Venice.
No government was ever more punctual, and impartial, than that of
Venice, in the execution of the laws. This was thought essential to the
well-being, and very existence, of the State. For this, all respect for
individuals, all private considerations whatever, and every compunctious
feeling of the heart, is sacrificed. To execute law with all the rigour
of justice, is considered as the chief virtue of a judge; and, as there
are cases in which the sternest may relent, the Venetian government has
taken care to appoint certain magistrates, whose sole business is to see
that others perform their duty upon all occasions.
All this is very fine in the abstract, but we often find it detestable in
the application.
In the year 1400, while Antonio Venier was Doge, his son having committed
an offence which evidently sprung from mere youthful levity, and
nothing worse, was condemned in a fine of one hundred ducats, and to be
imprisoned for a certain time.
While the young man was in prison, he fell sick, and petitioned to be
removed to a purer air. The Doge rejected the petition; declaring, that
the sentence must be executed literally; and that his son must take the
fortune of others in the same predicament. The youth was much beloved,
and many applications were made, that the sentence might be softened, on
account of the danger which threatened him. The father was inexorable,
and the son died in prison. Of whatever refined substance this man’s
heart may have been composed, I am better pleased that mine is made of
the common materials.
Carlo Zeno was accused, by the Council of Ten, of having received a sum
of money from Francis Carraro, son of the Seignior of Padua, contrary
to an express law, which forbids all subjects of Venice, on any pretext
whatever, accepting any salary, pension, or gratification, from a foreign
Prince, or State. This accusation was grounded on a paper found among
Carraro’s accounts, when Padua was taken by the Venetians. In this paper
was an article of four hundred ducats paid to Carlo Zeno, who declared,
in his defence, that while he was, by the Senate’s permission, governor
of the Milanese, he had visited Carraro, then a prisoner in the castle of
Asti; and finding him in want of common necessaries, he had advanced to
him the sum in question; and that this Prince, having been liberated some
short time after, had, on his return to Padua, repaid the money.
Zeno was a man of acknowledged candour, and of the highest reputation; he
had commanded the fleets and armies of the State with the most brilliant
success; yet neither this, nor any other considerations, prevailed on
the Court to depart from their usually severity. They owned that, from
Zeno’s usual integrity, there was no reason to doubt the truth of his
declaration; but the assertions of an accused person were not sufficient
to efface the force of the presumptive circumstances which appeared
against him.—His declaration might be convincing to those who knew him
intimately, but was not legal evidence of his innocence; and they adhered
to a distinguishing maxim of this Court, that it is of more importance
to the State, to intimidate every one from even the appearance of such
a crime, than to allow a person, against whom a presumption of guilt
remained, to escape, however innocent he might be. This man, who had
rendered the most essential services to the republic, and had gained many
victories, was condemned to be removed from all his offices, and to be
imprisoned for two years.
But the most affecting instance of the odious inflexibility of Venetian
courts, appears in the case of Foscari, son to the Doge of that name.
This young man had, by some imprudences, given offence to the Senate,
and was, by their orders, confined at Treviso, when Almor Donato, one of
the Council of Ten, was assassinated, on the 5th of November 1750, as he
entered his own house.
A reward, in ready money, with pardon for this, or any other crime, and
a pension of two hundred ducats, revertible to children, was promised to
any person who would discover the planner, or perpetrator, of this crime.
No such discovery was made.
One of young Foscari’s footmen, named Olivier, had been observed
loitering near Donato’s house on the evening of the murder;—he fled from
Venice next morning. These, with other circumstances of less importance,
created a strong suspicion that Foscari had engaged this man to commit
the murder.
Olivier was taken, brought to Venice, put to the torture, and confessed
nothing; yet the Council of Ten, being prepossessed with an opinion of
their guilt, and imagining that the master would have less resolution,
used him in the same cruel manner.—The unhappy young man, in the
midst of his agony, continued to assert, that he knew nothing of the
assassination. This convinced the Court of his firmness, but not of his
innocence; yet as there was no legal proof of his guilt, they could not
sentence him to death. He was condemned to pass the rest of his life in
banishment, at Canéa, in the island of Candia.
This unfortunate youth bore his exile with more impatience than he had
done the rack; he often wrote to his relations and friends, praying them
to intercede in his behalf, that the term of his banishment might be
abridged, and that he might be permitted to return to his family before
he died.—All his applications were fruitless; those to whom he addressed
himself had never interfered in his favour, for fear of giving offence to
the obdurate Council, or had interfered in vain.
After languishing five years in exile, having lost all hope of return,
through the interposition of his own family, or countrymen, in a fit of
despair he addressed the Duke of Milan, putting him in mind of services
which the Doge, his father, had rendered him, and begging that he would
use his powerful influence with the State of Venice, that his sentence
might be recalled. He entrusted his letter to a merchant, going from
Canéa to Venice, who promised to take the first opportunity of sending
it from thence to the Duke; instead of which, this wretch, as soon as he
arrived at Venice, delivered it to the chiefs of the Council of Ten.
This conduct of young Foscari appeared criminal in the eyes of those
judges; for, by the laws of the republic, all its subjects are expressly
forbid claiming the protection of foreign Princes, in any thing which
relates to the government of Venice.
Foscari was therefore ordered to be brought from Candia, and shut up in
the State prison. There the chiefs of the Council of Ten ordered him
once more to be put to the torture, to draw from him the motives which
determined him to apply to the Duke of Milan. Such an exertion of law is,
indeed, the most flagrant injustice.
The miserable youth declared to the Council, that he had wrote the
letter, in the full persuasion that the merchant, whose character he
knew, would betray him, and deliver it to them; the consequence of which,
he foresaw, would be, his being ordered back a prisoner to Venice, the
only means he had in his power of seeing his parents and friends; a
pleasure for which he had languished, with unsurmountable desire, for
some time, and which he was willing to purchase at the expence of any
danger or pain.
The Judges, little affected with this generous instance of filial
piety, ordained, that the unhappy young man should be carried back to
Candia, and there be imprisoned for a year, and remain banished to that
island for life; with this condition, that if he should make any more
applications to foreign Powers, his imprisonment should be perpetual. At
the same time they gave permission, that the Doge and his lady, might
visit their unfortunate son.
The Doge was, at this time, very old; he had been in possession of the
office above thirty years. Those wretched parents had an interview with
their son in one of the apartments of the palace; they embraced him with
all the tenderness which his misfortunes, and his filial affection,
deserved. The father exhorted him to bear his hard fate with firmness;
the son protested, in the most moving terms, that this was not in his
power; that however others could support the dismal loneliness of a
prison, he could not; that his heart was formed for friendship, and
the reciprocal endearments of social life; without which his soul sunk
into dejection worse than death, from which alone he should look for
relief, if he should again be confined to the horrors of a prison; and
melting into tears, he sunk at his father’s feet, imploring him to
take compassion on a son who had ever loved him with the most dutiful
affection, and who was perfectly innocent of the crime of which he was
accused; he conjured him, by every bond of nature and religion, by the
bowels of a father, and the mercy of a Redeemer, to use his influence
with the Council to mitigate their sentence, that he might be saved from
the most cruel of all deaths, that of expiring under the slow tortures
of a broken heart, in a horrible banishment from every creature he
loved.—“My son,” replied the Doge, “submit to the laws of your country,
and do not ask of me what it is not in my power to obtain.”
Having made this effort, he retired to another apartment; and, unable to
support any longer the acuteness of his feelings, he sunk into a state of
insensibility, in which condition he remained till some time after his
son had sailed on his return to Candia.
Nobody has presumed to describe the anguish of the wretched mother;
those who are endowed with the most exquisite sensibility, and who have
experienced distresses in some degree similar, will have the justest idea
of what it was.
The accumulated misery of those unhappy parents touched the hearts of
some of the most powerful senators, who applied with so much energy for
a complete pardon for young Foscari, that they were on the point of
obtaining it; when a vessel arrived from Candia, with tidings, that the
miserable youth had expired in prison a short time after his return.
Some years after this, Nicholas Erizzo, a noble Venetian, being on his
death-bed, confessed that, bearing a violent resentment against the
Senator Donato, he had committed the assassination for which the unhappy
family of Foscari had suffered so much.
At this time the sorrows of the Doge were at an end; he had existed only
a few months after the death of his son. His life had been prolonged,
till he beheld his son persecuted to death for an infamous crime; but
not till he should see this foul stain washed from his family, and the
innocence of his beloved son made manifest to the world.
The ways of heaven never appeared more dark and intricate, than in the
incidents and catastrophe of this mournful story. To reconcile the
permission of such events, to our ideas of infinite power and goodness,
however difficult, is a natural attempt in the human mind, and has
exercised the ingenuity of philosophers in all ages; while, in the eyes
of Christians, those seeming perplexities afford an additional proof,
that there will be a future state, in which the ways of God to man will
be fully justified.