Jules Jusserand

Robert J. Young, “‘Interrogating’ Modernity: Bureaucrats, Historians, and French Ambassador Jules Jusserand,” Journal of Historical Biography 5 (Spring 2009): 23-47, www.ufv.ca/jhb. © Journal of Historical Biography 2009. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons 3.0 License.

“Interrogating” Modernity: Bureaucrats, Historians, and

French Ambassador Jules Jusserand

Robert J. Young

Y INTEREST IN JULES JUSSERAND is more than a decade old. It arose from research for a book on French propaganda in Amer-

ica between 1900 and 1940, and it did so because Jusserand was the French ambassador in Washington from 1903 to the end of 1924, roughly half the period then under consideration. That interest quick-ened—had to—as I set off on a quest to restore his memory in the form of a biography.1 Many scholars have used his papers at the French for-eign ministry for various historical projects, but few have concentrated on his ambassadorship, and none has undertaken, or at least completed, a biography.

The interest has been sustained over many years by the fact that he had two lives, each remarkable. Though by no means unique among the twentieth-century personnel of the foreign ministry, Jules Jusserand was a historian and a diplomat in almost equal measure.2 In the course of his career as diplomat, governments everywhere in the Western world were assuming greater and greater responsibilities for the public welfare; and in order to fulfill commitments pledged from the hustings, they found themselves increasingly dependent upon an expanding civil service—what, less charitably, we have come to call a modern bureauc-

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24 JOURNAL OF HISTORICAL BIOGRAPHY

racy. With boyhood memories of summers spent in wooden sabots on the fringe of the Beaujolais, of parents receiving in a country courtyard an owner’s portion of the annual harvest dutifully delivered by their peasants, of produce-laden ox-carts creaking overland toward the Loire, Jusserand belonged to one of the first generations that struggled with massive increases in state paperwork and a mounting depersonalization of the workplace. He did not like this, and said so with a candour that the regulation-choked twenty-first century might well appreciate.

It is easier still for historians to relate to his other life, although “appreciate,” in this context, may be going too far. Raised in proximity to Hippolyte Taine, to Macaulay and Acton, Jusserand was passionate about the link between history and literature. Not, he would have in-sisted, out of allegiance to some hoary principle, but out of a conviction that history could not be, should not be, written in a dialect invented by and for experts. What he would have thought of some contemporary writing, I leave—for a moment—to the reader’s imagination. But one might infer, in this post-modern age, why I anticipate some measure of controversy when turning in greater detail to the ambassador’s plea for a little more art in our work. First, however, one must have a brief syn-opsis of Jusserand’s dual career.

He was born in 1855 to well-to-do Lyonnais parents, parents who instilled in their eldest child a love of learning and a respect for educators. That, together with native ability, explained his exceptional success as a student in primary and secondary schools, and subse-quently at the University of Lyon. It was there that he completed two licences, one ès lettres, and one en sciences, achievements quickly fol-lowed by a doctorate in history, a law degree in Paris, and admission into the foreign ministry’s consular service—having come in first in the ministerial entrance examinations. But that latter triumph of 1876 had been preceded by the better part of a year in England, where he pre-pared for his examinations, improved his Italian, perfected his English, and completed doctoral research for the requisite two dissertations—one in Latin, on the twelfth-century English poet Josephus of Exeter, the second on English theatre before Shakespeare. Both were published by the time Jusserand was twenty-three.3 Thereafter, one work fol-

“INTERROGATING” MODERNITY 25

lowed another, most on medieval or Renaissance England, most repub-lished in English translation, all of them while the author was fully em-ployed by the foreign ministry either in London or in the central ad-ministration in Paris.

Between 1880 and 1900, the young diplomat wrote on Chau-cer’s Pardoner, on the English novel in Shakespeare’s day, on Lang-land’s Piers Plowman, and on the broad history of English literature—the latter work winning the Bordin prize from the Académie Française in 1895. He also published a remarkable experiment in social history entitled English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages (XIVth Century),4 and books on the seventeenth-century French ambassador to England, the Comte de Cominges; on James I of Scotland; on Shakespeare’s re-ception in France; and on sport and exercise in medieval-early modern France.5 And who more appropriate, despite his youth, to initiate as general editor a multi-volume series on famous French writers—to which he would eventually contribute his own volume on Pierre Ron-sard—or to serve in the same editorial capacity in the production of the foreign ministry’s multi-volume series on its directives to ambassadors and ministers abroad in the period from 1648 to 1789? 6

Remarkable as this scholarly production was for one under, or barely beyond, the age of forty, it becomes the more striking when par-alleled with a full diplomatic career. For two decades (1878-1898) Jusserand’s career was spent either in London or at the Quai d’Orsay. The first three years were with the consular service. In 1881 he trans-ferred to the more prestigious diplomatic service on whose instructions he served in the minister’s cabinet, then as counsellor in the London embassy, then as head of the Northern desk within the elite Direction des affaires politiques. Between 1899 and 1902 he served as minister in Copenhagen, before being named ambassador to Washington. The lat-ter appointment came his way partly because his scholarship had made him fluent in English and well connected within the English-speaking scholarly world, partly because he had added to his credentials a wife of American citizenship, and partly because he had sympathetic superi-ors in the persons of Alexandre Ribot and Théophile Delcassé. So it was in Washington, where he took up his post in February 1903, that


the ambassador was received with requisite formality by President Theodore Roosevelt, and where the scholar was received by that same president with unconcealed enthusiasm. He is “a really fine scholar,” Roosevelt reported to his son Kermit. “Having the diplomats presented to me is an awful bore as a rule. But this was different. I kept him talk-ing half an hour.” 7 Thirty minutes proved to be no more than a heart-beat for one who was destined to remain in Washington for twenty-two years—through the turbulent administrations of Roosevelt, Taft, Wil-son, Harding, and Coolidge—and to become the first recipient of the Pulitzer Prize in History.8 Forty-seven years of age when he and Elise arrived in America, they left early in 1925, within weeks of his seventi-eth birthday.

One career complete, the ambassador retired to the couple’s marital residence in Paris, and to his father’s country home in the tiny village of Saint-Haon-le-Châtel. He had seven years of formal retire-ment, during which he continued to write, edit, and translate. Among those works was his memoir-like account of the war years, entitled Le Sentiment américain pendant la guerre. There were articles for the Re-vue historique and the Revue d’histoire diplomatique, another two vol-umes in the foreign ministry’s long-sustained series on its instructions to agents abroad, and finally his death-truncated memoirs which ap-peared a year later, written and posthumously published only in Eng-lish, under the title What Me Befell. 9 He did live to see and celebrate his admission to the Académie des sciences morales et politiques in 1925, the crowning achievement of a lifetime of scholarship. It was left to his widow to attend, in the presence of President Franklin Roosevelt, the inauguration of a privately financed monument to his memory in Washington’s Rock Creek Park—in 1936 a hitherto unprecedented tribute to a foreign diplomat.

Having surveyed the highlights of these remarkable twin ca-reers, I turn directly to two facets of Jusserand’s professional lives, one banal enough to earn top spot among today’s criteria for la condition humaine, the other not banal in the least. The first, as forecast, was his career-long feud with Paris functionaries, one enlivened by a tempera-ment honed on Doctor Jusserand’s advanced academic credentials, his


international scholarly reputation, and his accumulating years among distinguished scholars, presidents, and cabinet ministers. Hardworking and meticulous, the status of his embassy inexorably elevated with that of America in twentieth-century world politics, he had no qualms about castigating discourtesy, inattentiveness, woolly-mindedness, indiffer-ence, incompetence, or bureaucratic miserliness, especially when such offences emanated from superiors in Paris, or at least from the minions who did their bidding.

He was thirty years of age in 1885, when, in a letter to his mother, he punctuated with an exclamation mark a report that the min-istry was demanding reimbursement of some incidental but ineligible expense that he had incurred during a three-month official mission to Tunis in 1882; and five years later, in response to an enquiry from his friend Sir Charles Dilke about remuneration and benefits in the French public system, Jusserand railed against the capriciousness that flour-ished in the foreign ministry. Often, he reported, there was no secure and reliable correlation between rank and remuneration, and pensions were only available at the end of very long service, and only under the strictest conditions. Look no further than these “barbarous and unhu-mane [sic]” terms of employment, he vented, to understand why the ministry does not spell them out in its official Annuaire.10

A decade older, flushed with even more scholarly success, and with his diplomatic career clearly in the ascent, Ambassador Jusser-and’s critical spirit showed no sign of diminishing. Though known for his gentle wit and common touch, he also excelled in the acerbic. Even before reaching America, he had aired various complaints about his shipboard lodgings, although he couched them as a defence of the dig-nity of France rather than that of her humble servant. Their quarters had been cramped, he reported to the ministry—somewhat insensitively—and had afforded but two narrow beds and a splendid porthole view of sickly-looking immigrants crowded on a lower deck. The embassy it-self proved equally inhospitable. Some walls were so badly cracked that the accompanying drafts made rooms “uninhabitable,” and experts had to advise him where on the second floor, and where not, to stack his books in hopes of avoiding a collapse of the first floor ceiling.11


The next twenty-two years in Washington confirmed, again and

again, the meaning of prologue, for from beginning to end the ambas-sador engaged—and was engaged—in little running wars with bureau-crats in Paris. The very fact that these quarrels continued, however spo-radically, for more than two decades attests to two things, not one. Not only was this diplomat sharp-tongued and, at times, openly critical of his superiors, but until 1924 he was held by them to be irreplaceable. The current account’s emphasis on the ambassador’s darker moods and resistance to modern trends must never be allowed to obscure the fact that his contemporaries—French and American—considered him vital to healthy Franco-American relations. Indeed, on the very eve of the ambassador’s retirement in late 1924, President Coolidge remarked to Senator Jean Dupuy, “Don’t take this man away from us; you can’t re-place him.”12

That caveat registered, we can return forthwith to the banal, and to that collection of irritants which, while almost always divorced from grander matters of policy, would test the patience and colour the moods of any actors involved—including, it should be said, Jusserand’s coun-terparts in French embassies elsewhere.13 Summarized, the ambassador nursed three categories of complaints against his masters in Paris. One was Financial in nature. The second and third—Insensitivity and In-competence—ran in tandem, often distinguished only by the degree of ambassadorial apoplexy.

From the outset of his mission to Washington, of course, there had been the rude shipboard lodgings and a crumbling embassy to greet him. Within a year, he had discovered the chasm between his remu-neration and benefits and those of the German ambassador—the latter assured of free accommodation and larger budgets for entertainment, travel, and vacation pay. Jusserand, by contrast, was expected to distin-guish between his public and his private accommodation costs, which is to say between the costs of his personal household and those he in-curred as an ambassador of France. Not an easy calculation when it came to separating winter coal for official purposes from winter coal dedicated for private use, or laundry bills, or employees’ wages, or hay for the horses and petrol for the automobile. Adding insult to injury was


the knowledge that the ministry in Paris did provide free accommoda-tion to its ambassadors in London, Berlin, and St. Petersburg.14 Nor was solace to be found in the modern trend toward greater financial ac-countability, one which, in 1908, produced a 17 percent cut in the em-bassy budget and a request that the ambassador reimburse the ministry for a two-hundred-and-fifty-franc overrun on the previous year’s sub-scription budget. On that occasion, Jusserand compromised with him-self by holding his tongue but ignoring the demand—a course of inac-tion that prompted ministerial musings about a possible successor in the Washington embassy.15

The Great War intensified this trans-Atlantic jousting. On the one hand, the ambassador expressed deep misgivings about his gov-ernment’s lack of restraint when it came to borrowing huge sums from America. He feared that such growing dependence would tarnish the image of France, dangerously amplify President Woodrow Wilson’s voice at some future peace conference, and ensure that France would enter the postwar period deeply in debt and with a population of dis-gruntled taxpayers as well as grieving families.16 On the other hand, his own office was operating under Spartan conditions while coping with an escalating workload. Despite a 6:30 a.m. start to every day, and no vacation time during the entire course of the war, he was suffocated with paperwork—a condition which his minister broadly acknowl-edged to parliament in October 1917 with the observation that the per-sonnel of British embassies and consulates was almost double that of the French.17 Jusserand estimated that, between January 1917 and Sep-tember 1918, he had sent thirty-five hundred telegrams and eleven hundred letters to the Quai d’Orsay alone, without counting the eight hundred letters to the State Department, the additional hundreds dis-patched to other French and American ministries, or any of the corre-spondence with sundry groups, associations, and individuals.18

Nor did the end of the war bring peace on this front. His person-nel complement was further reduced, leaving him, by late 1919, short of a filing clerk as well as an officer to code and decode telegrams. His sole secretary could not keep up with the paperwork, and he himself was left to conduct daily, if necessarily superficial, analyses of as many


as ten American newspapers. Adding to the discomfort was the bare-bones service provided by the embassy’s two typists—ten short of the pool available at the British embassy. The deficiency was, for all that, an arguable blessing, since it took twenty-three of the ambassador’s signatures to secure monthly payment for a single typist. As for his own pay, to little avail, Jusserand pointed out that the combination of price rises in America and a sharp decline in the international exchange rates had essentially reduced the real wages of French diplomatic personnel in the United States by half.19 Even so, by early 1923, his budget was so overdrawn that the ambassador was paying some of the typists’ wages from his own pocket. 20 Out of the stable-yard of Finances, there emerged the tandem pair of Insensitivity and Incompetence, so nearly identical that either might fit in the other’s stall. As for the former, the ambassador seethed over the chronic insensitivity of a French press that seemed to delight in offending Americans and over a government that tolerated such dam-aging license. Well before the war, Jusserand had identified elements of the French press—and, implicitly, his masters’ tolerance thereof—as impediments to his job of nurturing Franco-American relations. No help to him were smug press analyses contrasting American material-ism with French idealism, or the gentility of French women with the brashness of their American counterparts.21 Worse still, in wartime, was what he called an “incomprehensible phenomenon”—the practice of mocking America’s policy of neutrality while insinuating that Presi-dent Wilson was a closet pro-German, each barb joyfully plucked and held to the light by those elements of the American press that were re-liably hostile to the Allied cause. “If we think that this country’s good will is an encumbrance for us,” Jusserand warned his minister, “we just have to stay the course in order to free ourselves.”22

The ambassador saw another threat coming from the French press, and from a government that, while enforcing strict rules of cen-sorship against any word that might abet the enemy cause, seemed loath to rein in journalists who were overplaying the image of a bleed-ing, exhausted France. Too many photographs of the destruction in northern France, he insisted, too many textual accounts of our losses


and of the enormous costs we have incurred, and Americans will see us as weak, as whiners, lacking the resolve first to win the war, and then to rebuild and revive. France’s suffering and her neediness would operate doubly at France’s cost.23 It was a never-ending campaign waged, as he saw it, against blinkered journalists and compliant ministers, each in their own way sapping the Francophilic juices of America. Months from retirement, the aging diplomat railed once more against a French press that welcomed Americans to the summer Olympics in Paris with reports of crowds booing the American anthem and with accusations that some of their compatriots had run off with forty-seven place set-tings from a dining room in the Versailles palace.24

Lest one think it unfair for Jusserand to have held his govern-ment responsible for the excesses of a free French press, it should be said that, from his perspective, its handling of the mischievous journal-ists was only a tiny part of a broader pattern of indifference and insensi-tivity that was emerging in the modern world. In early 1915, he re-minded the ministry of two gifts it had received from officially neutral America. The first was a book entitled What We Owe to France—indeed twenty-five complimentary copies, including a bound edition for the French president—which was met without so much as an ac-knowledgment to the author, never mind “a word of thanks, or a word of appreciation.”25 The second was a cash gift to support French civil-ians still subject to a German army of occupation. The donor was James Stillman, an American banker and Paris resident, whose name the ministry managed to misspell, and whose cheque, inexplicably, it delayed cashing for over three weeks. As inexcusable, the ambassador argued, was the fact that no effort was made to publicize Stillman’s gesture. “We seem to find more satisfaction,” he charged, “in com-plaining than thanking,” an accusation he was moved to repeat a year later when his more recent attempts to get the ministry to express grati-tude for a kind word or act had fallen, again, on deaf ears. Even when we do get around to expressing thanks, he complained, it is not only belated but “flat” and insincere in tone.26 Or Incompetent?

The war years certainly confirmed Dr. Jusserand’s suspicions that the professionalism of the modern foreign ministry was at low ebb.


Admittedly, no one had been able to foresee the magnitude or exact na-ture of the war, and soldiers and civilians alike had to make countless adjustments in the course of those four long years. Still, Jusserand be-lieved that the conclusion was inescapable that problems in the ministry must be traced to its own incompetence. Sometimes the oversights were relatively trivial. Such was the case with a finance ministry as-sessment of the Chilean economy that mistakenly found its way across the Atlantic to the embassy in Washington, although not before under-going the ministrations of the New York Customs Office and the trans-lation services of the State Department—a bewildering trajectory prompted by an envelope carelessly addressed to the foreign ministry’s Affaires Politiques et Commerciales (Amérique)—and carelessly for-warded from there with the simple addition: “America.”27 Bad enough that this should happen once, through simple inattentiveness, but for similar mishaps to occur throughout the course of the war was too much for the meticulous ambassador.28 More serious, but still relatively inconsequential in the larger scheme of ministerial errors was the deci-sion to fund a mass distribution in America of a work innocently called La Gloire de la France. The problem was that its well-intentioned text had been accompanied by gratuitous illustrations of nude men and women, anatomical displays that had so offended the head mistresses of several girls’ schools that they had consigned these dubious cadeaux to the dustbin.29

Higher on the incompetence scale was the enduring saga of countless missionnaires to wartime America, government appointees whom Jusserand dismissively called envoyés. From the earliest years of the war, through the protracted Washington Conference of 1921-22, the ambassador pleaded with his government to smarten up. The early pur-chasing missions, dispatched by a variety of ministries in Paris, were ill coordinated and ill informed. Too often, the nominal experts that led them ignored the services of the embassy’s commercial and military attachés, were badly briefed about American business practices, and could not communicate in English.30 And if anything, after April 1917 and America’s entry into the war, the problem multiplied, as intellec-tual, religious, and cultural missions were added to the swelling num-


bers of those concerned with commerce and finance. The numbers alone, he observed, were part of the problem; the surfeit of envoyés on expense accounts suggested an extravagance of expenditure on the part of a financially strapped government.31 Worse—and to Jusserand, this was the greatest danger of all—their presence fuelled American appre-hensions about foreign propagandists. In short, they constituted an on-going challenge to the operation of the embassy. Too often unilingual, too often innocent of America, too often “infatuated with their title,” these missionnaires were prone to committing “all sorts of stupidities.” 32

But these bêtises, Jusserand acknowledged, were the work less of stupidity than of ignorance, a condition that elevates us to the highest realms of Incompetence. As early as the spring of 1915, stunned by the lack of preparedness that afflicted these early missions, the servant took direct aim at his masters. Your ad hoc agents arrive here in such a state of ignorance about America that their condition demonstrates “the complete uselessness” of the reports I send to the ministry. 33 Missions apart, the ambassador nursed a wide variety of grievances against the bureaucrats in Paris, nursed them, and voiced them. Sometimes his in-structions from home were unclear, dangerously so, considering the complex allied coalition within which he operated. Sometimes textual materials containing detailed geographical references arrived without benefit of maps. Sometimes his own dispatches were read so inatten-tively that their substance was completely misconstrued. In one such case, the indignant ambassador exploded: “I could not hide my stupe-faction, [could not] believe my eyes.”34 Sometimes, too often, his re-peated requests for guidance were ignored, a shortcoming that was es-pecially pronounced when he pleaded for information. It was embar-rassing enough, he reported, when he could not satisfy the Russian am-bassador’s request for the names of people serving on a French pur-chasing mission to Washington; but it was humiliating when he had been obliged to ask the Japanese embassy for a copy of a French gov-ernment document that had been sent to Tokyo—though not to him—a copy, incidentally, which had to be translated back, orally, into French from Japanese.35 But even his complaints sometimes went unacknow-


ledged. Referring to the embassy’s personnel deficit at the end of the war, he growled again: “All of my telegrams remain without replies…. The Department’s indifference is inexplicable.”36

Given the foregoing, it may be easier to understand why this public servant and diplomat occasionally expressed himself as he did, not as a servant, and not very diplomatically. In April 1917, for exam-ple, just as America entered the war, the ambassador wrote to his friend and new minister, Alexandre Ribot: “The fact is that contact between embassy and ministry is perfunctory and uncertain; the cordial ex-change of views, impressions, information and analyses that exists in the diplomacy of other countries, and which used to apply to our own, is very rare. At least in my post.”37 Weeks later, he renewed his efforts to educate his minister, complaining again of a department that “leaves me in the dark, strips me of personnel, sends me instructions which, in some cases…would have led to a rupture of relations with the United States.”38 And four years later, in peacetime, he exploded again, this time in the face of a suggestion that he should have forwarded to Paris a State Department document addressed to the German government. If I did not send it, he bristled, “it was because I did not have it.” But he did not stop there. Reacting to what he thought was another modern trend—namely that of Paris laying its own shortcomings on the backs of its agents abroad, he wrote: “None of us in the French diplomatic service who serve abroad have any claim to infallibility. It seems, how-ever, that in cases of this nature, the way in which our administration rushes to apply the worst and most damaging hypothesis—when reason would have dismissed it—is as contrary to fairness as it is to our tradi-tions.”39

The final chapter of this internecine war was written late in 1924, as it turned out, a collaborative effort by master and servant. For some years, rumours had circulated in Paris and Washington that the ambassador was about to be recalled—sometimes at the behest of an irritable President Wilson, more often at the behest of certain French journalists and public servants who alleged that the ambassador had surpassed his shelf life. But nothing had happened. Indeed, all such ru-mours had been denied by the ministry, although sometimes at glacial


speed. The ministry’s position remained unchanged through the sum-mer and early autumn of 1924, the Jusserands having returned to Wash-ington from a summer in France with no premonition of involuntary retirement, despite the fact that the ambassador was approaching his seventieth birthday. Not until 15 November was he told by his minister, Edouard Herriot, that after a service of twenty-two years, he would be finished in six weeks’ time. He responded by claiming that such an imminent departure would appear unseemly—the more so given his long tenure as dean of Washington’s diplomatic corps—and by request-ing an extension into January 1925.40 Ten days later, he still had no re-ply. Indeed, only on the second-to-last day of November did he learn that Paris had settled on 9 January as the official date of his departure—a piece of intelligence he had picked up not from the ministry but from the Press Association in Washington.41 In fact, he chose the twenty-second of the month. That was his final act of resistance, the penulti-mate having been to defy ministerial regulations on the subject of his moving allowance: French moving companies customarily provided separate estimates for the costs of packing and the costs of transporta-tion, but American moving companies made no such distinction. Func-tionaries in Paris, he sniffed, were just going to have to sort out this bu-reaucratic conundrum by themselves.42

Bureaucrats, as earlier allowed, were but one breed of antagonist for an ambassador grappling with a world turning modern. Another was some of our predecessors, which is to say historians of the preceding two centuries. Put simply, he was alarmed by the way they wrote or, less simply, by their apparent indifference to the needs of intelligent but inexpert readers.

From his earliest days as a scholar in the 1880s to the final days in Washington, Jusserand bemoaned the effect on readership of too many desiccated texts, texts that were scholarly enough, but so intent on being “scientific” that they had lost their artistic lustre. Novels, he observed early in his career as historian, had become everyone’s fa-vourite. Works like Daniel Defoe’s Swiss Family Robinson were a lit-erary sensation because of what the diplomat called Defoe’s “magnifi-cent simplicity.” With a touch of obvious hyperbole, Jusserand sug-


gested that “everyone” read novels, not simply because of the stories themselves, but because of their accessibility; these were the kind of works that one could read tucked into a corner by the fireplace, or in a train compartment.43

As a historian, he was envious and alarmed. The choice, he sug-gested more than a century ago, had come down to the dime novel on the one hand, or the academic treatise on the other. Too many were choosing the former; and accompanying that choice was an ascending ignorance of France’s contribution to the world’s true classics. Because few people were bothering with scholarly, sometimes intimidating, treatises on the likes of Balzac, Voltaire, Racine, or Lamartine, even fewer were turning to the authors themselves. Historians were not only losing out to contemporary novelists, but that loss was echoed in mod-ern readers’ mounting ignorance of the great masters. Such concern was the inspiration behind his own Great French Writers Series, founded when he was in his early thirties, and whose contributors he recruited because he saw in each an author who could deliver scholarly but elegantly written volumes on Balzac and company. 44 Often, it should be said, he did not select historians who were members of the Academy, but rather would-be historians, if accomplished writers, like Jules Simon, Ferdinand Brunetière, Jules Lemaître, Léon Say, Anatole France, and himself.

His criticism and his commitment both remained intact during the prologue years to Washington and during his entire tenure with the embassy. In the mid-1890s, in a French-language work on English lit-erature, he did not hesitate to include historians among the caste of Writers. But he certainly did not mean to include the authors of some of the ponderous, modern texts that read “like dictionaries.” Nor did he mean their antitheses, those who produced novel-like works that were more the products of over-wrought imagination than of industry. The winners, he judged, were clearly Macaulay and Carlyle, men who could, and did, make errors of fact and omission, but who were deter-mined to bring their texts to life, to be understood, to be clear.45 Thirty years later, in the 1920s, the ambassador still clung to his faith, al-though by then he and others had come to believe that the situation had


actually worsened. The editor of the postwar American Historical Re-view complained that too many of the articles submitted to him were obsessed with “data”—a word which he dryly observed was too often mistaken for the singular—and too little concerned with “form.” It was a pity, he said, that so few seemed to have read their own words aloud. Had they done so, they would have realized that they were laying a bed not of corduroy but of concrete. John Spencer Bassett, of Trinity Col-lege, agreed, endorsing the idea that the writing of history “was not in a satisfactory state.” The problem stemmed from the “heaviness of style characteristic of much of the history now being written,” a style against which the reading public had turned. The result, he and the AHR, and Jusserand, lamented, was that historians had transformed themselves from the proconsuls of letters to the lesser ranks of “hard-working cen-turion[s].”46

For Jusserand, a past president of the American Historical Asso-ciation, this was the unvarnished truth. Although he acknowledged the danger of over-writing, mistaking, by his metaphor, flower for fruit, there was a comparable danger in the dullness that too often arose when the historian refused to “raise his eyes from his texts” and offer his or her conclusions. Quoting the second-century AD Assyrian writer Lucian of Samosata, Jusserand advised his contemporaries—and ours—to aim for a style that was “perfectly luminous… intelligible to the vulgar and approved by the experts.” One has a growing sense, he wrote some eighty years ago, that for history to be scientific, it cannot be interesting, and if interesting, it cannot be scientific. “For safety,” he observed, too many have “made a display of their science, pleased a few critics, and frightened away the public.” Apart from providing an interpreter’s point of view, what was needed, so he, Basset, and others contended, was the liberation of the central text, partly by incorporating corroborative detail into footnotes and appendices, peeling the pota-toes—as he put it—in the kitchen, rather than “on the dining-room ta-ble.” Partly, too, following from Lucian, by honouring the virtue of brevity, “especially when you have much to say.”47

Truth to tell, today Jules Jusserand is no more a household name as historian than he is as diplomat. In some respects, less so.48 Few, I


suspect, now read his works, and those who do will find him stronger on the narrative than on the analytical, not always a model of organiza-tion, sometimes a little too partial to his heroes, and always—whenever need or opportunity arose—an engaged patriot. Certainly in the years immediately preceding, during, and after the First World War, he fre-quently sharpened his scholarly blade on the stone of patriotism. France, for example, bore no responsibility for the outbreak of that war, and had done nothing to provoke her shameful postwar treatment by erstwhile allies.49 But as a stylist, he was splendid, a judgement long ago offered by contemporaries stunned by his command of English. In 1889, one American academic characterized the style of English Way-faring Life as “vivacious.” In 1906, a professor of English at Catholic University said his history of English literature exhibited the “lightness and grace of expression of Anatole France.” Another, at Johns Hop-kins, described his Ronsard of 1913 as a “model of presentation… and delightful reading.” Four years later, the AHR carried a review of the Pulitzer Prize-winning volume With Americans of Past and Present Days, commending its “sparkle and gracefulness of style” and lament-ing “that as much can be said of so few of our own writers of his-tory.”50

But this English-second-language son of France should be al-lowed to speak for himself. Here is a passage from his introduction to a two-volume work on the seventeenth-century French writer, Paul Scar-ron. No surprise that he goes straight to the reader, and as quickly to the physical and human setting.

Have you any fondness for roadside adventures, for talkative ostlers, for laughing maids, their laughter as an echo of the larks’ song in the morning; for paths lined with hedges and leading to a green unknown somewhere? And if you like all this, will you not like it the more if, in the middle of scenery of today, for it has not altered, you meet people of a former time, as truly alive and young as the very sun above us…?51

He does the same for the setting of fifteenth-century Scotland, reflect-ing back on his own visit to a landscape once familiar to James I.


England leaves the impression of a huge park with rich ver-

dure; Scotland the impression of a boundless moor covered …with heather. Beeches and larches thinly scattered on the edge of the streams project their irregular outlines against the dark background of the mountains. In those still solitudes, the clouds alone pursue their silent march across the sky; the wind sunders them, rolls them into flakes; they lower, halt on the hillside, and seem to catch in the thorns; then free themselves, float lightly off, and are lost in the moving mass … .No sound, save the sound of waters…; no sound but the cawing of crows, gathered in great bands….52

From Scotland back to seventeenth-century France, where Jusserand imagines himself as witness to a Paris production of Shakespeare.

What place could be found in the favour of a public thus formed for an author who accepts words of all sorts, old or new, lewd, technical, choleric, or learned; every sentiment and every idea… an author who falls into the most execrably bad taste…writes plays with or without heroes, plays with whole legions of personages among which he admits not only the whistling valet and the swearing drunkard…but even dogs, and even a bear…; coarse beyond all endurance, lyrical be-yond all possibility of adequate praise; in a word, what place was there for Shakespeare in the France of Louis Quatorze?53

But earlier, writing about the bard in his own day, in his own land and his own theatre, the response had been more certain. Of the audience at The Globe, Jusserand writes:

A boisterous crowd, warm-hearted, full-blooded… relishing the sight of tortures, now moved at the death of a fly, a lover of the improbable… of coarse buffooneries… of loud noises of any sort, … men, all of them, of an encyclopaedic igno-rance. … What such people would like, and what they would tolerate, is what gave those plays, which he never thought of after the performance, the unique, marvelous, the portentous shape in which we find them.54


And from London to the ducal palace of Sabbioneta, the sixteenth-century residence of Vespasiano Gonzaga, a once magnificent regional seat near Mantua, in Jusserand’s day neglected and degraded.

It is now vintage time…. Evening has come; the rays of the setting sun light only the tops of the trellised vines, the street is silent; between the Imperial Gate and the Gate of Victory no movement, no sound. Nothing is heard but the murmur of the wine flowing into the tubs; the monotonous chant fills the ears, and shuts out for the former subjects of Vespasiano Gon-zaga Colonna, duke of Sabbioneta and Trajeto, marquis of Ostiano, count of Rodigo and Fondi, viceroy of Navarre, grandee of Spain and patrician of Venice, the distant rumor of the vast world.55

Eighty years later, one might hope that this reminiscence on

Jules Jusserand, and these recollections of his prose—as well as his long-ago tilting with bureaucrats—may find some contemporary reso-nance. Although he would have been intensely proud of the splash Mi-chel Foucault made as a Frenchman, he would have been appalled by the boast: “I don’t write for an audience, I write for users, not read-ers.”56 A good thing, too, for few have accused Foucault’s writing of being “luminous.” Rather, or so it seems to me, Foucault helped to de-velop a dialect of neologisms, a dialect now used on a chain of islands inhabited by tutored intellectuals. If Jusserand was disturbed by some of the ponderous academic texts he encountered in the 1870s and 1880s, what would he have thought of the following, even more mod-ern, one-sentence passages, all of which are in the public domain but each of which I have gently wrapped in a shroud of anonymity?

To profit from this suspension of such conventional ‘unities’ as books—to treat them, that is, as a mere space in which a population of events are dispersed—one need not accept Fou-cault’s demand that only on the basis of discovered rules for discursive practice can the reality of these unities be re-established, nor need one accept Foucault’s radically antiher-meneutic claim that the ‘population of dispersed events’ that make up discourse is available in its primal state if we but ex-ercise the appropriate effort to apprehend it.


Here is a second author:

The canons of hierarchy structure, authority, and synchronicity diacritically connected with traditional notions of provenance, contrived to envelope the archivist in an occupational envi-ronment of institutional order-knowledge based on associa-tions and patterns of stability, predictability and homogeneity.

A third:

Even cultural historians and new Historicists, committed in principle to the reintegration of a contextualist perspective in the interpretation of literature and culture, have resolved the problem of how to effect such a reintegration by textualizing contexts, drawing social behavior and political power inexora-bly into the orbit of a critical stance that assumes the cultural construction of reality in and through language.

A fourth:

Marxist theories of imperialism in classical Marxism, which saw capitalism operating as a brutal but ultimately productive common force throughout the world (and which in themselves were not incommensurate with development theory), essen-tially structured by exploitation at the level of production, were replaced by the dependency and world system theories where development at the centre is brought about at the ex-pense of underdevelopment at the periphery through exploita-tion through trade. Am I wrong to judge such offerings as better illustrations of ob-

fuscation than illumination? If not, am I wrong to see them through Jusserand’s lens, as hazards to a discipline which, more than ever, needs to communicate with a reading public of non-experts? To be sure, I have chosen several especially ineloquent examples, not with a view to suggesting that they are typical of the profession, but rather as a warning of the dangers manifested by some who gather at our gates. Jules Jusserand long worried about that threat, perhaps with less provo-cation than we have today; and he left this world still practising what he


had so long preached. It seems fitting, therefore, not only to give him a final word, but to end this historical exercise as he might have. Not, as has become today’s custom, on a summary of argument, but rather on a chord struck both for thought and for feeling. Written in an age still in-nocent of world wars and nuclear carnage, his lines invite reflection as well as remembrance in this twenty-first century.

There was a time when war was a season occupation of mon-archs, and when it was heralded for its very ‘mercilessness.’ To none of the master artists who represented the day of judgement on the walls of Rome, Orvieto, or Padua, or on the portals of the northern cathedrals, did the thought occur to place among his fierce angels driving the guilty to their doom, one with a tear on his face: a tear that would have made the artist more famous than all his art; a tear, not because the tor-tures could be supposed to be unjust or the men sinless, but because they were tortures and because the men had been sin-ful. 57


Notes 1 Robert J. Young, Marketing Marianne: French Propaganda in America, 1900-

1940 (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004); An American By Degrees. The Extraordinary Lives of French Ambassador Jules Jusserand (1855-1932) (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2009).

2 For instance, three of his ministerial superiors in the 1880s were Jules Barthélemy Saint-Hilaire, a much published philosopher and expert on Aristotle; René Millet, author of many works, including a biography of Rabelais; William H. Wadding-ton, Jusserand’s ambassador in London in the 1880s, and the author of many works on classical archaeology. Other diplomats who enjoyed distinguished bi-faceted careers include: Paul Claudel, Jusserand’s almost immediate successor in Washington, Jean Giraudoux, and Alexis Saint-Léger Léger (the Nobel Prize winning author Saint John Perse.)

3 Jean Jules Jusserand, De Josepho Exoniensi vel Iscano, theism proponebat lug-denensi litteratum facultati (Paris: Hachette, 1877); Jean Jules Jusserand, Le Thé-atre en Angleterre, depuis la Conquête jusqu’aux prédécesseurs immédiates de Shakespeare (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1878).

4 Jean Jules Jusserand, “Chaucer’s Pardoner and the Pope’s Pardoners,” in Essays on Chaucer, xiii (London: N. Trubner, 1884), 422-36; Jean Jules Jusserand, Les Anglais au moyen age: La vie nomade et les routes d’Angleterre au XIVè siècle (Paris: Hachette, 1884). Translated as English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages (XIVth century) (London: TF. Unwin, 1891). Jean Jules Jusserand, Le Roman au temps de Shakespeare (Paris: Asnières, 1887). Translated as The English Novel in the Time of Shakespeare (London: T.F. Unwin, 1890); Jean Jules Jusserand, Piers Plowman. A Contribution to the History of English Mysticism (New York: Put-nam’s Sons, 1894); Jean Jules Jusserand, A Literary History of the English Peo-ple (London: Putnam’s Sons, 1895).

5 Jean Jules Jusserand, A French Ambassador at the Court of Charles the Second: Le Comte de Cominges (London: T.F. Unwin, 1892); Jean Jules Jusserand, Le Roman d’un roi d’Ecosse (Paris: Hachette, 1895). Translated as The Romance of a King’s Life (London: T.F.Unwin, 1896); Jean Jules Jusserand, Shakespeare en France sous l’ancien régime (Paris: Colin, 1898). Translated as Shakespeare in France under the Ancien Regime (London: T.F. Unwin, 1899); Jean Jules Jusser-and, Les Sports et jeux d’exercises dans l’ancienne France (Paris: Plon-Nourrit, 1901).

6 Jean Jules Jusserand, Les Grands écrivains français. Etudes sur la vie et les oeu-vres et l’influence des principaux auteurs de notre littérature (Paris: Hachette, 1929); Jean Jules Jusserand, Recueil des instructions données aux ambassadeurs et ministres de France depuis les traités de Westphalie jusqu’à la Révolution française (Paris: Ministère des Affaires étrangères, 1929).


7 Roosevelt to Kermit, 8 February 1903, The Letters of Theodore Roosevelt, ed. Elt-

ing E. Morrison (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1951-54), 3: 422. 8 Jean Jules Jusserand, With Americans of Past and Present Days (New York: C.

Scribner’s Sons, 1916). Translated as En Amérique jadis et maintenant (Paris: Hachette, 1918).

9 Jean Jules Jusserand, Le Sentiment américain pendant la guerre (Paris: Payot, 1931); Jean Jules Jusserand, What Me Befell: The Reminiscences of J.J. Jusser-and (London: Constable, 1933).

10 Jusserand to his mother, Marie, 1 October 1885, Papiers Jusserand, Ministère des Affaires étrangères [Hereafter cited as Pap.Juss.], 63: 179-80; Jusserand to Sir Charles Dilke, July 1890, Papers of Sir Charles Dilke, British Library, Add. 43884, vol. xi, f. 113-17, and f. 118-21.

11 Jusserand to Paris, 11 February 1903, Pap.Juss., 1: 5-12. 12 Washington Post, 29 July 1925, 4. 13 For instance, to dispel any notion that Jusserand was alone in his complaints

about the sometime performance of the central administration in Paris, see ac-counts by other ambassadors: Comte de Saint-Aulaire, Confession d’un vieux dip-lomate (Paris: Flammarion, 1953); Paul Claudel, Journal, vol. 1, 1904-1932 (Paris: Gallimard, 1968); Jules Laroche, La Pologne de Pilsudski; souvenirs d’une ambassade, 1926-1945 (Paris: Flammarion, 1953); François Charles-Roux, Huit ans au Vatican, 1932-1940 (Paris: Flammarion, 1947); François Charles-Roux, Souvenirs diplomatiques, une grande ambassade à Rome, 1919-1925 (Paris: Fayard, 1961); François Charles-Roux’s recollection of Ambassador Camille Barrère in François Charles-Roux, Trois ambassades françaises à la veille de la guerre (Paris: Plon, 1928); as well as Ambasador Léon Noel’s Camille Barrère, ambassadeur de France (Paris: Tardy, 1948).

14 Jusserand to Paris, 8 October 1910, Archives de l’Ambassade de France à Wash-ington, Ministère des Affaires étrangères, Nantes [Hereafter cited as Ambassade], Personnel, 889; Jusserand to Paris, 23 November 1910, Ambassade, Personnel, 889; Paris to Jusserand, 12 November 1910, Ambassade, Personnel, 889; Paris to Jusserand, 20 June 1911, Ambassade, Personnel, 889; Jusserand to Paris, 30 No-vember 1913, Ambassade. Personnel, 889.

15 Dossier général, 30 January 1908 to December 1909, Ambassade, Personnel, 889; Ministerial circular, 30 December 1909, Ambassade, Personnel, 889; Pichon to Jusserand, 8 April 1908, Ambassade, Personnel, 889.

16 Jusserand to Paris, 5 April 1917, Pap.Juss., 45: 148; Jusserand to Paris, 6 August 1918, Pap.Juss., 17: 246-47; entries for 5 April and 14 September 1916 in Jusser-and’s Le Sentiment américain pendant la guerre (Paris: Payot, 1931), 107; David Stevenson, “French War Aims and the American Challenge, 1914-1918,” His-torical Journal, 22, no.4 (December 1979): 81.


17 Alexandre Ribot, Session of 12 October 1917, Assemblée Nationale, Chambre

des Députés, Journal Officiel, 2683-87. 18 Jusserand to Dr. John Finley, 29 December 1916 and 29 October 1917, Dossier

Finley,” Ambassade, 747; to Xavier Charmes, 27 October 1917, Pap.Juss., 141, np; to Myron Herrick, 3 June 1918, ibid., 87, 39-40; to Paris, 1 October 1918, ibid., 18, 1-6.

19 Jusserand to Paris, 3 and 16 August, 18 and 30 September 1919, Pap.Juss.,52: 157, 215, 334, 367; Jusserand to Mme Taufflieb, 28 November 1919, Pap.Juss., 78, np; Jusserand to Paris, 17 September 1919, Série B, Ministère des Affaires étrangères [Hereafter cited as Série B], 2: 15; Jusserand to James S. Metcalfe, 14 November 1919, “Dossier Life,” Ambassade, 747.

20 Jules Henry to Paris, 1 March 1923, Série B, 295: 4-6. 21 Jusserand to Paris, 22 April 1913, Pap.Juss., 71: 277; “French Writer…,” Wash-

ington Post, 8 December 1913, 4. 22 Jusserand to Paris, 8 April 1915, Pap.Juss., 11: 19-24; 10 December 1915,

Pap.Juss., 11: 88; 30 December, 1915, Pap.Juss., 11: p.137; 26 January 1916, 1915, Pap.Juss., 13: 193.

23 Jusserand to André Tardieu, 20 September 1919, Pap.Juss., 144: 207-10; Jusser-and to Paris, 14 , 26, August 1919, Pap.Juss., 18: 202, 232-33; Jusserand to Paris, 25 August 1919, Série B, 23: 32; Jusserand to Tardieu, 26 August, Série B., 144: 196-203.

24 Jusserand to Paris, 19 May 1924, Série B, 63: 56; Laboulaye to Paris, 8 August 1924, Série B, 63: 90.

25 Jusserand to Paris, 29 May 1915, Documents Diplomatiques Français [Hereafter cited as DDF], 2, no. 31: 52; Jusserand to Paris, 30 September 1915, DDF, 3, no. 99: 103; Jusserand to Paris, 1 January 1916, Papiers Philippe Berthelot, Ministère des Affaires étrangères,18, 29.

26 Jusserand to Paris, 18 January 1915, Pap.Juss., 10: 45-48; Jusserand to Paris, 9 February 1915, Pap.Juss., 10: 108-11, 112-15.

27 Jusserand to Paris, 26 February 1915, Pap.Juss., 10:163-64. 28 Jusserand to Paris, 18 February 1918, Pap.Juss., 17: 76-78; Jusserand to Paris, 8

June 1918, Série B, 22: 22; Jusserand to Paris, 31 October 1918, Série B, 18, p.48; Jusserand to Paris, 26 September 1919, Série B, 18: 288.

29 Jusserand to Paris, 14 September 1919, Pap.Juss., 18: 91-93. 30 Jusserand to Paris, 31 July 1915, Pap.Juss., 12: 51-53; Jusserand to War Ministry,

25 February 1916, Pap.Juss., 13: 253-58. 31 Jusserand to Paris, 5 April and 14 September 1917, Sentiment américain pendant

la guerre (Paris: Payot, 1931), 107; 6 August 1918, Pap.Juss., 17: 246-47; Jusser-and to Paris, 19 June 1917, Pap.Juss., 141, np; Jusserand to Albert Thomas (War), 12 October 1917, Sentiment américain pendant la guerre (Paris: Payot, 1931), 128-29.


32 Gaston Liebert (New York) to Jusserand, 25 March 1921, Pap.Juss., 93: 80-81;

Jusserand to Paris, 7 April 1921, Série B, 24: 53-56. 33 Jusserand to Paris, 8 April 1915, Pap. Juss., 11: 19-24 34 Jusserand to Paris, 18 January 1915, Pap. Juss., 10: 45-48. 35 Jusserand to Paris, 3 November 1914, Pap. Juss., 9: 104; 3 June 1915, Pap. Juss.,

11: 167. 36 Jusserand to Paris, 14 September 1919, Pap. Juss., 52: 315. 37 Jusserand to Paris, 27 April 1917, Pap. Juss., 141: dossier 3, “Correspondances

échangées.” 38 Jusserand to Ribot, 24 May 1917, Pap. Juss., 141: np. 39 Jusserand to Paris, 25 April 1921, DDF 1 (1921), no. 320: 508-09. 40 Jusserand to Paris, 9 October 1924, Pap.Juss., 60: 318; Washington Post, 5 Octo-

ber 1924, S04; Christian Science Monitor, 18 October 1924, 1; Jusserand to Saint-René Taillandier, Pap.Juss., 94: 204; Herriot to Jusserand, 15 October 1924, Jusserand Dossier Personnel; Ministère des Affaires étrangères; Washington Post, 19 October 1924, 3; New York Times, 21 October 1924, 1. Peter Jackson refers to a “changing of the guard within the Quai d’Orsay” in connection with Herriot’s efforts in the autumn of 1924 to ensure support for the Geneva Protocol for the Pacific Settlement of International Disputes. See his “France and the Problems of Security and International Disarmament after the First World War,” Journal of Strategic Studies, 29, no.2 (April 2006): 275.

41 Jusserand to Paris, 29 November 1924, Pap.Juss., 60: 364; 30 November 1924, Jusserand Dossier Personnel.

42 Jusserand to Paris, 13 December 1924, Pap.Juss., 60: 383. 43 Jean Jules Jusserand, Le Roman anglais et la réforme littéraire de Daniel Defoe

(Conférence faite à Bruxelles, le 16 mars 1887) (Bruxelles: Imprimerie Ferdinand Larcier, 1887), 20; Jean Jules Jusserand, Le Roman anglais: Origine et formation des grandes écoles de romanciers du XVIII siècle (Paris: Ernest Leroux, 1886),1-2.

44 “Introduction,” to Jules Simon’s Victor Cousin in the Great French Writers (London: George Routledge and Sons, 1888), np.

45 Jean Jules Jusserand, Histoire abrégée de la littérature anglaise (Paris: Librairie Delagrave, 1896), 226.

46 John Spence Basset, “The Present State of History-Writing,” in Jusserand et al., The Writing of History (1926; Repr., New York: Burt Franklin, 1974). See Bas-set’s preface to the volume, p.vii-viii. John Franklin Jameson was the managing editor of the American Historical Review in the early 1920s, and his views were contained in a letter to Bassett, which the latter published as part of his own piece in the volume. See p.128-29.

47 Jean Jules Jusserand, “The Historian’s Work,” in The Writing of History (New York: Lenox Hill, 1926), 1-32.


48 Although references to his work, and to his approach to history, do appear even in

our day. See Adam Hochschild, “Practicing History Without A Licence,” His-torically Speaking 9, no.4 (March-April 2008): 2-6.

49 His Pulitzer Prize-winning volume of essays, With Americans of Past and Pre-sent Days (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1916) is a case in point. Though addressed to subjects like Rochambeau, Washington, Franklin, and Lincoln, no reader could miss the theme of an enduring Franco-American friendship, the more subtle allusion to France’s wartime enemy and the “submarine-haunted wa-ters,” (p.274) or the less subtle reference to Germany’s 1914 declarations of war against Russia, France, and Belgium.

50 W.J. Ashley, review of English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages (XIVth cen-tury), by J.J. Jusserand, Political Science Quarterly 4, no.4 (December 1889): 685; Maurice Francis Egan, review of A Literary History of the English People, by J.J. Jusserand, New York Times, 20 January 1906, S.R. 29; Murray P. Brush, review of Ronsard, by J.J. Jusserand, in Modern Languages Notes 28, no.8 (De-cember 1913): 257; Gaillard Hunt, review of With Americans of Past and Present Days, by J.J. Jusserand, American Historical Review 22, no.3 (April 1917): 670.

51 Jean Jules Jusserand, “Introduction,” to The Comical Romance and Other Tales by Paul Scarron, 2 vols., translated by Tom Brown, et al. vol.i, (London: Law-rence and Bullen, 1892): xli.

52 Jean Jules Jusserand, The Romance of a King’s Life (London: T.F. Unwin, 1896),11-12.

53 Jean Jules Jusserand, Shakespeare in France Under the Ancien Regime (1899; repr., New York: American Scholar Publications, 1966).

54 Jean Jules Jusserand, “What to Expect of Shakespeare,” Proceedings of the Brit-ish Academy, 1911-1912 (London: Oxford University Press, 1912): 229.

55 “A Duke and His City. Vespasiano Gonzaga, Duke of Sabbioneta,” in J.J. Jusser-and, The School for Ambassadors and Other Essays (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1925), 150-51.

56 Quoted from Foucault’s “Prisons et asiles dans le mécanisme du pouvoir, Dits et Ecrits (1973) in Scott de Groot, “Rupture, Discontinuity, Break: The Historical Philosophy of Michel Foucault,” Unpublished essay, University of Winnipeg, 2006, 18.

57 “From War to Peace,” an address to the Society for the Judicial Settlement of International Disputes, of 17 December 1910, published in With Americans of Past and Present Days, 335.