Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Torture of Hope by Vilia Dalila Adom many years ago,
as evening was closing in the venerable Pedro Arbuiez d'espila,
sixth Prior of the Dominicans of Segovia and third Grand
Inquisitor of Spain, followed by a fra redemptor, and preceded
by two familiars of the Holy Office. The latter, carrying lanterns,
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made their way to a subterranean dungeon. The bolt of
a massive door creaked, and they entered a mephitic in pace,
where the dim light revealed between rings fastened to the wall,
a blood stained rack, a brazier and a jug. On
a pile of straw loaded with fetters, and his neck
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encircled by an iron cargan sat a haggard man of
uncertain age clothed in rags. This prisoner was no other
than Rabbi osner A Barbonel, a Jew of Arragon, who
accused of usury and pitiless scorn for the poor, had
been daily subjected to torture for more than a year.
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Yet his blindness was as dense as his hide, and
he 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 vein of their blood.
He descended talmudically from Athoniel, and consequently from Ipsiboa, the
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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 Arbus de Spila, approaching the shuddering Rabbi,
addressed him as follows, my son, Rejoice your trials here
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below are about to end. If in the presence of
such obstinacy 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.
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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. Tomorrow
you will be included in the auto daffay, that is,
you will be exposed to the ca Madero, the symbolical
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flames of the everlasting fire. It burns, as you know,
only at a distance, My son, and death is at
least two hours, often three in coming. On account 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
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time to invoke God and to offer 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
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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 Osser, a barbonel with parched lips and visage worn
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by suffering, at first gazed at the closed door with
vacant eyes closed. The word unconsciously roused a vague fancy
in his mind. The fancy that he had seen for
an instant the light of the lanterns threw a chink
between the door and the wall. A more grea of hope,
due to the weakness of his brain, stirred his whole being.
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He dragged himself toward the strange appearance. Then, very gently
and cautiously, slipping 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 stone casing, so that the
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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 the semicircle of walls indented by winding stairs,
and opposite to him, at the top of five or
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six stone steps, a sort of black portal opening into
an immense corridor whose first arches only were visible from below.
Stretching himself flat the threshold. Yes, it was really a corridor,
but endless in length. A wan light illuminate lamp suspended
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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 extent. Only on
one side, the left. Heavily grated loopholes sunk in the
walls admitted a light which must be that of evening.
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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 jew's vacillating hope was tenacious, for it
was the last. Without hesitating, he ventured on the flags,
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keeping close under the loopholes, trying to make himself part
of the blackness of the long walls. He advanced, slowly,
dragging himself along on him his breast, forcing back the
cry of pain. When some raw wound sent a keen
pang through his whole body. Suddenly the sound of a
sandaled foot approaching reached his ears. He trembled violently. Fear
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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
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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 sorest trials. A miracle had happened, he
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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 sepulchral 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
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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
and seemed to be discussing some important subject, for they
were gesticulating vehemently. At this spectacle, Rabbi Ostner a Barbonel
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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
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owing to some accident due to the course of their argument. One,
while listening to his companion, gazed at the rabbi, and
beneath that look, whose absence of expression, the hapless man
did not at first notice, he fancied. He again felt
the burning pincers scorch his flesh. He was to be
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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
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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 whence 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
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I be already dead that they did not see me?
A hideous impression roused him from his lethargy, and looking
at the wall against which his face was pressed, he
imagined he beheld two fierce eyes watching him. He flung
his head back in a sudden frenzy of fright, his
hair fairly bristling. Yet no, no, his hand groped over
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the stones. It was the reflection of the inquisitor's eyes,
still retained in his own, which had been reflected 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
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paces day. He pressed forward, faster on his knees, his
hands at full length, dragging himself painfully along, and soon
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
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little door to which the two walls led. Oh heaven,
if that door should open outward, every nerve and 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.
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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 the threshold, he beheld
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the scene before him. The door had opened into the
gardens above which arched a starlit sky, into spring, liberty, life.
It revealed the neighboring field, stretching toward the sierras, whose
sinuous blue lines were relieved against the horizon. Yonder lay freedom.
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Oh to escape, He would journey all night through the lemongroves,
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 heart the
vniferous of Lazarus. And to thank once more the God
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who had bestowed this mercy upon him, he extended his arms,
raising his eyes toward Heaven. It was an ecstasy of joy.
Then he fancied he saw the shadow of his arms
approach him. Fancied that he felt these shadowy arms and
clothes embrace him, and that he was pressed tenderly to
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someone's breast. A tall figure actually did stand directly before him.
He lowered his eyes and remained motionless, gasping for breath,
dazed with fixed eyes, fairly driveling with terror horror. He
was in the class with the Grand Inquisitor himself, the
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venerable Pedro Arbuez d' spila, who gazed at him with
tearful eyes, like a good shepherd who had found his
stray lamb. The dark robed priest pressed the hapless jew
to his heart with so fervent an outburst of love
that the edge of the monochal haircloth rubbed the Dominican's breast,
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And while aeser a barbonel with protruding eyes gasped in
agony in the ascetics embrace, vaguely comprehending that all the
phases of this fateful evening were only a pre arranged
torture that of Hope. The Grand Inquisitor, with an accent
of touching reproach and a look of consternation, murmured in
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his ear, his breath parched and burning from long fasting, what,
my son, on the eve perchance of salvation, you wished
to leave us? End of the torture of Hope.