Cangrande della Scala, in the Castelvecchio Museum, Verona

Death of the Big Dog

He wore a helmet in the shape of a dog’s head over a medieval skullcap of chain mail. He was notorious, and feared by many, for the ferocity and recklessness with which he personally led his soldiers into battle. He was hereditary Lord of Verona at about the time Juliet and her Romeo might have lived and loved there. He sought to unite much of northern Italy into a Ghibelline political entity under his control as Vicar of the Holy Roman Emperor. He conquered and ruled, among others, Vicenza, Padua, and Treviso.

He was also famous for his magnanimity to his vanquished foes, his fondness for conversation, and his love of learning. Contemporaries found him to be cheerful and good humoured – the marble equestrian statue in Verona’s Castelvecchio shows him brandishing a sword and smiling. (Actually, he would be brandishing his sword, except that it’s missing.)

He extended his protection, sanctuary, and friendship to the great Florentine poet, Dante Alighieri when Dante was exiled from the city of his birth. Dante wrote to him, in one of the poet’s most important epistles, commenting upon both the allegorical and literal meanings of his Divina Commedia. Dante added that he found nothing “more fitting for your pre-eminence, than the exalted canticle of the Comedy which is entitled Paradiso; and I dedicate it to you by the present letter.”

Castelvecchio is now a museum; the wall decor is medieval

His name was Gangrande I della Scala, though he was christened Can Francesco in 1291. “Can”, meaning “dog” was apparently a reference to his uncle, Mastino I. Mastino is Italian for “Mastiff”. The phrase “della Scala” means “of the stairs” or “of the ladder”. Can Francesco earned the honorific Cangrande, “Great dog” or “Big dog” through his exploits in battle, which were many. His greatest triumph was 18 July 1329, when, after a long siege, he entered Treviso as its new ruler. But he had little time to enjoy the victory; he became violently ill soon after he entered the city, and on 22 July he died. His death agony was consistent with severe diarrheal illness. At the time, it was attributed to his having drunk from a polluted spring. He was interred in Verona, dressed in a magnificent gold-embroidered silk mantle. Rumours of poisoning surfaced soon after his death, and his successor, his nephew Mastino II, ordered the execution of a physician who had attended him in his last hours.

In 2004, Cangrande’s body was exhumed and examined by experts from the Universities of Pisa, Verona and Bologna. They found many interesting facts: Cangrande had bad knees, probably from the stresses of a soldier’s life; he had emphysema, probably because open braziers were used for cooking and heat in medieval castles; he was about 5’8” in height, and had curly auburn hair; and he had been given a massive, lethal dose of digitalis, a substance that must have been a deliberate decoction of the foxglove plant. The great dog was murdered.

After nearly 700 years, does it matter who did it? Still, one wonders. Cui bono – who benefits? Mastino II, what happened to your gallant uncle? Was it true, then as now, that it was a dog-eat-dog world?