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Updated: June 6, 2025
And if we were quietly to quit the church and be clear of Pesaro before morning, would not the same be said?" "Probably," answered I. "Then why hesitate? Is it that you do not love me enough, Lazzaro?" I smiled, and my eyes must have told her more than any protestation could. Then I sighed.
The man whom his cruel mockery crucified for their entertainment was Lazzaro Biancomonte, whom he revealed to them, relating in his own fashion the tale I have told you. "At that I rebelled, and I said such things to him in that hour, before all his Court, as a man may not say to a prince and live.
Concerning his domestic life very little is known, but what we do know is derived from an excellent source . His mother was the sister of Lazzaro, great-grandfather of Giorgio Vasari.
They had passed San Lazzaro, and San Servolo too was receding astern of them before May spoke again. "Pauline," she queried, presently, "did you see Nanni's gondola come up from out the lagoon in front of us?" "Yes, I saw it. How ghostly it was, with his solitary figure, and then that tragic face of his in the light of the lanterns!"
They slid on past a ghostly full-rigged ship from the north, abandoned at the point of Sant' Elena, until the black mass of trees in the Giardino Pubblico loomed up. A little off the other quarter the lights from the island of San Lazzaro gleamed and faded. It was so very silent on the waste of waters! "Come."
"Dear Lady beloved Lady" Dama Margherita pleaded, and would have soothed her; but the Queen would have the story. She laid a hot, tremulous hand on that of her friend and urged her with dry, imploring eyes, as she listened to the tale of the founding of the Abbey of San Lazzaro, while for pity, the tears of Margherita were dropping fast.
When the first days of the shock of the child's death had passed, and the Queen had roused herself to notice those who were anxiously watching her, she asked to be left alone with Dama Margherita: but of the child she would not speak. "Tell me," she said, "of the saintly Margherita of thine house, the Abbess of San Lazzaro; why left she the world?"
"Have you heard the news, Ser Lazzaro?" he cried in a quavering voice. "The news of what?" I asked, struck by the horror in his face. "Madonna Paola is dead," he told me, with a sob. I stared at him in speechless consternation, and for a moment I seemed forlorn of sense and understanding. "Dead?" I remember whispering. "What is it you say?" And I leaned forward towards him, peering into his face.
The twin towers of San Servolo, its massive buildings and sparse lights, had been left behind, and now the gondola was approaching San Lazzaro, wrapped in silence and shadow, like the good monks who pace its quiet paths. Neither of the girls had felt inclined to talk, yet their sense of mutual companionship was peculiarly near and intimate.
I paced the chamber, a hundred thoughts crowding my mind, but overriding them all the conjecture of how far it might be from matins, and how soon we might be discovered by the monks. Presently she spoke again. "Lazzaro," she inquired very gently, "what was it brought you to the church?"
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