of imagination in their description of the possible shades, tints, and delicacies of diplomatic style. One reads their meandering dissertations with a feverish but half-stupid awe, and with a persistent curiousness as to what could have been the physical aspect of the men who, with the evident conviction that they were rendering a service to mankind, spent their lives in seriously composing such monstrous twaddle. It would be useless to give their names, for nine-tenths of them are utterly unknown to fame, and the owners of the other tenth have long ago ceased their labours; besides which, it would be disagreeable to their families.

Having thus defined the different categories of talk, these word-refiners go on to say that "the right of equality of nations extends to the choice of the language which their Governments employ for diplomatic communications." Who would have suspected that when our Foreign Office (which, itself, is disrespectfully denominated F. O. by its retainers) sends a telegram in English to the King of Dahomey, it is exercising "one of the rights of the equality of nations"? And yet it is so! How proud it makes one feel to learn, in this sudden way, that the simplest acts of life may be manifestations of glorious principles, and that possibly we can do nothing without implying something that we didn't know anything about. But, after this bright beginning, the form-discussers go on to tell us, in mazy phrases, with references, foot-notes, explanations, and quotations of opinions and authorities, that there is no rule at all to guide either F. O. or the Ministry of any other Power in the determination of the tongue which it should prefer for its letters to neighbouring states. It is particularly disappointing to discover, after strug

gling through seventy-four tangled pages, which contain 451 extracts, in eight European languages, and in Latin, Greek, and Turkish too, that the sole object of the author, all the time, was to prove conclusively, by the strongest arguments, and with the aid of all his friends and predecessors, that, from the beginning, he had nothing at all to say. What does appear, however, to come clearly out of this, is that all countries have always used whatever dialect they pleased in their dealings with foreign courts, and that it is altogether an error to suppose that there is, or ever has been, any special language generally accepted for diplomatic purposes. It is true that momentary preferences, resulting from temporary causes, have existed at certain periods; it is true that in the time of Castilian glory, Spanish was brought into frequent use; that Latin was a good deal talked and written down to the eighteenth century; and that, after the victories of Louis XIV., French became rather generally employed; but there are quantities of instances, at all these dates, of the simultaneous handling, by every nation, of its own language alone for negotiations and for drafting treaties. All the wars and all the conquests which were then perpetually taking place in Europe left languages unchanged, both in their official and their domestic character. It is only during relatively recent years that conquerors have recognised the policy and even the necessity of imitating the old Roman practice, and of rendering their own tongue obligatory on the vanquished. If, then, the idea of utilising language as a means of consolidating dominion was not resorted to by great captains or great Ministers, it follows, naturally, that they must have seen less advantage still in the choice of any special dialect for mere

international relations.

or fashion appears to have beenin this matter, as in so many others -the sole guides of diplomatists, for there was, certainly, no kind of definitely adopted rule or habit.

If we select examples from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries-the very epoch when French is imagined to have been becoming an almost universal tongue -we find the most hopelessly contradictory evidence on the subject. We discover that some of the most famous treaties, those of Nimeguen, Ryswick, Utrecht (1713), Vienna (1725 and 1738), and of the Quadruple Alliance, were all in Latin; that in 1752 the Austrian minister at Naples spoke Latin officially to the king; that though Louis XVI. wrote in French to Leopold II. of Austria, the latter replied by a complaint that this act was contrary to the usage of the Courts, which required that all communications between France and Germany should be in Latin; and that, though the treaty of Lunéville (1801) was written in French alone, the ratification of it by the German Emperor was given in Latin. But, in opposition to all these cases of the maintenance of Latin, there are almost as many contemporaneous examples of the adoption of French, not only by France itself, butcuriously enough by German Governments between themselves. French was used for the purely local treaties of Breslau and Berlin (1742), Dresden (1745), Hubertsbourg (1763), and Teschen (1779). The value of this odd proof of the voluntary application of French by foreign States is, however, upset again by the fact that, in other cases where French has been employed, a clause has been inserted in the treaty explaining that France had no right to deduce any claim of precedence from this admission of

her language. Examples of this stipulation will be found in the treaties of Rastadt (1714), Aix-laChapelle (1768), and in the final act of the Congress of Vienna. This last treaty says (Article 120), "The French language having been exclusively employed for all the copies of the present treaty, it is recognised by the Powers who have taken part in this Act that the employment of that language is to produce no consequences in the future; each power reserves to itself the right of adopting, in future negotiations and conventions, the language which it has previously used for its diplomatic relations, and the present treaty cannot be cited as an example contrary to established usages." It will be recognised that it is difficult to extract from such conflicting testimony any sign of a real preference or of an established custom, and that the authors are right in saying that there never has been any generally admitted diplomatic tongue. The same differences continue, with even greater vigour, in our own time; for almost every nation now uses its own language only for its despatches. England habitually employed French for diplomatic purposes down to the end of the last century, but in 1800 the Foreign Office began to write in English to the Ambassadors resident in London; and, when Lord Castlereagh joined the Allied Armies as representative of Great Britain, he used English for all his communications to his European colleagues. At a later period Mr Canning ordered several of the British Ministers abroad to adopt their own language for their official communications to the Courts to which they were accredited, but authorised them to add a translation. This latter permission was suppressed by Lord Aberdeen in

1851, on the ground that despatches ought to be laid before Parliament in the exact words in which they were presented. The German Diet decided in 1817 to employ German (adding a translation in French or Latin) for all its foreign communications.

Next to the choice of speech comes the graver and far more complicated question of shapes of composition. This element of the subject is so vast that the mere list of names of the documents in diplomatic use is long enough to provide reading for a winter evening. Each country has its own denominations for the various forms which it supposes to be essential to the conduct of its international relations; and it will be conceived, without an effort, that when all these descriptions are multiplied by the twelve or thirteen languages which possess them, and when local practices are added to the account, it presents rather a startling total. The French diplomatic manual alone contains 416 separate types and models. We English have a tolerable collection of our own, enough to cause no small worry to the servants of the Crown who have to fill them up; but, taken as a whole, we are certainly less afflicted with this particular class of suffering than Continentals are.

The consequence of our comparative exemption from the tyranny of red tape and rules is, however, that most of us remain totally unlearned in the mysteries and meanings of the words which designate the various manuscripts employed in foreign chancelleries. It is possible that we all may know (though, frankly, it is scarcely likely) the exact signification of Bull, Brief, and Protocol, of Capitulations, Cartels, and Conclusums, of Exequaturs and Concordats; but how many are there of us who can explain off hand the nature of all the im

plements, and shapes and shades of action which have been or still are employed by nations towards each other? How many are there of us who can define, for instance, the exact difference between a Rescript and a Pragmatic Sanction; between the Golden Bull and a Placetum Regium? or who can tell, without looking at a dictionary, what are the diplomatic meanings of sub spe rati, pro memoriâ, or in petto; what is a Verbal Note, a mémoire, or a réversale; what is a Firman and what a Hatti Sherif; or what is the precise distinction between Federates and Confederates, and between a Nation and a State? It is true that many of the things described by these half archeological nomenclatures are of but little use; that they mainly serve to show the vanity of nations, and are preserved, like ceremonial, for the greater glory of realms and sovereigns. But they constitute one of the elements of Forms, one of the manifestations of international pretensions: for this reason, and also because they are not altogether unamusing, it is worth while to explain them here. It may be as well, however, to observe that scarcely any of the hard names which have just been interrogatively enumerated are employed or needed in the daily humdrum of embassies or ministries: they only come in exceptionally. labour of attachés includes no Latin now; it is very much like work in an office anywhere, for-mournful as it is to own it-copying letters and the rule of three constitute its main elements. But still attachés have to know-or rather, are supposed to know-the answers to the foregoing questions; if they are ignorant, all they have to do is to go into the library, look for the right book (the librarian will tell them which it is), and inform their

The ordinary

minds. But the public has neither the library, nor the librarian, nor the time; the public may be presumed to be quite indifferent on the subject, and to possess, with rare exceptions, no knowledge of the rules which guide diplomatic negotiations. It is probably unaware that the most elementary of those rules is to employ verbal, that is unsigned, notes for explaining details, resuming conversations, or for indications of possible proposals; while signatures are generally reserved for documents in which an engagement is implied. A complete vocabulary of the technicalities of the profession would be a new language to nearly all of us, no matter where we may have been at school; and it would be so dull that nobody would look at it. We will choose a few examples amongst the least solemn of the series, and will do our best to be respectful, and not to laugh at all during our explanation of them.

A Protocol is, in its first meaning, a document by which a fact is described with all its attendant circumstances, or by which an authentic and exact account of a conference or a deliberation is given. The report ers of the Daily Telegraph' do not probably suspect that when they write soul-enthralling histories of a cricket-match at Lords', or of a meeting of the Shareholders of the Patent Submarine Respiration Company (Limited), they are, in fact, composing protocols. The word has, of late years, acquired a second signification on the Continent; it is now often taken to indicate a convention which is not subject to the formalities of ratification. Subsidiarily, protocol means also the science of the shape of official letters; we shall understand this better when we reach that section of the subject.

A Conclusum is a résumé of the demands presented by a Government.

It may be discussed, and therein lies its difference with an ultimatum, which must be accepted or rejected as it stands. The menu of a dinner is a conclusum in a friendly form; it is, essentially, a résumé open to discussion.

A Mémoire or Memorandum is a summary of the state of a question, or a justification of a decision adopted. Life is full of examples of it, particularly in conversations between wives and husbands.

A Lettre Réversale is a counter engagement on a question, and is given usually in reply to a letter claiming that engagement: it used to signify, particularly, a written declaration by which one Court recognised that a special concession granted to it by another Court in no way affected the anterior prerogatives of either. Réversales were also used to guarantee the maintenance of rights which were momentarily suspended; thus, when the Emperors of Germany, who were bound by the Golden Bull to go to Aix-la-Chapelle to be crowned, decided to perform the ceremony elsewhere, they always sent a Réversale to Aix declaring that the change of place in no way affected the privileges of that city, and was to create no precedent for the future.

A Proposal is taken by an ambassador ad referendum when it lies outside his instructions or his powers; when he expresses no opinion on it, and simply refers it to his Government: but if he thinks it of a nature to suit the views of his employers-if he wishes to prove, by his own action, how desirous he is of seeing it adopted-then he provisionally accepts it sub spe rati, "in hope of ratification," and writes home for permission to definitely say yes.

A Cardinal is named in petto when the publication of his nomination is deferred in consequence of the advisability of temporarily

maintaining him in a diplomatic post which, according to etiquette, he could no longer hold if he had actually received the Hat. All nominations in petto are contained in a sealed letter, which the Sovereign Pontiff produces in consistory, and then deposits in his archives; and if a Pope should die before giving force to a promotion thus effected, his successor is bound to open the sealed letter and to carry out the nomination. The last example of an appointment under these conditions was that of Cardinal di Pietro, nuncio at Lisbon, who was named in petto in 1853, and did not receive his Hat till 1856.

Bull was originally the name of the ball-shaped leaden seal annexed to letters from the Emperor or the Pope; it is now applied exclusively to documents issued in the name of the Holy See. The seal bears the image of St Peter and St Paul on one side, and on the other the name of the reigning Pope: the writing is in Gothic letters, and is inscribed on the rough side of the parchment. Bulls of grace are fastened with silk cords, and bulls of justice with hempen strings; while bulls of which the effect is intended to be permanent begin with the strange phrase, "In futuram Dei memoriam." Briefs are less important: they are written on the smooth side, in modern characters; they are not signed by the Holy Father, but by a special secretary; they are sealed with the Pope's own ring, the fisherman's signet.

A Cartel is an agreement between belligerents as to the conditions of war; it now applies especially to conventions for the exchange of prisoners.

The difference between a Firman and a Hatti Sherif is, that though both are edicts of the Turkish Government, the former is signed by

any Minister, whereas the latter is approved by the Sultan himself, with his special mark, and is therefore supposed to be irrevocable. The distinction is as real as between a love letter and a marriage settlement.

Capitulations is the name given to the immunities and privileges granted three centuries ago to France by the Ottoman Porte as an act of temporary and voluntary generosity, but which have been since converted, by degrees, into a series of onesided engagements which now absolutely bind the Porte towards all the Powers. The same appellation was also bestowed on the conventions with the Swiss cantons, by which Holland, Spain, the Popes, the kings of Naples, and all the kings of France, from Louis XI. to Charles X., have taken Swiss regiments into their service.

A Concordat is a treaty with the Holy See on religious questions; it is strictly limited to the settlement of relations between Church and State. The name is never given to purely political conventions concluded by the Pontifical Government (as, for instance, the treaty of Tolentino), which are regarded as ordinary diplomatic acts in which the Pope stipulates as a temporal sovereign. In Concordats, on the contrary, he appears as Sovereign Pontiff, as chief of Catholicity.

It has become rather difficult to draw any certain line between a Congress and a Conference: in theory, however, a Congress has the power of deciding and concluding, while a Conference can only discuss and prepare. Thus the Conferences of Moerdyk and Gertrudenburg simply prepared the way for the treaties of Utrecht, while the Congresses of Munster, Aix-la-Chapelle, Rastadt, Erfurt, Prague, Chatillon, Vienna, Laybach, and Verona, were all more or less direct in their action and results. There are, how