One morning in the year 1550 the beautiful Mary Van de Werve was seated in
her father's house in a richly sculptured arm-chair. The young girl had
apparently just returned from church, as she still held in her hand a
rosary of precious stones, and her hood lay on a chair near her. She
seemed to be engrossed by some pleasing thought which filled her heart
with a sweet anticipation, for a slight smile parted her lips, and her
eyes were upraised to heaven as if imploring a favor from Almighty God.
Against the wall behind her hung a picture from the pencil of John Van
Eyck, in which the great master had represented the Virgin in prayer,
whilst she was still ignorant of the sublime destiny that awaited her.
The artist had lavished upon this masterpiece the most ardent inspirations
of his pious and poetic genius, for the image seemed to live and think. It
charmed by the beauty of feature, the majestic calm of expression, the
sweetness of the smile, the look full of love cast from earth to heaven.
There was a striking resemblance between the creation of the artist and
the young girl seated beneath in almost the same attitude. In truth, the
youthful Mary Van de Werve was as beautiful as the poetical representation
of her patroness. She had the same large blue eyes, whose expression,
although calm and thoughtful, revealed a keen sensibility and a tender,
loving soul; her golden hair fell in ringlets over a brow of marble
whiteness, and no painter had ever traced a cheek of lovelier mould or
more delicate hue; her whole being expressed that calm recollection and
attractive gravity which is the true poetry of the immaterial soul, and
which was comprehended only by the believing artists of the North before
the material inspiration of pagan art had been transmitted to them from
the South.
Mary Van de Werve was most richly attired; but there was in her dress an
absence of ornament which appeared strange at that period of extreme pomp
and show. A waist of sky-blue velvet encircled her slender form, and a
brocade skirt fell in large folds to her feet. Only on her open sleeves
appeared some gold thread, and the clasp which fastened the chamois-skin
purse suspended from her girdle was encrusted with precious stones.
All her surroundings betokened her father's opulence: large stained-glass
windows, covered with the armorial bearings of his ancestors, cast their
varied hues upon the inlaid marble floor; tables and chairs of oak, slabs
supporting exquisite statuary from the chisel of the most celebrated
artists, were ranged along the walls; an ivory crucifix surmounted a
silver basin of rare workmanship containing holy water. Even the massive
andirons, which stood in the broad fireplace, were partly of gold and
ornamented with the coat of arms.