antage of many noble families and the people of the middle classes, who
were tempted by the example of others to a display of magnificence which
might have seriously injured their fortunes.

The greater part of the Italian merchants from Lucca, Genoa, Florence, and
other cities beyond the Alps, were noblemen, and from this circumstance
they were thrown into intimate intercourse with the noble families of
Antwerp, all of whom spoke fluently three or four languages, and who
particularly studied to speak with purity and elegance the soft Italian
idiom.[5]

In the _Hipdorp_, not far from the Church of St. James, stood an elegant
mansion, which was the favorite resort of the elite of the Italian
merchants. It was the residence of William Van de Werve, lord of Schilde.

Although this nobleman did not himself engage in mercantile transactions,
because the aristocratic families of Brabant regarded commerce as an
occupation unsuitable to persons of high birth,[6] he was very cordial and
hospitable to all strangers whose rank entitled them to admission to his
home circle. Moreover, he was extremely wealthy, luxurious in his manner
of living, and so well versed in three or four different languages, that
he could with ease enter into an agreeable and useful conversation in
either of them.

The house of Mr. Van de Werve had still other attractions to noble
foreigners. He had a daughter of extraordinary beauty, so lovely, so
modest, notwithstanding the homage offered to her charms, that her
admirers had surnamed her _la bionda maraviglia_, "the wonderful blonde."

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 b