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Volume 26
Studies in the History of Law and Justice
Series Editors
Mortimer Sellers
University of Baltimore, Baltimore, MD, USA
Georges Martyn
Law Faculty, University of Ghent, Ghent, Belgium
Editorial Board
Antó nio Pedro Barbas Homem
Faculty of Law, Universidade de Lisboa, Lisbon, Portugal
Emmanuele Conte
Facolta di Giurisprudenza, Università degli Studi Roma Tre, Roma, Italy
Maria Gigliola di Renzo Villata

Law & Legal History, Università degli Studi di Milano, Milano, Italy
Markus Dirk Dubber

Faculty of Law, University of Toronto, Toronto, ON, Canada
William Ewald
University of Pennsylvania Law School, Philadelphia, PA, USA
Igor Filippov
Faculty of History, Moscow State University, Moscow, Russia
Amalia Kessler
Stanford Law School Crown Quad, Stanford University, Stanford, CA, USA
Mia Korpiola
Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies, Helsinki, Finland
Aniceto Masferrer
Faculty of Law, Universidad de Valencia, Valencia, Spain
Yasutomo Morigiwa
Nagoya University Graduate School of Law, Tokyo, Japan
Ulrike Mü ßig
Universität Passau, Passau, Germany
Sylvain Soleil
Faculté de Droit et de Science Politique, Université de Rennes, Rennes,
France
James Q. Whitman
Yale Law School, New Haven, CT, USA
The purpose of this book series is to publish high quality volumes on

the history of law and justice. Legal history can be a deeply provocative
and influential field, as illustrated by the growth of the European
universities and the Ius Commune , the French Revolution, the American
Revolution, and indeed all the great movements for national liberation
through law. The study of history gives scholars and reformers the
models and courage to question entrenched injustices, by
demonstrating the contingency of law and other social arrangements.
Yet legal history today finds itself diminished in the universities and
legal academy. Too often scholarship betrays no knowledge of what
went before, or why legal institutions took the shape that they did.This
series seeks to remedy that deficiency.
Studies in the History of Law and Justice will be theoretical and
reflective. Volumes will address the history of law and justice from a
critical and comparative viewpoint. The studies in this series will be
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Contributions to this series will come from scholars on every
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series includes monographs focusing on a specific topic, as well as
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author.
Equality and Vulnerability in the

Context of Italian Political Philosophy
Italian Efficacy
Department of Law, University of Modena and Reggio Emilia, Modena,
Italy
ISSN 2198-9842 e-ISSN 2198-9850

Studies in the History of Law and Justice
ISBN 978-3-031-35552-3 e-ISBN 978-3-031-35553-0
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-35553-0
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive

license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively
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Contents
1 Introduction:Teaching Under Unusal Circumstances
1.1 Equalities
1.2 Vulnerability
1.3 Equality as a Practice
References
2 Dante Alighieri, Hans Kelsen, and the Principium Unitatis
2.1 Kelsen on Dante
2.2 The Power of the Principium Unitatis
2.3 Borders and Limits
References
3 Niccolò Machiavelli and Efficacy
3.1 The Prince’s Ruin
3.2 Contingency and Vulnerability
3.3 Normative Systems and Efficacy
References
4 Gerolamo Cardano and Italian “Realism”
4.1 Locks and Poisons
4.2 “et licet vulpinari cum alia vulpe”
4.3 Efficacy and Virtue
References
5 Efficacy in the Italian Tradition:From Giovanni Della Casa to
Giovanni Nevizzano
5.1 Efficacy at Work
5.2 Nevizzano’s Rule
5.3 Efficay Bubbles and Vulnerability Problems
References
6 Paradoxes of Equality:Giambattista Vico
6.1 The Philosopher of Marriage
6.2 Basic Equality vs.Equality as a Goal
6.2.1 Basic Inequalities
6.3 Patricians, Plebeians, and Heroic Truths
6.4 The Fight for Equality
6.5 Efficacy Phenomena and Vulnerability
References
7 Cesare Beccaria and the Narrative of Neutral Equality
7.1 It Is About Individuals
7.2 On Families and Power Asymmetries
7.3 “A Firm and Constant Voice of the Law”
7.4 Efficacy and Pluralism
References
8 Equality and Vulnerability in The Duties of Man: Giuseppe
Mazzini
8.1 An Idiosyncratic Reading
8.2 God as a Self-Defeating Concept
8.3 Normative Vulnerability
8.3.1 Situated Vulnerabilities
References
9 Social Pluralism, Efficacy and Equality: Rethinking The Legal
Order by Santi Romano
9.1 An InstitutionalistNarrative
9.2 The Legal Order
9.3 The Risks of Selective Equality
References
10 From Emilio Salgari to Cesare Lombroso – Racism and Law in
Italy:Situated Vulnerability
10.1 Books for Italian Children
10.2 Lombroso and Racism
10.3 Italian Racisms
10.4 Arguments and Motivations
References
11 The Limits of Law and Arturo Carlo Jemolo’s Islands
11.1 Italian Conscientious Objection
11.2 “So Far As The Law Is Concerned”
11.3 Borders and Limits of the Law
11.4 Incompatible Narratives
11.5 Rocks Among the Waves
References
12 The Italian “Braibanti Affaire”:A Tale of Two Vulnerabilities
12.1 A Landmark Case
12.2 A Tale of Two Vulnerabilities
12.3 Vulnerability and Equality Practices
References
13 We, the People:Of Poets and Priests.Pasolini’s Very Hard Poem
13.1 Pasolini’s Poem
13.2 Law ad Morality
13.3 Two Notions of Vulnerability, Again
13.4 Vulnerable Positions
References
© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023
G. Zanetti, Equality and Vulnerability in the Context of Italian Political Philosophy, Studies in the History of Law and Justice 26
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-35553-0_1
1. Introduction: Teaching Under Unusal Circumstances

Gianfrancesco Zanetti1
(1) Department of Law, University of Modena and Reggio Emilia, Modena, Italy
An old science-fiction story by Frederick Pohl, “The Gold at the Starbow’s End,” starts out with a fictional
experiment. Some children are in a room cluttered with stuff, and they are told to reach another room down
the corridor, as fast as they can, without touching the floor with their feet—a task they manage to carry to
completion by tying to their feet some long wooden boards they find in the room, and then sliding their way
to their assigned destination. In a second phase of the experiment, only one board is left in the room: the
children promptly tie the very same rope to one end of that wooden board and hop lightly while pulling the
rope. This latter device significantly improves their performance: they succeed in reaching the second room
in a shorter time. The problem, the obstacle, was the second board. Too much of a good thing, as they say.1
When I was appointed to the Chair of Italian Studies at the University of California, Berkeley, I found
myself in a similar predicament. I had to plan my Ph.D. classes in the middle of the health emergency
brought on by the COVID-19 pandemic, and that meant, apart from other quite unhelpful circumstances, no
access to any library. I had to rely on my own tiny personal library at home, and on my memory (and, well,
the Internet). For some reason, however, I felt less clever than Pohl’s fictional children. It was challenging
and somewhat distressing. The subject I had agreed to lecture on was “Equality and Vulnerability in the
Context of Italian Political Philosophy”.
Since it was of course mandatory to teach online, but it was almost verboten to do so remotely—that is,
from outside the mainland US—I had to happily hop a flight to San Francisco.
Because of a quarantine, and of the other COVID-19 restrictions, I would spend most of my time in the
city secluded in a comfortable basement (my personal library had shrunk to a suitcase) reading over and
again (and then again) some famous pages written by Cardano and Machiavelli, poetry by Campanella and
by Vico, legal musings by Santi Romano and Arturo Carlo Jemolo. The lack of time constraints made it
possible to settle into an unusual frame of mind for my studying routine.
My students, on the other hand, were exceptionally gifted and supportive. I could never quite understand
how they could follow my classes in such an easy, almost relaxed way (despite all the inconvenience of the
pandemic environment, and despite my cute Italian accent, as one student described it). Their questions
were challenging and focused. We had the time to go back to the original text any time we felt the need, or
the whim, to do so. They could evidently read both Italian and Latin. One of the students was Brenda Rosado,
who like me was a Townsend fellow.2 Our chair was the indefatigable Timothy Hampton, and every Tuesday
it was one fellow’s turn to discuss a paper chosen (and posted online) by one in our number, on a subject
that most of the time, most of us were completely unfamiliar with (it fell to me to comment on a remarkable
paper by Bob Sharf on a Buddhist sect’s notion of time: it did prove to be a busy week, that one). It was more
than interesting to be exposed to so many different stimuli, to get the benefit of engagement with a group of
fellows intellectually so diverse, to converse with colleagues who did not share my outlook and were not
privy to my academic jargon, to face a gentle and yet challenging and sharp audience. And it was, of course,
fun.
The confluence of such unusual circumstances was perhaps responsible for my idiosyncratic approach to
the subject of the course. Thus Hans Kelsen, the father of modern Continental jurisprudence,3 is mentioned
mostly as a Dante scholar; Gerolamo Cardano comes up as a favorite author of Marcello Dell’Utri, a political
ally of (former libertine Italian prime minister) Silvio Berlusconi who served time in prison because of his
alleged connections with the Sicilian mafia, Cosa Nostra; the work of Giuseppe Mazzini is discussed, among
other reasons, because of the bold parallel he drew between three vulnerable groups: women, black slaves
in the American South, and republican Italians.
The idea, in working these angles and pursuing these tangential trains of thought, was to see if in some
key texts in the tradition of Italian political philosophy there could be detected a realistic notion of efficacy,
and this was the first problem I had in mind. The subtext all through the course—and the second problem
addressed in prodding and canvassing these key texts—was that of equality and vulnerability, the idea here
being to see if this problem could be tackled without invoking a specific notion of, say, natural law: to this
end it was enough to rely on a bare notion of efficacy, and one that was not even deliberately articulated with
any special theoretical awareness.
To make a long story short, on a notion of efficacy of this kind, normative horizons within which legal
and political decisions can, and do, flourish are self-originating phenomena (a notion I introduce by a
cursory reading of a lesser-known author like Nevizzano). These phenomena nevertheless offer their own
legitimizing narrative. Such a narrative, to this end, must present itself in a certain guise, as grounded in
universal values, for example, or as a having a theoretical and genetic prius with respect to the phenomena
themselves. Efficacy phenomena, however, do not really need to function according to the narrative they
historically radiate; on the other hand, it is almost impossible to conceptualize these phenomena except
through that very narrative (or through some other narrative), that is, except by endorsing or criticizing,
validating or debunking that specific narrative.
Efficacy is the notion I use in canvassing Machiavelli’s texts, where these problems can first be somehow
detected. When Gerolamo Cardano tries to find a name for this special factor, he actually calls it, very much
en passant, efficacy, efficacia (quae maximum est).4
Such efficacy is not going to create nicely shaped systems endowed with unity: we actually have only
efficacy phenomena, more or less arbitrarily subsumed under a system by a narrative that radiates from the
phenomena themselves. The narrative is precisely what allows the observer to perceive them as such, that is,
as efficacy phenomena, coexisting with a narrative, no matter how crude, that is not just a noetic condition
for understanding them but is also an alethic condition for their existence. The narrative, on the other hand,
exists because of them, and has no status or function other than that of making those phenomena intelligible
and existing as efficacy phenomena.
This respect for efficacy phenomena gives to some Italian authors a specific (and well-known) flavor of
hard realism, a pragmatic gusto, which is even stronger when it does not sound theoretically deliberate or
intentionally provocative—and therein, of course, and quite often, lies part of their charm.
Most of these authors were directly engaged in contemporary politics: they held office and were often
responsible for making legal, political, or military decisions. They had to struggle and fight: some of them
(Machiavelli, Lottini, Campanella) were physically tortured; others (Dante, Mazzini) spent part of their lives
in exile; one (Pasolini) ended up being killed; Cardano and Braibanti served time in prison. Only few of them,
like the Marquis Beccaria or Vico, were lucky enough to have had sources of distress that, for the most part,
were only private (Beccaria had issues with his father, Vico with his son); Santi Romano, after a stellar
professional life, happened to die before his old age could be disturbed by the political and legal
consequences of his allegiance to Mussolini and Fascism. This is a peculiar gang of fellows, and I picked them
mostly because I find them intriguing, and because I thought my Berkeley students would enjoy reading
them. Apparently, they did.5
Needless to say, the idea is not that Italian authors deliberately carry on a special tradition, but rather
that specific themes run through different texts, resurfacing here and there, while different motivating
factors urge the different authors to touch those theoretical points.
There is a resemblance with these scholars’ intertextuality. Most of them were avid readers of Latin
authors, and they sometimes mention them and sometimes just quote them taking for granted that their
readers can recognize the sources. So, for example, to read Matteo Palmieri without being acquainted with
Cicero and Sallust is almost to read a different author. The point, nevertheless, is that there is not a Latin
philosophical doctrinal tradition that is upheld by these scholars: there are themes, catchwords, famous
passages which it feels good to quote, and which seem to support a specific mode of critical thought, and
there is also a way of dealing with some concrete contemporary problems.
There is therefore no Italian political-philosophical agenda, nor, certainly, is there any shared awareness
of such a specific thread: but the thread is there, and though it takes the form of a patchwork of
afterthoughts and hints dropped in the margins, it is nevertheless interesting (at least I hope it is), and it
sheds some indirect light on a few intriguing corners of this tradition. One of such dark corner is the notion
of equality as a practice.
1.1 Equalities
In the chapter on Vico, the only one previously published as a freestanding paper,6 a distinction is drawn
between two kinds of equality. The notion according to which human beings are equal in some fundamental
and compelling sense (basic equality) is distinguished from equality as a policy aim (normative equality).
There can be little doubt that we need a notion of basic equality to advance our egalitarian aims, and that
while much has been written about equality, modern literature deals far less with the background idea that
humans are, fundamentally, one another’s equals.7 This is, of course, the grand scheme to be found, for
instance, in Thomas Jefferson’s Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that
all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that
among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” Equality first, then, and it is a basic equality—
human beings are (created) equal: unalienable rights will imply some kind of normative equality.
The problem is that, as I would argue, notions of basic equality can be conceived as cultural
constructions (albeit of the most valuable kind): they can be the outcome of normative equality practices.
If, for example, I believe in the basic equality of all human beings, I will likely be ready to fight for the civil
rights of subjugated minorities, just as Giambattista Vico’s famuli (plebeians) seem ready to fight for their
equal rights while realizing that the patricians “did not come from heaven,” after all. But that is not yet a
complete description of Vico’s philosophy of equality. The famuli fought, first and foremost, because, as it
happens, they must have grown weary (se ne dovettero attediare) of being oppressed and subjugated.8 At the
end of the day, no special philosophical argument was required. They wanted equality, period. In fighting
and by fighting they became equal, because they changed the normative horizon within which both they and
the patricians dwelled.
In other words, the idea is that some kind of inequality and discrimination is eventually perceived as
such, and that these painful circumstances trigger a practice of normative equality that in turn will create a
new set of shared beliefs, a new world of meanings, and a new (more inclusive) kind of basic equality. This
perceived injustice does not need to be exhaustively deduced, as such, from any set of moral absolutes, from
any metaphysically grounded anthropology, from any notion of natural law; and, conversely, the practice
does not need to be justified in absolute theoretical terms. This is the residual legacy of the background
notion of efficacy: it shows itself in self-originating phenomena. Needless to say, equality practices will
themselves secrete some kind of narrative, some (normative) arguments for equality.
This path from equality practices to basic equality does not seem intuitively consistent with a religiously
inspired tradition of natural law. While it is intuitive that, if we are all children of the same God, we probably
enjoy some kind of basic equality, the counterintuitive idea of a basic equality that is not found, but rather
forged, achieved, obtained, or seized, feels puzzling and somehow troubling. Indeed, the first time we were
urged to reach equality (rather than acknowledge it), to create some equality where there is none, the plea
came from the Serpent itself: Eritis sicut Deus, scientes bonum ac malem,9 the words beloved by Goethe’s
Mephistopheles,10 and it did not end up well.
This means that it is possible to conceptualize basic equality as an effect, a posterius, a result, an
outcome, a point of arrival, while a practice of normative equality can be deemed as the starting point, the
input, the cause, the prius, the necessary pragmatic assumption. This, of course, means that we need to ask
what can be the motivating factors of normative equality practices—the “reasons” for such practices.
It should be noted that there is no logical contradiction between the two alternative conceptual paths,
from basic equality to equality as an aim, and from equality as an aim to basic equality; Vico was well aware
of the former path. Even so, the very possibility of the counterintuitive path from equality as a goal to basic
equality, next to the traditional path moving in the opposite direction, dramatically alters the overall
argumentative meaning of the standard (liberal) notion of equality. Unfortunately, domination and
oppression can and do make groups of humans basically unequal, as both Vico and Giuseppe Mazzini found
out. This is specifically cruel, like trying to breed human beings destined to submission and oppression.
Inequalities, in the plural, are often hidden in plain sight, just like the purloined letter imagined by Poe.11
Yes, Vico’s famuli fight for universal equality: that is achieved only when full citizenship rights are granted to
everybody within the boundaries of the Empire. The only fly in the ointment is that, well, women—roughly
half the population—are left out. It is not so much that the answer to the question “Which men (i.e., which
males) deserve to be citizens, to be ‘equal’?” can change. It is that the relevant question itself can change
when one can step outside the circle of those shared beliefs that crystallize within a given institutional and
normative horizon.
Most famously, those inequalities that are the outcome of a given (contingent) institutional horizon
usually conceptualize themselves as eminently natural: aliquid monstri aliter, mumbles the patrician who
suspects that his pregnant wife had lain with a slave;12 growing in that womb is a chimera, a monster with
two different natures. The republican Italian “apostle,” Giuseppe Mazzini, would bitterly mention that old
biased argument: Italians are not apt, not ready, for political autonomy and freedom.
1.2 Vulnerability
Inequalities come in a variety of flavors. Equalities, in the plural, are those political and legal practices, not
necessarily peaceful, that challenge a given and perceived inequality. From this point of view there is no
(capital E) Equality—a perfect state of affairs, a “value” that can be fully grasped and described; there are
only equality practices. While Equality must each time claim to be universal, it can never achieve that status.
Especially aware of this open texture of equality practices is Mazzini, who particularly stresses this point.
All that we are left with are therefore situated equalities. There is no such thing as universal equality:
there are only practices of normative equality that, in different circumstances, once different kinds of
inequality and discrimination have been detected, reshape the notion of basic equality implied by different
norms, institutions, and practices. A different normative horizon, one that conceptualizes itself as more
inclusive, then emerges from within those norms, institutions, and practices.
Equality is a therapy—actually, a diverse condominium of therapies—for quite different kinds of
diseases: it is not a state of good health. Equality is an aequalitas aequans, never an aequalitas aequata.
Against every normative equality practice there can be levied the charge of having forgotten about those
who in one way or another are left out, and there is always somebody who is left out. There is always a
specifically relevant issue, a situated, hot-button problem—sometimes smoldering in silence, sometimes
burning and blasting.
The very possibility of challenging a given allocation of wealth or status, a contingent normative horizon,
is quite meaningful. From this point of view, any legal and political order comes with those limits built into
the possibility of such a challenge. Such limits are not conceived as “boundaries”: they rather dwell in those
interstitial gaps that lie in the overlap of different narratives. Jemolo would speak of “islands” that the law
can only lap but never submerge, islands like the family, an institution that for the Catholic lawyer was
supported by different and powerful narratives that were alternative to the legal narrative, and potentially
incompatible with it (though narrative is a word that, ca va sans dire, Jemolo would never have used): family
is thus a kosmion of primal instincts and of religion, incendiary stuff that can put up a good fight against the
disciplinarian power of abstract legal systems.
This, however, is a critical point. Uncomfortable though this may make us feel, there is no need to
conceive a normative horizon as a monad sealed out from competing and overlapping narratives. Legal
systems are no exception. It is of course quite tempting to fashion normative horizons into nicely shaped,
mutually exclusive entities. Normative phenomena, however, do not need to adapt to any intellectual or
doctrinal comfort zone.
Even when a legal system conceives of itself as absolute, one could argue, its limits will lie not around it,
like boundaries, but within it. Even the Enlightenment and enlightened thinker Cesare Beccaria eventually
had to admit as much when he faced the normative reality of that special encompassing group of gentlemen
who would feel duty-bound to break the law by entering into a duel to protect their honor—a notion at odds
with some tenets of the legal system, but which nevertheless had to be housed within it. Nothing prevents
other normative systems from dwelling within the same normative horizon. We do not have to conjure up
the challenges of postmodern multicultural phenomena to shed light on the softly unsettling reality of
normative pluralism. Such pluralism famously becomes one of the main tenets in the thought of Santi
Romano, who more than a century ago, and even before embracing Fascism and Italian racism, challenged
Kelsenian normativism and offered his bold, almost outrageous, version of a plural institutionalism.
Such a pluralism, if conceived as a constitutive, inescapable feature of legal and political systems,
provides a useful background assumption for the notion at play of “equality practices”: normative
arguments, one could argue, will radiate from the minority, encompassing groups whose shared and
alternative beliefs can challenge the mainstream narrative. Normative arguments can pierce through the
bubble-like sphere of those shared beliefs that contingently can turn into an efficacy point, a point which
narrates itself as a justified normative horizon, and which can discriminate and displace, hurt and
intimidate: it can create and make some kind of (basic) “inequality,” that is, a specific vulnerable group.
Discrimination, oppression, or displacement can take quite different forms: coming in handy at this stage
of the discussion is the notion of vulnerable groups.
Rather than focusing on an essentialist notion of human vulnerability—something I am not ruling out in
the least: that is actually a promising research avenue—it is here more interesting to lay emphasis on
heterogeneous, contingent, “situated” forms of vulnerability. There is no need for any notion of human
nature (no need to reject the possibility, or the potential usefulness, of such a notion, either).
Any institution implies some kind of potential exclusion, framing a specific inequality in the very
normative horizon it identifies itself with: Dante’s most powerful attempt to conjure up a universal
institution—using up, in the process, all the power of the principium unitatis—ends up giving us a world:
what it gives us, therefore, is rich with exclusions (but it must nonetheless claim it harbors none). As was
previously mentioned, it is very rarely that these inequalities and exclusions can be clearly perceived as
such, because they are embedded in the very horizon from which a critical argument should radiate (the
work of Cesare Beccaria played a role in the obliteration of situated vulnerabilities, an obliteration which, it
may be argued, lies at the core of Western liberal democracies). The process by which an equality argument
arises out of a given normative horizon, questioning and challenging that inequality, is the same process by
which a form of situated vulnerability starts to be perceived as such.
Situated vulnerabilities, however, are not like colors or musical notes: they do not have to share any
common feature or logic. Situated vulnerabilities are bound up with the contingent scenarios that originate
together with a dotlike bubble of normative efficacy, which is why their emergence cannot be easily
predicted or their logic shared by those who, by choice or by lot, dwell within the “limits” of that given set of
institutions—the perceivable side of the efficacy bubble, the graspable narrative radiating from that given
normative horizon.
Italian racism was (and is) more multifaceted (and probably quite worse) than it looks at first sight: the
one and the same Italian Jewish scholar (Lombroso) could elicit scorn from racists because of their racism
and from others because they thought he was racist. The one and the same Italian author of children’s books
(Salgari) had no qualms about glamorizing what elsewhere would have been labeled as miscegenation—
love between Caucasians and Asians—while indulging in some most racist remarks about other Asians. The
one and the same Italian subgroup (the Etruscans) could be held up as a noble race that enriched the Italian
bloodline, while also being dismissed as a temporary, and ultimately negligible, stain on the genetic makeup
of the Italian Aryan race (and in fact both positions could be found in the same racist journal). Racism is a
motivating factor that can give rise to cruel efficacy phenomena; such phenomena radiate arguments that
should rationalize the motivating factor, but that do not need to be consistent with one another.
Finally, the perceived vulnerability of the institutions themselves, of the contingent scenario, is just a
special case of situated vulnerability—one that can sometimes trigger the most extreme reactions.
Exemplifying the severe, cruel interaction of different kinds of vulnerabilities is the dark tale of the infamous
“Braibanti affair”, where the overlapping, intersectional vulnerability implicit in membership in different
outside-the-mainstream minorities violently clashed with the perceived fragility of the same normative
horizon that needed to marginalize and displace such figures of vulnerability—and therefore needed to
crush the life of Braibanti himself.
Equality arguments are therefore both an answer to and a symptom of a perceived situated vulnerability,
if and when normative horizons are conceived as mere efficacy phenomena understood through the
narrative they radiate. In the Italian tradition of political and legal philosophy there is this theme that
occasionally crops up here and there without any clear line of development.
1.3 Equality as a Practice

The realist and pragmatic attitude of some of these authors is therefore linked to a perceived phenomenon
of vulnerability, to the emotions this phenomenon entails, to the pain and weariness attendant on
oppression of one kind or another—and this perception (which in itself is no rational argument) can take
the form of an equality practice (which can, by contrast, be an argument).
This link developed in a rather simple way: there is nothing mysterious, nothing glamorous about it. The
“realist” attitude of some Italian authors—for example, and most notably, the author of the The Prince
himself, Machiavelli—implied an utmost respect for so-called technical rules, rules which state the
appropriate kind of means to a given end, but which are unable to choose the end itself. Technical rules,
however, exhibit a specific feature—they seem unable to fully explain efficacy phenomena without the aid of
other kinds of rules, constitutive rules that crystallize shared beliefs of some kind into a set of institutions,
like a civic religion or a patriotic army. Machiavelli obviously never dreamed of using terms such as
constitutive rule, but the point is that while an army of citizen-soldiers is technically expedient, because
other kinds of armies are quite dangerous, it is still true that also implicit in such an army are emotions,
feelings, values, or fundamental choices that cannot fully be understood in terms of technical expediency (or
of a rational maximizer’s self-interested computations).
Some authors need to negotiate the fine line between the world of functional expediency, the realm of
technical rules, and the world of institutions, where duties and obligations arise and dwell. This is just
another way of saying that efficacy phenomena present themselves through the narrative they radiate: the
power asymmetry implemented by way of technical rules cannot be fully thought if we bracket away the
institutional world shaped by those shared beliefs.
Such institutions are themselves vulnerable, because they necessarily imply some kind of situated
vulnerability of an encompassing group (or of some such groups) and can therefore be challenged by
equality practices (which practices most likely conceive themselves as fully revolving around a substantive
notion of equality).
Equality as a practice is no sport for anime belle: it is not the leisure activity of well-meaning soft souls,
blissfully unaware of the tough rules of the political world; it is a way of making sense of that very world, at
the same time criticizing those valuable narratives of universal equality that are meant to somehow
legitimize bare efficacy phenomena.
On the other hand, the criticizing is often done by exposing what lies behind the legitimizing narratives:
the bare cruelty of exclusions, the stark inequalities. It is a procedure that scrutinizes “the king’s scepter”
and13
There is a constant going back to some harsh, painful political reality, a disdain for utopian dreams, a down-
to-earth attitude, and a cold realism. There is a sanguine acknowledgment of the power asymmetries behind
normative horizons: and a red thread connects Vico’s merciless description of a heroic aristocracy to Santi
Romano’s dry remark that institutions are not meant to necessarily embody any equality. One must resist
the temptation to call it a pars destruens. It would be such, a pars destruens, if it could be set in contrast to a
pars construens. But that is not the case: it is only about negotiating the fine line between the logic of efficacy
phenomena and the kind of equality practice one feels motivated to instantiate.
One last, and most important, caveat. This red thread is certainly not the key to understanding Italian
political thought. There are, I am sure, far more important aspects, critical problems, and fundamental
questions. The idea was just to elaborate on a cluster of problems that seem to crop up here and there as we
read some Italian authors—a reading exercise that could shed light on some corners of their trains of
thoughts, leaving some vaster areas in the dark. This is just a way of allowing some of their texts to react to
such a deliberately non-neutral reading. In other words, no (new) interpretation of Italian political thought
is offered here: just some Discorsi on some problematic aspects in the thought of a few Italian authors.
They had not originally been thought as chapters of a book. I made no attempt to edit them and polish
them—they are still the texts of my Berkeley classes, that I would post on line for my students after the
Wednesday afternoon class. These “lectures” make use of different methodological approaches: for example,
Dante is explored through a single reading of his work (by Hans Kelsen); Machiavelli is mostly approached
through a “mechanical” text analysis; The Duties of Man by Giuseppe Mazzini is read as a text almost
independent from the historical contingencies that motivated its creation; and so on.
My biggest debt is with Thomas Casadei; his support was always generous, intelligent, and
compassionate. Mariano Croce, Tommaso Greco, Antonio Merlino, Giorgio E.M. Scichilone, Elio Tavilla have
all read and commented parts of this book. Their comments and wise advice were invaluable. Special thanks
go to Rosaria Pirosa for reviewing the entire work with great care and expertise; and for helping me to deal
with some thorny theoretical issues. I shall miss our conversations at the CRID (Research Center on
Discriminations and Vulnerabilities, University of Modena and Reggio Emilia) in the summer of 2022.
I am grateful to Albert Russell Ascoli, Timothy Hampton, Brenda Rosado, Mortimer Sellers, Barbara
Spackman, and Kendall Thomas for their encouragement and support. Mia Fuller, chair of the Department of
Italian Studies, was a most gracious, generous, and intelligent host. The rettore of the University of Modena
and Reggio Emilia, Carlo Adolfo Porro shielded me from many bureaucratic poisons that could have
prevented me from enjoying my UC Berkeley adventure. The Berkeley students who attended my course
were the Menschen every instructor would like to teach to and engage with—and to them are owed my final
and most heartfelt thanks.
References
Cardano G (1630) Proxeneta, seu De Prudentia. Paulus Marceau, Genoa. Italian edition: Cardano G (2001) Il Prosseneta ovvero della
politica (trans: Cigada P). Mondadori, Milan
Doreen B (2020–21) Townsend Center for the Humanities, Berkeley
Foscolo U [1807] (2015) Of the Graves. Trans. Bianchi V. In: Bianchi V, Rediscovering Foscolo: a Translation of the ‘Sepolcri’ and of t
https://www.academia.edu/22334674/REDISCOVERING_FOSCOLO_A_TRANSLATION_OF_THE_SEPOLCRI_AND_OF_
2015
Goethe W [1808] Faust. English Edition: Goethe W (1843) Goethe’s Faust (trans. Lefevre G, M.D.) Charles Juge, Frankfurt o.M
Losano MG (2008) Scritti autobiografici. Diabasis, Reggio Emilia
Poe E-A [1844] The Purloined Letter. Poe E A (1945) The Portable Poe. In: Van Doren Stern P (ed) Viking, New York, pp 439–462
Pohl F (1972) The gold at the Starbow’s end. Condé Nast, New York
Pohl F (1982) Starburst. Ballantine New York
Publius Terentius Afer, Andria, 250, quoted by Vico G, [1744] Scienza Nuova. Italian edition: Vico G (1990) Opere (ed: Battistini A)
pp 688, 740. 743
Vico G [1744] Scienza Nuova. Italian edition: Vico G (1990) Opere. In: Battistini A (ed) Mondadori, Milan
Vico G [1744] Scienza Nuova. English edition: Vico G (1999) The New Science (trans: Marsh D) Penguin, London
Waldron J (2002) God, locke, and equality. Christian foundations in locke’s political thought. Cambridge University Press, Cambrid
[Crossref]
Zanetti GF (2011) Vico on equality and marriage. Ratio Juris Int J Jurisprud Philos Law 24(4):461–470
Footnotes
1 “ Pohl (1972). See also the extended version: Pohl (1982).
2 Doreen (2020–21).
3 The Austrian legal philosopher and jurist, incidentally, taught at UC Berkeley. See Losano (2008).
4 Cardano (1630), Caput LVIII. See footnote 82.

5 With the exceptions of New Science by Vico and Proxeneta by Cardano, we mainly focussed on relatively short texts. It was,
however, unfortunate that I had to neglect Paruta, Lottini, Campanella, and many others. Skipping Gianfrancesco Lottini was
particularly painful.
6 Zanetti (2011), pp. 461–470.
7 Waldron (2002), pp. 2–7.
8 Vico [1744] (1990) edited by Andrea Battistini (Mondadori), p. 696. See also Vico [1744] (1999) in the English translation by
David Marsh (Penguin).
9 Gen 3:5. For God knows that in the day you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.
10 Wofgang Goethe, Faust, Act I, Scene IV. “This Serpent’s adage round your memory twine,/You’ll one day fear your human face
divine”: Goethe’s Faust [1808] (1843) translated by George Lefevre, M.D. (Charles Jugel) p. 78. The wise words that advise not to
get involved in an equality practice are those addressed by Abdiel to Satan in Milton (Paradise Lost VI, 174–181):
.
11 Poe (1844), ed. Van Doren Stern (1945), pp. 439–462.
12 Publius Terentius Afer, Andria, 250, quoted by Vico (1990); cp. pp. 688, 740. 743.
13 Foscolo [1807] (2015), pp. 156–158.; “Of the Graves” in “Rediscovering Foscolo: a Translation of the ‘Sepolcri’ and of three
sonnets”, translated by Valentina Bianchi.
G. Zanetti, Equality and Vulnerability in the Context of Italian Political Philosophy,
Studies in the History of Law and Justice 26
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-35553-0_2
2. Dante Alighieri, Hans Kelsen, and the

Principium Unitatis
(1) Department of Law, University of Modena and Reggio Emilia,
Modena, Italy
2.1 Kelsen on Dante

Dante is, of course, too large a subject for a single lecture, chapter, or
even book. His works defy our current typologies. The Comedia itself is,
yes, a work of poetry, but it is at the same time a work of philosophy
and of politics, of theology and law. This is, again, not news to anyone.
The De rerum naturae by Lucretius is first and foremost poetry, but it is
at the same time one of the most important sources in order to
understand the Epicurean philosophy. The Summa Theologiae by
Aquinas is, well, mostly theology, and yet it is a key text for natural law
scholars and others. It is certainly legitimate to label the works by
Dante Alighieri sometimes as poetry and sometimes as political
philosophy, but such labels are only a starting point, not the outcome of
a deep scrutiny.1
I would like to focus on a given interpretation of Dante, the
interpretation given by Hans Kelsen. Kelsen did teach at Berkeley
(where he died in 1973).2 He came to the United States when the
shadow of Nazi politics was falling on Europe. His very life was in
danger, because he was Jewish. As every law student knows, Kelsen was
probably the most important philosopher of law, the most outstanding
jurisprudence scholar, in Europe at that time. His works are, even now,
a cornerstone and a landmark for the scholarly community. He is the
key author used in order to understand Legal Positivism, the notion
that law is something artificial, man-made. Something which is not
found in the realm of nature or reason but created by a human
authority.
According to Kelsen, legal systems were nothing else but pyramids
of norms (although this trope of the pyramid, often and correctly
associated with Kelsen, is not directly mentioned in his works), and
States were nothing but such legal systems. Natural law played no role
in such a consistent, rigorous idea of legal system, and morality would
dwell in a separate domain, because any content, never mind how
twisted and unfair, could be “law”.—Daher kann jeder beliebige Inhalt
Recht sein.3
In Kelsen every norm has its origin in another norm. Rudolf
Virchow (and before Virchow the great scientist and politician Francois
Vincent Raspail) had suggested that omnis cellula e cellula (every cell
comes from a cell).4 There is a basic consistency and unity in living,
organic entities. And there is some kind of purity as well, because such
entities are made of cells, and by nothing else, and cells come from cells,
and from nothing else. According to Kelsen, as it were, omnis norma e
norma; the State, i.e., the legal system, is nothing but norms on different
steps of a hierarchic pyramid. His theory is “pure” because it
acknowledges this fact. It does not need to meddle with religion or
morality, with politics or theology.
Italian scholars reacted to his “pure theory” with a sense of
discomfort. They sometimes felt that it was too abstract. The first
footnote of Santi Romano’s masterpiece, L’ordinamento giuridico, was a
critique of Kelsen.5 Fascist scholars were outraged that the State, with a
capital S, could be dissolved into a dry network of legal norms, laws and
statutes and judicial decisions. On the other hand, after World War II,
some other scholars attacked Kelsen’s pure theory because at the end
of the day it has nothing to offer against the threat of totalitarian
regimes, which use law as an instrument of raw power.6
Kelsen, however, did not first appear in Italian scholarly journals
because of his jurisprudence genius: but because of Dante. The
Italianisti at that time were quick on the uptake, and they did not miss
Kelsen’s contributions to Dante’s Monarchia,7 Dante’s Staatslehre (State
Theory).8 One could even state that Kelsen’s fortuna in Italy starts and
ends with Dante, because after 60 years the Bologna publisher Boni
asked his permission to print again his book on Dante, a permission
that Kelsen granted under condition that it would be clearly stated that
it was just the same book printed again, and not a “second edition”.
While Kelsen seems to perfectly master the whole corpus of Dante’s
works, he focuses primarily on De Monarchia. His book is structured in
the old-fashioned way. First the historical background. Next Dante’s
general philosophy. Then state theory, and afterwards connections
parallels and differences with contemporary authors and scholars.
Vittorio Frosini genially wrote that with such a Monographie Kelsen
could have become Privatdozent.9
2.2 The Power of the Principium Unitatis

It is crystal clear that a key notion in Kelsen’s Dante is the principium
unitatis, the principle of unity. Kelsen stresses that the notion of
pluralism, of varieties of any kind that cannot be subsumed into some
form of unity, are most repulsive to the Middle Ages mind.
This is perfectly shown in Dante’s cosmic geography, where a static
round earth is surrounded by the heavenly spheres of the planets and
of the “fixed stars” of the Ptolemaic astronomy, by the primum mobile
(an in-between spherical “sky”, kind of an intermediary step between
Creator and creation), and finally by the Empyrean—which is at the
same time outside (so that the weight of the whole universe is
pressuring and castigating Lucifer, blocked by his sin at the center of
the earth) and center of the cosmos. There is an Aristotelian flavor in
this hierarchy of movements that needs to end up in an “unmoved
mover” or “prime mover”, primum movens—The Empyrean Sky, God
Almighty Himself.
Unity is consistent with hierarchy—even in the hierarchy of evil and
pain, the inverse pyramid of the funnel-shaped hell described in the
Commedia.10 I would add that there is something reassuring in this
geocentric order. The human mind can grasp this unity in an almost
natural way, with the additional bonus that the whole universe seems
to revolve around humanity, with a sprinkle of cosmic narcissism that
flatters our vulnerability and weakness.
This unity principle takes many shapes. A famous one is the allegory
of the tunica inconsutilis,11 Christ’s seamless coat that the soldiers could
not cut. Interestingly, this allegoric figure is used by Pope Bonifacius
VIII, Dante’s archenemy, in the notorious Unam Sanctam (One and
Holy), a document where the Pope claims for himself plenitudo
potestatis, power above every creature including the King of France
(who in that moment was more dangerous than any Emperor). The
Church is One, just like the seamless coat that the soldiers took from
Jesus before the Crucifixion. Since “the coat was without seams, woven
from the top throughout”, the soldiers could not “rend it”, and they
decided to “cast lots for it”.12 The head of the Church, in the hierarchical
pyramid of the ecclesiastic institution, is the Pope. More than this, the
Pope is on the top of every hierarchical pyramid of human institutions.
He is, theoretically, above the kings and the Emperor, because his power
comes directly from God.
Dante makes use of this very same image. The Empire is one, and it
controls, or should control, all human beings living in all the territories
of the Earth. Such an Empire is, in Dante’s time, wildly utopian. There
was no sign in Europe that nations and peoples, kings and princes,
could somehow bend their knee in front of a common and shared
imperator omnium. It does not matter. When Dante speaks of the state,
says Kelsen, he always means the world state, the universal state.
There is here, again, more than an echo of “the Philosopher”. The
philosopher par excellence is of course Aristotle. There is, at the very
beginning of Aristotle’s Politics, the famous tale of the origins of the
polis (the city-state). Men and women are attracted because of
reproduction, while master and slave congregate because of
“conservation” or survival issues. The overlapping of these relations
gives birth to the first community, the household or family (oikos).
Several families congregate because of those needs that a single family
cannot take care of, and such is the origins of villages (komai). Villages
too are not enough, so that they have to congregate to form a city-state,
polis, which is perfect not because it is faultless but because it does not
need to grow anymore. It is independent.13 This is the origin tale of the
polis by Aristotle, a tale “from the beginning” (ex arches). Dante uses
this same scheme, adding two steps: cities need to be unified into
kingdoms, and kingdoms finally under one Empire.
It is critical to understand that Aristotle’s tale, ex arches, is not
necessarily a wholly scientific description, the way we could say: first
there is an egg, then a tadpole, and finally a frog. A frog can grow old
but it does not need to turn into another being. If we see something that
looks like a frog but that has never been first an egg and then a tadpole,
that being is not a frog. It is something else, (a toy, a robot, whatever).
Aristotle was perfectly aware that there were city-states (poleis) that
did not have this kind of origin—the colonies. His origin tale has a
normative meaning. We should reason about the polis as if this were its
origin. In other words, this tale basically explains the most important
features of the city-states from an Aristotelian point of view. For
example, the almost biological process by which different communities
blend together into more articulate and complex entities makes sure
that in a given polis there are some shared values (religion, mores, etc.).
While different cities go hunting for happiness in different ways,14 and
have therefore different ways of life, within a given city-state, there is
not much room for minority lifestyles of any kind.
The tale of the origins of the Empire provided by Dante presents
itself as an empirical account of the way the universal state should and
will take shape. It is, however, an account that presents itself as
definitely more nuanced than any empirical description. If we think of
cities and kingdoms as naturally subject to a monarchia not identified
with the Church, we create the ideological background we need in order
to accordingly conceptualize State and Church. Kelsen, most famously,
kindly rebukes Dante for not having been brave enough to claim for the
Emperor the top position. When everything is ready to take this final
step, when all the premises are clearly stated, at the very end of his
treatise, in a short paragraph Dante hastily adds that Cesar should look
up to Peter with a reverent attitude, the way the elder son looks at his
father.15 It is a pyramid with two tops, it is something unacceptable for
Kelsen.
On the one hand Kelsen’s Dante is to be understood only by
acknowledging the role played by the principium unitatis. On the other,
Dante is criticized by Kelsen because he does not dare to draw the
consequences from such a principle. Caesar should be the one, single
top of the pyramid.
2.3 Borders and Limits

The principium unitatis is quite active in Dante’s consistent praise of
monarchy as the best possible form of government. This too was a
theme well known by Aristotle, and Aquinas.
First, it is worth remarking (and Kelsen does) that Dante often
speaks of genus humanum. The whole of mankind is and should be
subject to the power of the Emperor. The unity of mankind is somehow
necessary, for Kelsen-Dante. It is a logical premise of the universal
monarchy. This unity seems to assume the necessity of a universally
shared Christian faith, a notion that would have stressed the key role of
the Church, a thorny issue for Dante. The territory of the universal
empire was all the earth, the mundus. Thanks to his geocentric
astronomy, Dante could truly claim a strong notion of universality for
the territory of his Monarch. The globe was the whole human universe.
He could therefore speak about sections of the planet that neither he
nor anybody else had ever personally visited. Hans Lindahl, however,
distinguishes globe from world. Globe is the surface of a sphere, the
imperfect sphere of planet earth. A global law has no borders. It is an
inside with no outside. World, however, is an intersection of meanings,
an overlapping of human understandings lit up from within. A world
must have some limits, because it necessarily excludes something. The
opposition is no longer domestic versus foreign, but known versus
strange.16
It is crystal clear that the power wielded by Dante’s Emperor is
without borders. He has legitimate claims on territories and peoples we
can only dream of. Dante’s Monarchia has therefore no borders. Dante’s
Monarchia, however, describes and makes understandable a normative
world with its own limits. The autonomy of the cities, the independence
of the first national States (like the Kingdom of France), the Papacy as
endowed with plenitudo potestatis, “fullness of power”, are bracketed
away within the world that Dante, while describing, is actually trying to
bring to life. They are pushed in the area of the strange, beyond the
normative limit of his performative description.
‘Limits’ does not simply mean that we know that there are other
institutional orders available “out there”, but that within that
institutional order some kind of exclusion must take place.17
Just as Aristotle must have been aware that his tale of the origins, ex
arches, could have not possibly been a scientific description of every
city-state, (i.e., the description of city-states in a general way), Dante
must have been somehow aware that his universal monarchy, whose
origins he describes in a longer sequence than Aristotle’s, was also a
normative notion. Dante, in a nutshell, is interested in creating a world
more than in describing the political history of the globe.
The notion is that Dante’s global monarchy has no borders, and it is
therefore different from the kingdoms of other princes. This is clearly
stated by Dante, and duly stressed by Kelsen. Caesar’s jurisdictio
terminatur oceano solum: the territory he controls is simply described
by a universal geographic limit, the great ocean that engulfs all the land.
But, this does not contingit principibus aliis, quorum principatus ad alios
terminatur, this does not happen to the other princes, whose kingdoms
have borders created by other kingdoms.18
On the other hand, Dante could not be clearer about what we
conceptualize as limits: his monarchy must be fully Christian, and it will
last forever. There is no room for diversity: pagans should be converted,
so that the Empire wanted by God himself can come to exist. There is no
need to stress that Dante’s freedom is never a modern religious
freedom—respect for all religions as a condition for the flourishing of
human beings.
Kelsen stresses exactly this point: the power of the Emperor on the
other kingdoms is not described with a geographic, territory-related,
image. The Emperor is like Moses, the leader of the whole Hebrew
people, while the different tribes have their own leaders who decide on
minor issues. This image is definitely not about borders. It is about a
world.
The territory at stake here is, if any, the territory hinted to by
Hannah Arendt:
“territory” as the law understands it, is a political and a legal

concept, and not merely a geographical term. It relates not so
much, and not primarily, to a piece of land as to the space
between individuals in a group whose members are bound to,
and at the same time separated and protected from, each other
by all kinds of relationships, based on a common language,
religion, a common history, customs, and laws.19
There is, of course, a clearly stated geographic, territory-related cluster

of political issues in Dante’s Monarchia, and in Kelsen’s reading of it.
While the Emperor is entitled to imperare, the princes have only the
duty to regere. The (geographic) extension of the Emperor’s power is
much larger than the extension of the princes’ authority, but the
intensity is lower, because it decides only on very general and most
important issues. While any prince’s authority is geographically
circumscribed but endowed with a stricter intensity. The same happens
in the universe ruled by the one God who controls (impera) every
square inch of the cosmos but directly rules (regge) in hell.20 Kelsen
always had special attention for the geographic, territory-related
problems of legal systems. The “shape” of the State, he famously stated,
was that of an inverted cone,21 whose top is in the center of the earth—
something like Dante’s funnel-like inferno.
While there is little doubt that Dante would have admitted to
differences in different kingdoms, (such as mores, languages,
gastronomic habits, sport preferences etc.), within the borderless
wholeness of his universal monarchy, the principium unitatis implies a
kind of homogeneity unthinkable in the ancient empires.
The most famous disciple of Aristotle was Alexander the Great, who
went beyond the conceptual threshold of the city-state described by his
master creating, via military excellence, an empire of people of different
“races” and different religions. The Roman empire tried to
institutionalize such openness to religious diversity in the Pantheon, a
temple where there was a niche for every deity. It was later turned into
a Catholic Church, and still is (the most ancient Church in Rome).
Dante’s monarchy is on the contrary built on the assumption of a
remarkable religious homogeneity, which he could take for granted as
something highly valuable.
The power of the principium unitatis is difficult to grasp. It is not
just one land, one prince (although, as it has been shown, this aspect is
of critical impact on Dante’s proposal). The analogon of the Emperor is
God himself: and the one thing God almighty cannot do is to create
another God. That would be logically inconsistent. Just as there are
words and concepts inherently plural (friend, baseball team: you need
at least two teams if you want to play the game, and a team that by
assumption cannot play is not a team), God is a term/notion inherently
singular. The Gods of the Greek myths had little to do with the One God
of the Old Testament, and the difference between Monotheism and
Polytheism is qualitative, not quantitative (despite the language). Just
the same, despite Diocletian’s attempts, the Emperor cannot have
another Emperor at his side.
The power of the principium unitatis is no neutral force: the analogy
with the One God ruling the Universe makes the Christian Religion the
very stuff of which the universal monarchy is made—and the Empire is
directly wanted by God. The world culturally trigged by the
performative power of Dante’s work is rich with exclusions, but it must
claim there is none. Not just pagans, Muslims, atheists, or heretics are
pushed to the borders of political legitimacy, but eventually all those
who do not share Dante’s views. It is only a matter of choosing the right
circle of hell for each of them—a power that, apparently, Dante reserves
for himself.22
Our contemporary notion of vulnerability takes shape and color
from such dynamics of exclusion. De Monarchia by Dante, as read by
Hans Kelsen, is a perfect study in case, because it strives to conjure up
an universal institution, using up in the process all the power of the
principium unitatis—and all the wisdom of the age: philosophy,
theology, poetry, and most importantly a deep knowledge of Roman
History and of the Scriptures.
A term/notion, well known to Aristotle, is conspicuously absent in
De Monarchia: equality. Other political values like justice, or freedom,
and above anything else peace, are cornerstones of Dante’s building. An
easy explanation is that, as mentioned above, the principium unitatis
seems to imply hierarchy.
This is correct, but it is intellectually lazy as well. Dante’s unity
principle is operative at a deeper level. It creates a normative horizon
where there is no need of a restorative equality, as all the pieces fall into
place because of the rule of the Emperor, just like the universe works
like clockwork because of the rule of God Almighty. The principium
unitatis hides any possible vulnerability. The princes and Caesar will
simply take care of the occasional injustice.
From this universal point of view there is no exclusion, and
therefore no “militant” equality, no “equality-as-a-practice”, is required.
The making of invisible exclusions is, in a nutshell, the legal and
political structure of the notion of (situated) vulnerabilities.
References
Arendt H (1965) Eichmann in Jerusalem: a report on the Banality of Evil. Viking
Press, New York
Ascoli A-R (2008) Dante and the making of a modern author. Cambridge University
Press, Cambridge
[Crossref]
Capograssi G (1952) Impressioni su Kelsen tradotto. Rivista trimestrale di diritto

pubblico 4:767–810
Cau M (2004) Hans Kelsen et la théorie de l’Etat chez Dante. Laboratoire italien.
Politique et societé. Droit et literature 5:125–150. https://doi.org/10.4000/
laboratoireitalien.431
[Crossref]
Dante [1312–1313] De Monarchia. English edition: Dante (1996) In: Shaw P (ed)
Monarchy. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge
Dante [1312–1313] (2015) De Monarchia. In: Quaglioni D (ed) Monarchia.

Mondadori, Milan
Eisenberg L (1986) Rudolf Virchow: the physician as politician. Med War 2(4):243–
250
[Crossref]
Kelsen H (1905) Die Staatslehre des Dante Alighieri. Leipzig, Wien. Italian edition:
Kelsen H (2017) Lo stato in Dante. Una teologia politica per l’impero (Preface by
Monateri P-G and Afterword by Frosini T-E). Mimesis (Fuochi Blu Series), Milan
Kelsen H (1934) Reine Rechtslehre. Einleitung in die rechtswissenschaftliche

Problematik. English edition: Kelsen H (1992) Introduction to the problems of legal
theory (trans: Litschewski Paulson B and Stanley L. Paulson S-L). Clarendon, Oxford
Kelsen H [1934] (1985) Reine Rechtslehre. Einleitung in die rechtswissenschaftliche
Problematik. Scientia Verlag, Aalen (short treatise)
Kelsen H [1945] (2005) General Theory of Law and State (1945). Taylor & Francis
Ltd, New York
Kelsen H (1960) Reine Rechtslehre. Verlag Franz Deuticke, Wien
Lagi (2008) Il pensiero politico di Hans Kelsen (1911-1920). Le origini di Essenza e

valore della democrazia. Name, Genoa
Lindahl H (2018) Authority and the globalisation of inclusion and exclusion.

Cambridge University Press, Cambridge
[Crossref]
Musa M (ed) (1995) The Portable Dante. Penguin, London
Romano S (2017) The legal order. Routledge, London

[Crossref]
Solmi A, Kelsen H (1907) Die Staatlehre des Dante Alighieri. Bullettino della Società
Dantesca Italiana 13:98–111
Steinberg J (2013) Dante and the limits of the law. The University of Chicago Press,
Chicago-London. Italian Edition: Steinberg J (2013) Dante e il confine del diritto
(trans: Sara Menzinger). Viella, Rome
Waldenfels B (2006) Grundmotive einer Phänomenologie des Fremden. Frankfurt:

Suhrkamp. English edition: Waldenfels B (2011) Phenomenology of the Alien: basic
concepts (trans: Kozin A, Stähler T). Northwestern University Press, Evanston
Footnotes
1 See Steinberg (2013).
2 See at least Kelsen (1934); Kelsen (1992), translated by Bonnie Litschewski

Paulson and Stanley L. Paulson (Clarendon Press Oxford).
3 Kelsen (1960), p. 201. In other words: “To be sure, the law is no longer presupposed
as an eternal and absolute category; its content is recognized as subject to historical
change, and the law itself, as positive law, is recognized as a phenomenon
conditioned by temporal and spatial factors”. Kelsen (1992), p. 21.
4 Virchow was an amazing figure. See for instance Eisenberg (1986), pp. 243–250.
5 Romano (2017), p. 1. See in this volume, Social Pluralism, Efficacy & Equality.
Rethinking The Legal Order by Santi Romano, section 9.
6 Capograssi (1952), pp. 767–810.
7 Arrigo Solmi wrote a critical note with a nationalist flavor. See Solmi and Kelsen
(1907), pp. 98–111.
8 Kelsen (1905); Kelsen (2017), namely Lo stato in Dante. Una teologia politica per
l’impero, with a Preface by Giuseppe Monateri and Afterword by Tommaso Edoardo
Frosini (Mimesis).
9 See Cau (2004) and Lagi (2008), pp. 32–34.
10 A complete translation of the Commedia is to be found, for example, in Musa

(1995).
11 Dante (1112–1113); Dante (2015) edited by Quaglioni, pp. 150, 440. I found the
contribution by Quaglioni invaluable.
12 John 19: 23–24.
13 Aristotle, Politics, I: 2.
14 Aristotle, Pol. VII: 8.
15 Dante (1312–1313); Dante (1996), edited by Prue Shaw (Cambridge University

Press), p. 94: “Let Caesar therefore show that reverence toward Peter which a
firstborn son should show his father, so that, illumined by the light of paternal grace,
he may the more effectively light up the world, over which he has been placed by
Him alone who is ruler over all things spiritual and temporal”.
16 Lindahl (2018), pp. 28, 35. Lindahl elaborates on Bernhard Waldenfels’s

phenomenology of the alien (Phänomenologie des Fremden). See Waldenfels (2011)
and, previously, the original publication: Waldenfels (2006).
17 Lindahl (2018), p. 38.
18 Dante (2015), pp. 150, 440, p. 96.
19 Arendt (1965), pp. 262–263.
20 Inf. I, 127. Commedia is to be found, for example in Musa (1995).
21 “The territory of a State is usually considered as a definite portion of the earth’s

surface. This idea is incorrect. […] Since the earth is a globe, the geometrical form of
this space - the space of the State - is approximately an inverted cone. The vertex of
this cone is in the center of the earth, where the conic spaces, the so-called
territories of all the States, meet.” Kelsen [1945] (2005), n. 1, pt. 2, II, A, f, p. 217;
General Theory of Law and State (Taylor & Francis Ltd).
22 While all the mistakes are exclusively mine, I am deeply in debt with Albert
Ascoli, for the many on-line enlightening conversations on Dante and other authors
of the Italian cultural and political tradition. See Ascoli (2008).
G. Zanetti, Equality and Vulnerability in the Context of Italian Political Philosophy,
Studies in the History of Law and Justice 26
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-35553-0_3
3. Niccolò Machiavelli and Efficacy

(1) Department of Law, University of Modena and Reggio Emilia,
Modena, Italy
3.1 The Prince’s Ruin

Machiavelli’s texts have been studied by a legion of first-class scholars.
They have been scanned and prodded and scrutinized by some of the
keenest minds in the community of political thinkers, as well as in the
Italian studies research field. It must be very clearly stated that there is
no attempt, here, to say anything really new, to offer any
groundbreaking interpretation of The Prince or of The Discourses. The
main goal of this chapter is to shed light on some already known
aspects of Machiavelli’s position, which may play a role in the
argumentative structure of this text.
First and foremost, it is interesting to remark that the vulnerability
figure, in The Prince, is the prince himself. All of the wise advice,
truthful counsel, and concerned admonitions that are to be found in the
text are to help the prince to succeed and, above all, to prevent him
from failing. It is a difficult path that the prince treads on, full of traps
and dangers. The point of view of the author, very often, seems to be a
sincere concern about the prince he is counseling, so that the prince
may make no mistakes; it seems to be a wisdom shared in order to
prevent him from ruinare (ruination).
While to ruin and ruinare are not necessarily exactly the same, it is
worth checking how often the word get used (or the concept conjured
up). Just a few examples from The Prince: “he who does not follow this
course […] will be plagued by infinite difficulties”1; “He who helps
another man to power is setting himself up for ruin […]2”; “And
whoever becomes the ruler of a city that is used to living free without
destroying it can be expected to be destroyed by the city”3; “unarmed
prophets came to ruin” […] “Girolamo Savonarola, who came to ruin
with his new order when the multitude lost belief in him”4; “Those who
follow the first path can maintain their position […]. The others cannot
possibly survive5; “He should fear them as if they were declared
enemies, because in adversity they will inevitably help to bring about
his ruin”,6 “[…] he who spurns what is actually done for what ought to
be done will achieve ruin […]”7; “For there are cases in which people
might think a certain path is valorous, but following it would be the
prince’s ruin […]”8; “He will be vulnerable to the slightest unrest and
fall prey to the first danger”9; “In our times we have seen great deeds
accomplished only by those who were considered miserly; all the
others came to ruin”10; “A prince who has based everything on their
word without taking other precautions is ruined […]”11; “Pertinax
inspired hatred, and as he was an old man, contempt as well, so he
came to ruin […]”12; “Antoninus […]. Such rush conduct was bound to
bring about his own ruin, and it did”13; “the ruins of the emperors I
have mentioned”14; “The irresolute prince will most often follow the
path of neutrality in order to avoid immediate danger, and will most
often come to ruin”15; “If advisers and princes are of this kind, they can
have confidence in one another. If they are not, then things will end
badly for one or the other”16; “A prince who acts otherwise will either
come to ruin because of his flatterers, or grow increasingly irresolute
by following conflicting advice, which will result in losing respect”17;
“the shortness of his life did not allow him to experience reverse,
because if times had changed so as to compel him to act with caution,
he would have come to ruin […]”.18
This is not simply teaching how to run a principato. This means
stressing over and over again that to run a principato is a dangerous (if
exciting) game, that no mistake is allowed, and that the price for a
mistake is often to ruin. Machiavelli is not first and foremost teaching
how to be happy—he is advising princes how not to fail, when failing is
so easy, and that is precisely what makes his lesson very valuable.
The subtext is something like “underestimate this book (and my
wisdom) at your own peril”.
This has obviously to do with the fact that Machiavelli is trying to
sell himself to the Medici, and it is critical that they perceive how
important it can be to hire him, in order to avoid, thanks to his
intelligence and skills, their own downfall. Sometimes one almost gets
the feeling that the pages of The Prince are supposed to scare the
reader, to create a special concern, a fear. It is so easy, after all, to make
a mistake, and a prince’s mistake can and often do have
disproportionate consequences. There is not so much about the risks
that the counselors run, and this makes sense, since the subject of the
work is stated in the very title.
The reasons for the prince’s vulnerability are mostly the ever-
changing background conditions of his political actions, the power of
fortuna, and the general leaning toward evil that human beings display,
(“men are a sorry lot”). This latter reason also plays a key role (as we
shall see) in Machiavelli’s way to contain and harness such contingent,
mutable circumstances (implied by the former).
3.2 Contingency and Vulnerability

There is a tension (almost an opposition), in The Prince, between an
intense notion of contingency, of impermanency, of fluid and tragic
variability of key circumstances for the flourishing of the rational
political action, and the bold assumption that is possible, and of the
utmost importance, to know the eternal and unchangeable laws of
politics.
Sometimes it is critical to be bold and audacious, like Pope Julius II.
His successful enterprises were born out of his ardent temperament,
that he certainly did not choose, but that perfectly suited the
background circumstances in which he found himself making decisions
and acting. Quintus Fabius Maximus Cunctator, on the other end, fought
well by quietly postponing any critical battle, biding his time, while at
the same time his enemies were getting weary and uneasy. Quintus
Fabius was simply the right man at the right time. He had that kind of
virtue that was more appropriate under the circumstances. A man like
Julius would have been ruined in such a scenario, just as Quintus
Fabius, the Temporiser, would primarily have lacked the impetus
needed to succeed in Julius’s times.
This feeling about the power of ever-changing circumstances,
clearly born out of Machiavelli’s personal experiences and studies, is
sometimes almost palpable in the text: it pops out here and there. Some
examples: “[…] the affairs of this world are so changeable that one
cannot sit idly and wait outside a city with a besieging army19; “[…] but
one cannot lay this matter out in broad terms, since it varies with every
case”20; “fortresses can be useful or not, depending on the time”21; “Nor
should any state believe it can always make secure choices: In fact, all
choices should be considered dubious […]”22; “[…] he will be ruined if
he does not change his manner of proceedings. One cannot find a man
prudent enough to be capable of adapting to these changes […]”.23 One
wonders, if you cannot find a man this prudent, and if you are not
willing to wish a short, successful life to the prince you are advising,
how is it possible to avoid “to ruin”? Other valuable passages, from the
Discourses on the First Ten Books of Titus Livius, are to be found in I, 6
(“as all affairs of this world are in motion and will not remain fixed,
they must either rise or fall”, “sendo tutte le cose degli uomini in moto, e
non potendo stare salde, conviene che le salghino o che le scendino”24);
III, 17 (“E perché a simili disordini che nascano nelle repubbliche non si
può dare certo rimedio, ne sèguita che gli è impossibile ordinare una
repubblica perpetua, perché per mille inopinate vie (“thousand
unpredictable ways”) si causa la sua rovina”25). There are reflections
(e.g., Series C, 182, 186) by Francesco Guicciardini which most famously
harp on the same cords.26 The same could be said, and even in stronger
terms, for Paolo Paruta.27
On top of that, there are also bad luck streaks that human beings
cannot really prevent or successfully face. The death of Pope Alexander
VI, Cesare Borgia’s father, and (at the same time) the Valentino’s illness
during the conclave, were events that were simply out of Cesare’s
control. There was nothing he could do about it, and Machiavelli is
adamant on this point, that he had made no mistakes and was ruined
anyway.
There is, however, a competing feeling that radiates from The
Prince’s pages. The text is filled to the brim with blunt maxims, general
rules and universal laws on political actions from the very beginning:
All states and dominions that have had and continue to have
power over men were and still are either republics or
principalities.28
Machiavelli was a learned man. He must have been perfectly aware that
he was not informed about all the regimes of the world (the world was
yet far from having been fully explored, though learned Europeans
already knew that there were far-away lands of which little was
known), let alone of the ancient times, from Egypt to far away Asia. A
statement like that, therefore, for the very reason that it was not and
could have not been supported by adequate empirical evidence, is a
blunt rhetorical position of impressive intensity. In the light of such an
intensity, all the general rules stated by Machiavelli seem not so much
the theorems of a treatise, or the maxims of a political handbook, but
the literary attempt to create a narrative where political wisdom in
general, and therefore Niccolò’s personal political wisdom (potentially
useful to the Medici family) in particular, becomes a graspable,
understandable notion.
Against a shape-shifting and basically ungraspable world,
Machiavelli conjures up an alternative vision of homogeneity and the
substantial equality of all possible scenarios. Not to take a position in
the fight between two neighbors is “always” dangerous. It is always the
same. It is better to be feared rather than to be loved. It is always the
same. This is, of course, his basic attitude. Just a few examples: “This is
the result another natural and basic inevitability […]”29; “men who
manage to acquire are always applauded”.30 They key chapter, is of
course, Chapter Fourteen, Of a Prince’s Duties Concerning the Military.
Here Machiavelli states a geographic homogeneity. The Prince, studying
his own territory, is actually studying all territories, because at the end
of the day they are all more or less the same:
[…] First, he will familiarize himself intimately with his own

country and understand how to defend it; second, with the
knowledge and experience of his own terrain, he will more
easily get to know any foreign terrain he might have to explore,
because any hill, valley, river, plain, or marsh that exists in
Tuscany will resemble those of other provinces. In short,
familiarizing with the terrain of one’s own province helps to
familiarize one with the terrain of other provinces as well.31
This is about the exercise of the body. The reason I indulged in such a
lengthy quote is that I find remarkable the rhetoric pressure
Machiavelli is exercising: “any hill, valley, river, plain, or marsh […]”. The
summing up of the second sentence makes sure the reader “gets it”. The
physical world does not change—spatial distance it is not an issue. And
most famously, time distance is not an issue either:
As for the exercise of the mind, a prince must read histories and
study the actions of great men so he can see how they conducted
themselves in war and examine the reasons for their victories
and defeats, in order to imitate the former and avoid the latter.32
The exercise of the prince’s body implies geographic homogeneity

(space); the exercise of the prince’s mind implies historical
homogeneity (time). Relevant, and very famous, passages in the
Discourses are for example: I, 39 (“E’ si conosce facilmente per chi
considera le cose presenti e le antiche, come in tutte le città ed in tutti i
popoli sono quegli medesimi desideri e quelli medesimi omori, e come
vi furono sempre”33); II, 5, where Machiavelli stresses homogeneity
between religions, verging on blasphemy; III, 43 (“Sogliono dire gli
uomini prudenti, e non a caso né immeritatamente, che chi vuole
vedere quello che ha da essere consideri quello che è stato: perché tutte
le cose del mondo in ogni tempo hanno il proprio riscontro con gli
antichi tempi. Il che nasce perché essendo quelle operate dagli uomini
che hanno ed ebbono sempre le medesime passion, conviene di
necessità che sortischino il medesimo effetto”34).
Even Machiavelli’s negative anthropology, the notion that human
beings are basically selfish and leaning to evil, is not just the content of
an empirical observation, and the outcome of personal experience, but
also a necessary postulate for such universal “laws of politics” (and
therefore for Machiavelli’s own narrative of political wisdom): if human
beings are selfish maximizers, driven by greed and fear, then they are
also essentially predictable (a most interesting quality for a prince’s
counselor). Love can make human beings strange, creative, and
unpredictable. Fear is an emotion shared by non-human animals; they
can be tamed and domesticated by a rational use of fear. Greed is just a
trifle more complex, and in quite an interesting way, but it still
something that increase a reasonable predictability as far as human
beings are concerned.
It is in fact critical that Machiavelli, and his prince, can foresee the
behavior of the other characters in the political arena: the subjects, the
powerful citizens, the neighboring princes, and of course armies. Fear
and greed play a key role in Machiavelli’s understanding of armies.
This means that the two main causes of a Prince’s everlasting
danger, fortuna and our human selfish attitude (fear and greed), can be
played one against the other. Machiavelli’s negative anthropology
creates that stable, immutable background, where virtue can challenge
fortuna.
The logic inherent to the motivation horizon is not the same logic
that belongs to the argumentation horizon. Motivational factors do not
necessarily need to be completely consistent with one another,
perfectly transparent and open to rational understanding. The Prince
seems sometimes to host conceptual oppositions not ready to be fully
disentangled and clarified. It is therefore doubtful that it would be
advisable to try to read the text the way the Middle-Ages Glossatori
would try to read the Roman Law, (i.e., explaining away the—allegedly
only apparent—contradictions, and neutralizing them in a system of
distinctions and text comparisons).
Simply stating general rules would make Machiavelli’s personal
contribution no longer useful. One would just need an autographed
copy of the book, and make sure his ministers carefully read it in order
to master the power of contingency and circumstances. There is a hint
to this possibility when he addresses Lorenzo de’ Medici: “Your
Magnificence will recognize that I cannot offer You a greater gift than
the prospect of Your understanding in the shortest period all that I have
learned over so many years and with so much danger and hardship”.35
Simply denying the existence of such rules, however, could turn the
decision makers into paralyzed doubters, provided they are not
endowed with Pope Julius’s temperament. Rules are needed, but also
fear of ruinare and greed of ampliamento: Machiavelli is shrewdly
exposing his princely reader to the same motivating factors he is willing
to recommend for ruling his subjects and defeating his enemies.
On the other hand, there is this tragic feeling of human vulnerability.
A vulnerability that Machiavelli had experienced in the flesh—he had
been actually tortured. The difficult-to-harness power of fortuna is
conjured up in The Prince to make sure the reader is constantly
reminded of the lack of stability of human enterprises. No one like the
prince seems to experience such exciting and yet dreadful dangers.
Harnessing such a vulnerability means to state, against all odds,
some kind of equality and homogeneity in the world of politics and war,
of diplomacy and court. Without such equality and homogeneity no
political science is possible, and Machiavelli’s “treatise” turns into an
arbitrary bunch of maxims, the legacy of his personal experiences and
of some enjoyable reading. At the same time, Machiavelli needs to state
his potential role. His potential role is based both on the vulnerability of
the princes and on the possibility to (at least provisionally) harness it.
3.3 Normative Systems and Efficacy

This is just scratching the surface of the problem. While The Prince is
not an oration, it certainly tries to persuade and convince; it wants to
make a difference. Each single maxim can be accepted and put in use,
but the text, as a whole, is in its turn a performative act, that creates a
narrative within which Italy needs prince(s), princes need counselors,
and the Medici need Machiavelli. In a theoretical nutshell: Vulnerability
implies equality/homogeneity, punctual circumstances imply efficacy.
The Prince itself is a political action, that is supposed to fit the special
circumstances determining both the Italian political situation and
Machiavelli’s existential position.
Part of that self-asserted “objective reality”, la realtà effettuale della
cosa, is Machiavelli’s intervention into the political arena by writing the
text.
While the performance was less than successful from a biographical
point of view, it certainly worked on the level of a history of political
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
XXI
Madame d’Oudart, ayant quitté son fils, gagna la rue de Grenelle et alla
sonner chez madame Chef-Boutonne, à qui elle raconta, tout chaud, ce
qu’elle avait fait. Madame Chef-Boutonne dit sèchement:
—C’est très bien.
A quoi madame d’Oudart reconnut qu’une heure avant de se présenter
chez M. le directeur de l’École, il eût peut-être été temps encore d’informer
son amie de ce qu’elle se proposait de faire, mais que lui venir narrer la
chose accomplie était une faute.
—Je n’osais point parler de ce projet, dit-elle, tant qu’Alex n’en avait
pas fini avec ses épreuves de droit, et, d’autre part, le temps presse, puisque
les cours...
Madame Chef-Boutonne interrompit et répéta:
—C’est très bien.
Cette pauvre madame d’Oudart s’affaissa tout à plat. Madame Chef-
Boutonne avait précisément à annoncer à son amie qu’elle s’était «mise en
quatre» pour le jeune Lepoiroux et que ses démarches aboutissaient à
l’issue la plus heureuse. Qui donc avait-elle été voir? Mais, monsieur le
vice-recteur, tout bonnement, de qui l’obligeance, en l’occasion, s’était
montrée vraiment exquise: le jeune Lepoiroux pouvait être assuré d’obtenir
de l’État la faveur demandée.
—Voilà! dit-elle, ayant rendu compte de sa mission.
Elle parut magnanime. Le «service» tombait de si haut que madame
d’Oudart se demanda si elle n’eût pas préféré payer de sa poche les études
complètes d’Hilaire. Cependant elle se confondit en actions de grâces, se
leva et embrassa son amie.
—Je vais écrire cette bonne nouvelle à Nathalie Lepoiroux, dit-elle; elle
ne saura comment vous remercier!
XXII
Madame Lepoiroux sut parfaitement comment remercier madame Chef-
Boutonne. Elle prit la peine de lui écrire, en même temps qu’à madame
d’Oudart, une lettre identique, à quelques termes près, et de ce ton
impersonnel, lointain, propre aux œuvres dictées à une personne étrangère
et mises au point ou embellies par celle-ci, ce qui excusait la version
unique, et aussi, en quelque sorte, l’audace de certaines périodes. Madame
Lepoiroux affectait d’être illettrée et se refusait à adresser à ses protectrices
un spécimen de son écriture défectueuse. Quelqu’un «prenait la plume» en
son nom, et, après quelques termes de la plus humble gratitude pour
l’obtention de la bourse à la Faculté des lettres, laissait entendre qu’«un
allègement aussi inattendu» aux dépenses dont madame d’Oudart avait
«accepté la charge», pourrait,—«n’est-il pas vrai, madame?»—permettre à
une si généreuse personne de faire les frais de l’inscription d’Hilaire à
l’École de droit, par exemple... Le jeune Lepoiroux, affirmait-on, promettait
de cumuler les deux études, et de «rapporter triomphant à sa ville natale les
diplômes superposés». Ici, une objection était prévue: la «ville natale» eût
pu, en effet, contribuer à ce supplément d’études d’un sujet si éminemment
propre à lui faire honneur; mais fallait-il «répéter à la bienfaitrice qui, en
plaçant jadis le jeune Hilaire dans un établissement congréganiste, s’était si
héroïquement engagée à en supporter toutes les conséquences», fallait-il lui
rappeler que «la tristesse des temps» ne laisse pas l’espoir de trouver en
province «la haute impartialité» dont l’État avait fait preuve en Sorbonne?
—«si toutefois nous ne devons pas en attribuer le mérite entier, madame, à
votre toute-puissante intervention».
Madame d’Oudart jugea le procédé cavalier. L’appétit de la veuve
Lepoiroux était franchement sans pudeur.
—Prétendre, s’écriait madame d’Oudart, que j’ai «accepté la charge» des
frais d’études de ce morveux, ah! ceci, c’est de l’outrecuidance!... Et quand
donc me suis-je engagée?... quand donc?... que l’on me le dise!... Et puis,
voyons, sérieusement, une École, est-ce que ce n’est pas assez?... Mais non!
aujourd’hui, il en faut deux; il en faut trois!...
—Rappelle-toi, lui disait Alex, les histoires, au collège, à propos du
chocolat de la Compagnie coloniale: Hilaire en voulait manger parce que
j’en mangeais...
Madame Chef-Boutonne communiqua sa lettre à madame d’Oudart;
madame d’Oudart lui tendit la sienne. Madame Chef-Boutonne ne fut pas
flattée que l’on confondît le rôle qu’elle avait joué avec celui de madame
d’Oudart: la «toute-puissante intervention», notamment, appliquée à l’une
comme à l’autre protectrice, avait du comique!... Madame d’Oudart fut
froissée de ce que, pour une visite au vice-recteur, madame Chef-Boutonne
se fût attiré le titre de «bienfaitrice» des Lepoiroux, qui, à elle, lui coûtait si
cher.
Peu s’en fallut que la lettre commune n’aliénât à la veuve Lepoiroux ses
deux destinataires.
—Eh bien! ma belle, dit madame Chef-Boutonne, voilà, ou je ne m’y
connais pas, un attentat, en plein jour, à la propriété; c’est à votre bourse
qu’on en a!...
—J’y suis faite, dit madame d’Oudart, voilà vingt ans que cela dure...
—Vingt ans!...
—Je ne m’en vante point, mais...
Madame d’Oudart crut à propos d’édifier son amie par une chronique
complète, depuis les origines, de la famille Lepoiroux, dont elle ne tirait, à
vrai dire, nulle vanité, en temps ordinaire. Elle dit, sans rien farder, le rôle
providentiel des Lhommeau et Dieulafait d’Oudart. Et, puisque c’était bien
une rivalité de providences que la lettre commune établissait aujourd’hui en
faveur des Lepoiroux, ce récit juchait madame Dieulafait d’Oudart au degré
justement dû—que diable!—à la constance de ses sacrifices.
—Bravo, ma bonne! dit à madame d’Oudart son amie. Je vois bien que
la cause de l’infortunée Lepoiroux est gagnée: ce n’est pas en si beau
chemin que vous refuserez une nouvelle aumône!...
Et madame d’Oudart pensait que si, par hasard elle refusait son aumône,
madame Chef-Boutonne était femme à offrir la sienne.
Peu s’en fallut que la lettre commune ne gagnât aux Lepoiroux un peu
plus qu’ils ne demandaient!
XXIII
Madame Chef-Boutonne voulut connaître Hilaire Lepoiroux. Hilaire
l’alla voir, à la sortie d’un cours, portant à la main ses livres et cahiers
étranglés par une lanière, comme un bambin qui revient de l’école.
Le pauvre garçon ne payait pas de mine. Lamentable d’habit et de
visage, il n’était toutefois pas timide; c’était un être à répondre avec
l’aplomb d’un tribun devant le plus solennel appareil d’examen, mais à
vous prendre, en bonne compagnie, l’air d’un crétin de montagnes. Il
souriait; il vous regardait, de cette manière qu’ont en commun le chien qui
va bondir et le fort en thème attendant la «colle». Point de colle, et votre
Hilaire s’affaissait, désappointé, déçu, grincheux et rancunier comme si l’on
s’était permis à son égard une mauvaise plaisanterie.
Madame Chef-Boutonne n’eut pas à se louer de l’entrevue; mais, comme
elle avait, dès auparavant, décrété qu’Hilaire était digne du plus vif intérêt,
elle le trouva «original», dit que c’était «quelqu’un», et, afin que son fils
aussi le connût, invita Hilaire au dîner de baptême du bébé Beaubrun.
Madame d’Oudart dut conduire Hilaire à la Belle-Jardinière, et le
pourvoir d’un habit, d’un plastron rigide, d’une cravate blanche. Elle
maugréait bien un peu; au cours de ses achats, elle le tarabustait, lui disait:
—Mais, mon pauvre garçon, tâche donc d’avoir l’air moins emprunté!...
Et puis, tout à coup, l’excessive disgrâce d’Hilaire l’apitoyait; et elle lui
achetait, par surcroît, une parure de boutons en nacre à fils d’or, des souliers
vernis, un «chapeau claque».
—Mon garçon, lui dit-elle, tu monteras dans un fiacre, en sortant de chez
toi, pour que tu n’aies pas de la boue jusqu’aux genoux, et tu viendras nous
prendre à la maison.
Hilaire vint en fiacre, en effet, mais avec ses souliers crottés, parce qu’il
les portait depuis le matin, ainsi que le plastron empesé; la cravate blanche
exhibait au-dessus du col d’habit son élastique et son agrafe de métal. Alex
riait. Hilaire n’était nullement incommodé. Il semblait absorbé: il dit qu’il
préparait mentalement une leçon sur Boileau.
—Mon garçon, dit madame d’Oudart, il faut être avec les gens qui vous
font l’honneur de vous adresser la parole.
Il avait assisté, dès son inscription, aux cours de droit: il demanda à
Alex, qui avait fait, l’an passé, les mêmes études, quelques renseignements
sur les professeurs.
—Ah bien! mon vieux, dit Alex, si tu crois qu’on te mène en sapin pour
que tu nous parles de ces bonzes-là!...
—Dans le monde, mon garçon, dit madame d’Oudart, il faut s’efforcer
d’être homme du monde: on ne vit pas pour savoir par leur numéro les
articles du Code, et il y a d’autres gens, Dieu merci! que ceux qui vous
enseignent ces choses arides.
Hilaire souriait: il avait acquis le dédain le plus absolu de tout ce qui
n’était pas matière d’examen.
Il se tint assez proprement à table, ayant appris chez les Pères une
certaine décence de gestes; mais il avait coutume de lire en mangeant, et,
faute d’un Boileau, il s’exténuait à déchiffrer l’analyse des eaux sur une
bouteille de la source Cachat. Et quand il eut achevé sa lecture, il la
recommença; puis il guigna de l’œil quelque bouteille d’une autre source,
afin d’avoir quelque chose à lire. Il fallait qu’il lût. Il n’écoutait point ce
qu’on disait autour de lui. Seul, un professeur, dans sa chaire, valait d’être
entendu. Il avait, d’ailleurs, le mépris des femmes. Il trouvait le temps long,
et d’autant plus qu’il avalait tout d’une goulée, comme un dogue; après quoi
il s’ennuyait. Il bâilla même, mais crut l’honneur sauf, du moment qu’il
posait la main devant sa bouche; ensuite il s’essuya les yeux.
Après le dîner, pour offrir à son hôte une occasion de revanche, la
maîtresse de maison dit à Hilaire:
—Oh! oh! jeune savant, je vais vous confronter à forte partie... Où donc
est mon fils?... Paul, dit-elle, fais-moi donc le plaisir de tenir tête à
monsieur Lepoiroux!
Paul, stylé, condescendant et d’une politesse achevée, s’inclina
légèrement, sourit et dit, du ton dont il eût demandé à une jeune fille si elle
était musicienne:
—Alors, vous cumulez les lettres avec le droit, monsieur?
Hilaire assujettit son lorgnon, toisa son homme et, à brûle-pourpoint:
—Si vous voulez, je vais vous poser une de ces colles!...
Paul ne riait qu’à certaines phrases, questions ou reparties auxquelles il
est admis que l’on rit. A la proposition d’Hilaire, formulée au milieu des
dames qui offraient le café, il ne connaissait point de précédent: son savoir-
vivre lui manquait, et il demeura interdit.
Sans plus temporiser, Hilaire «lui posait la colle».
Des messieurs s’étaient approchés, la tasse à la main, curieux, autour
d’Hilaire qui avait eu le verbe un peu haut. Il y avait là M. Beaubrun, le
gendre, auditeur de première classe à la Cour des comptes, M. du Périer,
membre du Cercle nautique, juge au tribunal civil, M. Chef-Boutonne lui-
même, qui gara son petit verre sur la cheminée, mit les pouces aux goussets
et dit: «Ah! ah!» quand la question fut nettement établie.
Paul hésita d’abord, partit d’un pied, puis de l’autre, s’arrêta, puis fonça
sur l’obstacle, dit:
—Je la tiens, votre colle!...
Et il bafouilla.
Il s’agissait d’un point de droit romain, épineux, des matières de
première année, et que l’avisé Hilaire, à peine inscrit, avait résolu. Paul,
comme Hilaire, apprenait pour fournir à des questions insidieuses telle ou
telle réponse dont la sanction est une boule blanche, ou une rouge, ou une
noire redoutable, mais son génie était moindre et sa mémoire pauvre; outre
cela, la matière était de l’an passé, c’est-à-dire close et scellée par la vertu
d’un examen heureux, et jetée pour jamais dans le gouffre sans fond des
vanités pédagogiques.
Hilaire dit gravement:
—Passons à une autre.
Car il en possédait plusieurs.
Les dames se joignirent aux hommes; on formait cercle; Paul était dans
ses petits souliers.
Le pis était pour lui qu’il ne voulait pas consentir à ne point savoir: il
disait des mots, des mots; il mettait bout à bout les bribes de sa
connaissance, et, par un étalage disparate, manifestait, même aux profanes,
qu’il n’avait de vraies clartés sur rien.
M. Beaubrun engainait son monocle dans l’ourlet de l’arcade sourcilière,
en avivant son regard malin; puis, soudainement, le laissant choir, semblait,
avec cette lentille, avoir perdu toute intelligence; M. du Périer flattait les
basques de son habit; le maître de la maison répétait son «ah! ah!» sur un
mode varié, commençant d’ailleurs à trouver la farce de mauvais goût. Ces
messieurs prenaient au spectacle l’intérêt qu’inspire un farouche combat, et
il n’y manquait pas la crainte qu’un des lutteurs ne se retournât inopinément
contre l’assistance!... Ah mais! c’est que cet animal d’Hilaire les eût
«collés» tout comme il faisait, pour la seconde fois, le fameux Paul Chef-
Boutonne.
Alex, indifférent à la joute, causait, en un coin du salon, avec madame
Beaubrun, qui se plaisait en sa compagnie. Madame Chef-Boutonne,
relevant son face-à-main, dit très haut:
—Monsieur Dieulafait d’Oudart, vous vous dérobez! Vous, qui venez de
subir tout fraîchement vos examens, voyons un peu si vous allez confondre
le terrible monsieur Lepoiroux!
—Oh! madame, dit Alex, si Paul n’y suffit pas, c’est moi qui serais
confondu!
Les mots n’étaient rien: Alex ne cherchait point à s’échapper par une
réponse mémorable; mais son air détaché de tout pédantisme donna de
l’aise au cercle qui se cristallisait autour des deux champions. On bougea et
l’on rit. Et madame Chef-Boutonne jugea qu’il convenait d’être satisfaite de
l’attitude d’Alex, modeste, généreuse pour Paul, et qui sauvait celui-ci et
Hilaire même, et d’autres peut-être, du ridicule qu’un plus long
interrogatoire eût rendu éclatant. Alex ne mettait pas son amour-propre à
«confondre» où à ne confondre pas Lepoiroux; et, en se retournant vers sa
voisine pour reprendre la conversation interrompue, ne donnait-il pas le
meilleur exemple?
La famille Chef-Boutonne ne manquait pas d’apprécier l’incivilité du
jeune Lepoiroux, ni d’être humiliée de la publique insuffisance de Paul;
mais, tel était, dans la maison, le prestige du rat de bibliothèque, que l’on
pardonnait à Hilaire le grotesque incident, et que l’image du jeune
Lepoiroux, quoique barbare, devait demeurer environnée de cette gloire
spéciale qu’on pourrait nommer l’auréole universitaire.
XXIV
Madame Dieulafait d’Oudart était satisfaite de son fils. Les études
d’Alex se poursuivaient, aux yeux du monde, comme celles de tout élève de
seconde année. On ne le voyait point se surmener, il est vrai, plus qu’il ne
l’avait fait pour réparer son premier échec; mais s’en fallait-il donc
alarmer? Non, puisque par cette douce méthode il avait réparé l’échec.
Aussi sa mère laissait-elle au jeune homme la liberté la plus large. Et si l’on
venait l’interroger à propos de lui, elle disait, répétant une expression
familière aux Chef-Boutonne:
—Mon fils? mais il «cumule» les études de droit et celles de l’École des
Sciences politiques!...
Comme Paul et comme Hilaire, Alex «cumulait» les études.
Il «cumulait» non moins les relations amoureuses avec Raymonde et
avec Louise.
Pauvre petite et gaie Louise!... son amant était bien coupable envers elle.
Elle ne s’en doutait point, car, malgré sa Raymonde, Alex était pour Louise
toujours charmant, et la retrouvait avec le même plaisir... Il n’avait que
plaisir avec elle! Elle était sans cesse d’égale humeur; elle voulait tout ce
qu’il voulait; elle était heureuse pourvu qu’il fût exact, et, s’il manquait un
rendez-vous, elle ne lui témoignait pas, au prochain, qu’elle en avait
souffert. Elle ne lui demandait rien, ne désirait rien, ne pouvait rien accepter
de lui, que la grenadine au café Voltaire, et, de temps en temps, dans la rue,
un bouquet de violettes de deux sous.
Mais au jour de l’an, ah! par exemple, au jour de l’an, Louise souffrait
qu’on la bourrât de marrons glacés.
Pour se procurer ces marrons glacés, un des derniers jours de décembre,
à six heures, on passait l’eau. En certaines rues, on osait se donner le bras;
en telles autres, déterminées, on adoptait chacun son trottoir: c’était selon le
risque que courait Louise de rencontrer quelqu’un du Ministère ou des
Gobelins. Des alertes! et des rires! des cris! et des silences!... et des façons
de s’ignorer l’un l’autre comme chien et chat, et puis de se blottir l’un
contre l’autre lorsqu’on se retrouvait coude à coude! Louise avait un
penchant à n’aller que par les rues étroites, à demi sombres et désertes, où
l’on se croit tranquilles comme des gens mariés, et où l’ami peut être tenté
de vous donner un baiser qu’on refuse; mais elle était également attirée par
la lumière et l’agrément des étalages; et elle était talonnée par l’heure
rapide qui marche toujours plus vite que les petites employées riches d’une
heure de liberté. Alex disait: «Pour revenir, nous prendrons une voiture!...»
Prendre une voiture semblait à Louise un luxe, une dilapidation, et elle
jouissait de la seule possibilité de commettre pareille folie, avec une crainte
délicieuse.
Charme des rues de Paris, l’hiver, pour les gens simples à qui tous les
plaisirs sont mesurés! Pieds dans la boue, jupes retroussées que soi-même
l’on décrottera demain, avant l’aube; parapluie ouvert et refermé;
bourrasque, éclaircie soudaines; menaces d’être éborgnée; bousculade de
rustre; compliment lapidaire du petit voyou; regards de convoitise et
regards d’extase dont on sourit, mais qu’on inscrit dans sa biographie
intime; traversée de la rue: attente, en paquets, du moment favorable; coup
d’œil expérimenté sur les naseaux fumants des plus proches «canassons»:
en avant! haut les jupes! On dirait un passage du gué. On s’est perdu, on se
cherche; on ose s’appeler: «Chéri!—Chérie!» Figure du bien-aimé aperçue
toute rayée par la pluie scintillante, reperdue un long moment derrière un
écran d’inconnus, réapparue tout à coup dans l’éclat violent des lumières,
comme une barque précieuse dont l’on suit du rivage les mouvements sur la
mer! Charme des rues de Paris!...
Et on achetait les marrons glacés, non pas, hélas! là où l’on avait décidé
de les acheter, car le temps manquait toujours! On achetait vite: à peine le
loisir de faire son choix!... Alex achetait trop de marrons glacés, vraiment
trop!... Louise pinçait son ami à la manche en lui faisant les gros yeux. Elle
était sincère; mais qu’on la violentât, voilà qui lui faisait savourer tout le
péché de gourmandise!... Et l’on montait en fiacre: le plaisir était à son
comble!... Marrons glacés et baisers dans le fiacre! Alarmes: peur de verser,
peur du retard probable, peur des yeux indiscrets!... Intermèdes: baisers et
marrons glacés!...
XXV
Un soir qu’Alex et Louise étaient censés, chacun en sa famille, devoir
aller à l’Odéon, ils croisèrent en montant l’escalier de l’Hôtel Condé et de
Bretagne, quelqu’un qu’Alex ne parut pas connaître; et, ce quelqu’un
aussitôt passé, Louise pouffa et dit:
—Un singe!
C’était Hilaire Lepoiroux.
Mais, une autre fois, au même lieu et en semblable occasion, ce ne fut
pas «un singe» qu’on rencontra, ce fut une grande et jolie fille, qui, en les
voyant, fit «ah!» porta la main à sa poitrine bombée et s’adossa au mur pour
ne point tomber. Et Alex glissa aussitôt à l’oreille de Louise:
—C’est quelqu’un que je connais, file vite!
Louise «fila», et Alex secourut Raymonde.
Alex et Raymonde avaient un rendez-vous, ce soir-là, à l’Hôtel Condé et
de Bretagne; et Alex l’avait oublié.
Il avait oublié Raymonde, et cependant c’était Louise qui «filait».
Pourquoi? Parce qu’étant plus ancien ami de Louise il se gênait moins avec
elle? Ou parce qu’il observait inconsciemment une certaine hiérarchie
sociale? Il avait connu Louise trottinant dans la rue de Grenelle; à peine
savait-il son nom de famille. Il avait connu Raymonde dans une salle de
danse et flanquée de madame sa mère; du moins ne pouvait-il oublier qu’il
avait été reçu chez madame Proupa.
Il ne fut pas aisé de secourir Raymonde. Contre son mur d’escalier, voilà
qu’elle se mettait à ouvrir des yeux hagards, et sa bouche, si belle, se
contractait en un pli tragique. Elle voulut parler, mais elle étouffa. La
patronne de l’hôtel, qui était la discrétion même, attendant un signe pour
intervenir, chiffonnait le rideau d’andrinople. Et, de la main, Alex fit, tant à
la patronne qu’au garçon dont on voyait d’en bas pendre la tête et la
serviette: «Laissez-nous! laissez-nous!...» Enfin, d’un bras ferme, il enlaça
la taille de Raymonde et traîna la jeune fille jusqu’à la chambre 19.
Là, elle l’avait attendu cinq quarts d’heure. Et ce devait être leur
troisième rencontre amoureuse!... Lorsqu’elle put parler, elle répéta:
—Cinq quarts d’heure!... cinq quarts d’heure!...
Il répondait:
—Mais, puisqu’il y a malentendu, vous auriez aussi bien attendu vingt-
quatre heures!...
Elle ne comprenait rien, sinon qu’elle avait attendu cinq quarts d’heure,
et, en son désarroi, la douleur éprouvée durant une si longue attente
surpassait la cruelle surprise d’avoir enfin vu apparaître, dans l’escalier,
celui qu’elle avait tant attendu, mais avec une femme!
Alex était humilié. Pour souffrir moins du reproche de Raymonde, ou
dans l’espoir qu’elle-même en dût être soulagée, il mentit, et renia Louise:
—Vous pensez bien, dit-il, que cette petite n’est pas à moi!
Raymonde était sans finesse, et puis elle avait tant besoin de croire ce
qu’il disait qu’elle s’apaisa. Mais, apaisée, voilà les larmes!... Et Alex, qui
n’était, dans ses rapports avec les femmes, accoutumé qu’au plaisir, pensait:
«Ah bien! sapristi, je verrai donc celle-ci toujours pleurer!...» Et cela
contribuait à lui faire regretter de mener une double aventure. Mais déjà
cette belle fille amoureuse avait appris à dérider le visage renfrogné d’un
amant, et, suffoquant tout à coup, elle dégrafait son corsage...
Pendant ce temps-là, Louise, la gaie Louise, «filait» dans la direction des
Gobelins. Elle était sourde à tout bruit, muette à toute provocation, elle se
faisait un corps d’automate; elle prenait une sorte de pas de parade; et ses
yeux étaient fixés à quinze pas en avant. A la hauteur de l’École des Mines,
elle dut s’arrêter un moment, parce que sa vue se brouillait. Plus loin, elle
arracha brusquement sa voilette qui lui collait aux joues. Et, au moment de
tourner à gauche par le boulevard de Port-Royal, elle songea que, ce soir,
«elle était au théâtre» et qu’à neuf heures à peine elle ne pouvait,
vraisemblablement, chez elle, prétendre que le spectacle fût fini. Elle
continua donc tout droit, devant elle, au hasard, et marcha, trois heures,
dans de noirs quartiers endormis, sourde, muette, automatique, petit
fantôme douloureux.
Après cette course, elle put dormir, et, le lendemain, au café Voltaire,
présenter un visage paisible, en écoutant le mensonge qu’il fallut bien
qu’Alex lui contât.
XXVI
Alex avait cessé de fréquenter le cours de danse. Il se donnait pour
prétexte qu’il lui était pénible de se retrouver en présence de madame
Proupa, et il essayait de le faire entendre, à mots couverts, à Raymonde.
Mais Raymonde disait à Alex:
—Si vous m’aimiez, vous n’écouteriez que le plaisir de me voir.
Viendrez-vous?
—Non, répondait Alex.
—Alors, c’est que vous ne m’aimez pas!
—Si! répliquait Alex.
«Elle est bien jolie, pensait-il, mais, Dieu de Dieu! qu’elle est
ennuyeuse!...» Il n’allait pas au cours de danse; mais, pour que sa mère ne
fût pas tentée de lui dire: «Eh bien! mon enfant, profite de ces deux soirées
par semaine pour travailler un peu à côté de moi, sous la lampe», il
n’informait point sa mère qu’il négligeait le cours de danse, et il allait
trouver ses amis réunis au café Vachette.
Ses instants de joie la plus pure et la plus légère étaient ceux où il volait
de la rue Férou au café Vachette. Pourquoi? Que faisait-il donc au café
Vachette? Rien du tout. Il lui était très indifférent de prendre ou de ne pas
prendre un «mazagran» médiocre; il ne jouait ni aux échecs ni aux dames,
ni aux dominos ni à la manille. Ses amis? ne les recevait-il pas chez lui?
Mais c’était au café qu’il était le plus franchement heureux de les voir.
Comment cela? Parce que le café est le lieu le plus libre du monde.
On y entre, on en sort, à son heure, à sa guise; on y amène qui bon vous
semble; on y évite un fâcheux, sans vergogne; si l’on sait qui l’on y va voir,
on ne saurait dire qui l’on n’y verra point; et si l’on sait de quoi l’on y
parlera, quel sujet ne pourrait donc pas y être abordé?... De la conversation
d’un salon, d’un fumoir, d’un cénacle, on peut prévoir les limites extrêmes,
non de la conversation de café. Nul n’y a autorité pour contenir l’audace ou
la fantaisie des propos, si ce n’est le patron aidé d’agents en cas de bruit
excessif ou de dégâts matériels, mais l’outrance des idées pures n’atteint
pas l’oreille de cette puissance. Un bachelier d’hier y coudoie des docteurs;
l’avocat s’y frotte à l’interne des hôpitaux; l’historien, à l’entomologiste; le
pauvre petit garçon pâle qui rêve d’un sonnet imprimé y est assis en face
d’un directeur de revue ou d’un académicien; des héros de la vie militaire
ou civile vous y sont désignés à voix basse, et du même ton l’on vous
signale un farceur sinistre, une actrice de l’Odéon, un bienfaiteur de
l’humanité, un criminel élargi, une femme malsaine, un grand poète. C’est
le tohu-bohu, c’est la foire, c’est la chimérique égalité réalisée pour une
heure,—à trente-cinq centimes et le pourboire,—autour de petites tables de
marbre malpropres, et sur des banquettes éventrées, dans une atmosphère
souillée par l’odeur du tabac, des alcools et de l’amère chicorée, au-dessus
d’un sol immonde composé de sciure de bois, de crachats et de la cendre
infecte qu’on extrait du foyer des pipes refroidies.
Là, Alex était sûr de retrouver Houziaux, Fleury, Givre, Thémistocle et
d’autres encore. Il fallait une pièce de théâtre bien retentissante, une
invitation à dîner inévitable, ou bien l’avantage d’aller chez un ami faire
l’économie du tabac et des consommations, pour que ces messieurs
sacrifiassent une heure de réunion aussi chère; et parfois Alex, qui en était
privé depuis sa nouvelle vie bourgeoise, même en compagnie de ses
maîtresses, tout à coup pensait: «En ce moment, ils sont au café...»
Givre était des premiers arrivés, impatient de lire les nouvelles dans les
graves journaux du soir, ayant acheté, dès avant son dîner, quelque alarmant
canard à cinq centimes. Il dévorait le Temps, les Débats, la Liberté. On le
trouvait là, congestionné, le front creusé, l’anxiété, dans son regard,
alternant avec une expression goguenarde et provocante: le ministère
chancelait; une rumeur courait les chancelleries; un homme ivre avait
franchi la frontière allemande, ou les Balkans étaient en feu. Il disait: «De
plus fort en plus fort!...» ou bien: «Certes je l’ai prédit...» ou encore, et avec
l’âpre joie de l’ironie, ce simple mot qui, à lui seul, exprimait tout le
tressaillement du citoyen averti, mais impuissant: «Parfait!...» Et son pouls
s’accélérait. Par l’indifférence de ses amis, Givre, ordinairement, était
poussé à bout.
Houziaux s’asseyait à côté de lui, aussi étranger que possible à sa fièvre.
C’était un sanguin, lourdaud, à barbe blonde, et qui n’avait qu’un souci,
celui d’éviter que Nini, sa maîtresse, favorisât quelqu’un de son regard de
velours. Il redoutait cependant de la faire asseoir le dos tourné à la salle, car
les glaces aux murailles eussent pu servir d’instrument de trahison, et il
hésitait s’il se placerait lui-même à côté de Nini pour surveiller les yeux
d’un chacun, ou bien en face, pour intercepter les œillades de Nini.
Fleury, lui, était dans les nuages: à tout propos, il concevait l’idéal. La
politique lui semblait grossière, les hommes étant nés pour s’aimer, et les
difficultés internationales n’évoquaient en son âme rêveuse que l’idée de la
paix universelle. Et il parlait de Victor-Hugo, de Tolstoï; il citait de beaux
vers, de nobles paroles. Givre haussait les épaules; et, le vers appelant le
vers, Houziaux déclamait une strophe de Musset. «A la bonne heure!»
s’écriait Nini, car elle ne comprenait que les vers d’amour. Fleury aimait
une dame aperçue, l’automne précédent, au Jardin du Luxembourg, de qui il
n’était pas certain d’avoir été remarqué et à qui il n’avait ni parlé ni écrit. Il
la haussait dans son esprit, lui rendait un culte; et, en comparaison de son
amour, tout ce qu’il voyait lui semblait vulgaire.
Quant à Thémistocle, il était volage. Il aimait à papillonner et à rire, et
croyait cultiver la plaisanterie parisienne en s’exerçant sans cesse à des jeux
de mots qui n’égayaient que dans la mesure qu’ils étaient ratés. Il visitait au
«Vachette» ses compatriotes, plus fortunés que lui, et joueurs, sans se mêler
complètement à eux, faute de crédit; il connaissait aussi les Roumains, et en
dégrossissait quelques-uns pour le français. Il agaçait Houziaux lorsqu’il
adressait à Nini des compliments ailés, fleuris, imagés à la manière de
l’Orient, en fermant les yeux et zézayant d’une douce petite voix comique.
En politique, il chevauchait l’Europe plus vite que Givre, mais accordait
une importance démesurée au Turc, sa bête noire. Il parlait du Bosphore et
de la Corne-d’Or avec une familiarité qui lui valait un certain prestige. Une
seule chose, selon lui, méritait la pleine considération d’un homme sensé: la
procédure.
Ces amis se ressemblaient donc peu. Quel petit nombre d’idées
pouvaient-ils mettre en commun? Leur amitié, c’était le café et l’habitude
d’occuper une table en nombre suffisant pour l’interdire aux intrus.
Alex apportait parmi eux sa bonne grâce et son esprit facile; Houziaux
redoutait un peu sa séduction pour Nini, mais, outre qu’il le savait
abondamment pourvu d’intrigues, il lui en prêtait et répandait le bruit
qu’Alex était l’amant d’une femme du monde: en effet, Alex devenait
discret.
Un jeune homme «de l’autre côté de l’eau» venait se joindre à eux le
jeudi, jour de bal à Bullier. C’était Schnaps. Schnaps écrivait quelque part,
disait-il, et sans qu’on sût où. A première vue, Schnaps se distinguait d’eux
par le fait qu’il n’habitait pas la rive gauche, ce qui comporte non pas une
tenue nécessairement de meilleur goût, mais une tenue qui sue le mépris
arrogant de ce qui n’est pas cette tenue. Et Schnaps les méprisait tous.
Plus largement, Schnaps méprisait tout le «Vachette»; plus largement
encore, Schnaps méprisait tout le quartier dit «latin»; enfin, toute cette rive
infortunée de la Seine. Schnaps en jugeait la population antédiluvienne: les
commerçants, des provinciaux; les étudiants, d’ineptes fils de bourgeois
adonnés à des études périmées et impropres à procurer la fortune; les
professeurs, d’«insanes benêts» prêchant la science qui mène à tout et se
contentant de rien, ignorants du véritable «levier du monde moderne»,—
l’industrie, qui soulève les millions, bouleverse les continents et se moque
des philosophies et des littératures;—le boulevard Saint-Germain, allée de
troglodytes; l’Académie, repaire de fossiles... Schnaps vouait aux arts une
haine toute particulière; plus exactement, il ricanait de ce que des jobards
s’obstinassent à les traiter comme une religion, alors que, bien compris et
adroitement exploités, ils contribuaient, comme le pétrole ou le blé, à
d’importants mouvements de la fortune publique, témoin l’Angelus de
Millet. Schnaps méprisait les poètes, à moins qu’ils ne fussent dramatiques;
les romanciers, s’ils ne tiraient pas de leur copie matière à enrichir une
maison d’édition. Schnaps se gardait de tout préjugé; il prétendait mettre
toutes choses au point: trop longtemps l’esprit des Français avait «donné
dans les panneaux!» «De la raison, que diable!...» réclamait Schnaps.
Par ses excès, Schnaps faisait bondir et caracoler ses amis du
«Vachette». De Givre il tirait une éloquence de tribun; il obligeait Houziaux
à oublier Nini et à se montrer presque intelligent; Alex, d’ordinaire plaisant,
ne s’échauffait que contre Schnaps; et la phrase pressée de Thémistocle
sonnait le grec autant que le français. Eh bien, c’était avec le doux,
sentimental et idéaliste Fleury, que ce Schnaps insolent finissait par
s’entendre: ils s’accordaient sur la paix universelle, sur l’amour de
l’humanité, sur la bonté, car Schnaps, qui méprisait tout,—hormis les
milliardaires et les intrigants,—terminait volontiers ses couplets par un
hymne à la bonté, à l’amour, à la paix, et il adhérait aux doctrines sociales
qui portent, disait-il, avec elles tout l’idéal humain!
—Mais, nom d’un petit bonhomme! objectait Fleury, pourquoi, puisque
vous finissez par une si généreuse profession de foi, vous acharnez-vous
contre la vie simple, paisible, sans ostentation, sans avidité, et toute morale
pour ainsi dire, de notre rive gauche? La plupart de nos savants, de nos
professeurs, donnent l’exemple d’un grand désintéressement; leur labeur est
considérable; ils n’ont à peu près ni repos ni plaisir; ils vivent—et beaucoup
élèvent une famille—avec un traitement dont ne se contenterait pas le
maître d’hôtel des hommes que vous admirez!... L’idéal, la fleur de la
pensée humaine?... mais ils l’enseignent, c’est leur pain quotidien!...
—Mon cher, interrompait Schnaps, je flétris les traînards!... La marche
ascensionnelle de la démocratie...
—Allons à Bullier! s’écriait Alex.
Ils se levaient et allaient à Bullier.
Ce Schnaps, qui les contrariait tous, même Fleury; ce Schnaps, qui les
outrageait et qu’ils injuriaient, leur était un coup de fouet hebdomadaire très
apprécié. Ils disaient de lui tout le mal possible et l’attendaient
impatiemment le jeudi. Un bal Bullier sans lui eût été insipide, car aucun
d’eux ne s’amusait à Bullier; mais, lorsqu’ils avaient fait trois tours au
milieu de cet Alhambra de pacotille où toute la bassesse du vocabulaire
ordurier alternait avec toute la vulgarité du répertoire musical, le besoin de
s’asseoir autour d’une table les ressaisissait, et les discussions
recommençaient comme au «Vachette».
Alors c’était aux femmes qu’on s’en prenait. Comme les «traînards»,
Schnaps les «flétrissait» toutes indistinctement, courtisanes et mondaines,
sans en excepter les mères, les sœurs et les fiancées, que respectaient ses
auditeurs. Il n’exceptait que Nini, ici présente, qui, tenant l’hommage pour
sérieux, avait M. Schnaps en haute considération. D’ailleurs elle était d’avis
que l’avenir d’une femme est de passer sur la rive droite, et elle disait à son
ami:
—Vous êtes tous des cornichons, c’est Schnaps qui est le malin.
Pour ne point quitter Schnaps si tôt, et ne se point quitter les uns les
autres, l’agrément de Bullier épuisé, les amis continuaient la soirée dans
quelque taverne jusqu’à ce qu’on en fermât les portes. Après quoi, Alex,
ayant joui copieusement de ce qu’on est convenu d’appeler la liberté,
réintégrait le domicile maternel.
XXVII
Dans le courant du mois de janvier, pour les étrennes de son vieux père,
madame d’Oudart l’alla voir en Poitou. Elle y alla sans Alex, par crainte de
nuire à ses études. Et, là-bas, elle montra à tous une figure rayonnante.
«Alex? mais il se portait bien; il cumulait les études de droit et celles des
sciences politiques; tout comme le brillant Hilaire, les lettres et le droit!»
Les amis de Poitiers admiraient cette avidité de science qui caractérise les
jeunes gens d’aujourd’hui: ils n’hésitent pas à embrasser les études les plus
diverses.
—De mon temps, faisait M. Lhommeau, on embrassait moins
d’études!...
Et, se tournant vers un vieux collègue retraité, il ajoutait:
—Et plus de grisettes! je parie.
Durant le même temps, Alex, «ayant sacrifié ses vacances de janvier»,—
selon l’expression qui fut usitée alors en Poitou,—eut à Paris une petite
difficulté: Louise refusa carrément de remettre les pieds à l’Hôtel Condé et
de Bretagne.
Louise était très capable de pousser l’abnégation fort loin: elle la poussa,
en effet, jusqu’à ne tenir nulle rigueur à Alex de l’incident survenu dans
l’escalier de l’hôtel, et elle lui présenta, au lendemain d’une si pénible
épreuve, le visage égal et riant qu’elle avait tous les jours; elle laissa son
amant s’empêtrer dans un conte à dormir debout, et parut croire tout ce
qu’il voulut bien. Mais lorsqu’il s’agit de gravir cet escalier de nouveau,
bernique! Louison, pour la première fois, regimbait.
Par là, Alex comprit l’inutilité du conte qu’il avait fait, d’une dame
connaissant sa famille, et dont la présence dans l’escalier de l’Hôtel Condé
et de Bretagne exigeait que Louise «filât». Il comprit aussi le mérite secret
du silence et du visage égal de Louise; il comprit la légitimité de la
répugnance très nette et très résolue qu’elle témoignait. Enfin il comprit
qu’il n’y avait pas deux moyens de sortir de cette impasse: louer en tout
autre hôtel que celui de Condé et de Bretagne était impraticable, étant
donné ses modestes ressources,—il ne payait point, comme il va de soi,
l’Hôtel Condé et de Bretagne, où il avait déjà vécu un an, où l’on avait vu
sa mère, où son crédit était illimité, mais à la condition qu’il en usât.—
L’unique moyen, quel était-il donc? Un moyen audacieux à la vérité:
amener sa maîtresse dans l’appartement maternel, par l’entrée particulière.
Louise ne consentit à entrer rue Férou que provisoirement, et sur
l’assurance que madame d’Oudart était absente.
Ce que la concierge n’eût souffert de nul autre locataire était loisible à
Alex en l’honneur de qui, chaque jour, elle posait son balai pour le plaisir
de regarder passer dans la cour ou s’éloigner dans la rue «un si beau jeune
homme»! Il fallait craindre Noémie qui, pour s’être montrée une première
fois discrète, lors de la visite matinale de mademoiselle Proupa, en avait
éprouvé une émotion durable et qui la minait... Somme toute, Alex, dans sa
chambre, était chez lui; et pourquoi donc madame Chef-Boutonne, en
louant l’appartement, avait-elle pris soin qu’il eût son entrée particulière?...
Allons! les convenances étaient sauves.
On usa de précautions, et l’on eut tant à se louer du succès que l’on
s’enhardit bientôt même jusqu’à la témérité.
Un soir, Alex commanda à Noémie un dîner plus substantiel et plus fin
qu’à l’ordinaire, et le mangea dans sa chambre, avec Louise, faisant lui-
même le transport des couverts, assiettes, mets et bouteilles, à la grande joie
de son amie, et à l’effroi de la bonne qui, sans avoir seulement aperçu «la
personne», était rouge exactement comme si elle eût servi le diable.
Presque autant que du plaisir de Louise, Alex s’égayait de la terreur de la
bonne. Il affectait de lui dire:
—Ma pauvre fille, il ne reste rien de votre poulet...
Ou bien:
—Vous ne voyez donc pas que j’ai ce soir l’appétit d’un ogre!...
Il répétait ses paroles à Louise en lui décrivant la figure que Noémie
avait faite. Louise était folle de joie, folle! Elle avait bien aussi un peu peur;
mais elle aimait tant cela! Tout ravissait Louise: la vue des bibelots d’Alex,
son armoire, le linge bien rangé, les fleurettes du papier de tenture, le
bureau où l’on croyait qu’il travaillait... Mais elle ne voulait pas avoir l’air
de s’intéresser aux photographies de femmes qu’il avait, quoiqu’elle en fût
inquiète. Ce fut lui, qui la devinait bien, qui les lui nomma toutes; et il
qualifiait ces dames d’«actrices», d’«artistes lyriques», etc. Louise
demandait:
—Où ça, actrice?...
Elle ne reconnaissait pas la grande belle fille qu’elle avait vue s’aplatir
contre le mur dans l’escalier de l’Hôtel Condé et de Bretagne. A celle-là
elle pensait souvent, sans qu’Alex le pût croire.
Le son des cloches de Saint-Sulpice, tout à coup, la rendit songeuse. Elle
dit:
—Elles ne sonneront pas pour mon mariage, mais pour mon
enterrement... comme pour tout le monde!...
Jamais Alex n’eût cru Louise capable de mélancolie.
Et elle vous avait un air comme il faut, soit qu’elle entrât rue Férou, soit
qu’elle en sortît, avec sa serviette sous le bras!... Et la concierge, qui se
moquait de Noémie, disait à la servante timorée:
—Ma fille, rapportez-vous-en à mon coup d’œil, c’est des répétitions
qu’elle donne à votre jeune maître!
Louise revint rue Férou, même après le retour de madame d’Oudart; on
ne se gênait guère davantage; on ne se privait que de la dînette. Madame
d’Oudart, elle, se donnait plus de mal pour éviter qu’Alex s’aperçût qu’elle
connaissait ses fredaines.
Et il fallait bien qu’Alex continuât à user de son crédit à l’Hôtel Condé
et de Bretagne, sous peine de solder l’arriéré: il en usait en faveur de la
belle Raymonde.
XXVIII
Afin de mettre Paul en valeur, madame Chef-Boutonne agitait
l’atmosphère de son salon avec plus d’impétuosité qu’elle n’en avait eu
même lorsqu’il s’était agi de marier sa fille; et les dîners se multipliaient, et
les soirées avec saynètes, où Paul était auteur et acteur, comme Molière, où
il paraissait en compagnie de jeunes filles de la rive gauche, munies de tous
leurs diplômes, et de jolies cruchettes de l’autre rive, élégantes, ignorantes,
et bien en chair. Paul s’asseyait aussi parfois à une petite table, où il
s’exerçait, en cravate blanche, à boire la goutte d’eau en récitant une
conférence «dans le genre de M. Hugues Le Roux». Il n’avait pas encore les
palmes.
Et ces demoiselles, de l’une et l’autre rive, étaient unanimes à dire à
Alex:
—Oh! pourquoi, monsieur, n’acceptez-vous pas un rôle avec nous?
L’une ajoutait:
—Les répétitions sont si amusantes!...
Et une autre:
—Sans compter que nous manquons totalement de jeune premier!...
—Comment! faisait Alex, mais Paul?...
—Oh! monsieur Paul, sans doute, a un joli talent...
Alex leur disait:
—Ne voudriez-vous pas aussi que je vous fisse une conférence?
Et toutes de rire. Pourquoi riaient-elles? L’image d’Alex, substituée
soudain à celle de Paul, et voilà Paul ridicule.
Les messieurs sérieux trouvaient Paul futile, et ceux qui étaient futiles le
jugeaient assommant. Néanmoins une formule se créait qui courait aisément
sur les lèvres: «M. Paul a un joli talent...» La patience des Parisiens à
écouter poliment des inepties est sans égale. Mais la présence d’Alex
indolent, élégant sans recherche et sans raideur, et qui ne voulait surtout pas
être pris au sérieux, obligeait les esprits à la comparaison. On disait de lui:
—Ah! celui-là, par exemple!...

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Equality and Vulnerability in the

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1. Introduction: Teaching Under Unusal Circumstances

1.3 Equality as a Practice

Doreen B (2020–21) Townsend Center for the Humanities, Berkeley

Losano MG (2008) Scritti autobiografici. Diabasis, Reggio Emilia

Pohl F (1982) Starburst. Ballantine New York

4 Cardano (1630), Caput LVIII. See footnote 82.

6 Zanetti (2011), pp. 461–470.

7 Waldron (2002), pp. 2–7.

11 Poe (1844), ed. Van Doren Stern (1945), pp. 439–462.

2. Dante Alighieri, Hans Kelsen, and the

2.1 Kelsen on Dante

2.2 The Power of the Principium Unitatis

2.3 Borders and Limits

“territory” as the law understands it, is a political and a legal

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Capograssi G (1952) Impressioni su Kelsen tradotto. Rivista trimestrale di diritto

Dante [1312–1313] (2015) De Monarchia. In: Quaglioni D (ed) Monarchia.

Kelsen H (1934) Reine Rechtslehre. Einleitung in die rechtswissenschaftliche

Kelsen H (1960) Reine Rechtslehre. Verlag Franz Deuticke, Wien

Lagi (2008) Il pensiero politico di Hans Kelsen (1911-1920). Le origini di Essenza e

Lindahl H (2018) Authority and the globalisation of inclusion and exclusion.

Musa M (ed) (1995) The Portable Dante. Penguin, London

Romano S (2017) The legal order. Routledge, London

Waldenfels B (2006) Grundmotive einer Phänomenologie des Fremden. Frankfurt:

2 See at least Kelsen (1934); Kelsen (1992), translated by Bonnie Litschewski

6 Capograssi (1952), pp. 767–810.

9 See Cau (2004) and Lagi (2008), pp. 32–34.

10 A complete translation of the Commedia is to be found, for example, in Musa

12 John 19: 23–24.

15 Dante (1312–1313); Dante (1996), edited by Prue Shaw (Cambridge University

16 Lindahl (2018), pp. 28, 35. Lindahl elaborates on Bernhard Waldenfels’s

17 Lindahl (2018), p. 38.

18 Dante (2015), pp. 150, 440, p. 96.

19 Arendt (1965), pp. 262–263.

20 Inf. I, 127. Commedia is to be found, for example in Musa (1995).

21 “The territory of a State is usually considered as a definite portion of the earth’s

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