Chapter IV: Act 1836: , which created two new dioceses (Ripon and Manchester), (3)

There is comparatively little diphtheria in India and Japan, but in Egypt, the Cape and Australasia it prevails very extensively among the urban populations. The mortality varies greatly from year to year in all countries and cities. In Berlin, for instance, it has oscillated between a maximum of 2420 in 1883 and a minimum of 340 in 1896; in New York between 2760 in 1877 and 680 in 1868; in Christiania between 3290 in 1887 and 170 in 1871. In some American cities still higher maxima have been recorded. In other words, diphtheria, though always endemic, exhibits at times a great increase of activity, and becomes epidemic or even pandemic. The following table for 1859-99 shows fairly well the periodical rise and fall in England and Wales. Diphtheria and croup are given both separately and together, showing the increasing transference from one to the other of late years. Diphtheria was first entered separately in the year 1859.

_Deaths from Diphtheria and Croup per Million living in
England and Wales._

+---------------+-------------+----------+-------------+
| Years. | Diphtheria. | Croup. | Diphtheria |
| | | | and Croup. |
+---------------+-------------+----------+-------------+
| 1859 | 517 | 286 | 803 |
| 1860 | 261 | 220 | 481 |
| 1861-70 | 185 | 246 | 431 |
| 1871-80 | 121 | 168 | 289 |
| 1881-90 | 163 | 144 | 307 |
| 1891-95 | 254 | 70 | 324 |
| 1896-97 | 269 | 43 | 312 |
| 1898 | 244 | 27 | 271 |
| 1899 | 293 | 32 | 325 |
+---------------+-------------+----------+-------------+

The combined figures for diphtheria and croup in later years
are:--(1900) 316; (1901) 296; (1902) 255; (1903) 195; (1904) 184;
(1905) 174; (1906) 190; (1907) 175; (1908) 166.

Several facts are roughly indicated by the table. It begins with an extremely severe epidemic, which has not been approached since. Then follows a fall extending over twenty years. On the whole this diminution was progressive, though not in reality so steady as the decennial grouping makes it appear, being interrupted by smaller oscillations in single years and groups of years. Still the main fact holds good. After 1880 an opposite movement began, likewise interrupted by minor oscillations, but on the whole progressive, and culminating in the year 1893 with a death-rate of 389, the highest recorded since 1865. After 1896 a marked fall again took place. This is partly accounted for by the use of antitoxin, which only began on a considerable scale in 1895, and did not become general until a year or two later at least. Its effects were only then fully felt. The registrar-general's returns record mortality, not prevalence--that is to say, the number of deaths, not of cases.

On the whole, we get clear evidence of an epidemic rise and fall, which may serve to dispose of some erroneous conceptions. The belief, held until recently, that diphtheria is steadily increasing in Great Britain was obviously premature; it did rise over a series of years, but has now ebbed again. Moreover, the general prevalence during the last thirty years has been notably less than in the previous twelve years. Yet it is during years since 1870 that compulsory education has been in existence and main drainage chiefly carried out. It follows that neither school attendance nor sewer gas exercises such an important influence over the epidemicity of diphtheria as some other conditions. What are those conditions? Dr Newsholme has advanced the theory, based on an elaborate examination of statistics in various countries, that the activity of diphtheria is connected with the rainfall, and he lays down the following general induction from the facts: "Diphtheria only becomes epidemic in years in which the rainfall is deficient, and the epidemics are on the largest scale when three or more years of deficient rainfall follow each other." He points out that the comparative rarity of diphtheria in tropical climates, which are characterized by excessive rainfall, and its greater prevalence in continental than in insular countries, confirm his theory. His observations seem quite contrary to the view laid down by various authorities, and hitherto accepted, that wet weather favours diphtheria. The two, however, are not irreconcilable. The key to the problem--and possibly to many other epidemiological problems--may perhaps be found in the movements of the subsoil water. It has been suggested by different observers, and particularly by Mr M. A. Adams, who has for some years made a study of the subsoil water at Maidstone, that there is a definite connexion between it and diphtheria. In England the underground water normally reaches its lowest level at the end of the summer; then it gradually rises, fed by percolation from the winter rains, reaching a maximum level about the end of March, after which it gradually sinks. This maximum level Mr Adams calls the annual spring cleaning of the soil, and his observations go to show that when the normal movement is arrested or disturbed, diphtheria becomes active. Now that is what happens in periods of drought. The underground water does not rise to its usual level, and there is no spring cleaning. The hypothesis, then, is this: The diphtheria bacillus lives in the soil, but is "drowned out" in wet periods by the subsoil water. In droughty ones it lives and flourishes in the warm, dry soil; then when rain comes, it is driven out with the ground air into the houses. This process will continue for some time, so that epidemic outbreaks may well seem to be associated with wet. But they begin in drought, and are stopped by long-continued periods of copious rainfall. This is quite in keeping with the observed fact that diphtheria is a seasonal disease, always most prevalent in the last quarter of the year. The summer develops the poison in the soil, the autumnal rains bring it out. The fact that the same cause does not produce the same effect in tropical countries may perhaps be explained by the extreme violence of the alternations, which are too great to suit this particular micro-organism, or possibly the regularity of the rainfall prevents its development.

The foregoing hypothesis is supported by a good deal of evidence, and notably by the concurrence of the great epidemic or pandemic prevalence in Great Britain, culminating in 1859, with a prolonged period of exceptionally deficient rainfall. Again, the highest death-rate registered since 1865 was in 1893, a year of similarly exceptional drought. But it is no more than an hypothesis, and the fate of former theories is a warning against drawing conclusions from statistics and records extending over too short a period of time. The warning is particularly necessary in connexion with meteorological conditions, which are apt to upset all calculations. As it happens, a period of deficient rainfall even greater than that of 1854-1858 has recently been experienced. It began in 1893 and culminated in the extraordinary season of 1899. The dry years were 1893, 1895, 1896, 1898 and 1899, and the deficiency of rainfall was not made good by any considerable excess in 1894 and 1897. It surpassed all records at Greenwich; streams and wells ran dry all over the country, and the flow of the Thames and Lea was reduced to the lowest point ever recorded. There should be, according to the theory, at least a very large increase in the prevalence of diphtheria. To a certain extent it has held good. There was a marked rise in 1893-1896 over the preceding period, though not so large as might have been expected, but it was followed by a decided fall in 1897-1898. The experience of 1898 contradicts, that of 1899 supports, the theory. Further light is therefore required; but perhaps the failure of the recent drought to produce results at all comparable with the epidemic of the 'fifties may be due to variations in the resistance of the disease, which differs widely in different years. It may also be due in part to improved sanitation, to the notification of infectious diseases, the use of isolation hospitals, which have greatly developed in quite recent years, and, lastly, to the beneficial effects of antitoxin. If these be the real explanations, then scientific and administrative work has not been thrown away after all in combating this very painful and fatal enemy of the young.

Dissemination.

The conditions governing the general prevalence of diphtheria, and its epidemic rise and fall, which have just been discussed, do not touch the question of actual dissemination. The contagion is spread by means which are in constant operation, whether the general amount of disease is great or small. Water, so important in some epidemic diseases, is believed not to be one of them, though a negative proof based on absence of evidence cannot be accepted as conclusive. On the other hand, milk is undoubtedly a means of dissemination. Several outbreaks of an almost explosive character, besides minor extensions of disease from one place to another, have been traced to this cause. Milk may be contaminated in various ways--at the dairy, for instance, or on the way to customers,--but several cases, investigated by the officers of the Local Government Board and others, have been thought to point to infection from cows suffering from a diphtheritic affection of the udder. The part played by aerial convection is undetermined, but there is no reason to suppose that the infecting material is conveyed any distance by wind or air currents. Instances which seem to point to the contrary may be explained in other ways, and particularly by the fact, now fully demonstrated, that persons suffering from minor sore throats, not recognized as diphtheria, may carry the disease about and introduce it into other localities. Human intercourse is the most important means of dissemination, the contagion passing from person to person either by actual contact, as in kissing, or by the use of the same utensils and articles, or by mere proximity. In the last case the germs must be supposed to be air-borne for short distances, and to enter with the breath. Rooms appear liable to become infected by the presence of diphtheritic cases, and so spread the disease among other persons using them. At a small outbreak which occurred at Darenth Asylum in 1898 the infection clung obstinately to a particular ward, in spite of the prompt removal of all cases, and fresh ones continued to occur until it had been thoroughly disinfected, after which there were no more. The part played by human intercourse in fostering the spread of the disease suggests that it would naturally be more prevalent in urban communities, where people congregate together more, than in rural ones. This is at variance with the conclusion laid down by some authorities, that in this country diphtheria used to affect chiefly the sparsely populated districts, and though tending to become more urban, is still rather a rural disease. That view is based upon an analysis of the distribution by counties in England and Wales from 1855 to 1880, and it has been generally accepted and repeated until it has become a sort of axiom. Of course the facts of distribution are facts, but the general inference drawn from them, that diphtheria peculiarly affects the country and is changing its _habitat_, may be erroneous. Dr Newsholme, by taking a wider basis of experience, has arrived at the opposite conclusion, and finds that diphtheria does not, in fact, flourish more in sparsely-peopled districts. "When a sufficiently long series of years is taken," he says, "it appears clear that there is more diphtheria in urban than in rural communities." The rate for London has always been in excess of that for the whole of England and Wales. Its distribution at any given time is determined by a number of circumstances, and by their incidental co-operation, not by any property or predilection for town or country inherent in the disease. There are the epidemic conditions of soil and rainfall, previously discussed, which vary widely in different localities at different times; there is the steady influence of regular intercourse, and the accidental element of special distribution by various means. These things may combine to alter the incidence. In short, accident plays too great a part to permit any general conclusion to be drawn from distribution, except from a very wide basis of experience. The variations are very great and sometimes very sudden. For instance, the county of London for some years headed the list, having a far higher death-rate than any other. In 1898 it dropped to the fifth place, and was surpassed by Rutland, a purely rural county, which had the lowest mortality of all in the previous year and very nearly the lowest for the previous ten years. Again, South Wales, which had had a low mortality for some years, suddenly came into prominence as a diphtheria district, and in 1898 had the highest death-rate in the country. Staffordshire and Bedfordshire show a similar rise, the one an urban, the other a rural, county. All the northern counties, both rural and urban,--namely, Northumberland, Durham, Cumberland, Westmorland, Lancashire, Yorkshire, Cheshire and Lincolnshire,--had a very high rate in 1861-1870, and a low one in 1896-1898. It is obviously unsafe to draw general conclusions from distribution data on a small scale. Diphtheria appears to creep about very slowly, as a rule, from place to place, and from one part of a large town to another; it forsakes one district and appears in another; occasionally it attacks a fresh locality with great energy, presumably because the local conditions are exceptionally favourable, which may be due to the soil or, possibly, to the susceptibility of the inhabitants, who are, so to speak, virgin ground. But through it all personal infection is the chief means of spread.

The acceptance of this doctrine has directed great attention to the practical question of school influence. There is no doubt whatever that it plays a very considerable part in spreading diphtheria. The incidence of the disease is chiefly on children, and nothing so often and regularly brings large numbers together in close contact under the same roof as school attendance. Nothing, in fact, furnishes such constant and extensive opportunities for personal infection. Many outbreaks have definitely been traced to schools. In London the subject has been very fully investigated by Sir Shirley Murphy, the medical officer of health to the London County Council, and by Dr W. R. Smith, formerly medical officer of health to the London School Board. Sir Shirley Murphy has shown that a special incidence on children of school age began to manifest itself after the adoption of compulsory education, and that the summer holidays are marked by a distinct diminution of cases, which is succeeded by an increase on the return to school. Dr W. R. Smith's observations are directed rather to minimizing the effect of school influence, and to showing that it is less important than other factors; which is doubtless true, as has been already remarked. It appears that the heaviest incidence falls upon infants under school age, and that liability diminishes progressively after school age is reached. But this by no means disposes of the importance of school influence, as the younger children at home may be infected by older ones, who have picked up the contagion at school, but, being less susceptible, are less severely affected and exhibit no worse symptoms than a sore throat. From a practical point of view the problem is a difficult one to deal with, as it is virtually impossible to ensure the exclusion of all infection, on account of the deceptively mild forms it may assume; but considering how very often outbreaks of diphtheria necessitate the closing of schools, it would probably be to the advantage of the authorities to discourage, rather than to compel, the attendance of children with sore throats. A fact of some interest revealed by statistics is that in the earliest years of life the incidence of diphtheria is greater upon male than upon female children, but from three years onwards the position is reversed, and with every succeeding year the relative female liability becomes greater. This is probably due to the habit of kissing maintained among females, but more and more abandoned by boys from babyhood onwards.

All these considerations suggest the importance of segregating the sick in isolation hospitals. Of late years this preventive measure has been carried out with increasing efficiency, owing to the better provision of such hospitals and the greater willingness of the public to make use of them; and probably the improvement so effected has had some share in keeping down the prevalence of the disease to comparatively moderate proportions. Unfortunately, the complete segregation of infected persons is hardly possible, because of the mild symptoms, and even absence of symptoms, exhibited by some individuals. A further difficulty arises with reference to the discharge of patients. It has been proved that the bacillus may persist almost indefinitely in the air-passages in certain cases, and in a considerable proportion it does persist for several weeks after convalescence. On returning home such cases may, and often do, infect others.

Treatment.

Since the antitoxin treatment was introduced in 1894 it has overshadowed all other methods. We owe this drug originally to the Berlin school of bacteriologists, and particularly to Dr Behring. The idea of making use of serum arose about 1890, out of researches made in connexion with Mechnikov's theory of phagocytosis, by which is meant the action of the phagocytes or white corpuscles of the blood in destroying the bacteria of disease. It was shown by the German bacteriologists that the serum or liquid part of the blood plays an equally or more important part in resisting disease, and the idea of combating the toxins produced by pathogenic bacteria with resistant serum injected into the blood presented itself to several workers. The idea was followed up and worked out independently in France and Germany, so successfully that by the year 1894 the serum treatment had been tried on a considerable scale with most encouraging results. Some of these were published in Germany in the earlier part of that year, and at the International Hygienic Congress, held in Budapest a little later, Dr Roux, of the Institut Pasteur, whose experience was somewhat more extensive than that of his German colleagues, read a paper giving the result of several hundred cases treated in Paris. When all allowance for errors had been made, they showed a remarkable and even astonishing reduction of mortality, fully confirming the conclusions drawn from the German experiments. This consensus of independent opinion proved a great stimulus to further trial, and before long one _clinique_ after another told the same tale. The evidence was so favourable that Professor Virchow--the last man to be carried away by a novelty--declared it "the imperative duty of medical men to use the new remedy" (_The Times_, 19th October 1894). Since then an enormous mass of facts has accumulated from all quarters of the globe, all testifying to the value of antitoxin in the treatment of diphtheria. The experience of the hospitals of the London Metropolitan Asylums Board for five years before and after antitoxin may be given as a particularly instructive illustration; but the subsequent reduction in the rate of mortality (12 in 1900, 11.3 in 1901, 10.8 in 1902, 9.3 in 1903, and an average of 9 in 1904-1908) added further confirmation.

_Annual Case Mortality in Metropolitan Asylums Board's
Hospitals._

Before Antitoxin. | After Antitoxin.
Mortality | Mortality
Year. per cent. | Year. per cent.
|
1890 33.55 | 1895 22.85
1891 30.61 | 1896 21.20
1892 29.51 | 1897 17.79
1893 30.42 | 1898 15.37
1894 29.29 | 1899 13.95

The number of cases dealt with in these five antitoxin years was 32,835, or an average of 6567 a year, and the broad result is a reduction of mortality by more than one-half. It is a fair inference that the treatment saves the lives of about 1000 children every year in London alone. This refers to all cases. Those which occur in the hospitals as a sequel to scarlet fever, and consequently come under treatment from the commencement, show very much more striking results. The case mortality, which was 46.8% in 1892 and 58.8% in 1893, has been reduced to 3.6% since the introduction of antitoxin. But the evidence is not from statistics alone. The beneficial effect of the treatment is equally attested by clinical observation. Dr Roux's original account has been confirmed by a cloud of witnesses year after year. "One may say," he wrote, "that the appearance of most of the patients is totally different from what it used to be. The pale and leaden faces are scarcely seen in the wards; the expression of the children is brighter and more lively." Adult patients have described the relief afforded by inoculation; it acts like a charm, and lifts the deadly feeling of oppression off like a cloud in the course of a few hours. Finally, the counteracting effect of antitoxin in preventing the disintegrating action of the diphtheritic toxin on the nervous tissues has been demonstrated pathologically. There are some who still affect scepticism as to the value of this drug. They cannot be acquainted with the evidence, for if the efficacy of antitoxin in the treatment of diphtheria has not been proved, then neither can the efficacy of any treatment for anything be said to be proved. Prophylactic properties are also claimed for the serum; but protection is necessarily more difficult to demonstrate than cure, and though there is some evidence to support the claim, it has not been fully made out.

AUTHORITIES.--Adams, _Public Health_, vol. vii.; Thorne Thorne,
_Milroy Lectures_ (1891); Newsholme, _Epidemic Diphtheria_; W. R.
Smith, _Harben Lectures_ (1899); Murphy, _Report to London County
Council_ (1894); Sims Woodhead, _Report to Metropolitan Asylums Board_
(1901).

DIPLODOCUS, a gigantic extinct land reptile discovered in rocks of Upper Jurassic age in western North America, the best-known example of a Sauropodous Dinosaur. The first scattered remains of a skeleton were found in 1877 by Prof. S.W. Williston near Canon City, Colorado; and the tail and hind-limb of this specimen were described in the following year by Prof. O.C. Marsh. He noticed that in the part of the tail which dragged on the ground, each chevron bone below the vertebral column consisted of a pair of bars; and as so peculiar an arrangement for the protection of the artery and vein beneath the tail had not previously been observed in any animal, he proposed the name _Diplodocus_ ("double beam" or "double bar") for the new reptile, adding the specific name _longus_ in allusion to the elongated shape of the tail vertebrae. In 1884 Prof. Marsh described the head, vertebrae and pelvis of the same skeleton, which is now in the National Museum, Washington. In 1897 the next important specimen, a tail associated with other fragments, apparently of _Diplodocus longus_, was obtained by the American Museum of Natural History, New York, from Como Bluffs, Wyoming. In 1899-1900 large parts of two skeletons of another species, in a remarkable state of preservation, were disinterred by Messrs J. L. Wortman, O. A. Peterson and J. B. Hatcher in Sheep Creek, Albany county, Wyo., and these are now exhibited with minor discoveries in the Carnegie Museum, Pittsburg. There are also other specimens in New York, Chicago and the University of Wyoming. In 1901 Mr J. B. Hatcher studied the new species at Pittsburg, named it _Diplodocus carnegii_, and published the first restored sketch of a complete skeleton. Shortly afterwards plaster casts of the finest specimens were prepared under the direction of Mr J. B. Hatcher and Dr W. J. Holland, and these were skilfully combined to form the cast of a completely reconstructed skeleton, which was presented to the British Museum by Andrew Carnegie in 1905. This reconstruction is based primarily on a well-preserved chain of vertebrae, extending from the second cervical to the twelfth caudal, associated with the ribs, pelvis and several limb-bones. The tail is completed from two other specimens in the Carnegie Museum, having caudals 13 to 36 and 37 to 73 respectively in apparently unbroken series. Prof. Marsh's specimen in Washington supplied the greater part of the skull; and the fore-foot is copied from a specimen in New York.

The cast of the reconstructed skeleton of _Diplodocus carnegii_ measures 84 ft. in length and 12 ft. 9 in. in maximum height at the hind-limbs. It displays the elongated neck and tail and the relatively small head so characteristic of the Sauropodous Dinosaurs. The skull is inclined to the axis of the neck, denoting a browsing animal; while the feeble blunt teeth and flat expanded snout suggest feeding among succulent water-weeds. The large narial opening at the highest point of the head probably indicates an aquatic mode of life, and there seems to have been a soft valve to close the nostrils when under water. The diminutive brain-cavity, scarcely large enough to contain a walnut, is noteworthy. There are 104 vertebrae, namely, 15 in the neck, 11 in the back, 5 in the sacrum and 73 in the tail. The presacral vertebrae are of remarkably light construction, the plates and struts of bone being arranged to give the greatest strength with the least weight. The end of the tail is a flexible lash, which would probably be used as a weapon, like the tail of some existing lizards. The feet, notwithstanding the weight they had to support, are as unsymmetrical as those of a crocodile, with claws only on the three inner toes. There is no external armour.

See O. C. Marsh, _Amer. Journ. Sci._ ser. 3, vol. xvi. (1878), p. 414,
pl. viii., and loc. cit. vol. xxvii. (1884), p. 161, pls. iii., iv.;
H. F. Osborn, Mem. _Amer. Mus. Nat. Hist._ vol. i. pt. v. (1899); J.
B. Hatcher, _Mem. Carnegie Mus._ vol. i. No. 1 (1901), and vol. ii.
No. 1 (1903); W. J. Holland, _Mem. Carnegie Mus._ vol. ii. No. 6
(1906). (A. S. Wo.)

DIPLOMACY (Fr. _diplomatie_), the art of conducting international negotiations. The word, borrowed from the French, has the same derivation as Diplomatic (q.v.), and, according to the _New English Dictionary_, was first used in England so late as 1796 by Burke. Yet there is no other word in the English language that could supply its exact sense. The need for such a term was indeed not felt; for what we know as diplomacy was long regarded, partly as falling under the _Jus gentium_ or international law, partly as a kind of activity morally somewhat suspect and incapable of being brought under any system. Moreover, though in a certain sense it is as old as history, diplomacy as a uniform system, based upon generally recognized rules and directed by a diplomatic hierarchy having a fixed international status, is of quite modern growth even in Europe. It was finally established only at the congresses of Vienna (1815) and Aix-la-Chapelle (1818), while its effective extension to the great monarchies of the East, beyond the bounds of European civilization, was comparatively an affair of yesterday. So late as 1876 it was possible for the writer on this subject in the 9th edition of the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_ to say that "it would be an historical absurdity to suppose diplomatic relations connecting together China, Burma and Japan, as they connect the great European powers."

_Principles._--Though diplomacy has been usually treated under the head of international law, it would perhaps be more consonant with the facts to place international law under diplomacy. The principles and rules governing the intercourse of states, defined by a long succession of international lawyers, have no sanction save the consensus of the powers, established and maintained by diplomacy (see BALANCE OF POWER); in so far as they have become, by international agreement, more than mere pious opinions of theorists, they are working rules established for mutual convenience, which it is the function of diplomacy to safeguard or to use for its own ends. In any case they by no means cover the whole field of diplomatic activity; and, were they swept away, the art of diplomacy, developed through long ages of experience, would survive.

This experience may perhaps be called the science, as distinct from the art, of diplomacy. It covers not only the province of international law, but the vast field of recorded experience which we know as history, of which indeed international law is but a part; for, as Bielfeld in his _Institutions politiques_ (La Haye, 1760, t. I. ch. ii. S 13) points out, "public law is founded on facts. To know it we must know history, which is the soul of this science as of politics in general." The broad outlook on human affairs implied in "historical sense" is more necessary to the diplomatist under modern conditions than in the 18th century, when international policy was still wholly under the control of princes and their immediate advisers. Diplomacy was then a game of wits played in a narrow circle. Its objects too were narrower; for states were practically regarded as the property of their sovereigns, which it was the main function of their "agents" to enlarge or to protect, while scarcely less important than the preservation or rearrangement of territorial boundaries was that of precedence and etiquette generally, over which an incredible amount of time was wasted. The _haute diplomatie_ thus resolved itself into a process of exalted haggling, conducted with an utter disregard of the ordinary standards of morality, but with the most exquisite politeness and in accordance with ever more and more elaborate rules. Much of the outcome of these dead debates has become stereotyped in the conventions of the diplomatic service; but the character of diplomacy itself has undergone a great change. This change is threefold: firstly, as the result of the greater sense of the community of interests among nations, which was one of the outcomes of the French Revolution; secondly, owing to the rise of democracy, with its expression in parliamentary assemblies and in the press; thirdly, through the alteration in the position of the diplomatic agent, due to modern means of communication.

The first of these changes may be dated to the circular of Count Kaunitz of the 17th of July 1791, in which, in face of the Revolution, he impressed upon the powers the duty of making common cause for the purpose of preserving "public peace, the tranquillity of states, the inviolability of possessions, and the faith of treaties." The duty of watching over the common interests of Europe, or of the world, was thus for the first time officially recognized as a function of diplomacy, since common action could only be taken as the result of diplomatic negotiations. It would be easy to exaggerate the effective results of this idea, even when it had crystallized in the Grand Alliance of 1814 and been proclaimed to the world in the Holy Alliance of the 26th of September 1815 and the declaration of Aix-la-Chapelle. The cynical picture given by La Bruyere of the diplomatist of the 18th century still remained largely true: "His talk is only of peace, of alliances, of the public tranquillity, and of the public interests; in reality he is thinking only of his own, that is to say, of those of his master or of his republic."[1] The proceedings of the congress of Vienna proved how little the common good weighed unless reinforced by particular interests; but the conception of "Europe" as a political entity none the less survived. The congresses, notably the congress of Aix-la-Chapelle (q.v.) in 1818, were in a certain sense European parliaments, and their ostensible object was the furtherance of common interests. Had the imperial dreamer Alexander I. of Russia had his way, they would have been permanently established on the broad basis of the Holy Alliance, and would have included, not the great powers only, but representatives of every state (see ALEXANDER I. and EUROPE: _History_). Whatever the effective value of that "Concert of Europe" which was the outcome of the period of the congresses, it certainly produced a great effect on the spirit and the practice of diplomacy. In the congresses and conferences diplomacy assumes international functions both legislative and administrative. The diplomat is responsible, not only to his own government, but to "Europe." Thus Castlereagh was accused of subordinating the interests of Great Britain to those of Europe; and the same charge was brought, perhaps with greater justice, against Metternich in respect of Austria. Canning's principle of "Every nation for itself and God for us all!" prevailed, it is true, over that of Alexander's "Confederation of Europe"; yet, as one outcome of the congresses, every diplomatic agent, though he represents the interests of his own state, has behind him the whole body of the treaties which constitute the public law of the world, of which he is in some sort the interpreter and the guardian.

Parallel with this development runs the second process making for change: the increasing responsibility of diplomacy to public opinion. To discuss all the momentous issues involved in this is impossible; but the subject is too important to be altogether passed over, since it is one of the main problems of modern international intercourse, and concerns every one who by his vote may influence the policy of the state to which he belongs. The question, broadly speaking, is: how far has the public discussion of international affairs affected the legitimate functions of diplomacy for better or for worse? To the diplomatist of the old school the answer seems clear. For him diplomacy was too delicate and too personal an art to survive the glare and confusion of publicity. Metternich, the last representative of the old _haute diplomatie_, lived to moralize over the ruin caused by the first manifestations of the "new diplomacy," the outcome of the rise of the power of public opinion. He had early, from his own point of view, unfavourably contrasted the "limited" constitutional monarchies of the west with the "free" autocracies of the east of Europe, free because they were under no obligation to give a public account of their actions. He himself was a master of the old diplomatic art, of intrigue, of veiling his purpose under a cloud of magniloquence, above all, of the art of personal fascination. But public opinion was for him only a dangerous force to be kept under control; and, even had he realized the necessity for appealing to it, he had none of the qualities that would have made the appeal successful. In direct antagonism to him was George Canning, who may be called the great prototype of the "new diplomacy," and to Metternich was a "malevolent meteor hurled by divine providence upon Europe." Canning saw clearly the immense force that would be added to his diplomatic action if he had behind him the force of public opinion. In answer to Metternich's complaint of the tone of speeches in parliament and of the popular support given in England to revolutionary movements, he wrote, "Our influence, if it is to be maintained abroad, must be secure in its sources of strength at home: and the sources of that strength are in the sympathy between the people and the government; in the union of the public sentiment with the public counsels; in the reciprocal confidence of the House of Commons and the crown."[2]

It would be a mistake to jump to the conclusion that Canning was wholly right and Metternich wholly wrong. The conditions of the Habsburg monarchy were not those of Great Britain,[3] and even if it had been possible to speak of a public opinion in the Austrian empire at all, it certainly possessed no such organ as the British parliament. But the argument may be carried yet further. In the abstract the success of the policy of a minister in a democratic state must ultimately rest upon the support of public opinion; yet the necessity for this support has in the conduct of foreign affairs its peculiar dangers. In the difficult game of diplomacy a certain reticence is always necessary. Secret sources of information would be dried up were they to be lightly revealed; a plain exposition of policy would often give an undue advantage to the other party to a negotiation. Thus, even in Great Britain, the diplomatic correspondence laid before parliament is carefully edited, and all governments are jealous of granting access to their modern archives. Yet a representative assembly is apt to be resentful of such reservations. Its members know little or nothing of the conditions under which foreign affairs are conducted, and they are not unnaturally irritated by explanations which seem to lack candour or completeness. Canning himself had experience of this in the affair of the capture of the Danish fleet at Copenhagen; and Castlereagh's diplomacy was hampered by the bitter attacks of an opposition which accused him, with little justice, of pursuing a policy which he dared not reveal in its full scope to parliament. Moreover, the appeal to public opinion may be used as a diplomatic weapon for ends no less "selfish" than any aimed at by the old diplomacy. Bismarck, whose statesmanship was at least as cynical as that of Metternich, was a master of the art of taking the world into his confidence--when it suited him to do so; and the "reptile press," hired to give a seemingly independent support to his policy, was one of his most potent weapons. So far the only necessary consequence of the growth of the power of public opinion on the art of diplomacy has been to extend the sphere of its application; it is but one more factor to be dealt with; and experience has proved that it is subject to the wiles of a skilful diplomatist no less than were the princes and statesmen with whom the old diplomacy was solely concerned.

The third factor making for change--the revolution in the means of communication which has brought all the world into closer touch--remains to be discussed. It is obvious that before the invention of the telegraph, the diplomatic agent was in a far more responsible position than he is now, when he can, in most cases, receive immediate instructions from his government on difficult questions as they arise. When communication was still slow there was often no time to await instructions, or the instructions when they arrived were not seldom already out of date and had to be set aside on the minister's own responsibility. It would, however, be easy to exaggerate the importance of this change as affecting the character and status of diplomatic agents. It is true that the tendency has been for ministers of foreign affairs to hold the threads of diplomacy in their own hands to a far greater extent than was formerly the case; but they must still depend for information and advice on the "man on the spot," and the success of their policy largely depends upon his qualities of discretion and judgment. The growth of democracy, moreover, has given to the ambassador a new and peculiar importance; for he represents not only the sovereign to the sovereign, but the nation to the nation; and, as a succession of notable American ambassadors to Great Britain has proved, he may by his personal qualities do a large amount to remove the prejudices and ignorances which stand as a barrier between the nations. It marks an immense advance in the comity of international intercourse when the representatives of friendly powers are no longer regarded as "spies rather than ambassadors," to be "quickly heard and dismissed," as Philippe de Commines would have them, but as agreeable guests to be parted from with regret.

As to the qualifications for an ambassador, it is clearly impossible to lay down a general rule, for the same qualities are obviously not required in Washington as in Vienna, nor in Paris as in Pekin. Yet the effort to depict the ideal ambassador bulks largely in the works of the earlier theorists, and the demands they make are sufficiently alarming. Ottaviano Maggi, himself a diplomatist of the brilliant age of the Renaissance, has left us in his _De legato_ (Hanoviae, 1596) his idea of what an ambassador should be. He must not only be a good Christian but a learned theologian; he must be a philosopher, well versed in Aristotle and Plato, and able at a moment's notice to solve in correct dialectical form the most abstruse problems; he must be well read in the classics, and an expert in mathematics, architecture, music, physics and civil and canon law. He must not only know how to write and speak Latin with classical refinement, but he must be a master of Greek, Spanish, French, German and Turkish. He must have a sound knowledge of history, geography and the science of war; but at the same time is not to neglect the poets, and never to be without his Homer. Add to this that he must be well born, rich and of a handsome presence, and we have a portrait of a diplomatist whose original can hardly have existed even in that age of brilliant versatility. The Dutchman Frederikus de Marselaer, in his [Greek: kerukeion] _sive legationum insigne_ (Antwerp, 1618), is scarcely less exacting than the Venetian. His ideal ambassador is a nobleman of fine presence and in the prime of life, famous, rich, munificent, abstemious, not violent, nor quarrelsome, nor morose, no flatterer, learned, eloquent, witty without being talkative, a good linguist, widely read, prudent and cautious, but brave and--as he adds somewhat superfluously--many-sided.

With these theoretical perfections one or two instances of the qualifications demanded by the exigencies of practical politics may be cited by way of illuminating contrast. At the court of the empress Elizabeth of Russia good looks were a surer means of diplomatic success than all the talents and virtues, and the princess of Zerbst (mother of the empress Catherine II.) wrote to Frederick of Prussia advising him to replace his elderly ambassador by a handsome young man with a good complexion; and the essential qualification for an ambassador to Switzerland, Germany, Poland, Denmark and Russia used to be that he should be able to drink the native diplomatists, seasoned from babyhood to strong liquors, under the table.

_History._--In its widest sense the history of diplomacy is that of the intercourse between nations, in so far as this has not been a mere brute struggle for the mastery;[4] in a narrower sense, with which the present article is alone concerned, it is that of the methods and spirit of diplomatic intercourse and of the character and status of diplomatic agents. Earlier writers on the office and functions of ambassadors, such as Gentilis or Archbishop Germonius, conscientiously trace their origin to God himself, who created the angels to be his legates; and they fortify their arguments by copious examples drawn from ancient history, sacred and profane. But, whatever the influence upon it of earlier practice, modern diplomacy really dates from the rise of permanent missions, and the consequent development of the diplomatic hierarchy as an international institution. Of this the first beginnings are traceable to the 15th century and to Italy. There had, of course, during the middle ages been embassies and negotiations; but the embassies had been no more than temporary missions directed to a particular end and conducted by ecclesiastics or nobles of a dignity appropriate to each occasion; there were neither permanent diplomatic agents nor a professional diplomatic class. To the evolution of such a class the Italy of the Renaissance, the nursing-ground of modern statecraft, gave the first impetus. This was but natural; for Italy, with its numerous independent states, between which there existed a lively intercourse and a yet livelier rivalry, anticipated in miniature the modern states' system of Europe. In feudal Europe there had been little room for diplomacy; but in northern and central Italy feudalism had never taken root, and in the struggles of the peninsula diplomacy had early played a part as great as, or greater than, war. Where all were struggling for the mastery, the existence of each depended upon alliances and counter-alliances, of which the object was the maintenance of the balance of power. In this school there was trained a notable succession of men of affairs. Thus, in the 13th and 14th centuries Florence counted among her envoys Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio, and later on could boast of agents such as Capponi, Vettori, Guicciardini and Machiavelli. Papal Rome, too, as was to be expected, had always been a fruitful nursing-mother of diplomatists; and some authorities have traced the beginnings of modern diplomacy to a conscious imitation of her legatine system.[5]

It is, however, in Venice, that the origins of modern diplomacy are to be sought.[6] So early as the 13th century the republic, with a view to safeguarding the public interests, began to lay down a series of rules for the conduct of its ambassadors. Thus, in 1236, envoys to the court of Rome are forbidden to procure a benefice for anyone without leave of the doge and little council; in 1268 ambassadors are commanded to surrender on their return any gifts they may have received, and by another decree they are compelled to take an oath to conduct affairs to the honour and advantage of the republic. About the same time it was decided that diplomatic agents were to hand in, on their return, a written account of their mission; in 1288 this was somewhat expanded by a law decreeing that ambassadors were to deposit, within fifteen days of their return, a written account of the replies made to them during their mission, together with anything they might have seen or heard to the honour or in the interests of the republic. These provisions, which were several times renewed, notably in 1296, 1425 and 1533, are the origin of the famous reports of the Venetian ambassadors to the senate, which are at once a monument to the political genius of Venetian statesmen and a mine of invaluable historical material.[7]

These are but a few examples of a long series of regulations, many others also dating to the 13th century, by which the Venetian government sought to systematize its diplomatic service. That permanent diplomatic agencies were not established by it earlier than was the case is probably due to the distrust of its agents by which most of this legislation of the republic is inspired. In the 13th century two or three months was considered over-long a period for an ambassador to reside at a foreign court; in the 15th century the period of residence was extended to two years, and in the 16th century to three. This latter rule continued till the end of the republic; the embassy had become permanent, but the ambassador was changed every three years.

The origin of the change from temporary to permanent missions has been the subject of much debate and controversy. The theory that it was due, in the first instance, to the evolution of the Venetian consulates (_bajulats_) in the Levant into permanent diplomatic posts, and that the idea was thence transferred to the West, is disproved by the fact that Venice had established other permanent embassies before the baylo (q.v.) at Constantinople was transformed into a diplomatic agent of the first rank. Nor is the first known instance of the appointment of a permanent ambassador Venetian. The earliest record[8] is contained in the announcement by Francesco Sforza, duke of Milan, in 1455, of his intention to maintain a permanent embassy at Genoa[9]; and in 1460 the duke of Savoy sent Eusebio Margaria, archdeacon of Vercelli, as his permanent representative to the Curia.[10] Though, however, the early records of such appointments are rare, the practice was probably common among the Italian states. Its extension to countries outside Italy was a somewhat later development. In 1494 Milan is already represented in France by a permanent ambassador. In 1495 Zacharia Contarini, Venetian ambassador to the emperor Maximilian, is described by Sanuto (_Diarii_, i. 294) as _stato ambasciatore_; and from the time of Charles V. onwards the succession of ambassadors of the republic at the imperial court is fairly traceable. In 1496 "as the way to the British Isles is very long and very dangerous," two merchants resident in London, Pietro Contarini and Luca Valaressa, were appointed by the republic _subambasciatores_; and in June of the same year Andrea Trevisano arrived in London as permanent ambassador at the court of Henry VII.[11] Florence, too, from 1498 onwards, was represented at the courts of Charles V. and of France by permanent ambassadors.

During the same period the practice had been growing up among the other European powers. Spain led the way in 1487 by the appointment of Dr Roderigo Gondesalvi de Puebla as ambassador in England. As he was still there in 1500, the Spanish embassy in London may be regarded as the oldest still surviving post of the new permanent diplomacy. Other states followed suit, but only fitfully; it was not till late in the 16th century that permanent embassies were regarded as the norm. The precarious relations between the European powers during the 16th century, indeed, naturally retarded the development of the system. Thus it was not till after good relations had been established with France by the treaty of London that, in 1519, Sir Thomas Boleyn and Dr West were sent to Paris as resident English ambassadors, and, after the renewed breach between the two countries, no others were appointed till the reign of Elizabeth. Nine years before, Sir Robert Wingfield, whose simplicity earned him the nickname of "Summer-shall-be-green," had been sent as ambassador to the court of Charles V., where he remained from 1510 to 1517; and in 1520 the mutual appointment of resident ambassadors was made a condition of the treaty between Henry VIII. and Charles V. In 1517 Thomas Spinelly, who had for some years represented England at the court of the Netherlands, was appointed "resident ambassador to the court of Spain," where he remained till his death on the 22nd of August 1522. These are the most important early instances of the new system. Alone of the great powers, the emperor remained permanently unrepresented at foreign courts. In theory this was the result of his unique dignity, which made him superior to all other potentates; actually it was because, as emperor, he could not speak for the practically independent princes nominally his vassals. It served all practical purposes if he were represented abroad by his agents as king of Spain or archduke of Austria.

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.