Naked waist-upward. Blood is trickling down
Their lacerated flesh. What do they carry ?
SCHNETZEN.
Their scourges -—iron-pointed, leathern thongs,
Mark how they lash themselves - the statet Flagellants.
The Brothers of the Gross -^ hark to their cries !
VOICE FROM BELOW.
Atone, ye mighty ! God is wroth ! Expel
The enemies of heaven -— raze their homes !
[Confused cries from below, which gradually die away in the distance.
Woe to God's enemies I Death to the Jews !
They poison all our wells — they hring the plague.
Kill them who killed our Lord! Their homes shall be
A wilderness — drown them in their own blood !
[The Lakoobaye and Sohnbtzen withdraw from the window,
SCHNETZEN.
Do not the people ask the same as I ?
Is not the people's voice the voice of God ?
LANDGRAVE.
I will consider.
