Mystery & Suspense - Daily Short Stories

The Torture by Hope - Auguste Villiers de l'Isle-Adam

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Duration:: 16m
Broadcast on:: 21 Jun 2024
Audio Format:: mp3

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Many years ago, as evening was closing in, the venerable Pedro Arbuez di Espyla, sixth prior of the Dominicans of Segovia, and third-grand Inquisitor of Spain, followed by a Frau Redemptor and proceeded by two familiars of the Holy Office. The latter, carrying lanterns, made their way to a subterranean dungeon. The bolt of a massive door creaked, and they entered a mophitic in pace, where the dim light revealed between rings fastened to the wall, a blood-stained rack, a brassier, and a jug. On a pile of straw, loaded with fetters, and his neck encircled by an iron carcan, sat a haggart man of uncertain age, clothed in rags. This prisoner was no other than Rabbi Azer Abbar Banyal, a Jew of Aragon, who, accused of usury and pitiless scorn for the poor, had been daily subjected to torture for more than a year. Yet his blindness was as dense as his hide, and he had refused to abjure his faith. Proud of affiliation dating back thousands of years, proud of his ancestors, for all Jews worthy of the name are vain of their bloods. He descended Talmidically from Atheniel, and, consequently, from Ipsaba, the wife of the last judge of Israel, a circumstance which had sustained his courage amid incessant torture. With tears in his eyes, at the thought of this resolute soul-rejecting salvation, the venerable Pedro Arbuez di Aspilah, approaching the shuttering Rabbi, addressed him as follows. My son, rejoice, your trials here below are about to end. If in the presence of such obstency I was forced to permit, with deep regret, 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, at last withered, but God alone can judge your soul. Perhaps infinite mercy will shine upon you at the last moment. We must hope so. There are examples. So sleep in peace tonight. Without you will be included, in the autodefay, that is, you will be exposed to the Caye-Miderot, the symbolical flames of the ever-lasting fire. It burns, as you know, only at a distance, my son. And death is at least two hours, often three, in coming, on accounts of the wet, iced bandages, with which we protect the heads and hearts of the condemned. There will be forty-three of you. Placed in the last row, you will have time to invoke God, and offer to him this baptism of fire, which is of the Holy Spirit. Hope in the light, and rest. With these words, having signed to his companions to unchain the prisoner, the prior tenderly embraced him. Then came the turn of the Fra Redemptor, who, in a low tone, entreated the Jew's forgiveness, for what he had made him suffer for the purpose of redeeming him. Then the two familiars silently kissed him. This ceremony over, the captive was left, solitary and bewildered, in the darkness. Rabbi Aser, a barbenelle, with parched lips, and visage worn by suffering, at first gazed at the closed door with vacant eyes. First, the word unconsciously roused of egg fancy in his mind. The fancy that he had seen, for instance, the light of the lanterns, through a chink, between the door and the wall. A morbid idea of hope, due to the weakness of his brain, stirred his whole being. He dragged himself towards the strange appearance. Then, very gently and cautiously, slipped one finger into the crevice. He drew the door toward him. Marvelous, by an extraordinary accident the familiar who closed it, had turned the huge key an instant before it struck the stern casing, so that the rusty bolt, not having entered the hole, the door again rolled on its hinges. The Rabbi ventured to glance outside. By the aid of a sort of luminous dusk, he distinguished at first a semi-circle of walls, indented by winding stairs. And opposite to him, at the top of five or six stone steps, a sort of black portal, opening into an immense corridor, whose first arches only were visible from below. Stretching himself flat, he crept to the threshold. Yes, it was really a corridor, but endless in length. A wan light illumined it, lamp suspended from the vaulted ceiling, lightened at intervals the dull hue of the atmosphere. The distance was veiled in shadow. Not a single door appeared in the whole extents. Only on one side, the left, heavily grated loopholes, sunk in the walls, admitted a light which must be that of evening, for crimson bars at intervals, rested on the flags of the pavement. What a terrible silence. Yet, yonder, at the far end of that passage, there might be a doorway of escape. The jus' vacillating hope was tenacious, for it was the last. Without hesitating, he ventured on the flags, keeping close under the loopholes, trying to make himself part of the blackness of the long walls. He advanced slowly, dragging himself along on his breast, forcing back the cry of pain when some raw wound sent a keen pang through his whole body. Inside the sound of a sandaled foot, approaching, reached his ears. 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 with terror, waited. It was a familiar hurrying along. He passed swiftly by, holding in his clenched hand an instrument of torture, a frightful figure, and vanished. The suspense which the rabbi had endured seemed to have suspended the functions of life, and he lay nearly an hour unable to move. Fearing an increase of tortures, if he were captured, he thought of returning to his dungeon. But the old hope whispered in his soul that divine, perhaps, which comforts us in our source trials. A miracle had happened; he could doubt no longer. He began to crawl toward the chance of escape. Exhausted by suffering and hunger, trembling with pain, he pressed onward. The Septicrual corridor seemed to lengthen mysteriously, while he, still advancing, gazed into the gloom 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 beyonds. They were conversing in low tones, and seemed to be discussing some important subject, for they were just stipulating vehemently. At this spectacle, Rabbi Aser at Barbagnal closed his eyes. His heart beat so violently that it almost suffocated him. His rags were damp with the cold sweat of agony. He lay motionless by the wall, his mouth wide open under the rays of a lamp, praying to the god of David. Just opposite to him, the two inquisitors paused under the light of the lamp, doubtless owing to some accident due to the course of their arguments. One, while listening to his companion, gazed at the rabbi. And beneath the look, whose absence of expression the hapless man did not at first notice, he fancied he again felt the burning pincers scorched his flesh. He was to be once more a living wound. Fainting, breathless, with fluttering eyelids, he shivered at the touch of the monk's floating robe. But, strange yet natural fact, the inquisitor's gaze, was evidently that of a man deeply absorbed in his intended reply, engrossed by what he was hearing. His eyes were fixed, and seemed to look at the Jew without seeing him. In fact, after the lapse of a few minutes, the two gloomy figures slowly pursued their way, still conversing in low tones, toward the place once the prisoner had come. He had not been seen. Amid the horrible confusion of the rabbi's thoughts, the idea darted through his brain. Can I be already dead that they did not see me? A hideous impression roused him from his lethargy. In looking at the wall, against which his face was pressed, he imagined he beheld two fierce eyes watching him. He flung his hand back in a sudden frenzy of fright. His hair fairly bristling. Yet, no, no, his hand groped over the stones. It was the reflection of the inquisitor's eyes, still retained in his own, which had been refracted from two spots on the wall. Forward, he must hasten toward that goal which he fancied, absurdly no doubt, to be deliverance, toward the darkness from which he was now barely thirty paces distant. He pressed forward, faster on his knees, his hands, at full length, dragging himself painfully along, and suit entered the dark portion of this terrible corridor. Suddenly the poor wretch felt a gust of cold air on the hands resting upon the flags. It came from under the little door to which the two walls led. Oh, heaven, if that door should open outward. Very nerve in the miserable fugitive's body, thrilled with hope. He examined it from top to bottom, though scarcely able to distinguish its outlines in the surrounding darkness. He passed his hand over it. No bolt, no lock. A latch, he started up, the latch yielded to the pressure of his thumb. The door silently swung open before him. "Hallelujah!" murmured the rabbi in a transport of gratitude, as, standing on the threshold, he beheld the scene before him. The door had opened into the gardens, above which arched a starlet sky, into spring, liberty, life. It revealed the neighboring fields, stretching toward the sierra's, whose sinuous blue lines burry leaved against the horizon. Yonder lay freedom. Oh, to escape! He would journey all night through the lemon groves, whose fragrance reached him. Once in the mountains, and he was safe, he inhaled the delicious air. The breeze revived him, his lungs expanded. He felt in his swelling hearts the vene for us, of Lazarus. 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 estacy of joy. Then he fancied he saw the shadow of his arms approach him, fancied that he felt the shadowy arms enclose, embrace him, and that he was pressed tenderly to someone's breast. A tall figure actually did stand directly before him. He lowered his eyes, and remained motionless, gasping for breath, gazed, with fixed eyes, fairly driveling with terror. Horror! He was in the clasp of the grand inquisitor himself, the venerable Pedro Arbuez di Aspila, who gazed at him with tearful eyes, like a good shepherd who had found his stray lamb. The dark robe priest pressed the hapless Jew to his heart, with so fervent an outburst of love, that the edges of the manocal hair-cloth rubbed the Dominican's breast. And while azer are babbignale, with protruding eyes, gasped in agony, in the ascetics embrace, vaguely comprehending that all the 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 of consternation, murmured in his ear, his breath parched and burning from long fasting. "What, my son, on the eve, perchance of salvation, you wished to leave us?" When you need mealtime inspiration, it's worth shopping-king supers, where you'll find over 30,000 mouth-watering choices that excite your inner foodie. And no matter what tasty choice you make, you'll enjoy our everyday low prices, plus extra ways to save, like digital coupons worth over $600 each week. You can also save up to $1 off per gallon at the pump with fuel points. More savings, and more inspiring flavors make shopping-king supers worth it every time. King supers, fresh for everyone, fuel restrictions apply. 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