Chapter X

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.

{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}