THE TWO FOSCARI; CARMAGNOLA AND COLLEONI.
When the Doge Tommaso Mocenigo was about to die, he made a most
remarkable statement, summing up the past and present condition of
Venice, and giving much advice concerning its future, especially as
to the election of his successor. One of his most pronounced
judgments was against the election of Francesco Foscari. He
prophesied that under his rule Venice would be perpetually at war,
and that many other events would occur to lessen her prosperity. But
in spite of all that he said, Foscari was made Doge at the tenth
scrutiny, on April 15, 1423.
It is true that under his reign Venice was constantly at war; but
since he had even less power than any of his predecessors, the
responsibility of war or peace did not rest with him. He was a man
of great ability, and had filled many offices of trust with honor.
Abroad he had served as ambassador at several courts. At home he had
once been Chief of the Forty, three times Chief of the Ten, and twice
their Inquisitor. At the time of his election he was fifty-one years
old, the father of a large family, and the husband of a young wife
who added to the number every year.
Such festivities as satisfied even the Venetian taste for splendor
followed his election; and, indeed, the tournaments and other
spectacles were continued for a twelve-month. The thirty-four years
of Foscari's reign was a {176} period of great importance. The
Republic, by joining the Florentines against Milan, was involved in a
series of conflicts, sometimes gaining, at others losing, always
engaged in intrigues, sending and receiving embassies, making
treaties only to be broken, as it would seem, but finally, in 1454,
emerging from a struggle of thirty years indisputably the first of
Italian powers. Hazlitt says:
"The Venetian Empire was the most extensive, and promised to be the
most durable, which had been formed on any constitutional principles
since the days of the Romans. The Venetian Senate was the most
august assembly in the world. The Venetian Navy was the finest which
Europe had ever seen. During war, Venice employed, even at an
exorbitant stipend, the best troops to be procured and the ablest
generals of the age; and among her Captains of Companies it was not
unusual to find Hereditary Princes. Her patricians, so far from
being purely political in their education or sordid in their tastes,
prided themselves on the extent and versatility of their
acquirements. They excelled in all manly exercises and in all
enlightened pursuits. Not content with reading contemporary history,
with mastering the intricacies of diplomacy, or with attaining the
highest honors in the military profession, they studied the language
which Cicero spoke, the language of the Anabasis, and the language of
Holy Writ. They applied themselves to the liberal, mechanical, and
occult sciences, and to the Fine Arts. They became diligent
scholiasts. They searched for manuscripts with an avidity eclipsing
that of De Bure. They formed libraries, some of which were far
larger than the Public Collections at Oxford or Paris. Some gave
gratuitous instruction in the Elements of Euclid; others lectured on
Ethics or Metaphysics. A Trevisano devoted ten years to the
composition of a single Treatise, which he never lived to finish. A
Giorgio naturalized among his countrymen the literature of the
Troubadours and the songs of Provence. To a Polo, scientific men
were indebted for the first book on Travels in China, Kamtschatka,
and Japan. A Pisani filled Europe with the fame of {177} her beauty
and genius; and four nations competed for the privilege of doing her
honor! She chose France, and France was flattered by the choice.
'D'avoir le prix en science et en doctrine,
Bien mérita de Pisan la Christine,
Durant ses jours.'"
But the deep interest we feel in Francesco Foscari is not centred in
the affairs of Venice while he served as its figure-head and held but
a semblance of power, the real potency being in the Seigniory and
Council of Ten. In the great rush of state affairs, conducted as
they had come to be, each single man was lost. The State only
survived; and its methods of secret councils and its schemes of
unlimited ambition made of this same State a vast and overwhelming
machine, the workings of which in their completeness were only
comprehended by a few patricians, each one of whom was jealously
watching to prevent every other from the exercise of any
distinguishing or undue power.
It is with the personal experiences of the Doge that we are
concerned. Within a few years his large family was swept away by
death. Of his five sons Jacopo alone remained. He was a gay young
fellow, who paraded in the Broglio, and took his part in all the
gayeties and pleasures of his time. He was an elegant scholar, a
collector of manuscripts, and altogether a delightful companion in a
ladies' salon or on a festal day.
In 1441 Jacopo Foscari was married to Lucrezia Contarini, whose
family had given three Doges to Venice. The marriage was celebrated
in the Ducal Chapel before the immediate families of the Foscari and
Contarini; and not until the third day did the rejoicings begin,
which continued for ten days, and were very magnificent, as the
gentlemen of both families were members of the Compagnia della Calza
(Company of the Stocking). This society of {178} young noblemen was
formed for the purpose of holding jousts, serenades, regattas, and
like entertainments, and took its name from its peculiar uniform,
which consisted of a striped, party-colored stocking on the left leg,
reaching to the hip, drawn over tight breeches, and embroidered with
figures of animals and birds. With this was worn a doublet of velvet
or cloth of gold, with open sleeves and facings, and a shirt-frill.
A flowing mantle of some costly stuff was thrown back on the
shoulder, displaying a richly embroidered stocking on the lining; and
the whole was completed by long pointed shoes studded with precious
stones, and a black or red bonnet, also bejewelled. Aristocratic
ladies were honorary members, and wore a stocking embroidered on
their sleeves on festive occasions. As the society increased, it was
divided into various branches, of which the Immortelles, Royals,
Ethereals, and Peacocks were the most noted; but the most exclusive
part of the society is said never to have numbered more than eighteen.
Since Foscari and his bride were both members of the Calza, the
festivities attending their marriage were under its care; and the
presence of Francesco Sforza, Barbaro, and a hundred Brescian nobles
then in Venice, added much to the elegance of the assemblies. The
Doge and the College appointed a "Master of the Feast," whose duty
was to regulate everything that took place. At the appointed time
all the Company of the Calza, in their most gorgeous apparel,
repaired to his house, where the procession formed.
Each member had two servants in his private livery, and four others
in the livery of the Calza, besides other attendants, dressed in
silk, and men-at-arms in full armor. Masters and men were all
provided with horses caparisoned with green velvet trimmed with
silver. The bridegroom had twenty mounted attendants, while others
had {179} from ten to fifteen. The procession was magnificent. So
many jewels flashed in the sun, so many richly colored velvets and
brocades were worn with easy grace, so many horses caracoled to the
sound of trumpets, that the people in windows, balconies, and on the
housetops could do nothing but applaud. The houses of the streets
through which the cavalcade passed were hung with tapestries, silks,
and banners, or arched with flags spread on lines stretched from one
side to the other.
The procession rode around the Piazza and the court of the Ducal
Palace, and then over the Grand Canal, on a bridge of boats, to the
Contarini Palace at San Barnaba. Here the fair young bride came out
to meet the procession. She was attended by two grave and reverend
procurators of St. Mark in black dresses and cloaks, which by
contrast heightened the beauty of her robes of white silk. Twelve
children, all dressed in white, bore her train. In her dark hair
diamonds were so woven that those who would see her face were forced
to shade their eyes from the flashing of the jewels, and on her neck
were the rarest of pearls, besides precious stones of great value on
other portions of her person. She wore a cloak of lightest fur, as
the wintry air compelled her to do. Sixty maids of honor followed
her, all dressed in blue with many rare jewels, and all wearing
cloaks. The Company of the Calza and their attendants formed two
lines. Foscari descended from his horse, and made a profound
obeisance to his wife, then placed himself beside her, and they,
followed by the sixty maidens, walked between the lines of the
cavalcade to the Church of St. Barnaba, where they heard Mass. After
this the Lady Lucrezia, her maids, and the members of the Calza, with
Sforza, Barbaro, and the Brescian visitors, took their places in the
square outside the church, and listened to a eulogy upon the two
great families united by this marriage, pronounced from a pulpit by a
richly dressed priest.
{180}
The oration ended, Foscari and his bride returned to the palace of
her father, while the cavalcade rode through the city, displaying
their horsemanship, and engaging in mock battles in the squares, to
the great delight of the people.
In the afternoon a splendid repast was furnished at the Ducal Palace,
and then the Bucentaur was rowed up to the Piazzetta, where a hundred
ladies in costly dresses embarked and proceeded to the Palazzo
Contarini. Here they were joined by the Lady Lucrezia and her
husband, attended by another hundred ladies. Then the Bucentaur,
followed by numerous gayly decorated gondolas, rowed to the Palace of
Sforza, to the sound of music, and paid a visit of state to the
Captain-General, who then went on board the Bucentaur, and the whole
company proceeded to the Ducal Palace. The Doge and Dogaressa, with
a train of fifty ladies, met the barge at the landing; and they, with
their guests in procession, entered the palace, where the evening was
spent in dancing.
The next day festivities were resumed. Now a tournament was given,
in which the nobles of Venice and their honored guests tilted
together. Again a regatta was held, with large prizes, and the
gondolas were brought out which were only seen at festivals. They
were richly carved and gilded, and fitted with curtains and cushions
of silk and velvet. The best rowers competed for the prizes, and won
them amid great applause. Each day some novel feature was
introduced. Acrobats and others performed their feats of agility in
the squares, the bells rang softly all day long, bands played in the
squares at night, and the people danced, while the patricians were
entertained at a series of balls at the palaces of the nobility.
Thus ten days passed, and then, as a finale, there was a procession
of illuminated boats, every seventh one carrying musicians, which
passed through the canals, and around the islands near Venice.
[Illustration: _The Piazzetta; Ducal Palace; San Marco_]
{181}
But three years elapsed before Jacopo Foscari was suspected of having
taken bribes for his services in obtaining offices _per broglio_,
which would be called lobbying in our day. The Broglio was the lower
gallery or arcade under the Ducal Palace, which was a general
meeting-place for the higher classes, and where all sorts of schemes
and conspiracies were broached, and consultations held; in short, an
exchange which might be frequented for both good and evil purposes.
The penalties for such offences as those of which the young Foscari
was accused, were very severe, and Jacopo was doomed to banishment in
Naples, where each day he must present himself before the
representative of the Republic in that city. Before this sentence
was pronounced, Jacopo had fled to Trieste, and there fell ill.
After some months he was permitted to go to Treviso; and at length,
in answer to a pathetic appeal from his father, he was pardoned, and
returned to Venice.
Again, three years later, one of the Council of Ten who had condemned
Jacopo was assassinated as he was leaving the palace. The evidence
which connected Jacopo with this murder was so slight that it is not
worth recounting; but suspicion of him was strong enough to cause his
arrest, and it is even said that he was tortured, with no result. He
was now banished to Candia, where, separated from wife and children,
from the refinements that he loved, and without congenial pursuits,
he suffered a restlessness so intense that he further criminated
himself for the sake of returning to Venice, even though that might
mean the rack anew. He wrote a letter to the Duke of Milan, the
enemy of Venice, asking his aid with the Seigniory. This letter he
managed to have fall into the hands of the Council, never trying to
send it to Milan at all.
He was also accused of having addressed a letter to the {182} Sultan,
imploring him to send a vessel to convey him away secretly. He was
now brought to Venice, and before the Council made a full confession,
no doubt through fear of the torture-chamber, so near at hand. Some
of the Ten favored severity. Loredano even wished him to be beheaded
between the Columns, but the mild sentence of a year's imprisonment
at Candia was the final result. When this sentence was given, he
prayed that he might see his family, all of whom had been rigidly
excluded from him and from the court during his trial. His father,
mother, wife, and children were permitted to visit him; and when the
time for his removal came, he was with them in the Ducal Palace.
Even then, after all he had suffered and caused others to suffer, he
did not seem to realize that the execution of his sentence was as
sure as fate itself. He seemed rather to believe that some one could
reverse it all; and naturally that some one seemed to be the Doge,
his father, who, alas! knew but too well his utter powerlessness.
Amid the sobs and kisses all around him, once more he cried, "Father,
I beseech you, make them let me go home!" But the old Doge, in his
despair, could only reply, "Jacopo, go; obey the will of the country,
and try no more," in saying which no doubt he suffered more than he
who heard these fatal words.
All hearts were touched by these terrible griefs of the old Foscari,
and six months later a full pardon was obtained for the son. But it
was too late. He no longer lived to be condemned or forgiven. When
this news came, the Doge was eighty-four years old. His courage was
gone. He could no longer give heed to public matters, nor could he
endure to sit in that court which had tortured and exiled the last of
his sons. And so he stayed away; and soon there was a murmur against
him, and a complaint that he no longer made a pretence of {183}
having authority and of being necessary to the State,--a lie which he
was tired of acting. Foscari had more than once proposed to retire,
but the Council would not hear of it. Now, however, he was asked to
resign his office; and when he did not answer quickly enough to
please his persecutors, he was told that if he did not leave the
palace within the next eight days, his property would be confiscated.
He made no resistance. The ducal ring was drawn from his finger and
broken in his presence. The ducal bonnet was taken from his head,
and he promised to leave the palace at once.
As the deputies left him, Foscari caught the eye of one, Jacopo
Memmo, who looked at him with sympathy and compassion. He called
him, took his hand, and said, "Whose son art thou?" "I am the son of
Marin Memmo." And then the Doge: "He is my dear friend. Tell him
from me that it would be sweet to me if he would come to pay me a
visit, and go in my bark with me or a little pleasure. We might
visit the monasteries."
That very day the Doge left the palace with his old brother Marco,
followed by his household. Marco said, "It is better to go to the
boat by the stair that is covered;" but the old Doge replied, "I will
go down by the same stair that I came up when I was made Doge." And
then they rowed away to the splendid palace to which Jacopo had taken
Lucrezia Contarini sixteen years before,--the house that we may still
see on the point of the Grand Canal, where it turns to the east, with
the water on two sides, and its fine old gateway on the small canal
at the back. Here, in 1574, Francis I. was lodged, it being thought
more suited to his royalty than any other in all Venice.
And here, many years before, on Oct. 24, 1457, came the old Foscari
to die. The new Doge was elected on the 31st; and on All Souls Day,
when the new prince {184} went to San Marco to Mass, Foscari's
son-in-law there announced that Foscari was no more. His funeral was
magnificent. The new Doge was obliged to loan his crown to his
predecessor, when he was laid in state in the palace from which he
had been expelled but one short week before. Every honor was
bestowed on him, dead, that the Republic could give. He was carried
to the Frari, with many tapers lighting his way; and, to quote Mrs.
Oliphant, "there he lies under a weight of sculptured marble, his
sufferings all over for five hundred years and more; but never the
story of his greatness, his wrongs, and sorrows, which last gave him
such claims upon the recollection of mankind as no magnificence nor
triumph can bestow."
When the bell rang
At dawn, announcing a new Doge to Venice,
It found him on his knees before the Cross,
Clasping his aged hands in earnest prayer;
And there he died. Ere half its task was done,
It rang his knell.
ROGERS.
So intense was the excitement in Venice, caused by the deposition and
death of the old Doge, that the Senate forbade "the affair of
Francesco Foscari to be mentioned on pain of death."
FRANCESCO CARMAGNOLA.
The story of Jacopo Foscari affords a striking commentary upon the
changes which had come over the armies of the Republic. It would
seem that the want of any serious and engrossing occupation--a sort
of elegant idleness--had led Jacopo to his misfortunes; and this
idleness would not have been possible during so stirring a period as
that of his father's reign, if the Venetians had still done their own
fighting as they did it in the reign of Enrico Dandolo.
{185}
In Foscari's day it had come to be the custom, all over Italy and in
other countries of Europe, to hire men to kill and be killed for
money. Mercenary troops they were fitly called; for they not only
received their hire, but they robbed the peasant of his harvest, and
from the wealthy land-owner they extorted gold. Venice had employed
these bands when they were made up of Bretons, Hungarians, Gascons,
and other men, who spoke no Italian, and thought solely of gain; but
by the middle of the fifteenth century the Free Lances had come to be
an organized institution, with unwritten laws, which were well
understood by them and by their employers; and the general or leader
of these bands who was not successful was in much danger of having
his head taken off by the Seigneur or the government he served, on
the charge of treason. A most famous leader of one of these bands of
_condottieri_ was Francesco Carmagnola.
The name of his father was Bussone; but the soldier took his name
from the town, near Turin, in which he was born, in 1390. While he,
as a boy, tended flocks upon his native hills, the clash of arms and
the noise of battle which filled all Europe reached even his ears;
and fired with desire for adventure, he deserted the first duty of
his life, and through one chance and another entered the service of
Facino Cane, a great general in the service of the Duke of Milan.
Carmagnola soon proved his fitness for the profession he had chosen,
but it is doubtful if the jealousy of Cane would have permitted him
to come to the front. It may therefore be said to have been the
making of his fortune when Facino Cane and Gian Maria Visconti died
on the same day, and Filippo Maria Visconti became the head of the
house; for when this young prince needed a general, he chose
Carmagnola, who embraced his cause zealously, and at once took Milan
for him, and subsequently, one after the other, overcame the {186}
cities which had revolted. Naturally this was a work of time; and
meanwhile the great captain was high in the favor of his prince, held
a conspicuous position at court, and was the chief counsellor of the
Duke in all important matters.
So distinguished had he become that the Duke had given him a wife
from his own family, with the privilege of bearing the name of
Visconti, and the arms of that reigning house were also conferred on
him. To the large booty won in his service great wealth had been
added, and this peasant soldier lived in Milan in a style suited to
his riches and his wife's birth. He was in the midst of erecting the
Broletto, a royal palace (now used for municipal purposes), when the
shadows of misfortune first fell on him. This was in 1424, when
Foscari had been Doge of Venice for a year, and twelve years after
Duke Filippo Maria had made Carmagnola his captain-general.
This Duke suffered much from morbid timidity. His sensitiveness as
to his personal appearance amounted to torture, and caused him to
seek a seclusion that but increased his morbidness. He was so
suspicious of all who served him that he made it the duty of one set
of guards to watch over another, and so on, through several relays,
and then purposed himself to watch the last. The fear of murder
haunted him, and he used all his ingenuity in devising schemes of
self-protection, such as constantly changing his apartments, and
other methods equally futile if his fears were well grounded.
He married the widow of Facino Cane, Carmagnola's first commander,
and through the conquests and efficient counsels of his great
captain, the Duke was now the master of the Lombard plains and many
wealthy cities, while he was respected as well as feared by his
rivals. Finally Carmagnola had added Genoa to his other conquests;
and this proud rival of Venice, with her commerce {187} and her
splendid harbor, seemed to complete the glory of the Duke of Milan.
It may be that it was all suspicion on the part of the Duke (when one
has such a nature as his, who can tell?); but at all events, it would
seem that the glory which this last success brought to the Captain
was more than the Duke could support. He feared lest Carmagnola
should become too powerful, and naturally there were enemies of the
successful man who were only too ready to encourage suspicions
against him; and though there had been no thought of treachery
imputed to him, the Duke demanded the surrender of the troop of three
hundred horse, which had been Carmagnola's special command.
He implored the Duke not to deprive him of his soldiers, without
which his life would be wretched. But to his prayers no answer was
made, and he began to perceive that evil influences were working
against him. He was at Genoa, of which place he had been made
governor, and the Duke was at a fortress on the borders of Piedmont,
not far away; and his letters not being answered, he determined to
face the Prince. In full assurance of regaining the confidence of
the man for whom he had done so much, he set out with all the
impulsiveness of a generous nature.
Imagine his surprise when, arrived at Abbiate, he was not permitted
to pass the bridge into the castle. The guards had been forbidden to
admit their commander-in-chief. However, he did not yet understand
that he was insulted, and sent word to the Duke that he desired an
audience. The answer directed him to communicate with Riccio (his
deadly foe), as the Duke was too busy to see him. Carmagnola curbed
his pride and anger, and again sent to say that his message was for
the ear of the Duke alone; and to this no answer was vouchsafed.
As he waited with a handful of followers on the bridge, {188} his
only answer being a command to speak to his well-known enemy, he
thought he saw the face of the Duke at a loophole above. As he
looked down on the scene around him, he found himself in the midst of
his own hirelings, who were only too glad to see their peasant
captain humbled. The fire of his rage flamed forth, and he called
God to witness his innocence of any wrong to the Duke, in thought or
deed, and then accused his enemies as perfidious traitors, and swore
a solemn oath that they should soon feel the want of him to whom they
would not now listen.
He turned his horse and rode towards the Ticino, the border of Savoy,
his native province. This much alarmed the conspirators, who were
watching from the castle, and an attempt was made to call him back;
but he rushed furiously on, and stopped not until he reached the
castle of the Duke of Savoy, to whom he told his story and offered
his services. But Amadeo was a clear-headed, cautious man, and well
knew that he could not compete with Milan; and Carmagnola, seeing
that there was no hope for him here, remembered that he knew of a
power greater than that of Milan, and cautiously made his way to
Venice. He was received with the distinction which his fame as a
soldier commanded, and possibly more, just at the time of his
arrival, when there was already a question of war with Milan, in
behalf of Florence.
Envoys from Milan and Florence were already at Venice when Carmagnola
arrived, and the whole city was full of excitement. Indeed it was a
curious thing to watch the representatives of these two Italian
States, so near to each other geographically, both of one nation and
tongue, and yet so different,--the Florentines grave, and occupied
only in the serious affairs which had brought them hither; the
Milanese, gay in dress and manner, carelessly passing here and there,
as if their only object were to see the {189} sights in this Queen of
the Sea, of which they had heard so much. But they could scarcely
have failed to have some uneasy thoughts when they saw Carmagnola
there. The man whom they had driven from their midst by unjust
accusations, the man whom they had insulted and betrayed, was not
likely to help their cause with the Republic, nor speak to the Senate
in accord with the representations they would there make. But all
must have the privilege of speech, and the interest to hear was very
great with the Venetians.
The Florentine Ridolfi was the first to whom the Doge and Senate
listened. He made a passionate and moving appeal, begging that the
Venetians would unite with the Florentines to curb the power of
Milan, and warning them that when Philip had once overcome Florence
he would find the means to conquer Venice also. The Senate was
greatly moved by his eloquence and the force of his arguments, but
they were divided between sympathy for Florence and hesitation at the
enormous cost of aiding her, between fear of Philip for themselves
and doubt of his ability to overcome and dominate Florence and
Venice; and they thought it best to listen to the Milanese before
expressing themselves to the Florentines.
Very different from the earnest pleading of Ridolfi was the bravado
of the orator from Milan. He declared that he and his companions had
come on no important embassy, but simply to pay their respects to
Venice and her Senate in the name of their Duke. They had no league
to make, no favors to ask, since the treaties which existed between
Milan and the Republic were still unbroken. He then represented the
Florentines as false men, whose speech was full of lies. He declared
that though the former rulers of Milan had been enemies of the
Venetians, Duke Philip was their friend, as the Visconti had been for
a century, and that he desired peace and repose, being "the {190}
very model of liberality and courtesy." In fact, no new light was
thrown on any subject by the speech of the Milanese, and the Senators
were much divided in their opinions. A part were for immediate war
with Philip, who only desired to speak them fair until he could
overcome Florence; the others begged for greater caution, and
recalled the truth that to begin a struggle was much easier than to
end it.
It was now Carmagnola's turn, and a new wrong which he had suffered
filled his wrath to the full. At Treviso an attempt had been made to
poison him. It had failed, and the perpetrator of the act had paid
for it with his life; but it had turned the feeling of injury which
Carmagnola had cherished before into fierce hatred, and he appeared
before the Venetian Senate with fire in his heart and on his tongue.
With hot words he depicted the benefits he had conferred on Philip,
and the base ingratitude with which he had been treated. He declared
that he had received no rewards, but simply the just hire for what he
had accomplished; and now, he said, the prince he had thus served had
not only wounded and insulted him, not only turned his back on him,
and driven him into exile, but he had sought to kill him,--not in a
fair and open battle, such as soldiers love, but in the way of the
cowardly assassin, with poison. He then congratulated himself on his
preservation, and declared that although he had left his wife, his
children, and his wealth in the country he had lost, he was still
fortunate in that he had found a country where justice was honored
and villains did not rule.
Carmagnola then represented that Philip was far less powerful than he
was thought by the Florentines; that his soldiers were not paid, his
citizens were not rich, and his own means were much exhausted; that
the Duke's successes had depended on himself; and that without him
{191} Philip was weaker than the Florentines, and much weaker than
Venice. And finally he offered his services to the Republic,
promising to increase its dominions and to conquer Philip, and
declaring that though they might have had greater commanders, none
had been more loyal than he would be to Venice, and none had ever
hated her enemies as he hated the Milanese.
The speech of Ridolfi had appealed to the intellects of the Senators,
but that of Carmagnola moved both their heads and hearts, and almost
all pronounced for war. Foscari followed; and an old chronicler says
that "the energetic speech and great influence of the Doge, which
_was greater than that of any prince before him_," decided the Senate
to make the league with the Florentines. War was at once declared
against Milan, and Carmagnola was made general of the forces. He
speedily led to action the soldiers who were ready, while all Italy
was scoured for recruits.
The first point of attack was Brescia, and the story of its
possession is indeed a sad one. Historians disagree as to the extent
of blame to be fixed on Carmagnola; but at the best, as Bigli gives
it, it seems a cold-blooded betrayal of the many Brescian friends of
the great captain. By the aid of two men within the city, at the
dead of night, Carmagnola marched his troops into the Piazza, the
very centre of the city, and suddenly, with an illumination of
torches and blare of trumpets, announced his sovereignty in the name
of Venice, which he now served. The historian says: "Though at first
dismayed by the clang of the trumpets and arms, as soon as they [the
inhabitants] perceived that it was Carmagnola, they remained quiet in
their houses, except those who rushed forth to welcome the besiegers,
or who had private relations with the General. No movement was made
from any of the fortified places in the city."
{192}
So far all had gone well, but the real work was yet to be done; and
it was only after seven months of siege, of trenching and assaults,
of shutting out supplies, and many tasks which demanded infinite
skill and patience, that Carmagnola was master of the city with all
its wealth,--a splendid conquest for Venice. Brescia being actually
reduced, the villages and castles belonging to it surrendered without
resistance, and as far as the Lago di Garda the sovereignty of the
Republic was acknowledged.
Philip was furious, but as he was in no condition just then to make
war, he employed a legate of the Pope to make peace for him; and this
was accomplished at the cost of his relinquishing, not only Brescia,
but a portion of the Cremonese territory, in all nearly forty miles
in extent.
Meantime, in all these months, there had been some mysterious
elements in the conduct of Carmagnola, which by no means escaped the
all-searching eye of Venice. Very early in the siege of Brescia he
had left the authority with his chief engineer, and after a
plundering expedition on Lago di Garda, had retired to the Baths of
Abano, pleading that an old wound in his thigh gave him so much pain
as to unfit him for service. The Venetians regarded this as a hint
for some benefit to be conferred on their Captain-General, and they
promptly made him a noble of Venice, with the title of Count of
Castelnuovo, and offered him a principality in Cremonese territory if
he would rejoin his army and push his victory across the river Adda.
The Duke of Milan, on his part, was pursuing a tortuous policy, by
which he set a snare for the great Free Lance. He determined to make
it appear that he had some understanding with Carmagnola. His envoys
were constantly seeking the General, and whenever Philip made any
proposals to Venice, he named this officer as {193} his ambassador.
Carmagnola was weak enough to be flattered by this. He believed that
he was absolutely essential to both Venice and Milan, that everything
revolved around him, and that he might decide the fate of these two
powers from his retirement at the Baths of Abano.
The treaty which followed the fall of Brescia was signed in December,
1425, and in one clause of it the Duke promised to restore to
Carmagnola his property in Lombardy; but Visconti broke this as well
as other stipulations of the treaty, and it soon became evident that
war was again inevitable. In February, 1427, Carmagnola was summoned
to Venice to aid the government in its plans for a new campaign.
Soon after his arrival his wife joined him, and was accorded, by the
Seigniory, a splendid reception, in which neither trouble nor money
was spared; and thus the Senate indicated to its Captain that his
faithful service would be fully recognized by the Republic.
The second campaign more plainly revealed the sluggishness of
Carmagnola. In spite of the impatience of Venice and the
magnificence of the rewards she promised, there was no activity.
Again the Duke was full of intrigue, and pretended intelligence with
the Venetian commander. It began to be understood at Venice that
Carmagnola was neither as great nor as sincere as the Senate had
believed when he first addressed them; and their distrust was not
lessened when again the Duke proposed terms of peace through the
mediation of his sometime friend and commander.
Casal Maggiore had been retaken by the Milanese. Angry letters were
sent to Carmagnola, who replied that when the proper time arrived he
would recover it in three days. This he did; but as he wished to
free all his prisoners, according to the then custom of war, and as
the {194} Republic was a law to herself, and did not aim to follow
the rules of mercenaries, there was a direct disagreement at once.
The Senate ordered the captured garrisons to be detained. Carmagnola
obeyed, but considered it a disgrace to his honor as a soldier. He
so resented this infringement of his authority that he allowed his
opportunities to slip away unimproved. The Duke was now sorely
pressed by Savoy, as well as Venice, and yet Carmagnola refrained
from entering his territory, and quietly remained in camp at
Casalsecco and on Lago d' Iseo; and it was not until October, 1427,
that by the battle of Macalo he retrieved his fame, and restored the
Venetians to good-will towards him, in spite of the great
dissatisfaction and grave suspicions of him which they had
entertained for months.
A house in Venice at San Eustachio was given him, with Castenedolo in
the Bresciano for himself and his heirs; and two nobles were sent to
convey the thanks of the Republic to him, and at the same time to
exhort him to follow up his victory at Macalo with a series of
equally splendid triumphs, which were clearly within his reach. The
government also suggested that the time had arrived for passing the
Adda, and ending the war by a glorious victory which would insure an
honorable peace.
But it seemed that Macalo was deemed sufficient by Carmagnola to
quiet Venice for a time; and though all Italy agreed in the view of
his employers, he did no more, and at the end of the year asked for
permission to go again to the Baths. The disgust of the Venetians
may easily be imagined; but as the Duke had already begun
negotiations for peace through the friendly offices of the Pope, an
ungracious consent was yielded to the request of their general; and
as the envoys of the Duke came to him, even at Abano, he fancied that
he could return to Milan whenever he willed. He was playing a game
for himself, {195} like a true mercenary soldier, and he desired by
his sluggishness to lay the Duke under obligations to him. No doubt
he intended to return to the service of Visconti, whose constant wars
brought him great wealth in booty; and then his half-finished palace
was there, and we can readily imagine that his wife desired to return
to her own country.
While he was at Abano the negotiations proceeded, and a peace which
was advantageous to Venice was signed on the 19th of April, 1428.
Almost immediately Carmagnola made a triumphant entry into Venice,
and his old father came to see how his son was honored by the
Republic. Forty years ago a peasant-herder, he was now a noble of
the proudest republic of Italy. Days of festivities followed.
Venice had not realized her fullest hopes; but the Peace of Ferrara
gave her Brescia and Bergamo, and added much to her territory and her
importance.
But no peace with Milan could be long maintained, and soon the Senate
knew that a third war was inevitable. They had paid Carmagnola the
customary retaining-fee, and felt themselves quite secure of their
leader, when suddenly, just as hostilities seemed imminent, he sent
in his resignation. When the Senate met to consider this outrageous
act, Carmagnola distinctly stated his price. He must have a thousand
ducats a month, in peace or war. And now the mortification of Venice
was complete. Through distrust of her own sons, and by her own laws,
no Venetian gentleman could command more than seventy-five men. Had
their General been one of their own countrymen, with Venetian
soldiers, as in the old days, how great would the difference have
been! But now, with the Duke of Milan ready to attack them, they
were at the mercy of the great _condottiere_.
The war actually began in 1430, and this third campaign seemed only
to emphasize the conduct of the second. {196} Carmagnola was more
inactive. The Duke sent his envoys to the General with greater
frequency. The Venetians were less patient, especially as the
audacity of their General became more and more surprising. In spite
of offers to reward him with the lordship of Milan if he would reduce
it, he refused to move. He attempted no concealment of his constant
communication with Philip. He even wrote to the Senate concerning
the envoys who were with him, and took no warning from the sullen
replies he received. He was trifling with Venice, and did not try to
hide it; and he was not intriguing with the Duke, although the latter
intended to make it appear so, and succeeded in his plan.
According to Sabellico, the discussions of the Senate over the best
way to treat Carmagnola went on for months. There were those who had
always distrusted him. Others refused to desert his cause unless
proofs of his treachery could be given. The General was in Venice
during these discussions, but had no suspicions of them. This proves
the perfect faith of the councillors, for his friends would not tell
him any sooner than his enemies; and though there were those of them
who greatly needed the rewards that the General would so generously
have given for the information, not one would speak. The great court
of the palace has been the scene of comedy and tragedy, many times
repeated; but one act in the Carmagnola drama which occurred here is
by no means the least interesting of these events.
One morning as the General went to pay his respects to Foscari, he
met him passing from the Council Chamber to the Palace. The soldier
cheerfully asked if he should bid his Serenity good morning or good
evening, as he had not slept that night. To which the Doge smilingly
replied that among the many matters spoken of in the long discussion
nothing had been more frequently mentioned than {197} Carmagnola's
name,--a ghastly joke when we know that the discussion involved the
soldier's life.
At last the whole matter was put in the hands of the Council of Ten,
who at once invited the General to come to Venice to consult on
matters of importance. Utterly unsuspicious, he set out at once; and
all along his way, on the plains of Lombardy, as he rode, or as he
sailed down the Brenta, he was honored and welcomed as if he were a
royal personage. At Mestre he was met by eight gentlemen, who
blandly escorted him to his fate. We may well wonder of what they
talked to him,--if they told him of his wife and daughter who were
expecting his return; or were they silent and abstracted, as if
preoccupied with the grave questions to be discussed with him before
the Council? They conducted him directly to the palace, and there
dismissed his retainers, saying that their master would be long
detained by the Doge, who had much to say to him.
Not finding the Doge, Carmagnola turned to go to his own house; and
then his friends, under pretext of showing him a shorter way,
conducted him through intricate passages into the prisons. When he
saw to what place he had been led, he exclaimed, "I am a lost man!"
And when his friends endeavored to console him, he replied, "No, no!
we do not cage the birds we mean to set at liberty."
It is easy to understand that the Seigniory were determined on his
death. They would be free of him, and did not wish him to serve any
other power. It is said that the Doge favored his imprisonment for
life; but, be that as it may, he was examined and tortured, and
finally led, with a gag in his mouth, to the Piazzetta, and there
decapitated "between the Columns." He was buried in a church which
no longer exists, and later his remains were taken to Milan. His
family was banished to Treviso, {198} with a small pension, and
commanded not to pass beyond certain limits under pain of death.
Strangely enough, what became of them is not known.
Severe as Venice was in her treatment of her great mercenary, and
stupidly as he acted his part, they were both consistent with their
position and character. He was an adventurer, thinking only of
himself,--not a traitor in the usual sense of the word, and yet
untrue to the interests he was most generously paid to protect.
Venice was unforgiving of lighter sins than those of Carmagnola; and
in accordance with her views and policy, he must die. Each acted
logically and consistently from the stand-point of the principle, or
want of principle, by which they were governed. Carmagnola would
offer a favorable subject for the dramatic dissection of character
which is so popular in our day. And for one thing he must be
remembered and admired,--he was not a traitor in deed, whatever he
was in thought; and this can be said of none of his fellow-captains.
They all, sooner or later, betrayed one master for another; and this
fact entitles Carmagnola to be called THE GREAT SOLDIER OF FORTUNE.
BARTOLOMMEO COLLEONI.
This _condottiere_ is called Coglioni by his biographer, Spino, who
tells us that he was born near Bergamo, in 1400. His father, a noble
of no exalted rank, was driven from his fortress by a conspiracy in
his family; and Bartolommeo and his brothers very naturally sought
military service and pay, according to the custom of their time.
Having acquired a certain recognition in the service of the Queen of
Naples, Colleoni, with forty horsemen, entered the service of Venice
at the beginning of the first campaign under Carmagnola. Did we
credit his {199} biographer with perfect truthfulness, we should
esteem him to be already a great soldier. There is no doubt that he
did good service at Bergamo, when, with his own horsemen and three
hundred infantry, he warned the Bergaraese of the approach of the
army under Piccinino, and helped them to prepare for the attack so
well that the Milanese were forced to retire.
In 1448 Colleoni was made a lieutenant in the army of Sforza, as
undisturbed by his change from the enemy to the friend of Milan as
possible. In 1455 he was made the Captain-General of Venice, and
remained in that position ten years; but even while he held so
important a post, the mention of him in the Venetian records is quite
unimportant, until in 1475 it was recorded that he had died at his
castle of Malpaga, where he had lived in great luxury.
To the Republic he bequeathed arms, horses, and other objects of
value, with 216,000 ducats in money, on condition that his statue
should be placed in the Piazza of San Marco. The Seigniory were
overwhelmed by this liberality, and were anxious to show their
appreciation of Colleoni, but their laws forbade compliance with his
ambitious request to stand forever in their Piazza. The Senate,
however, considered that the condition was sufficiently fulfilled by
placing the statue in the Campo in front of the Scuola di San Marco,
and near San Zanipolo, where it now stands,--a horse and rider so
alive, so full of force and motion, that it seems like a guardian of
Venice, that would tread under foot any foe who came to harm her.
This was the second equestrian statue cast in Italy; that of
Guattemalata at Padua, executed by Donatello a little more than
twenty years before, being the first, and which, doubtless, inspired
Colleoni with the ambition to be thus immortalized.
{200}
The statue was designed by "Andrew the keen-eyed" (Verocchio), but
was completed by Alessandro Leopardi, whose name is seen on the
horse's girth. The story goes that Verocchio came to Venice, and had
modelled the horse when he was told that another artist was to
execute the rider. In his indignation at this he broke the head and
legs of the horse into fragments, and returned to Florence. The
Senate sent after him a decree prohibiting his again entering Venice
under pain of death. To this he replied that he would surely obey,
as he knew that were his head taken off no power in Venice could
replace it, while he could easily replace the head of his horse, and
doubtless improve it.
After a while the Venetians realized his value to them, and rescinded
the edict, at the same time asking him to return, with the promise
that he should be undisturbed, and should have his pay doubled.
Verocchio was thus pacified, but had not finished his horse when he
was attacked by a fatal illness, and in his will begged the Senate to
permit his pupil Lorenzo di Credi to complete the work. In spite of
this, the Venetian Leopardi received the commission, which he
executed so well as to be afterwards called Leopardi del Cavallo.
The figure of the rider of this wonderful horse sits straight in the
saddle, with its head turned so as to look over the left shoulder.
The face shows remarkable determination, and the deep-set eyes are in
accord with this expression. It is clad in armor, with a helmet on
the head. The trappings of the horse are richly ornamented, and the
mane is knotted. The elegance of the pedestal adds much to the
effect of the whole.
Mrs. Oliphant may well say: "It is a great thing for a man when he
has some slave of genius either with pen or brush or plastic clay to
make his portrait. Sforza was a much greater general than Colleoni,
but had no Verocchio {201} to model him. Indeed, our Bartolommeo has
no pretensions to stand in the first rank of the mediæval
_condottieri_." And as I have tried to trace his story I have
thought that had he not given so generous a sum of money to Venice,
and had she not made this statue, we should scarcely have heard of
him. Is not this in reality a monument to Verocchio and Leopardi
rather than to Colleoni?
{202}