roles in their time and place and individual accounts of cloistered life through the discussions of their personal lives as a monk and abbess.
Through the story of Abelard’s castration at the hands of Héloïse’s uncle and the suffering in social status and availability of future occupation for the victim, a piece of the medieval understanding of masculinity and the value of men is brought into light at a personal level. While philosophers or greater society can provide written doctrines and standards, without personal accounts of the effects of these rules and social norms it is hard to get a proper understanding of what they truly entail. Through their conversations, we can pick up on small details that help us build upon our understanding of the medieval world in a way that would otherwise be most likely lost to history.
On the side of Héloïse, we learn so much about the hidden characteristics of individuals through the blatant honesty that intimate pairs may have. She says to Abelard –“Men judge me praiseworthy, but I am guilty before God; from His all-seeing eye nothing is hidden, and He views through all their windings the secrets of the heart.”– without fear of having her outward image blown, since it is stated in a state of secrecy. However, since we have access to these records of honesty, it provides a capacity for the shaping of history to be based not only on outward appearances but the content of a person's character when the mind is laid bare.
Continuing with educated, contemporary women in writing, Dhuoda provides an excellent testimony of her own maternal love through the Liber Manualis.
The Liber Manualis was written between 841 and 843 AD in Septimania (modernly, southern France) in apparent response to her son, William, being taken to the court of Charles the Bald as a hostage. This political hostage-taking was supposedly done in order to secure his father’s, Bernard of Septimania, allegiance to the ongoing power struggle between the sons of Louis the Pious.
Given the purpose of his presence in the court, if William was to make missteps or his father were to betray the trust of Charles the Bald, his life would be at the mercy of his detainer. Acting as a lifeline, Dhuoda meticulously crafts a sort of survival guide for her son, often described as a mirror1 by relevant academics, in order to guide him in the mortal body and immortal soul.
Through her letter, we are able to glean the writing prowess that could be held by an educated woman of her time. While she was likely an exception rather than the standard, it works to deconstruct biased and superficial views on the abilities of women in pre-modern history, even those in the 9th century. Her clever usage of acrostic poem format to aid her son in memorization of key points that are relevant to his survival and success in court as well as her frequent usage of non-literal writing, such as through biblical imagery is a testament to the loving effort she puts forth into her son. Moreover, despite these advanced writing techniques, she stays humble before God as a central point of her style of authorship. These customs help us to understand her as an individual as well as illuminate the contributions of her husband and son at a critical junction in European history.
“My son, my firstborn son – you will have other teachers to present you with works of fuller and richer usefulness, but not anyone like me, your mother, whose heart burns on your behalf.”. Despite her clarity of writing, broad range of academic and emotional topics, and firm stature in ethos as both a well-educated woman and William’s mother, Dhuoda’s humility bursts forth almost incessantly, priding herself only on her love for her son.
Through this attribute, all manners of conjectures can be drawn on her character as well as passive teaching on courtly manners. Though it may not be obvious when reading at the surface level, the beauty of these manuscripts is that they carry the desires of the person writing as an individual more than just an academic source with a set writing style format or rigid expected diction. Because of this, a more in-depth exploration of even this small detail can lead the way to personal theories that can be compared and contrasted with other available information to complete a puzzle, adding color to figures of the distant past.
For instance, one could speculate that Dhuoda is writing in a way that is meant to normalize the format of humility that she later explores in her work in William’s mind, helping him adjust to reading – and thereby using – humble speech that would be beneficial to his survival in court. Though entirely unconfirmable, it would inform the modern reader more about Dhuoda’s intellect, adding another strategy used even in the modern day to her already impressive repertoire.
The beauty of these letters is that unexpected academic approaches can be taken using them as a basis. For instance, given Dhuoda’s extensive level and range of education, we can gain a basic understanding of the types of subjects an educated woman of her time and place would experience through the knowledge that she displays. By doing this with other comparable writers, we can better understand the structure and importance of (upper-class) women’s education which is hardly a central theme of the letter.
The ability to draw lines where there were once empty spaces in knowledge, both intimate and large-scale is a testament to the importance of these types of writings. They are filled with information, partially due to the long time frame of correspondence and the value of materials and transport, and may occasionally lay bare the personal thoughts of the writer, even those perhaps not fit to lay bare to the greater public.
When all is said and done, letters are a wonderful preservation of the past. Unfortunately, by no means should individual philosophies be made to define the large-scale mindset of society at that time when dealing with these intimate letters.
For instance, Héloïse held low personal regard for the institution of marriage and considered it to be less enticing to be a wife than a concubine or mistress, but that does not speak for the general population of France. Dhuoda held an impressive education and array of instructional techniques, but this same standard cannot be applied to every woman of a higher station in the medieval world. Instead, these letters can be better understood as puzzle pieces, helping to build a more complete picture of the diverse views held by pockets of the population or understand the individual author of the piece in question.
1 As in Specula Principum/Mirrors for Princes
Sources:
Scribe Instruments: Stanford & Corpus Christi
Information for Liber Manualis location and dates (of writing): University of Surrey
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