Piedmont, and did his best to incite Amadeus of Savoy against Filippo;
that the latter then confiscated all his possessions, and arrested his
wife and daughters, whom he held as hostages; and that, finally,
Carmagnola went to Venice, and offered his services and those of eighty
men-at-arms whom he had with him, the Republic being then on the eve of
yielding to the entreaties of Florence and declaring war on Visconti.
The plain truth of all this seems to be that Carmagnola was an
unprincipled scoundrel, who meant to be on the winning side whatever
happened, and who, being very well informed, foresaw that a league was
about to be made, with Venice at its head, which would be in a position
to defy his old master. The latter, of course, tried to poison him by
secret agents, who failed, were caught, and were duly tortured and
hanged by the Venetian government, which took the diplomatic precaution
of not mentioning the Duke of Milan in the case. There is a sameness
about the crimes of the Visconti which makes them almost tiresome;
Carmagnola was bolder and quite as profound, but the habit of
superiority in actual fighting made him underestimate, in the end, the
cool prudence of Venice and the many-sided duplicity of the Duke.
Venice accepted the adventurer’s offer, and soon afterwards placed him
in command of her land army; and before long Mocenigo’s prediction was
fulfilled, and the Republic was reduced to something like slavery under
the iron hand of the captain she had hired. He, on his part, played a
double game from the first, and made up his mind that if he must beat
his old master, he would hurt him as little as he could in so doing, and
would try to renew secret and friendly relations with him while acting
as the Republic’s general.
It was about this time that the Doge Foscari made a speech in favour of
the Florentine alliance, which was first published by Romanin. It bears
the stamp of a genuine report, and much of it is in the Venetian
dialect. Foscari argued that unless Venice would help Florence, the
latter would shortly be annihilated by Visconti, who would then proceed
at once to the destruction of Venice herself. He referred incidentally
to a speech just made by Carmagnola, and assured the Republic that under
such a general’s leadership there was nothing to fear, whereas there was
great hope of extending the boundaries of the Republic. He wound up by
saying that Visconti aspired to rule all Italy, despised reason, both
human and divine, and was always taking other men’s property by fraud
and deception; and Foscari called upon the Venetians to help in crushing
a common enemy, for the perpetual peace of all Italy.
The speech is hot and warlike. Nevertheless Romanin, three pages farther
on, declares that it is a great injustice to accuse Foscari of having
promoted war, and complains that historians have made the Doge the
scapegoat to bear the blame of all the wars in which Venice then became
involved. But Romanin was not only an enthusiastic Venetian; he was
also, to some extent, the apologist of the elder Foscari.
[Sidenote: _Sept. 15, 1426. Taking of Brescia, Aliense; Sala della
Bussola, ducal palace._]
The ratification of the league was announced at the end of January 1426,
and Carmagnola’s definite commission dates from the nineteenth of
February. He proceeded to besiege the fortresses of Brescia, allowed the
Florentine general to plan the really astonishing entrenchments, looked
on while the machinery of attack was set in motion, and departed to
follow a long cure of baths at Abano, very much to the disgust of the
Republic. He came back in leisurely fashion to the scene of action a few
days before the two castles capitulated, in time to take credit for the
whole affair, yet almost without having struck a blow at Visconti.
Meanwhile Francesco Bembo had transported another force up the Po in a
flotilla of small vessels, and farther still up the river Adda, and had
actually made a demonstration before Pavia, in the heart of Visconti’s
dominions. The Duke having failed to poison Carmagnola, tried to burn
down the Venetian arsenal by treachery, which was discovered, and his
wretched agent was tortured to death in due form.
Pope Martin V., who was a Colonna, and therefore a Ghibelline--the only
Ghibelline pope who ever reigned--was the one sovereign in Italy who
still favoured Visconti, and he now intervened to make peace. A treaty
was patched up by which the Duke lost a good deal of territory, and was
bound to set at liberty the wife and daughters of Carmagnola. This was
the peace of 1426, concluded on the thirtieth of December. Little more
than a month later, on the fifth of February 1427, the Republic sent for
Carmagnola again, for the Duke had simply refused to hand over the
fortresses he was to yield by the treaty, and on the twenty-fourth of
March Carmagnola and his wife made a sort of triumphal entry into the
city.
[Sidenote: _Oct. 11, 1427. Victory of Carmagnola at Macalò, Franceso
Bassano; ceiling, Hall of the Great Council._]
In the campaign which followed, though for the most part pursuing his
policy of inactivity, in spite of the protests of the Senate and the
Doge, Carmagnola condescended to win a battle for Venice at Macalò,
which it must be admitted, for his reputation, was a brilliant victory;
and he soon asked leave to go and take more baths, as if the whole
affair were perfectly indifferent to him. To this the Senate objected,
but he was given all manner of rich compensation for his services, and
came to Venice on leave. He was received with an ovation.
[Sidenote: _Bergamo surrenders to Carmagnola, Aliense; Sala della
Bussola._]
He had, indeed, been opposed to some of the greatest condottieri of the
time, such as Francesco Sforza and Piccinino, and the Venetians seem to
have valued him, because they were convinced that he could beat any
opponent if he pleased, and only required gifts and flattery to rouse
him to action. These were lavished on him, and a second peace with
Visconti was concluded in April 1428, about fourteen months after the
first. It was ratified and announced in May, and again Carmagnola
entered Venice in triumph. He was now formally invested with the great
feudal estate of Chiari.
As was to be expected, Visconti again failed to fulfil the conditions of
the treaty, and within three years hostilities broke out again. To the
amazement and mortification of the Venetian government, however,
Carmagnola now resigned his commission, almost at the moment when he was
to have taken command, and there is reason to believe that he was even
then secretly negotiating with Visconti. But the Republic could not
afford to lose such a man at such a moment; he was offered conditions
which must have surpassed even his own tolerably large expectations. Not
only was he to possess for himself and all his descendants the great
estate of Chiari, with its rental, but another large feudal holding in
the territory of Brescia was promised him on the same conditions; if all
Lombardy were taken, he was promised the complete restitution of all the
domains which Visconti had formerly bestowed upon him; all plunder and
all prisoners of war were to be his, the Republic contracting to pay him
a certain sum for each prisoner of importance whom he handed over to the
government; as if this were not enough, he was to be crowned Duke of
Milan if he could drive out Visconti.
While these astonishing offers were being made to him by Venice, he
received more than one letter from the Duke, requesting him to act as an
intermediary to make peace. This fact was, of course, soon known to the
Venetian government, and we can hardly be surprised that the Venetians
should not have liked the part which the Duke was thrusting upon a man
who had betrayed him, and whom he should have considered as his worst
enemy.
[Sidenote: _H. Brown, Ven. Studies, 165._]
Mr. Horatio Brown has conjectured with great acumen that Visconti, who
thoroughly understood the character of Carmagnola, as well as that of
the Venetian government, chose the surest means of ruining the
condottiero of whom he wished to be rid. Carmagnola, equally flattered
by the Duke’s secret letters and by the overwhelming offers of the
Republic, began to assume airs of superiority which could not but excite
the suspicion of a government whereof suspicion itself was the very
foundation and mainspring.
A series of discussions now began between the Senate and Visconti, in
which Carmagnola was continually concerned, but it was soon the gossip
of the city that the letters which he really sent to the Duke were by no
means identical with the drafts of those which he showed the Senate for
approbation. It is at least certain that, after war was declared, as was
inevitable, Carmagnola showed neither decision nor energy when obliged
to face Visconti’s army, and allowed himself to be beaten by Francesco
Sforza, who was afterwards himself Duke of Milan. He showed all his old
energy in Friuli in driving out the Hungarians, whom Visconti had
induced to make a descent upon that territory, but he had no sooner come
back to Brescia, for which Visconti himself was fighting, than his
hesitation returned.
Smedley, in connection with what now happened, quotes the following
remarkable passage from the twelfth chapter of Macchiavelli’s
_Principe_: ‘Perceiving that Carmagnola had become cold in their
service, they yet neither wished nor dared to dismiss him, from a fear
of losing that which he had acquired for them; for their own security,
therefore, they were compelled to put him to death.’
The condottiero now received a message from the Signory, requesting him
‘to give himself the trouble’ of coming to Venice to discuss a new plan
of campaign. Completely taken off his guard, he at once left his camp
and repaired to the capital, where he was met by eight nobles, who
accompanied him to the ducal palace, telling him that the Doge expected
him to dinner.
His own small escort was dismissed at the door, and he was ushered into
a hall where he waited a few moments. Then came Leonardo Mocenigo and
said that the Doge was indisposed, and begged that he would come again
on the following day. Carmagnola left the room, followed by the eight
nobles. In the courtyard he was about to take the direction which would
have led him to the canal where he had left his boat, when the nobles
suddenly came up with him and pointed towards the small porch under
which was the outer entrance to the prisons.
‘This way, Sir Count,’ they said. ‘But that is not my way,’ he answered.
‘You are mistaken,’ they said, ‘this is the best way.’ At the same
moment, certain gaolers appeared and pushed him through the door of the
Pozzi. ‘I am lost!’ he cried, as he went in.
This was on the seventh of April. The manner of
[Illustration: RAMO CORTE DELLA VIDA, S. FRANCESCO DELLA VIDA]
the general’s arrest may be excused for its lack of dignity by the
necessities of the situation. The man was most undoubtedly a traitor and
a villain, but it would have been impossible to seize him in the midst
of his own men-at-arms, and the most prudent manner of getting
possession of his person was to draw him into an ambush. The wise and
merciful fathers of the Republic would assuredly not have hesitated at
much worse things; only a few days earlier they had offered twenty-five
thousand ducats to a man called Muazzo, employed in Visconti’s
household, to poison the Duke. The Republic had already fully adopted
the progressive methods of its day.
Carmagnola’s trial occupied some time, and was conducted on the whole in
a regular and legal manner. It began on the ninth of April, and on the
eleventh the once all-powerful captain, to whom those who were now his
judges had offered the dukedom of Milan, was put to the torture like any
other criminal. On the fifth of May the Council of Ten gave its verdict
as follows:--
[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 160._]
‘That this Count Francesco Carmagnola, a public traitor to our dominion,
be led to-day, after nones, at the usual hour, with a gag in his mouth
and with his hands tied behind his back, according to custom, between
the two columns of the Square of Saint Mark’s, to the usual place of
execution, and that his head be there struck off his shoulders, so that
he die.’
The sentence goes on to direct that the Count’s widow should enjoy the
interest of ten thousand ducats of the bonded debt, on condition that
she should live in Treviso. Provision was also made for his unmarried
daughters. As for the one who was affianced to
[Illustration: THE FRARI]
Sigismondo Malatesta, since there was no divorce law by which he could
sever an alliance which was odious, he adopted the simple expedient of
murdering her as soon as he had married her and secured her dowry.
[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 162, note 2._]
Carmagnola’s body was dressed in crimson velvet, and on his severed head
was placed the cap which still bears his name. The corpse was borne to
the church of San Francesco della Vigna with twenty-four torches, but as
it was about to be buried there, the capuchin monk who had received his
last confession appeared in haste and said that the dead man had wished
to be buried in the church of the Frari, and he was accordingly laid
there, in the cloister. In Venice it was the custom that the clothes of
executed persons should be given to the gaoler, not to the headsman; but
in this case the Council of Ten decreed that the dress worn by
Carmagnola should be handed over with his body to the monks of the
church where he was buried, the gaoler receiving ten ducats as
compensation.
His remains are now interred in Milan beside those of his wife Antonia
in the greater church of Saint Francis. The historian Morosini, quoted
by Romanin in a note, judged from his statue that he had the hard face,
the cruel eye, and, generally, the unpleasant aspect which denote a man
of dangerous character and stubborn purpose; and adds that he was a
person of a keen wit, a tough constitution, and great courage, but
capricious and of doubtful honesty.
Carmagnola’s wife was deeply implicated in his treachery, as is not
surprising considering that she was known as the niece of Giovanni
Galeazzo Visconti, and was believed by many to be his daughter. She and
her children were required to remain in Venice some time
[Illustration: THE CHOIR SCREEN, FRARI]
before proceeding to Treviso, and were detained in the convent of the
Vergini, the same religious house which had served as a prison for two
ladies of the Quirini family more than a century earlier. It was there
that the Countess received the news of her husband’s execution, which
was announced to her by one of the heads of the Council of Ten and an
Avogador; and these officials at the same time demanded of her a list of
her jewellery, assuring her that the Signory would forgive her misdeeds
if she would only show a proper spirit of contrition. I find no account
of the poor woman’s behaviour on this occasion; but as the sentence was
executed only a few hours after it was passed, the news of her husband’s
death on the scaffold was in all likelihood conveyed to her without any
previous notice of his condemnation, and it was accompanied by a cold
request for an inventory of her jewels, and a lecture on patience and
repentance. Even the imagination of a novelist fails to guess what she
must have felt as she listened to the grim men who had just condemned
her husband and seen him die, and now wished to be told how many
earrings and gold chains and brooches she had in her possession.
She afterwards really retired to Treviso with her daughters, and the
Republic continued to pay her the promised allowance, till she one day
escaped to Milan, whereby the obligations of the Venetian government
were ended.
Whatever Visconti’s plans may have been when he secretly renewed his
relations with Carmagnola, whether he intended to compass his ruin or
not, it is certain that he bitterly resented his execution, and used
every means, including the most inhuman tortures, to discover the names
of those who had accused and condemned the condottiero. If he had
succeeded he would no doubt have tried to poison them all.
[Illustration: S. ROCCO]
Not long after Carmagnola was imprisoned, Piccinino, one of Visconti’s
generals, captured in a skirmish at Valtellina Giorgio Corner, a noble
and very influential Venetian, who had acted as Provveditor to oversee
Carmagnola’s doings in the field. He was taken to Monza, near Milan, and
confined there in one of the prisons called ‘Forni,’ ‘ovens,’ compared
with which the dreaded Pozzi seem to have been thought airy and
luxurious quarters. He lived to write an account of what he suffered,
and I shall give a literal translation of his words, not for the sake of
inspiring horror, but because the document bears the unmistakable stamp
of truth, and is one of very few of the kind which have come down to us.
Corner was first examined by Gaspare de Grossis, Doctor of Laws.
[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 166, note._]
I felt as if my soul were being torn out of me, when he said that I
must speak the truth; and when I answered that I had told it he
gave me a wrench of the rope, and had me drawn up and brought to
him like dead, threatening me greatly, that he would have this
truth; and seeing me like dead he went away, and I was let down
into the ‘forno’ by a leathern belt, and was placed upon a mattress
on the boards, and was given the yolk of an egg and a drink. This
was my dinner, and I was not able to get my hand to my mouth in any
way; so I lay that night and never could sleep. In the morning came
he that watched me, and made fire, and gave me the yolks of two
eggs, and with these I remained that day.
On the next Friday morning he came to me and had me bound and drawn
up and taken to him, asking if I would tell the truth, and when I
said I had told it, he said he wished to know who had told the
Signory about the Count (Carmagnola) having an understanding with
my Lord Duke. I said I knew no one who had made the accusation.
Seeing that he could get nothing else, he had me fastened to the
rope, and gave me a wrench of the rope that I thought I was dying.
Seeing that he could get nothing more from me, he made me get up
and had my arms set (they were dislocated by the torture), with
even greater pain, and had me brought to him, and he spoke his mind
(abusively) and went away. On the next Saturday in the evening he
caused a bar to be placed on the floor in a hollow, and my feet
were put under it and hammered upon with a wooden pin, so that I
almost died of the pain. On the last day of December, which was
Saint Sylvester’s day, there came to me the aforesaid Messer
Gaspare, and with him came Lunardo di Lunardi, the inquisitor of
Milan, at the hour of matins, and had me taken up. Let every one
guess how my heart felt. I commended myself to God and went before
them. Being before them Lunardo asked me if I knew him, and I said:
No. And he answered me: Also I will not leave thee till I have so
wrought that thou shalt know me; and saying: Thou hast refused to
tell the truth to Messer Gaspare; the prince has sent me to know
the truth of thee; thou hadst best tell it and get his good grace;
but though thou wouldest not tell it, be quite sure that thou shalt
nevertheless tell it, or thine arms shall be left hanging to the
cord (torn from the body). And with other words, which I write not,
for hearing this every one may fancy how my heart felt. I answered
that I had told the truth to Messer Gaspare, and that he (Lunardo)
ought to be sure of this, because if it had been my own son who had
accused the Count Carmagnola I would say so rather than desire more
torture, and all the more he should consider that I would do so if
it were a stranger; and I said the like as to what concerned the
other chief points (of the inquiry). Then Lunardo said to me: Thou
wilt not name the real traitor; he had me undressed and fastened to
the cord, etc.
On the second of January Corner was told that he was to be tortured
again, and he addressed his tormentors as follows:--
Since this is your will, which will soon be done, I ask one thing
of you as a grace, that since I am to lose this body so miserably,
I may not lose my soul, and that I may confess and receive
communion, in order that our Lord God may have mercy on this poor
soul. Lunardo answered: I wish it may go to the house of the Devil.
Hearing this cruel speech I answered that although fortune had
given him power over the body, God had not given him power over the
soul, and that I hoped, by His grace, that if I had good patience
this should be my purgatory, for my innocence’ sake; and that He
would receive my soul into His glory, and (I said): The more pain
you inflict on this wretched body so much the more merit will He
give me, and to Him I commend myself.
The unhappy man was kept in prison six years, and was supposed in Venice
to be dead, but he succeeded in sending a message to his son. The
Republic then sternly demanded of Visconti his release, and he returned
to his home at last, deformed by torture, pale and emaciated, with a
beard that descended to his belt. He lived just two months after that,
prematurely broken by his horrible sufferings, and was followed to his
grave by a vast concourse of the people. Romanin says that he was a
nephew of the Doge Marco Corner, whose brave defence of his poverty and
of his burgher wife, when he was a candidate, will be remembered. It is
more likely that the Doge was the Provveditor’s great-uncle, as he died
a very old man, more than seventy years before the death of the
unfortunate Giorgio. It is possible, however, that Romanin may have
meant that the latter was the Doge’s grandson, for in Italian there is
but one word to signify ‘grandson’ or ‘nephew,’ though when the former
meaning is intended it is usual to make it clear.
[Sidenote: _Portraits of Doge Francesco Foscari: one, attributed to G.
Bellini, Museo Civico, Room XVI.; another, by Bartolommeo Bon, Camera
degli Stucchi, ducal palace._]
Foscari’s name is so closely associated in most persons’ memories with
the tragedy of his worthless son, that we are apt to forget that his
reign lasted a third of a century and covered one of the most important
periods in Venetian history. It embraces most of the wars of the league,
the rise and fall of Carmagnola, the end of the house of Visconti, and
the foundation and elevation of the Sforza family; and, most important
of all, the taking of Constantinople by the Turks.
Much sentimental nonsense has been written about the two Foscari, and
even such a historian as Daru has had the courage to tell us that the
Doge presided in the court which condemned his son, and that Jacopo
received his sentence from the mouth of his own father. Not content with
stating these impossibilities, Daru has actually described the scene,
with many details, though it could not, under any circumstances, have
taken place, since a special edict of the Council of Ten expressly
forbade the Doge, or any member of his family, to be present at the
trial.
Jacopo’s troubles began soon after his marriage in 1441 with Lucrezia, a
daughter of Leonardo Contarini.
[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 266 sqq., and Molmenti, Dogaressa, 250 sqq._]
The wedding had been celebrated with great splendour, and the bride had
been conducted home over a bridge especially built for the ceremony
across the Grand Canal; there had been boat-races, a tournament in which
the great Francesco Sforza himself took part, and there had been
illuminations of the city and endless other festivities. The bridegroom
is said to have been a very cultivated young man of great personal
charm, a Greek scholar, a lover of poetry, and a collector of rare
manuscripts; but of weak character, careless and extravagant. It really
looks as if his fate had been the final consequence of some momentary
lack of means wherewith to satisfy his luxurious tastes. Three years
after his marriage he was accused before the Council of Ten of having
received gifts from several important citizens in consideration of
obtaining honorific or lucrative posts for them through his influence
with his father. One of his servants and several other persons were
examined under torture, and their evidence led to an order for his
arrest. He had been informed of what was going on, however, and had
already escaped.