21 Crossing into the Middle Ages 021

Miss Louisa Balzac was truly exceptional. Although she was not the type of Eastern beauty that Anthony preferred from his homeland, there was no doubt that she was stunningly beautiful.

Miss Louisa Balzac wore a white velvet robe embroidered with large golden flowers, her figure graceful and natural. After washing her hands, she placed her delicate hands beneath the table, out of sight, which was somewhat regrettable—she was not the sort to sit at the head of the table, chin raised, surveying the entire banquet hall.

Yet, this did not detract from the dignity expected of nobility. When her long, perfectly straight eyelashes gently lowered, she exuded a classical, solemn nobility. Even before one could clearly see Louisa’s face, her beauty was undeniable. It was less a matter of visual detail and more an overwhelming sense, an experience of beauty itself.

Occasionally, when Louisa lifted her eyes softly, those who caught the gaze could confirm this impression:

She possessed the most admired green eyes of the Vaucanson beauty, but not the common yellow-green or emerald or forest green. Hers were a rare pale green with a subtle gray undertone. This might have dulled the eyes’ brilliance, but Louisa’s eyes were large, tender, and pure, evoking the image of a forest mist under a gentle rain—ethereal, fresh, and utterly enchanting.

Complementing these eyes were slender, delicately arched eyebrows, as if painted on—an exquisite fashion of the time. Contemporary tastes favored broad, pale foreheads, achieved by plucking hair strands to retreat the hairline. Eyebrows were similarly thinned or shaved off unless naturally faint, then redrawn fine or left bare.

Louisa’s eyebrows, however, appeared naturally slender, for painted ones never harmonized so perfectly with a person’s features. Her curved, fine black brows sat above those pale green eyes without a single flaw, like mossy green and dark woods in perfect accord—when relaxed, they seemed sacred; when slightly furrowed, sorrowful.

Her nose was straight and exquisite, lips full and coral-like, framed by an elegant, smooth oval face, crowned with thick, wavy black hair as smooth as satin. This first impression was one of classical refinement and solemnity.

At the time, the feminine ideal was pale skin, golden hair, red lips, rosy cheeks, black brows, slender hands and necks, and a willow-like waist. Louisa lacked only golden hair, but this was no defect.

Anthony had long discovered a secret of beauty: it was never about ticking every box of the ideal. In fact, black hair suited Louisa’s classical noble aura perfectly. Moreover, in Anthony’s homeland and nearby Rolandcy, closer to the East, black or brown hair was preferred.

Anthony originally favored the Eastern beauties from his homeland—healthy, vibrant figures, whose complexions might be less pale but more radiant. Their beauty harmonized with the colorful Eastern carpets, frankincense spices, the hot, dry climate, and lively music.

Yet now he found Louisa’s beauty equally captivating—a beauty akin to white swans, camellias in the garden, church bells ringing, and pearls hidden within shells. Like a sudden rain, it was serene, graceful, and dignified, yet tinged inevitably with melancholy.

Never before had a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old girl stirred such a profound aesthetic experience in Anthony, especially one of noble birth, which only added a halo to her beauty.

Many in the great hall were watching Louisa, and she was well aware but accustomed to the attention. As the heiress of the Balzac estate, she was always the center of attention at Balzac court banquets. At this moment, the attendants began pouring wine starting at the main table.

The wine poured for Louisa was entrusted to the trusted Knight Alain—a deep red wine served in a jeweled gold goblet. It looked splendid, but she sighed quietly in her heart.

This was a glass of spiced wine, literally “enhanced” with added spices. The wine contained sugar and powdered ginger, cinnamon, and pepper—sometimes nutmeg and cloves as well. To most drinkers, it smelled fragrant, but to Louisa it was unequivocally a “dark drink.”

Of course, this might relate to her general dislike for alcoholic beverages... The wine tasted bitter and sour to her, and the added spices only made it more difficult to endure.

Such wine was never paired with meals, as the prevailing notion held that spiced wine stimulated the appetite and aided digestion, so it was consumed in small quantities before or after meals.

After the count of Balzac led the pre-meal prayer, everyone raised their glasses to drink. Louisa forced down her portion—fortunately, as an aperitif, the quantity was small.

Next, the knight attendants brought out the first course. In those days, a “course” was not a single dish or plate but a collection of several dishes served simultaneously, with portions scaled to the number of guests.

Medieval banquets typically had three courses: appetizer, main, and dessert. For grand occasions, the number could be far greater. Each course might include dozens of dishes, with eight, twelve, or even fifteen courses served in sequence.

Tonight’s appetizer consisted of carrot and caraway seed soup and braised Balzac capon; the main course featured river eel sauce roasted beef, milk-oatmeal with gilded wild boar, and roasted swan; dessert included cheese meat pies, spiced pear soup, and pine nut nougat.

Most sounded acceptable on paper, but that did not guarantee their appearance, aroma, or taste. Most meat dishes were either roasted or stewed, with monotonous preparation. As for seasoning, from Louisa’s perspective, it was sheer chaos.

Most chefs of the time could not distinguish saltiness and sweetness properly; many noble household cooks simply added expensive spices recklessly. Spices, of course, were excellent and represented by dishes like curry, which genuinely tasted good despite appearances.

However, spice use was nuanced; otherwise, as with most dishes tonight, the flavors of ingredients and spices clashed, each overpowering the other without harmony.

The Balzac court chefs were not that bad but fell far short of later culinary standards.

Louisa found that nearly every dish was underpinned by a sweet base, accompanied by another accentuating flavor. Though her native land was vast with diverse tastes, including sweet dishes, sweetness was not the norm. Even in generally sweet regions, sugar was added sparingly to enhance flavor.

Yet, with her lingering palate from a previous life, Louisa had never grown accustomed to this.

The sickly sweet base combined with the often poorly handled game’s fishy odors were simply intolerable to her!

She could not tell if medieval diners truly enjoyed this flavor or if the aristocracy insisted on it simply because sweetness was rare.

After so many dishes, the only ones she could stomach were the initial carrot and caraway seed soup and the final pine nut nougat. The carrot and caraway soup was a vegetable soup with carrots—purple-red at that time!—and caraway seeds, somewhat reminiscent of fennel, quite pleasant.

For a Chinese palate, the only curiosity was the addition of a small amount of cream, just enough to impart a light sweetness and smoothness... After more than a decade in the Middle Ages, Louisa had grown somewhat accustomed to this.

The pine nut nougat required little comment: a candy made from sugar, honey, and water syrup mixed with crushed pine nuts, white bread crumbs, and a touch of minced ginger. The ginger prevented the sweetness from becoming cloying; the pine nuts were fragrant. The candy’s stickiness was a minor issue.

Because of her distaste, Louisa ate very little. Though she had arranged for Jeanne in the kitchen to prepare food more to her liking for everyday meals, banquet occasions like this were no place for Jeanne to cook—the Balzac kitchen was considerable in size, with strict hierarchies and designated duties.

Yet, eating little was hardly a problem. While male nobles of the Middle Ages prided themselves on hearty feasting and drinking, women were quite different.

Moderation was among the most esteemed virtues for women, including restraint in eating and drinking to avoid being ruled by gluttonous desire. This notion of temperance was seen as a prime expression of virtue, though in materially abundant noble households, it was often more symbolic than practical.