The Torture of Hope

MANY years ago, asevening was closing in, the venerable Pedro Arbuez
d'Espila, sixth prior of the Dominicans of Segovia, and thirdGrand
Inquisitor of Spain, followed by a fra redemptor, and preceded bytwo
familiars of the Holy Office, the latter carrying lanterns, madetheir way to
a subterranean dungeon. The bolt of a massive door creaked, andthey entered
a mephitic in pace, where the dim light revealed between ringsfastened to
the wall a blood-stained rack, a brazier, and a jug. On a pile ofstraw,
loaded with fetters and his neck encircled by an iron carcan, sata haggard
man, of uncertain age, clothed in rags.

This prisoner was no other than Rabbi Aser Abarbanel, a Jew ofAragon,
who--accused of usury and pitiless scorn for the poor--had beendaily
subjected to torture for more than a year. Yet "hisblindness was as dense as
his hide," and he had refused to abjure his faith.

Proud of a filiation dating back thousands of years, proud of his
ancestors--for all Jews worthy of the name are vain of theirblood--he
descended Talmudically from Othoniel and consequently fromIpsiboa, the wife
of the last judge of Israel, a circumstance which had sustainedhis courage
amid incessant torture. With tears in his eyes at the thought ofthis
resolute soul rejecting salvation, the venerable Pedro Arbuezd'Espila,
approaching the shuddering rabbi, addressed him as follows:

"My son, rejoice: your trials here below are about to end.If in the
presence of such obstinacy I was forced to permit, with deepregret, the use
of great severity, my task of fraternal correction has its limits.You are
the fig tree which, having failed so many times to bear fruit, atlast
withered, but God alone can judge your soul. Perhaps InfiniteMercy will
shine upon you at the last moment! We must hope so. There areexamples. So
sleep in peace tonight. Tomorrow you will be included in the autoda fe: that
is, you will be exposed to the quemadero, the symbolical flamesof the
Everlasting Fire: it burns, as you know, only at a distance, myson; and
Death is at least two hours (often three) in coming, on accountof the wet,
iced bandages with which we protect the heads and hearts of thecondemned.
There will be forty-three of you. Placed in the last row, youwill have time
to invoke God and offer to Him this baptism of fire, which is ofthe Holy
Spirit. Hope in the Light, and rest."

With these words, having signed to his companions to unchain theprisoner,
the prior tenderly embraced him. Then came the turn of the fraredemptor,
who, in a low tone, entreated the Jew's forgiveness for what hehad made him
suffer for the purpose of redeeming him; then the two familiarssilently
kissed him. This ceremony over, the captive was left, solitaryand
bewildered, in the darkness.



Rabbi Aser Abarbanel, with parched lips and visage worn bysuffering, at
first gazed at the closed door with vacant eyes. Closed? The word
unconsciously roused a vague fancy in his mind, the fancy that hehad seen
for an instant the light of the lanterns through a chink betweenthe door and
the wall. A morbid idea of hope, due to the weakness of hisbrain, stirred
his whole being. He dragged himself toward the strange appearance.Then, very
gently and cautiously, slipping one finger into the crevice, hedrew the door
toward him. Marvelous! By an extraordinary accident the familiarwho closed
it had turned the huge key an instant before it struck the stonecasing, so
that the rusty bolt not having entered the hole, the door againrolled on its
hinges.

The rabbi ventured to glance outside. By the aid of a sort ofluminous
dusk he distinguished at first a semicircle of walls indented bywinding
stairs; and opposite to him, at the top of five or six stonesteps, a sort of
black portal, opening into an immense corridor, whose firstarches only were
visible from below.

Stretching himself flat he crept to the threshold. Yes, it wasreally a
corridor, but endless in length. A wan light illumined it: lampssuspended
from the vaulted ceiling lightened at intervals the dull hue ofthe
atmosphere--the distance was veiled in shadow. Not a single doorappeared in
the whole extent! Only on one side, the left, heavily gratedloopholes, sunk
in the walls, admitted a light which must be that of evening, forcrimson
bars at intervals rested on the flags of the pavement. What aterrible
silence! Yet, yonder, at the far end of that passage there mightbe a doorway
of escape! The Jew's vacillating hope was tenacious for it wasthe last.

Without hesitating, he ventured on the flags, keeping close underthe
loopholes, trying to make himself part of the blackness of thelong walls. He
advanced slowly, dragging himself along on his breast, forcingback the cry
of pain when some raw wound sent a keen pang through his wholebody.

Suddenly the sound of a sandaled foot approaching reached hisears. He
trembled violently, fear stifled him, his sight grew dim. Well,it was over,
no doubt. He pressed himself into a niche and, half lifeless withterror,
waited.

It was a familiar hurrying along. He passed swiftly by, holdingin his
clenched hand an instrument of torture--a frightful figure--andvanished. The
suspense which the rabbi had endured seemed to have suspended thefunctions
of life, and he lay nearly an hour unable to move. Fearing anincrease of
tortures if he were captured, he thought of returning to hisdungeon. But the
old hope whispered in his soul that divine perhaps, whichcomforts us in our
sorest trials. A miracle had happened. He could doubt no longer.He began to
crawl toward the chance of escape. Exhausted by suffering andhunger,
trembling with pain, he pressed onward. The sepulchral corridorseemed to
lengthen mysteriously, while he, still advancing, gazed into thegloom where
there must be some avenue of escape.

Oh! oh! He again heard footsteps, but this time they were slower,more
heavy. The white and black forms of two inquisitors appeared,emerging from
the obscurity beyond. They were conversing in low tones, andseemed to be
discussing some important subJect, for they were gesticulatingvehemently.

At this spectacle Rabbi Aser Abarbanel closed his eyes; his heartbeat so
violently that it almost suffocated him; his rags were damp withthe cold
sweat of agony; he lay motionless by the wall, his mouth wideopen, under the
rays of a lamp, praying to the God of David.

Just opposite to him the two inquisitors paused under the lightof the
lamp--doubtless owing to some accident due to the course of theirargument.
One, while listening to his companion, gazed at the rabbi! And,beneath that
look--whose absence of expression the hapless man did not atfirst notice--he
fancied he again felt the burning pincers scorch his flesh, hewas to be once
more a living wound. Fainting, breathless, with flutteringeyelids, he
shivered at the touch of the monk's floating robe. But--strangeyet natural
fact--the inquisitor's gaze was evidently that of a man deeplyabsorbed in
his intended reply, engrossed by what he was hearing; his eyeswere
fixed--and seemed to look at the Jew without seeing him.

In fact, after the lapse of a few minutes, the two gloomy figuresslowly
pursued their way, still conversing in low tones, toward theplace whence the
prisoner had come. HE HAD NOT BEEN SEEN! Amid the horribleconfusion of the
rabbi's thoughts, the idea darted through his brain: "Can Ibe already dead
that they did not see me?" A hideous impression roused himfrom his lethargy:
in looking at the wall against which his face was pressed, heimagined he
beheld two fierce eyes watching him! He flung his head back in asudden
frenzy of fright, his hair fairly bristling! Yet, no! No. Hishand groped
over the stones: it was the reflection of the inquisitor's eyes,still
retained in his own, which had been reflected from two spots onthe wall.

Forward! He must hasten toward that goal which he fancied (absurdly,no
doubt) to be deliverance, toward the darkness from which he wasnow barely
thirty paces distant. He pressed forward faster on his knees, hishands, at
full length, dragging himself painfully along, and soon enteredthe dark
portion of this terrible corridor.

Suddenly the poor wretch felt a gust of cold air on the handsresting upon
the flags; it came from under the little door to which the twowalls led.

Oh, Heaven, if that door should open outward. Every nerve in themiserable
fugitive's body thrilled with hope. He examined it from top tobottom, though
scarcely able to distinguish its outlines in the surroundingdarkness. He
passed his hand over it: no bolt, no lock! A latch! He startedup, the latch
yielded to the pressure of his thumb: the door silently swungopen before
him.



"Halleluia!" murmured the rabbi in a transport ofgratitude as, standing
on the threshold, he beheld the scene before him.

The door had opened into the gardens, above which arched astarlit sky,
into spring, liberty, life! It revealed the neighboring fields,stretching
toward the sierras, whose sinuous blue lines were relievedagainst the
horizon. Yonder lay freedom! Oh, to escape! He would journey allnight
through the lemon groves, whose fragrance reached him. Once inthe mountains
and he was safe! He inhaled the delicious air; the breeze revivedhim, his
lungs expanded! He felt in his swelling heart the Veniforas ofLazarus! And
to thank once more the God who had bestowed this mercy upon him,he extended
his arms, raising his eyes toward Heaven. It was an ecstasy ofjoy!

Then he fancied he saw the shadow of his arms approach him--fanciedthat
he felt these shadowy arms inclose, embrace him--and that he waspressed
tenderly to someone's breast. A tall figure actually did standdirectly
before him. He lowered his eyes--and remained motionless, gaspingfor breath,
dazed, with fixed eyes, fairly driveling with terror.

Horror! He was in the clasp of the Grand Inquisitor himself, thevenerable
Pedro Arbuez d'Espila, who gazed at him with tearful eyes, like agood
shepherd who had found his stray lamb.

The dark-robed priest pressed the hapless Jew to his heart withso fervent
an outburst of love, that the edge of the monochal hairclothrubbed the
Dominican's breast. And while Aser Abarbanel with protruding eyesgasped in
agony in the ascetic's embrace, vaguely comprehending that allthe phases of
this fatal evening were only a prearranged torture, that of HOPE,the Grand
Inquisitor, with an accent of touching reproach and a look ofconsternation,
murmured in his ear, his breath parched and burning from longfasting:

"What, my son! On the eve, perchance, of salvation--youwished to leave
us?"