All the evidence now available goes to prove that the establishment of permanent diplomatic agencies was not an unconscious and accidental development of previous conditions, but deliberately adopted as an obvious convenience. But, while all the powers were agreed as to the convenience of maintaining such agencies abroad, all were equally agreed in viewing the representatives accredited to them by foreign states with extreme suspicion. This attitude was abundantly justified by the peculiar ethics of the new diplomacy. The old “orators” of the Summer-shall-be-green type could not long hold their own against the new men who had studied in the school of Italian statecraft, for whom the end justified the means. Machiavelli had gathered in The Prince and The Discourses on Livy the principles which underlay the practice of his day in Italy; Francis I., the first monarch to establish a completely organized diplomatic machinery, did most to give these principles a European extension. By the close of the 16th century diplomacy had become frankly “Machiavellian,” and the ordinary rules of morality were held not to apply to the intercourse between nations. This was admitted in theory as well as in practice. Germonius, after a vigorous denunciation of lying in general, argues that it is permissible for the safety or convenience (commodo) of princes, since salus populi suprema lex, and quod non permittit naturalis ratio, admittit civilis; and he adduces in support of this principle the answer given by Ulysses to Neoptolemus, in the Ajax of Sophocles, and the examples of Abraham, Jacob and David. Paschalius, while affirming that an ambassador must study to speak the truth, adds that he is not such a “rustic boor” as to say that an “official lie” (officiosum mendacium) is never to be employed, or to deny that an ambassador should be, on occasion, splendide mendax.[12] The situation is summed up in the famous definition of Sir Henry Wotton, which, though excused by himself as a jest, was held to be an indiscreet revelation of the truth: “An ambassador is an honest man sent to lie abroad for the good of his country.”[13] The most successful liar, in fact, was esteemed the most successful diplomatist. “A prime article of the catechism of ambassadors,” says Bayle in his Dictionnaire critique (1699), “whatever their religion, is to invent falsehoods and to go about making society believe them.” So universally was this principle adopted that, in the end, no diplomatist even expected to be believed; and the best way to deceive was—as Bismarck cynically avowed—to tell the truth.
But, in addition to being a liar ex officio, the ambassador was also “an honourable spy.” “The principal functions of an envoy,” says Francois de Callières, himself an ex-ambassador of Louis XIV., “are two; the first is to look after the affairs of his own prince; the second is to discover the affairs of the other.” A clever minister, he maintains, will know how to keep himself informed of all that goes on in the mind of the sovereign, in the councils of ministers or in the country; and for this end “good cheer and the warming effect of wine” are excellent allies.[14] This being so, it is hardly to be wondered at that foreign ambassadors were commonly regarded as perhaps necessary, but certainly very unwelcome, guests. The views of Philippe de Commines have already been quoted above, and they were shared by a long series of theoretical writers as well as by men of affairs. Gentilis is all but alone in his protest against the view that all ambassadors were exploratores magis quam oratores, and to be treated as such. So early as 1481 the government of Venice had decreed the penalty of banishment and a heavy fine for any one who should talk of affairs of state with a foreign envoy, and though the more civilized princes did not follow the example of the sultan, who by way of precaution locked the ambassador of Ferdinand II., Jerome Laski, into “a dark and stinking place without windows,” they took the most minute precautions to prevent the ambassadors of friendly powers from penetrating into their secrets. Charles V. thought it safest to keep them as far away as possible from his court. So did Francis I.; and, when affairs were critical, he made his frequent changes of residence and his hunting expeditions the excuse for escaping from their presence. Henry VII. forbade his subjects to hold any intercourse with them, and, later on, set spies upon them and examined their correspondence—a practice by no means confined to England. If the system of permanent embassies survived, it is clear that this was mainly due to the belief of the sovereigns that they gained more by maintaining “honourable spies” at foreign courts than they lost by the presence of those of foreign courts at their own. It was purely a question of the balance of advantage. Neither among statesmen nor among theorists was there any premonition of the great part to be played by the permanent diplomatic body in the development and maintenance of the concert of Europe. To Paschalius the permanent embassies were “a miserable outgrowth of a miserable age.”[15] Grotius himself condemned them as not only harmful, but useless, the proof of the latter being that they were unknown to antiquity.[16]
Development of the Diplomatic Hierarchy.—The history of the diplomatic body[17] is, like that of other bodies, that of the progressive differentiation of functions. The middle ages knew no classification of diplomatic agents; the person sent on mission is described indifferently as legatus, orator, nuntius, ablegatus, commissarius, procurator, mandatarius, agens or ambaxator (ambassator, &c.). In Gundissalvus, De legato (1485), the oldest printed work on the subject, the word ambasiator, first found in a Venetian decree of 1268, is applied to any diplomat. Florence was the first to make distinction; the orator was appointed by the council of the republic; the mandatorio, with inferior powers, by the Council of Ten. In 1500 Machiavelli, who held only the latter rank, wrote from France urging the Signoria to send ambasiadori. This was, however, rather a question of powers than of dignity. But the causes which ultimately led to the elaborate differentiation of diplomatic ranks were rather questions of dignity than of functions.[18] The breakdown of feudalism, with the consequent rise of a series of sovereign states or of states claiming to be sovereign, of very various size and importance, led to a certain confusion in the ceremonial relation between them, which had been unknown to the comparatively clearly defined system of the middle ages. The smaller states were eager to assert the dignity of their actual or practical independence; the greater powers were equally bent on “keeping them in their place.” If the emperor, as has been stated above, was too exalted to send ambassadors, certain of the lesser states were soon esteemed too humble to be represented at the courts of the great powers save by agents of an inferior rank. By the second half of the 16th century, then, there are two classes of diplomatists, ambassadors and residents or agents, the latter being accounted ambassadors of the second class.[19] At first the difference of rank was determined by the status of the sovereign by whom or to whom the diplomatic agent was accredited; but early in the 16th century it became fairly common for powers of the first rank to send agents of the second class to represent them at courts of an equal status. The reasons were various, and not unamusing. First and foremost came the question of expense. The ambassador, as representing the person of his sovereign, was bound by the sentiment of the age to display an exaggerated magnificence. His journeys were like royal progresses, his state entries surrounded with every circumstance of pomp, and it was held to be his duty to advertise the munificence of his prince by boundless largesses. Had this munificence been as unlimited in fact as in theory, all might have been well, but, in that age of vaulting ambitions, depleted exchequers were the rule rather than the exception in Europe; the records are full of pitiful appeals from ambassadors for arrears of pay, and appointment to an embassy often meant ruin, even to a man of substance. To give but one example, Sir Richard Morison, Edward VI.’s ambassador in Germany, had to borrow money to pay his debts before he could leave Augsburg (Cal. State Pap. Edw. VI., No. 467), and later on he writes from Hamburg (April 9, 1552) that he could buy nothing, because everyone believed that he had packed up in readiness to flit secretly, for “How must they buy things, where men know their stuff is ready trussed up, and they fleeting every day?” (ib. No. 544). But the dignity of ambassador carried another drawback besides expense; his function of “honourable spy” was seriously hampered by the trammels of his position. He was unable to move freely in society, but lived a ceremonial existence in the midst of a crowd of retainers, through whom alone it was proper for him to communicate with the world outside. It followed that, though the office of ambassador was more dignified, that of agent was more generally useful.
Yet a third cause, possibly the most immediately potent, encouraged the growth of the lesser diplomatic ranks: the question of precedence among powers theoretically equal. Modern diplomacy has settled a difficulty which caused at one time much heart-burning and even bloodshed by a simple appeal to the alphabet. Great Britain feels no humiliation in signing after France, if the reason be that her name begins with G; had she not been Great, she would sign before. The vexed question of the precedence of ambassadors, too, has been settled by the rule, already referred to above, as to seniority of appointment. But while the question remained unsettled it was obviously best to evade it; and this was most easily done by sending an agent of inferior rank to a court where the precedence claimed for an ambassador would have been refused.
Thus set in motion, the process of differentiation continues until the system is stereotyped in the 19th century. It is unnecessary to trace this evolution here in any detail. It is mainly a question of names, and diplomatic titles are no exception to the general rule by which all titles tend to become cheapened and therefore, from time to time, need to be reinforced by fresh verbal devices. The method was the familiar one of applying terms that had once implied a particular quality in a fashion that implied actually nothing. The ambassador extraordinary had originally been one sent on an extraordinary mission; for the time and purpose of this mission his authority superseded that of the resident ambassador. But by the middle of the 17th century the custom had grown up of calling all ambassadors “extraordinary,” in order to place them on an equality with the others. The same process was extended to diplomatists of the second rank; and envoys (envoyé for ablegatus) were always “extraordinary,” and as such claimed and received precedence over mere “residents,” who in their day had asserted the same claim against the agents—all three terms having at one time been synonymous. Similarly a “minister plenipotentiary” had originally meant an agent armed with full powers (plein-pouvoir); but, by a like process, the combination came to mean as little as “envoy extraordinary”—though a plenipotentiary tout simple is still an agent, of no ceremonially defined dignity, despatched with full powers to treat and conclude. Finally, the evolution of the title of a diplomatist of the second rank is crowned by the high-sounding combination, now almost exclusively used, of “envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary.” The ultimate fate of the simple title “resident” was the same as that of “agent.” Both had been freely sold by needy sovereigns to all and sundry who were prepared to pay for what gave them a certain social status. The “agent” fell thus into utter discredit, and those “residents” who were still actual diplomatic agents became “ministers resident” to distinguish them from the common herd.
The classification of diplomatic agents was for the first time definitively included in the general body of international law by the Règlement of the 19th of March 1815 at Vienna[20]; and the whole question was finally settled at the congress of Aix-la-Chapelle (November 21, 1818) when, the proposal to establish precedence by the status of the accrediting powers having wisely been rejected, diplomatic agents were divided into four classes: (1) Ambassadors, legates, nuncios; (2) Envoys extraordinary and ministers plenipotentiary, and other ministers accredited direct to the sovereign; (3) Ministers resident; (4) Chargés d’affaires. With a few exceptions (e.g. Turkey), this settlement was accepted by all states, including the United States of America.
Rights and Privileges of Diplomatic Agents.—These are partly founded upon immemorial custom, partly the result of negotiations embodied in international law. The most important, as it is the most ancient, is the right of personal inviolability extended to the diplomatic agent and the members of his suite. This inviolability is maintained after a rupture between the two governments concerned, and even after the outbreak of war. The habit of the Ottoman government of imprisoning in the Seven Towers the ambassador of a power with which it quarrelled was but an exception which proved the rule. The second important right is that of exterritoriality (q.v.), a convenient fiction by which the house and equipages of the diplomatic agent are regarded as the territory of the power by whom he is accredited. This involves the further principle that the agent is in no way subject to the receiving government. He is exempt from taxation and from the payment at least of certain local rates. He also enjoys immunity (1) from civil jurisdiction, e.g. he cannot be sued, nor can his goods be seized, for debt; (2) from criminal jurisdiction, e.g. he cannot be arrested and tried for a criminal offence. For a crime of violence, however, or for plotting against the state, he can be placed under the necessary restraint and expelled the country.[21] These immunities extend to all the members of an envoy’s suite. The difficulties that might be supposed to arise from such exemptions have not in practice been found very serious; for though, in the case of crimes committed by servants of agents of the first or second class the procedure is not clearly defined, each case would easily be made the subject of arrangement. In certain cases, e.g. embassies in Turkey, the exterritoriality of ambassadors implies a fairly extensive criminal jurisdiction; in other cases the dismissal of the servant would deprive him of his diplomatic immunity and bring him under the law of the land. The right of granting asylum claimed by diplomatic agents in virtue of that of exterritoriality, at one time much abused, is now strictly limited. A political or criminal offender may seek asylum in a foreign embassy; but if, after a request has been formally made for his surrender, the ambassador refuses to deliver him up, the authorities may take the measures necessary to effect his arrest, and even force an entrance into the embassy for the purpose. The “right of chapel” (droit de chapelle, or droit de culte), enjoyed by envoys in reference to their exterritoriality, i.e. the right of free exercise of religious worship within their house, formerly of great importance, has been rendered superfluous by the spread of religious toleration. (See L. Oppenheim, Internat. Law (London, 1905) ,i. p. 441, &c.; A.W. Haffter, Das europäische Völkerrecht (Berlin, 1888), p. 435, &c.)
The Personnel of the “Corps diplomatique.”—The establishment of diplomacy as a regular branch of the civil service is of modern growth, and even now by no means universal. From old time states naturally chose as their agents those who would best serve their interests in the matter in hand. In the middle ages diplomacy was practically a monopoly of the clergy, who as a class alone possessed the necessary qualifications: and in later times, when learning had spread to the laity as well, there were still potent reasons why the clergy should continue to be employed as diplomatic agents. Of these reasons the most practical was that of expense; for the wealth of the church formed an inexhaustible reserve which was used without scruple for secular purposes. Francis I. of France, who by the Concordat with Rome had in his hands the patronage of all the sees and abbeys in France, used this partly to reward his clerical ministers, partly as a great secret service fund for bribing the ambassadors of other powers, partly for the payment of those high-placed spies at foreign courts maintained by the elaborately organized system known as the Secret du Roi.[22] None the less, in the 16th century, laymen as diplomats are already well in evidence. They are usually lawyers, rarely soldiers, occasionally even simple merchants. Not uncommonly they were foreigners, like the Italian Thomas Spinelly mentioned above, drawn from that cosmopolitan class of diplomats who were ready to serve any master. Though nobles were often employed as ambassadors by all the powers, Venice alone made nobility a condition of diplomatic service. They were professional in the sense that, for the most part, diplomacy was the main occupation of their lives; there was, however, no graded diplomatic service in which, as at present, it was possible to rise on a fixed system from the position of simple attaché to that of minister and ambassador. The “attaché to the embassy” existed[23]; but he was not, as is now the case, a young diplomat learning his profession, but an experienced man of affairs, often a foreigner employed by the ambassador as adviser, secret service agent and general go-between, and he was without diplomatic status.[24] The 18th century saw the rise of the diplomatic service in the modern sense. The elaboration of court ceremonial, for which Versailles had set the fashion, made it desirable that diplomatic agents should be courtiers, and young men of rank about the court began to be attached to missions for the express purpose of teaching them the art of diplomacy. Thus arose that aristocratic diplomatic class, distinguished by the exquisite refinement of its manners, which survived from the 18th century into the 19th. Modern democracy has tended to break with this tradition, but it still widely prevails. Even in Great Britain, where the rest of the public services have been thrown open to all classes, a certain social position is still demanded for candidates for the diplomatic service and the foreign office, and in addition to passing a competitive examination, they must be nominated by someone of recognized station prepared to vouch for their social qualifications. In America, where no regular diplomatic service exists, all diplomatic agents are nominated by the president.
The existence of an official diplomatic service, however, by no means excludes the appointment of outsiders to diplomatic posts. It is, in fact, one of the main grievances of the regular diplomatic body that the great rewards of their profession, the embassies, are so often assigned to politicians or others who have not passed through the drudgery of the service. But though this practice has, doubtless, sometimes been abused, it is impossible to criticize the wisdom of its occasional application.
A word may be added as to the part played by women in diplomacy. So far as their unofficial influence upon it is concerned, it would be impossible to exaggerate its importance; it would suffice to mention three names taken at random from the annals of the 19th century, Madame de Staël, Baroness von Krüdener, and Princess Lieven. Gentz comments on the “feminine intrigues” that darkened the counsels of the congresses of Vienna and Aix-la-Chapelle, and from which the powers so happily escaped in the bachelor seclusion of Troppau. Nor is it to be supposed that statesmen will ever renounce a diplomatic weapon so easy of disguise and so potent for use. A brilliant salon presided over by a woman of charm may be a most valuable centre of a political propaganda; and ladies are still widely employed in the secret diplomacy of the powers. Their employment as regularly accredited diplomatic agents, however, though not unknown, has been extremely rare. An interesting instance is the appointment of Catherine of Aragon, when princess of Wales, as representative of her father, Ferdinand the Catholic, at the court of Henry VII. (G. A. Bergenroth, Calendar of State Papers ... England and Spain—in the Archives at Simancas, &c., i. pp. xxxiii, cxix).