THE CONFESSOR.
Mexico, as we have already stated, was, after the conquest, completely rebuilt on the original plan, so that, at the present day, it offers nearly the same sight as struck Cortez when he entered it for the first time. The Plaza Mayor, especially, some years back, before the French innovations, more or less good, were introduced, offered towards evening a most picturesque scene.
This immense square is bounded on one side by the Portales de Mercaderes; heavy arches supported on one side by immense stones, and on the other by pilasters, at the foot of which are the alacenas or shops.
The ayuntamiento, the president's palace, the cathedral, the sagrario, the portal de las flores, an immense bazaar for merchandize, and the Parian, also a bazaar, complete, or rather completed, at the period when our history takes place, the fourth side of the square, for recently great changes have taken place, and the Parian, among other buildings, has disappeared. The handsomest streets, such as the Tacuba, Mint, Monterilla, Santo Domingo, etc., debouche on the great square.
The cathedral stands exactly on the site of the ancient great Mexican Teocali, all the buildings of which it has absorbed; unfortunately this building, which is externally splendid, does not come up internally to the idea formed of it, for its ornaments are in bad taste, poor and paltry.
Between five and six in the evening, or a few minutes before Oración, the appearance of the Plaza Mayor becomes really fairy-like. The crowd of strollers—a strange crowd were there ever one—flocks up from all sides at once, composed of horsemen, pedestrians, officers, priests, soldiers, campesinos, leperos, Indian women in red petticoats, ladies of fashion in their sayas, and all the people come, go, cross and jostle each other, mingling their conversation with the cries of children, the vociferations of the leperos, who torment purchasers with their impetuosity, and the shrill appeals of the sellers of tamales and queratero, crouching in the shade of the porticos.
A few minutes before the Oración, a Franciscan monk, recognizable by his blue gown, and silken cord round his waist, and whose large white felt hat, pulled down over the eyes, almost completely concealed his face, came from the Calle Monterilla, and entered the Plaza Mayor.
This man, who was tall and apparently powerfully built, walked slowly, with hanging head and arms crossed on his chest, as if plunged in serious reflection. Instead of entering the thronged Portales, he crossed the square and proceeded towards the Parian, which was very lively at the moment, for the Parian was a bazaar, resembling the Temple of Paris, and was visited at this period by persons, the leanness of whose purses only allowed them to purchase here their jewellery and smart clothing, which, in any other part of the city would have been much too expensive for them.
Not attending to the noise or movement around him, the Franciscan leant his shoulder against the stall of an evangelista, or public writer, and looked absently and wearily across the square. He did not remain long in this position, however, for just after he had reached the Parian, the Oración began. At the first peal of the cathedral bells, all the noises ceased in the square; the crowd stopped, heads were uncovered, and each muttered a short prayer in a low voice.
At the last stroke of the Oración, a hand was laid on the Franciscan's shoulder, while a voice whispered in his ear—