"I own I belong to a faith which you yourselves acknowledge to be of Divine origin. God loved this religion, and He, according to my belief, is still attached to it, while you think He has ceased to be so; and because your belief differs from mine, you condemn those who are of the opinion that God continues to love what He formerly loved. You demand that we should become Christians, and yet you are far from being Christians yourselves. Be at least men, and act towards us as reasonable as if you had no religion at all to guide you and no revelation for your enlightenment." "_Osseitaro barbaro_" ("clip his beard"), some of the spectators shout, and immediately one of the executioners besmears his venerable beard, by means of a long brush, with pitch and turpentine, and sets fire to it. One more cry, "_Sh'ma, Yisrael, Adonay Elahenu, Adonay Echad_" ("Hear, O Israel, the Eternal, Our God is One"), and the flames have done their work, amidst the rapturous applause of the spectators, and amidst the pious ejaculations: "Blessed be forever the goodness and mercy of the Holy Inquisition. Blessed be the Holy Trinity, the sister of the Virgin Mary." Not a tear among the spectators. Father, mother, husband, wife, child, relatives, friends, all are eye-witnesses to this bloody sacrifice, and yet from them not a sigh of regret, nor dare they be absent, nor dare they abstain from applauding, that would fasten suspicion upon them, and condemn them to a similar fate. A confiscation of the convicted possessions ended the mournful tragedy. Such was the clemency and generosity for which Boabdil, the last of the Moorish kings, entreated. Praised be God, now and forever, who has emancipated us from the clemency and generosity of the Church. [Illustration] ANTONIO JOSEPH DA SILVA. Auf dem Platze St. Domingo, Vor der grossen Klosterkirche, Harrt gespannt die wueste Menge, Auf die Scheiterhaufen blickend. Aus den Fenstern lugen Frauen In den hellsten Festgewaendern, Und es blitzen die Juwelen, Um den Gottestag zu ehren. Gilt es doch Antonio heute, De sie ihren Plautus heissen, Gilt es doch dem fruehern Liebling Letzte Ehre zu erweisen. Der beschuldigt eines Rueckfalls In den alten Vaterglauben Ihn will nun das Volk verlaeugnen, Ihn im Flammentode schauen. Er, der sie mit seinem Spiele Oft geruehret und ergoetzet, Heute wollen die Gemeinen, An ihm selber sich ergoetzen. Horch! schon toent die duestre Glocke, Welche grauenvoll verkuendet, Dass die Stunde war gekommen Fuer den unbeugsamen Suender. Alles gafft jetzt nach der Strasse, Welche zu dem Platze fuehret Und mit Schaekern und mit Spaessen Sucht man sich die Zeit zu kuerzen. Schau! da kommen sie die Schwarzen, Die den Koenig stolz umgeben, Schau! da kommen auch die Frevler, Welche heute man verbrennet.