The Prince (review)

Machiavelli's Prince is not an easy subject to tackle, at least from a rigorously historical viewpoint. In an age where history is becoming more and more a conceptual derivative, rather than the result of thorough research in archives and libraries, it is always refreshing to see someone placing Old Nick solidly within the framework of his times. Possibly for this reason William Connell's new edition of The Prince will not go down well with those all too used to portraying Machiavelli as transcending time and physical boundaries: the first political scientist, the first modern philosopher, et cetera. By these standards he could also win the prize for first modern playwright, the first to prove with his personal history that theory is not the same as practice, and the first in fooling generations of commentators. Besides, Machiavelli borrowed quite a number of ideas for The Prince from earlier sources, including the Del felice progresso di Borso d'Este by Michele Savonarola (Bari: Palomar, 1997) written some seventy years earlier. More than saying something shockingly new, The Prince is an able and incisive re-elaboration and augmentation of ideas already circulating in Italy for some time.

Yet there is no denying that Machiavelli's most famous work has become larger than life, and one of the most interesting features of the present edition of The Prince is a selection of opinions on the astute Florentine's work, by Machiavelli himself, and then from commentators ranging from the Italian fascist leader Benito Mussolini to the communist party leader and theorist Antonio Gramsci. What becomes clear is how much later observers have contributed to turning Machiavelli into a sort of amoebic figure, useful for propping up the most diverse opinions. Instead Professor Connell has opted to read The Prince in conjunction with Machiavelli's letters, and whilst the results are likely to puzzle many, for a Florentine like the present reviewer they make perfect sense. For Machiavelli was first and foremost a quintessential Florentine of his age: keen for onore et utile (more or less "honor and profit"), yet alternating gravitas with burlesque humor (one has only to read his letter to Francesco Vettori, pp. 134–40, to see this; even better the letter to Francesco Guicciardini of 19 May 1521, not included in this edition). Indeed, in Machiavelli's own comments on The Prince (pp. 142, 164– 65) one can perceive a strong, if bitter, jocular streak. And we shall probably never know how much Old Nick was mocking the Medici with The Prince, whilst using it to gain their favor.

Apart from bringing out the "true" Machiavelli for most readers, Professor Connell has done an excellent job of translating and annotating the text. The English used is modern, but, rara avis, does not betray the spirit of the original sixteenth-century Italian. The one minor objection this reviewer has concerns the translation of timore as "fear" (pp. 90–96), whilst it has more the connotation of "awe," although, admittedly, Machiavelli's language is somewhat ambiguous in this respect. The introduction lacks a summary of Florentine institutional history, which, even if not essential, could have helped the average reader to contextualize Machiavelli's thought within his city's political tradition. But these are more the gripes of a perfectionist, than a criticism of Professor Connell's sterling piece of work.

At the end of all this, what remains of The Prince as traditionally portrayed? Very little, and at the same time a lot. William Connell has shown Machiavelli to be a Florentine of his time, no more evil or saintly than most of his fellow citizens. But the fact that his work still does have a relevance in today's world stops us from dismissing it as the by-product of a past age (this, of course, is more telling about us than Machiavelli). As a work of political (and even military) strategy there...