A Manual of American Literature

by Unknown

The New England School.—When the events of 1814, which promised a prolonged peace to Europe, had put an end likewise to the second war between Great Britain and her former colonists, the people of the United States, freed at last from their long subserviency to the inherited animosities of Europe, turned with confident elation to face the future problems of America. For the next half-century, while the frontier was advancing from the Ohio to the Mississippi, to the Missouri, to the “Great Stony Mountains,” and beyond them to the shores of the Pacific, the Western man was too much engrossed in the bustling business of making an empire to find time for writing its annals. It was, therefore, only in New England, in the section of the country farthest removed from the course of that breathless rush across the continent, that there existed the leisure as well as the wealth necessary for the study of historical books and documents. To wealth and leisure we must add, moreover,—as important conditions underlying the historical productiveness of New England—literary and political traditions, the possession of documents and other instruments of research, and, finally, the general intellectual tone of the extreme Eastern States—that part of the country most strongly affected by the civilisation of Europe. As Tyler points out, the earliest development of New England letters had taken place in those fields of half-literary effort which seek to provide the instruments or to record the acts of statesmen, in oratory and in history. And when, at the close of the Napoleonic wars, the intellectual influence of Europe upon America began to revive, and those forces which were to produce upon the Continent the Revolution of 1830 helped, on this side of the Atlantic, to excite the democratic turmoil of the Jacksonian era, it is not surprising that the new literary strivings, which manifested themselves somewhat widely in fiction and poetry, should take on in New England the form of historical narrative. The manner of this new historical movement was, in large measure, determined by the influence of German scholarship. It was from Göttingen that George Ticknor, afterward the historian of Spanish literature, wrote to his father in 1815, lamenting the “mortifying distance there is between an European and an American scholar. We do not know,” said he, “what a Greek scholar is; we do not even know the process by which a man is to be made one.” And it was in those bare halls of the old Georgia Augusta, at the feet of Heeren and Eichhorn and Dissen and Blumenbach, that other grateful New Englanders—among them George Bancroft and Edward Everett in Ticknor’s time, and Longfellow and Motley at a later day—learned something of the spirit of Continental scholarship. In this spirit the New England School of historians attempted, on the whole, to work. They were somewhat swerved, no doubt, by the esteem in which their countrymen still held the elaborate formalism of such orators as Webster and Everett, and, also, more to their advantage, by their own admiration for the picturesqueness of Irving, whose example encouraged them to treat by preference of foreign subjects. Still they stood firmly upon their native soil. Born among a people whose temperament, though shot through with a strain of idealism and even dashed at times with a touch of imagination, was still fundamentally sober, they were predisposed to honest care in inquiry and, save when the temptations of rhetoric seduced them, to accuracy of statement.

Thus even those historians of the New England School who had not enjoyed the advantage of European study preserved most of the traits of those who had. If Jared Sparks, a home-bred scholar who successfully conducted The North American Review in its earlier days (1817–18, 1823–30) and lived to become professor of history (1839–49) and president (1849–53) of Harvard University, had better understood the standards of Ranke and the “Monumenta Germaniæ Historica,” he might, indeed, have allowed himself less latitude than he actually took in editing the “Diplomatic Correspondence of the American Revolution” (1829–30, 12 volumes), the “Works of Benjamin Franklin” (1836–40, 10 volumes), and especially the “Life and Writings of George Washington” (1834–37, 12 volumes). But the extent of his fault was greatly exaggerated by certain of his critics, and not even the most rigorous training could have enhanced the diligence with which he preserved these and other less important sources of our Revolutionary history. Mention of Sparks naturally suggests the name of Peter Force (1790–1868), another diligent compiler of facts. Force’s “American Archives ... a Documentary History” etc. (1837–53, 9 volumes, left incomplete) was published by Congress.

When we pass to the more illustrious writers of what has been called the classical period of historical writing in America, we discover two tolerably distinct tendencies. The one tendency appears in those men who were led to write by the spirit of the time and the place, and who wrote of America out of an ardent interest and a profound belief in the country and its political and social institutions. Foremost among these men stands George Bancroft. The other tendency appears in Prescott, Motley, and Parkman, who, though trained in the same atmosphere, were first men of letters and afterward Americans. They sought, not national and political, but picturesque and dramatic subjects, and these subjects lay, in large part, outside the history of their own country.

George Bancroft.—Bancroft spent the greater part of his long life (1800–91) upon his monumental history of the United States, a work that has occupied a high position among historical writings upon America. It was his ambition, as he announces in the Preface to his first volume (1834), to write “a history of the United States from the discovery of the American continent to the present time.” Although he anticipated years of work in the completion of the task, he could not have foreseen either that it was to consume more than half a century of his industrious life, or that the history itself was to end near the real beginning of the Republic. Bancroft was a writer inspired by his theme and exalted by the conception of his undertaking. Witness the opening sentences:

The United States of America constitute an essential portion of a great political system, embracing all the civilised nations of the earth. At a period when the force of moral opinion is rapidly increasing, they have the precedence in the practice and the defence of the equal rights of man. The sovereignty of the people is here a conceded axiom, and the laws, established upon that basis, are cherished with faithful patriotism. While the nations of Europe aspire after change, our constitution engages the fond admiration of the people, by which it has been established....

The rhetorical flavour of the passage is characteristic. Critics have been inclined to regard the style of the “History” as extravagant and perfervid. They have, perhaps, tended to overlook the influence of the sincere enthusiasm and robust patriotism of the early days of national organisation and growth. The book was undoubtedly suited to the spirit and the national ideals of the period. Note the tenor of contemporary opinion. Bancroft’s friend, Edward Everett, devoured the first volume as it fell from the press and hastened to congratulate the author (October 5, 1834): “I think that you have written a work which will last while the memory of America lasts; and which will instantly take its place among the classics of our language.... I could almost envy you to have found so noble a theme, while yet so young.” On the score of method, the “History” was generously applauded for its “exceedingly scrupulous care” by A. H. L. Heeren, the German historian and Bancroft’s earlier teacher at Göttingen. It was inevitable, however, that the patriotic fervour and sanguine tone of the book should suggest to wise heads a danger and a source of weakness. “Let me entreat you,” writes Gov. John Davis, the author’s brother-in-law, “not to let the partisan creep into the work. Do not imbue it with any present feeling or sentiment of the moment which may give impulse to your mind.... The historian is the recorder of truth and not of his own abstract opinions.” In still plainer speech did Thomas Carlyle complain that Bancroft was too didactic, going “too much into the origin of things generally known, into the praise of things only partially praisable, only slightly important.” And at a later time (1852) Henry Hallam wrote: “I do not go along with all your strictures on English statesmen and on England, either in substance, or, still more, in tone.... Faults there were, but I do not think that all were on one side. At all events, a more moderate tone would carry more weight. An historian has the high office of holding the scales.” In the midst of public affairs and political duties, the great labour of the “History” progressed. A second volume appeared in 1837, and a third in 1840. These volumes covered the colonial period down to 1748. Their conspicuous success contributed to Bancroft’s appointment, in 1846, as Minister to England; and there, as subsequently in Germany, his official position, added to his established reputation, opened to him unusual stores of historical material. He writes from England to Prescott, his “brother antiquary”: “I am getting superb materials, and had as lief a hundred should treat the same subject as not. If they do it with more heart than I, don’t you see that as a good citizen of the Republic I must applaud and rejoice in being outdone?” Under the circumstances, the democratic humility of the man is perhaps slightly overdone; although the unusual riches laid under contribution might well have offered a temptation to pride, for both public and private collections of great value were placed absolutely at his disposal. An unrivalled collection of historical manuscripts (now in the Lenox Library, New York City) bears testimony to his thoroughness and his wisdom in the use of extraordinary advantages.

But Bancroft, once established in London, soon found his literary labours pushed into the background. He confesses in 1849: “Here in London, to write is impossible.... Mr. Macaulay says, one man can do but one thing well at a time.... I am of his opinion, now in my approaching old age.” The eighteen years of private life at home that followed the ministry to England (1846–49) were much more productive. Between 1849 and 1867 six more volumes (iv. to ix.) of the “History” were brought out, a volume of “Literary and Historical Miscellanies” (1855), and the official eulogy pronounced upon Abraham Lincoln in the House of Representatives (1866). A passage from the “Miscellanies” on the conception of history displays Bancroft’s style in his more oratorical vein:

But history, as she reclines in the lap of eternity, sees the mind of humanity itself engaged in formative efforts, constructing sciences, promulgating laws, organising commonwealths, and displaying its energies in the visible movement of its intelligence. Of all pursuits that require analysis, history, therefore, stands first. It is equal to philosophy; for as certainly as the actual bodies forth the ideal, so certainly does history contain philosophy. It is grander than the natural sciences; for its study is man, the last work of creation, and the most perfect in its relations with the Infinite.

It was with gratification that Bancroft accepted in 1867 and held until 1874 the ministerial post at Berlin. The honour may have come as Bancroft’s reward for writing President Johnson’s first annual message (1865). At the close of the ministry appeared the tenth volume of the History: “The American Revolution. Epoch Fourth Continued. Peace between America and Great Britain, 1778–82” (1874). This at seventy-four years of age!

It was impossible, of course, that Bancroft should, at his advanced age, carry his work, as originally planned, through the nineteenth century. He determined, instead, to write the history of the organisation of the Federal Government. In 1882 came, accordingly, his “History of the Formation of the Constitution of the United States of America” (2 volumes). Thus, at eighty-two, he had set forth in twelve generous volumes what may be called an introduction to the history of the country. It is indeed more than that, for, as the author himself somewhere remarks, the history of the United States begins with the united resistance of the colonies to Great Britain.