Diplomacy was personal in that the ambassador was held to be an alter ego of the monarch. It was surrounded with the glamor of high state and important enterprise, and inspired with a great pride of office. The fact that he represented absolute power in its contact with the absolute power of others, gave the diplomat a sense of high importance. The monarchs, themselves, were generally governed by personal motives and considerations. They looked upon politics as a keen game for personal or family power in which populations of subjects, territory, and war indemnities were the stakes, and human lives the pawns; the highest happiness and good fortune of the subject was supposed to be the right to die for his king. The diplomatic representatives quite naturally fell into the same way of regarding affairs of state from the viewpoint of political power to be gained, maintained and constantly increased. It was a rather narrow game as seen by the rank and file of the diplomatic world; only a few far-seeing and statesmanlike minds could at that time appreciate the broad underlying human foundation of all political action.
Such broader insight would often have been a real obstacle to the success of the keen and clever player of the game. The mastery of underlying principles which made Grotius famous for all ages did not contribute to his success as a diplomat. The wheel of fortune turned fast, and fleeting advantage had to be caught by quick, clever though often superficial, machinations. Even as late as 1830, John Quincy Adams observed that deep insight and unusual ability was something of a hindrance to a diplomat. Yet the keen edge of the successful diplomats of the powdered wig period is in itself one of the noteworthy qualities of that sociable though unsocial age.
Throughout this period Machiavelli’s Prince may be taken as the fitting commentary on political action. The men of this age had not yet grown up to the realization which Machiavelli already had of the nature and importance of the national principle; but Machiavelli’s thought concerning the means by which, in a period of unrest and sharp rivalry, political power may be established, built up and preserved, with total disregard of every feeling and ideal and the single-minded pursuit of political success,—that thoroughly explains the spring of action of this period.
In reading the memoirs and letters of this time, one will encounter a great many protestations of conventional morality, as well as an understanding of human nature and a comprehensive grasp of the details of international rivalry. But far-seeing ideals of wisdom, moderation, and justice, and of human coöperation will not frequently be met with; there is no searching vision of realities. Nor will one gain from these memoirs very specific information about the actual methods of doing diplomatic business. These methods, even the particularly unscrupulous ones, were probably considered almost as natural processes, to be passed by without mention. But incidentally, one may receive hints, even in the correspondence of the most correct and guarded diplomat, sufficient to reconstitute their current manner of thought and action.
We encounter there all the artifices of a secret service versed in the stratagems and tricks through which information can be obtained,—the stealing of documents, bribery of public officials, general misrepresentation and deceit. Matters are often so inextricably complicated that it must have required the greatest effort to remember what each participant in that particular intrigue knew or was supposed not to know, what he could be told and what must be kept from him. These are still the more venial methods; but when the welfare of the state required, it might even be necessary, as in the case of war, to dispose of inconvenient and obstructive individuals by wrecking their reputation or even by putting them out of the way altogether.
Even the learned and dignified authorities on international law could not entirely ignore the methods employed in actual diplomatic intercourse. Grotius held that “amphibologies”—a term apparently coined by him to designate statements, which could be understood in several ways—were admissible, except in certain cases where there existed a duty to unmask, as in matters involving the “honor of God,” or charity towards a neighbor, or the making of contracts, or others of like nature. His successor, Vattel, draws a distinction between a downright lie, “words of him who speaks contrary to his thoughts on an occasion when he is under obligation to speak the truth”; and a “falsiloquy,” which he considers venial, and which is “an untrue discourse to persons who have no right to insist on knowing the truth in a particular case.” This distinction gives a rather ample latitude to the discretion of a diplomat in the matter of truthfulness. According to the good and learned Vattel, the duty of any one to tell the truth was binding only towards another who had the right to demand that the truth be spoken. In his day, very few people indeed could claim the right of demanding an insight into diplomatic affairs, so that his rule did not put the diplomat under a very severe moral constraint. Even to the present day there have been known individual envoys whose utterances plainly are made in the spirit of Vattel’s distinction.
Callières, who wrote on the Practice of Diplomacy, in the year 1716, is full of admiration of all that a shrewd, clever diplomat may accomplish in stirring up trouble and confounding things generally in the state to which he is accredited. To the question, “What can be achieved by a negotiator?” Callières answers, “We see daily around us its definite effects—sudden revolutions favorable to a great design of state, use of sedition and fermenting hatreds, causing jealous rivals to arm, so that the third party may rejoice (ut tertius gaudeat), dissolution by crafty means of the closest unions. A single word or act may do more than the invasion of whole armies, because the crafty negotiator will know how to set in motion various forces native to the country in which he is negotiating and thus may spare his master the vast expense of a campaign.... It frequently happens that well chosen spies contribute more than any other agency to the success of great plans. They are not to be neglected. An ambassador is an honorable spy because it is his function to discover great secrets. He should have a liberal hand.” That admiration of successful deceit and mental cleverness in obtaining results that could only be gained by force through great sacrifice of life, inspired also the Italian admiration for clever deceit, such as shown by Machiavelli in his eulogy of Pope Alexander VI for his unrivaled eminence in prevarication.
It is remarkable that the famous witticism of Sir Henry Wotton that “an ambassador is a person sent abroad to lie for the good of his country,” did not occur to some one much earlier; but though the bon mot had not been coined, the idea itself was quite familiar. Louis XI quite bluntly instructed his embassies, “If they lie to you, lie still more to them.” But through all this period the virtue of sincerity and of truthfulness also had their admirers: Callières, speaking of the successful diplomat, says, “Deceit is but the measure of smallness of mind and intelligence. A diplomat should have a reputation for plain and fair dealing and should observe the promises he has made.” It may, however, be suspected that the good writer here contemplates the dangers of unsuccessful deceit and of too transparent ruses, rather than the positive value of truth itself.
James Harris, Lord Malmesbury, who was certainly conversant with all the ins and outs of eighteenth century diplomacy, wrote in a letter of advice (April 11, 1813) addressed to Lord Camden: “It is scarce necessary to say that no occasion, no provocation, no anxiety to rebut an unjust accusation, no idea, however tempting, of promoting the object you have in view, can need, much less justify, a falsehood. Success obtained by one is a precarious and baseless success. Detection would ruin, not only your own reputation for ever, but deeply wound the honor of your Court.” In this sage advice, too, the dominant idea seems to be that detection is ruinous. The homage which is thus paid to the ideal of truth and sincerity is compatible with the use of quite opposite methods provided they are successful and so cleverly guarded that they are not discovered.
However, at all times there must have existed, among the people at large and even among those playing the game of politics, men who had a natural inborn desire for truth and a simplicity of nature which brought them closer to the true underlying forces than were the common run of courtiers and politicians. The ever recurring admiration expressed for the diplomacy of Cardinal d’Orsat, the envoy of Henry IV to the Pope, indicates a real appreciation, even among the profession, of high standards of straightforwardness in diplomatic negotiations. Cardinal d’Orsat seems to have disdained all shallow devices of deceptive cleverness. He relied upon simple reasonableness and honesty in proposing an arrangement mutually beneficial, to win after others had exhausted all possible tricks and stratagems. In discussing diplomacy, Mably says that such methods alone are calculated to secure positive and permanent results while the devices of clever deceit can only serve to delay and confuse.