The Convert Page 4

  Her parents must have marriage plans for her. Her brothers must keep an eye on her too; if she can make a good match, her marriage portion will increase the wealth and prestige of the whole family. Her speech is cultured and reserved. She is learning Latin and taking singing lessons, she plays a five-stringed viol (a novelty in those days), she likes to banter with the young knights who are always hanging around the stables, and she adores the beautiful horses. Even though she is forbidden by law to ride, a few of the stable boys have given her lessons. She stopped when one of them could no longer keep his hands to himself. She has learned to spin, to weave, to run the kitchen; when she sees the peasants who live in the cottage behind their house, she likes to stop and chat, even though her mother doesn’t approve. She sometimes questions her father about the Scandinavian gods, the heathen doctrines of her distant ancestors.

  Her governess escorts her to her singing lessons in the nearby church, just a few streets away. But instead of walking home through Decumanus, she suggests a little detour through Rue aux Juifs.

  One early evening, this has the desired result: the young man is there again, talking to his friends in front of the Talmud school. Feeling her breath grow shallow with excitement, she moves closer till she is just a few steps away from the group. She must lift her eyes, she must, she must. She does, and looks straight into his. The shock is greater for him, because of the blend of diffidence and audacity in her gaze. She seems to bore into his eyes; she senses she’s causing him pain. That knowledge brings her a strange, carnal satisfaction that makes her cruel and imperious for an instant, even as her heart races under her finely embroidered garments. The students are not only silent, but look with a kind of surprise at young David Todros, who stops halfway through his argument, swallows and blinks.

  By then Vigdis Adelaïs has vanished round the corner.

  For weeks, on her daily walks, she goes back to her old route along Decumanus. She doesn’t know what to do with herself. At last, one evening, she confesses to her governess that she is sick with longing to see that young man again. Thinking back wistfully to her lost marriage, her governess shows enough worldly wisdom not to betray the girl’s confidence. She warns her that desiring a Jewish boy is forbidden – more than that, unthinkable. When Vigdis starts to cry and pull her hair, overcome with anguish and frustration, her governess puts her to bed – but she too is torn, and lies awake that night brooding, with no idea what to do.

  5

  The risk the girl takes is, by the standards of her time, utterly irresponsible. She has no right to decide her own fate. Nor is David, in fact, permitted to propose to her. Young knights sometimes go so far as to abduct the girl of their dreams to compel her parents to consent to the marriage, or if they are rich and respected, they buy the parents’ permission with a large settlement. Marrying without parental approval is almost inconceivable and a sure road to violence and slaughter.

  So the marriage of a Christian girl to a Jewish boy is beyond the imagining of the upper classes. Yet forbidden love is ever-present in human hearts – as it always has been. In that eventful year of 1088, the future lover in the most famous of forbidden affairs, Pierre Abélard, is a nine-year-old boy at play in the streets of Nantes, and his beautiful Héloïse has not even been born. They will form one of the most renowned and tragic couples of the High Middle Ages. Master Abélard will be able to hide his love for the young abbess for a time; the theologian and his beloved will meet in the relative safety of her uncle’s house. Vigdis Adelaïs has no place for her forbidden love but the streets.

  There’s no way of discovering how and where they finally spoke to each other. The rules of propriety made things difficult; still, there were opportunities for furtive encounters. The world was not dominated by clock time the way it is now; stray moments could be found for stealing away. And because the city centre was not so large and the church and synagogue were close together, it was not hard to strike up a conversation in a busy street without anyone noticing right away.

  After avoiding the synagogue and yeshiva for weeks, Vigdis – encouraged by her governess, since the girl has no interest in anything else – returns to the old Rue aux Juifs. She passes the school, sees the narrow windows of the yeshiva, and thinks of David inside, bent over manuscripts. She fears she will faint on the spot.

  She is young and longs for freedom, a larger world than the stifling life of the city elite and the arranged marriage that awaits her. She starts dressing with greater care, and whenever she passes the synagogue and yeshiva on her daily walks, she tries to catch a glimpse of David, her head darting up and down. After all, there’s no prohibition against greeting a Jew, though it’s not really done.

  Their first conversation cannot have been easy at all – her first true greeting stiff and formal, his more flamboyant, in the southern style. His langue d’oc accent must have clashed with her northern langue d’oïl. They must have had trouble understanding each other and found themselves shy and embarrassed. Fumbling and giggling their way through a series of incomplete sentences, waving their hands, feeling abysmally stupid – the addictive self-torture of youth. It has its funny, awkward side, but to the young it is deadly serious.

  Seduction was a circuitous art in those days, a smokescreen of rhetorical devices and charming sidetracks that veiled the act of flirting, but without making it tedious or prudish. On the contrary, these cultural practices created a tension that only heightened the mutual attraction. On the other hand, Vigdis Adelaïs and David met a century before courtly love became common practice in privileged circles, and David was anything but the Christian stereotype of the valiant young knight.

  Jewish boys inhabited a different planet: a world of ancient writings, erudite scholars and introverted study. The tradition in which he was raised did not show the same extremes of bloodthirst and piety; his world view was more placid, more timeless. His style of courtship would not have fitted the culture of a genteel Christian woman. His upbringing required that he resort to age-old formulas and rituals: ‘O my Jewish bride, let me lead you to the altar as Moses led our ancestors out of Egypt.’ He was supposed to promise her the joy of Sukkot: the bounty of the Feast of Tabernacles, the harvest of the fruits of the years. David Todros’s fine words must have failed him completely. Vigdis can’t have understood half of what he said. To her, it must have sounded exotic and a little over the top – not that an ironic, culture-specific concept like ‘a little over the top’ could have existed for her. We are groping in the seductive dark.

  Does this girl know what she’s getting into? Of course not, how could she? She is the one who will have to learn to live on a different planet, in a different calendar. She vaults into terra incognita, blind and overexcited, reckless and naive. She does it for those eyes and that little beard, for that smile and that strange excitement, for that yellow cap perched on the crown of his head, for the unknown and the adventure that draws her in, for that cloud of dazzling brightness in her muddled head. She has seen the white unicorn and wanders delirious through a wood of ancient prohibitions.

  David’s parents are far away; he lives in the yeshiva dormitory and can take certain liberties there. He is under supervision, of course; associates of the chief rabbi of Narbonne have seen to that. But there is also leisure time; he is free to laugh, to drink, to go out into the fields on days of rest. Truth be told, he is free to do all sorts of things. The city has its brothels and disreputable taverns. Even wealthy citizens patronise what are known as women’s houses, private residences where girls who took the wrong path now play the courtesan. They are kept there for a while and then sent on to a convent, or else they remain ladies of easy virtue.

  Why wouldn’t the young men visit those houses, as long as they can keep their religion a secret? The only ones who know for certain they’re Jewish are the girls themselves, who must enjoy having circumcised boys for a change – and who’ve learned to keep quiet. In any event, the young students dream of girls, talk about girls, j
oke about girls.

  Until one day David Todros has had enough of jokes, turns moody, seems distracted in discussion, no longer takes any interest in going to taverns, frowns at obscene jokes, can’t concentrate on his Torah studies, sits and stares out the narrow window in the study hall on the first floor, has no appetite, and arrives at morning prayer fatigued and dishevelled.

  It’s a mystery how they manage to start an affair, but it happens. They arrange to meet one autumn day in the market square. From there they sneak off to the home of one of David’s friends, stammering at each other. Because their conversation makes her heart beat so hard she can scarcely speak, she soon runs off. Sobbing, she arrives back home where her anxious governess is waiting for her. Three days later they plan another meeting. He promises that the next day at noon he will come and sit beside her in the deserted church, unnoticed, with all traces of his Jewish identity well disguised from prying eyes.

  In the cool shade of the church, she tells him in an agitated whisper that she’d like to learn Hebrew. He stares at her, dumbfounded, and tries to take her pale, delicate ringed hand in his. She pulls it away, under the precious linen that conceals her girlish form. Her confusion is so great it makes her dizzy. Blasphemy in the face of the beloved Mother of God, as the small flame of the Holy Spirit flickers in front of the tabernacle – what is she thinking? God, forgive me my trespasses; I have no choice. Her Jewish admirer is taken aback by her words, but also moved. Well before this moment, he fell for the young woman who has more or less put her life at stake for the chance to talk to him. He promises her he will teach her, stumbling over his words.

  They arrange to meet unseen in the early dusk of the months ahead. David has told one of the rabbis about the girl, describing her as a proselyte. This gambit works: converts are welcome in the Jewish world. The line separating Jews from non-Jews is more permeable than in our day. Prospective converts can be accepted as Jews in the fullest sense, instead of remaining goyim all their lives. So whenever Vigdis summons the courage to go out in her veil and steal into the Jewish house where they meet, she can talk to him without much danger. Through David, she also becomes acquainted with the other Jewish students. Though always surprised to meet her, they offer polite greetings. Soon they all know that this young proselyte is studying, in strict secrecy, with the son of the chief rabbi of Narbonne and is under his protection. They also realise there is more to the story.

  One day, as they sit bent over a Torah scroll – he is teaching her the Hebrew alphabet – what must happen happens. Their hands brush, their faces turn towards each other, the scroll falls to the tiled floor, there is not breath enough in the room for their breathless desire. Red-faced, David picks up the scroll and is obliged to kiss it right away, because it was desecrated by touching the ground. But Vigdis brings her mouth closer and shuts her eyes. On the Seine, the ships are tossed in the autumn storm. It is late November; fishermen are dragging their sloops up the riverbank; the swallows flew south months ago; the sky is clouding over again; people are rushing home before darkness falls. With red cheeks and unsteady feet, Vigdis Adelaïs returns home through Rue aux Juifs to an angry mother who demands to know where she was loafing about, all by herself. In church, Mother, she says, in church, that’s all, and she endures the sceptical looks with inner trembling and patience.

  6

  As the weeks go by, her discussions with the young Jewish intellectual teach her that there is a religious alternative to the violence and turmoil of the Christian world. This tremendous shift in perspective throws her off balance and fascinates her. She pictures a different world, a different chronology – one that does not begin with death by torture and crucifixion. A historical sense not bewitched by apocalyptic delusions and millennial fears, by the return of the dreaded Beast, by hell and Devil and torment and Fall, but by a far more ancient calendar that begins with a creative act, the beginning of life itself: the instant when Yahweh created the world. The thought comforts her; no longer is history broken by any fault line. At the same time, she lies awake at night in her narrow alcove, agonising over the words of the Torah, comparing them to what she has learned from the priests. She is afraid of all her secret thoughts, hardly daring to open her eyes to her changing view of the world – which is, in fact, the worst of heresies. She says nothing to her governess about her growing doubt and confusion, and she certainly never speaks of it to her parents. In the church, during the Latin service, she bows her head like a humble worshipper, she sings the Christian prayers with the congregation, she still feels the pacifying power of the collective song and monotonous droning. Her hair is in a tight braid. Under her loose shawl, she shines with the fragrant oil that her chambermaid rubbed into her skin. Her grass-green dress of fine cloth is cinched tight and adorned with small glass pearls. An elegant fox fur is draped over her shoulders, discreetly covering her young bosom. As the service goes on, she regains her composure, drawn back into the safe world she’s known as long as she can remember. She begs the Virgin Mother for guidance and asks forgiveness for her thoughts. She sinks into despair, but is buoyed up again by the changeless calm of the prayers and litanies. Her eyes burn and sting as she joins in with the old church songs. It’s as if her consciousness and therefore her personal development are advancing by leaps and bounds. Her sudden, intimate feelings of alienation have turned her, against her will, into a young intellectual; she is bursting free of the certainties of her familiar world. By this time she is equipped to think for herself about her spiritual doubts. She has learned Latin as part of her Christian education and from hearing it in church services. Frankish is her mother tongue, and she’s picked up a little Flemish. Who knows, she may even speak a smattering of Danish or Norwegian, used by her father during childhood games. In her lessons with David, she has already become more familiar with the langue d’oc, and of course he is teaching her Hebrew. Later, in Narbonne, in a household composed mainly of Sephardic Jews, she will prove a quick study in Spanish. But for now, she must learn to keep silent about all the thoughts that so confuse and consume her – an enormous effort for her young mind.

  7

  Every day for the past few weeks she has refused to wear the refined city clothing laid out for her in the morning. Instead, she wants a dark dress to wear over her simple undergarment. She even asks her governess if a black dress can be made for her, as plain as possible, with a matching hooded cape. The question raises immediate suspicions. It’s like the daughter of a modern-day Christian family announcing she plans to start wearing a headscarf. When her mother hears of her request, she storms into the girl’s room and demands an explanation. Vigdis bows her head, remains silent, lets the torrent of words crash over her, and then raises her head slowly, looks her mother straight in the eyes, and says nothing.

  That vacant stare and stiff-necked silence are enough reason for her mother to tell her father about the matter that evening. The next day, he summons Vigdis to the front room so that he can speak to her with a priest present. The girl’s explanations are confused; she’s certainly not about to give away her secret, so she mumbles whatever comes into her head. The priest commands her to make the sign of the cross; she does, but with such a spooked look in her eyes that he launches into a harangue about the many threats to a young woman’s spiritual welfare. He conjures up visions of hell and the Devil; she turns away, squeezing her eyes shut. Her father’s intuition cannot be thrown off so easily. He snorts, throws down his hunting glove on the table, and brusquely informs her that she’s not to leave the house for a month, and he’ll send her to a convent for six months if she doesn’t shape up. She stamps her feet, shakes her head in despair, wrings her hands, but still says not a word. She goes out into the garden and cries, convulsing with sobs; her parents will still be talking about it that evening. Vigdis is roughly escorted to her bedroom. She sits moping in her place of confinement, watching the rims of the clouds flare red in the twilight.

  As soon as night falls she flees through the k
itchen and the little gate in the back of their garden, leaving home on her own for the first time; her governess knows of her plan and will not betray her. Her heart pounding, she heads towards the parish of Saint-Lô, passes the Hôtel de Bonnevie, and then follows the familiar route past the synagogue again, past the Jewish bathhouse and slaughterhouse, towards the yeshiva. It has only one window on the street side, a small opening that shows her nothing. The first of the two heavy doors is still open. She goes down the stairs to the second door and knocks. Nothing happens. Dead silence, broken only by a cat’s meow. For a moment, she stands in the gloom of the staircase, looking around in bewilderment. The half-moon barely illuminates the streets; her heart is thumping wildly. She doesn’t realise how strictly women are forbidden to enter the yeshiva. She returns home, having accomplished nothing, sits on the old bench in the garden until her heart and mind stop racing, and creeps into the house with dew on her lashes. Back in her room she sits in the alcove, incapable of sleep, and feels something in her body burn and tear and pound.

  She stays in her chambers for a month and tries to pray, thinking the whole time about the two irreconcilable worlds and attempting to decipher the few small scrolls that David has entrusted to her. After that, she resumes her walks with her governess, going to and from church, the market, the banks of the Seine, blind to it all, in constant, secret hope of catching a glimpse of her foreign beloved.