the new machiavelli-第2节

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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　dull；　my　imagination　grows　giddy　with　

dazzling　intimations　of　the　human　splendours　the　justly　organised　

state　may　yet　attain。　　I　glimpse　for　a　bewildering　instant　the　

heights　that　may　be　scaled；　the　splendid　enterprises　made　possible。



But　the　appeal　goes　out　now　in　other　forms；　in　a　book　that　catches　

at　thousands　of　readers　for　the　eye　of　a　Prince　diffused。　　It　is　the　

old　appeal　indeed　for　the　unification　of　human　effort；　the　ending　of　

confusions；　but　instead　of　the　Machiavellian　deference　to　a　

flattered　lord；　a　man　cries　out　of　his　heart　to　the　unseen　

fellowship　about　him。　　The　last　written　dedication　of　all　those　I　

burnt　last　night；　was　to　no　single　man；　but　to　the　socially　

constructive　passionin　any　man。　。　。　。



There　is；　moreover；　a　second　great　difference　in　kind　between　my　

world　and　Machiavelli's。　　We　are　discovering　women。　　It　is　as　if　

they　had　come　across　a　vast　interval　since　his　time；　into　the　very　

chamber　of　the　statesman。





2



In　Machiavelli's　outlook　the　interest　of　womanhood　was　in　a　region　

of　life　almost　infinitely　remote　from　his　statecraft。　　They　were　the　

vehicle　of　children；　but　only　Imperial　Rome　and　the　new　world　of　to…

day　have　ever　had　an　inkling　of　the　significance　that　might　give　

them　in　the　state。　　They　did　their　work；　he　thought；　as　the　ploughed　

earth　bears　its　crops。　　Apart　from　their　function　of　fertility　they　

gave　a　humorous　twist　to　life；　stimulated　worthy　men　to　toil；　and　

wasted　the　hours　of　Princes。　　He　left　the　thought　of　women　outside　

with　his　other　dusty　things　when　he　went　into　his　study　to　write；　

dismissed　them　from　his　mind。　　But　our　modern　world　is　burthened　

with　its　sense　of　the　immense；　now　half　articulate；　significance　of　

women。　　They　stand　now；　as　it　were；　close　beside　the　silver　

candlesticks；　speaking　as　Machiavelli　writes；　until　he　stays　his　pen　

and　turns　to　discuss　his　writing　with　them。



It　is　this　gradual　discovery　of　sex　as　a　thing　collectively　

portentous　that　I　have　to　mingle　with　my　statecraft　if　my　picture　is　

to　be　true　which　has　turned　me　at　length　from　a　treatise　to　the　

telling　of　my　own　story。　　In　my　life　I　have　paralleled　very　closely　

the　slow　realisations　that　are　going　on　in　the　world　about　me。　　I　

began　life　ignoring　women；　they　came　to　me　at　first　perplexing　and　

dishonouring；　only　very　slowly　and　very　late　in　my　life　and　after　

misadventure；　did　I　gauge　the　power　and　beauty　of　the　love　of　man　

and　woman　and　learnt　how　it　must　needs　frame　a　justifiable　vision　of　

the　ordered　world。　　Love　has　brought　me　to　disaster；　because　my　

career　had　been　planned　regardless　of　its　possibility　and　value。　　

But　Machiavelli；　it　seems　to　me；　when　he　went　into　his　study；　left　

not　only　the　earth　of　life　outside　but　its　unsuspected　soul。





3



Like　Machiavelli　at　San　Casciano；　if　I　may　take　this　analogy　one　

step　further；　I　too　am　an　exile。　　Office　and　leading　are　closed　to　

me。　　The　political　career　that　promised　so　much　for　me　is　shattered　

and　ended　for　ever。



I　look　out　from　this　vine…wreathed　veranda　under　the　branches　of　a　

stone　pine；　I　see　wide　and　far　across　a　purple　valley　whose　sides　

are　terraced　and　set　with　houses　of　pine　and　ivory；　the　Gulf　of　

Liguria　gleaming　sapphire　blue；　and　cloud…like　baseless　mountains　

hanging　in　the　sky；　and　I　think　of　lank　and　coaly　steamships　heaving　

on　the　grey　rollers　of　the　English　Channel　and　darkling　streets　wet　

with　rain；　I　recall　as　if　I　were　back　there　the　busy　exit　from　

Charing　Cross；　the　cross　and　the　money…changers'　offices；　the　

splendid　grime　of　giant　London　and　the　crowds　going　perpetually　to　

and　fro；　the　lights　by　night　and　the　urgency　and　eventfulness　of　

that　great　rain…swept　heart　of　the　modern　world。



It　is　difficult　to　think　we　have　left　thatfor　many　years　if　not　

for　ever。　　In　thought　I　walk　once　more　in　Palace　Yard　and　hear　the　

clink　and　clatter　of　hansoms　and　the　quick　quiet　whirr　of　motors；　I　

go　in　vivid　recent　memories　through　the　stir　in　the　lobbies；　I　sit　

again　at　eventful　dinners　in　those　old　dining…rooms　like　cellars　

below　the　Housedinners　that　ended　with　shrill　division　bells；　I　

think　of　huge　clubs　swarming　and　excited　by　the　bulletins　of　that　

electoral　battle　that　was　for　me　the　opening　opportunity。　　I　see　the　

stencilled　names　and　numbers　go　up　on　the　green　baize；　constituency　

after　constituency；　amidst　murmurs　or　loud　shouting。　。　。　。



It　is　over　for　me　now　and　vanished。　　That　opportunity　will　come　no　

more。　　Very　probably　you　have　heard　already　some　crude　inaccurate　

version　of　our　story　and　why　I　did　not　take　office；　and　have　formed　

your　partial　judgement　on　me。　　And　so　it　is　I　sit　now　at　my　stone　

table；　half　out　of　life　already；　in　a　warm；　large；　shadowy　leisure；　

splashed　with　sunlight　and　hung　with　vine　tendrils；　with　paper　

before　me　to　distil　such　wisdom　as　I　can；　as　Machiavelli　in　his　

exile　sought　to　do；　from　the　things　I　have　learnt　and　felt　during　

the　career　that　has　ended　now　in　my　divorce。



I　climbed　high　and　fast　from　small　beginnings。　　I　had　the　mind　of　my　

party。　　I　do　not　know　where　I　might　not　have　ended；　but　for　this　red　

blaze　that　came　out　of　my　unguarded　nature　and　closed　my　career　for　

ever。







CHAPTER　THE　SECOND



BROMSTEAD　AND　MY　FATHER





1



I　dreamt　first　of　states　and　cities　and　political　things　when　I　was　

a　little　boy　in　knickerbockers。



When　I　think　of　how　such　things　began　in　my　mind；　there　comes　back　

to　me　the　memory　of　an　enormous　bleak　room　with　its　ceiling　going　up　

to　heaven　and　its　floor　covered　irregularly　with　patched　and　

defective　oilcloth　and　a　dingy　mat　or　so　and　a　〃surround〃　as　they　

call　it；　of　dark　stained　wood。　　Here　and　there　against　the　wall　are　

trunks　and　boxes。　　There　are　cupboards　on　either　side　of　the　

fireplace　and　bookshelves　with　books　above　them；　and　on　the　wall　and　

rather　tattered　is　a　large　yellow…varnished　geological　map　of　the　

South　of　England。　　Over　the　mantel　is　a　huge　lump　of　white　coral　

rock　and　several　big　fossil　bones；　and　above　that　hangs　the　portrait　

of　a　brainy　gentleman；　sliced　in　half　and　displaying　an　interior　of　

intricate　detail　and　much　vigour　of　coloring。　　It　is　the　floor　I　

think　of　chiefly；　over　the　oilcloth　of　which；　assumed　to　be　land；　

spread　towns　and　villages　and　forts　of　wooden　bricks；　there　are　

steep　square　hills　（geologically；　volumes　of　Orr's　CYCLOPAEDIA　OF　

THE　SCIENCES）　and　the　cracks　and　spaces　of　the　floor　and　the　bare　

brown　surround　were　the　water　channels　and　open　sea　of　that　

continent　of　mine。



I　still　remember　with　infinite　gratitude　the　great…uncle　to　whom　I　

owe　my　bricks。　　He　must　have　been　one　of　those　rare　adults　who　have　

not　forgotten　the　chagrins　and　dreams　of　childhood。　　He　was　a　

prosperous　west　of　England　builder；　including　my　father　he　had　three　

nephews；　and　for　each　of　them　he　caused　a　box　of　bricks　to　be　made