the new machiavelli-第1章

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The　New　Machiavelli　



by　H。　G。　Wells　　＇Herbert　George　Wells＇







CONTENTS



BOOK　THE　FIRST



THE　MAKING　OF　A　MAN



I。　　　CONCERNING　A　BOOK　THAT　WAS　NEVER　WRITTEN

II。　　BROMSTEAD　AND　MY　FATHER

III。　SCHOLASTIC

IV。　　ADOLESCENCE





BOOK　THE　SECOND



MARGARET



I。　　　MARGARET　IN　STAFFORDSHIRE

II。　　MARGARET　IN　LONDON

III。　MARGARET　IN　VENICE

IV。　　THE　HOUSE　IN　WESTMINSTER





BOOK　THE　THIRD



THE　HEART　OF　POLITICS



I。　　　THE　RIDDLE　FOR　THE　STATESMAN

II。　　SEEKING　ASSOCIATES

III。　SECESSION

IV。　　THE　BESETTING　OF　SEX





BOOK　THE　FOURTH



ISABEL



I。　　　LOVE　AND　SUCCESS

II。　　THE　IMPOSSIBLE　POSITION

III。　THE　BREAKING　POINT







BOOK　THE　FIRST



THE　MAKING　OF　A　MAN







CHAPTER　THE　FIRST



CONCERNING　A　BOOK　THAT　WAS　NEVER　WRITTEN





1



Since　I　came　to　this　place　I　have　been　very　restless；　wasting　my　

energies　in　the　futile　beginning　of　ill…conceived　books。　　One　does　

not　settle　down　very　readily　at　two　and　forty　to　a　new　way　of　

living；　and　I　have　found　myself　with　the　teeming　interests　of　the　

life　I　have　abandoned　still　buzzing　like　a　swarm　of　homeless　bees　in　

my　head。　　My　mind　has　been　full　of　confused　protests　and　

justifications。　　In　any　case　I　should　have　found　difficulties　enough　

in　expressing　the　complex　thing　I　have　to　tell；　but　it　has　added　

greatly　to　my　trouble　that　I　have　a　great　analogue；　that　a　certain　

Niccolo　Machiavelli　chanced　to　fall　out　of　politics　at　very　much　the　

age　I　have　reached；　and　wrote　a　book　to　engage　the　restlessness　of　

his　mind；　very　much　as　I　have　wanted　to　do。　　He　wrote　about　the　

relation　of　the　great　constructive　spirit　in　politics　to　individual　

character　and　weaknesses；　and　so　far　his　achievement　lies　like　a　

deep　rut　in　the　road　of　my　intention。　　It　has　taken　me　far　astray。　　

It　is　a　matter　of　many　weeks　nowdiversified　indeed　by　some　long　

drives　into　the　mountains　behind　us　and　a　memorable　sail　to　Genoa　

across　the　blue　and　purple　waters　that　drowned　Shelleysince　I　

began　a　laboured　and　futile　imitation　of　〃The　Prince。〃　　I　sat　up　

late　last　night　with　the　jumbled　accumulation；　and　at　last　made　a　

little　fire　of　olive　twigs　and　burnt　it　all；　sheet　by　sheetto　

begin　again　clear　this　morning。



But　incidentally　I　have　re…read　most　of　Machiavelli；　not　excepting　

those　scandalous　letters　of　his　to　Vettori；　and　it　seems　to　me；　now　

that　I　have　released　myself　altogether　from　his　literary　precedent；　

that　he　still　has　his　use　for　me。　　In　spite　of　his　vast　prestige　I　

claim　kindred　with　him　and　set　his　name　upon　my　title…page；　in　

partial　intimation　of　the　matter　of　my　story。　　He　takes　me　with　

sympathy　not　only　by　reason　of　the　dream　he　pursued　and　the　humanity　

of　his　politics；　but　by　the　mixture　of　his　nature。　　His　vices　come　

in；　essential　to　my　issue。　　He　is　dead　and　gone；　all　his　immediate　

correlations　to　party　and　faction　have　faded　to　insignificance；　

leaving　only　on　the　one　hand　his　broad　method　and　conceptions；　and　

upon　the　other　his　intimate　living　personality；　exposed　down　to　its　

salacious　corners　as　the　soul　of　no　contemporary　can　ever　be　

exposed。　　Of　those　double　strands　it　is　I　have　to　write；　of　the　

subtle　protesting　perplexing　play　of　instinctive　passion　and　desire　

against　too　abstract　a　dream　of　statesmanship。　　But　things　that　

seemed　to　lie　very　far　apart　in　Machiavelli's　time　have　come　near　to　

one　another；　it　is　no　simple　story　of　white　passions　struggling　

against　the　red　that　I　have　to　tell。



The　state…making　dream　is　a　very　old　dream　indeed　in　the　world's　

history。　　It　plays　too　small　a　part　in　novels。　　Plato　and　Confucius　

are　but　the　highest　of　a　great　host　of　minds　that　have　had　a　kindred　

aspiration；　have　dreamt　of　a　world　of　men　better　ordered；　happier；　

finer；　securer。　　They　imagined　cities　grown　more　powerful　and　

peoples　made　rich　and　multitudinous　by　their　efforts；　they　thought　

in　terms　of　harbours　and　shining　navies；　great　roads　engineered　

marvellously；　jungles　cleared　and　deserts　conquered；　the　ending　of　

muddle　and　diseases　and　dirt　and　misery；　the　ending　of　confusions　

that　waste　human　possibilities；　they　thought　of　these　things　with　

passion　and　desire　as　other　men　think　of　the　soft　lines　and　tender　

beauty　of　women。　　Thousands　of　men　there　are　to…day　almost　mastered　

by　this　white　passion　of　statecraft；　and　in　nearly　every　one　who　

reads　and　thinks　you　could　find；　I　suspect；　some　sort　of　answering　

response。　　But　in　every　one　it　presents　itself　extraordinarily　

entangled　and　mixed　up　with　other；　more　intimate　things。



It　was　so　with　Machiavelli。　　I　picture　him　at　San　Casciano　as　he　

lived　in　retirement　upon　his　property　after　the　fall　of　the　

Republic；　perhaps　with　a　twinge　of　the　torture　that　punished　his　

conspiracy　still　lurking　in　his　limbs。　　Such　twinges　could　not　stop　

his　dreaming。　　Then　it　was　〃The　Prince〃　was　written。　　All　day　he　

went　about　his　personal　affairs；　saw　homely　neighbours；　dealt　with　

his　family；　gave　vent　to　everyday　passions。　　He　would　sit　in　the　

shop　of　Donato　del　Corno　gossiping　curiously　among　vicious　company；　

or　pace　the　lonely　woods　of　his　estate；　book　in　hand；　full　of　bitter　

meditations。　　In　the　evening　he　returned　home　and　went　to　his　study。　　

At　the　entrance；　he　says；　he　pulled　off　his　peasant　clothes　covered　

with　the　dust　and　dirt　of　that　immediate　life；　washed　himself；　put　

on　his　〃noble　court　dress；〃　closed　the　door　on　the　world　of　toiling　

and　getting；　private　loving；　private　hating　and　personal　regrets；　

sat　down　with　a　sigh　of　contentment　to　those　wider　dreams。



I　like　to　think　of　him　so；　with　brown　books　before　him　lit　by　the　

light　of　candles　in　silver　candlesticks；　or　heading　some　new　chapter　

of　〃The　Prince；〃　with　a　grey　quill　in　his　clean　fine　hand。



So　writing；　he　becomes　a　symbol　for　me；　and　the　less　none　because　of　

his　animal　humour；　his　queer　indecent　side；　and　because　of　such　

lapses　into　utter　meanness　as　that　which　made　him　sound　the　note　of　

the　begging…letter　writer　even　in　his　〃Dedication；〃　reminding　His　

Magnificence　very　urgently；　as　if　it　were　the　gist　of　his　matter；　of　

the　continued　malignity　of　fortune　in　his　affairs。　　These　flaws　

complete　him。　　They　are　my　reason　for　preferring　him　as　a　symbol　to　

Plato；　of　whose　indelicate　side　we　know　nothing；　and　whose　

correspondence　with　Dionysius　of　Syracuse　has　perished；　or　to　

Confucius　who　travelled　China　in　search　of　a　Prince　he　might　

instruct；　with　lapses　and　indignities　now　lost　in　the　mists　of　ages。　

They　have　achieved　the　apotheosis　of　individual　forgetfulness；　and　

Plato　has　the　added　glory　of　that　acquired　beauty；　that　bust　of　the　

Indian　Bacchus　which　is　now　indissolubly　mingled　with　his　tradition。　　

They　have　passed　into　the　world　of　the　ideal；　and　every　humbug　takes　

his　freedoms　with　their　names。　　But　Machiavelli；　more　recent　and　

less　popular；　is　still　all　human　and　earthly；　a　fallen　brotherand　

at　the　same　time　that　nobly　dressed　and　nobly　dreaming　writer　at　the　

desk。



That　vision　of　the　strengthened　and　perfected　state　is　protagonist　

in　my　story。　　But　as　I　re…read　〃The　Prince〃　and　thought　out　the　

manner　of　my　now　abandoned　project；　I　came　to　perceive　how　that　stir　

and　whirl　of　human　thought　one　calls　by　way　of　embodiment　the　French　

Revolution；　has　altered　absolutely　the　approach　to　such　a　question。　　

Machiavelli；　like　Plato　and　Pythagoras　and　Confucius　two　hundred　odd　

decades　before　him；　saw　only　one　method　by　which　a　thinking　man；　

himself　not　powerful；　might　do　the　work　of　state　building；　and　that　

was　by　seizing　the　imagination　of　a　Prince。　　Directly　these　men　

turned　their　thoughts　towards　realisation；　their　attitudes　became

what　shall　I　call　it？secretarial。　　Machiavelli；　it　is　true；　had　

some　little　doubts　about　the　particular　Prince　he　wanted；　whether　it　

was　Caesar　Borgia　of　Giuliano　or　Lorenzo；　but　a　Prince　it　had　to　be。　　

Before　I　saw　clearly　the　differences　of　our　own　time　I　searched　my　

mind　for　the　modern　equivalent　of　a　Prince。　　At　various　times　I　

redrafted　a　parallel　dedication　to　the　Prince　of　Wales；　to　the　

Emperor　William；　to　Mr。　Evesham；　to　a　certain　newspaper　proprietor　

who　was　once　my　schoolfellow　at　City　Merchants'；　to　Mr。　J。　D。　

Rockefellerall　of　them　men　in　their　several　ways　and　circumstances　

and　possibilities；　princely。　　Yet　in　every　case　my　pen　bent　of　its　

own　accord　towards　irony　becausebecause；　although　at　first　I　did　

not　realise　it；　I　myself　am　just　as　free　to　be　a　prince。　　The　appeal　

was　unfair。　　The　old　sort　of　Prince；　the　old　little　principality　has　

vanished　from　the　world。　　The　commonweal　is　one　man's　absolute　

estate　and　responsibility　no　more。　　In　Machiavelli's　time　it　was　

indeed　to　an　extreme　degree　one　man's　affair。　　But　the　days　of　the　

Prince　who　planned　and　directed　and　was　the　source　and　centre　of　all　

power　are　ended。　　We　are　in　a　condition　of　affairs　infinitely　more　

complex；　in　which　every　prince　and　statesman　is　something　of　a　

servant　and　every　intelligent　human　being　something　of　a　Prince。　　No　

magnificent　pensive　Lorenzos　remain　any　more　in　this　world　for　

secretarial　hopes。



In　a　sense　it　is　wonderful　how　power　has　vanished；　in　a　sense　

wonderful　how　it　has　increased。　　I　sit　here；　an　unarmed　discredited　

man；　at　a　small　writing…table　in　a　little　defenceless　dwelling　among　

the　vines；　and　no　human　being　can　stop　my　pen　except　by　the　

deliberate　self…immolation　of　murdering　me；　nor　destroy　its　fruits　

except　by　theft　and　crime。　　No　King；　no　council；　can　seize　and　

torture　me；　no　Church；　no　nation　silence　me。　　Such　powers　of　

ruthless　and　complete　suppression　have　vanished。　　But　that　is　not　

because　power　has　diminished；　but　because　it　has　increased　and　

become　multitudinous；　because　it　has　dispersed　itself　and　

specialised。　　It　is　no　longer　a　negative　power　we　have；　but　

positive；　we　cannot　prevent；　but　we　can　do。　　This　age；　far　beyond　

all　previous　ages；　is　full　of　powerful　men；　men　who　might；　if　they　

had　the　will　for　it；　achieve　stupendous　things。



The　things　that　might　be　done　to…day！　　The　things　indeed　that　are　

being　done！　　It　is　the　latter　that　give　one　so　vast　a　sense　of　the　

former。　　When　I　think　of　the　progress　of　physical　and　mechanical　

science；　of　medicine　and　sanitation　during　the　last　century；　when　I　

measure　the　increase　in　general　education　and　average　efficiency；　

the　power　now　available　for　human　service；　the　merely　physical　

increment；　and　compare　it　with　anything　that　has　ever　been　at　man's　

disposal　before；　and　when　I　think　of　what　a　little　straggling；　

incidental；　undisciplined　and　uncoordinated　minority　of　inventors；　

experimenters；　educators；　writers　and　organisers　has　achieved　this　

development　of　human　possibilities；　achieved　it　in　spite　of　the　

disregard　and　aimlessness　of　the　huge　majority；　and　the　passionate　

resistance　of　the　active　du