We are not talking here about those complex but always elegant Ciceronian sentences so admired and frequently mimicked by the English Augustans. Machiavelli has a more spoken, flexible, persuading, sometimes brusque voice, and to get that tone in English one has to opt for a syntax that is quite different from the original Italian. In particular, the sequence with which information is delivered within the sentence frequently has to be reorganized. Here, to give the reader a sense of what he can expect, are three versions of the same paragraph, the last being my own. I haven’t chosen anything especially complex; it’s a fairly ordinary passage in which, as so often, Machiavelli poses a situation, then considers possible responses to it and the consequences of each response. The first translation is from W. K. Marriot and was published in 1908.
A prince is also respected when he is either a true friend or a downright enemy, that is to say, when, without any reservation, he declares himself in favour of one party against the other; which course will always be more advantageous than standing neutral; because if two of your powerful neighbours come to blows, they are of such a character that, if one of them conquers, you have either to fear him or not. In either case it will always be more advantageous for you to declare yourself and to make war strenuously; because, in the first case, if you do not declare yourself, you will invariably fall a prey to the conqueror, to the pleasure and satisfaction of him who has been conquered, and you will have no reasons to offer, nor anything to protect or to shelter you. Because he who conquers does not want doubtful friends who will not aid him in the time of trial; and he who loses will not harbour you because you did not willingly, sword in hand, court his fate.
The second is from George Bull, published in 1961.
A prince also wins prestige for being a true friend or a true enemy, that is, for revealing himself without any reservation in favour of one side against another. This policy is always more advantageous than neutrality. For instance, if the powers neighbouring on you come to blows, either they are such that, if one of them conquers, you will be in danger, or they are not. In either case it will always be to your advantage to declare yourself and to wage a vigorous war; because, in the first case, if you do not declare yourself you will always be at the mercy of the conqueror, much to the pleasure and satisfaction of the one who has been beaten, and you will have no justification nor any way to obtain protection or refuge. The conqueror does not want doubtful friends who do not help him when he is in difficulties; the loser repudiates you because you were unwilling to go, arms in hand, and throw in your lot with him.
And here is my own.
A ruler will also be respected when he is a genuine friend and a genuine enemy, that is, when he declares himself unambiguously for one side and against the other. This policy will always bring better results than neutrality. For example, if you have two powerful neighbours who go to war, you may or may not have reason to fear the winner afterwards. Either way it will always be better to take sides and fight hard. If you do have cause to fear but stay neutral, you’ll still be gobbled up by the winner to the amusement and satisfaction of the loser; you’ll have no excuses, no defence and nowhere to hide. Because a winner doesn’t want half-hearted friends who don’t help him in a crisis; and the loser will have nothing to do with you since you didn’t choose to fight alongside him and share his fate.
A typically tricky moment in this passage comes when Machiavelli says of these neighbouring powers:. . . o sono di qualità che, vincendo uno di quelli, tu abbia a temere del vincitore, o no.
Literally:. . . either they are of qualities that, winning one of those, you ought to fear the winner, or not.
Here Marriot gives:. . . they are of such a character that, if one of them conquers, you have either to fear him or not.
And Bull:. . . either they are such that, if one of them conquers, you will be in danger, or they are not.
Here it’s clear that Bull is closer to modern prose, yet one still feels that nobody writing down this idea today in English would introduce the second part of Machiavelli’s alternative as Bull does by tagging that ‘or they are not’ on to the end of the sentence after the introduction of an ‘if’ clause. If we follow Bull’s general structure but move the alternative forward - thus, ‘either they are or they aren’t such that if one of them conquers, you will be in danger’ - the sentence gains in fluency. In the end, however, the simplest solution seemed to me to shift the alternative aspect towards the verb ‘fear’ and away from a description of the two states; this leaves the sense of the sentence intact and allows us to get closer to the original’s telegraphic delivery.
. . . you may or may not have reason to fear the winner afterwards.
Let me say at this point that I have the greatest respect for both these earlier translations and indeed various others. I owe a lot to them, because, although I have always translated directly from the original, I have then gone to these and to the modern Italian translations to see where they disagree and to mull over what I can learn from them. The original text is such that on occasion all four of the translations I have been looking at, two English and two Italian, offer different interpretations. In these cases one really must attune oneself to Machiavelli’s mental processes, his insistence on logic, reason and deduction, and remember that every clause, if not every word, is there for a purpose.
Here is a small example. Having stated that rulers must at all costs avoid being hated by their subjects, and that such hatred is almost always the cause of a leader’s downfall, Machiavelli foresees that some people will object that this wasn’t the case with many Roman emperors who either held on to power despite being hated by the people, or lost it despite being loved. ‘To meet these objections’, he tells us, ‘I shall consider the qualities of some of these emperors, showing how the causes of their downfall are not at all out of line with my reasoning above.’ So far so good, but this sentence then ends:
. . . e parte metterò in considerazione quelle cose che sono notabili a chi legge le azioni di quelli tempi.
Translating word for word, this gives:
. . . and part I will put in consideration those things that are important to people who read the events of those times.
What is this about? Why did Machiavelli feel the need to add these words to a sentence that already seems clear enough. Bull offers:
. . . I shall submit for consideration examples which are well known to students of the period.
This may sound sensible and vaguely academic, but it simply isn’t accurate: the word ‘parte’ has gone; to ‘submit for consideration’ may be a standard English formula, but does it mean the same as Machiavelli’s actually rather unusual ‘put in consideration’? ‘Notabile’ doesn’t so much mean ‘well known’ as ‘worthy of note’ or ‘important’. Marriot gives:
. . . at the same time I will only submit for consideration those things that are noteworthy to him who studies the affairs of those times.
Again we have the standard ‘submit for consideration’, while ‘at the same time’ and ‘only’ are both translator’s additions. It now sounds as if Machiavelli is reassuring us that he will only look at examples that are relevant, but this sort of defen siveness is not the author’s way. Why would the reader have suspected him of introducing irrelevant examples?
One modern Italian translation gives: ‘e in parte indicherò quei fatti che sono importanti per chi si interessa alla storia di quei tempi.’ Literally: ‘and in part I will indicate those facts that are important for people interested in the history of those times.’
This is now extremely close to our literal translation of Machiavelli’s original but still not particularly helpful. What is the author getting at? What does the phrase add to what has already been said?
Another Italian translation gives: ‘nello stesso tempo indicherò i fatti che devono essere messi in evidenza da chi si interessa alla storia di quei tempi.’ Literally: ‘at the same time I will indicate the facts that must be put in evidence
by people interested in the history of those times.’
Despite the fact that ‘parte’ has once again been mysteriously transformed into ‘at the same time’ - a classic filler when a translator is lost - an idea at last emerges: that there are facts that people interested in those times ‘must put in evidence’, and the implication is that without these facts we won’t understand what has to be understood if we are to be persuaded by the author’s argument.
At this point the translator tries to enter Machiavelli’s reasoning, reassured by the knowledge that here we have an author who always put sense and clarity before anything else. Machiavelli, remember, is facing objections from people who claim that the question of whether a ruler’s people do or do not hate him is not the crucial criterion when it comes to considering whether that leader will survive. Those objections, what’s more, are based on the lives of certain Roman emperors. What Machiavelli is going to show in the following paragraphs is that the nature of power and political institutions in the Roman empire was profoundly different from that in a modern (early sixteenth-century) state, the key difference being the existence, in Roman times, of a strong standing army that, for safety’s sake, a leader had to satisfy before satisfying the people and that could often only be kept happy by allowing it to treat the people very harshly, stealing and raping at will. What this little clause appears to be doing, then, is preparing us for Machiavelli’s approach to answering the objection that has been raised: it is a question, he is going to tell us, of understanding a different historical context.
The word ‘parte’ could be short for ‘a parte’ (apart, separately) or ‘in parte’ (in part), as both the Italian translations take it. Now perhaps we can read the sentence as a whole thus:To meet these objections, I shall consider the qualities of some of these emperors, showing how the causes of their downfall are not at all out of line with my reasoning above, and bringing into the argument some of the context that historians of the period consider important.
The original ‘mettere in considerazione’ (‘put in consideration’) is used only once in the whole of The Prince (having the text in electronic form is a huge help to the translator), hence the decision not to translate with a standard formula such as ‘submit for consideration’, but to give a more precise sense to the words with the expression ‘bringing into the argument’: Machiavelli is advising us that for these particular examples he will have to fill in a different context. The idea of ‘parte’ I have understood as ‘in part’, and then for the sake of fluency rendered it with ‘some’: the author can’t bring in all the context, but some of it.
One has no way of knowing whether this is exactly what Machiavelli meant, but the sentence now gives an internal cohesion to the passage that was lacking in other versions. And if we return to our word-for-word translation of the original - ‘and part I will put in consideration those things that are important to people who read the events of those times’ - we see that it can indeed be read in the way we have chosen to render it.
One particularly pernicious problem a translator faces as he grapples with The Prince is the book’s reputation. Machiavelli is a scandal, every schoolboy knows, because he puts the ends before the means to the point of condoning acts of violence, cruelty and betrayal, something Christian and modern western ethics consider unacceptable: we don’t condone a brutal killing just because it puts an end to a riot and we are no longer at ease with the idea of torture, even when it might prevent a terrorist atrocity. The climax of this scandal comes with the author’s discussion of Cesare Borgia, a man who rose to power and kept it with the use of extraordinary treachery and cruelty. The temptation for the translator is to play to the reputation of the book, underlining Machiavelli’s extreme views and making sure the text doesn’t ‘disappoint’, even when its tone and subtlety are not, perhaps, exactly what readers were expecting.
At the end of the discussion of Borgia, having recounted how he eventually lost power when his father, Pope Alexander, suddenly and unexpectedly died and a pope hostile to Borgia was elected, Machiavelli writes: ‘Raccolte io adunque tutte le azioni del duca, non saprei riprenderlo.’ Literally, we have: ‘Having gathered then all the actions of the duke, I would not know how to reproach him.’
Bull gives: ‘So having summed up all that the duke did, I cannot possibly censure him.’ Here the word ‘censure’ has a strong moral connotation, and the statement is made stronger still by the introduction of ‘can’t possibly’, which seems a heavy interpretation of the standard Italian formula ‘I wouldn’t know how to’. In Bull’s version it seems that Machiavelli is making a point of telling us that he has no moral objections to anything Cesare Borgia did, this in line with the author’s reputation for cynicism.
Marriot more cautiously gives: ‘When all the actions of the duke are recalled, I do not know how to blame him’, and both Italian translations take the same line. The fact is that just as the word ‘virtù’ is rarely used in a strictly moral context, so the word ‘riprendere’, ‘reproach’, refers not to moral behaviour, but to the question: did the duke get something wrong, did he make a mistake? A key to reading the word comes at the opening to the next paragraph where we have: ‘Solamente si può accusarlo nella creazione di Iulio pontefice, nella quale lui ebbe mala elezione’, which, more or less literally, gives us: ‘The only thing Borgia can be accused of is his role in the election of Pope Julius, where he made a bad choice’ (that is, as far as his own interests were concerned, he backed the wrong man).
Here we approach the subtler scandal of Machiavelli’s text: it is not that the author is insisting that Borgia’s immoral acts should not be censured, rather that Machiavelli is just not interested in discussing the moral aspect of the question at all, or not from a Christian point of view. For him it is a case of shrewd or mistaken choices, not of good or evil. When he proposes Borgia as a model, neither morality nor immorality come into it, only the fact that this man knew how to win power and hold it and build a strong state.
Finally, one can’t help noticing a certain Victorian bashfulness in previous translations. Machiavelli was a notorious womanizer and in writing The Prince he believed he was addressing an audience of men who had no worries about political correctness. When he says ‘la fortuna è donna, et è necessario, volendola tenere sotto, batterla et urtarla’ - literally: ‘fortune is woman and it is necessary wanting to keep her underneath to beat her and shove her’ - there is an obvious sexual reference. The phrase comes in the last paragraph of The Prince proper (the closing exhortation is very much a piece apart) and Machiavelli wants to go out on a strong but, as he no doubt saw it, witty note.
Here is Marriot’s version of the whole last paragraph:I conclude, therefore, that fortune being changeful and mankind steadfast in their ways, so long as the two are in agreement men are successful, but unsuccessful when they fall out. For my part I consider that it is better to be adventurous than cautious, because fortune is a woman, and if you wish to keep her under it is necessary to beat and ill-use her; and it is seen that she allows herself to be mastered by the adventurous rather than by those who go to work more coldly. She is, therefore, always, woman-like, a lover of young men, because they are less cautious, more violent, and with more audacity command her.
And Bull’s:I conclude, therefore, that as fortune is changeable whereas men are obstinate in their ways, men prosper so long as fortune and policy are in accord, and where there is a clash they fail. I hold strongly to this: that it is better to be impetuous than circumspect; because fortune is a woman and if she is to be submissive it is necessary to beat and coerce her. Experience shows that she is more often subdued by men who do this than by those who act coldly. Always, being a woman, she favours young men, because they are less circumspect and more ardent, and because they command her with greater audacity.
I hope I am getting closer to the spirit of the thing and, for better or worse, the kind of man Machiavelli was, offering this:To conclude then: fortune varies but men go
on regardless. When their approach suits the times they’re successful, and when it doesn’t they’re not. My opinion on the matter is this: it’s better to be impulsive than cautious; fortune is female and if you want to stay on top of her you have to slap and thrust. You’ll see she’s more likely to yield that way than to men who go about her coldly. And being a woman she likes her men young, because they’re not so cagey, they’re wilder and more daring when they master her.
Italy in 1500
Letter to Lorenzo de’ Medici
People trying to attract the good will of a sovereign usually offer him something they care a lot about themselves, or something they’ve seen he particularly likes. So rulers are always being given horses, arms, gold brocades, jewels and whatever finery seems appropriate. Eager myself to bring Your Highness some token of my loyalty, I realized there was nothing more precious or important to me than my knowledge of great men and their doings, a knowledge gained through long experience of contemporary affairs and a constant study of ancient history. Having thought over all I’ve learned, and analysed it with the utmost care, I’ve written everything down in a short book that I am now sending to Your Highness.