I confess, for someone who loves language I am woefully ignorant of anything beyond English. It is not for want of trying, and most definitely is not through arrogance. Since moving to Snowdonia I am picking up Welsh, North Walian to be precise.
In ‘Jane Eyre’ Edward Rochester termed what Jane spoke as ‘schoolgirl French’, and Chaucer describes the Prioress as speaking French “after the scole of Stratford atte Bowe, for Frensh of Paris was to hir unknowe”. In both situations quite a put-down but describes the French I can use – enough to translate a few subtitles and a basic French menu. I have a little German, thanks to my husband, and more Latin than Spanish.
I also love history and art history, but I cannot remember dates. It’s not from want of trying; they just do not sink it. We all have blind spots and these should be accepted and reconciled.
This leads me to my theory that just because you ‘love’ something it does not equate to mastery nor to absolute devotion. Pure enjoyment will suffice.
Love. And be loved.