There was once a just and most Christian King of Britain, called
Maurus. To him and to his wife Daria was born a little girl, the
fairest creature that this earth ever saw. She came into the world
wrapped in a hairy mantle, and all men wondered greatly what this might
mean. Then the King gathered together his wise men to inquire of them.
But they could not make known the thing to him, for only God in Heaven
knew how the rough robe signified that she should follow holiness and
purity all her days, and the wisdom of St. John the Baptist. And
because of the mantle, they called her ‘Ursula,’ ‘Little Bear.’
Now Ursula grew day by day in grace and loveliness, and in such wisdom
that all men marvelled. Yet should they not have marvelled, since with
God all things are possible. And when she was fifteen years old she was
a light of all wisdom, and a glass of all beauty, and a fountain of
scripture and of sweet ways. Lovelier woman there was not alive. Her
speech was so full of all delight that it seemed as though an angel of
Paradise had taken human flesh. And in all the kingdom no weighty thing
was done without counsel of Ursula.
So her fame was carried through the earth, and a King of England, a
heathen of over-seas, hearing, was taken with the love of her. And he
set all his heart on having her for wife to his son Æther, and for
daughter in his home. So he sent a mighty and honourable embassy, of
earls and marquesses, with goodly company of knights, and ladies, and
philosophers; bidding them, with all courtesy and discretion, pray King
Maurus to give Ursula in marriage to Æther. “But,” he said, “if Maurus
will not hear your gentle words, open to him all my heart, and tell him
that I will ravage his land with fire, and slay his people, and make
himself die a cruel death, and will, after, lead Ursula away with me.
Give him but three days to answer, for I am wasted with desire to
finish the matter, and hold Ursula in my ward.”
But when the ambassadors came to King Maurus, he would not have his
daughter wed a heathen; so, since prayers and gifts did not move him,
they spoke out all the threats. Now the land of Britain was little, and
its soldiers few, while the heathen was a mighty King and a conqueror;
so Maurus, and his Queen, and his councillors, and all the people, were
in sore distress.
But on the evening of the second day, Ursula went into her chamber, and
shut close the doors; and before the image of the Father, who is very
pitiful, prayed all night with tears, telling how she had vowed in her
heart to live a holy maiden all her days, having Christ alone for
spouse. But, if His will were that she should wed the son of the
heathen King, she prayed that wisdom might be given her, to turn the
hearts of all that people who knew not faith nor holiness; and power to
comfort her father and mother, and all the people of her fatherland.
And when the clear light of dawn was in the air, she fell asleep. And
the Angel of the Lord appeared to her in a dream, saying, “Ursula, your
prayer is heard. At the sunrising you shall go boldly before the
ambassadors of the King of Over-sea, for the God of Heaven shall give
you wisdom, and teach your tongue what it should speak.” When it was
day, Ursula rose to bless and glorify the name of God. She put on for
covering and for beauty an enwrought mantle like the starry sky, and
was crowned with a coronet of gems. Then, straightway passing to her
father’s chamber, she told him what grace had been done to her that
night, and all that now was in her heart to answer to the ambassadors
of Over-sea. So, though long he would not, she persuaded her father.
Then Maurus, and his lords and councillors, and the ambassadors of the
heathen King, were gathered in the Hall of Council. And when Ursula
entered the place where these lords were, one said to the other, “Who
is this that comes from Paradise?” For she moved in all noble
gentleness, with eyes inclined to earth, learned, and frank, and fair,
delightful above all women upon earth. Behind her came a hundred
maidens, clothed in white silk, fair and lovely. They shone brightly as
the stars, but Ursula shone as the moon and the evening star.
Now this was the answer Ursula made, which the King caused to be
written, and sealed with the royal seal, and gave to the ambassadors of
the King of Over-sea.
“I will take,” she said, “for spouse, Æther, the son of my lord the
King of Over-sea. But I ask of my lord three graces, and with heart and
soul [100] pray of him to grant them.
“The first grace I ask is this, that he, and the Queen, and their son,
my spouse, be baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and
of the Holy Spirit.
“The second grace is that three years may be given me, before the
bridal, in which to go to and fro upon the sea, that I may visit the
bodies of the Saints in Rome, and the blessed places of the Holy Land.
“And for the last grace, I ask that he choose ten fair maidens of his
kingdom, and with each of these a thousand more, all of gentle blood,
who shall come to me here, in Britain, and go with me in gladness upon
the sea, following this my holy pilgrimage.”
Then spake one of the nobles of the land to Maurus, saying, “My lord
the King, this your daughter is the Dove of Peace come from Paradise,
the same that in the days of the Flood brought to the Ark of Noah the
olive-branch of good news.” And at the answer, were the ambassadors so
full of joy that they wellnigh could not speak, and with praise and
triumph they went their way, and told their master all the sweet answer
of Ursula.
Then my lord the King said, “Praised and blessed be the name of our God
Malcometto, who has given my soul for comfort that which it desired.
Truly there is not a franker lady under the wheel of the sun; and by
the body of my mother I swear there is nothing she can ask that I will
not freely give. First of the maidens she desires shall be my daughter
Florence.” Then all his lords rose, man by man, and gladly named, each,
his child.
So the will of Ursula was done; and that King, and all his folk, were
baptized into the Holy Faith. And Æther, with the English maidens, in
number above ten thousand, came to the land of Britain.
Then Ursula chose her own four sisters, Habila, and Julia, and
Victoria, and Aurea, and a thousand daughters of her people, with
certain holy bishops, and great lords, and grave councillors, and an
abbot of the order of St. Benedict, men full of all wisdom, and friends
of God.
So all that company set sail in eleven ships, and passing this way and
that upon the sea, rejoiced in it, and in this their maiden pilgrimage.
And those who dwelt by the shores of the sea came forth in multitudes
to gaze upon them as they passed, and to each man it appeared a
delightful vision. For the ships sailed in fair order, side by side,
with sound of sweet psalms and murmur of the waters. And the maidens
were clad, some in scarlet and some in pure samite, some in rich silk
of Damascus, some in cloth of gold, and some in the purple robe that is
woven in Judea. Some wore crowns, others garlands of flowers. Upon the
shoulder of each was the visible cross, in the hands of each a
pilgrim’s staff, by their sides were pilgrims’ scrips, and each ship’s
company sailed under the gonfalon of the Holy Cross. Ursula in the
midst was like a ray of sunlight, and the Angel of the Lord was ever
with them for guide.
So in the holy time of Lent they came to Rome. And when my Lord the
Pope came forth, under the Castle of St. Angelo, with great state, to
greet them, seeing their blessed assembly, he put off the mantle of
Peter, and with many bishops, priests, and brothers, and certain
cardinals, set himself to go with them on their blessed pilgrimage.
At length they came to the land of Slavonia, whose ruler was friend and
liegeman to the Soldan of Babylon. Then the Lord of the Saracens sent
straightway to the Soldan, telling what a mighty company had come to
his land, and how they were Christian folk. And the Soldan gathered all
his men of war, and with great rage the host of the heathen made
against the company of Ursula.
And when they were nigh, the Soldan cried and said, “What folk are ye?”
And Ursula spake in answer, “We are Christian folk: our feet are turned
to the blessed tomb of our Lord Jesus Christ, for the saving of our
souls, and that we may win grace to pass into eternal life, in the
blessed Paradise.” And the Soldan answered, “Either deny your God, or I
will slay you all with the sword. So shall ye die a dolorous death, and
see your land no more.” And Ursula answered, “Even so we desire to be
sure witnesses for the name of God, declaring and preaching the glory
of His name; because He has made heaven and earth and the sea by His
Word; and afterward all living things; and afterward has willed,
Himself, to die, for our salvation and glory. And who follows Him shall
go to rejoice in His Fatherland and in His Kingdom.”
Then she turned to her people: “My sisters and my brothers, in this
place God has given us great grace. Embrace and make it sure, for our
death in this place will be life perpetual, and joy, and sweetness
never-ending. And there, above, we shall be with the Majesty and the
angels of Paradise.” Then she called her spouse to comfort and teach
him. And he answered her with these words, “To me it appears three
thousand years that death is a-coming, so much have I already tasted of
the sweetness of Paradise.”
Then the Soldan gave commandment that they should all be slain with the
sword. And so was it done.
Yet when he saw Ursula standing, in the midst of all that slaughter,
like the fairest stalk of corn in harvest, and how she was exceeding
lovely, beyond the tongues of this earth to tell, he would have saved
her alive, and taken her for wife. But when she would not, and rebuked
him, he was moved with anger. Now there was a bow in his hand, and he
set an arrow on the string, and drew it with all his strength, and it
pierced the heart of the glorious maiden. So she went to God.
And one maiden only, whose name was Corbula, through fear hid herself
in the ship. But God, who had chosen all that company, gave her heart,
and with the dawn of the next day she came forth willingly, and
received the martyr’s crown.
Thus all were slain, and all are gone to Paradise, and sing the glad
and sweet songs of Paradise.
Whosoever reads this holy history, let him not think it a great thing
to say an Our Father, and a Hail Mary, for the soul of him who has
written it.
Thus far the old myth. You shall hear now in what manner such a myth is
re-written by a great man, born in the days of a nation’s strength.
Carpaccio begins his story with what the myth calls a dream. But he
wishes to tell you that it was no dream,—but a vision;—that a real
angel came, and was seen by Ursula’s soul, when her mortal eyes were
closed.
“The Angel of the Lord,” says the legend. What!—thinks Carpaccio;—to
this little maid of fifteen, the angel that came to Moses and Joshua?
Not so, but her own guardian angel.
Guardian, and to tell her that God will guide her heart to-morrow, and
put His own answer on her lips, concerning her marriage. Shall not such
angel be crowned with light, and strew her chamber with lilies?
There is no glory round his head; there is no gold on his robes; they
are of subdued purple and gray. His wings are colourless—his face calm,
but sorrowful,—wholly in shade. In his right hand he bears the martyr’s
palm; in his left, the fillet borne by the Greek angels of victory,
and, together with it, gathers up, knotted in his hand, the folds of
shroud [101] with which the Etrurians veil the tomb.
He comes to her, “in the clear light of morning;” the Angel of Death.
You see it is written in the legend that she had shut close the doors
of her chamber.
They have opened as the angel enters,—not one only, but all in the
room,—all in the house. He enters by one at the foot of her bed; but
beyond it is another—open into the passage; out of that another into
some luminous hall or street. All the window-shutters are wide open;
they are made dark that you may notice them,—nay, all the press doors
are open! No treasure bars shall hold, where this angel enters.
Carpaccio has been intent to mark that he comes in the light of dawn.
The blue-green sky glows between the dark leaves of the olive and
dianthus in the open window. But its light is low compared to that
which enters behind the angel, falling full on Ursula’s face, in divine
rest.
In the last picture but one, of this story, he has painted her lying in
the rest which the angel came to bring; and in the last, is her rising
in the eternal Morning.
For this is the first lesson which Carpaccio wrote in his Venetian
words for the creatures of this restless world,—that Death is better
than their life; and that not bridegroom rejoices over bride as they
rejoice who marry not, nor are given in marriage, but are as the angels
of God, in Heaven.