Chapter 242 Traveling Through the Middle Ages 242

Chapter 242: Transmigrating to the Middle Ages 242

As one of the educational centers of the era, rivaling Bologna in Roland, the Île de la Cité hosted a substantial population of scholars and students. Even by conservative estimates, there were several thousand—an impressive number, considering that the Île de la Cité, despite being one of the largest cities in the West at the time, had barely over 100,000 residents.

The presence of these scholars and students greatly enlivened the city's economy. Most came from elsewhere and needed to survive in Île de la Cité, spending money on everything—from food, clothing, and shelter to even a single sheet of paper or blade of grass. As a result, this large student body indirectly sustained countless local livelihoods.

The most immediate effect was on housing. Students from colleges that did not provide lodging—except for a fortunate few who could board with their professors as a means for professors to earn extra income—mostly had to rent rooms from local residents. Then there were the indirect and less visible effects… Take, for example, the city’s prostitutes. Without the students, many would immediately find themselves unable to make ends meet.

After all, these were mostly single men in their late teens to twenties who had come to study. Such urges were only natural—if such behavior persists even today, how much more so in the Middle Ages! At least in modern times, such activities are illegal and frowned upon by mainstream morality. But in the Middle Ages, no one really cared.

The Middle Ages was an age of surface-level piety and abstinence, yet beneath the surface, it was also one of indulgence and debauchery. Scholars rationalized prostitution and men visiting brothels, arguing outright that such things were impossible to eradicate. To prevent men from preying on respectable women out of desire, it was better to turn a blind eye to the existence of prostitutes.

Men satisfying their urges with prostitutes wouldn’t tarnish their virtue or pious works, nor hinder their path to heaven—all the sins would naturally be borne by the prostitutes… From this perspective, prostitutes were the sacrificial lambs for men who couldn’t control their desires, even serving as scapegoats for the entire society!

However, although most of these scholars and students in Île de la Cité had modest means (after all, in the Middle Ages, only those with some family wealth could afford to travel for education), it was still relative! The reality was that, given the productivity of the time, these scholars and students living away from home—especially in a "big city" like Île de la Cité—were mostly financially strained.

This was hardly surprising. The truly wealthy and powerful young men wouldn’t take the scholarly path. Noble youths could inherit titles; those who couldn’t might wed into wealth and property. Failing that, military service or joining the Church were options. With their noble backgrounds, they naturally had advantages in whatever they pursued.

As for the sons of wealthy landowners or merchants, those who were favored would naturally inherit a share of the family fortune.

Those who chose the path of university were either from families with modest means or from well-off families where they themselves were not particularly valued. In the latter case, even if the family had wealth, the financial support a young man received while studying abroad was often limited.

Thus, with very few exceptions, the young men who came to study in Bologna or Île de la Cité lived hand-to-mouth… Of course, there was little to complain about—many people of the time lived far more difficult lives. By modern standards, their lives might seem harsh, but they were still enviable compared to many others.

As for the lamentations in their letters home about the hardships of surviving in Île de la Cité, part of it stemmed from the fact that "home is home, be it ever so humble." In their families, they at least had food, clothing, and shelter without worry. Studying abroad was different—everything cost money, and everything was expensive…

On the other hand, only by pleading pitifully enough could they secure aid from home. It wasn’t necessarily as dire as described in the letters, where they claimed they’d soon be begging on the streets or dying in destitution unless money or goods were sent immediately.

For this reason, many parents and siblings back home frequently received pleas for help from Île de la Cité—either for goods or money. At first, most benefactors might comply, thinking their child was alone in a distant place and who knew what hardships they faced? But over time, doubts inevitably arose.

Back then, many parents might agree to send aid but would cleverly entrust it to a fellow villager or acquaintance traveling to Île de la Cité (usually for their own business). This way, when delivering the money or goods, they could also check in person to confirm their child was truly studying and not falling into bad habits—hence the constant requests for money and supplies.

Ludwig was no exception. In his last letter home, he asked his father to send his old trousers, a pair of boots, and five sols. He was preparing tuition for a new teacher and was still short three sols—Ludwig was actually relatively thrifty compared to his peers, with few extravagant expenses. He even found ways to earn some money himself, trying to avoid relying on his parents (perhaps due to his strained relationship with his father).

Yet even so, occasional letters pleading for help were unavoidable… This had caught his father’s attention, who suspected Ludwig might have picked up bad habits in Île de la Cité—perhaps adopting the ways of wastrel students, spending his days in taverns, drinking, and sleeping in the arms of prostitutes!

If not, how else to explain his constant letters asking for things? A country gentleman from the countryside could hardly fathom the expenses of the capital, where nothing could be self-sufficient, everything had to be bought, and prices were exorbitant…

Even in modern times, many parents back home can’t understand why their children working in big cities can’t save money. In this era, with far fewer channels for information, people lived their entire lives in small circles, deeply entrenched in the belief that "their world was the world." It was perfectly normal not to understand their child’s lifestyle in Île de la Cité.

Ludwig’s father thus entrusted his son-in-law, who was traveling to Île de la Cité, to deliver money and goods while checking whether Ludwig was truly studying.

"...Your father is very worried about you. With all your letters asking for money, he fears you’ve picked up bad habits like those wastrel students—learning nothing at university and returning home a good-for-nothing," Ludwig’s brother-in-law said after inspecting his lodgings and inquiring with neighbors to confirm he was still a decent young man.

Yet even his brother-in-law was puzzled by the situation, unable to comprehend how Ludwig had spent so much money. He asked curiously, "Do you really live here? How can a cramped garret cost so much in rent? Back in town, this much money could rent a proper stone house. And if the landlord provides meals, why did you ask for food money in your letter?"

Ludwig, now 22, was a tall, robust, and handsome young man. Back home, as the son of a minor squire, he had been quite popular among the local girls. Even in Île de la Cité, he didn’t need to pay for prostitutes—town girls were willing to flirt and go on dates with him.

But he had little time for such pursuits. More mature than his peers, he had long been aware of his circumstances—as the non-heir son of a minor squire, he stood to inherit almost nothing. If he didn’t want to end up as a miller on his elder brother’s small estate, he had to seize this opportunity to study in Île de la Cité.

His mother had funded his education using her dowry. Yet even though it was her money, he still had to ask his father for support, as in those days, a woman’s dowry was controlled by her husband—she only received pin money. This was another source of Ludwig’s resentment.

His mother had agreed to fund his university education, yet his father kept withholding or reducing support under various pretexts… It was all a matter of perspective. To Ludwig, his father was stingy and difficult. To his father, his son was spending money—his money—that needn’t have been spent at all.

Yes, it was his wife’s dowry, but since even the wife was the husband’s property, how much more so her dowry? Long ago, Ludwig’s father had taken control of that money and regarded it as his own.

"This is Île de la Cité, the capital! There are so many people here, too many for the houses available. And everything is expensive!" Ludwig couldn’t help complaining to his brother-in-law. "If you don’t believe me, go ask around about rental prices."

"And the landlord only provides one meal a day. The food is terrible, and a man my age can’t possibly get full on it. I still have to buy extra food myself…"

Since Ludwig was indeed frugal, he spoke these words with righteous confidence. He even revealed a bit about earning his own money: "In fact, I've tried my best not to write home for money. I copy textbooks myself and work as a miniaturist for the bookseller, paid by the piece..."

Ludwig's uncle was a miniaturist, and he had always liked this uncle. As a boy, he learned miniature painting techniques from him. Back then, he hadn't thought much of it—it was just fun, and sometimes he could even help his uncle by filling in for him. Little did he know that this skill would become his livelihood while studying in Paris.

Before Ludwig could finish speaking, he realized the potential consequences if his words reached his father's ears. He added hastily, "Please don't tell my father about this. If he found out I can earn money in Paris, he'd be even less likely to send me anything. But my income as a miniaturist is limited—there's no way I could get through university without family support."

"I came here to study, so most of my time should be spent on classes and learning. I don't have much time to paint miniatures. If I neglect my studies and spend all my time painting, then why did I even come to Paris? This city is no place for the penniless. Back home, at least I could eat well, stay warm, and live in a house with a parlor and a fireplace. Here, I have nothing—just daily hardships..."

Ludwig's brother-in-law had dealt with his father before and understood his concerns. Besides, this matter didn't affect him personally. If Ludwig's father stopped sending money to his youngest son, the savings wouldn't end up in the brother-in-law's hands anyway! So, after confirming that his brother-in-law wasn't wasting money or leading a dissolute life, he readily agreed not to mention it.

After seeing off his brother-in-law—who had come to deliver supplies and conduct a surprise check—Ludwig sighed in relief. He then returned to his attic room and opened the package left there. Perhaps because it was rare for a reliable relative like his brother-in-law to visit Paris, the package contained more than just what Ludwig had requested, making it surprisingly large.

Inside was his father's old pair of trousers, even more worn than Ludwig remembered. But that didn't matter much—textiles were expensive, and clothing made from them even more so. For many people, the most valuable part of their inheritance was their clothes. Though old, these trousers were made of the finest fabric and showed no visible patches (though they had been mended). Among Ludwig's current wardrobe, they were considered decent.

However, the boots he had asked for were missing—only a pair of ordinary, worn-out shoes that had once belonged to his older brother were included. Ludwig sighed, not just because he hadn't gotten the boots, but also because his brother's feet were smaller than his. Even if old shoes stretched, they'd likely be uncomfortable.

As for the money, he had requested 5 sous, but his brother-in-law had only given him 3. Three sous wasn't insignificant—equivalent to 36 deniers. A skilled laborer like a stonemason or carpenter earned only 2 or 3 deniers a day (many manual laborers made similar wages, though their work was harder and less stable).

Three sous was substantial, but the remaining 2 sous meant he'd have to find a way to make up the difference, which troubled him.

Still, seeing the extra items in the package—a pair of woolen socks knitted by his mother, two sausages, a large block of dried cheese, and other food and necessities—cheered him somewhat. With these supplies, he could reduce some costs. And if he painted a few more miniatures, he could probably make up the difference.

He had come to Paris to study law, though he had little interest in the subject. But he had long understood that, given his circumstances, he couldn't afford to follow his passions.

In any case, a law degree offered secure prospects—whether as a lawyer or working in city administration. It could secure him a place in the urban middle class, and with luck, connections to the nobility might even open doors to greater opportunities.

The only condition was that he had to graduate first...

Graduating from university at this time was no simple matter. Many young men, freed from parental oversight, quickly succumbed to vice. They ended up constantly begging for money from home, failing to graduate, and returning home in disgrace. Ludwig wasn't one of them. His recent requests for money were mainly because he wanted to take a course taught by a renowned professor—one whose classes, he believed, would ensure his graduation.

Just as Ludwig was pondering ways to save and earn money, a bookseller he often worked with approached him. Getting straight to the point, the man said, "Are you still determined to become a lawyer? Even when an opportunity is right before you—one that could set you up for life?"

Ludwig was taken aback. This bookseller had long admired his painting skills and had repeatedly urged him to abandon his studies and focus solely on miniature painting. According to him, while law offered prospects, graduating was difficult, and even then, success wasn't guaranteed—especially since Ludwig disliked the field.

But as Ludwig progressed in his studies and neared graduation, the bookseller had stopped pressing the matter. After all, a law graduate's prospects generally surpassed those of a miniaturist. Miniaturists were only a step above scribes—their work was more skilled but still tedious and poorly paid.

Now, the bookseller's sudden seriousness caught Ludwig off guard. After a moment's thought, he replied, "You know I have no great passion for law. But after years of study, giving up now feels wasteful. This is a stable path, almost within reach. As for this 'opportunity' of yours—no matter how good, there's no guarantee it'll work out."

Ludwig valued stability and security above all—a maturity that set him apart from his peers. With graduation so close, it was no surprise he wanted to secure his degree first.

The bookseller smiled mysteriously. "I know you. If this were an ordinary opportunity, I wouldn't have come. Let me be frank: some of my clients are nobles... and thanks to a certain lady's favor, I've been entering the palace for the past year."

At first, Ludwig wasn't surprised. Booksellers often catered to the wealthy and powerful, and this one, being well-established in Paris, naturally had noble clients. But the mention of the palace was unexpected—it implied his clientele included royalty.

A bookseller serving the palace might deal with courtiers, but the way he phrased it suggested otherwise. The subtext was clear: his clients included members of the royal family, perhaps even the king himself!

With evident pride, the bookseller continued, "Her Majesty the Queen enjoys some of the books I bring... Well, to be honest, she admires my binding taste. From the scribe's chosen script to the illustrations and the fine leather covers, my work avoids the vulgar trends of the day."

By now, Ludwig understood. The bookseller's bindings were only half his own work—the other half was Ludwig's contribution. Beyond his role as an illustrator, Ludwig often "advised" on scribe styles and other details. He had a streak of perfectionism; if he painted the illustrations, he wanted the text and layout to harmonize with them.

Of course, the bookseller welcomed his input, so claiming the taste as his own wasn't completely false.

"So, why are you here now...?" Ludwig set aside his astonishment at hearing "Her Majesty the Queen" and focused on the present. Even if the Queen was the bookseller's client, and books he'd illustrated had reached her hands, what did that change? It wouldn't materially affect his life.

Many craftsmen served the crown directly or indirectly, yet few reaped extra benefits. The bookseller, with his direct access, might profit—but someone like Ludwig, just his employee, was another matter.

"Because Her Majesty has asked me to handle something..." The bookseller glanced around cautiously before speaking.

To put it simply, the matter wasn't complicated. Louisa wanted to get into the printing and publishing industry, and building such an industry naturally required manpower. Management talent wasn’t a problem—Louisa, as queen, already had plenty of that sort (though truly outstanding individuals were still scarce). But technical know-how? That was a different story. That had to come from among the common people.

One of the booksellers who regularly visited court to sell books to Louisa caught her attention. In fact, there were two other booksellers who also had access to the palace, but in the end, Louisa chose him. Each of the others had their own strengths: one excelled at "networking" and could always track down rare, out-of-print antique books.

The second specialized in luxury editions. More accurately, he didn’t bring finished books to sell to Louisa, but instead waited for commissions from the royal household. These books often used the most extravagant pigments—including gold leaf—and spared no expense when it came to embellishments like gemstones, silver, or gold. Without custom orders, the bookseller couldn’t afford the risk of producing such lavish items with no guarantee of sale.

After careful consideration, neither of these two was the kind of “technical expert” Louisa needed for her publishing venture. On the other hand, the bookseller who worked with Ludwig had originally drawn Louisa’s attention because of the clean, elegant design of the books he brought to court—exactly the kind of skill needed in printed books!

When Louisa approached the bookseller, he realized this was a chance to change not only his own fate, but that of his entire family. Thrilled but clear-headed, he understood why the Queen had taken notice of him—and that Ludwig had played a role in it.

He could have pretended Ludwig was unimportant, but he valued this opportunity too much to go it alone. He worried he might not be able to handle everything himself or meet the Queen’s expectations, ending up with nothing to show for it. That was why he went to Ludwig—he wanted to bring him on board to help serve Her Majesty together!