The essential writings of Machiavelli (33 page)

It is impossible to guard oneself from the reasons conspiracies are uncovered—malice, imprudence, or thoughtlessness—whenever those in the know exceed three or four in number. If more than one conspirator is caught, it is impossible not to uncover the plot, because two men will never manage to make their explanations tally. When only one conspirator is caught he can, if he is a strong and courageous man, remain silent about the other conspirators, but the other conspirators must not have any less courage than he and stand firm, not revealing themselves by taking flight. If courage is missing on either side—either on that of the arrested conspirator or that of the conspirator who is free—the conspiracy will be uncovered. The example Livy provides concerning the conspiracy against Hieronymus, the King of Syracuse, is remarkable. When Theodorus, one of the conspirators, was seized, he valiantly concealed the names of all the other conspirators and instead accused the friends of the king. The other conspirators, for their part, had so much faith in Theodorus’s valor that none of them fled Syracuse or showed any sign of fear.
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In setting up a conspiracy one must overcome all these dangers. To avoid them, these are the remedies: The first and most certain, or I should say the only remedy, is not to give your fellow conspirators enough time to denounce you. You should inform them of your plan only at the time you want to carry it out. Conspirators who have followed this path escaped the dangers of preparing the conspiracy, and often other dangers too. In fact, their conspiracies all had successful outcomes, and any prudent man would prefer to conduct himself in this manner. I would like to cite only two examples:

Nelematus was unable to bear the rule of Aristotimus, the tyrant of Epirus, and gathered in his home many friends and relatives, exhorting them to free their state. Some asked for time to think the matter over and make arrangements, upon which Nelematus had his servants lock the doors, and said: “Either you swear to carry out our plan now or I will deliver you all as prisoners to Aristotimus.” Roused by these words, they swore, and immediately carried out Nelematus’s plan.

A magus had taken over the kingdom of Persia through deceit, and Ortanes, one of the great men of the kingdom, understood and uncovered his trickery. He conferred with six other princes, announcing that he wanted to rid Persia of the magus’s tyranny. When one of the princes asked for more time, Darius, another of the princes, said: “Either we carry out this plan right away, or I shall denounce you all.” And so without time for second thoughts they rose in agreement, and immediately carried out their plan.

Similar to these two examples is the way in which the Aetolians set about to kill the Spartan tyrant Nabis. Under the guise of sending aid to Nabis, they sent Alexamenes, an Aetolian citizen, with thirty horsemen and two hundred foot soldiers. They informed only Alexamenes of the secret, while they forced the horsemen and foot soldiers to obey Alexamenes blindly under penalty of exile. He went to Sparta and did not reveal his commission to the other men until it was time to carry it out, and so managed to kill Nabis.
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By such methods these men managed to escape the dangers that arranging conspiracies bring, and anyone who imitates them will always manage to avoid these perils.

To show how any man can follow their example, I would like to offer that of Piso, which I have already touched on. Piso was powerful, a man of great standing, and a close friend and confidant of Nero, who often came to his garden to dine with him. In other words, Piso was in a position to befriend men who had the courage, heart, and disposition to carry out the conspiracy (which is quite easy for a great man to do).
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When Nero was in Piso’s garden he could have communicated to these friends with apt words and spurred them to do what they would not have time to refuse to do, and which would not have failed to succeed. If we examine all other conspiracies, few will be found that could not have been carried out in this way. But as a rule, men have so little understanding of the affairs of the world that they often commit the gravest errors, even more so in illicit matters such as these. Hence a conspirator must never communicate his plan unless it is necessary, and then only at the moment it is to be carried out. And if he must communicate his plan, then to one person alone of whom he has long experience, or who is moved by the same motives. Finding a person like this is far simpler than finding many, and hence less dangerous. Furthermore, even if this one person deceives you, you can find a way to defend yourself, which is not the case when there are many conspirators. I have heard from the mouth of a prudent man that you can speak with one individual about anything, because the “yes” of one man is worth as much as the “no” of another—that is, if you avoid writing anything down in your own hand. You must avoid this as you would the plague, because nothing is more incriminating than something written in your own hand. When Plautianus wanted to have Emperor Severus and his son Antoninus killed, he took the tribune Saturninus into his confidence. The tribune wanted to denounce him, but doubting that his word would be believed against that of Plautianus, asked him for a note in his hand to confirm the commission. Plautianus, blinded by ambition, wrote the note, with the result that Saturninus successfully denounced him. Without this note and other evidence, Plautianus would have had the upper hand, as he was so vehement and convincing in his denials. It is, in other words, possible to find a remedy against such a denunciation as long as you cannot be convicted by a note in your hand or by some other evidence, in which matter you should be extremely careful.

In the Piso conspiracy there was a woman called Epicharis, who had once been Nero’s mistress. She felt it would be useful to have among the conspirators a captain of the triremes that Nero kept as a bodyguard, and so told him of the conspiracy, but not who the other conspirators were. Consequently, when the captain denounced her to Nero, Epicharis was so vehement in her denial that Nero became confused, and she was not condemned.
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Hence there are only two dangers in informing a single person of a conspiracy: first, that this person might denounce you with proof, and second, that if he is arrested on account of suspicious behavior or some sign of guilt, he might denounce you once he is convicted and tortured. But there is a remedy for both these dangers: It is possible to deny the first by accusing the denouncer of bearing some resentment against you, and the second by the allegation that torture compelled your denouncer to lie. Consequently, it is wise not to inform anyone of the conspiracy and to follow the examples I have cited, or, if you should inform anyone, then not more than one person. For even if a conspiracy involves great danger, that danger is still less than that of informing many people about the conspiracy.

A related situation occurs when necessity forces you to do to the prince what the prince would do to you, particularly when the necessity is so urgent that you have no time to weigh your actions. Such urgency, however, almost always leads to the desired end, and to prove this I would like to offer two examples. Emperor Commodus counted Laetus and Eclectus, captains of the Praetorian Guard, among his best and closest friends, while Marcia was his preferred concubine. They all sometimes reproached the emperor for the way in which he was bringing disgrace on his person and position, as a result of which he decided to have them put to death.
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He wrote their names—Marcia, Laetus, and Eclectus—on a piece of paper along with the names of a few others he intended to have executed the following night, and placed the paper under his pillow. He had gone to bathe when a boy a favorite of his who was playing around the room and on his bed, came upon the piece of paper and, leaving the room with it in his hand, encountered Marcia, who took it from him. When she read it and realized what it meant, she immediately sent for Laetus and Eclectus. All three understood the danger they were in, conferred on how to counter it, and promptly killed the emperor the following night.
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Emperor Antoninus Caracalla was in Mesopotamia with his army and left Macrinus back in Rome as his prefect, a man more apt in civil matters than in military ones. Weak rulers always fear that others might be plotting against them in a manner they feel they deserve, and so the emperor wrote to Maternianus, a friend in Rome, that he should ask the astrologers if anyone was aspiring to the imperial throne. Maternianus wrote back that Macrinus had such aspirations. But the letter happened to fall into Macrinus’s hands, and he immediately realized the necessity of either killing the emperor before Maternianus sent the emperor a new letter, or to die himself. So he commissioned a trusted centurion by the name of Martial, whose brother the emperor had put to death a few days earlier, to kill the emperor, a commission that Martial successfully carried out. Hence it is evident that urgent necessity which does not allow conspirators any time has almost the same effect as the method I have described above with Nelematus of Epirus. This again underlines what I said toward the beginning of this chapter, that the threats that a prince makes will put him in greater danger and are the reason for more successful conspiracies than are any actual attacks he might launch. A prince must keep himself from making threats because he must either treat men kindly or secure himself against them. He must not lead them into a situation where they feel their only choice is to kill or die.

As for the dangers incurred in carrying out a conspiracy, these come about when plans are suddenly changed, when the courage of those carrying it out falters, when the conspirators make errors through a lack of prudence, or when they do not carry out their purpose to the end, leaving alive some of those they intended to kill. First, I suggest that nothing will cause so much disorder or present such an obstacle to any planned action as suddenly changing a plan, moving away from what was initially decided upon. Such changes cause disorder in matters of war and conspiracy, because nothing is as vital as mustering one’s courage to execute the affair at hand. If men have set their thoughts for many days on a certain method or way and then this is suddenly changed, it is impossible for them not to be disconcerted and for everything not to be ruined. In fact, it is far better to carry out something according to a set plan, even if there is a sudden drawback, than to create a thousand irregularities by trying to circumvent it. This happens when there is no time to reorganize the plan, because when there is time, a man can adapt.

The conspiracy of the Pazzi against Lorenzo and Giuliano de’ Medici is well known. The plan had been that the Cardinal of San Giorgio would be invited to a banquet at the palace of the Medici, where the Medici would then be killed.
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Everything had been determined: who would kill them, who would seize the palace, and who would run through the city rousing the populace to liberty. On the agreed-upon day the Pazzi, the Medici, and the cardinal were at a solemn ceremony in the Cathedral of Florence when it suddenly became clear that Giuliano de’ Medici would not be joining them at the banquet. As a result, the conspirators quickly decided that they would do in the cathedral what they had intended to do in the Medici palace. This threw their entire plan into disarray, because Giovan Battista da Montesecco did not want any part in a murder committed in a church. Every action had to be reassigned to a different conspirator, who did not have time to steady his mind. In the end, the conspirators made so many mistakes that their plot was crushed.
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A man’s courage to carry out such a conspiracy fails either out of respect for the victim or out of cowardice. The majesty and reverence that the presence of a prince brings with it can be so great that it is not unusual for a conspirator to lose his nerve or be gripped by fear. When Marius
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was captured by the people of Minturnae, a slave was sent to kill him—but the slave, intimidated in the presence of such a great man and of his former glory, became cowardly and lost the resolve to kill him. And if this powerful presence can emanate from a man who is imprisoned, in chains, and crushed by ill fortune, one can imagine how much more powerful is the presence of a prince who appears with all the majesty of his insignia, pomp, and entourage! Such pomp might intimidate you or also soften you when accompanied by a pleasant greeting. A group of men conspired against King Sitalces of Thrace, and chose the day on which they would kill him. They gathered at the designated place, but none of them moved to attack the king, so that they left, blaming each other and unable to understand what it was that had hindered them. They tried to carry out their conspiracy several times to no avail, until their plan was uncovered and they suffered the penalty for the crime which they wanted to commit but could not bring themselves to.

Two brothers of Duke Alfonso of Ferrara plotted against him using Giannes, the duke’s priest and cantor, as an intermediary. At their request, Giannes had brought the duke into their presence several times so that they would have the opportunity to kill him. Nevertheless, neither of them dared do it, so that when their plot was uncovered they suffered the penalty of their evil intentions because of their lack of prudence. This negligence could have been caused only by the duke’s presence intimidating them, or by some kindness on the duke’s part humbling them. In such enterprises there is the problem of a mistake due to a lack of prudence or a lack of courage: Both these problems can disturb and confuse you, leading you to do or say things you should not.

Livy clearly shows how men can become bewildered and confused at the point at which they are about to execute a conspiracy when he describes the state of mind of Alexamenes the Aetolian as he was about to kill Nabis of Sparta in the conspiracy I have already mentioned. When the moment arrived to carry out the deed and Alexamenes disclosed to his men what was to be done, Livy says, “Even he had to summon up his courage, perplexed as he was by the contemplation of such a great task.”
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It is in fact impossible for a man not to be perplexed—even a man of courage who is used to carrying a sword and seeing men die. Therefore, in a conspiracy one must choose a man experienced in such matters and not put one’s trust in anyone else, no matter how courageous he is thought to be, because where courage for a great deed is needed, one cannot not take a definite outcome for granted if that courage has not been tested in that specific kind of deed. Bewilderment at the crucial moment either can make a man’s weapons fall from his hands or might make him say words that will lead to the same result. Lucilla, Emperor Commodus’s sister, ordered Quintianus to kill the emperor. Quintianus waited for Commodus at the entrance of the amphitheater and threw himself on him with his dagger unsheathed, shouting: “The Senate sends you this!”
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These words resulted in Quintianus being restrained before he could bring his arm down to inflict the wound. Antonio da Volterra, as I have already mentioned, had been appointed to kill Lorenzo de’ Medici, and when he threw himself at Lorenzo, shouted: “You traitor!” That shout proved to be Lorenzo’s salvation and the ruin of the conspiracy
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