ould behead the whole company, and thus prevent
them from further mischief. Meanwhile Ursula's betrothed went to
Cologne to meet his bride. With the eleven thousand were many of the
most eminent bishops and other men of mark, and directly they arrived at
Cologne the Huns fell on them and killed every one except Ursula and
another named Cordula. Julian offered to make Ursula his wife, but on
her repudiation of the suggestion he shot her through the body with his
bow and arrow. Cordula hid in a ship, but the next day suffered death by
her own free will and earned a martyr's crown. All this happened in the
year A.D. 238.

[Illustration: THE DEPARTURE OF THE BRIDEGROOM AND HIS MEETING WITH
URSULA
FROM THE PAINTING BY CARPACCIO
_In the Accademia_]

Carpaccio, it will be quickly seen, disregards certain details of this
version. For example, he makes Ursula's father a King of the Moors,
although there is nothing Moorish about either that monarch, his
daughter, or his city. The first picture, which has the best light in
it, shows the ambassadors from England craving the hand of the princess.
At the back is one of those octagonal buildings so dear to this painter,
also in the city. His affection for dogs, always noticeable, is to be
seen here again, for he has placed three hounds on the quay. A clock
somewhat like that of the Merceria is on the little tower. The English
ship has a red flag. On the right is the King pondering with Ursula over
his reply. In the next picture, No. 573, the ambassadors receive this
reply. In the next the ambassadors depart, with the condition that a
term of three years must first pass. They return to a strangely
unfamiliar England: an England in which Carpaccio himself must have been
living for some time in the role of architect. This--No. 574--is a
delightful and richly mellow scene of activity, and not the least
attractive feature of it is the little fiddling boy on the left.
Carpaccio has so enjoyed the pageantry and detail, even to frescoes on
the house, crowded bridges, and so forth, that his duty as a
story-teller has suffered. In the next picture, No. 575, which is really
two, divided by the flagstaff, we have on the left the departure of the
English prince from an English seaport (of a kind which alas! has
disappeared for ever) to join in his lady-love's pilgrimage to Rome. He
bids his father farewell. Nothing could be more fascinating than the
mountain town and its battlements, and ev