accordingly, attended by the two burgomasters and all the senators.  At first their authority, solicitations, and personal influence, produced a good effect.  Some of those outside consented to retire, and the tumult partially subsided within.  As night, however, was fast approaching, many of the mob insisted upon remaining for evening mass.  They were informed that there would be none that night, and that for once the people could certainly dispense with their vespers.

Several persons now manifesting an intention of leaving the cathedral, it was suggested to the senators that if, they should lead the way, the populace would follow in their train, and so disperse to their homes.  The excellent magistrates took the advice, not caring, perhaps, to fulfil any longer the dangerous but not dignified functions of police officers.  Before departing, they adopted the precaution of closing all the doors of the church, leaving a single one open, that the rabble still remaining might have an opportunity to depart.  It seemed not to occur to the senators that the same gate would as conveniently afford an entrance for those without as an egress for those within.  That unlooked-for event happened, however.  No sooner had the magistrates retired than the rabble burst through the single door which had been left open, overpowered the margrave, who, with a few attendants, had remained behind, vainly endeavoring by threats and exhortations to appease the tumult, drove him ignominiously from the church, and threw all the other portals wide open.  Then the populace flowed in like an angry sea.  The whole of the cathedral was at the mercy of the rioters, who were evidently bent on mischief.  The wardens and treasurers of the church, after a vain attempt to secure a few of its most precious possessions, retired.  They carried the news to the senators, who, accompanied by a few halberdmen, again ventured to approach the spot.  It was but for a moment, however, for, appalled by the furious sounds which came from within the church, as if subterranean and invisible forces were preparing a catastrophe which no human power could withstand, the magistrates fled precipitately from the scene.  Fearing that the next attack would be upon the town-house, they hastened to concentrate at that point their available forces, and left the stately cathedral to its fate.

And now, as the shadows of night were deepening the perpetual twilight of the church, the work of destruction commenced.  Instead of evening mass rose the fierce music of a psalm, yelled by a thousand angry voices.  It seemed the preconcerted signal for a general attack.  A band of marauders flew upon the image of the Virgin, dragged it forth from its receptacle, plunged daggers into its inanimate body, tore off its jewelled and embroidered garments, broke the whole figure into a thousand pieces, and scattered the fragments along the floor.  A wild shout succeeded, and then the work which seemed delegated to a comparatively