The Amulet

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.