There is a theory goes that The Prince isn't serious. That Machiavelli's treatise was not pro-monarchy, but pro-liberty. I can relate. I've dated girls.
I don't care about the Medicis. I don't care if I'm supposed to just "know." I am never quite sure why people can't say what they mean.
I've never lived in 16th century Italy, of course. I've never been much for comedy or fiction. I am, perhaps, old fashioned. What I need is a 21st century girl with a straight-talking grandmother attitude. That is, perhaps, asking the impossible. I am what the kids call problematic.
I could pretend. I could look to my Florentine friend. There are good ideas in there. The fox and the lion and such. If there is something you want there are certain things you must do. Fact.
Where is my lily pond watcher? Where is my midnight cook? Where does she dance so lovely to our shared music? There are other texts out there, books with answers, but nothing better than a life dirtily lived. I will have to keep on.
Yes! I shall trudge through! I shall persevere! I shall continue my education, maybe even learn a little Latin. A dead language, understood by few, spoken by none, lost to the tomes on our shelves. Even Machiavelli knew it was on the way out.
What was in his head? It could be, perhaps, only that he wanted to keep it.
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