Machiavelli, Volume I | Page 7

Prince,
are more faithful and cause less offence to the subject States: those
whom they may injure being poor and scattered, are prevented from
doing mischief. For it should be observed that men ought either to be
caressed or trampled out, seeing that small injuries may be avenged,
whereas great ones destroy the possibility of retaliation: and so the
damage that has to be inflicted ought to be such that it need involve no
fear of reprisals.' There is perhaps in all Machiavelli no better example
of his lucid scientific method than this passage. There is neither excuse
nor hypocrisy. It is merely a matter of business calculation. Mankind is
the raw material, the State is the finished work. Further you are to
conciliate your neighbours who are weak and abase the strong, and you
must not let the stranger within your gates. Above all look before as
well as after and think not to leave it to time, _godere li benefici del
tempo_, but, as did the Romans, strike and strike at once. For
illustration he criticises, in a final and damning analysis, the career of
Louis XII. in Italy. There was no canon of statecraft so absolute that the
King did not ignore it, and in inevitable Nemesis, there was no ultimate
disaster so crowning as not to be achieved.
[Sidenote: Conquests.]
After observing that a feudal monarchy is much less easy of conquest
than a despotism, since in the one case you must vanquish many lesser
lordships while in the other you merely replace slaves by slaves,
Machiavelli considers the best method of subjugating Free Cities. Here
again is eminent the terrible composure and the exact truth of his
politics. A conquered Free City you may of course rule in person, or
you may construct an oligarchy to govern for you, but the only safe
way is to destroy it utterly, since 'that name of Liberty, those ancient
usages of Freedom,' are things 'which no length of years and no
benefits can extinguish in the nation's mind, things which no pains or
forethought can uproot unless the citizens be utterly destroyed.'
Hitherto the discussion has ranged round the material politics of the

matter, the acquisition of material power. Machiavelli now turns to the
heart of his matter, the proper character and conduct of a new Prince in
a new Principality and the ways by which he shall deal most fortunately
with friend and foe. For fortune it is, as well as ability, which go to the
making of the man and the maintenance of his power.
[Sidenote: Cæsar Borgia.]
In the manner of the day Moses, Cyrus, Romulus, and Theseus are led
across the stage in illustration. The common attribute of all such
fortunate masters of men was force of arms, while the mission of an
unarmed prophet such as Savonarola was foredoomed to failure. In
such politics Machiavelli is positive and ruthless: force is and must be
the remedy and the last appeal, a principle which indeed no later
generation has in practice set at naught. But in the hard dry eyes of the
Florentine Secretary stood, above all others, one shining figure, a figure
to all other eyes, from then till now, wrapped in mysterious and
miasmatic cloud. In the pages of common history he was a tyrant, he
was vicious beyond compare, he was cruel beyond the Inquisition, he
was false beyond the Father of Lies, he was the Antichrist of Rome and
he was a failure: but he was the hero of Niccolò Machiavelli, who,
indeed, found in Cæsar Borgia the fine flower of Italian politics in the
Age of the Despots. Son of the Pope, a Prince of the Church, a Duke of
France, a master of events, a born soldier, diplomatist, and more than
half a statesman, Cæsar seemed indeed the darling of gods and men
whom original fortune had crowned with inborn ability. Machiavelli
knew him as well as it was possible to know a soul so tortuous and
secret, and he had been present at the most critical and terrible
moments of Cæsar's life. That in despite of a life which the world calls
infamous, in despite of the howling execrations of all Christendom, in
despite of ultimate and entire failures, Machiavelli could still write
years after, 'I know not what lessons I could teach a new Prince more
useful than the example of his actions,' exhibits the ineffaceable
impressions that Cæsar Borgia had made upon the most subtle and
observant mind of modern history.
[Sidenote: Cæsar's Career.]
Cæsar was the acknowledged son of Pope Alexander by his
acknowledged mistress Vannozza dei Cattani. Born in 1472, he was an
Archbishop and a Cardinal at sixteen, and the murderer of his elder

brother at an age when modern youths are at college.