lations, and sets one adrift in a sea of perplexity. It is no great comfort that the same phenomenon is to be found under all forms of government. In France the peasantry voted, on the first occasion of universal suffrage, on suppositions of inconceivable absurdity, as—for the old Emperor: when told he was dead, then for the son; and when told that he was dead,—“then for the Holy Ghost.” Some of the Germans in the United States have cut as strange figures as this at many an election. But there is no consolation in this when we consider what a critical political period we are living in, and how tremendous is the danger from popular political ignorance in an age of increasing popular power.
The last few years, and even the last few weeks, have afforded striking illustrations of this ignorance in one particular direction.
There is no free country in which the middle class, on the whole intelligent and educated, and in possession of the franchise, should not understand enough of the origin of any political institution to appreciate its purpose and its function, even if unable to recite the story of its operations. Thus, every middle-class Englishman, every middle-class, Frenchman (in virtue of past representative institutions), and every American of any voting class, should be aware that kings had lost some of their power when they committed military affairs to generals, and how and why standing armies grew up, both as effect and cause of society ceasing to be military. The nature of Parliamentary Representation is, we may hope, fairly and generally understood in these countries; but what are we to say about the Diplomatic function, after what has recently passed before our eyes?
Citizens who have learned anything of their public duty ought to know very well how there came to be ambassadors at the courts of all countries. They cannot but know that the Pope once managed all the politics of Christendom, and that the first ambassadors, in the modern sense of the term, were great churchmen from Rome, who negotiated between the Pope’s quarrelsome children, the sovereigns of the civilised world. When the supremacy of Rome was over, the monarchs necessarily chose for the business of diplomacy men who were not only able, but so placed as to be free from the prejudices of lower men, and qualified by their largeness of view and of knowledge to consult on international affairs with foreign statesmen, and make binding arrangements with the differing rulers of various nations. Thus, while there have been diplomatists of many degrees of merit, the class holds a very high place in the ranks of civilised intelligence, and is characterised by high honour, discretion, and moderation of views and temper.
Further: any one who has considered more or less what these men and their business are, must be aware that the one conspicuous fact about them is, that they are the channel of communication between nations and their governments on matters of public policy. They exist for the express purpose of communicating with foreign rulers; and, however it may be with despot-ridden peoples, no others have any sort of right to address a foreign Power through any other channel than their own accredited minister at the court of that Power. One can hardly imagine such an excess of ignorant conceit as would lead individuals to press their private views on a foreign sovereign, or to pretend to speak for the nation to which they belong. One can hardly conceive of Englishmen or Americans neglecting to speak to their own sovereign through their own representatives in Parliament, and hiding from their own ambassador at a foreign court, to earn the contempt of that court by their pushing impertinence, or to mislead its counsels by the very audacity of that impertinence. Yet, as I write, some half-dozen instances within ten years occur to me, in most of which incalculable mischief has been, or may be, the inevitable consequence. It seems as if the instances were growing more frequent and more mischievous; and I shall therefore use no reserve in speaking of them as the disgrace to our time and its political training which all duly qualified citizens feel them to be.
At Easter, 1853, public sentiment in England (and everywhere else) was still throbbing painfully with the anguish caused by the usurpation of sixteen months before, and the cruel extinction of political liberty in France. It answered the purpose of certain intriguers to assume and proclaim that the indignation and disgust of the English about the usurpation, were hostility to the French people, with whom, on the contrary, they were heartily sympathising. The attempts at agitation on this ground were alarming to some members of the timid commercial class; and a considerable number of them in London went to work to declare our friendship towards our neighbours,—choosing for that purpose a method so objectionable as to rouse a wholesome general indignation. The errand was not properly to the French ruler; for the very ground of our sympathy with our neighbours was that he and they were not one. If our merchants had anything to say to the French government, they should have done it through our own government and its representative at Paris; and if their affair was with the people of France, they had no business in the Emperor’s presence. Yet they went to him, audaciously answering for the opinions and feelings of the people of England; and the Emperor was delighted, of course, with the opportunity of identifying himself with the subjects he had outraged, and appropriating the friendliness of sentiment which the people of England certainly never dreamed of entertaining towards himself. Most of us will remember the surprise and disgust excited by this move, and the vigorous denunciation of it in the House of Lords, and in newspapers of the time; the mockery at the court dinners accepted by the deputation, and the shame expressed that any gentlemen of our nation should put it in the power of the cynical usurper to smile at the lowness of political knowledge and constitutional spirit which may exist in England. But the immediate discredit was not the only mischief, nor the worst.
It was on Easter Monday, 1853, that these sapient and patriotic merchants of London made their obeisance at the Tuileries. Next February, the same movement was tried at another Court,
