Secret diplomacy is inevitable in wartime. I once heard Lord Grey denounce “secret treaties and bombing from the air”, as its two most evil effects. But between 1815 and 1914 England was only engaged in a major war for three years, and thus secret diplomacy had seldom the excuse pleaded by Grey. How far then is it inevitable in peace time? A careful examination of England's methods during this century, which ended in democracy, leads to some remarkable conclusions. Canning and Palmerston were less secretive than Gladstone, and Salisbury was infinitely less secretive than Lansdowne and Grey. Indeed it seems to be actually the case that our diplomacy became more secret as our constitution became more democratic. The purpose of this paper is to gather up the hints and traces of secret diplomacy, scattered through nearly a century of official papers. For, if these conclusions are to be established, it can only be by surveying long periods and estimating tendencies through several generations of diplomats.

The thirteenth century, like the eighteenth century, was a siècle français. Even Frederick II had failed to eradicate the impression German decline which had found expression after Philip Augustus's victory at Bouvines in 1214. After Frederick II's death in 1250, the Capetian monarchy had used its power, its prestige and its traditions to obtain political predominance in Europe and, indeed, throughout the Mediterranean world. The French monarchy was not, indeed, so firmly established as contemporaries supposed: after 1314 a period of “feudal reaction” set in, which revealed the weaknesses in the political structure the Capetians had built up. But the sudden concentration of French power in the closing years of the thirteenth century, the unity of the country around the throne, and the unanimous support which all classes, nobility, clergy and bourgeoisie, gave to royal policy, not only contrasted markedly with the divergences of interest within England and within Germany, but also gave the Capetian monarchs decisive advantages in their dealings with other governments. French policy, based on Carolingian tradition and directed to the “reintegration” of Gaul, was, by comparison with the mere conservatism of Edward I, positive, clearly defined, and systematically pursued. Unlike English or German policy i t was invigorated by a conscious “ideology”, which found expression not only in the unofficial writings of Pierre Dubois, but also in the official memoranda of Nogaret, Flote and Plaisians, and which had deep roots in French history.3 Because of these advantages, France at this period was the focal point at which all the complex problems of European politics converged: all the wires which statesmen were pulling, passed through Paris. European policy responded or reacted to the policy of France.

Spain at the close of the fifteenth century had just completed a long process of unification, accomplished by a series of crusades, partly national and partly religious in character, within Iberian territory. Pride of race, skill in arms and a truculent missionary Catholicism characterized the ruling elements in the new Spanish state, especially in Castille, the dominant partner of the union. A stern royal discipline controlled the ambitions of the aristocracy. The monarchy was strong, at that time truly national, supreme in both Church and State. Its authority, however, though autocratic, was by no means lawless. Canon and Civil Law, adapted to national needs, existed side by side with jealously guarded local fueros and the interpretation and reconciliation of masses of conflicting law lay in the hands of a numerous and very powerful legal profession. Spain, indeed, carried over from the age of feudalism into the age of sovereignty the supposedly mediaeval notion of jurisdiction as the essential function of authority. The monarch was still a judge, the chief of judges. His authority was most directly and characteristically represented by the high courts of justice and in the government of his dominions the school-trained lawyer was his most useful servant.

The seventy-five years from the Second Punic War to the legislation of Tiberius Gracchus were critical years in the history of Rome. Within this period Rome imposed her will on the Hellenistic world and brought the West under her sway. The foundations of the Empire were laid in these years. Yet the period closes with violence and blood-shed in Rome herself and the seeds of civil war in Italy. The strain of conquest and the immensity of success disturbed the stability which had made the victory possible. Imperial rule called for changes in administration; deep economic movements began to touch the life of the people; but the strength of tradition, political and social, and the dominance of the Senate limited their range of vision. The result was to provoke, whether or not it was justified, an attempt at revolutionary reform.

The object of this article is to carry one stage further an analysis which was begun elsewhere of the late medieval receipt rolls of the English exchequer. The technique of this analysis is essentially comparative; thus the first time it was used the two halves of Richard II's reign were compared with each other and with the whole of Henry IV's, while on the present occasion Henry V's reign of nine and a half years, producing nineteen complete rolls, will be compared with the first ten years and nineteen rolls of Henry VI. That is to say, two approximately equal periods are being studied instead of three, but in order to preserve continuity some reference will also be made to Henry IV's reign of thirteen and a half years with its twenty-one complete and four fragmentary rolls. It has been thought that the rough approximation to equality of evidence over these three periods will still justify, as in the former article, the frequent use of absolute totals instead of averages, but it will have to be borne in mind that 1413–22 and 1422–32 are both slightly under-estimated in relation to 1399–1413 wherever absolute totals and not averages are used.

As the Anglo-Spanish dispute which developed between 1756 and 1761 over the taking of Spanish ships by British privateers was undoubtedly one of the chief causes of the declaration of war by King Charles III in 1761, the Spanish story of these events is of considerable interest. A full treatment of the whole problem of the prizing of neutral ships has been promised by Mr Richard Pares, but the present study may be of some interest as showing the Spanish views of the situation as shown in the correspondence between the Spanish Chief Minister, General Richard Wall, and the Spanish chargé d'affaires in England, Don Felix Abreu.

A Number of important studies have been published in recent years on the subject of benefice and vassalage during the early Middle Ages, and it may consequently be worth while to re-examine some of the problems raised by the origin and early development of these two institutions. I have dealt elsewhere with, the circumstances which tended towards their union early in the eighth, century, under the early Carolingians, In this article I hope to indicate at least the principal features of the history of benefice and vassalage during the reign of Charlemagne. The Influence which Charles exercised on the public and private institutions of the Frankish state was so definite and far-reaching as fully to justify the limitation of the subject-matter of my inquiry to the space of a single reign. Unfortunately the lack of adequate sources, though less serious than for the preceding period, renders the task of tracing their history a somewhat difficult one. Although the capitularies contain a relatively large number of provisions that deal specifically with these institutions, we have very little information as to how they worked in practice. The narrative sources, with the exception of two or three texts, tell us little or nothing. We have to fall back on the evidence of charters, though even these only rarely, when dealing with a dispute or legal proceeding, throw some light on the subject. This is what we might in any case expect, for the essential feature of the entry of a person into vassalage or of the gift of a benefice was the oral act, and not any embodiment of it in writing.

In the late afternoon of Sunday, 29 December 1895, a little column of mounted men moved out from their camp at Pitsani Pothlugo in the south-eastern corner of the Bechuanaland Protectorate, and headed eastward for the boundary of the South African Republic, a few miles away. At about ten o'clock that night a still smaller column rode off along the northern road from Mafeking, the capital of British Bechuana-land thirty miles or so to the south, and once they were clear of the straggling town, wheeled to the right and also made for the Transvaal border. Riding through the starry night of a High Veld summer, the two columns joined hands at daybreak on republican soil and, after a short halt, pushed on at a smart pace towards Johannesburg.

The Spanish and the Sicilian Constitutions of 1812 have been justly criticized as unskilful attempts of minorities to graft foreign models upon native traditions of obsolete or anachronistic feudal Parliaments. Yet the authors of both aimed in part at preserving by new methods some of the changes begun and abandoned by eighteenth-century monarchs, and they used in each case the name of a King who for different reasons could not openly repudiate them. Many who doubted the wisdom of their methods had sympathy for their reforming projects. The Constitution of Sicily was based avowedly on the English model; it has naturally attracted more attention in England and is still worth investigating afresh. That of Cadiz, though deriving almost surreptitiously from the French Constitution of 1791, was also produced in a sense under English auspices. The Cortes were summoned under English pressure, and were protected by English armed forces. Their doings have been described mostly in relation to the military and diplomatic history of the period; but the conflict of French and English influences in Cadiz deserves a short investigation: the material is abundant, both contemporary and later.

The popular mind loves the dramatic and the macabre, and so it has come about that the two events of British Indian History which the man in the street is aware of are the Black Hole of Calcutta and the Great Mutiny. When there were no Mutiny horrors to contemplate, their place was taken by the legend of Tipu Sultan; even in 1831 Ram Mohan Roy was followed about by crowds in London crying Tipu Tipu. It has been a misfortune for British Indian understanding that these two events seemed discreditable to India; for though Seraja-Daula is now acquitted of responsibility for the Black Hole, and the military revolt theory of the Mutiny generally prevails, the popular legend continues. The well of Cawnpore is remembered where the well of Ujnalla is forgotten.

In the preamble, Ferdinand, King by God's grace and by the constitution of the Spanish monarchy, and in his absence the Regency nominated by the General and Extraordinary Cortes, made known that these Cortes decreed the following Constitution. In Title I, sovereignty is said to reside in the Spanish nation, which cannot be the patrimony of any family or individual and consists of all Spaniards (as defined) of both hemispheres. In Title II, the territory is defined, subject to a more convenient division of provinces to be made later; the religion “is and always shall be the Catholic, Apostolic and Roman religion, the only true one”, protected by wise and just laws and excluding the exercise of any other; the government, whose object is the happiness and welfare of individuals, is a hereditary limited monarchy, the executive power belonging to the King, the legislative to the Cortes with the King and the judicial to tribunals established by law; the citizens are defined, excluding “Spaniards of African descent” but leaving open “the path of virtue and merit for them to aspire to be citizens” by grant from the Cortes; after 1830, illiteracy would be a ground for suspension of citizenship.