IN forming an estimate of Prescott's rank among American writers of history, one's thought inevitably associates him with certain of his contemporaries. The Spanish subjects which he made his own invite a direct comparison with Irving. His study of the sombre Philip compels us to think at once of Motley. The broadly general theme of his first three books—the extension of European domination over the New World—brings him into a direct relation to Francis Parkman.

The comparison with Irving is more immediately suggested by the fact that had Prescott not entered the field precisely when he did, the story of CortÉs and of the Mexican conquest would have been written by Irving. How fortunate was the chance which gave the task to Prescott must be obvious to all who are familiar with the writings of both men. It has been said that in Irving's hands literature would have profited at the expense of history; but even this is too much of a concession, Irving, even as a stylist, was never at his best in serious historical composition. His was not the spirit which gladly undertakes a work de longue haleine, nor was his genial, humorous nature suited to the gravity of such an undertaking. His fame had been won, and fairly won, in quite another field,—a field in which his personal charm, his mellow though far from deep philosophy of life, and his often whimsical enjoyment of his own world could find spontaneous and individual expression. The labour of research, the comparison of authorities, the long months of hard reading and steady note-taking, were not congenial to his nature. He moved less freely in the heavy armour of the historian than in the easy-fitting modern garb of the essayist and story-teller. The best that one can say of the style of his Granada, his Columbus, and his Washington is that it is smooth, well-worded, and correct. It shows little of the real distinction which we find in many of his shorter papers,—in that on Westminster Abbey, for example, and on English opinion of America; while the peculiar flavour which makes his account of Little Britain so delightful is wholly absent.

On the purely historical side, the two men are in wholly different classes. Irving resembled Livy in his use of the authorities. Such sources as were ready to his hand and easy to consult, he used with conscientious care; but those that were farther afield, and for the mastery of which both time and labour were demanded, he let alone. Thus, his history of Columbus was prepared in something less than two years, in which period both his preliminary studies and the actual composition were completed. Yet this book was the one over which he took the greatest pains, and for which he made his only serious attempt at something like original investigation. His Mahomet was confessedly written at second hand; while in his Washington he followed in the main such records and already published works as were convenient. In the Granada he only plays with history, and ascribes the main portion of the narrative to a mythical ecclesiastic, "the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida," in whose lineaments we may not infrequently detect a strong family resemblance to the no less worthy Diedrich Knickerbocker. In the letter which Irving wrote to Prescott, relinquishing to him the subject of CortÉs, he lets us see quite plainly the very moderate amount of reading which he had been doing.[55] He had dipped into Solis, Bernal Diaz, and Herrera, using them, so he said, "as guide-books." Upon the basis of this reading he had sketched out the entire narrative, and had fallen to work upon the actual history with the intention of "working up" other material as he went along. When we compare these easy-going methods with the scientific thoroughness of Prescott, his ransacking, by agents, of every important library in Europe, his great collection of original documents, the many years which he gave to the study of them, and the conscientious judgment with which he weighed and balanced them, we cannot fail to see how much the world has gained by Irving's act of generous self-abnegation. It is only fair to add that he himself, at the time when Prescott wrote to him, was beginning to doubt whether he had not undertaken a task unsuited to his inclinations and beyond his powers. "Ever since I have been meddling with the theme," he said, "its grandeur and magnificence had been growing upon me, and I had felt more and more doubtful whether I should be able to treat it conscientiously,—that is to say, with the extensive research and thorough investigation which it merited."

Professor Jameson hazards the conjecture[56] that Irving's real importance in the development of American historiography is not at all to be discerned in the serious works which have just been mentioned, but rather in his quaintly humorous picture of New York under the Dutch, contained in the pretended narration of Diedrich Knickerbocker, and published as early as 1809. There can be no doubt that, as Professor Jameson says, this book did much to excite both interest and curiosity concerning the Dutch rÉgime. "Very likely the great amount of work which the state government did for the historical illustration of the Dutch period, through the researches of Mr. Brodhead in foreign archives, had this unhistorical little book as one of its principal causes." Here, indeed, is only one more illustration of the fact that the work which one does in his natural vein and in his own way is certain not only to be his best, but to exercise a genuine influence in spheres which at the time were quite beyond the writer's consciousness.

Something has already been said concerning Prescott in his relationship to Motley as an historian. A brief but more explicit comparison may be added here. The diligence and zeal of the investigator both men shared on even terms. The only advantage which Motley possessed was the opportunity, denied to Prescott, of prosecuting his own researches, of discovering his own materials, and of visiting and living in the very places of which he had to write, instead of working largely through the eyes and brains of other men. This was a very real advantage; for the inspiration of the search and of the scenes themselves gave a keen stimulus to the ambition of the scholar and a glow to the imagination of the writer. One attaches less importance to Motley's academic training; for while it was broader than that of Prescott, and comprised the valuable teaching which was given him in the two great universities of Berlin and GÖttingen, we cannot truthfully assert that Prescott's equipment was inferior to that of his contemporary. Indeed, Ferdinand and Isabella and Philip II. can better stand the test of searching criticism than Motley's Dutch Republic.

Motley is, indeed, the most "literary" of all the so-called "literary historians". In the glow and fervour of his narrative he is unsurpassed. He feels all the passion of the times whereof he writes, and he makes the reader feel it too. He has, moreover, a power of drawing character which Prescott seldom shows and which, when he shows it, he shows in less degree. Motley writes with the magnetism of a great pleader and with something also of the imagination of a poet. Unlike Prescott, he understands the philosophy of history and delves beneath the surface to search out and reveal the hidden causes of events. Yet first and last and all the time, he is a partisan. He is pleading for a cause far more than he is seeking for impartial truth. In this respect he resembles Mommsen, whose RÖmische Geschichte is likewise in its later books a splendid piece of partisanship. Motley is an American and a Protestant, and therefore he is eloquent for liberty and harsh toward what he views as superstition. William the Silent is his hero just as CÆsar is Mommsen's, and he hates tyranny as Mommsen hated the insolence of the Roman Junkerthum. This vivid feeling springing from intensity of conviction makes both books true masterpieces, nor to the critical scholar does it greatly lessen their value as historical compositions. Yet in each, one has continually to check the writer, to modify his statements, and to make allowance for his very individual point of view. In reading Prescott, on the other hand, nothing of the sort is necessary. He is free from the passion of politics, his judgment is impartial, and those who read him feel, as an eminent scholar has remarked, that they are listening to a wise and learned judge rather than to a skilful advocate. Even in the sphere of characterisation, Prescott is more sound than Motley, even though he be not half so forceful. Re-reading many of the portraits which the latter has drawn for us in glowing colours, the student of human nature will perceive that they are quite impossible. Take, for instance Motley's Philip and compare it with the Philip whom Prescott has described for us. The former is not a man at all. He is either a devil, or a lunatic, or it may be a blend of each. Indeed, Motley himself in conversation used to describe him as a devil, though he once remarked, "He is not my head devil." Everywhere Philip is depicted in the same sable hues, without a touch of light to relieve the blackness of his character. On the other hand, Prescott shows us one who, with all his cruelty, his hypocrisy, and his superstition, is still quite comprehensible because, after all, he remains a human being. Prescott discovers and records in him some qualities of which Motley in his sweeping condemnation takes no heed. We see a Philip scrupulously faithful to his duty as he understands it, bearing toil and loneliness, patient to his secretaries, gracious to his petitioners, whom he tries to set at ease, generous in his patronage of art, and putting aside all his coldness and reserve while watching the progress of his favourite architects and builders. These things and others like them count perhaps for very little in one sense; yet in another they bring out the fact that Prescott viewed his subject in the clear light of historic truth rather than in the glare of fiery prejudice.

There are some who would rate Parkman above Prescott. They speak of him as more truly an American historian because the topic which he chose—the development of New France—has a direct bearing upon the national history of the United States. This, however, is at once to limit the word "American" in a thoroughly unreasonable way, and also to allow the choice of theme to prejudice one's judgment of the manner in which that theme is treated. Parkman, to be sure, has merits of his own, some of which are less discernible in Prescott. For picturesqueness, as for accuracy, both men are on a level. There is a greater freshness of feeling in Parkman, a sort of open air effect, which is redolent of his actual experience of the great plains and the far Western mountains in the days which he passed among the Indian tribes. This cannot be expected of one whose physical infirmities confined him to the limits of his library. But, on the other hand, Prescott chose a broader field, and he made that field more thoroughly his own. These two—Prescott and Parkman—must take rank not far apart. Between them, they have divided, so to speak, the early history of the American Continent in the sphere which lies beyond the bounds of purely Anglo-Saxon conquest.

Disciples of the dismal school of history often yield a very grudging tribute to the enduring merit of what Prescott patiently achieved. Yet in their own field he met them upon equal terms and need not fear comparison. Though self-trained as an historical investigator, his mastery of his authorities has hardly been excelled by those whose merit is found solely in their gift for delving. The evidence of his thoroughness, his judgment, and his critical faculty is to be seen in the documentary treasures of his foot-notes. He did not, like Mommsen, write a brilliant narrative and leave the reader without the ready means of verifying what he wrote. He has, to use his own words, "suffered the scaffolding to remain after the building has been completed." Those who sneer at his array of testimony are none the less unable to impeach it. Though historical science has in many respects made great advances since his death, his work still stands essentially unshaken. He had the historical conscience in a rare degree; one feels his fairness and is willing to accept his judgment. If he seems to lack a special gift for philosophical analysis, the plan and scope of his histories did not contemplate a subjective treatment. What he meant to do, he did, and he did it with a combination of historical exactness and literary artistry such as no other American at least, has yet exhibited. Without the humour of Irving, or the fire of Motley, or the intimate touch of Parkman, he is superior to all three in poise and judgment and distinction; so that on the whole one may accept the dictum of a distinguished scholar[57] who, in summing up the merits which we recognise in Prescott, declares them to be so conspicuous and so abounding as to place him at the head of all American historians.