The Hidden Scribe

The candlelight flickered as I tried to focus on the miniature.

The monastery was enveloped in silence, with only a few coughs or the creak of a chair, while the monks hunched over their desks, were busy reproducing the manuscripts.

Sometimes I had to translate from Latin, and other times I just had to copy the text, but my favorite thing was painting the capital letters and miniatures.

Usually, I enjoyed the silence and the protection those walls offered, a shelter from the cruelty and dangers of the outside world.

Sometimes, a look or a nod scared me. Could they have known that I was a woman?

The idea of hiding here had come to some relatives, they told me of the legend of Pope Joan. She hid among the monks and later became pope. I didn't aspire to that much, for me to go unnoticed was essential, also because the legend says that as soon as they discovered Joan's secret, they stoned her on the street!

However, my family thought this hideout was the best, especially to avoid ending up like my grandmother, burned at the stake like a witch. In the monastery, my uncle could welcome me as his nephew and protected me. I couldn't have done in a nunnery. Furthermore, the nuns were not entrusted with any intellectual tasks.

So my job wasn't a free choice, but it allowed me to put everything I'd learned into practice and continue to learn more. I just had to adjust a little and learn to work in a team.

The copying and translation works did not only concern sacred texts but included texts of mathematics, astronomy, grammar, and many subjects that the monks wanted to guard and preserve.

Sometimes I was allowed to leave the monastery to serve in private homes. Here I could admire books of great value and consult topics that did not fit into the monastery libraries. I could also paint the miniatures with pure gold, purplish, and other precious materials. Sometimes, the most curious children came to observe my work and I was asked to teach them some topics.

Life in the monastery could also be tiring. Yet the work in the garden, in the farmyard, and in the kitchen was very satisfying. Being outdoors and grow vegetables was an interesting discovery. I've never had to do this, but I've learned the value of getting food.

Picking the fruits and vegetables we had grown with our hands was a cause for joy. A little I liked the idea of going to get eggs because I was terrified of chickens! However, I used to give my best in the kitchen, especially preparing desserts.

Now and then, the inhabitants of the nearby village would approach the monastery for help, so that we could distribute some of what we had cooked to the poor, along with fresh fruit and vegetables.

Unlike other church bodies, the monastery received no tax money and was self-supporting.

However I felt guilty for using all my energies towards writing and painting. It was important for me to preserve those texts and preserve them for future generations, to spread the culture and art, but at the same time, people were dying of hunger and disease.

Maybe I could have done something more practical. Give more substantial help beyond simple almsgiving? Contribute to changing things? Maybe, I was hiding from what was going on in the world. I was scared and chose to hide.

In the Middle Ages, it was hard, if not impossible, to get out of the path that society had imposed on us, who knows if things will change in the future?