We will, therefore, repeat here what we said in a previous work, in explanation of what the Spaniards mean by the phrase "placing in chapel."
When a man is condemned to death, from that moment he is, _de facto_, cut off from that society to which he no longer belongs, through the sentence passed on him; he is consequently separated from his fellow men.
He is shut up in a room, at one end of which is an altar; the walls are hung with black drapery, studded with silver tears, and here and there mourning inscriptions, drawn from Holy Writ. Near his bed is placed the coffin in which his body is to be deposited after execution, while two priests, who relieve each other, but of whom one constantly remains in the room, say mass in turn, and exhort the criminal to repent Of his crimes, and implore divine clemency. This custom, which, if carried to an extreme, would appear in our country before all, barbarous and cruel, perfectly agrees with Spanish manners, and the thoroughly believing spirit of this impressionable nation; it is intended to draw the culprit back to pious thought, and rarely fails to produce the desired effect upon him.
The general was, therefore, placed in capilla, and two monks belonging to the order of St. Francis, the most respected, and, in fact, respectable in Mexico, entered it with him.
The first hours he passed there were terrible; this proud mind, this powerful organization, revolted against adversity, and would not accept defeat. Gloomy and silent, with frowning brows, and fists clenched on his bosom, the general sought shelter like a wild beast in a corner of the room, recalling his whole life, and seeing with starts of terror the bloody victims scattered along his path, and sacrificed in turn to his devouring ambition, sadly defile before him.
Then he reverted to his early years. When residing at the Palmar, his magnificent family hacienda, his life passed away calm, pure, gentle, and tranquil, without regrets, and without desires, among his faithful servants. Then, he was so glad to be nothing, and to wish to be nothing.
By degrees his thoughts followed the bias of his recollections: the present was effaced; his contracted features grew softer, and two burning tears, the first, perhaps, this man of iron had ever shed, slowly coursed down his cheeks, which grief had hollowed.