Machiavelli, Volume I

Machiavelli, Volume I

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Machiavelli, Volume I, by Niccolò
Machiavelli, Translated by Peter Whitehorne and Edward Dacres
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title: Machiavelli, Volume I The Art of War; and The Prince
Author: Niccolò Machiavelli
Translator: Peter Whitehorne and Edward Dacres
Release Date: May 6, 2005 [eBook #15772]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK
MACHIAVELLI, VOLUME I***
E-text prepared by Ted Garvin, David King, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team

MACHIAVELLI
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
HENRY CUST. M.P.
VOLUME I

THE ART OF WAR
TRANSLATED BY
PETER WHITEHORNE
1560

THE PRINCE

TRANSLATED BY
EDWARD DACRES
1640

LONDON
Published by DAVID NUTT at the Sign of the Phoenix LONG ACRE
1905
Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty

TO MY FRIEND CHARLES WHIBLEY
H.C.

INTRODUCTION
[Sidenote: The Life of a Day.]
'I am at my farm; and, since my last misfortunes, have not been in
Florence twenty days. I spent September in snaring thrushes; but at the
end of the month, even this rather tiresome sport failed me. I rise with
the sun, and go into a wood of mine that is being cut, where I remain
two hours inspecting the work of the previous day and conversing with
the woodcutters, who have always some trouble on hand amongst
themselves or with their neighbours. When I leave the wood, I go to a
spring, and thence to the place which I use for snaring birds, with a
book under my arm--Dante or Petrarch, or one of the minor poets, like
Tibullus or Ovid. I read the story of their passions, and let their loves
remind me of my own, which is a pleasant pastime for a while. Next I
take the road, enter the inn door, talk with the passers-by, inquire the
news of the neighbourhood, listen to a variety of matters, and make
note of the different tastes and humours of men.
'This brings me to dinner-time, when I join my family and eat the poor
produce of my farm. After dinner I go back to the inn, where I
generally find the host and a butcher, a miller, and a pair of bakers.
With these companions I play the fool all day at cards or backgammon:
a thousand squabbles, a thousand insults and abusive dialogues take
place, while we haggle over a farthing, and shout loud enough to be
heard from San Casciano.
'But when evening falls I go home and enter my writing-room. On the

threshold I put off my country habits, filthy with mud and mire, and
array myself in royal courtly garments. Thus worthily attired, I make
my entrance into the ancient courts of the men of old, where they
receive me with love, and where I feed upon that food which only is my
own and for which I was born. I feel no shame in conversing with them
and asking them the reason of their actions.
'They, moved by their humanity, make answer. For four hours' space I
feel no annoyance, forget all care; poverty cannot frighten, nor death
appal me. I am carried away to their society. And since Dante says
"that there is no science unless we retain what we have learned" I have
set down what I have gained from their discourse, and composed a
treatise, _De Principalibus_, in which I enter as deeply as I can into the
science of the subject, with reasonings on the nature of principality, its
several species, and how they are acquired, how maintained, how lost.
If you ever liked any of my scribblings, this ought to suit your taste. To
a prince, and especially to a new prince, it ought to prove acceptable.
Therefore I am dedicating it to the Magnificence of Giuliano.'
[Sidenote: Niccolò Machiavelli.]
Such is the account that Niccolò Machiavelli renders of himself when
after imprisonment, torture, and disgrace, at the age of forty-four, he
first turned to serious writing. For the first twenty-six or indeed
twenty-nine of those years we have not one line from his pen or one
word of vaguest information about him. Throughout all his works
written for publication, there is little news about himself. Montaigne
could properly write, 'Ainsi, lecteur, je suis moy-mesme la matière de
mon livre.' But the matter of Machiavelli was far other: 'Io ho espresso
quanto io so, e quanto io ho imparato per una lunga pratica e continua
lezione delle cose del mondo.'
[Sidenote: The Man.]
Machiavelli was born on the 3rd