Niccolo and Satire

by Gregory J. Delano

Niccolo Machiavelli, Exhortation to Penitence, 1526

Not bad considering the man is an atheist, marxist, amoral, violence craving, radical, church hating, neitzschean, arian, realtor, building contractor (that one hurts!), communist, tyrant loving, power mad, womanizing, foul mouthed, lawyer, capitalist pig . . . .

Petrarch, The Long Preface, De Viris Illustribus

Dear Niccolo,

You stinker you! It's time to wipe that devilish grin off your face. You fooled a lot of us but the jig is up. Yes, we know that in your, 'true order of values', (De Grazia, Machiavelli In Hell, p17), politics is more important than playwriting. You did write a few plays didn't you? The Ass proved an interesting title for a fantasy. Mandragola certainly demonstrated you knew how to arouse an audience. Apparently no one knew how well. Sebastian De Grazia speaks of your bountiful powers of exhortation contending, 'He has more than one way of persuading people. If the serious vein is not enough, you will try the comic. If the public does not laugh at your tales, 'you' would be glad to stand them a drink. But if they do laugh -- and they unhinge their jaws laughing -- laughter brings them closer to the truth and makes it easier for them to see what you see and love what you love,' (p.22)

Isn't it ironic that so few people were left laughing, although their jaws may have been unhinged, after perusing your little book, The Prince?

Yet you gave yourself away. Right there in front of our collective nose. Despite a man of tireless energy cursed with that incurable malady, 'while he lived, he always ran', (34), you found your writing room. Do you remember this quaint piece of 'epistolary'?

'. . . I enter the ancient courts of the men of antiquity where affectionately received by them I pasture on that food that alone is mine and for which I was born, where I am not too timid to speak with them and ask them about the reasons for their actions; and they in their courtesy answer me; and for four hours of time I feel no weariness, I forget every trouble, I do not fear poverty, death does not dismay me; I transfer all of myself into them . . . .'

Touching words from one so evil.

But, my friend, the Zen koan has been cracked, the riddle of the Sphinx has been solved and the cat's out of the bag. Professor Garrett Mattingly has broken the seventh seal. A Columbia professor of European History, and much more significant, a friend and colleague of Dr. Ronald G. Witt, (so he's got to be right on this), Dr. Mattingly's incisive tome entitled, Machiavelli's Prince: Political Science or Political Satire? finally unlocks the puzzles, the previously unexplainable contradictions, and gives, 'a new dimension and meaning to passages unremarkable before.' Indeed, that little 'pudge' of a book was satire all the way!

Mattingly unfurls this blasphemy by assessing your various manuscripts, including one comedy good enough to be labeled a classic! Let's see. We already mentioned your beauty, Mandragola, and The Ass. There are other plays, a short biography, one treatise on the Art of War, the Discourses, very unique Machiavellian 'epistolary', political tales, poetry and even a proposal for a new constitution. A proposal for a new constitution? You, the immortal cynic? Joke right? The prodigal historian, (Mattingly), observes that scholars who bother to study these other works of yours, however, 'usually speak of them with great respect' (p.482). The orthodox appraise the set as deliberate, genuine and certainly thought provoking. The problem, I understand, continues to be that no one bothers to read these other embellishments. All judgements regarding the overgrown manual emanate solely from the pamphlet itself, which pales in comparison to the rest of the collection. By the way, Mattingly assigns to your little book the status of a, 'pamphlet'. Don't blame me.

Anyway, the heretic Mattingly insists that everyone appreciates the condensed editions, and maybe The Prince does embody your best prose. 'A prince should behave sometimes like a man, sometimes like a beast, and among the beasts he should combine the traits of the lion and the fox.' Refreshing. Here's my favorite, 'A man will forget the death of his father sooner than the loss of his patrimony.' Sweet. Mattingly's dilemma, however, resides in, 'certain important respects, including some of the most shocking epigrams, The Prince contradicts everything else you ever wrote and everything we know about in your life. And everyone who has studied the subject at all has always known this.' (p.483)

Ya' think!

Every other publication of yours earned respectful though quiet praise. The Prince, however, bellowed across the continent immersed in a chorus of disapprobation. Even nasty Frederick of Prussia bore offense! Your name converted from noun to adjective and became permanently associated with the most evil, vicious, shallow scoundrels who walked the planet. Bet you didn't plan on that. Maybe the joke's on you.

Fortune, being fickle, your image veered thanks to a clever fellow named Herder. Apparently, you innocently offered, 'bitter, dangerous medicines', to an unholy age at your own expense, and you did so for the sake of a united Italy. You patriot! Feel better?

Hold on. During the twentieth century you were hailed as a scientist. Did I see 'lab rat' on the Vergerio/Kristeller/Witt list of what constitutes a 'truly liberal temper'? (Witt, Kohl, The Earthly Republic, p.22) Anyway, 'Messer' Cassirer redefined, and enshrined you, by discovering that you were conspicuously, 'watching political behavior and drawing conclusions from it with the passionless detachment of a chemist in a laboratory.'

Not bad. Now you're a patriot and a scientist. Actually I'm rather confused. Our backslider, Mattingly, rejects the scientist gig since it fails to resolve the discord in your hundred-page outburst. The major objection springs from the Discouses. The Discourses uniformly emphasize republics as the finest cradles of freedom, justice, security and power. Your teaching reflecting republics resonates almost as potently as The Prince. Even if scientific in your approach, Mattingly, the dissenter, asserts you still contradict everything in your life, your writings and your era. He's persistent, isn't he?

Watch your blood pressure now, Nick. The irreverent one implicates your family. Remember, we're suppose to believe you deliberately concocted this miniature, amoral cookbook for power, to support a tyrant who will uphold the oppression of the once free and, haughty, people of Florence. In fact, the family Machiavelli relished an old reputation as a Florentine spokesmen renown for their dedication to the republic. One of your ancestors, a particular Francesco, won repute for a speech in which he publicly trumpted, (so unlike a Machiavelli),

'It is freedom that makes cities and their citizens great. This is well known. Tyranny makes only desolation. For tyrants must always fear good citizens and try to exterminate them.'

Good people.

In the two centuries before you were born your family tendered Florence twelve gonfalonieri and fifty-four priors. Your great grand uncle heroically endured imprisonment, torture and exile, all for Florentine liberty. Your dad's diary recently came to light and reveals a man of high opinion, and though poor and devoid of public honors, a father confident of his family lineage and devoted to a republican government. Clearly your father would have impressed upon you the history of the patria, the glorious legacy of Florence as a bastion of freedom and the distinctive contributions and sacrifices your family brought to this wonderful heritage. Good people.

Not until the 1480's did your family and the Florentines recognize the decomposition of your liberties. Nick, I guess you were just twenty-five when Piero fled. Four years later you were appointed chancellor of the second chancery and soon, secretary to the Ten of War. You believed in the republic, Nick. You designed thousands of plans to defend and enrich your precious republic as you struggled, so the recusant Mattingly states, 'with furious, dedicated zeal'. (p.484) Did you really say this, Niccolo?

'Other people learn from the perils of their neighbors, you will not even learn from your own, nor trust yourselves, nor recognize the time you are losing and have lost . . . But I cannot believe it will come to this, seeing that you are free Florentines and have your liberty in your own hands. In the end I believe you will have the same regard for your freedom that men always have who are born free and desire to live free.'

Not exactly the epitaph of Cesare Borgia, the 'model prince', is it Nick?

What about those fourteen years of service to the republic? You had an unlimited number of opportunities to stick your hand into the city till what with all your business. One of those duties included the position of paymaster general of the army! Yet you retired, poor, like old school teachers do today. Later you admitted pride in your astonishing record of honesty and unflagging commitment to the republic. You know, you don't sound like a meglo-maniac. Please excuse the pun but you sound more like a prince.

Mattingly, the malcontent, of course, invokes the dark times. After Giuliano and the Cardinal marched in with the Spanish Mounties, but before the untried regime renovated a single pothole, a plot to murder the tyrants was exposed. Capponi and Boscoli were pinched but your name appeared on an obscure list of 18-20 leading republicans and you were picked up. I know it was the rope and you held up well enough to commend yourself for courage as well as survival. Since nothing was admitted or proven you were freed. However, I understand you lost your offices, were heavily fined, and then exiled to that little rabbit farm seven miles from the city you cherished. Almost a mortal wound for a man whose energy and love of politics, defies peer. Sorry, my friend.

Shall we sum up, Nick? You were tortured, lost your career, were fined and banished, saw the city of your lineage enslaved and you responded by writing a book to teach, compliment and empower, your enemies on how to enhance their positions of dominance while you languished in a chicken coop. A natural Florentine, Italian reaction to grave injustice, no doubt! The radiant ones, of course, allege how you scripted The Prince with the, 'passionless objectivity of a scientist in the library.' (Mattingly, p.483) Of course, the same pedagogues, after all, still honor the absurdity that you composed the opus for tyrants, and that leaves me with my jaw unhinged.

What about love? Your, 'love affair' with tyranny barely qualifies as a one night stand. A, 'passing phase', the impious Mattingly noted. The rest of your life you wrote as a republican, walked in republican circles and even had two of your dearest friends and patrons, Zanobi Buondelmonti, and the poet Luigi Alamanni, entangled in another scheme to topple dictators. Your name was also mentioned in this skulduggery but you were cleared. I wonder . . . perhaps you decided to wipe out those tyrants to whom you dedicated your book. People do change their minds! Why, Buondelmonti and Alamanni labored to bring you back to serve the republic when the Medici were expelled again. We also never heard of any shock issuing from your friends regarding the midget diatribe. The friends who later summoned you to participate in a republic confessed no anxiety. Maybe your dearest friends didn't read the pocket treatise, I mean, book or, 'thing', as you once characterized The Prince, in a letter to your pen pal, Vettori.

Mattingly then revisited Herder's standard argument to legitimize The Prince. According to The Prince, only a dictator could build a state that would be capable of expansion. Mattingly rebuffs this lame argument, but, only because you do Nick. In the Discorses you exclaimed,

'We know by experience that states never significantly increased either in territory or in riches except under a free government. The cause is not far to seek, since it is the well-being not of individuals but of the community which makes the state great, and without question this universal well-being is nowhere secured save in a republic. . . Popular rule is always better than the rule of princes.'

Free government. Your favorite theme. I think the false prophet's got you, Nick.

The blasphemer offers another paradox. Apparently every other composition of yours capers to the tact and sensitivity of the audience. Petrarch would be pleased. (We'll talk more about him, later.) The Prince, meanwhile, disgusted, shocked, angered and repelled the 'material'. Yet, you seemed to take special delight with your diabolical shock treatments. Might you be familiar with the phrase, 'passive/aggressive'? An economy of language, yes, but The Prince just doesn't sound like the language of a skilled diplomat to me, Nick.

During the Renaissance the discussion of the merits of monarchies and republics traveled far and wide. The Renaissance concept of tyrant may best be distinguished by Cristoforo Landino, one of Lorenzo the Magnificent's revered teachers and clients. Landino philosophized,

'If we consult the laws of any well-constituted republic, we shall find them to decree no greater reward to anyone than to the man who kills the tyrant.'

Nick, did you prefer torture, exile and raising chickens and rabbits to laurels? Even mild mannered Boccaccio wrote, 'There is no more acceptable sacrifice than the blood of a tyrant.' By the way, was this little political tantrum of yours suppose to endear you to the same Giuliano and Lorenzo whose forefathers were tutored by the identical Landino who preached great rewards for killing men like Giuliano and Lorenzo? You've got nerve. You then compared them to Cesare Borgia and literally recommended to the leaders of this powerful Florentine house that they,

' . . . emulate a foreigner, a Spaniard, a bastard, convicted in the court of opinion, anyway, of fratricide, incest and a long list of abominable crimes, a man especially hated in Tuscany for treachery and extortion and for the gross misconduct of his troops on neutral Florentine soil, and, a man to boot, who as a prince had been a notorious and spectacular failure.' (Mattingly, p.487)

I just can't understand how the Medici did not immediately rollout the red carpet. Are you at all familiar with Dale Carnegie?

Nick, you well knew in 1503, that good old Borgia did nothing to allay the fractional strife other than to rule brutally through his Spanish goons. The recent study, 'La Politica dei Borgia', by Gabriele Pepe, supports that fact. Chapter 13 of The Prince, where you praise Borgia, portrays mockery at its best. Yet, December 14, 1503, you wrote from the Imola regarding the soldiers under Cesare's charge,

'They have devoured everything but the stones . . . here in the Romangna they are behaving just as they did in Tuscany last year . . . and they show no more discipline and no less confusion as they did then.'

Ten years later you detailed in chapter seven of The Prince,

'On the day Pope Julius II was elected, the Duke told me that he had thought of everything that might happen on the death of his father and provided for everything except that when his father died he himself would be at death's door . . .only the shortness of the life of Alexander and his own sickness frustrated his designs. Therefore he who wants to make sure of a new principality . . cannot find a better model than the actions of this man.'(Cesare Borgia)

You really got our goat on that one. After all, by November of 1503, you and every church mouse in Europe knew the fate of the beast. Borgia inspired hatred, fear, and revulsion. The monster, failing in health, shivering from fear and bowing before those he once browbeat, now pleaded for mercy and for his life to be spared. The mighty Borgia, broke and broken, finally slithered off to perish, incarcerated in a dungeon in Naples while all of Italy resounded with derisive laughter. Do you remember speaking these words at the time,

'The duke, who never kept faith with anyone, is now obliged to rely on the faith of others? . . .The duke who never showed mercy, now finds mercy is his only hope.' (p.489)

Not exactly Romulus, is he?

His thesis may not be popular but the unhallowed one draws some pretty fancy names to bolster the satire dissertation. Alberico Gentili, Baruch Spinoza and Jean Jacques Rousseau, (that celebrated lover of freedom who voluntarily surrendered five of his own children to adoption in order to retain his liberty), assented to the satire hypothesis. Gentili wrote,

' . . . He has been much calumniated and deserves our sympathy. He is indeed a praiser of democracy and its most zealous champion. Born, educated and honored with office in a republic, he was a supreme foe of tyrants. It was his purpose not to instruct tyrants but to reveal their secret machinations, stripping them bare before their suffering people. . . He aimed to instruct (those) people under the pretext of instructing The Prince, hoping that thus his teaching might be tolerated.'

What do you say to that, Nick? Admit it, The Prince reeks of sarcasm!

Satire expresses the desire to censure, stigmatize and unmask as opposed to the employment of overt, vulgar insults. Never mind those theories about the approach of the scientist or that of a man debasing himself to win favors from those who annihilated his countries freedom. That's not you, Nick. Burckhardt once labeled the Renaissance, 'the age of passions' in perhaps his consummate contribution to history, The Civilization of the Renaissance in Italy. That's you! The Prince boils with passion.

The Prince parts company from the rest of your repertoire because it swells with passion. The entire notion of satire emanates from human beings prodded by emotion and consumed by hatred, resentment, bitterness and massive indignation. Passion and satire, the apostate discloses, unambiguously define,

'. . .why the sentences crack like a whip, why the words bite and burn like acid, and why the whole style has a density and impact unique among your (his) writings.'

'Tyrants, run for the hills', serves as Mattingly's interpretation of Chapter Seventeen when you paint the general public as,

' . . .ungrateful, fickle, treacherous, cowardly and greedy. As long as you succeed they are yours entirely. They will offer you their blood, property, lives and children when you do not need them. When you do need them they will turn against you.'

Spite. That's what it is, Nick! Spite, like sarcasm and satire, comes from the heart. This isn't Titus Livy, it's all you. Chapter Five amounts to absolute malice,

' . . .in republics there is more vitality, greater hatred and more desire for vengeance. They cannot forget their lost liberty, so that the safest way is to destroy them . . .'

Do these words guide or do they insidiously threaten the Medici clan? If that isn't scathing satire then what is? Weren't these words of fury really meant to forever stick glass in the Medici eye, yet packaged through the illusion of 'homage'? Never mind the blackball, that's why your friends refused to, and in that sense discouraged you, from delivering your passive/aggressive, psychotherapeutic epic! What did they see that you could not see, Nick? And what about Mary Beth's question!

'Why didn't they kill him (Machiavelli)?' (Mary Beth Immediata, NEH Seminar, July 13, 2000)

Why didn't the Medici or the Church indent several inches of steel under your ribs? If The Prince warranted review as a serious work, would you have survived another week? By the way, was the book ever delivered to Lorenzo or Giuliano? Regardless of what Boorstin claims, no evidence exists to suggest any such transaction. Why did your friends ignore or offer no reference to this little spasm even when you asked? Fear of the Medici, or fear for you? They all left it alone, Nick. They didn't have the nomenclature but they intrinsically understood passive/aggressive behavior. And if The Prince doesn't contradict the Discourses, and Mattingly only rambles, why then, did you write The Prince? You wrote the following, Nick, at approximately the same hour you wrote The Prince,

'One is more inclined to repay injuries than benefits; for it is burdensome to grant favors but revenge is profitable'. (Disourses.1.29)

Let's satiate the scientists and add that, while 'revenge is profitable', it is a dish best served cold. Nothing bites like satire. You, of all people! Now I understand your attraction to Petrarch.

Interesting, too, that you did salute Petrarch to cork you most famous libretto. You selected a man who claims to have once climbed a mountain and was adroit enough to include a few tactile tidbits to actually make us think he got to the top. You deferred to a man who never got his hands dirty but to move a few handfuls of soil for his pet muses and whose greatest fame in war was diverting mud next to a tiny stream. You indulged a soft, mealy mouthed man of baby hands and baby fat who never sought power and who probably ran from every physical encounter in his life. Rather than a mythological Roman warrior, you deemed Petrarch's words, and certainly not his actions, (he had none), to provide the final inspirational irony to a book screaming with sarcasm, spite and Freudian analysis.

Finally, the indisputable proof must be the nomination of the title. Published and released only last week by Dr.Gene Brucker in a new text, Documents of Renaissance Authors, we now understand how you agonized over the name for the 'thing'. This new set of documents ends the debate as it yields clear, and utterly irrefutable witness, that you intended The Prince to slay the intangible heart. The titles are listed on the last page.

At long last, the controversy quelled, the heretic vindicated, and Niccolo finally at peace. Long live The Prince!

Your Tuscan Brother,

P.S. This presentation intended to be an oral rather than visual transmission. Since the piece played to the sensitivity of the 'live' audience, parts of speech and sentence structure may violate the rules of proper grammar. (The Scholastics hate me!) The presenter wished to employ emphasis, at his discretion, in response to the participants. Deal with it.

P.S.S. Creative license, hyperbole and an unrestrained wild imagination permeate this script. Dr. Witt never met Dr. Mattingly, Machiavelli did not design 'thousands' of plans for the defense of Florence and Borgia did not exactly slither away in a 'dungeon'. So I lied. So what, it's Machiavelli. I also don't believe most of what I inscribed in this paper since I believe Dr. Mattingly missed the mark on this one. Maybe he was having fun too! Thank you.

Addendum: You may picture yourself nobility or part of the great lumbering horde -- so what! Regardless of whether you thought this paper eloquent or incomprehensible, intelligent or stupid, boring or amusing, moving or morose, I could care less as long as I get the results I want. Thank you.

Dr. Gene Brucker: Documents of Renaissance Authors (2000)

Source: Machiavelli Exile Notebook #4 (1513)

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Tyrants - But Were Afraid to Ask

Chicken Soup for the Despots

It Takes a Dictator to Raise a Child

Despots: Women, Minorities and the Glass Ceiling

Tyrants, Human Excellence and Self-Esteem

Sex and the Single Despot

Tyrants: Can't Live With Them, Can't Live Without Them

You Bastard You! (Read while biting the back of one's clenched fist.)

The Complete Idiot's Guide to Tyranny

I'm O.K., You're a Tyrant

Tyranny and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (Thanks John!)

The Joy of Dictatorship (includes the Imprimatur!)

First published June 10, 2002; last updated June 12, 2002

Copyright 2002, GJL