“had no objection to my copying manuscripts. He also sent me his prayers. Not that I want them. So in the afternoon I left my room, and with a little nun as guide, made my way to the scriptorium. This convent is really just a large farmhouse, but it is old, and the wooden floors creak underfoot as you walk. My guide led me down the dark hall. The mother superior rarely allows either candles or torches, and the weak winter sun is not enough to illuminate these rooms. Down the hall we went in sile...nce, and then up the narrow stairs to the scriptorium, a small room on the corner of the building with window-slits facing west and south. What little sun there was shone through more brightly here, and a small fire burned in the hearth. I sat on a vacant stool. As no one paid me the least attention, I had leisure to look around. Four nuns were perched on high wooden stools, bent over tables littered with paper, inks, pens, and short knives. Their sleeves were rolled up for greater ease in writing.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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