“May heaven paint your cheeks with the colors of health, most venerable father, and may happiness reign in your heart!  I have the honor to inform you that the Rev. John Feathercock has just left for Bayreuth, but that he has had put upon his trunks the address of a city called Liverpool, which, I am informed, is in the kingdom of England; and also, everything points to the belief that he will never return.  Therefore, I dare to hope that you will send me the second part of the reward you agreed upon as well as a generous present for Hakem, Mr. Feathercock’s valet, who carried every day a new turtle to the house of the clergyman, and carried away the old one under his cloak.

“I also pray you to tell your friends that I have for sale, at prices exceptionally low, fifty-five turtles, all of different sizes, the last and smallest of which is no larger than the watch of a European houri.  I have been at infinite pains to find them, and they have served to prove to me with what exquisite care Allah fashions the members of the least of His creatures and ornaments their bodies with the most delicate designs.”

VILLIERS DE L’ISLE ADAM

The Torture by Hope

Many years ago, as evening was closing in, the venerable Pedro Arbuez 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, 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 bloodstained rack, a brazier, and a jug.  On a pile of straw, loaded with fetters and his neck encircled by an iron carcan, sat a haggard man, of uncertain age, clothed in rags.

This prisoner was no other than Rabbi Aser Abarbanel, 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.  Yet “his blindness 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 their blood—­he descended Talmudically from Othoniel and consequently from Ipsiboa, 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 d’Espila, approaching the shuddering rabbi, addressed him as follows: