Skip to main content

H is for...

... Heretic's Fork


The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
---Edgar Allan Poe




The Bishop


Ahhhh, nothing says morbid and macabre better than a bit of torture....

Heretic's Fork
Today's morbid lovely dates back to the Middle Ages. Used during the Spanish Inquisition (of course) and in
other "confessional" scenarios, this double-ended, two-pronged "fork" was attached to its victim's neck with a leather strap and positioned so that one end of the fork pressed under the chin and the other end pressed into the breast bone.

The victims were then suspended from the ceiling, or perhaps just chained against the wall. They were always left upright, however, which meant they often suffered injury if they allowed their heads to droop forward by falling asleep.

The purpose of the Heretic's Fork wasn't death--though death would sometimes follow because of latent infections and shock and sleep deprivation, etc. No, the purpose of the Heretic's Fork was to extract confessions and convince heretics to recant so they could be welcomed back into the loving arms of the Church. Many of the devilish devices were engraved with the Latin word abiuro (I recant).

Wax Inquisition Victim at Museum of
Medieval Torture Instruments, Amsterdam
I'm pretty sure the level of increasing pain and neck strain would be more than any sane individual could hope to handle---at least for no more than a day or two, surely.The level of sleep deprivation alone would have convinced me to confess to being a purple martian and would have me,willingly and eagerly, knocking on the doors of the nearest holy house.









Comments

  1. That looks like some elaborate S&M toy. Not something i would want to mess with!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yeah, it really doesn't look like it would be any fun, lol :-)

      Delete
  2. That is one horrible device. I can feel the nightmares creeping up already.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I know...just thinking about it gives me the shivers...and a neck ache!

      Delete
  3. is that a wax transvestite?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Aw, it's bad form to insult torture victims, lol....he can't help what his captors, er sculptors dressed him in ;-P

      Delete

Post a Comment

Share your thoughts!

Popular posts from this blog

A to Z reflections....

Another A to Z challenge comes to an end--- another collection of posts and poetry have been written, another deep breath of relief is released. For my fellow bloggers that survived as well, it's another 'challenge-completed' notch carved into the writing desk. I've come to enjoy my yearly foray into the world of all things alphabetical. This was my third year, though it was only the second year I had a workable theme (which made the challenge substantially easier than the first year I attempted this challenge.) And, though my first year was difficult because my focus was so scattered, I found this year was more  difficult because I lost the enthusiasm that came with the first year excitement----excitement which helped me plug along until the end of the challenge. Year 3 was a success in the sense that I completed the challenge, though, this was the year that almost wasn't---- Somewhere about a third of the way through the challenge, I seriously considered

A million lives, beneath a single sky.....

Though our feet leave different prints,our tongues sound different words, there's a mirrored rhythm in the beating of our hearts. Though born in different worlds, our eyes sharpened 'neath different moons, there's an unspoken truth in the warmth of our touch. We may walk in different strides and dream different dreams, we may speak in different voices, maybe swim in different streams. It's plain to see, when dark night falls, as all the stars shine through, that underneath it all, there's no difference 'tween me and you.

Bitter Honey

Weaving dreams of beguiling gold, a future's price for happiness. What secrets do you, determined, hold? asks the summer wind's soft caress. A guarded name, a hidden hope. Spinning wheels clutching time, grasping straw that falls away, What dreams may come, we soon may find, won't recall at end of day. A cherished life, a memory lost.