he cold comfort of the
recommendation that Venice should come to terms with her enemy.

The Venetian army of 20,000 men was reduced by casualties and sickness
to 18,000 or less. It always did its duty. The defence of Fort
Malghera, the great fort which commanded the road to Padua and the
bridge of the Venice railway, would have done credit to the most
experienced troops in the world. The garrison numbered 2500; the
besiegers, under Haynau, 30,000. Radetsky, with three archdukes, came
to see the siege, but, tired with waiting, they went away before it
was ended. The bombardment began on the 4th of May; in the three days
and nights ending with the 25th over 60,000 projectiles fell on the
fort. During the night of the 25th the Commandant, Ulloa, by order of
Government, quietly evacuated the place, and withdrew his troops; only
the next morning the Austrians found out that Malghera was abandoned,
and proceeded to take possession of the heap of ruins, which was all
that remained.

After the beginning of July, an incessant bombardment was directed
against the city itself. Women and children lived in the cellars; fever
stalked through the place, but the war feeling was as strong as
ever--nay, stronger. Moreover, the provisions became daily scarcer, the
day came when hunger was already acutely felt, when the time might be
reckoned by hours before the famished defenders must let drop their
weapons, and Venice, her works of art and her population, must fall a
prey to the savage vengeance of the Austrians, who would enter by force
and without conditions.

And this is what Manin prevented. The cry was still for resistance;
for the first time bitter words were spoken against the man who had
served his country so well. But he, who had never sacrificed one iota
to popularity, did not swerve. His great influence prevailed. The
capitulation was arranged on the 22nd, and signed on the 24th of July.
Manin had calculated correctly; on that day there was literally
nothing left to eat in Venice.

In the last sad hours that Manin spent in Venice all the love of his
people, clouded for an instant, burst forth anew. Not, indeed, in
shouts and acclamations, but in tears and sobs; 'Our poor father, how
much he has suffered!' they were heard saying. He embarked on a French
vessel bound for Marseilles, poor, worn out and exiled for ever from
the city which he had guided for eighteen months; if, indeed, no spark
of his spirit animated the dust