The Discourses

Many believe that Rome’s empire is acquired by good fortune, but Rome also manages its military actions so that it never fights on two fronts at once, “waging war upon whichever of its neighbours it chooses, while holding the others at bay with its diligence” (154). Great powers further away, such as Carthage, Gaul, and Macedonia, ignore Rome’s growth until it becomes too large and powerful to stop. The Romans also always make alliances with opponents of their enemy. 

Throughout history, “cities have never enlarged their dominion or increased their wealth unless they have lived in liberty” (156). This is so “because it is not the private good but the common good that makes cities great. And without any doubt, this common good is pursued only in a republic” (157). Republics tend to create value for most of their citizens, whereas, with a prince, “in most cases whatever works to his benefit harms the city, while whatever works to the city’s benefit harms him […] such cities go into decline” (157).

Rome’s first opponents are people who love their own liberty and fight hard to protect it, in part because they place more value on pride than do Christians: “For while our religion has shown us truth and the true path, it also makes us place a lower value on worldly honour” (158). Modern religion gives precedence to humility and suffering rather than strength and bravery: “This way of living seems, therefore, to have made the world weak and to have given it over to be plundered by wicked men” (159). Machiavelli considers the modern religious precepts “false interpretations” (159) that weaken the will of people to protect their freedoms.

Despite the vigor of the ancients, however, “the Roman empire with its arms and its grandeur destroyed all the republics and all the self-governing states” (159) except for a few “alliances among republics that were extremely well armed and obstinate in the defense of their liberty” (160).

Freedom makes a republic’s citizens feel safe to procreate and prosper, and thus republics tend to flourish “at a miraculous rate” (160). The worst fate for a republic is to be subjugated by another republic because the conquering city will likely be long-lived, and “the goal of a republic is to enervate and weaken all other bodies in order to strengthen its own” (161). 

Rome increases its power by bringing foreigners into the city, who then become part of its armed forces. Early on, Rome fields 80,000 men, whereas Sparta, which restricts foreign entry, at best arms 20,000 and can never control even a handful of other cities for long. 

The Etruscans engage in the first method of expansion, which is to form a confederation of equals with other cities. They oversee most of northern Italy for some time. The second method, used by the Romans, is to make alliances “but not to the extent that you do not retain the position of command, the seat of the empire, and the credit for its achievements” (164). Then, “[t]he third method is quickly to obtain subjects rather than allies for yourself, as did the Spartans and Athenians. Of these three methods, this last one is entirely useless” (164), since it involves conquering more territory than smaller cities can hold.

The best method is Rome’s, since their allies, “without realizing it, came to subjugate themselves through their own labours and with their own blood” (165), and soon are surrounded by other Roman provinces. The second-best approach is a confederation such as the Etruscans’, which, though it cannot contain much territory, is easy to hold, and “you do not easily bring wars down on your own back” (165).

Confederations are decentralized, which reduces coordination in battle, and the cities share resources, unlike a single great city, “which can hope to enjoy them all by itself” (166). The Swiss make a good example of such a confederation. Such leagues have an upper limit of 12 to 14 cities: “[W]hen these confederations go beyond their limits, they soon come to ruin” (166).

Confederations are much easier to maintain than Roman-style empires; after all, Rome is the only such example: “Even though imitation of the Romans may seem difficult, imitation of the ancient Etruscans should not seem so difficult” (167). 

When a new religion becomes dominant, it tries to erase the old religion. The Christians do so to the pagans: They “obliterated all of its institutions, all of its religious ceremonies, and suppressed the memory of its ancient theology” (168). Some traces remain, however, since both religions rely on the same language, Latin: “[H]ad they been capable of writing in a new language […] there would have remained no record whatsoever of past events” (168).

Another way to remove most traces of past civilizations is through famine, pestilence, and flood. Of these, flooding is the most effective. 

Rome conquers territories by using huge armies quickly and decisively; the vanquished, “in order to avoid the total destruction of their territory, came to terms” (170). Rome then establishes colonies that prosper there; this benefits the Roman treasury, which therefore “maintained these guard-posts without expense” (170). Any attacks against the colonies are met with the full might of the Roman military:

These two methods, therefore, both that of distributing the spoils and that of sending out colonies, made Rome grow rich from warfare, whereas other princes and less wise republics were impoverished from it (171). 

Colonists receive some money and small plots of land to till, but never too much of either, as “it was not reasonable for the Romans to want their men to grow too rich outside the city” (172). 

There are two causes for war, the ambition to conquer and the need to vacate one place and find another. The ambitious are satisfied with conquest, and they permit the defeated to continue their lives; those who must migrate seek to replace the locals through extermination: “This kind of war is extremely cruel and frightful” (173).

The Gauls, overpopulated, must migrate: “[W]ith all other peoples, the Romans fought only about who was to be in command, while with the Gauls they always fought for their safety” (173). The Romans must defeat them three times.

Some populations are driven violently from their homeland, only to become marauding migrants themselves, as when Moses and the Israelites travel to Syria and drive out the Maurusians, or when the Vandals invade Africa. On occasion, a small and weak population arrives in a new land and “are obliged to occupy some location with cunning” (175), ingratiating themselves with the locals and settling peacefully. 

Two friendly powers sometimes come to blows because of a third power. The Campanians, besieged by the Samnites, place themselves under Roman protection; this draws Rome into the first of its three Samnite wars. The Florentines also do this, submitting to King Robert of Naples, who must protect them against the forces of Lucca.

Carthage and Rome are at peace, but Hannibal, wishing to provoke a war, attacks Roman allies in Spain, forcing Rome to honor its commitments there, which launches the Second Punic War: “This method of starting new wars has always been customary among the powerful who hold in respect their word of honour and other such agreements” (176). 

Wealth is not enough to wage war; a prince needs faithful troops: “Money, moreover, not only will not defend you but will cause you to be plundered all the sooner” (178). Yet kings persist in believing that gold is power. When the Gauls pass through Greece, they negotiate a peace agreement with the king of Macedonia, who, to frighten them, shows off his immense treasury. This causes the Gauls to feel, not fear, but avarice, and they break the treaty and take the treasure: “[I]n this way the king was dispossessed of the very thing he had accumulated for his own defense” (178).

The Venetians suffer a defeat at one point in its history “even though their treasury was full of money, since it could not be used in their defense” (178). Ancient Rome is wiser: “[B]y waging their wars with steel, they never lacked for gold, because those who feared them brought it to them even inside their encampments” (179).

In short, “it is impossible for good soldiers to lack money, just as it is impossible for wealth alone to create good soldiers” (179). 

Sometimes states with prestige but little in the way of military strength will offer to defend another state: “[N]ot knowing how or not being able to defend themselves, they sometimes wish to engage in the enterprise of defending others” (181). The recipients soon discover that all that they have “erred in this matter by assuming that they possessed greater forces than they had” (181). 

When war is imminent and you are evenly matched, should you wait for the attack or be the first to invade? Croesus believes it is better to attack, since a victory after being attacked merely chases out the invader, while an invasion can win the enemy’s country: “Hannibal concluded that Rome could be more quickly taken from the Romans than the empire, and Italy before the other provinces” (182).

Roman general Scipio studies Hannibal’s strategy and saves Rome by doing the same, namely, attacking Carthage: “Those who hold a contrary opinion declare that whoever wishes harm to befall an enemy should draw him away from home” (182). Athens, “who remained superior as long as they waged a convenient war in their own backyard” (182), invades Sparta, which destroys the invaders and vanquishes Athens. Alfonso of Naples takes his army out to fight Charles VIII of France, is defeated and killed, his city taken.

The attackers can wear down and plunder the enemy, but the defenders know their territory better, can tie down enemy armies and restrict their resources, and use “refuges nearby and reinforcements that need not come over a long distance” (183). In short, as a defender, you “risk all your forces but not your entire fortune, whereas going off to a distant place, you risk your entire fortune but not all of your forces” (183).

Thus, to defend a country that is wealthy but ill-armed, “an enemy must be kept far from your home territory because your strength resides in your wealth and not in your army” (184). The Romans, on the other hand, with great military power, attack with a limited number of legions but defend with huge armies. 

It is unlikely “that anyone who has been placed in humble circumstances has ever attained supreme authority purely by means of open force and sincerity, but this has certainly been the case for those who have employed fraud alone” (186). The Romans at first convince their neighbors to become their allies, and “under this name the Romans made them their slaves” (186):

It is evident, therefore, that in their early expansions even the Romans did not fail to employ fraud, which must always be used by those who from small beginnings wish to ascend to sublime heights (187). 

When the Latins break an ancient treaty and attack the Samnites, Rome hesitates to respond, which makes the Latins bolder and more difficult to control: “[T]he person to whom you have conceded this possession through obvious cowardice will not stand still but will want to deprive you of other possessions” (188). It is better, then, to “prepare your forces immediately” so that the enemy “will begin to esteem you” and “other princes nearby will esteem you even more, and when you have taken up arms they will wish to assist you” (188). 

Uncertainty and ambiguity in the face of danger sends a signal of weakness to the enemy: “[S]uch ambiguity will exist when it is weak men who deliberate and make such decisions. Nor are slow and tardy decisions any less harmful” (189). The Lavinians are slow in deciding to defend the Latins: “[B]y deferring the decision, they would have come to lose in any case, as happened to them” (190).

King Louis XII of France asks for Florence’s support in his invasion of Milan; the Florentines dawdle for so long that, by the time they can agree, Louis has already had his victory, his support for Florence withers, and shortly the government of Florence nearly falls. 

Romans and Latins, after a long history of alliance, finally come to blows, their armies evenly matched. To give themselves an advantage—“that is, in order to keep their soldiers firm in their convictions, obedient to the consuls’ orders, and resolute in battle” (192)—one consul, having lost a military skirmish, sacrifices himself on the field of battle, while the other consul learns his son has violated a strict rule and has him executed. Thus inspired, the Romans win the day.

Roman armies are arranged in three ranks, with cavalry forming the wings, so that if the first rank is routed it can retreat and re-form behind the second line, and if these two are routed, the third rank will step forward. This skill has been lost, and “anyone who is organized to stand up only against the first assault, like all Christian armies today, can easily lose, because any disorder, any mediocre skill can snatch the victory away from him” (193). A line of troops or a central line of cavalry, retreating, quickly become entangled with the troops behind it, so that “only a very small incident can destroy an army” (193). 

It is a common opinion that, if there had been artillery in ancient times, Rome would not have been as successful in battle. It is also widely believed that soldiers can no longer “demonstrate or make use of their exceptional ability” (195), and that wars will soon be fought entirely by cannon fire.

In fact, artillery confers a great advantage on the attacker: “[T]here is no wall so thick that it will not collapse in a few days” (195). Meanwhile, cities cannot use artillery as well in defense, since a determined army can evade or overcome them, and a well-positioned attacker can “plunder or seize cities friendly to you, and prevent you from receiving provisions” (198). Therefore, the Romans “would have made their gains more rapidly if artillery had existed in those times” (198).

Ancient armies also have projectiles to hurl, and most well-fortified cities then and now must be won mainly through siege, so the chances for valor in both cases are rare. Artillery shells have killed few leaders; the lack of present-day valor stems “from inferior institutions and the weakness of their armies” (199).

As for the idea that cannon can dominate infantry, this is false because troops can move in such a way as to avoid most cannon fire, can capture artillery pieces, and must be present to defeat by hand the men who protect a city from occupiers. 

Foot soldiers are more important than cavalry because “a foot-soldier can go in many places where a horse cannot follow” (201), and it is harder to keep horses in formation. Cavalry are good, though, for reconnaissance, raids, and “to pursue the enemy when they are in flight” (202).

Italian princes love cavalry for their prestige and because they are cheaper than infantry, but the result is bad: “This practice, along with many defects mixed in with it, made the Italian militia so weak that this province has been easily trampled upon” (202). In one battle, Roman cavalry encounter enemy horsemen, and the Romans dismount: “[T]hey concluded that if they could not overcome the enemy on horseback, they could, by dismounting, conquer them more easily” (203).

Many examples prove the superiority of infantry to cavalry, including when “9,000 Swiss soldiers at Novara march to confront 10,000 cavalry and as many infantry and overcome them” (204). 

Except for certain German states and the Swiss, who manage to live tranquilly among themselves by keeping to their fortified cities, most republics must expand their size and power, lest they be attacked and ravaged by neighbors. For republics, however, simple conquest will lead to ruin. Instead, “it is necessary either to expand by means of leagues or to expand as the Romans did” (208).

Aside from the expense, conquest can lead to moral degradation of the conqueror, “because by filling him with their own bad habits, they make him vulnerable to being conquered by anyone who attacks him” (209). Romans manage to withstand these temptations, but modern leaders, ignoring Roman principles, can lead themselves astray. 

Auxiliaries are soldiers sent by one state to protect another. These men tend to disparage the population they protect, since those people are too weak to protect themselves. This can lead the troops to take over the city themselves: “[A] prince or an ambitious republic cannot have a better opportunity to occupy a city or a province than to be invited to send its armies to their defense” (210). 

As Rome becomes powerful, outlying cities begin to request Roman administrators to improve their own functioning; this is one of the ways the Roman Empire spreads. The Romans typically rule with a light hand, which makes them popular among their subjects:

[C]itizens […] are more content living in some tranquility under a dominion they do not see, even if there is some harshness in it, than under one that they see every day and that seems every day to reproach them with their servitude (212).

Florence takes the city of Pistoia under its wing and oversees it successfully because “with them the Florentines have always acted like brothers” (213). Elsewhere, Florence is ever at odds with several cities in Tuscany, but “if the Florentines, either by way of leagues or assistance, had domesticated and not exasperated their neighbours, at this hour they would no doubt be the lords of Tuscany” (213). 

Good men’s advice is often ignored for the more alluring suggestions of wicked counselors. Sincere rulers also sometimes make the mistake of over-relying on theories that prove false on the battlefield.

When two armies, evenly matched, prepare for battle, it’s often assumed that the victor will be worn down by the lengthy combat and thus easy prey for any third party. This often is untrue: “[I]t rarely occurs that the victor loses too many of his troops, because victorious troops perish in the midst of the battle, not in flight” (215), and because most battles are short. The Latins, defeated by the Romans, are persuaded to attack again on the belief that battle has weakened the Romans; once again, the Romans defeat them. 

Sometimes both war and peace are “equally intolerable” either because a people, “by the terms of a peace agreement, are harmed too much” or, in battle, “are obliged to become prey to those who assist them or to the enemy, in their wish to make war” (216).

When facing such dilemmas, “the Romans always avoided a middle course of action and turned to extreme measures” (216). After the long-sought victory over its difficult ally Latium, Rome considers in turn each of the Latin cities and “either rewarded them or destroyed them” (217). The luckiest get citizenship; the least lucky are dispersed and their cities razed.

Florence, on the other hand, puts down a rebellion in Arezzo and punishes the citizens but “left the city intact” (217), its people angry and still free, the region’s agriculture untaken. 

In peacetime, a city’s fortress makes a ruler “more inclined to mistreat” the subjects; it becomes a symbol of oppression. During war, it cannot be protected from an entire city’s rebellious population, and those citizens will not likely defend such a fortress against foreign attack: “Fortresses are of no use to you whatsoever, because you lose them either through the treachery of those who guard them or the violence of those who attack them, or through starvation” (222). The Romans never build them.

The count of Milan bequeaths a fortress to his son, who then oppresses his subjects; several of his successors, some of them foreign conquerors, each in turn lose control of the city to others. In Bologna, “Pope Julius II constructed a fortress in that city, and then allowed one of his governors to brutalize that people. As a result the Bolognese rebelled, and the pope immediately lost the fortress” (222). Realizing the danger, several rulers of Italian cities have dismantled their fortresses. 

A people disunited in peacetime will quickly join together to defend their homeland in war; outsiders misunderstand this to their peril: “The Veientes thought they would attack the Romans while disunited and conquer them, and this attack was the cause of the unity among the Romans and of their own ruin” (227).

Much wiser is to make an offer to mediate the dispute, and “to give small favors to the weakest faction” (227), allowing the two sides to exhaust themselves for as long as possible, until the entire city becomes an easy conquest. 

It is foolish to insult an enemy to his face; this will harden his resolve against you: “[T]hese are the things that inflame the enemy and incite him to take revenge” (228). For this reason, the Romans impose severe penalties against soldiers who insult the enemy. 

The coastal city of Tyre offers its allegiance to Alexander the Great, but with conditions; insulted, Alexander besieges the city. Tyre is well protected and supplied, and after four months Alexander offers peace on Tyre’s original terms. The people, puffed up with their success, insult him and kill his emissary; this enrages Alexander, who redoubles his efforts “with such force that he took the city and destroyed it and killed and enslaved its people” (230).

It is better to take a small win than arrogantly expect a bigger one: “But men commit this error, that is, they do not know how to set limits to their hopes, and when they base their actions on such hopes, without otherwise measuring themselves, they come to ruin” (232). 

Roman emissaries beseech the Gauls to stop attacking the Etruscans; when they refuse, the emissaries violate the law of nations and join the fighting on the Etruscan side. Rome then honors them, enraging the Gauls, who march on Rome.

A member of Philip of Macedon’s court, Pausanias, is raped by another member, Attalus. Pausanias presses a complaint to Philip, who does nothing, then later makes Attalus a provincial governor. Enraged, Pausanias kills, not Attalus, but Philip.

Machiavelli cautions that a prince “must never esteem a man so lightly that, piling injury upon injury, he believes that the injured man does not think about taking revenge despite all the danger and harm that might befall him” (234). 

Beginning with the emissaries who offend the Gauls by joining the battle, Rome makes nearly every mistake possible, until the Gauls stand at the gates of the Roman Capitol. It is as if Fortune wanted Rome to fail, perhaps to learn a lesson; then she arranges for Rome to win back its territory. In short, “men can side with fortune but not oppose her,” yet they “must never give up, for without knowing her goals as she moves along paths both crossed and unknown, men always have to hope” (236). 

Rome is saved before it must ransom its freedom from the Gauls when they besiege the Capitol. In all, Rome “never acquired territory with money, never made peace with money” (237). Only a weak state tries to buy friendship: “[T]hose things acquired with gold cannot be defended with steel” (238). Late in the Roman Empire, evil emperors begin to buy off the Parthians and Germans, “and this was the beginning of the ruin of so great an empire” (238).

Many states, including Florence, mistreat their citizens but pay off the people on the borders. This is like feeding the legs and arms but not the heart, and when an invader lops off the arms, there is nothing left to protect the heart. Rome, on the other hand, treats its central citizens well, and “the nearer the enemy came to Rome, the more powerful he found that city in resisting him” (239) 

Exiles may entreat an outside power to help them regain their land, but if the situation changes and the exiles can return home in some other fashion, “they will abandon you and draw near to others, notwithstanding whatever promises they have made to you” (240). This is because “their desire to return home is so intense that they naturally believe many things which are false, and to them they add many things with guile” (240), and an outsider can easily be fooled by their enthusiasm. 

The Romans believe a siege takes too long and is too costly, so they rarely stage one. Instead, they perform all-out assaults against cities, building battle towers, digging tunnels, using battering rams, attacking from all sides, building up embankments against city walls and scaling them, or finding confederates inside a city to let them in. None of these approaches is foolproof, and cities have good defenses against each, but the Romans are ever resourceful.

Another way Rome takes cities is through surrender, especially if a city seeks the protection of Rome, “or from a desire to be well governed” (243). The most common way, however, is by harrying a city around its edges: Rome “spent more than 450 years wearing down their neighbours with routs and raids and increasing their reputation among them by means of treaties” (244). 

Roman sends armies on campaigns led by consuls, dictators, or generals, and leaves the commanders to decide events on their own. This is part of Rome’s success, since otherwise senatorial instructions would slow down the commanders, who know better the conditions in the field: “For this reason, they wanted the consul to act on his own and for the glory to be entirely his own, his love of which they judged to be the best check and rule of thumb to make him do his best” (245).

Florence and Venice do not follow this advice and over-control of their generals, which wins them only grief.