And I, I am Isabella Françoise van Hoorebeke, and I too was Grand Mistress here, nor was I exactly a piece of cake. I completed the construction of our new church. Mistress Dysembaert, my predecessor, who had started it, had been pushing up daisies for more than fifty years when I took office. I thought we had now procrastinated long enough. 

Meanwhile, the Baroque style had become very fashionable and I thought that our church, where we spent so much time every day, could do with a bit of panache. The bishop, the abbots, the prelates, the parish priests, all those chaps in frocks who acted as our guardians, were horrified. They were not really in step with the times. In their eyes, I was probably a bit too stubborn too. A totally deformed and spoilt edifice (their words) was what they thought of what I was envisaging, and perhaps also of myself. 

I wasn't a wuss and dug in my heels. So they told me that if I wanted to regulate and conduct the church according to my own sensitivity and genius (also their words), I would have to manage on my own.

I couldn't believe my luck.

I ordered bluestone, the very best, darkish blue, and white. And marble from Lille, and the finest lime and hardest wood, and in 1720 everything was ready. The bishop blessed our place of worship, somewhat laughing at the wrong side of his mouth, but in the end he thought it was a beautiful edifice. 

So did I. Whenever I come here to relax a bit, I often think: After all, it's a good thing there are two churches here. My garden with its sequined roof, and the church with its forest of pillars and round arches.

Walk past it later. The fact that you can still linger here under the vaults, get married, mourn, muse, is because of me. No, false modesty has never bothered me, Grand Mistress Van Hoorebeke.