St John takes leave of his parents and receives their farewell blessing before the eyes of a sorrowing company of friends. But the most striking composition is the Feast of Herod, a scene of worldly splendour, in which the Friar's love of stately architecture, rich costumes and youthful loveliness has full play. The group at the supper-table, where Salome, kneeling before her gorgeously-arrayed mother, offers her the Baptist's head in a charger, recalls Masolino's Castiglione fresco, only that here, the horror-struck maidens clasp each other in a close embrace, as they turn aside from the sight. The early scenes of St. Stephen's life have suffered severely, but the fresco of his Burial is unrivalled in solemn and majestic beauty. In the nave of a spacious Renaissance church, with double aisles and classical pillars, we see the young martyr, laid out on his bier, with quietly folded hands, clad in a red robe. In the foreground two women are seated on the marble pavement, weeping bitterly, while an imposing assembly of lay and ecclesiastical dignatories chant the last offices, and two youthful disciples kiss the feet of their beloved teacher. The expression of the aged priest, who stands behind the officiating minister, clasping his hands in anguish, and lifting his eyes to heaven with prayerful resignation, is singularly natural and pathetic, and reveals the Carmelite friar in a new light. Among the prelates at the foot of the bier, the portly Carlo de' Medici is introduced, robed in full canonicals and wearing a red cap, and in the black-robed figure further back we recognise the portrait of the artist, whose name, Frater Filippus, is inscribed on the pediment in the opposite corner.
