Now, sitting side by side, they peered at the name Lundsdorf. Perhaps they needed to see it for themselves. Together, one last time.
They had both missed the funeral—or rather, they had been unavailable that weekend, sequestered at a small house somewhere in the Virginia countryside. The debriefing specialists had been rather unhappy to learn that there were no names or files to help them mop up the loose ends. Manuscripts and documents were evidently not to their liking. Xander had pleaded with them to destroy everything. They, in turn, had assured him that they would “handle the material with the utmost sensitivity.” Not good enough, he had explained. Not his concern, they had answered. It was only when the president had called to offer his personal guarantee that everything would be fully secured that Xander had backed down. What else could he do? There was still the small matter of the charges connecting the two of them to Schenten’s assassination, Huber’s death, and whatever else had cropped up along the way. “You let us take care of this, Doctor, and we’ll forget about all of that,” the president had said. “Of course, if there’s anything else …”
Bob Stein had been a bit more helpful, but even he had admitted that the boys at Langley didn’t like to share, even with the folks who had started the ball rolling. Pritchard’s role had placed COS in a rather delicate position; they would need a little time to win back the skeptics. Until then, everyone would have to trust that the manuscript was in safe hands, or at least that it had been locked away somewhere. For the time being, though, he would be cleaning house. That is, of course, after some well-earned vacation time. Two days chained to a bed had left a few scars. The Bahamas, Bob had heard, were especially nice this time of year. He’d be in touch.
That had been two weeks ago.
“What are you thinking,” asked Sarah, arcing her back to relieve the strain in her ribs.
“I don’t know. Votapek, Sedgewick. I’d like to know that they’ve been handled with the ‘utmost sensitivity.’” He continued to stare out at the undulating rows of stones. “Feric …” He looked at her. “Anyway. Are those better?”
“They will be.” She smiled. “As long as I keep them out of air vents and computer labs. They’ll be fine. Just like everything else.” She turned to him and took his hand. “Xander, I came here because I need you to know that. Things will begin to make sense. They always do.”
He nodded. “So once again, I have no choice but to trust you, do I?”
“You have to let it go. It’s never going to leave on its own, so you have to let it go.”
“And do what?” He took in a long strain of air. “Academia isn’t exactly the most appealing place right now. Not that they’d have me back. Even exonerated assassins don’t really fit in.”
“Then look to what you know.”
He paused, then turned to her. “Right now, Sarah, that would be you.”
She squeezed his hand tenderly. “I wish it were that easy.”
“So do I,” he answered. “So do I.”
She waited and then pulled an envelope from her bag. She placed it on his lap.
“What’s this?”
“Notes. A manuscript.” She looked at him. “I took it from Lundsdorf’s lair, buried it before we were picked up. Maybe you can start there. I thought someone who understood it should have it.”
Xander slowly opened the flap and stared at the pages inside. The Italian version. He then looked at her. “You should have burned this.”
She shook her head and smiled. “That’s up to you.” She then let out a deep breath and stood. “Have we seen what we came to see?”
“I suppose.” He closed the envelope. “I’m still not exactly sure what that was.”
“A beginning.” She looked out over the expanse and then turned back to him. “There’s an eight o’clock flight out of Kennedy. I’d like to try and make it.”
He looked up at her, nodded. “I understand. I’ll give you a lift.” He stood; they began to walk.
Very gently, she slipped her arm through his. “Have you ever been to Florence in the early spring, Professor? I hear it’s quite beautiful.”
“That’s what they say.”
“I’ve only been once. I was very lucky, though. I had a charming guide. I was thinking … it would be nice to find him again.”
Xander stopped. He turned to her and peered into her eyes. “Are you asking me along, Ms. Trent?”
She smiled. “It does look that way, doesn’t it?”
“On doctor’s orders?”
“Intuition.” She took his hand. “Let’s just call it a beginning. Right now, I think that’s the best either of us can do.”
A light rain began to fall. She pulled him to her side and they started to walk.
TRANSLATED BY ALEXANDER JASPERS
INSTITUTE OF CULTURAL RESEARCH
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
From Eusebius Iacobus Eisenreich to His Holiness, the Most Holy Father, Pope Clement VII
It is now the preferred course for men who seek patronage to offer some gift of inestimable worth to those of great dominion, some token that expresses both deference and ambition. Men bestow lands, jewels, even daughters in the hopes of currying favor with one of high station. But such things have fleeting value, and all too often serve only to quell a passing fancy. The true gift must stand the test of time.
Sadly, lands deteriorate, stones lose their luster, and young girls grow to be wives. But the practice of shrewd statehood, the proper wielding of sovereignty, never strays from our minds. The noblest gift, then, must take as its principal concern the stability and longevity of states; and in so doing, it must prescribe the methods most proficient for maintaining and enhancing sovereign power.
I will not waste words extolling the virtues of the small book I send to Your Holiness; nor will I indulge the current habit of fawning that humble men tend to indulge when addressing men of your exalted station. I offer only my experience as practitioner and perceiver of politics, my understanding of subtle commerce, and my insights to the nature of men and their disposition in a commonwealth as proof of my merit.
The book contains no lofty ideals or artful flourishes. It is a simple and frank treatise of the sort only one other has dared to write. The limitations of Messer Niccolò’s tract are now revealed so that the true nature of power and its capacity may be set before you. In your wisdom, Holiness, do not shy away from the brutal truths that lie in the pages before you. Do not be as Plato’s cave dwellers, who, fearing the light from outside, return to the darkness within, happy to hide from a power they cannot understand.
Find within these pages the tools whereby you may achieve the greatness that fortune and your genius make all but certain. Few men have the opportunity to turn the very course of history. Few men have the courage to act in those singular moments. Such a moment is now present. It is my greatest desire that you, most devoted servant of God and man, seize the moment and dare to alter the very name of supremacy.
Contents
I. That sovereignty is a many-headed creature
II. That the true nature of sovereignty remains unknown
III. How to achieve stability
IV. The third way to stable government
V. Why the nature of men and the nature of power are so well suited
VI. Those components which make up the state
VII. Why it is vital to maintain the appearance of separation among the three realms
VIII. How a state may be made ready for true supremacy
IX. The roads to chaos
X. The road to political chaos
XI. The road to economic chaos
XII. The road to social chaos
XIII. How the three realms together create chaos
XIV. How to build from chaos
XV. Why it is important to cultivate hatred
XVI. Why the state must be the only competitor
XVII. The military
XVIII. The law
XIX. The ideal form of g
overnment
XX. An exhortation to action
I. THAT SOVEREIGNTY IS A MANY-HEADED CREATURE
For most observers of states, there seem but two choices in sovereignty. Either one man must rule on his own or there must be division among many. In the first case, birthright, victory, or usurpation gives authority its force; in the latter, legislation institutes a sovereign body to act as a collective. The Empire of Rome under the Emperors and the Republic illustrates well the distinctions between the two forms.
But men are fools who choose only from the choices they are given. In truth, sovereignty is nothing more than a courtier’s word for power, and it is unwise indeed for those who wield such power to claim that they know how to limit it. Sovereignty is neither the handmaid of the virtuous or crafty prince nor the entitlement of a justly formed body of lawmakers. It is a prize to be won and ridden; ridden by those who can at one moment exert a princely autonomy and at the next appear models of republican virtue. To choose to rule by one form of sovereignty is to lose sight of sovereignty’s caprice, its whim. Power seeks not those who hope to tame it. Power clings to those who recognize its discord and who can turn that discord to dominance.
II. THAT THE TRUE NATURE OF SOVEREIGNTY REMAINS UNKNOWN
If the nature of sovereignty is as I describe, I shall have no easy task giving examples of its proper use. For I would claim that none to this point in the long history of men’s affairs has dared to recognize the true nature of such power. And thus none have put it to practice. I can offer no gripping tales of deceit and cunning, no moral stories of compassion to illustrate to the full this unleashed and changeable power. In that respect, Messer Niccolò’s Prince shows a greater reverence for the past than do my few pages.
Yet history is of little concern to men with vision. That states have risen and fallen, have sired great leaders and vicious tyrants, in no way grants that past a wisdom in the practice of politics today. No doubt some men of learning will say that I am the fool; that those who fail to see in history their own future have only themselves to blame for untold misery. Perhaps. But I would answer that these socalled scholars do little more than find solace in any number of outmoded stratagems that promise order in a cyclical process of political life. Polybius’ is certainly the most frequently evoked—that from Kingship stems Aristocracy, from Aristocracy Oligarchy, from Oligarchy Democracy, Democracy Tyranny, and from Tyranny Kingship once again.
If only the ways of politics were so simple, so well defined, so easily arranged as these great men would have us believe. Then, perhaps, the past would truly stand as a prescient guide to all possible occurrences in the governing of men and states. But such is not the case, nor is it likely to be so. Power is like a restless child who does not wear easily the clothes of the democrat or the oligarch. He pulls at the sleeves, rips at the cuffs, struggles to make the cloth conform to his measurements. Nor is the child likely to abide the constraints of one single-minded course. Rather, he chooses the democrat’s program in the morning, that of the oligarch in the afternoon, and the tyrant’s in the evening. Consistency is no friend of power (although the appearance of it is surely essential). Power must set its own course and wear the different suits as it fancies.
It follows, then, that power cannot set its goal on the meager conquest of one city, one land, one country. History is a pitiful tale of men’s provincial view of their own capacity. Too many princes, tyrants, and even religious Fathers, have quenched their thirst with a drink from a small pond when there are oceans to be swallowed. Security—the safety of small pieces of territory, the struggles of an Emperor, a Florentine, or even a Pope—is a minor concern when compared to the larger goal of this ill-dressed, ill-tempered child. He takes all cities, all lands, all countries as his domain, as his birthright. And the men who ride him with reverence and boldness understand that his way is the only way to true stability.
I write not for those who wish to remain mired in the false dream of a classical ideal and who are content to travel in circles rather than upward toward the mountaintop. For such as these: leave off now and waste no more time with this book. There are small ponds aplenty; you may drink from them in false security until the tide from the deep washes you away. The counsel set down here will only anger and arouse you because it will defy your complacence. Pray, lay the book down before it becomes too heavy in your hands.
For those daring enough to read on, however, I shall now begin to dig deeper into the mysteries of our theme. Be warned. There will be no place along the way for turning back.
III. HOW TO ACHIEVE STABILITY
Stability of the state is the aim of every leader, and, except for the inept, longevity as well. There are three ways by which long-lasting stability may be achieved: first, by rigorous isolation; next, by the accumulation of alliances and friendships; and third, by continued expansion through the arts of aggression and deception.
The first of these may prove useful in providing stability for a time, but it cannot maintain the state’s well-being for any durable period. This is true for three reasons. First, states that practice isolation are built on fear, fear of external force and interference. No government remains long that takes fear as its bedrock. Second, lands and resources are limited within a single state. Without trade, no state can survive, and trade is anathema to those who choose isolation. Third, only the wretched state, which decays from its own corruption, avoids the aggression of others. The prosperous state, even if built in isolation, becomes the prey of those hungry to possess it. Then the state must either lie down before its conqueror or enter the fray. As men in general seek war, so there is little hope that they will remain in isolation long.
Melos was a fine example of a state too eager to maintain its isolation and, because of that shortsightedness, fell prey to the ravages of an Athenian leviathan. An island of importance to both Sparta and Athens, Melos contented itself with neutrality during the first fifteen years of the Peloponnesian War. And so it prospered. But no prize sits long unobserved. (If only the small island had cultivated its wretchedness, then perhaps it would have escaped the greedy Athenian eye! But such is not the way in statecraft.) Athens demanded tribute, the Melians sought mediation, and soon the once proud island was brought to ruin in death and slavery. No state is an island, whether surrounded by waters or not. And no people may rely solely on the sweet words of politic men to save them. In short, isolation is but an invitation to slavery.
The second path to stability relies on the good intentions of all states; that each honors its word and abides by the agreements laid down in a few pieces of paper. Why do I say that all must be virtuous? Because if even one state chooses to play the rascal, then all others are in jeopardy. And because it is difficult, if not impossible, to determine the future attitude of each state, it is equally impossible to extend trust to any such states over a long time.
It may be true, however, that a group of states could arrive at a pact so as to protect themselves from the one miscreant who threatens the overall peace. The most powerful of recent memory was that which united the five great states of Italy. Each, for a time, laid aside their petty disputes, eager for the rewards their Treaty of Lodi could bring them. Soon, however, Lodovico Sforza saw the gains to be won for his own Milan by inviting Charles of France to Italy. And so ended the temporary friendships, proving that such alliances help little the cause of long-lasting stability. The momentary success of the treaty was due more to the chance concurrence of self-interest among the five states than to the nature of the treaty itself. Private interests ultimately tear such treaties apart. Thus we find that while friendships and alliances are pleasant things, they do not reflect the deeper parts of men’s souls.
IV. THE THIRD WAY TO STABLE GOVERNMENT
Thus, neither fear nor friendship can lead to long-lasting stability. Men are anxious animals who crave change and challenge as surely as they crave bread. They are not content to work so that things remain as they are. Isolation and all
iance rely on such meekness. The only alternative is to feed the human desire to move forward, the need to assert one will over another. The longevity of any state thus rests on its ability to cater to the aggressive desires of its people. Stability is no companion of tranquillity.
Any student of human nature will see in the preceding lines a prescription for self-indulgence that, to some degree, may lead to happiness. But the shrewder observer will ask how such practice can hope to achieve stability within a state. Allowing a mob to light upon policy based on whim is surely the quickest way to anarchy. We are forced to admit that, while aggression is vital to longevity, the vast majority of men are unable to see how to put this power to proper use. Men are dim-witted, gullible creatures who are as likely to follow a Saint as a serpent. They can be coddled and flattered, bullied and beaten, and, for a time, will go where they are told.
But only for a time. Then they will feel the lure of change, the need to put their private wills onto the stage. So they will destroy all that has been built up for them by men of learning in order that their own aggression may come forth. Such is the calamity of history. Such is the work of men in politics.
This is the central lesson that too many men of politics fail to grasp. It is not enough to sweep away the danger and set in its place a government of one man or many. Again, Messer Niccolò wants us to believe that his prince will build a strong authority from the chaos, and that his bold leader will then yield his power to a republican body that will endure throughout the ages.* Granted, at the outset the people will live in awe of so mighty a warrior who arouses within them pride, virtù, and the like. And they will follow him as long as he displays his power. Truly, the prince is a man to be reckoned with. His ability to anticipate his own future, his strength and daring to overcome the vagaries of fortune (that all-powerful goddess), his willingness to play both demon and angel in the practice of politics are all traits to be esteemed and sought. But most men are incapable of such qualities. Yet, once this quasi-deity has served his purpose and set a strong foundation for political authority, he becomes unnecessary (perhaps even dangerous), and it is at this point, we are told, that the people take the reins from him with a wisdom and understanding of statecraft that will ensure long-lasting, stable governance.
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