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, 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 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.