Greg's Reviews > Machiavelli: His Life and Times

Am I politic? Am I subtle? Am I a Machiavel?

William Shakespeare
The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act 3, Scene 1

Shakespeare wrote about kings and princes. Niccolò Machiavelli represented, met with, and gave counsel to them. Emperors, popes, and generals too. Shakespeare lived his entire life within a stretch of about 90 miles as the crow flies. Niccolò, represented Florence on diplomatic missions taking him to France, into present day southern Germany, and Rome. Few of his contemporaries traveled as widely as he did. Shakespeare wrote about political intrigue. Niccolò negotiated, implemented, and survived it. Shakespeare wrote for theatrical audiences. Niccolò mostly wrote letters and treatises—we would call them memoranda today—to explain the world he experienced as he did his best to help his beloved Florence to survive. Shakespeare likely hoped his plays would live on after his death. Niccolò wrote plays late in his life that were well received but haven’t had the same staying power. But he surely must have believed that his writing was intended for immediate audiences.

Niccolò is most remembered for writing The Prince. Less known, however, is why and for what purpose Niccolò wrote The Prince. It was intended as something of a job application for Lorenzo de Medici, who had just consolidated power to rule the city state of Florence. Niccolò lost his job as a diplomat when the Florentine Republic came to an end just prior to Lorenzo’s ascension to power. The Prince was an attempt to win favor in the new administration. Niccolò’s work was essential in protecting and maintaining Florence’s independence during a time of constant wars and threats of it, mostly because of its location and wealth. Niccolò traveled throughout central Europe, skillfully conferring with, and advising popes, emperors, kings, dukes, generals, and other leaders—always with Florence’s domestic politics and diplomatic survival at the center of his agenda—when most people lived their entire lives within walking distance of their birthplaces. Since he was so closely identified with the Republic, he was shunned and not considered for employment with the authoritarian, family-driven Medici rule. Lorenzo disdained and hated everything the Republic embodied, especially the messiness of political factions.

In writing The Prince, his job application of sorts, Niccolò looked back at his career and the history of Florentine politics of power and survival with a pragmatic, dispassionate eye based on unique experience—not with theoretical principles or dreams about governing. His goal was not to write a treatise for future generations but, instead, for the task at hand. It was his demonstration to Lorenzo that he deeply understood the reality of his times, that he understood how things had changed and how to move forward. Had Niccolò known his work would live on for centuries, he would likely have been shocked and appalled that The Prince would be his most lasting legacy. After all, he was just trying to give a prospective employer his honest views based on a very successful career.

As I read Alexander Lee’s sympathetic account, I was reminded of Jonathan Sperber’s biography of Karl Marx. Niccolò, like Marx, was a man of his times. Whatever opinions or motives future generations may have had about them had little-to-nothing to do with the realities or intentions of their life stories. It just goes to show that verdicts handed down by history and literature can be unjust. Niccolò’s is about as cruel as they come. His name became an -ism, adjective, and noun. Not one is positive or endearing. Or accurate. On the other hand, Shakespeare was luckier. He became an adjective and noun, but not an -ism. He didn’t have sinister connotations attached to them. The Bard may not have created the slanders, but his prose was instrumental to help them endure. Had he been aware of the story of Niccolò’s life in the masterful way Lee conveyed it, he likely would not have used his artistic license to perpetuate unfair smears. He might have found a Shakespearian way of describing him, as one might say it in Yiddish: as a real Mensch.

P.S. Niccolò didn't get the job.