It is remarkable that the famous witticism of Sir Henry Wotton that “an ambassador is a person sent abroad to lie for the good of his country,” did not occur to some one much earlier; but though the _bon mot_ had not been coined, the idea itself was quite familiar. Louis XI quite bluntly instructed his embassies, “If they lie to you, lie still more to them.” But through all this period the virtue of sincerity and of truthfulness also had their admirers: Callières, speaking of the successful diplomat, says, “Deceit is but the measure of smallness of mind and intelligence. A diplomat should have a reputation for plain and fair dealing and should observe the promises he has made.” It may, however, be suspected that the good writer here contemplates the dangers of unsuccessful deceit and of too transparent ruses, rather than the positive value of truth itself. James Harris, Lord Malmesbury, who was certainly conversant with all the ins and outs of eighteenth century diplomacy, wrote in a letter of advice (April 11, 1813) addressed to Lord Camden: “It is scarce necessary to say that no occasion, no provocation, no anxiety to rebut an unjust accusation, no idea, however tempting, of promoting the object you have in view, can need, much less justify, a falsehood. Success obtained by one is a precarious and baseless success. Detection would ruin, not only your own reputation for ever, but deeply wound the honor of your Court.” In this sage advice, too, the dominant idea seems to be that detection is ruinous. The homage which is thus paid to the ideal of truth and sincerity is compatible with the use of quite opposite methods provided they are successful and so cleverly guarded that they are not discovered. However, at all times there must have existed, among the people at large and even among those playing the game of politics, men who had a natural inborn desire for truth and a simplicity of nature which brought them closer to the true underlying forces than were the common run of courtiers and politicians. The ever recurring admiration expressed for the diplomacy of Cardinal d’Orsat, the envoy of Henry IV to the Pope, indicates a real appreciation, even among the profession, of high standards of straightforwardness in diplomatic negotiations. Cardinal d’Orsat seems to have disdained all shallow devices of deceptive cleverness. He relied upon simple reasonableness and honesty in proposing an arrangement mutually beneficial, to win after others had exhausted all possible tricks and stratagems. In discussing diplomacy, Mably says that such methods alone are calculated to secure positive and permanent results while the devices of clever deceit can only serve to delay and confuse.