Upon the 18th August, the great and time-honored ceremony of the Ommegang occurred.  Accordingly, the great procession, the principal object of which was to conduct around the city a colossal image of the Virgin, issued as usual from the door of the cathedral.  The image, bedizened and effulgent, was borne aloft upon the shoulders of her adorers, followed by the guilds, the military associations, the rhetoricians, the religious sodalities, all in glittering costume, bearing blazoned banners, and marching triumphantly through the streets with sound of trumpet and beat of drum.  The pageant, solemn but noisy, was exactly such a show as was most fitted at that moment to irritate Protestant minds and to lead to mischief.  No violent explosion of ill-feeling, however, took place.  The procession was followed by a rabble rout of scoffers, but they confined themselves to words and insulting gestures.  The image was incessantly saluted, as she was borne along—­the streets, with sneers, imprecations, and the rudest, ribaldry.  “Mayken!  Mayken!” (little Mary) “your hour is come.  ’Tis your last promenade.  The city is tired of you.”  Such were the greetings which the representative of the Holy Virgin received from men grown weary of antiquated mummery.  A few missiles were thrown occasionally at the procession as it passed through the city, but no damage was inflicted.  When the image was at last restored to its place, and the pageant brought to a somewhat hurried conclusion, there seemed cause for congratulation that no tumult had occurred.

On the following morning there was a large crowd collected in front of the cathedral.  The image, instead of standing in the centre of the church, where, upon all former occasions, it had been accustomed during the week succeeding the ceremony to receive congratulatory, visits, was now ignominiously placed behind an iron railing within the choir.  It had been deemed imprudent to leave it exposed to sacrilegious hands.  The precaution excited derision.  Many vagabonds of dangerous appearance, many idle apprentices and ragged urchins were hanging for a long time about the imprisoned image, peeping through the railings, and indulging in many a brutal jest.  “Mayken!  Mayken!” they cried; “art thou terrified so soon?  Hast flown to thy nest so early?  Dost think thyself beyond the reach of mischief?  Beware, Mayken! thine hour is fast approaching!” Others thronged around the balustrade, shouting “Vivent les gueux!” and hoarsely commanding the image to join in the beggars’ cry.  Then, leaving the spot, the mob roamed idly about the magnificent church, sneering at the idols, execrating the gorgeous ornaments, scoffing at crucifix and altar.