CABINET CYCLOPÆDIA. (continued 6)

Now, what sympathy can be felt in such unequal conflicts? No more, verily, than with the fate and fortunes of the elephants and castles, the kings, queens, bishops, knights, and commonalty on a chess-board, in a game between an adept and a novice, which is up in a few moments, neither exalting the winner nor disparaging the loser, nor affecting life, limb, character, or feeling in regard to one of the puppets employed in the play. Of the same class are all the combats between invulnerable heroes, and those who wield weapons of enchantment: the irresistible spear of Bradamante, that unhorsed every antagonist whom it touched; the magic horn of Astolpho, that routed armies with a blast; Ruggiero's veiled shield, the dazzling splendour of which, when suddenly disclosed, struck with blindness and astonishment all eyes that beheld it. Of the latter, the author himself grows weary or ashamed, and makes his hero so too; though, with remarkable dexterity, he turns into a glorious act of heroic virtue, the voluntary riddance of it by the indignant Ruggiero, who throws it into a hidden well, in a nameless forest in an undiscovered land, after having won too cheap a victory by its accidental exposure. In these two instances (and many others might be quoted), Ariosto laughs at his own extravagances, with as much pleasantry as Cervantes himself at those of others: and it may, perhaps, be affirmed that he does it with more tact and good sense, for it must be acknowledged that few outrages upon nature in the tales of chivalry, which the Spaniard justly ridicules, are felt by the reader to be more improbable than the crazy imitations of them by the knight of La Mancha, whose pranks could only be attempted by one absolutely insane, and therefore were as little a fair mark for satire as for censure. Ariosto has this advantage over Cervantes,—that whatever is great, glorious, or admirable in romance, he can seriously set forth in all the pomp and eloquence of verse of the highest species; while whatever is mean, farcical, or monstrous, he can exhibit in strains of facetiousness, at once as grave and as poignant as those in which the celebrated assault on the windmills, the rout of the sheep, or the gross sensuality of Sancho Panza, are given, without descending into caricature; though no small portion of his whole poem belongs to the grotesque, and happily the plan admits of every variety of style from Homer to Lucian.

Neither the dulness nor the licence of allegory can be pleaded in extenuation of those unnatural circumstances, in which absurdity is at once exemplified and ridiculed, as though the caprice of genius delighted as much in the offence against taste as in the castigation of it. Allegorical, indeed, some of his fancies notoriously are; but those who have attempted to "moralise" the "fierce wars and faithful loves" of his song, as many have done (and few more egregiously than sir John Harrington, in the quaint essay annexed to his barbarous translation), might have employed their time as profitably in raking moonshine out of water, which flies off into millions of sparkles the moment it is disturbed, but is no sooner let alone than it subsides into the quiet and beautiful image of the orb above, which it showed before. It cannot be said of Ariosto, as Addison, in a miserable couplet, says of Spenser—

The moral may be there, but it would require a diviner's rod to detect its presence, and the skill of him who set himself to extract sunbeams from cucumbers, to draw it thence.

The "Orlando Furioso" of Ariosto is a continuation of the "Orlando Innamorato" of Boiardo, lord of Scandiano, his contemporary, but elder, the latter having died in the year 1494. The relative circumstances of the two poems form one of the most curious chapters in the history of literature. Boiardo's work, in the original, is comparatively little known, and less read, even in Italy; but it has been made famous throughout the world, by having given birth to its more illustrious successor. Whatever were the defects of the one author, or the excellences of the other, Ariosto was undoubtedly indebted to his forerunner, not only for many of the most powerful and captivating fictions of his poem, but for its intelligibility and popularity from the beginning. The latter was an immense advantage: half of the success in a race depends upon a good start; the eagle himself cannot rise from flat ground as from the rock, whence he launches at once into mid-air. By the "Morgante Maggiore" of Pulci, the legends and songs of the Provençals, and the pretended chronicle of archbishop Turpin, the public mind had been familiarised with the traditions concerning Arthur and his knights of the round table; of Merlin the British enchanter, and the Lady of the Lake; and of Charlemagne and his peers. Yet it was the intense interest and curiosity excited by Boiardo's magnificent but uncompleted plot, which (so far as the principal personages are concerned), like

it was these which had prepared the eager and delighted multitude of readers, or rather listeners, for any sequel to his "tales of wonder," which should keep up the spirit of the original, and bring it to a crowning conclusion. These, therefore, with transport proportioned to their surprise, hailed the appearance of Ariosto's production, when, after having been long promised, they found that it not only exceeded their expectations, but eclipsed in splendour, beauty, and variety, the prototype itself. This was so remarkably the case, that one of the wittiest and most ingenious of his contemporaries recomposed the whole of Boiardo's poem; imitating, with farcical extravagance, the fine raillery and unapproachable humour of Ariosto; and falling in the same ratio beneath him in elegance, majesty, and grace, when the themes admitted or required adornment. Thus, by an unexampled fatality, the "Orlando Innamorato" was outshone by a sequel, and superseded by a rifacimento (we have no English word to express the renovating process). Authors themselves have almost universally failed in second parts to their most successful performances; and as rarely have they re-written such works, so as to take place of the first form in which they obtained public favour[110]; yet here, on the one hand, is a second part, by an imitator, that leaves the original in obscurity, yet covers it with glory—like Butler's description of die moon's veil—

while, on the other hand, we have the example of a new gloss of that original, by a meddler becoming the substitute for it, like the new skin of a serpent when the old slough is cast aside.

The mischances of Boiardo's poem ended not here. It was not published during the author's life, except by oral communication among his friends; what he had composed, had not received the corrections due to its worth and his own talents; and the work itself being left imperfect at the ninth canto, one Nicolo degli Agostini took up the strain there, and added so much matter as brought the various subjects involved in it to a consistent termination. A fourth experiment was made upon this polypus production, which multiplied its vitality the more, the more it was mangled. Ludovico Dominici recomposed the whole, and printed the metamorphosis at Venice in 1545: of this, several editions appeared; but it neither supplanted Berni's, nor even rivalled the original in popularity. Thus the love and madness of Orlando was conceived, and partly executed, by one mind; continued to a certain point by another; new-modelled and incorporated with his own inventions by a third; re-written by a fourth; but, above all, imitated, completed, and excelled by a fifth.

The felicity of fortune which distinguished Ariosto's poem, was not less rare than the eccentric transmigrations to which Boiardo's was condemned. The "Orlando Furioso" was both an imitation and a sequel of the "Orlando Innamorato;" yet, contrary to all precedent, and without example in subsequent literature, the imitation surpassed the original, and the sequel the first draught. It was the offspring of one mind; it was produced entire by the inventor, and never altered by any hand but his own. Yet, after its first completion, it underwent a process of revisal nearly as long and laborious as that of composition; like a bird, it arrived not at the perfection of its song, or the full glory of its plumage, in the breeding season, nor till after its first moulting. It is strange, that, with all these advantages, there should still remain several glaring inconsistencies, which one hour's pains would have removed, had the author been aware of what any ordinary reader might detect.

The poem consists of the contemporaneous adventures of many knights, ladies, and other personages, travelling in all lands, known and unknown, of the old continent, the moon, hell, and purgatory; those of each individual, in fact, forming a distinct story, begun, dropped, renewed, or concluded according to the pleasure of the narrator, who excites and keeps up, by every species of provoking artifice, the tortured yet unwearying curiosity of his hearers. And these materials, anomalous as they may seem, and as they are, he moulds and mixes with inimitable skill, and bodies them forth, as by magic, into such captivating forms, by varying, interweaving, disentangling, and cutting short the numberless threads of his many-coloured web, that he fails not to produce a present effect in every passage, with little recollection on the reader's part of its agreement with the past, as little regard to its connection with any thing but itself, and no care whatever about its future influence on the issue of the whole. The fable is a hydra, of which the Orlando, whose name it bears, is only one of the heads; and no otherwise entitled to pre-eminence, than as the hero of some of the most stupendous, amusing, and puerile events in a series not less heterogeneous or tragi-comic than the changes and chances of a holiday pantomime. It cannot be denied that the poem has a beginning and an end, with a prodigious quantity of action between, as the succession of pages, and the number of cantos, evince; but to prove that it has a necessary beginning, a decided progress, and a satisfactory end, would be a task which the author himself would have laughed to see a critic employed upon.

A hundred rivers springing from one well-head upon a mountain-top above the clouds; descending, as the slope broadens, in as many directions; and varying towards the lowlands with such sinuosities, that whoever traces one stream, will find it suddenly disappearing under ground; another emerging at that very point, traversing the surface in a contrary direction for a while, then dipping in like manner; while a third, a fourth, a fifth, and onward to the hundredth, in succession, do the same; each, in the track of the untiring explorer, showing itself and vanishing again and again, till utterly lost;—such are the vagaries of this romance of imagination, yet conducted in such organised confusion, that the mind is bewildered but for a moment, when a fresh "change comes o'er the spirit of the (poet's) dream," and the reader is absorbed, borne away, and contented to float along the tide of the tale, unfinished before, then newly taken up, and never flagging in interest, nor eventually impaired by all its abrupt discontinuances.

Incoherent, however, as the whole tissue of this and every other romance of chivalry must be, there is a moral interest in such fables, that lies deeper than any affected allegory, or the innocent gratification which marvellous stories will ever supply to human minds, loving and grasping at whatever is beyond their reach; an appetite for the great, the glorious, and the unknown, which intimates their spiritual nature, and their immortal destiny, by desires towards things out of the body, independent of the material universe, and contrary to the results of ordinary experience. These fictions, notwithstanding their unnatural and impossible details, picture real manners, characters, and events, such as were peculiar to the transition-age of modern society, in the most civilised regions of the Old World, when the blood of Goths and Vandals from the north, Greeks and Romans from the south of Europe, Moors from the west of Africa, and Arabs from the east of Asia, mingled in confluent streams round the shores of the Mediterranean; when, often engaging in war, commerce, or political alliances, they gradually associated their races, and originated new nations according to their respective localities. Hence the superstitions, customs, languages, and habits of life among the most heterogeneous tribes, bordering on the fallen empire of the Cæsars (their common prey), were engrafted upon those of the refined and intellectual people whom luxury had effeminated and prepared for subjugation by more enterprising and energetic, though at best but semi-barbarian, conquerors. Hence we frequently find, in chivalrous records, the most gross and incongruous stories of Oriental, African, or Scandinavian growth, allied to archetypes in classical mythology, or derived from ancient history; and only modified, enriched, distorted, or aggravated in grandeur, complexity, or terrible beauty, by those who adopted them,—the rhymers and romancers, even in the rudest periods, blending all together, or borrowing from each, according to their fancy. There is scarcely an image, a monster, or an incident in all their raving chronicles—wild as the dreams of lunatics, or beautiful as those of infants are supposed to be—which cannot be traced to Homer, Virgil, Ovid, Lucan, or Statius; so narrow is the range of human invention; and so inextricably connected with what we have heard, and read, and seen, are all the imaginations or the thoughts of the heart of the most original genius.

But the champions and the damsels, the giants and enchanters, nay, the dragons, the hippogriffs, and the demons themselves, in these legends, are but poetical representations of real classes and characters in society, such as existed, or were formed by the circumstances of the times, when war was the business, and gallantry the pastime of life, among the hybrid populations both of Christian and Mohammedan countries. The actors in the dramas of romance were, indeed, masked and buskined to raise them to heroic stature; yet the most disguised of these personages, in principle, passion, taste, and pursuit, were real men and women, magnified into monsters, like flies and spiders when looked upon through the eye-glass of a microscope. Orlando was but an exaggeration of the chevalier Bayard, as was the British Arthur of the English Richard, and Charlemagne himself of Francis I.

Ariosto, in following the fashion of contemporaries, lighted upon a theme to which his wayward and versatile genius was peculiarly adapted, and which gave it an opportunity of displaying all its peculiarities to the utmost advantage. Of these, the most enviable and least imitable is that perfection of art, which he perhaps possessed beyond every other writer, to say things naturally. All his wonders and prodigies are made so easy and probable, that to the most fastidious reader, who does not resolutely resist the spell of the poet, and deprive himself of the pleasure of being beguiled by it, they appear as they would do if they were actual events, from the daylight effect of his truth-telling style; for whenever his delight in the extravagant carries him beyond the legitimately marvellous, he disarms resentment, and prevents the laugh against himself by a quiet pleasantry,—becoming himself the Cervantes of his own Quixotes. Satirists, however, have done little to improve mankind: they have condemned and promoted vice; they have ridiculed and recommended folly. Instead of being the most chaste, severe, and instructive, it is notorious that (with few exceptions) they have been the most profligate, pernicious, and corrupting of all writers. Many of the most illustrious deserve to be crowned and decapitated, and their laurelled heads fixed on poles round the heights of Parnassus, as warnings to others, while they affect to expose sin, not to betray virtue; and while they declaim against lewdness, not to become panders to debauch the young, the innocent, and the unsuspecting. To go no farther than the example before us. If ever man deserved poetical honours, Ariosto did; and if ever poet deserved the curse of posterity for the prostitution of high talents, Ariosto does. Without presuming to judge him, even for his worst offences, beyond the present world, it had been better for many of his readers,—why should we not say, at once, for all of them?—that he had never been born. Whatever be her beauty, his Muse has a cancerous sore upon her face, which cannot be looked upon without loathing by any eye, not wilfully blind, where it ought to be eagle-sighted.

MACHIAVELLI

1469-1522

There is no more delightful literary task than the justifying a hero or writer, who has been misrepresented and reviled; but such is human nature, or such is the small progress that we have made in the knowledge of it, that in most instances we excuse, rather than exculpate, and display doubts instead of bringing forward certainties. Machiavelli has been the object of much argument, founded on the motives that impelled him to write his celebrated treatise of the "Prince," which he declares to be a manual for sovereigns, and Rousseau has named the manual of republicans. The question of whether he sat down in cold blood, and as approving them, or whether he wrote in irony, the detestable maxims he boldly and explicitly urges, has been disputed by many. Voltaire has joined in the cry against him, begun by our countryman cardinal Pole. It is a curious question, to be determined only by the author himself. We must seek in the actions of his life, and in his letters, for a solution of the mystery. Ample materials are afforded, and if we are unable to throw a clear light on the subject, at least we shall adduce all the evidence, and, after summing it up impartially, leave the jury of readers to decide.

The family of Machiavelli carried back its origin to the ancient marquesses of Tuscany, and especially to a marquis Ugo, who flourished about the year 850, who was the root whence sprung various nobles, who possessed power over territories, which the growing state of Florence speedily encroached upon. The Machiavelli were lords of Montespertoli; but preferring the rank of citizens of a prosperous city, to the unprofitable preservation of an illustrious ancestry, they submitted to the laws of Florence, for the sake of enjoying the honours which the republic had to bestow. The Machiavelli belonged to that portion of the Guelph party which abandoned their native town in 1260, after the defeat of Monteaperti. Being afterwards re-established in their country, they enjoyed thirteen times the rank of gonfaloniere of justice, an office corresponding to the better known one of doge, except that it was an annual magistrature; and fifty-three different members of the family were elected priors, another of the highest offices of government.

1469.

Niccolò Machiavelli was born in Florence on the 3d of May, 1469; his father was jurisconsult and treasurer of the march, and by aid of these offices, maintained in some degree the lustre of his family, which was obscured by the poverty into which it had fallen. His mother Bartolomea, daughter of Stefano Nelli, was equally well descended. Her family derived itself from the ancient counts of Borgonuovo of Fucecchio, who flourished in the tenth century, and her ancestors had been elected to the highest offices in the Florentine state. She had been previously married to Niccolò Benizzi, and was distinguished for her cultivated understanding and talent for poetry.

Nothing is known of the childhood and education of Machiavelli. Paul Jovius wishes to prove that he scarcely understood Latin, but this opinion finds no credit: Paul Jovius is a writer, whose celebrity is founded on his unblushing falsehoods and baseless calumnies[111]: he was sold to the Medici, and attacked without scruple, and with a total disregard for truth, those persons who were inimical to them. 1494. Ætat. 25. At the age of five and twenty, Machiavelli was placed as secretary under Marcello di Virgilio de' Adriani, or, as he is commonly called, Marcellus Virgil, whose pupil he had formerly been. Marcellus Virgil had been at one time professor of Latin and Greek, and was now one of the chief officers of the Florentine court of chancery. Paul Jovius gives Machiavelli the name of his clerk and copyist, and adds, that, from this master, he obtained those flowers of ancient learning which are interspersed in his works. Nothing is at once more base and futile than these attempts to degrade celebrated men, by impeaching their station in society, or adventitious acquirements. It only serves to display the detractor's malice, and to render more conspicuous the merit which could triumph over every disadvantage.

There is no trace of Machiavelli's taking any part in the political disturbances of Florence at this time. The city was then agitated by the pretensions and turbulence of the prophet Salvanorola. There is a letter extant of his, which gives some account of the preaching and denunciations of the ambitious friar, which shows that, if he did not belong to the party opposed to him, he was, at least, not duped by his impostures[112]:—"In my opinion," he says, "he temporises and gives to his falsehoods the colour of the occasion." Mar. 8. 1497. Ætat. 28. The disposition of Machiavelli was observing and industrious; his ambition was under the rule of judgment, and his hopes fixed on the favour secure from the heads of government. For five of the best years of his life he was content to exercise the unostentatious functions of secretary to an officer of chancery, nor were any of his writings composed at this period: they were the fruits of thought and experience, and there is nothing to tell us, that, as a young man, he was warmed by that self-confidence and restless aspiration, which he displayed in maturer life. It may be supposed, however, that his employer, Marcellus Virgil, distinguished his talents and recommended them to observation, as they were both promoted at the same time, Marcellus being elected high chancellor, and Machiavelli preferred over four other candidates, to the post of chancellor of the second court. 1498. Ætat. 29. A month afterwards he was named secretary to 1498. the council of ten (the chief council of the state), which situation he retained till the revolution, which, fourteen years afterwards, overthrew the government he served.

During this period. Machiavelli pursued an active career: he was continually employed on missions to various sovereigns and states. His letters to his government on these occasions are published, and he wrote besides brief surveys of the countries to which he was sent. His active and enquiring mind was continually on the alert, and he stored up with care the observations and opinions that resulted from the personages and scenes with which he was brought into contact.

1492.

Italy was at this time in a state, of convulsion, torn by foreign armies and domestic quarrels: the peace of the peninsula had died with Lorenzo de' Medici. That sagacious statesman saw the safety of his country in the preservation of the balance of power among its several rulers. It was his endeavour to check the encroachments of the king of Naples and the pope, who ruled southern Italy, by the influence of the duke of Milan, and of the Venetian republic; while these again were prevented from attempting war with Florence, or trespassing on the smaller states of Romagna, by the jealousy of the sovereigns of the south. For many years no foreign army had crossed the Alps, and the battles of the condottieri became more and more innoxious.

This fine system of policy fell to the ground on the death of Lorenzo. His son Piero, who succeeded him, was a rash, impolitic, and feeble statesman, defying dangers till they were close at hand, and then yielding weakly to them. He had not feared to make an enemy of Ludovico Sforza, who reigned over Milan in the name of his nephew Giovan Galeazzo, the rightful duke. Ludovico wished to play the old part of his wicked uncle, and to supplant the youthful prince; but he feared to be prevented by the king of Naples. To occupy and weaken him, he invited Charles VIII. of France into Italy, instigating him to assert his right to the Neapolitan crown, which he claimed through Rene, who inherited it, together with the counties of Anjou and Provence. This was the origin of all the evils which overwhelmed Italy, crushed its spirit of liberty, destroyed its republics, and after making it a field of battle for many years, caused it in the end to become a mere appanage to the crowns of Germany, Spain, or France, according as these kingdoms enjoyed alternately the supreme power in Europe.

1493.

The entrance of the French into Italy caused great commotion in the city of Florence. It was considered by Lorenzo to be the policy of the Florentines to keep allies of the king of France: but Piero acted a thoughtless and unstable part; he at first opposed the French, and then threw himself into their hands. The Florentines were enraged at the sacrifices he made to pacify an enemy which he had brought upon himself, and the result was his expulsion from the city, and the overthrow and exile of the Medicean family.

Charles VIII. overran Italy, and possessed himself of the kingdom of Naples without drawing a sword, except to massacre the defenceless people. The Italians were accustomed to a mild system of warfare; they carried on their military enterprises by condottieri, or captains of independent bands of soldiers, who hired themselves to the best bidder. These condottieri consisted of foreign adventurers, who came into Italy on the speculation of turning their military talents to profit, or of the minor native princes, or lords of single towns, who augmented their consequence and revenue by raising troops, commanded by themselves, but paid by others. These mercenaries were inspired by no spirit of patriotism or party; they fought for pay and booty; they changed sides at the beck of their captain, who was influenced by the highest offer. They fought to-day side by side with men whom the next they might attack as enemies: they fought, therefore, in a placid spirit of friendly enmity; often not a single soldier fell upon the field of battle. Add to this, they were very indifferently provided with fire-arms. The ferocity of the French, their artillery, discipline, and massacres, filled the unwarlike population with alarm and horror. They fled, or submitted without a blow. But Charles lost his conquest almost as soon as he gained it; he returned to France, and the crown of Naples fell from his head at the same moment.

His death followed soon after; and his successor, Louis XII., on turning his eyes to Italy, rather fixed them on the duchy of Milan, to which he had pretensions by right of inheritance. 1498. His conquest of this dukedom was speedy and complete, and he then proceeded to possess himself of Naples. The king then reigning, Frederic of the house of Aragon, called in the Spaniards to his aid, and he was crushed in the collision of the two warlike nations. He was banished Naples and confined in France, while Louis and Ferdinand at first amicably divided, and then hostilely fought for, the possession of his kingdom.

1501. Ætat. 32.

Meanwhile the first entrance of Charles VIII. into Italy had left the seeds of discord and disaster in Tuscany. Pisa was at that time under the rule of Florence, but repining at its servitude. When Charles entered Pisa, its citizens implored him to restore to them their independence: he promised to comply; and though afterwards he made treaties to a contrary effect with Florence, the Pisans profited by his secret inclination in their favour, and the sympathy afforded them by the officers and men that composed his army, to shut their gates against their Florentine governors, and to assert their liberty. From this time it became the ardent desire of Florence to subdue the rebel city; they exhausted all their resources in prosecution of this favourite object. Each year they attacked the walls, and destroyed the crops, of the unfortunate but resolute Pisans; and, in each treaty they made with France, the chief article was a promise of aid in this desired conquest. 1500. Ætat. 31. At one time they formed the siege of Pisa, and solicited Louis XII. to supply them with troops and artillery. That politic sovereign, who wished to strengthen himself in Italy, sent them double the force they required. These auxiliaries, composed of Swiss and Gascons, pillaged both friends and foes, quarrelled with the Florentine commissaries, came to a secret understanding with Pisa, and, finally, on a pretence of a delay of pay, raised the siege. The king of France accused Florence of being the cause of this affront sustained by his arms; and, to appease him, and to obtain, if possible, further assistance, the republic deputed Francesco della Gaza, and Machiavelli, as envoys to the French court.

A year before Machiavelli had been employed on a mission to Caterina Sforza, countess of Forli, with regard to the terms of engagement offered to her son, for serving Florence as condottiere; but the legation to France was of greater importance. The commissions, or instructions of the government to Machiavelli, and his letters to the state during this and all his other missions, are published. They are long and minute, but far less tedious than such correspondences usually are; and the reading them is indispensable to the forming a just notion of his character, and a view of the actions of his life. There is something curiously interesting in the style of his instructions on the present occasion; they display a civic simplicity of manners and language, and a sagacity in viewing the personages and events in question, combined with true Italian astute policy. Guicciardini observes, that when the French first entered Italy, they were astonished and disgusted by the want of faith and falsehood which prevailed in their negotiations with the native princes and states. In this commission the Florentine government gave instructions to their envoys savouring of the prevalent vice of their country. The commander of the French forces before Pisa, Beaumont, had been appointed at their own request: he failed without any fault of his own, through the insubordination of the troops under him. The state of Florence instructed its envoys:—"According to circumstances you may accuse him violently, and cast on him the imputation of cowardice and corruption; or free him from all blame, and, speaking honourably of him, throw all the fault upon others. And take care how you criminate him, as we do not wish to lose his favour, without gaining any thing elsewhere by such a proceeding."

Machiavelli and his fellow envoy remained in France three months, following the king and his court to Montargis, Melun, Plessis, and Tours. They were faithful and industrious in fulfilling their duties, especially Machiavelli; Francesco della Caza being taken ill, and spending the greater part of his time at Paris. They failed in their object: the king wishing Florence to engage troops from him on the same terms, of paying all the expenses, and the Florentines wishing to induce him to form the siege at his own risk, reimbursing him only in case of success. Machiavelli meanwhile was very desirous to return home; "because," he writes, "my father died only a month before my departure, and since then I have lost a sister, and all my affairs are in disorder, so that I am injured in many ways." Towards the end of October, Florence sent an ambassador with greater powers to the French court, and the envoys returned to Italy.

His next legation was to Cæsar Borgia. It is necessary to enlarge upon this mission. The great doubt that clouds Machiavelli's character regards the spirit in which he wrote the "Prince,"—whether he sincerely recommended the detestable principles of government which he appears to advocate, or used the weapons of irony and sarcasm to denounce a system of tyranny which then oppressed his native country. The example he brings forward most frequently in his treatise, is that of Cæsar Borgia: his mode of governing his states, and the artifice and resolution with which he destroyed his enemies, are adduced as worthy of applause and imitation. We must, therefore, not only enquire what the deeds of this man were, but endeavour to discover the real sentiments of Machiavelli, the opinion that he formed upon his conduct, and the conclusions which he drew from his success. We may also mention that the secretary has been accused of being Borgia's confidant in his plots. Mr. Roscoe has lightly adopted this idea; but the course of the present narration will easily disprove it.

Soon after the death of Lorenzo de' Medici, died Innocent VIII.; and Roderigo Borgia, a native of Valentia in Spain, and one of the most ancient of the cardinals, was chosen pope in his room. His election was carried by force of bribery and intrigue, to the horror and amazement of the whole Christian world; since not only the methods by which he rose were known, but also the character and actions of the man thus exalted.[113] The new pontiff assumed the name of Alexander VI. "He was a man," to use the words of Guicciardini, "of singular prudence and sagacity; endued with great penetration, and marvellous powers of persuasion, and always acting with extreme forethought and policy. But these good qualities were darkly clouded by the worst vices. His depraved life, his total want of shame, his contempt for good faith, religion, and truth, his matchless deceit, insatiable avarice, barbarous cruelty, and unbounded desire to exalt his numerous offspring, who were not less dissolute and unprincipled than himself, stained his character, and marked his reign with inexpressible infamy."

Cæsar Borgia, his younger son, had been educated for the church; and, despite his illegitimate birth, was raised to the rank of cardinal. But Caesar disliked the sacerdotal profession, and was jealous of his elder brother, the duke of Candia, whom his father was desirous of raising to the highest temporal rank, both because of his success in arms, and also on account of the preference shown him by their sister Lucretia. Incited by these criminal passions, he one night caused the duke to be waylaid, murdered, and thrown into the Tiber. The pope was at first overwhelmed with grief on his son's death, and made great show of repentance and reformation; but soon after he cast aside all thoughts of this kind, and returned with renewed eagerness to his former pursuits and projects. Cæsar gained the point at which he aimed. He was permitted to abdicate the cardinal's hat; and, in reward for the dispensation which the pope granted Louis XII. to divorce his first wife, and to marry Anne of Britany, he obtained the duchy of Valence in France, and henceforth was commonly called by the name of the duca Valentino, or Valentian duke.

It was the chief ambition of this new temporal noble to form a principality in Italy. The territories of the marquisate of Savoy, of the duchy of Milan, and of the Venetian republic, embraced the greater portion of the peninsula north of the Apennines. To the south, the kingdom of Naples, Rome, and the republic of Florence, were the principal states; but other territories remained, a sovereignty over which was claimed by the popes, but which obeyed a variety of petty lords, whose families had for centuries enjoyed the rule. The various cities of Romagna to the east, Bologna to the north, Piombino to the west, and Perugia to the south, formed the chief: of these Cæsar Borgia resolved to possess himself, extending a prophetic eye to the future conquest of Tuscany. Already he had acquired dominion over Romagna: he dispossessed the duke of Urbino and the prince of Piombino of their states, and now he turned his eyes towards Bologna. Giovanni Bentivoglio had long been lord of this wealthy city; good fortune, rather than talents or a spirit of enterprise, had raised him, and he spared no blood in confirming his power. Cæsar Borgia was supported in his encroachments by an alliance with Louis XII. In vain was it represented to this monarch[114], "that it ill became the splendour of the French crown, and the title of most Christian king, to show favour to an infamous tyrant, the destroyer of many states; a man who thirsted for human blood, and was an example to the whole world of perfidy and inhumanity; who, like a public robber, had broken faith with and murdered so many princes and nobles; one stained with the blood of his nearest kindred, and whose crimes of poisoning and stabbing were unequalled in a Christian country." Louis favoured him, not so much from his own inclination, as at the instigation of the cardinal d'Amboise, who was desirous of currying favour with the pope; and who, by protecting his son, obtained the high office of legate to France.

At the moment of the commencement of his attack on Bologna, while running a full career of success, Cæsar Borgia received a check from the revolt of his chief condottieri. Like all the other princes of Italy, the army of the duke of Valence consisted of various bands, independent of each other, and obeying several distinct captains. The chief among these were Vitellozzo Vitelli, lord of Città Castello, Oliverotto da Fermo, in the March, and Paolo Orsino, who was master of a large portion of the patrimony of St. Peter, and the duke of Gravina, also of the Orsini family. These men assembled at Magione, near Perugia; they were joined, in their consultations by cardinal Orsini, chief of the family, and then at enmity with the pope; Giovanpaolo Baglioni, lord of Perugia, Hermes Bentivoglio, who represented his father, lord of Bologna, and Antonio da Venafro, minister of Pandolfo Petrucci, lord of Siena. These last-named nobles feared the encroachments of Borgia, and gladly availed themselves of an opportunity to seduce away his captains, and to check his enterprises. It is to be remembered that the individuals thus conspiring were men stained with the crimes of treachery and assassination, then so rife in Italy—men whose aim was power, and who thought every method that led to it justifiable. For Cæsar ran no new career of crime: he travelled in the same path with many of his contemporaries, while he excelled them all in resolution, intrepidity, and remorseless cruelty: his abilities were greater, his conscience more seared. Inhuman, stern, and treacherous, he was yet sagacious, eloquent, courteous, and plausible. It was a common saying at Rome, that the pope never did what he said, and that his son never said what he did.[115] Prudence and success meanwhile gained for him the respect even of those by whom he was abhorred.

The conspirators at Magione were at once aware of the character of the man with whom they had to deal, and the small faith they could repose in each other; but they saw their destruction in the fulfilment of Borgia's ambitious schemes; and this served as a common bond between them. They took care to gather together their troops, and, occupying the country between Romagna and Rome, they hoped to prevent Caesar from receiving aid from his father. The duke of Urbino, whose duchy Borgia had lately seized, joined the league, and suddenly appearing at the head of some forces, repossessed himself of his territories, in which he was greatly beloved. Borgia was at Imola with but few troops when he heard of the loss of Urbino, and the revolt of his captains. These men invited the Florentines to join them. The republic feared Borgia, but they hated yet more the conspirators, as there existed between them various and urgent motives of enmity: they feared also to displease the king of France by taking part against his ally. They discountenanced, therefore, the advances of the captains, and sent Machiavelli to the duke at Imola, to inform him of this circumstance, and to assure him in general terms of their continued amity; and, moreover, to watch the progress of the conspiracy, and to learn what hope Borgia entertained of repelling the menaced injury.

1502. Ætat. 33.

Machiavelli approached without any feeling of abhorrence, a man honoured and protected by the king of France. He had no sympathy with the conspirators, but rather hated them, as the enemies of his country, and as traitors. Borgia commanded more respect. He was a man of greater powers of mind; a high and commanding spirit, running a prosperous career, who had hitherto overcome every obstacle to his advancement.[116] It was a curious study to observe the methods he would use to crush the nest of traitors in league against him.

Machiavelli arrived at Imola on the 7th of October, and was instantly admitted to an audience with the duke. Borgia received him with every show of courtesy and kindness. He was in high spirits, declaring that the stars that year were inimical to rebels, and that the revolt was a piece of good fortune, since it enabled him to distinguish his friends from his foes, at a critical moment. He declared that his clemency had been the cause of this disaster, and frankly entered into details concerning the progress made by the confederates.

From day to day Machiavelli continued to see and converse with Borgia, who exerted the grace of manner for which he was renowned, and a show of cordiality, to win the suffrage of the yet inexperienced secretary. "I cannot express to you," Machiavelli writes to his government, "the earnest demonstrations he makes of affection towards the republic, and how eagerly he justifies himself with regard to his threatened attack last year, throwing the blame upon Vitellozzo Vitelli." Borgia's chief endeavour at this moment was to influence the secretary to persuade his government to give some public testimonial of its attachment to him. He spoke with the utmost confidence of his ultimate success; assuring Machiavelli, that among the many fortunate events that had befallen him, this conspiracy was most lucky of all, as it had caused his more powerful friends to declare for him.

Meanwhile, though he thus "vaunted aloud," he was acting with consummate prudence and caution. His object was to gain time. He wished to remain inactive till he had gathered together a sufficient number of troops to insure success. He was at one time thwarted in this purpose by two Spanish captains in his pay, whom he had summoned to Imola; who, fancying that a good opportunity presented itself of attacking the enemy, had themselves been vanquished and put to flight. Borgia kept this disaster as secret as possible; he expected troops from France and Switzerland, and gathered together all the broken-off lances in the country. A lance was a term used to signify a mounted cavalier with five or six followers; and the condottiere formed a greater or less number of lances into a troop. But often single cavaliers with their followers broke off from the band to which they belonged, and were thence called Lande Spezzate.

Besides these more evident methods of defending himself, Borgia hoped that dissention might be introduced among the confederates; that he should be able to entice away a portion, and then, by policy and artifice, bring them to terms. His hopes were not deceived. About the middle of October, Paolo Orsino sent to say, that if the duke would send a hostage in pledge for his safety, he would repair to Imola. Caesar eagerly seized on this opening for negotiation; cardinal Borgia was put into the hands of the confederates, and Paolo Orsino arrived at Imola on the 25th of October. Machiavelli watched with intense interest the progress of this visit, and the subsequent proceedings. "No military movement is made on either side," he writes to the signoria of Florence, "and these treaties for reconciliation benefit the duke, who readily entertains them; but I cannot judge with what intentions." He goes on to state the difficulties that must stand in the way of the renewing of amity; "so that," he continues, "I do not find any one who can guess how the reconciliation can be effected. Some people think that the duke will entice away a part of the confederates; and when they no longer hold together, he will cease to fear them. I incline to this opinion, having heard him let fall words that have this tendency to his ministers. Yet it is difficult to believe that so recent a confederacy can be broken up."

Borgia took great pains to preserve Machiavelli's prepossession in favour of his good fortune and success. He pressed him to bring his government to decisive measures in his favour. He caused his ministers to urge those topics which would come more gracefully through a third person. These men besieged the secretary's ear with confidential advice. They assured him that Florence was losing an admirable opportunity for securing the duke's friendship; they represented what a fortunate, high-spirited man he was, accustomed to success, and despising his present dangers. Machiavelli sent minute details of these conversations to his government, addings "Your lordships hear the words which the duke uses, and, knowing who it is that speaks, you will draw conclusions with your accustomed prudence." On another occasion he recounts a long conversation he held with Borgia, who showed him letters received from France, which assured him of the friendship of its powerful monarch. "I have often told you," Cæsar continued, "and again I say, that I shall not be without assistance. The French cavalry and the Swiss infantry will soon arrive, and the pope will supply me with money. I do not wish to boast, nor to say more than that it is probable that my enemies will repent their perfidy. As to your masters, I cannot be more satisfied with them than I am; so that you may offer them on my part all that it is in my power to do. When you first came, I spoke in general terms, because my affairs were in so bad a condition that I did not know on what ground I stood, and I did not wish your government to think that danger made me a large promiser. But now that I fear less, I promise more; and when my fears are quite at an end, deeds shall be added to my words, when there is call for them."

"Your lordships," continues Machiavelli, hear the duke's words, of which I do not put down one half; and, knowing the manner of man, can judge accordingly. Since I have been here, nothing but good has happened to him; which has been caused by the certainty that every one feels that the king of France will help him with troops, and the pope with money."

Machiavelli was evidently filled with high admiration of Borgia's talents, and won by his persuasive manners. There is abundant proof, however, that he did not possess his confidence. He was perpetually soliciting to be recalled:—"For the time is past," he writes, "for temporising, and a man of more authority than I is needed to conclude this treaty. My own affairs are also in the greatest disorder, nor can I remain here without money." The Florentine government thought otherwise; they determined to await the development of events before they concluded any treaty.

These were hastening onwards to a catastrophe. Borgia by this time had collected a considerable force together of French, Swiss, and Italians; but he was willing to overcome his adversaries by other arts than those of war. The confederates, from weakness or fear, or by force of Borgia's persuasive eloquence, were won to agree to a treaty of reconciliation. After some parley, it was signed early in the month of November: the terms consisted principally of renewed professions of perpetual peace, concord, and union; with a remission and forgetfulness of injuries; the duke promising a sincere renewal of friendship, and the confederates pledging themselves to defend the duke. He was to continue to them their engagements as condottieri, and they were to assist him to recover the duchy of Urbino. It was agreed that one only of the confederates at a time should be called on to remain in the duke's camp, and in his power; but they promised to deliver to him their children and near relatives as hostages, whenever they should be demanded. Such is a sketch of a treaty which dissolved a confederacy so formidable to Borgia, and placed him, without drawing a sword, in a position as favourable as when his enemies first assembled at Magione.

Machiavelli could not be deceived by this apparent reconciliation; and he was eager to discover Borgia's secret views. Far from being consulted concerning his plans, he now found it very difficult to obtain an audience:—"For," he writes, "they live here only for their own good, and for that which appears to them to contribute to it. Paolo Orsini arrived yesterday, bringing the articles ratified and subscribed by Vitellozzo and all the other confederates; and he endeavours, as well as he can, to persuade the duke, that they all mean to be faithful, and to undertake any enterprise for him. The duke appears satisfied. Vitellozzo also writes grateful and submissive letters, excusing himself and making offers; and saying, that if he had an opportunity to speak to him, he could fully justify himself, and show that what he had done was without any intention of injuring him. The duke listens to all; and what he means to do no one knows, for it is very difficult to penetrate him. Judging by his words and those of his chief ministers, it is impossible not to expect evil for others, for the injury done him has been great; and his conversation, and that of those around him, is full of indignation against Vitellozzo.[117] One spoke to me yesterday, who is the man nearest the duke, saying, 'This traitor has stabbed us, and now thinks to heal the wound with words, but children might laugh at the articles of this treaty.'"

The treaty being ratified, it was debated what action the duke should put the captains upon. After a good deal of discussion, it was agreed that they should go against Sinigaglia, a town belonging to the duke of Urbino. While this enterprise was under consideration, Borgia left Imola. Machiavelli writes, on the 10th of December, "The duke left this place this morning, and is gone to Forli with his whole army. To-morrow evening he will be at Cesena; but it is not known what he will do after that; nor is there any one here who fancies that he can guess. I shall set out to-morrow, and follow the court—unwillingly, because I am not well; and, in addition to my indisposition, I have received from your lordships fifty ducats, and I have spent seventy-two, having only seven left in my purse. But I must obey necessity."

On the 14th of December, Machiavelli writes, from Cesena, "As I before wrote, every one is in suspense with regard to the duke's intentions, who is here with all his forces. After many conjectures, they conclude that he means to get possession of the persons of those who have so deeply injured, and nearly deprived him of his dominions: and although the treaty he has made contradicts this notion, yet his past actions render it probable; and I am of this opinion from what I have heard and reported in my letters. We shall see what will happen; and I will do my duty in acquainting you with all that passes while I remain here: which cannot be long; for, in the first place, I have only four ducats left in my purse; and in the second, my further stay is of no utility. To speak to your lordships with the truth which I have always practised, it would be better if you sent a person of more reputation to treat of your affairs: I am not fit, as they need a more eloquent man—one more known, and who knows the world better than I." It would seem as if Machiavelli tremblingly foresaw the tragedy at hand, and wished to withdraw; in fear, perhaps, of being used as an instrument by Borgia, or suspected of any participation in his crimes.

On the 23d of December, he reports that the duke had suddenly dismissed all his French troops. He had requested an audience, to discover the cause of this movement; but received only an evasive answer,—that the duke would send for him when he wanted him. It soon became evident that the ease with which the confederates fell into Borgia's snares, rendered useless the armed force he had gathered together for their destruction; and he dismissed an army, the maintaining of which might excite suspicion.

Again Machiavelli writes, from Cesena, on the 26th of December, "I have not been able to obtain an audience of the duke, his excellency being engaged in reviewing his infantry, and in his pleasures, preparatory to Christmas. As I have before repeated, this prince is most secret; nor do I believe that any one except himself is aware of what he is going to do. His principal secretaries have assured me that he never communicates any thing till the moment of execution; and he executes on the instant: so I hope you will not accuse me of negligence, in not being able to tell any thing; as I know nothing myself."

The catastrophe was now at hand. The captains sent Borgia word that they had taken Sinigaglia, but that the fortress still held out; nor would the castellan deliver the keys to any but the duke in person; and they advised him, therefore, to come to receive them. Thus invited by the captains themselves, Borgia thought it an excellent opportunity to approach them without exciting suspicion. With great art he persuaded Vitelli and Paolo Orsino to wait for him at Sinigaglia, saying that their suspicion and timidity would render their reconciliation unstable and short-lived. Vitellozzo felt how unsafe it was, first to injure a prince, and then to put trust in him: but he was over-persuaded to remain by Orsino, whom the duke had corrupted by promises and gifts. Borgia left Fano on the 30th of December, and on the following day repaired to Sinigaglia; and on the evening of the last day of that month. Machiavelli wrote a short note to his government from that town, containing these words only:—"I wrote, the day before yesterday, from Pesaro, all I had heard concerning Sinigaglia.[118] I removed yesterday to Fano. Early this morning, the duke departed with all his troops, and came here to Sinigaglia, where were assembled all the Orsini and Vitellozzo, who had taken the town for him. He invited them to come around him; and, the moment he entered the town, he turned to his guard, and caused them to be taken prisoners. Thus he has secured them all, and the town is being pillaged. It is now twenty-three o'clock.[119] I am in the greatest anxiety, not knowing how to forward this letter, as there is no one to take it. I will write at length in another. In my opinion, they will not be alive to-morrow. All their people are also taken; and the official notice distributed about, says that the traitors are arrested."

In another place. Machiavelli gives the details of the mode in which these men were deluded into trusting themselves in the hands of one so notorious for perfidy and sanguinary revenge.[120] "On the 30th of December," he says, "on setting out from Fano, the duke communicated his design to eight of his most faithful followers. He committed to their care, that, when Vitellozzo, Paolo Orsino, the duke of Gravina, and Oliverotto da Fermo should advance to meet him, two of his friends should take one of them between them; and that they should thus continue to guard them till they reached the house where the duke was to lodge. He then stationed his troops so as to be near enough to support him, without exciting suspicion. The confederates, meanwhile, to afford room for the soldiery which Borgia brought with him, had caused their own to retire to various castles six miles distant, Oliverotto alone retaining his hand of 1000 foot and 150 horse. Every thing being thus arranged, Borgia proceeded to Sinigaglia. Vitellozzo, Paolo Orsino, and the duke of Gravina came out to meet him, mounted on mules, and accompanied by a few followers on horseback. Vitellozzo was unarmed; and his desponding countenance seemed prophetic of his approaching death. It was said that he took, as it were, a last leave of his friends when he left the town; recommending the fortunes of his family to the chief among them, and bidding his nephews bear in mind the virtues of their race. These three were received cordially by the duke, and immediately taken in charge, as had been arranged. Perceiving that Oliverotto da Fermo was not among them—he having remained with his troop to receive Borgia in the market-place—he signed to one of his followers to devise some means to prevent his escape. This man went instantly to Oliverotto, and advised him to order his men to repair to quarters immediately, otherwise their lodgings would be occupied by the band accompanying the duke. Oliverotto listened to the sinister counsel, and, unaccompanied, joined Borgia and the rest on their entrance into the town. As soon as they arrived at the duke's palace, the signal was given, and they were made prisoners." Machiavelli's anticipations were fulfilled nearly to the letter. Vitellozzo and Oliverotto were strangled in prison the same night. Paolo Orsino and the duke of Gravina were kept alive till Borgia heard that the pope had seized on the persons of the other chiefs of the Orsini family; when, on the 18th of the January following, they were also strangled in prison.

On the very day of the execution of this treacherous and cruel act of revenge. Machiavelli had an audience with its perpetrator. He writes, "The duke sent for me at the second hour of night[121], and with a most cheerful countenance congratulated himself and me on his success, saying that he had alluded to it to me the day before, but not fully explained himself: which is true. He added many prudent and very affectionate expressions concerning our city; alleging all those reasons which made him desire your friendship, if you entertain the same feelings towards him; all of which filled me with exceeding surprise. He concluded by bidding me write three things to you. First, that I should congratulate you on his having put to death the enemies alike of the king of France, you, and himself, and destroyed every seed of dissention which had threatened to ruin Italy; for which you ought to be obliged to him. Secondly, he begged me to entreat you to make manifest to the world that you were his friends, and to send forward some troops to assist his attack on Castello or Perugia."

On the 8th of January, Machiavelli uses expressions in his letter most characteristic of Italian policy and morals at that period. "It excites surprise here," he writes, "that you should not have written nor sent to congratulate the duke on the deed which he has lately executed, which redounds to your advantage, and on account of which our city ought to feel grateful; they say that it would have cost the republic 200,000 ducats to get rid of Vitellozzo and the Orsini, and even then it would not have been so completely done as by the duke. It is doubtful what his success will be at Perugia: as, on one side, we find a prince gifted with unparalleled good fortune, and a sanguine spirit, more than human, to accomplish all his desires; and, on the other hand, a man of extreme prudence, governing a state with great reputation." The secretary adds, with praiseworthy diffidence, and considerable self-knowledge, "If I form a false judgment, it arises not only from my inexperience, but also from my views being confined to what is going on here, on which I am led to form the opinions I have expressed above."

The republic now thought it time to replace Machiavelli by an ambassador of more authority; and the secretary returned to Florence at the end of the month of January.

1503.

It is evident from this detail, taken from Machiavelli's own letters, that he was not intrusted with the secret of a prince, who, he says, never revealed his purposes to any one before the moment of execution. Yet it is also plain that, at last, he began to suspect the tragedy in preparation; and that neither the anticipation nor the fulfilment inspired him with abhorrence for the murderer; while his contempt of the confederates, and admiration of the talents and success of their destroyer, is every where apparent: nor was this a short-lived feeling. Without mentioning the "Prince," in which this act of Borgia is alluded to with praise, he is mentioned with approbation in several of his private letters. He wrote "A Description of the Method used by the Valentian Duke in putting to death Vitellozzo Vitelli, &c." This is purely narrative, and contains no word of comment or censure. There is besides a poem of his, entitled "The Decenal," in which he proposes to relate the sufferings of Italy during ten years: in this he mentions the crime of Borgia. "After the duke of Valence," he says, "had exculpated himself to the king of France, he returned to Romagna, with the intention of going against Bologna. It appears that Vitellozzo Vitelli and Paolo Orsino resolved not to assist him; and these serpents, full of venom, began to conspire together, and to tear him with their talons and teeth. Borgia, ill able to defend himself, was obliged to take refuge behind the shield of France; and to take his enemies by a snare, the basilisk whistled softly, to allure them to his den. In a short time, the traitor of Fermo, and Vitellozzo, and that Orsino who had been so much his friend, fell readily into his toils; in which the Orsino (bear) lost more than a paw; and Vitelli was shorn of the other horn (alluding to his brother's death at Florence as one horn). Perugia and Siena heard the boast of the hydra, and each tyrant fled before his fury: nor could the cardinal Orsino escape the ruin of his unhappy house, but died the victim of a thousand arts."

It must be mentioned that, notwithstanding individual acts of ferocity of which Cæsar Borgia was guilty, he was an equitable sovereign—favouring the common people, and restraining the nobles in their sanguinary quarrels and extortionate oppression. His subjects were, therefore, much attached to him. There is an anecdote relating to his system of government, narrated in the "Prince," which may be quoted as exceedingly characteristic. It is one of the examples brought forward by Machiavelli in his treatise, to show how a prince can prudently consolidate his power in a newly acquired state. "When the duke had taken Romagna, he found it governed by feeble lords, who had rather robbed than corrupted their subjects, and sown discord rather than preserved peace—so that this province was the prey of extortion, lawlessness, and all other kind of oppression. He judged it necessary to govern it strictly, and to reduce it to obedience and tranquillity. For this purpose he set over it Ramiro d'Orco, a cruel and resolute man, to whom he confided absolute power. He soon established order in the province. The duke then judged that so despotic an authority might become odious; and he set up a civil court in the middle of the province, with an excellent president, at which each city had its advocate. And because he knew that the former rigor had generated hatred, to conciliate and win this people, he wished to prove that the cruelties that had been practised did not emanate from him, but from the severity of his minister; and seizing Ramiro, he caused him one morning to be placed on a scaffold in the market-place of Cesena, divided in two, with a wooden block and bloody knife at his side. The horror of which spectacle caused the people to remain for some time satisfied and stupid."

This act took place under the very eyes of Machiavelli, when he was at Cesena with Borgia. He thus mentions it in his public correspondence:—"Messer Ramiro was found this morning divided in two in the market-place, where he yet is, and all the people can behold him. The cause of his death is not well known, except that it seemed good to the prince, who shows that he knows how to make and unmake men at will, according to their merits."

To us, who cannot sympathise with the high spirit and good fortune of Borgia, it is consolatory to know that his triumph was short-lived, and his ruin complete. It fell to Machiavelli to witness the last scene of his expiring power, being sent on a legation to Rome at the time of his downfall.

1503.

The duke of Valence was still enjoying the complete success of his enterprises: courage and duplicity, united, rendered him victorious over all his enemies. He was at Rome, carrying on a negotiation with the king of France, which was to extend and secure his power, when suddenly, one afternoon, the pope was brought back dead from a vineyard, whither he had gone to recreate himself after the heats of the day; and Cæsar was also brought back soon after, to all appearance dying. Aug. 28. The story went that they were both poisoned, having drunk by mistake some wine prepared by themselves for the destruction of one of their guests.[122] The pope's body was exposed in St. Peter's on the following day, according to custom; it was swollen, discoloured, and frightfully disfigured. Cæsar's youth, and the speedy use he had made of an antidote, saved his life; but he remained for a long time in a state of great suffering and illness. He told Machiavelli, about this time, that he had foreseen and provided against every reverse of fortune that could possibly befall him, except his father dying at a time when he should himself be disabled by disease. He could now enter but ineffectually into the intrigues necessary to ensure the election of a pope favourable to himself. Indeed, the death of Alexander was so sudden, that none of the persons interested found time to exert their resources; and a cardinal was raised to the pontifical throne, whose sole merit consisted in his great age and decrepitude. Francesco Picolomini, nephew of Pius II., was proclaimed pope on the 22d of September, under the name of Pius III.

He did not deceive the hopes of the cardinals;—he reigned twenty-eight days only; and his death, which occurred on the 18th of October, left the throne again vacant. The cardinals, during this interval, had prepared their measures, and looked forward to a greater struggle and more important choice. 1503. Ætat. 34. The government of Florence thought it right to send an envoy, on this occasion, to watch over its interests, and to influence consultations which would be held concerning the future destination of Borgia. He had already lost the greater part of his conquests: Piombino and Urbino revolted to their former lords; and nothing remained to him but Romagna, whose inhabitants he had attached by the firm system of government before mentioned. The nobles, however, who had formerly governed its various towns, were trying to regain possession of them; and Venice eyed it as an easy prey. The popes believed, that by right, it belonged to them; and Borgia had reigned over it as vassal to the church: this clash of interests led him to believe that he could induce any future pope to side with him. The neighbourhood of the cities in question to Tuscany, rendered it imperative to Florence to watch over their fate.

Machiavelli was sent by them just before the cardinals entered into conclave—where, without hesitation or a dissentient voice, they elected Julian da Rovera, cardinal of San Pietro in Vincola, who assumed the name of Julius II. This prelate had been all his life at open enmity with Alexander VI.: his disposition was ambitious, restless, fiery, and obstinate; and during the struggles against the papal power in which he had been engaged all his life, he had offended many, and excited the hatred of a number of powerful persons. Above all, it was to be supposed that Cæsar Borgia would oppose him; and he exercised great influence over the Spanish cardinals. But the duke had to contend with much adversity, so that he had but a choice of evils before him. During this interval, even Romagna had fallen from him, with the exception of its fortresses, of which he possessed the keys. Julian da Rovera made him large promises; and in an age when duplicity flourished far and wide, he had been celebrated for his veracity and good faith; even his old enemy, Alexander VI., declared that the cardinal di San Pietro in Vincola was sincere and trusty.

As soon as the new pope was elected, it was projected to send Borgia with an army to Romagna, to conquer it in the name of the holy see. Machiavelli had frequent interviews with the fallen prince at this time, and appears to have thrown off that admiration which his success and spirit had formerly inspired; and he testifies no sympathy or regret in his misfortunes. Borgia complained of the little friendship shown him by Florence; and declared that he would relinquish every other hope, for the sake of attacking and ruining the republic. The secretary reports his angry expressions to his government, and adds the words of cardinal d'Amboise, who exclaimed that "God, who never left any crime unpunished, would not let this man escape with impunity!"

The career of this bad hero was now drawing to a close. In the month of November, he set out in the middle of the night for Ostia, to the great satisfaction of all Rome, for the purpose of embarking for Spezia, with a troop of five hundred men, and then of proceeding to Romagna. But the pope, who had hitherto given no mark of an intention to break his promises, suddenly determined to violate that good faith which had formerly adorned his character, and sent the Tuscan cardinal of Volterra (who was of course Borgia's hitter enemy) after him, to demand an order to the officers who held the castles in Romagna, that they should be given into the pope's hands. Borgia refused to comply with a requisition which deprived him of the last remnant of his power; on which he was arrested and placed on hoard a French galley. "It is not yet known," Machiavelli writes to his government on the 26th of November, "whether the duke is still on hoard the vessel, or brought here. Various things are reported. One person told me that, being yesterday evening in the pope's chamber, two men arrived from Ostia, when he was immediately dismissed; but, while in the next room, he overheard these men say that the duke had been thrown into the Tiber, as the pope had commanded.[123] I do not quite believe in this story, but I do not deny it; and, I dare say, if it has not already happened, it will happen. The pope, it is evident, is beginning to pay his debts honourably, and cancels them with a stroke of his pen. Every one, however, blesses this deed; and the more he does of the like, the more popular will he be. Since the duke is taken, whether he be alive or dead, no account need be made of him. Nevertheless, when I hear any thing certain, you shall have intelligence."

The pope, however, had not yet learnt wholly to despise the force of promises and oaths. Borgia was brought back to the Vatican, and treated honourably. It was supposed at one time that he would be proceeded against legally: and Machiavelli several times pressed his government to send him the papers necessary to institute any accusation on their part. At length, the duke gave the order to his castellans to surrender the fortresses in question to the pope, and was set at liberty. He instantly repaired to Naples, possessed of nothing more than a sum of money which he had deposited with the Genoese bankers, but happy in having recovered his personal freedom. His ambitious mind quickly conceived new schemes; and he tried to persuade the Spanish general at Naples, Consalvo, to assist him in his project of throwing himself into Pisa, and of defending it against Florence. Consalvo listened and temporised, till he received the directions of his sovereign, which he immediately obeyed. In conformity with these, Borgia was arrested and sent on board a galley, which conveyed him to Spain. On his arrival, he was confined in the fortress of Medina del Campo, there to remain during his life. He continued a prisoner, however, for two years only. In 1506, with great audacity and labour, he let himself down from the castle by a rope, and fled to the court of John king of Navarre, who was his wife's brother; where he lived for some years in a humble state, the king of France having confiscated his duchy of Valence, and forbidding him to enter France. Finally, having gone out with the forces of the king of Navarre to attack Viana, an insignificant castle of that kingdom, he was surprised by an ambush, and killed.

We have anticipated a little, to conclude the history of this man, who figures so prominently in Machiavelli's writings, and now return to the secretary himself. We have not space to dilate with the same minuteness on his succeeding embassies; and there is nothing in them of peculiar interest. His letters are always full of keen observation; and show him to have been sagacious, faithful, and diligent. The republic kept him actively employed; and the end of one legation was the beginning of another. 1504. Ætat. 35. He left Rome, after Borgia's arrest, in December; and, in the January following, went to France, to ask the protection of Louis against the dangers which Florence imagined to threaten them from the Spanish army at Naples. 1505. Ætat. 36. A peace, concluded between France and Spain, dissipated these fears; and the secretary, after a month's residence at Lyons, returned to his own country. After this, he was sent on four insignificant missions to Piombino, Perugia, Mantua, and Siena. His next employment was to raise troops in the Florentine territories.

1506. Ætat. 37.

Machiavelli was too clear-sighted and well-judging, not to perceive the various and great evils that resulted from the republic engaging condottieri to fight its battles. He endeavoured to impress upon the signoria the advantages that would arise from the formation of a native militia; and, at length, succeeded. A law was passed for the enrolling the peasantry, and he was charged with the execution. His proceedings were conducted with patience and industry: his letters contain accounts of the obstacles he met from the prejudices of the people with whom he had to deal, the pains he took to obviate them, and the care he was at to select recruits who might be depended on.

Pope Julius, at this time, had conceived the project of reducing to obedience to the holy see all those towns which he considered as rightfully belonging to it. He obtained promises of aid from France; demanded it from Florence; and then set out on an expedition against Giovanni Bentivoglio, lord of Bologna. The Florentines were anxious, from economical motives, to defer sending their quota as long as they could; and they delegated their secretary to the court militant of Rome, to make excuses, and to watch over the progress of its arms. Machiavelli joined the court at Cività Castellana, and proceeded with it to Viterbo, Perugia, Urbino, and Imola. 1506. His letters during this legation are highly interesting; presenting a lively picture of the violence and impetuosity of Julius II., whose resolute and intelligent countenance Raphael has depicted on canvas in so masterly a manner. When Bentivoglio sent ambassadors to him, he actually scolded them—addressing them in public, and using, as the secretary says, the most angry and venomous expressions. Machiavelli adds: "Every one believes that, if he succeeds with regard to Bologna, he will lose no time in attempting greater things; and it is hoped that Italy will be preserved from him who attempted to devour it (meaning the king of France).—Now, or never." Bentivoglio made some preparations to fortify Bologna; but, on the arrival of troops from France in aid of his enemy, his heart failed him and he entered into a treaty, by which he preserved his private property; and then, with his wife and children, he abandoned the city he had so long reigned over, and took refuge in the duchy of Milan.

It was apprehended, at this time, that the emperor Maximilian would enter Italy with an army; and its various states sent ambassadors to him, to make favourable terms. The emperor had applied to Florence for money; and the republic sent Francesco Vettori to treat concerning the sum. 1507. Ætat. 38. They afterwards sent Machiavelli with their ultimatum. Both ambassador and secretary remained some time at Trent, waiting on the imperial court. 1508. Ætat. 39. Machiavelli employed himself in making observations on the state of the country, which he reduced to writing, in a brief "Account of Germany," on his return. He had before drawn up a similar account of the state of France.

The favourite object of Florence continued to be the reduction of Pisa. They purchased permission to attack it, from the kings of France and Spain, for a large sum of money. 1509. Ætat. 40. They besieged the town, dividing their army into three divisions, which blockaded it on three sides. The camps were each commanded by commissaries; and Machiavelli was sent thither to advise with and assist them. He passed from one camp to the other, to watch over the execution of the measures concerted for the siege; and, at one time, went to Piombino, to meet some deputies from Pisa, to arrange a treaty; but it came to nothing, and he returned to the army. He was much trusted by his government; and one of the commissaries, in writing to the signoria, observes, "Niccolò Machiavelli left us to-day, to review the troops of the other camp. I have directed him to return here, as you order; and I wish for nothing so much as to have him with me."

After a blockade of three months, Pisa surrendered. The Florentine republic behaved with the greatest generosity and humanity, and kept terms faithfully with a people who had injured them deeply, and were now wholly at their mercy.

Late in the same year, Machiavelli was employed to convey to Mantua the money composing a part of the subsidy of Florence to the emperor. After having discharged this office, he was ordered to repair to Verona, "or," as his instructions say, "wherever it seems best, to learn and communicate intelligence of the actual state of affairs. You will diligently write us word of every thing that happens worthy of notice, changing the place of your abode each day." That part of Italy was, at that time, the seat of a cruel and destructive war carried on between the emperor and the republic of Venice.

There existed a great spirit of enmity between Louis XII. and the pope. Julius II. was a violent and implacable man: his former suspicions against the French monarch were changed into excessive hatred. He was animated, also, by the desire of acquiring the glory of liberating Italy from the barbarians.[124] He sent troops against Genoa, which belonged to the king; Florence had been unable to refuse a safe passage for them through their territory: at the same time, fearing that this concession had offended Louis, they despatched Machiavelli to make their excuses. June, 1510. Ætat. 41. His letters, during this mission, disclose a curious system of bribery with regard to the ministers of the king. Cardinal d'Amboise had always shown himself friendly towards the republic; but this friendship had been purchased by gold. He died a month before the arrival of the secretary, who writes thus to the signoria:—"I had a long conversation with Alessandro Nasi concerning the donations, that I might understand how I ought to regulate myself with regard to them. He promised the chancellor Robertet and the marshal Chaumont d'Amboise to pay what is due to them, during the ensuing month of August. He told me, that he did not think that the 10,000 ducats, which were sent here for the cardinal d'Amboise, and which were not paid, on account of his death, could be saved for the city, except in one way; which was, by distributing them between the chancellor and marshal, as a portion of what is due to them."

He had an audience with the king at Blois. There was no Florentine ambassador at this time at the French court; Machiavelli was merely an envoy, with his title of secretary: the king, therefore, treated him with little ceremony; but he received him kindly, declaring his belief in the friendship of Florence, but desiring some further proof of it. "Secretary," he said, "I am not at enmity with the pope, nor any one else; but as new friendships and enmities arise each day, I wish your government to declare at once what they will do in my favour: and do you write word to them, that I offer all the forces of this kingdom, and to come in person, to save their state, if necessary."[125]

It was a difficult part for Florence, between France their ancient ally, and the stern vindictive pope. Some time before, during their difficulties, the republic had in some degree changed their form of government, and elected a gonfaloniere or doge for life, instead of changing every year; their choice had fallen on Pietro Soderini, a man of integrity, but feeble and timid. The king of France, pushed to the utmost by the pope, determined to call together a council, to dethrone him. Florence offered him the city of Pisa, for it to be held; and then, terrified by the menaces of Julius II., sent Machiavelli to Louis, to endeavour to recall this offer, but in vain. 1511. Ætat. 42. The council met, and the secretary was sent to attend upon it; it came to nothing, however. Only four cardinals met, they were ill treated by the people, discountenanced by the Italian clergy, and dissatisfied with themselves: after holding two sessions at Pisa, they transferred themselves to Milan.

The result of this open attack of Louis upon the power of the pope animated the latter to renewed endeavours to expel the king from Italy: he formed a league with Spain and Venice against the French power, and a disastrous war was the consequence. 1512. Ætat. 43. At one time the French obtained a victory at Ravenna, which was detrimental to them, since Gaston de Foix and 10,000 of their bravest soldiers were left on the field of battle. Florence remained neuter during this struggle, but the republic was accused of a secret partiality for France, and its punishment was resolved upon at the diet of Mantua.

The Medici family still hovered round Florence, desirous of reinstating themselves in their ancient seats, and of reassuming the power enjoyed by their forefathers. Piero de' Medici had fallen in the battle of the Gariglano, some years before; he left a son named Lorenzo, and a daughter, Clarice. His brother the cardinal Giovanni had, while he perceived his cause hopeless, quitted Italy, and visited many parts of France and Germany, nor returned to Rome till the elevation of Julius II.: from that time he took an important part in the public affairs of Italy, and was appointed legate during the war. His influence was exerted during the diet of Mantua, and the punishment of Florence was decreed to consist in the overthrow of the existing government, and the restoration of the Medici. The details of the expedition of the allies against the republic are related by Machiavelli in a private letter, which, though highly interesting, is too long to extract.[126] The gonfaloniere Soderini exerted some energy at the commencement of the struggle, but was unable to hold out long. The army, under the command of the viceroy of Naples, entered Tuscany, and taking Prato by assault, massacred its inhabitants without respect for age or sex. The Florentines were alarmed by this cruelty, and resolved to submit. Soderini and his partisans quitted the city and repaired to Siena, and the Medici entered Florence. The cardinal was at their head, accompanied by his younger brother Giuliano, his nephew Lorenzo, son of Piero, and his cousin Julius de' Medici, descended from the brother of Cosmo.

Thus fell a government which Machiavelli had served faithfully for fourteen years. His labours had been great during this period, the honours he enjoyed of no conspicuous nature, and his emoluments were very slender. When on his various missions, he was allowed only a trifling addition to his salary as secretary, which frequently was not commensurate to his increased expenditure, and afforded no room for luxury or display. "It is true," he writes to the signoria from Verona, "that I spend more than the ducat a day that you allow me for my expenses; nevertheless, now, as heretofore, I shall be satisfied with whatever you please to give." There was nothing mercenary in Machiavelli's disposition, and he seems perfectly content with continuing in the office he enjoyed, without rising higher. He went on his legations always in the character of envoy, at such times when the republic thought it best to treat by means of a delegate less costly and of less authority than an ambassador. Thus his letters often ask to be replaced by a minister entrusted with more extensive powers. Evidently, throughout his active career, he had the good of his country only at heart. He was steady, faithful, and industrious: he recommended himself to the powers to whom he was sent by his intelligence and his want, of pretension. Up to the moment of Soderini's exile, he acted for the Gonfaloniere and his council. His last office was to gather the militia together, for the purpose of checking the advance of the viceroy through the passages of the Apennines. He was too late, and his forces were too scanty; for Pietro Soderini, timid and temporising, did not give credit to the extent of danger that menaced him till the last moment. His fear of appearing ambitious, and making himself obnoxious to his fellow citizens, prevented him from taking those resolute measures necessary for his safety: but Machiavelli continued faithful to him, till the moment he quitted the city. Then he turned his eyes to the new government and the Medici, who, though introduced under had auspices, showed no disposition to tyrannise over their fellow-citizens. He was poor, and had a large family; and, though a lover of liberty, was not personally attached to the fallen Gonfaloniere. The forms of government continued the same, and he was still secretary to the Council of Ten. He desired and expected to continue in office, and to exercise functions, which could not be otherwise than beneficial to his country.

His hopes were deceived: he was considered by the Medici as too firm an adherent of the adverse party. He was deprived of his place, and sentenced not to quit for one year the territory of the republic, nor to enter the palace of government. But this was not the end, it was only the beginning, of his disasters. Shortly after, the enemies of the Medici conspired against them: the conspiracy was discovered, and two of the chief among them were beheaded. Machiavelli was supposed to be implicated in the plot: he was thrown into prison, and put to the torture. No confession could be extorted from him, and it is possible that he was entirely innocent of the alleged crime. He was soon after comprised in the act of amnesty published by the new pope. On the death of Julius II., cardinal de' Medici was elevated to the pontifical throne; he assumed the name of Leo X., and signalised his exaltation by this act of clemency. On his liberation Machiavelli wrote to his friend Francesco Vettori, the Florentine ambassador at the papal court, who had exerted himself in his favour, in these terms:—"You have heard from Paolo Vettori that I am come out of prison, to the universal joy of this city. I will not relate the long story of my misfortunes; and will only say, that fate has done her utmost to bring them about; but, thank God, they are at an end. I hope to be safe for the future, partly because I intend to be more cautious, and partly because the times are more liberal and less suspicious."

1513. Ætat. 44.

Francesco Vettori, on hearing of his liberation, had already written, and their letters crossed on the road. "Honoured friend," he wrote, "I have suffered greater grief during these last eight months than I ever endured during the course of my whole life before: but the worst was when I knew that you were arrested, as I feared that, without cause or fault of yours, you would be put to the torture, as was really the case. I am sorry that I could not assist you, as you had a right to expect; but as soon as the pope was created, I asked him no favour except your liberation, which I am glad to find had already taken place. And now, dear friend, I have to entreat you to take heart during this persecution, as you have done on other occasions: and I hope, as things are now tranquil, and their (the Medici) good fortune transcends all imagination, that you will soon he permitted to quit Tuscany. If I remain here, I wish you would come to me, for as long a time as you like."

"Rome, 15th of March, 1513.

Machiavelli replies:—

"Your very kind letter has made me forget my past disasters; and although I was convinced of the affection you bore me, yet your letter delighted me. I thank you heartily, and pray God that I may be able to show my gratitude to your advantage. You may derive this pleasure from my misfortunes, that I think well of myself for the courage with which I bore them, so that I feel myself of more value than I before gave myself credit for: and if my masters, the magnificent Giuliano and your Paolo, to whom I owe my life, will raise me from the earth, I think they will hereafter have cause to congratulate themselves. If they will not, I shall live as I have done before; for I was born poor, and I learnt to suffer before I learnt to enjoy. If you remain at Rome, I will spend some time with you, as you advise. All our friends salute you. Every day we assemble at some lady's house, so to recover our strength. Yesterday we went to see the procession in the house of Sandra di Pero, and thus we pass our time during this universal rejoicing, enjoying the remnant of life, which appears to me like a dream. Valete.

"Florence, 18th of March, 1513.

From this time till the end of his life we possess a series of Machiavelli's private correspondence, of the most valuable kind. His chief friend was Vettori, who continued to reside as ambassador at Rome. Some of their letters are long political discussions, which Vettori drew Machiavelli in to write, that he might show them to pope Leo X., and excite him to admire and employ his talents. His endeavours were without success. Machiavelli continued for many years to live in obscurity, sometimes at Florence, sometimes at his country-house at San Casciano, a bathing town among the hills, south of Pisa. His letters from Florence contain the gossip of their acquaintance,—amusing anecdotes that paint the manners, while they give us no exalted idea of the morals, of the Italians of those days. Machiavelli himself had no poetry nor delicacy of imagination: his feelings were impetuous, and his active mind required some passion or pursuit to fill it. He bitterly laments the inaction of his life, and expresses an ardent desire to be employed. Meanwhile, he created occupation for himself; and it is one of the lessons that we may derive from becoming acquainted with the feelings and actions of celebrated men, to learn that this very period, during which Machiavelli repined at the neglect of his contemporaries, and the tranquillity of his life, was that during which his fame took root, and which brought his name down to us. He occupied his leisure in writing those works which have occasioned his immortality. No one would have searched the Florentine archives for his public correspondence, acute and instructive as it is, nor would his private letters now lie before us, if he had not established a name through his other writings. He wrote them to bring himself into present notice, and to show the Medici the worth of that man whom they dishonoured and neglected.

One of his letters from the country to Vettori, is so interesting, and so necessary to the appreciation of his character, that we give it at length:—

"Tarde non furon mai grazie divine. Divine favours never come too late. I say this, because it seemed to me that I had, not lost, but mislaid your kindness, you having remained so long without writing to me, that I wondered what might be the cause. Your last of the 23d dissipated my doubts, and I am delighted to find how quietly and regularly you fulfil your office. I advise you to go on thus; for whosoever neglects his own affairs for those of others, injures himself and gets no thanks. As fortune chooses to dispose of our lives, let her alone. Do not exert yourself, but wait till she urges other men to do something, when it will be time for you to come forward, and for me to say. Here I am. I cannot thank you in any way except by giving you an account of my life here; and you may see whether it is worth exchanging for yours.

"I remain at my country house; and since the last events I have not spent in all twenty days in Florence. I have hitherto been killing thrushes. Rising before daylight I prepared my snares, and set off with a bundle of cages at my back, so that I resembled Geta, when he returns from the harbour with Amphytrion's books. I took two or at most seven thrushes each day.[127] Thus passed September, since when, to my great annoyance, this diversion has failed me; and my life has been such as I will now detail. I rise with the sun, and go to a wood of mine, which I am cutting; where I remain a couple of hours, reviewing the work of the past day, and talking with the woodcutters, who are always in trouble either for themselves or their neighbours. I have a thousand entertaining things to tell you, which have happened with regard to this wood[128], between me and Fresino da Panzaro and others, who wanted to buy some of the wood. Frosino sent for several loads without saying a word to me; and on payment wanted to keep back ten livres, which he says he ought to have had from me four years ago, having won it at play, at the house of Antonio Guicciardini. I began to play the devil, and to accuse the carrier of cheating, on which G. Machiavelli interfered, and brought us to agree. When the north wind blew, Battista Guicciardini, Filippo Ginori, Tommaso del Bene, and several other citizens took a load. I promised some to all, and sent one to Tommaso, half of which went to Florence, because he and his wife and children were there to receive it. So, seeing I gained nothing by it, I told the others that I had no more wood, which made them all very angry, especially Battista, who numbers this among other state troubles. When I leave the wood I go to a fountain, where I watch my bird nets with a book in hand; either Dante or Petrarch, or one of the minor Latin poets—Tibullus, Ovid, or one similar. I read the accounts of their loves; I think of my own, and for a while enjoy these thoughts. Then I go to the inn on the road side; I talk with the passers by; ask the news of their villages; I hear many things, and remark on the various tastes and fancies of men. Meanwhile the hour of dinner arrives, and I dine with my family on such food as my poor house and slight patrimony afford. When I have dined, I return to the inn; where I usually find the host, a butcher, a miller, and two kiln men: with these I associate for the rest of the day, playing at cricca and tric-trac. We have a thousand squabbles; angry words are used, often about a farthing, and we wrangle so loudly, that you might hear us at San Casciano. Immersed in this vulgarity, I exhaust my spirits, and give free course to my evil fortune; letting her tread me thus under foot, with the hope that she will at last become ashamed of herself.