this mortal adventure, and Nicias, with the traditional kindness of
characters to their authors, consents to be replaced. But Lucrezia is
obstinately virtuous; she hesitates to commit both adultery and murder
in one night. All is not lost; her mother, lusting for progeny, bribes
a friar to advise her in the confessional to go through with the plan.
Lucrezia yields, drinks, lies with Callimaco, and becomes pregnant.
The story ends with everybody happy: the friar purifies Lucrezia,
Nicias rejoices in his vicarious parentage, and Callimaco can sleep.
The play is excellent in structure, brilliant in dialogue, powerful in
satire. What startles us is not the seductive theme, long hackneyed in
classical comedy, nor even the merely physical interpretation of love,
but the turn of the plot upon the readiness of a friar to counsel
adultery for twenty-five ducats, and the fact that in 1520 the play
was produced with great success before Leo X in Rome. The Pope was so
pleased with it that he asked Cardinal Giulio de' Medici to give
Machiavelli some employment as a writer. Giulio suggested a history of
Florence, and offered 300 ducats ($3,750?).
The resultant Storie Fiorentine (1520-5) was almost as decisive
a revolution in historiography as The Prince in political
philosophy. It is true that the book had vital defects: it was hastily
inaccurate, it plagiarized substantial passages from previous
historians, it was more interested in the strife of factions than in
the development of institutions, and it totally ignored cultural
history- as did nearly every historian before Voltaire. But it was the
first major history written in Italian, and its Italian was clear,
vigorous, and direct; it rejected the fables with which Florence had
embellished her origins; it abandoned the usual chronicle year-by-year
plan, and gave, instead, a smooth-flowing and logical narrative; it
dealt not merely with events but with causes and effects; and it
forced upon the chaos of Florentine politics a clarifying analysis
of conflicting families, classes, and interests. It carried the tale
along on two unifying themes: that the popes had kept Italy divided to
preserve the temporal independence of the papacy; and that the great
advances of Italy had come under princes like Theodoric, Cosimo, and
Lorenzo. That a book with such tendencies should have been written
by a man seeking papal ducats, and that Pope Clement VII accepted
its dedication without complaint, illustrates the courage of the