‘This was the only earthly love of my life, and I could not, then or ever after, call that love by name.’
     – Umberto Eco, Il nome della rosa, 1980.

Capturing the contours of a sixteenth-century society in the Holy Roman Empire is a difficult task. Central Europe was undergoing complex transitions as a result of demographic recovery, religious innovation and the administrative mosaic of Germanic territories. Recent historiography emphasises the interlocking and overlapping of forces that shaped regions and societies: it is difficult to generalise local observations to the rest of the Empire, but it is also unwise to paint the portrait of a village on the basis of generalities alone. For example, the forms of feudalism differed on either side of the Elbe. A theoretical simplification is to consider the regions south and west of the Elbe as being under the rule of Grundherrschaft [1]. This form of feudalism developed from the 14th century onwards with the decline of the traditional smaller lords and the demographic collapse caused by the Black Death. This situation allowed the surviving peasants to expand their farms and establish stronger hereditary rights over the land. Although still subject to the authority of their local lord, they had greater freedom of action.

     History, fiction and myth: the Umbertian gaze

Towards the end of the fifteenth century, friction between the nobility and the peasantry increased as the former sought to assert their authority over land that seemed to have been de facto freed from serfdom. Another factor in the social crisis was undoubtedly the demographic upturn from 1470 onwards, which swelled the cohort of landless peasants, while small landowners were no longer able to take advantage of the economic opportunities of the previous century. In some southern regions of the Holy Roman Empire, agricultural production was no longer profitable, so it became mainly subsistence farming. These factors led to a widening gap between the peasants and the lords. The lords, sometimes nobility, sometimes clergy, were in latent conflict for other economic and political reasons.

It is difficult to summarise several thousand pages of social history in a few lines, so these few elements of context will suffice. Pentiment makes the bold choice of setting its action in this complex historical background, in a locality centred around the village of Tassing and Kiersau Abbey. The project explicitly borrows from Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose (1980). Although the historical context is different, the themes and structure are similar. Eco's readers will find themselves in familiar territory: Pentiment allows the player to assume the role of Andreas Maler, a Nuremberg artist commissioned by the Abbot of Kiersau to illustrate a Book of Hours as part of his certification as a master artist. During his stay in Tassing, Andreas gets to know the many members of the local society, until a murder takes place. For personal reasons, Andreas is thrust into the role of detective and must unravel the many secrets of the community.

Like The Name of the Rose, Pentiment multiplies points of view and semantic layers. The game is at once a general dissertation on the social history of the Holy Roman Empire, a detective story, a philosophical debate, a theological meditation and a discussion on the value of storytelling. It is through this literary device, borrowed from Eco, that the title manages to find a great deal of coherence in its storytelling [2]. The investigation – i.e. the criminal story – is interwoven with the socio-political narrative, so that the player is constantly confronted with both general and specific elements. Andreas Maler acts as a bridge between these two worlds. Firstly, because he finds himself at the crossroads of very different social universes: as a traveller, he is used to many cultures; as a young artist, he associates with the powerful without being fully part of their universe. Above all, he is a stranger to Tassing, and his gaze is that of a witness whose interest in local politics, however altruistic, is rather weak. In other words, his view is certainly subjective, but it is all-encompassing. These characteristics are very similar to those of William of Baskerville, who had a complex theological background.

     Depicting the Middle Ages through the new social studies

In terms of narrative economy, such a protagonist captures the player's attention in a number of ways. For classically trained historians, Andreas provides access to the ancient and medieval literary world; for mystery fans, his role as a detective is crucial. The choice of Andreas' background means that, in addition to the interactive gameplay typical of CRPGs, players can personalise their experience around the themes that interest them most. As a Latinist, I was pleasantly surprised to see Pentiment commanding a very solid Latin, and to read the classical locutions quoted by Andreas. The title has a rare encyclopaedic quality, in tune with recent scholarly developments. There remain a few very minor approximations, such as certain onomastic choices (Else Mülleryn should rather be spelt Müllerin) and Kiersau's remarkable and exagerated interregionalism. On the latter point, the choice was certainly motivated by Umberto Eco's vision of a universalist abbey and a political response to Kingdom Come: Delivrance (2018): the figure of the Ethiopian priest Sebhat seems a rather explicit foil to Daniel Vávra's ultra-conservative claims about the absence of people of colour in fifteenth-century Bohemia.

Pentiment always uses its encyclopaedic knowledge wisely to illustrate medieval mentalities. Arrogantly imparting knowledge is the best way to undermine the friendship and support of the game's various characters. The game constantly seeks to highlight the limits of Andreas' knowledge and the subjectivity of the concept of truth. As such, Pentiment seeks to portray the situation of women in the Middle Ages with real nuance. The game's fictional micro-history project features women who are involved in their village's economy and are pillars of the community. Discussions with the Benedictine nuns also provide an opportunity to explore women in religion, and Pentiment clearly illustrates the prejudices of the time, as well as Andreas' very masculine perspective. In contrast to the Christian tradition, which leaves no place for women in its traditional hierarchy – women's religious offices generally disappeared in the central Middle Ages, which is exactly the situation described for Kiersau Abbey – and restricts them to religious life or marriage, Pentiment constantly emphasises their agency and the ways in which they can circumvent the restrictions. Amalie illustrates the extreme spiritual experiences that women can voluntarily inflict on themselves through her retreat and mystical visions. Illuminata embodies a mastery of the literary classics, while the other sisters stand out for their practical knowledge and integration into Tassing society.

     To write, to read and to die in the universal library

Like Umberto Eco's library, that of Kiersau Abbey is intended to be universal. It seeks to circumscribe all known knowledge through the possession of rare volumes, be they erudite treatises or chivalric romances. Writing and rewriting are at the heart of Pentiment's project. The narrative is subjective and subject to numerous corrections: when the dialogue is presented, mistakes punctuate the text and are corrected in front of the player. Similarly, the choice of script depends on the impression the speaker makes on Andreas. He presents the discourse of the educated clergy in a Gothic style, while the villagers have a much less polished script. Above all, it is noteworthy that Andreas changes his representation according to the information he receives. For example, when he learns that the shepherd is actually an avid reader of Latin books, he updates the script used in the dialogue. These elements are linked to a concern for memory, and Pentiment sets out to question what deserves to be left to posterity, rejecting the idea of a monolithic history. The truth is in a constant state of flux and varies from different perspectives: it is this insight that guides Andreas' investigation into the various murders. The game is less about finding the culprit than about writing Tassing's story. The game forces the player to accuse one of the suspects for each murder, but it is remarkable that all the solutions seem unsatisfactory. Pentiment is not about solving murders, but about understanding how Tassing society reacts to events that upset its internal balance.

Pentiment borrows its idea of humour from The Name of the Rose [3]: laughter is used to subvert the order of the world, because it reveals – through sarcasm or astonishment – the way in which the world turns. The comic scenes in the game anchor the narrative in a plausible reality, not just a cold, theoretical illustration of 16th-century Tassing. Pentiment's dialogue system is not so much a mechanic that supports 'choices' leading to different endings, but rather a sincere exploration of the world. Comedy is necessary because it is an instrument of freedom and truth, which all the characters seek in one way or another: to laugh is to break free from social bonds, hence Saint Grobian's irreverence. Conversely, silence allows the player to conform to the social mould, to maintain the status quo. Such a position is sometimes necessary to make progress in an investigation without alienating potential allies. The great strength of Pentiment is that it strikes the right balance between laughter, speech and silence. The characters, including Andreas, have to take a stand, and the question is how to do it.

There are no straightforward answers, and the game is never preachy or pretentious. The complexity of the world, of social relations and social transformations explain the hesitations. Uncertainty is part of the truth: Pentiment shines through its unique artistic direction, borrowed from manuscripts and engravings. In a stroke of genius, the game moves drawn characters on fixed backgrounds. There's something magical about seeing sketches move in this way, evoking a kind of collage. The practice of cutting out and reusing figures and backgrounds is well documented in the production of medieval manuscripts, underlining the plasticity of art in the representation of history [4]. In a fifteen-hour adventure, Pentiment creates such a vast universe. I find it difficult to write more, given the extraordinary richness so elegantly condensed into a game, from religious issues to economic innovations. In this respect, it is worth mentioning the welcome presence of an indicative bibliography in the game's credits. Umberto Eco concludes The Name of the Rose with a variation on a line by Bernard of Cluny: 'Stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus', he writes. The original rose lives on in its name, we keep the names naked. To Bernard of Cluny's 'ubi sunt...?', Eco adds the persistence of memory. The memory of people who existed centuries ago should persist even more; Pentiment is a sublime fresco in their honour, coming as close as possible to the historical truth without ever being able to fully circumscribe it: 'Since I tell to its end my story, then joyful shall be my days.' [5]

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[1] Joachim Whaley, 'Economic Landscapes, Communities, and their Grievances', in Germany and the Holy Roman Empire, vol. 1, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2012, pp. 122-142.
[2] José-Marie Cortès, 'Itinéraires interprétatifs dans Le Nom de la Rose', in Synergies Inde, no. 2, 2007, pp. 289-306.
[3] Michel Perrin, 'Problématique du rire dans Le Nom de la Rose d'Umberto Eco (1980) : de la Bible au XXe siècle', in Bulletin de l'Association Guillaume Budé, no. 58, 1999, pp. 463-477.
[4] Anna Dlabacová, ‘Medieval Photoshop’, on leidenmedievalistsblog.nl, 18th February 2022, consulted on 13th June 2023.
[5] Wolfram von Eschenback, Parzival, II, XVI, l. 676 (trans. Jessie L. Weston), c. 1210.