porting arches of the same material which uphold the immense weight of the solid stone roof, and the fourteen stations of the cross—each a marvel in itself—to the skeletons of the saints and martyrs, covered with wax and so artistically wrought into the semblance of fresh human forms as to cheat the eye completely, dressed in robes of great richness, and shodden with golden sandals set with gems, which lie in state, each in its own great casket, all around the building. Even the tomb of the Bishops was thrown open and inspected.
The mighty pillars were covered from their capitals down to the pavement, with crimson silk plush, edged and embroidered with gold, in preparation for the grand Christmas festivities, and the whole church was being cleaned and prepared for the occasion. The last time the metal work—then nearly all gold and silver—in this cathedral was cleaned, the work cost four thousand dollars in coin, though done at the least possible expense.
Much of the riches of this old cathedral have disappeared within a few years, it is said, but the eye of the stranger looks in vain for any trace of the hand of the despoiler, save where once hung near the main entrance, the great chandelier, which Miramon took down and melted up, to pay his troops for fighting the battles of the church against the Republicans. He got forty thousand dollars out of this chandelier, and the curses of all the pious Catholics of Mexico, who were quite willing he should fight for the church, but wished him to make the enemy—not the church—pay the cost, and denounced the act as one of sacrilege, sure to bring down destruction on its author.
