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Updated: June 6, 2025
Vasari tells us that Lazzaro was "a famous painter of his time, not only in his own country, but throughout Tuscany, with a style of painting hardly to be distinguished from that of his great friend, Pietro della Francesca."
"I deplore your end, Lazzaro Biancomonte," said he slowly, "for you are a brave man, and brave men are rare. You were worthy of better things, but you chose to cross swords with Ramiro del' Orca, and you have got your death-blow. May God have mercy on your soul." "I am praying," said I, "for just so much mercy as you shall have justice. If my prayer is heard, I should be well-content."
One of them is ninety-five years old, and, until 1863, there was a lay-brother among them whose years numbered a hundred and eight, and who died of old age, on the 17th of September, after passing fifty-eight years at San Lazzaro.
Florida looked with perplexity at Ferris's face, while her own slowly cooled and paled. "What did you want to say of him?" she asked calmly. "I hardly know how to put it: that he puzzles me, to begin with. You know I feel somewhat responsible for him." "Yes." "Of course, I never should have thought of him, if it hadn't been for your mother's talk that morning coming back from San Lazzaro."
Seven portraits by Moroni do not fill a gap like this. The name of Lazzaro de Bastiani first occurs in Venice as a witness to his brother's will in 1449, and as early as 1460 he was painting an altar-piece for the Church of San Samuele.
Madonna's head was bent, and her eyes were set upon the ground and burdened, so my furtive glance assured me, with a gentle sorrow. At length she spoke, and at the words she uttered my heart seemed for a moment to stand still. "Lazzaro," said she, "they would have me marry." For a little spell there was a silence, my wits seeming to have grown too numbed to attempt to seek an answer.
An hour or so after our first glimpse of the city, our weary beasts brought us up to the Gate of San Lazzaro. But we did not enter, as I had hoped. Messer Arcolano had had enough of me and my questions at Mondolfo, and he was not minded to expose himself to worse behaviour on my part in the more interesting thoroughfares of this great city.
His other works bear witness to the genuineness of his inspiration and piety, and the diligence of his study: they are poems, poetic translations from the Italian, religious essays, and grammatical treatises. Indeed, the existence of all the friars at San Lazzaro is one of close and earnest study; and life grows so fond of these quiet monks that it will hardly part with them at last.
But perhaps not so much as you bestowed, had you but understood my motives," I said unguardedly. "If I had understood your motives?" she mused. "Aye, there is much I do not understand. Even in this night's transactions there are not wanting things that remain mysterious despite the explanations you have supplied me. Tell me, Lazzaro, what was it led you to suppose that I still lived?
"Would they dare so much?" "Aye, if I resist them further." "Why, then," I answered, with a ready laugh, "do not resist them further." "Lazzaro!" she cried, her accents telling of a spirit wounded by what she accounted a flippancy. "Mistake me not," I hastened to elucidate.
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