The Discourses

When a city is ruled by a tyrant, good men of importance who wish his overthrow must either stay far from him and bide their time or get close to him and become his friend. Early Rome is ruled by a tyrant king, and the first Brutus becomes his friend, playing the fool until the time is ripe, whereupon Brutus reveals himself and overthrows the tyrant. 

When transforming a state, “a memorable action must be taken against the enemies of present circumstances” (253). The first Brutus, founder of the Roman Republic, does so by executing his own sons for plotting against the new government. On the other hand, in Florence, Soderini occupies a new and powerful office meant to counterbalance those who would tear down the republic, but he prefers to treat his enemies kindly, in the hope that they will relent; this leads to his downfall, for “wickedness is not subdued by time nor appeased by any gift” (253). 

The “thirst to rule is so great that not only does it enter the hearts of those who have the right to rule but also the hearts of those who have no such right” (254). For this reason, peace offerings to the exiled will fail, since “old injuries are never cancelled by new benefits, and this is even less likely when the new benefit is less important than the old injury” (254). A leader who overthrows a ruler must not let the deposed king live, lest he plot against the new ruler. 

The last king of early Rome, Tarquinius Superbus, takes away Roman freedoms and treats his people cruelly, and finally he is overthrown. Had Tarquinius studied good men who rule, he might have learned that it is safer to rule within the law than outside of it: “When men are governed well, they do not seek, nor do they desire, any other liberty” (256). 

It is easier to conspire than to do battle; for this reason, more rulers die from conspiracy than warfare. Still, conspiracies are difficult and rarely succeed.

A conspiracy either overturns a prince or hands a city to an enemy. The most common cause of conspiracies against rulers occurs when the rulers cause injuries to their subjects: “Injuries must either be against property, lifeblood, or honour,” and, among courtiers, “anyone who is threatened and forced by necessity either to act or to suffer will become a very dangerous man to the prince” (257). Another major cause of overthrow is “the desire to free one’s native city from the one who seized it” (258), as with Brutus and Cassius against Caesar.

If anything, a prince should fear even more those closest to him on whom he has lavished favors, for soon they come to believe that the only thing missing in their lives is the kingdom itself: “[T]he desire for power is just as great or even greater than the desire for revenge” (260).

Conspiracies have almost no chance unless one or more plotters is close to the ruler. Keeping a plot secret is difficult: for one thing, it is hard to judge the loyalty of others based simply on their discontent with the ruler, and “as soon as you have revealed your intention to this malcontent, you give him the means to become contented” (261) by reporting the conspiracy. In any case, no more than three or four should be involved in a plot, and ideally no one should be included until it is too late to report it. Also, “every man should guard himself against writing as if avoiding a reef, for nothing can more easily convict you than the writing of your own hand” (265).

If circumstances suddenly force a carefully laid plan to be changed, “it is impossible for this not to upset everyone and ruin everything” (267). Thus, “it is much better to execute a thing according to the established plan […] than it is to encounter a thousand obstacles by wanting to cancel it” (267).

Sometimes a plot will unravel because the murderers lose their nerve, especially in the august presence of the ruler, even more so if he treats them kindly. Trying to kill two leaders at once “is so difficult that it is almost impossible for it to succeed” (270). Inevitably the timing will be off, and the surviving ruler will avenge the deed. If any heirs of a toppled prince are left alive, they may avenge the murder, so it is important to be sure none are allowed to survive.

When a prince discovers a conspiracy, he should keep quiet and allow the conspirators to move forward with their plan, then capture them at the last moment. If the prince arrests one of them too soon, the rest will launch a direct attack, which sometimes succeeds. 

A state born in violence will be destroyed in violence, when those first ousted get their revenge: “But when such a state is created by the common consensus of an entire people who have made it great, that people has no reason later on, when the state collapses, to attack anyone but the leader” (278). 

When men of too much ambition try to win over a city that is not corrupt, those men fail. In early Rome, Spurius Cassius and Manlius Capitolinus each, in turn, impress the people with great deeds, then try to bribe the citizens to join them in overturning the republic; both men misread the people and are condemned to death.

Had they lived some centuries later, during the corruption and civil strife under Marius and Sulla, they would have fared much better: “Thus, Manlius would have been a rare and memorable man had he been born in a corrupt city” (280). In short, “it is as difficult and as dangerous to try to liberate a people that wishes to live in slavery as it is to try to enslave a people that wishes to live in freedom” (280). 

Different times call for different methods, and a leader who fits his times will do well, while one who does not will suffer. When Hannibal puts Rome on the defensive, cautious Fabius is the perfect leader who, using delaying tactics, “held the enemy at bay” (281). Later, when Rome has a chance to strike quickly, Fabius gives overly cautious advice to the impulsive Scipio, who ignores it, attacks Carthage, and wins the war. Thus, “just as Rome once had Fabius, who was the best leader in those times requiring a prolonged war, so it later had Scipio in times requiring a victory” (281).

In this way, a republic has an advantage over principalities on account of the variety of its leaders, since “it can more easily adapt itself to the diversity of circumstances than can a prince” (282). Soderini of Florence, long on “humanity and patience” but short on cunning, did well at first, but, when the times required that he find a different approach, “he did not know how to do so, so that, along with his native city, he came to ruin” (282). 

One advantage of a prince over a republic is that he can be his own military commander, making decisions in the field as seem appropriate, while a republic sends generals off to war and then tries to manage them from a distance.

Sometimes the republic will tell its general to avoid battle as much as possible, thinking this will save trouble: “This kind of command is tantamount to saying: ‘Fight the battle when the enemy wants, not when you want to’” (284). In that case, an army can keep itself at a distance, in which case the enemy has a free hand despoiling the countryside; it can withdraw into a city, risking siege and surrender; or it can run away. Now and then these strategies work, and Philip V of Macedonia tries some of them to avoid the invading Roman legions, but he learns that avoidance often make things worse, “and so he engaged the Romans in a proper battle” (285). 

When several states make war against one state, the lone state can sometimes make a separate treaty with one member of the alliance against it and break up the attack. This happens to Venice, which is beset on all sides but gets Milan to break its alliance and negotiate a peace that allows it to retain its territories and more: “In this way, those who lost the war stood in a better position after the peace” (287). 

How hard an army will fight, or how vigorously a city will resist attack, depend on how much each has to lose. A city long oppressed will not care who rules it and will “think nothing of changing their master frequently” (290), whereas republics will fight to defend their freedom. Venice, though surrounded by powerful cities, conquers them fairly easily because they are ruled by tyrants, whereas Florence, living among other republics, has great trouble holding on to any of them.

A commander whose army attacks a city will offer promises that only certain of its leaders will be punished and otherwise that pardons will be distributed to all. Such a city, tempted by an easy peace, often will take the bait, only to find later that it has been enslaved.

An army trapped will fight more fiercely than one that can escape. The Veientes attack a Roman camp but find themselves trapped inside; they fight so hard that they kill the Roman commander and “would have overwhelmed all the rest of the Romans if the prudence of a tribune had not opened to them a path for escape” (291). When Rome attacks Veii and traps the Veientes army inside the city walls, the battle is difficult until the Roman commander offers “that no one would be harmed who was without a weapon” (291), whereupon the Veientes lay down their arms and the battle ends. 

Caesar is willing to do battle against a good army if it has bad commanders. A bad army can take an inexperienced leader and make him into a bad one, but a good army can teach a new commander how to be a good leader, and a good commander can shape a poor army into good fighters. Thus, “one good thing can find another” (293). 

Small events can have large effects in battle. In a fight against the Volscians, the Roman commander sees one of his wings giving way, and shouts to those men to keep fighting because the other wing is winning; “encouraging his men and frightening the enemy with these words, he was victorious” (294). Sulpicius, battling the Gauls, places soldiers on mules and has them appear suddenly on a hill, as if cavalry to the rescue; this “terrorized the Gauls to such an extent that they lost the battle” (295). 

Rome sends three consuls to manage a military situation against Veii and Fidenae, but the consuls argue with and countermand each other so much that Rome must send a single commander to put things right. When, in 1500, the king of France sends two leaders to manage Pisa, they fail to work together until one leaves on an errand and the other finally gets work done: “[I]t is better to send one man of average prudence on an expedition alone than two extremely capable men with the same authority together” (297). 

In war, great men are honored, but in peacetime they are neglected. Some great warriors, feeling thus slighted, “contrive to stir things up, instigating new wars to the detriment of the republic” (298). Early Rome, always prepared for war, honors its military leaders properly, but later the city grows complacent and begins to “entrust its armies to anyone it wished” (299).

In Florence, during a difficult battle, no one wants to command; Antonio Giacomini steps up and leads the army to a great victory. Later, when an easy fight against Pisa is launched, many lesser leaders compete for the glory and Giacomini is pushed out, with the result that the battle goes badly and Florence fails to capture Pisa. 

Trapped in Spain during a war with Rome, Carthaginian general Hasdrubal tricks the very competent Roman general, Claudius Nero, into letting Hasdrubal’s army escape. Back in Rome, Nero is vilified unfairly. Later, Nero returns to the field, takes great chances with Roman resources, and achieves a decisive victory against Hasdrubal. Asked why he risks so much, Nero replies “that if he succeeded, he would regain the glory that he had lost in Spain, and that if he failed […] he would avenge himself upon the city and those citizens who had so ungratefully and shamelessly insulted him” (301). 

Knowing the disposition of the enemy in a battle can be crucial to the outcome. Sometimes one wing of an army, thinking the battle lost, will retire, while the other wing, thinking it has won, will advance, leading to disaster. Sometimes two armies, each thinking the other has won, will both retreat. This happens in 1498, when forces from Venice and Florence, both short on provisions, begin to retreat until an old woman happens to mention to the Florentines that the Venetians have left. The Florentines regroup and win by default: “This victory arose from nothing but having understood, before the enemy, that they were marching away” (303). 

Is it better for a commander to indulge his troops or punish them? The answer depends on whom you lead: “[E]ither you have to control men who are usually your companions, or men who are always your subjects” (305). In the Roman Republic, all the people are equal citizens, and “Roman commanders who made themselves loved by their armies and who treated them with deference achieved better results than those who made themselves extraordinarily feared” (305).

Princes who rule subjects, on the other hand, “must lean more towards punishment than deference, so that they will not become insolent,” though princes must avoid cruelty, “because making oneself hated never turns out well for any ruler” (305). 

A kind act can win a city, as happens when Roman general Camillus besieges Falerii. A teacher leads a group of students out to the Roman camp and offers himself and the children as hostages; Camillus sends them back, the children armed with switches to beat the teacher, and this act warms the hearts of the people of Falerii so that they open their city to the Romans. It is “evident how strongly people desire this quality in great men,” (306).