FOSCARI, Francesco (d. 1457), doge of Venice, was born probably about 1372. He was of a patrician family,· early displayed an ambitious temper, and rose to high honours in the state. He was already a member of the great council, when in 1412 he was named one of the guardians of the young marquis of Mantua; and by his wise administration he won the gratitude both of his ward and of the people. In 1421, being then one of the procuratori of St Mark, he zealously advocated war on behalf of Florence against the powerful duke of Milan. The reigning doge, Tommaso Mocenigo, was opposed to this policy; and when dying two years later, he warned his countrymen against electing Foscari as his successor, on the ground that he would plunge Venice into a disastrous war. The warning, however, was ineffectual; for after six ddys’ deliberations, with nine scrutinies, Foscari was elected doge. His success was ensured by bribery on a large scale. In proclaiming his election, a significant omission was made from the customary formula, the words which recognized the popular share in the appointment being entirely dropped. The ancient formula was never again used. Florence continued to press for an alliance with Venice against Milan, and the negotiations were still going on when, in 1425, the famous Carmagnola, who had for eight years commanded the Milanese armies and made many conquests for his master, the duke Filippo Maria, arrived at Venice, a fugitive in disgrace. His influence gave the decisive impulse to the hesitating Venetians; and in January 1426 a league was formed and war was declared against Milan, Carmagnola being appointed captaingeneral of the army of Venice. Brescia and Cremona were conquered for Venice, and the war was carried on with alternation of success and failure ...and intervals of peace till 1433, when Foscari consented to treat, and peace was signed at Ferrara. The doge then offered his abdication, but the senate refused to accept it. After another troublous period of nine years he renewed his proposal, when the senate not only refused as before, but exacted from him an oath that he would retain his sovereignty for life. To the toils and harassments of office and of war were added, during his remaining years, great family sorrow’s. He had four sons, three of whom were already dead. The fourth, Giacopo, connected himself by marriage in 1441 with the noble house of Contarini. Within four years of this event, Giacopo was denounced to the council of ten as having received presents from several foreign princes, one of the highest offences a noble could be guilty of. He was tortured in the presence of his father, and, having made a confession, was condemned to perpetual banishment to Napoli di Romania. The aged doge was compelled to pronounce the sentence on his son. Five years later (1450), the assassination of Hermolas Donati, one of the ten, took place at Venice, and suspicion fastened on the banished Giacopo, one of whose servants was seen at Venice at the time. The servant was arrested and repeatedly tortured, but no confession was wrung from him. Giacopo was then recalled from his place of exile, was again put on the rack in his father’s presence, and although not a particle of evidence was to be had against him, he was condemned and banished to the isle of Candia. The real assassin was afterwards discovered, but the sentence against Giacopo was un revoked. He was forbidden all communication with his wife and family, and life became an intolerable burden. In 1456 he wrote a request to the duke of Milan to intercede for him, and purposely left the letter open and discoverable. It was presented to the council of ten, and his end was gained, for he was immediately summoned to his native city to answer the charge of seeking foreign intercession. For the third time he was examined before his father, the doge. This time he confessed the crime of which he was accused. He was nevertheless put on the rack no less than thirty times with a view to extort a declaration of innocence, and this in his father’s presence. But it was in vain, and the wretched man, torn and dislocated, was once more banished. He died shortly afterwards in Candia. The father henceforth remained in retirement, incapable of discharging the duties of his office. At length through the intrigues of Giacopo Loredauo, a member of a family which had a hereditary feud with the Foscari, the council were induced to request his abdication. He pleaded his oath not to resign which they had compelled him to take; but they discharged him of it, declared the dogate vacant, gave him a pension, and expelled him from the palace (1457). They wished him to withdraw by a private staircase to escape the notice of the people, but this he firmly refused to do. Supported by his brother, he slowly descended the giants’ stairs, and with the parting words—“My services brought me within these walls, the malice of my enemies drives me away,”—he took his leave (Oct 25). A decree of the council prohibited any mention of his name, under penalty of death, thus suppressing all expression of popular regret. On the 30th of the same month his successor was elected, and the announcement of the election by the bell of the campanile agitated him so violently that he ruptured a blood-vessel and died in a few hours. One year after his death it was declared that the council of ten had exceeded their authority. The melancholy story of the Foscari furnished Byron with a theme for a tragedy, and is narrated by Rogers in one section of his Italy— the two poems being published within a few days of each other (1821).
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