With Federigo of Montefeltro and Roberto Malatesta, the old generation of Italian condottieri may be said to have passed away. Political changes and progressive civilisation, developed during forty years of comparative tranquillity, already tended to limit both the supply of veteran adventurers and the demand for their services. Under such genial influences, the great companies of adventure had melted down to petty followings, more proportioned to the exigencies of the age, and to the resources and experience of their new leaders. Peaceful times offered no rich prizes to call forth sustained daring, and to reward vast enterprises. Captains of minor reputation, heading small bands raised for some passing broil or petty foray, succeeded to the Hawkwoods, Montoni, and Malatesta, without rivalling their deeds, or maintaining their fame. The limited brigandage of the broken lances differed from the sweeping desolation of their marshalled thousands only in the narrower field on which it found scope; but the mercenary system became more manageable when deprived of its cumbrous machinery, and its leaders were henceforth the tools of their employers instead of their virtual masters.
In bidding adieu to that system, we may quote the sweeping condemnation bestowed upon it by Machiavelli; yet it is right to remember that, as the advocate of infantry and national militia, he had no toleration for the military art which they superseded, and that he witnessed its practice only after its spirit was gone. "Whoever relies for power upon mercenaries will never be stable or secure; for they are disunited, ambitious, undisciplined, faithless: braggarts among friends, dastards before the foe; destitute of fear of God, or faith with man. To delay their assault is to postpone your own ruin; in peace, you are plundered by them, in war by the enemy. The reason of all this is, that they have no object, no inducement to keep the field beyond their pittance of pay, which is never such as to induce them to spend life and limb for you. They readily enough take service, so long as you don't go to war, but when that comes, they desert or fly. It were easy to establish all this, for the destruction of Italy has arisen from no other cause but that, for many years, she depended upon mercenary troops; who, indeed, occasionally did something, and wore a semblance of valour when pitted against each other, but, on the appearance of the stranger, showed in their true colours. Thus was Charles of France allowed to take possession of the Peninsula as easily as he would have chalked off his cantonments, and the result of all their prowess left the country overrun by him, ravaged by Louis, trampled on by Ferdinand, and insulted by the Swiss; in fine, by their means she was enslaved and disgraced."
These changes led to considerable modifications in the art of war, to which other circumstances greatly contributed. The invasion of Italy by successive ultra-montane hosts brought into her battle-fields other races, armed, drilled, and disciplined upon new principles; and the descent of Charles VIII., which we are now about to describe, forms an era in military tactics. The heavy accoutrements, the staid evolutions, the blockade sieges, the bloodless encounters of the old system were admirably suited for troops whose grand object was to perform their term of service without unnecessary personal risk, and to spare themselves all exertion which did not promise a meed of booty. The invention of gunpowder at first tended to exaggerate the very inconveniences which it was destined eventually to supplant: for a time, defensive armour became more and more massive, and horse-trappings less manageable. In order to resist the additional weight, chargers of the most powerful shapes were sought for; but they were in proportion sluggish and unhandy, apt to fall on the slightest stumble, difficult to maintain in condition, and incapable of sustained exertion. These evils having become apparent, the men-at-arms ceased to be regarded as the sole sinews of war, and many of them were converted into lances.
Unlike the cavalry which now bear that name, these lances were heavy troops, and, like the men-at-arms, they each consisted of three mounted soldiers—a head-lance on his charger, a soldier on his steed, and a lacquey on his pad. The pay of these troops, which in 1492 were already used in Romagna,[*241] was twelve florins for every lance, being four times that of a foot-soldier; and they were reckoned twice as effective as balestrieri or light-horse, both new varieties of mounted force. The former were brought into repute by Camillo Vitelli,
"In heart a lion, though a calf in name,"[242]
and were armed with cross-bows, their tactics being to gall the enemy without coming to close quarters. Of the latter there were several varieties, the most efficient of which were the Stradiotes. Accustomed from childhood to constant skirmishes with their Turkish foes, in the mountains of Albania, where manœuvres of regular cavalry were impracticable, they partook of the agility and address for which Cossacks and Circassians have lately become celebrated. Their arms were a spear ten feet long, a broad-sword and a mace, and they were defended by an iron skull-cap, a small shield, and a short quilted jerkin. They were introduced by the Venetians into Lombardy, where their dashing qualities, as well as their ferocity, soon established the reputation of these irregular horse as most formidable mercenaries.
Infantry occupied, under the new system, a place until then denied them. They had hitherto been of small account in the mustering of armies, and were rarely relied on except in situations which excluded cavalry evolutions. They carried small shields, and halberts or lances, but were scarcely at all drilled, and never attempted to stand against a charge of horse. More effective were their cross-bows, and the rude muskets which they began to use. As fire-arms were made more handy, the value of infantry rapidly increased, and its discipline became an important branch of the military art. But in this section of the service, Italians had to learn costly lessons from their alpine neighbours.
In a land where nature had lavished her most sublime efforts, she reared a race as hardy in heart and sinew as their climate was severe, their scenery wild, their hardships extreme. Life was there a perpetual struggle with privations, an unceasing exercise of toil. To provide the necessaries of existence required limbs enduring of fatigue, an eye of unerring accuracy, perseverance inexhaustible, courage indomitable. And such were the qualities of the Swiss mountaineers, which they developed in the chase, exercised in rude sports, and perfected in their struggles with the house of Hapsburg, until their shouts of victory echoed through the valleys around Morgarten,—until Europe stood aghast at the issue of Granson, and of
"Morat the proud, the patriot field."