A cry of “¡Horrible asesinato!” leaps from the top of the page, pulling the viewer into a scene of violence and accusation. At the center, a man in a broad-brimmed hat raises a dagger above a prone figure, while another clutches his head in horror. The composition is crowded with symbols: two devils, their tails curling, seem to egg on the murderer, while birds—perhaps doves—dart above, as if to witness or judge.

The border of the print, ornate and almost festive, frames a moment of chaos, its decorative pattern at odds with the brutality inside. Every line is charged with energy, the crosshatching of the figures echoing the agitation of the event. This print belongs to a world where news and spectacle were inseparable, and where the broadside—cheaply printed, widely circulated—served as both warning and entertainment. Around the turn of the twentieth century in Mexico, artists like José Guadalupe Posada became famous for such works, blending sensational crime reporting with biting social commentary.

The text below, dense and breathless, recounts the parricide attributed to Bernabé Manrique, its lurid details set in Zapotiltepec. Though little is recorded about this specific sheet, its presence in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s collection today speaks to the enduring power of popular print culture—a tradition that made even the most shocking events available to all, for the price of a penny. Look again at the devils: are they tormentors, or the true authors of the scene?