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In the 1780s Count Haslang, a confidant of George II and Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary from the Elector Palatine Duke of Bavaria, sought to protect famed Irish actress George Anne Bellamy from being arrested for debt. As a representative of a foreign power, Haslang enjoyed the ability to prevent his domestic servants from being arrested for debt—a power that he stretched to its limits and applied to his friends and former mistresses. Even though he offered to appoint the great actress as his “housekeeper,” he failed to rescue Bellamy. Undeterred by failure, he continued to try to extend his protection on many occasions and in dubious circumstances. He was both litigious and vindictive against those who violated his perceived rights. Haslang was a notorious gambler and womanizer, and he aggressively asserted his privileges as a foreign minister.

How could Haslang act as he did and expect to be able to flout English law and contracts? He operated in a world where there was a lack of clarity about international law and a desire to avoid international incidents. He was not a representative of a major power. Still, because of the habit of foreign ministers to rally around one another and to be extraordinarily jealous of their perceived rights and privileges, he was able to force one of the greatest powers in Europe to kowtow to his demands. Haslang’s activities and mentality demonstrate the unsettled nature of the eighteenth-century law of nations and the murky world of diplomatic relations. His exploits were representative of contemporary diplomatic culture. Ultimately, his actions and those of other diplomats formed an important part of the development of international law.

This article focuses on how the activities of Haslang and other diplomats helped push and create the boundaries of diplomatic privilege in the eighteenth century. One specific issue—the extent to which foreign ministers could shield people from being arrested for debt—led to a sizeable body of case law that defined the limits of immunity of servants of diplomats. Of equal interest is the British government’s frequent willingness to overlook the extraordinary claims of ambassadors and allow them to assert privileges even in instances when they were not merited. Diplomatic honour and maintaining good relations were of paramount importance. In addition to the significance to international legal history, the activities of these diplomats and the identity of those for whom they were willing to assert their privileges—regardless of whether it was strictly legal—contribute to the current literature about the complex roles of ambassadors in the eighteenth century. To understand the nature and development of immunity for diplomatic servants, it is necessary to address the 1708 statute on diplomatic privileges, the vexing question of debt in the eighteenth century, the role of diplomats, the changing case law, and, finally, the means by which matters involving diplomatic privilege avoided the courts altogether.

The protection that servants of diplomats enjoyed from arrest led to clashes between foreign envoys and English creditors and peace officers. These situations generated correspondence between diplomats; between diplomats, secretaries, and under-secretaries of state in various combinations; and between attorneys-general and solicitors for the treasury. These conflicts also led to court trials and the development of legal precedents recorded in the English Reports. There are dozens of lists of domestic servants registered in the Sheriff of Middlesex’s office and with the Secretary of State. There are also boxes of correspondence in the National Archives at Kew dedicated to foreign ministers’ complaints about the arrests of their servants and others dealing with court material about the law of nations. Information about the servants of diplomats and complaints about their treatment can also be found in the general correspondence between diplomats and British politicians.[2] All these sources paint a picture of how often these incidents arose, how they were handled, and how they influenced attitudes towards not only the law of nations but also the abuse of its protections.

The immunity of diplomatic servants had its basis in the law of nations (what we would now call international law), but despite the efforts of scholars, such as Samuel von Pufendorf and Hugo Grotius, it was changeable and not codified.[3] In the eighteenth century, there was debate about the limits of this form of diplomatic immunity. In 1708, parliament promulgated the Diplomatic Privileges Act, elaborating the immunities of ambassadors and their servants.[4] Jurists cited the statute into the twentieth century. However, it was not until the 1961 Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations that a binding international treaty would address these issues.[5] The earlier lack of formal agreement left room for conflict and court cases. Early twentieth-century articles about the act and diplomatic immunity focus narrowly on a quick discussion of the ensuing legal precedents.[6] However, the circumstances of the legal cases are deserving of attention and will be discussed below.

The 1708 statute gave diplomatic agents and their domestic servants immunity from civil suits. Its wording already sought to prevent traders and diplomats from abusing this privilege; however, this statute did not adequately foresee all contingencies in who would claim protection under the act. Instead, a series of court cases created the rules that determined who could enjoy freedom from arrest. Section 3 of the statute specified that only domestic servants qualified—although who qualified as a domestic servant was yet to be delineated. Section 5 of the statute precluded merchants and traders liable to the act of bankruptcy from entering into the service of a diplomat or “to have benefit of the act.” Nonetheless, the adventures of foreign ministers and debtors in the eighteenth century challenged judges to clarify the English interpretation of international law.

In an attempt to forestall trouble, the statute required that foreign ministers provide lists of their domestic servants to the “principal” secretaries of state, who would then transmit the lists to the sheriffs of Middlesex and London. Diplomats frequently provided their servants and those claiming their protection with certificates authenticating this status. In practice, the list registered with the Sheriff of Middlesex was considered the most important. However, servants not on the list could still enjoy the benefits of the act, but the officers who arrested them could not be penalized for their actions.[7] Sheriffs and constables were liable to be disciplined if they arrested someone on the official lists.[8] Theirs was an unenviable position as the precise hour at which the letter was received could determine whether or not the sheriff’s officers would be punished.[9] The Prussian Resident only sent his list of domestic servants to the sheriff after an arrest.[10]

Maintaining the lists was a hassle. Lord Mansfield noted “the negligent manner in which the lists are kept at the sheriff’s office.”[11] Among the State Papers, there are three boxes full of letters about changes in household staff. There are also numerous references in the middle of other state correspondence discussing affairs of state and war that detail servants to be added to the official list. The letters that accompanied the lists reveal how often some households, especially large ones, experienced turnover in staff. For instance, illness forced one diplomat, Giovanni Giacomo Zamboni, to expand his number of servants.[12] Upon reviewing the list of his domestics registered with the sheriff, Battista Gastaldi, the Genoese Resident, found names that he did not recognize and several long-dead servants’ names.[13] Some of the foreign ministers regularly sent lists of their domestics, but the incidents and letters do confirm that these lists were not comprehensive and that sheriffs could be forgiven for not always knowing who enjoyed protection.

Some foreign ministers were attentive to their lists. Zamboni, Agent for the Landgrave of Hesse Darmstadt, made frequent updates to his, but the illness mentioned above interfered with his usual promptitude. In 1752, he protested the arrest of a servant who had accompanied him to the countryside during his long illness. In his view, his man, Peacocke, was a victim of a malicious arrest. He asked for the quick release of his domestic and repercussions for those who had arrested him. Zamboni was particularly offended because, unlike some of the other foreign ministers, he claimed never to have abused his diplomatic privilege by protecting those not genuinely in his employ. He insisted that “S’il y a personne, Mylord, qui n’abuse pas du privilege qui regarde de les Domestiques des Ministres etrangers, j’ose dire que c’est moy.”[14] Months later, Zamboni asked that Francis Heylin Peacocke be added to his list.[15]

Other foreign ministers likewise appeared eager to conform to the intentions of the 1708 act and the law of nations. Baron Hopmann wrote to the Secretary of State to clarify who was indeed a member of his household. He claimed that he had waited two years before ever presenting such a list. He also included a register of names of people he maintained had never been his servants and who were improperly on the protected list. He wanted the “Imposers” punished.[16] In January 1729[30], Count de Broglie reported to the Secretary of State that Charles Napier was abusing his diplomatic immunity to avoid paying his debts and that the French ambassador wanted to remove Napier from his protection officially.[17] One diplomat created a list of people who were “actualy [sic]” in his service.[18] Not all diplomats claimed protection for non-servants or possibly even all of their domestic staff. Some lists submitted to the Secretary of State contained only two names. Usually, these were Continental European-sounding names, possibly signifying that these were the members of the household that the envoy considered more part of his family than any English servants he had hired.

Most cases involving the immunity of domestic servants of ambassadors concerned one issue—debt. It is, therefore, appropriate to spend some time discussing debt and imprisonment for debt in the eighteenth century. There was great concern in England about the national debt, especially in the wake of the Glorious Revolution of 1688–89, the Jacobite threat in 1715, and the many global conflicts. From the soaring National Debt and the sinking funds to individual debts of Londoners, debt and its consequences were unavoidable. Debt was a political issue as well as a social and economic one.[19]

People were concerned on a personal level with private debt. If a person could not pay their creditors in the eighteenth century, that individual could not only be sued but risked being imprisoned as well. This punishment may appear counter-productive, but imprisonment for debt, and the desperate lengths people went to avoid this, spawned several interesting legal novelties. Though only a fraction of debtors was ever imprisoned, their fate was primarily in the hands of their creditors, and those creditors did not want to lose the power they wielded.[20] Regular amnesties had to be extended to clear out the debtors’ prisons. The government also took on the ancient rights of sanctuary, by which debtors could not be arrested in certain parts of London.[21] The threat of imprisonment could be mitigated with a very simple expedient—obtaining “protection” from being arrested for debt by claiming to be the servant of an ambassador. These protections were not meant to be indiscriminately attainable. Some merchants wrote to the Secretary of State pleading with him to ask the foreign envoys to stop shielding traders because this practice was causing bankruptcies.[22]

In the eighteenth century, the debts of diplomats themselves were very much an issue. Ambassadors were expected to pay for the costs of their embassies.[23] However, they were often underpaid or their payments were severely in arrears, which could be why they turned to other money-making stratagems. Diplomats enjoyed privileges that could be milked to increase their income and avoid paying their bills. Smuggling was routine, and several diplomats had warehouses full of duty-free French brandy and other goods. In 1774, two servants of the Venetian Resident were accused of illegally selling coffee and storing it under the altar in the Resident’s chapel. The excise agents wanted to alert the Lords Commissioners of His Majesty’s Treasury of this “Practice so detrimental to the Revenue.”[24] Horace Walpole noted that the Spanish ambassador was the exception in not exploiting diplomatic privileges for personal gain.[25] It should be remembered that, in the eighteenth century, all sorts of perquisites or privileges were held dear. Maximizing revenues associated with an employment or government position was commonplace. Government ministers could become wealthy from their positions, and it is in this context we should think about how foreign diplomats exploited their potential revenue streams.

In England, most legal drama involved how foreign ministers gave or sold protections from debt to others. Their reasons for so doing reflected their unique positions in society. Through their actions, members of the diplomatic corps helped refine international law and took part in the never-ending quest of debtors to escape their creditors.

A diplomat could be resident in a foreign capital for years or even decades. Besides regular appearances at court, these foreign ministers found other ways to glean information about local politics and to curry favour. To do so, it was necessary to participate in the social world of the British elite and, if possible, to become close to those who wielded political power. Politics and power-dealing were not confined to the halls of parliament.[26]

The recent contributions of the new diplomatic history provide the context in which diplomats operated—a world of cultural exchanges, informal and formal networks of information, and social manoeuvring that valued words, gestures, and status.[27] There were many different ranks and titles for diplomats, but they were collectively referred to as the “Foreign Ministers.” Even those who did not serve in a diplomatic capacity full-time enjoyed the same privileges and immunities. For example, Giovanni Giacomo Zamboni served as a diplomatic agent for the Landgrave of Hesse Darmstadt; he was also a merchant and an amateur harpsichordist.[28] Like other Italians in London, including those who served as diplomatic Residents, he was very involved in the contemporary rage for Italian opera.[29] The diplomatic corps served as a key medium of cultural transmission. This aspect of the role is demonstrated by some of the men and women to whom diplomats extended their protection: dancers, singers, musicians, and theatre managers.

Foreigners and artists approached those with diplomatic standing to escape those they believed to be predatory creditors. Zamboni received such an appeal in 1742 from Stefano Malagoli, who claimed to have become indebted by covering the bills of the famous castrato Andreoni. Malagoli beseeched Zamboni for his “protection for at least two months,” promising, “I could serve you in order to pay my bills and find a master.” He saw the merchants’ desire to imprison him as “per vendetta” or out of vengeance.[30] English debtor law did not seem reasonable or fair to him. He only wanted temporary protection and was determined to pay his bills. Zamboni might have been a sympathetic audience because he himself was in debt and was also owed money by his friends (some of whom were likewise diplomats). He also fell behind on his rent but assured his landlady that he would pay even though his earnings for diplomatic service were in arrears.[31] It was difficult to secure payment from his several different foreign masters.

Unscrupulous merchants were willing to use debtor law to coerce money out of their victims. As Margot Finn emphasizes, prisoners could carry on trades and even live outside the prison walls in the immediate area.[32] However, such privileges were of no comfort to the great Italian comic dancer Fausan or Faussani, who was arrested for debt when he was about to embark on a trip to Russia. Foreigners about to leave England were particularly vulnerable, and Indian sailors also faced ruthless merchants or landlords who would threaten them with imprisonment right before their ship was set to weigh anchor. Even for those not planning to leave immediately, imprisonment must have been much scarier than for English people who could rely on support from family.

Faussani or Fausan and his wife were Italian dancers who had captured London’s attention. The manager of Drury Lane “admitted that the Fausans had attracted the large audiences that provided him with funds to pay his actors’ salaries.”[33] Even though the arresting officer would not release Faussani when he claimed diplomatic protection, the officer did agree to allow him to perform that night on stage before retaking him into custody. Faussani needed a speedy resolution to his difficulties—one that could not happen by following a legal process in court. The Czarina’s envoy, Mr. Narischkin, extended his protection to the dancer just before he set out on a tour of Russia. In the end, the plaintiff agreed to let Faussani depart if he left money in the hands of a third party in case it was later determined that the dancer was not covered by diplomatic privilege.[34] Faussani’s case illustrates how important diplomats were to cultural exchange and also how foreigners viewed what seemed to be a cumbersome and slow English legal process. Europeans held different attitudes towards law and the independence of judicial officers.[35] Their expectations that there could be speedy resolutions to the problem of a servant arrested in England were consistently frustrated. Diplomats and their servants had to wait for the law terms to begin and sometimes for the judges and law officers to return to London.[36]

The foreign ministers were willing to pursue their claims of privilege with the British government and in court, and it was these actions that clarified several legal issues about the 1708 statute. The act extended diplomatic privilege to “domestick” servants. Therefore, who precisely fell within the legal definition of a “domestick servant” was important because it also defined who was covered by diplomatic immunity. This category was the focus of ongoing discussions and legal decisions.

Contemporary ideas of a family guided English law and the interpretation of who was a genuine domestic servant. The two necessary elements “to be counted as a member of the household-family,” as defined by Naomi Tadmor, are residence and submission to the male head’s authority.[37] Through this understanding of family, we have to assess how English statesmen and jurists judged someone to be a genuine domestic. In 1711, the attorney general Sir Edward Northey recommended that the foreign ministers be advised to stop illegitimately “certifying that any person is in his family” who was a merchant or trader liable to be bankrupt.[38] Lord Mansfield likewise used the term “family,” for example, as follows: “By the law of nations, a foreign minister cannot give a protection to a person who is not bonâ fide of his family.”[39] Diplomats used the term “ma famille” to describe their servants.[40] The same reasoning can be seen applied to the English parliament—Members of Parliament and their servants were exempt from arrest.[41] Ambassadors and their “domestick servants” who were appropriately registered or who were “actually attendant” upon a recognized diplomat were also specifically exempted from the Aliens Acts of 1793, 1798, 1802, 1814, 1815, and 1816.[42] The phrasing appears to echo the eighteenth-century cases involving diplomatic immunity.

To determine if someone was entitled to protection from arrest, judges first determined whether the servant was indeed a “domestic servant” or not, then whether the servant engaged in bona fide service. Simply registering someone on a diplomat’s list did not convey immunity to them. There had to be evidence that the person was actively engaged in paid work and lived in the diplomat’s home.[43] A servant was a broad category in the eighteenth century and included all those who served masters for compensation.[44] That is why the statute specified “domestick.” Here, too, there was room for interpretation. In 1728, it was decided that a domestic did not have to “lie in the house of an ambassador.” In this case, the nature of the servant’s employment as an English interpreter necessitated his being frequently at the home of the ambassador, and, therefore, it was decided that he should enjoy protection.[45] But a few years later, in Toms v. Hammond, the court determined that the servant had to be employed to work “about the house only.” This clarification arose when the supposed servant of Baron Hopmann, the envoy of the Duke of Mecklenburg, was imprisoned for debt and claimed immunity because he worked as a clerk for the baron. The creditor showed that the debtor was actually a justice of the peace for Middlesex.[46] However, this residence requirement would be overturned later,[47] as the contention was made “for many houses are not large enough to contain and lodge all the servants of some ambassadors.”[48] This ruling demonstrated that the English interpretation of the law of nations was not stable, nor was the 1708 statute the final word.

The problem that most frequently arose was whether the person claiming immunity was actively engaged as a servant and not simply someone seeking to evade arrest and/or paying their debts. There had to be evidence of them actively doing paid work related to the embassy.[49] Otherwise, according to Chief Justice Hardwicke, “any servant at large might as well claim the privilege; he [Baron Hopmann] might at this rate protect 500 servants.”[50] In one curious example, a dancer wanted to sue the master of the opera house for payment of his salary. The Sardinian Envoy claimed that the defendant was his master of horse and therefore entitled to protection. This ploy was unsuccessful not only because the defendant was not believed to be a genuine domestic servant but also because, at the time of the incident, the envoy had not yet enjoyed an audience with the king. This case is interesting because of the frustration revealed by the judges. In their ruling, the judges expressed their exasperation with what they saw to be egregious attempts to circumvent the payment of debts. Chief Justice Lee recalled, “I remember a person swore he was master of the horse and clerk of the kitchen to an ambassador who had no horse, and only part of a kitchen.”[51] Foster, J. added, “I remember a case where a person swore he was gardener to a public minister, who had no garden; and a clergyman who swore he was chaplain to the Morocco ambassador.”[52] Justice Wright had previously “with some warmth said” of Malachi Carolino, the Bey of Tripoli’s supposed interpreter, that he “did not appear [to have] done any one act as a domestic servant.”[53]

The judges’ skepticism is understandable because some foreign ministers were willing to extend their protection to those who had dubious, if not outright fraudulent, claims to diplomatic privilege. One of the central and most active figures was Count Haslang, the representative of the Elector of Bavaria. Haslang was a favourite of George II and spent nearly fifty years as a diplomat in London as part of the social elite, patronizing coffeehouses and opera dancers. His name appears in several precedents regarding the law of nations, and he was by far the most infamous diplomatic miscreant. Haslang’s money troubles were not all caused by official duties. He enjoyed high court life, gambling, and cavorting with actresses. He was not only notorious for his smuggling activities—a fact vividly demonstrated by the Gordon Rioters in 1780 when rioters demolished his house and exposed his cache—but also for offering and indeed selling protections from arrest. Some, such as his ex-mistress George Anne Bellamy, viewed him as extraordinarily generous.[54] Another woman reports writing a letter to Haslang seeking his protection for an indebted acquaintance, Worsdale. She did gain Worsdale protection, though it is unclear whether it was from Haslang.[55] To Walpole, in contrast, he was the worst of a bad lot.[56] Haslang not only proclaimed his right to use and abuse the privileges of a diplomat by protesting loudly to the government but also took his case to court on more than one occasion. Because of these last activities, he was able to leave a mark on the law of nations. Perhaps his sympathy for debtors arose from his own behaviour. He did not pay rent for his residence and refused to quit the premises even when the owner absolved him of the debt and begged Haslang to move out.[57]

In one instance, Haslang’s protection does not seem to have been particularly effective. The celebrated and notorious Bellamy was said to have read the great scholars of international law, Pufendorf and Grotius, and studied the laws of nations “as though she were about to be appointed Ambassador to one of the first Courts of Europe.”[58] She put this knowledge to good use by asking Haslang to appoint her as a member of his domestic staff in order to shelter her from arrest. Haslang named her his housekeeper on the condition that she use her salary from her engagement at Covent Garden theatre to pay her debts.[59] But, interestingly, this arrangement seems not to have saved her from being taken to “sponging-houses.”[60] Haslang’s death in 1783 left her defenceless.[61] Some debtors under Haslang’s protection did appear in court, and here Haslang’s record was mixed.

Haslang was involved in eight cases reported in the English Reports, several more complaints to the secretaries of state, and even in criminal trials.[62] He apparently fired one servant after the man allowed his uniform to be stolen on the night of 29 December 1763. Since the coat was the property of the count, the prosecution was in his name.[63] As a target of the Gordon Rioters, he was likewise mentioned in the prosecutions of George Gordon and some rioters. He also wrote to the secretaries of state and protested his servants’ arrests on other occasions that the attorney general did find conformed with the statute.[64] In 1751, he tried to claim that John Stewart was Master of his Horse and asked that he “may be forthwith discharged out of Prison, and that the Plaintiff Attorney and Officer may be punished as violators of the Laws of Nations.”[65] Haslang sought not only the release of his supposed servants but also retribution against the officers and attorneys. The attorney general and solicitor for the treasury did not find that Stewart fell within the statute’s protections. Yet, failure did not deter Haslang. Later incidents that came before judges would find that Haslang was still trying to protect those who were not his bona fide domestic servants.

In 1755, Haslang was successful in protecting his courier, Thomas Threlkeld. Since Threlkeld had been registered with the sheriff before the arrest, the sheriff’s officer, Randall, was punished for the arrest and his “reproachful words” about Haslang. Randall was dismissed from his position, declared a violator of the law of nations, and imprisoned for three months with a fine of 10 marks as a further condition of release. At that point, he was to be taken to Count Haslang with a description of his offence pinned to his chest.[66] Haslang’s penchant for properly registering debtors on his list and his sometimes ruthless pursuit of their causes made sheriffs’ officers hesitant to arrest or re-arrest those who claimed his protection.[67] We cannot know whether his aggressive behaviour, in fact, deterred other creditors from attempting to recover their debts. The examples that we do have show that Haslang’s attempts to protect others largely failed in the long run. His exploits highlight the issues of law and personal honour associated with the immunity of diplomatic servants.

Because of the claims of honour, the privileges of diplomats were not treated as matters purely of law. The court cases do not fully reveal how incidents involving the arrest of the supposed servants of diplomats functioned in practice. Before judges rendered their decisions, the government law officers gave their opinions on the legitimacy of the complaints of foreign ministers. Oftentimes the situations were resolved without resorting to the courtroom. In incidents involving the diplomatic privileges of the servants of ambassadors, all interested parties usually worked vigorously to avoid appearing in court. The outcomes of these affairs did not rest solely on interpretations of the statute or the law of nations. Indeed, from the evidence of the diplomatic correspondence, many affairs were resolved in ways that contradicted the statute and the law of nations. The diplomatic aspect—the mere involvement of a foreign ambassador—changed the complexion of these episodes. Here, diplomacy and honour were paramount.

In the late 1750s to early 1760s, the attorney general and solicitors working for the Secretary of State faced letters from diplomats claiming their extended privilege of immunity and asking for the release of someone who had been arrested every few months. In 1756 alone, there were at least five complaints. To judge the worthiness of a claim of privilege, the solicitor or attorney would take affidavits from both sides. In 1762, Attorney-General Charles Yorke announced his intention to discover all the particulars and “hear affidavits upon the merits” of whether Count Bothmar’s servant was entitled to the privileges under the statute and the law of nations.[68] Even when the attorney general concluded that someone was not a bona fide servant, it did not mean that the debtor would be held to account or that the plaintiffs would press their case. Instead, the British politicians tried to mediate or appeal to the reason of those involved in these delicate situations. As the diplomatic fallout from the treatment of the Russian ambassador early in the century had shown, seemingly minor incidents could fast become international problems.[69] Even though Attorney General Robert Henley concluded that it was clear that Mary Davis was a linen-draper and not the Sardinian Envoy’s domestic servant, “notwithstanding the matter appeared in this Light, the Merchants who attended, and who appeared to be Men of Sense and Temper, are willing to withdraw their Suits and discharge the Woman out of Respect to Count de Viry, and to prevent any Trouble or Embarassment [sic] to his Majesty’s Government, if his Excellency will be satisfyed therewith.”[70] British politicians and attorneys-general, such as Sharpe and Cracherode, repeatedly called for the foreign ministers to accept “submissions” and tried to convince them that the greater honour lay this way.[71] In fact, if Randall, the sheriff’s officer, had not been accused of using “scurrilous and abusive terms” his submission might have been accepted by Haslang instead of more severe punishment.[72]

Even in cases that fell outside the statute’s scope, the British law officers were tolerant. In 1772, the attorney-general was diplomatic in his assessment of a case in which the Venetian Resident had extended his protection to Robert Holloway after his arrest, concluding that this was “not a case of Privilege; nor, indeed, one, in which Signor Berlendis would have claimed Privilege, if His Excellency had been Apprised of the circumstances.”[73] Holloway was a lieutenant at half-pay in the army, a horse dealer, and a three-time bankrupt. His first bankruptcy had occurred in 1764, after which Holloway had become a wine merchant, becoming bankrupt for the second time in 1768, fraudulently as well, and for the third time in 1770. As the attorney-general explained to a correspondent, since no representative from the Venetian Resident came to defend the Holloway claim, “I presume His Excellency desists from the claim, on being informed what the case is.”[74]

The law officers understood the importance of maintaining diplomatic honour and prestige. The complaints and lamentations of the foreign ministers betray these concerns. Ingeniously or not, they pointed to affronts to their dignity and sense of honour in their letters to the law officers. The British government had to tread carefully. An insult to one diplomat was treated as an insult to all.[75] An affront to a diplomatic representative was also an affront to his master.[76] What might seem to us to be trivial incidents could be important to personal, national, and dynastic honour.[77] In particular, the French quickly rallied all the foreign ministers to amplify claims of outrage.[78]

As heads of their households and honourable men, the foreign ministers complained when they were not first approached by creditors and sheriffs. These diplomats expected that plaintiffs would come to them so that they could mediate the situation and have their servants comply, as even Haslang once proposed.[79] This expectation is in keeping with the idea of their servants being part of their family and their responsibility. In 1711, Bonet, the Prussian Resident,[80] was upset not only that his servant Higgs had been arrested (though he had not, in fact, registered him as a servant) but also that afterwards, the plaintiff and the under-sheriff had come to blacken Higgs’ name and convince the envoy to withdraw his protection. Bonet was affronted that he had not been approached before the arrest, commenting, “My answer was that it lyes [sic] not in my power to protect or no my said Servant, but when in liberty I would receive and contenance [sic] the Plaintiff’s claims so far as they are consistent with justice, but in a way agreable [sic] to my caracter [sic], I mean that I must be the Judge of it.” Bonet stated that he would turn Higgs out of his service if he were found to be an “unrespectable” man, but he appeared more upset by how his own honour had been trampled on by the English.[81]

In the requests to the British government, we can see that diplomats took personal umbrage at the arrests of their servants. They felt that insults to their servants were affronts to their honour. In 1713, Baron von Steingens, the Palatine envoy, protested that his servant had been arrested while wearing his livery. While Steingens admitted that he did not expect or think it necessary to trouble the secretary of state with constant updates to his lists of protected servants, he nonetheless found it outrageous that a servant with a certificate of protection and wearing livery should be arrested.[82] The Palatine diplomat maintained that he did not abuse the protections that envoys enjoyed. Indeed, he claimed to give compensation or reparations for his domestics’ debts and any other failings. He saw “malice” in the episode and “an outrageous contempt of my person.”[83] For him, the arrest was not only unseemly but a personal affront.

Many more incidents never went before judges. The secretaries of state were regaled with stories of the outrages committed against the servants of the foreign ministers. Many of these were legitimate cases of domestics being arrested or insulted. Despite efforts to mediate these episodes, the number of arrests and court cases attest that these efforts were not always successful. The egregious attempts to shield people who did not meet the statute’s requirements demonstrate that not all diplomats felt bound by the strictures of the statute or the law of nations. Due to this willingness to resolve cases that were obviously fraudulent, the ones that did progress to court are remarkable, even more so when one man, Count Haslang, can be connected to several lawsuits.

The court cases clarified the 1708 statute on diplomatic privileges. Even as the limits of the diplomatic immunity of servants of ambassadors were being determined in English courts, these situations were never purely about legal matters because of the characters involved. Most conflicts and insults were settled out of court, not purely by means of legal correctness, but with a mind to satisfying the demands of diplomatic egos and honour. That makes these situations significant beyond the implications for the law of nations. These affairs reveal the complex and unique status enjoyed by diplomatic agents in the eighteenth century.

The overriding concern in most instances was to smooth over the possibility of a quarrel between states. The arrest of a diplomat’s servant was not perceived as a minor infraction and, as such, is worthy of our attention. When a servant of the Dutch Resident in Lisbon was arrested for theft without warning and a woman was arrested before the doors of his residence, a British diplomat viewed these deliberate infringements of the Dutch Resident’s diplomatic privileges as an attempt on the part of the Portuguese to create an international incident: “It looks like a design to quarrel with Holland.”[84]

The British government understood that incidents involving the servants of diplomats were not strictly legal concerns and treated them accordingly. The foreign ministers were jealous of their privileges and defended them vigorously. Even the questionable activities of some foreign ministers were hotly defended based on the law of nations. This intersection of law and honour allowed for the extraordinary adventures of Count Haslang. The exploits of Haslang demonstrate the inextricable connections between international law, diplomacy, and the everyday realities of living in a foreign capital.[85]