Mr. Wilson is not without a suspicion that the world may be slow to surrender its confidence in the veracity and accuracy of a writer whose works have already stood the test of many a severe and critical examination. When this idea breaks upon his mind, he manages to lash himself into a state of considerable excitement. He foresees the difficulty of convincing "those who take an array of great names for the foundation of their belief, and those who judge a work only by the elegance with which its periods are strung together. And, besides these two,"—meaning, we presume, not two men, but two classes of men,—"we have to encounter also the opposition of savans—men who live and judge the outside world through the medium of books alone. These hold as of no account, all but Greece and Rome," [the proof-reader is requested not to disturb Mr. Wilson's punctuation,] "and receive no idea of antiquity that does not come through them. For any, then, too wise to learn or too thoughtless to inquire, this chapter is not designed…. Many there are," [how many, we wonder,] "who have dealt in Spanish romances, supposing them to be history; and these are slow to abandon their delusions. At enormous expense they have gathered volumes of authorities; will they readily admit them to be cheats and counterfeits? They grudge the time too they have spent in their perusal; and are loth, as well they may be, to lose it. But individual loss and injury is" [the proof-reader will please not to interfere with Mr. Wilson's grammar] "perhaps inevitable in the search after truth. Men cannot be held down to the theories of barbarism. These must give way to knowledge, or the intelligent, as in Roman Catholic countries, be driven to infidelity." [The printer may venture to italicize the closing prediction, as we wish to bring it under the particular notice of school-committees and superintendents of education, who will see the fearful responsibility they incur by placing copies of Prescott's Histories, bound in sheep, in their school-libraries.]
But we interrupt the flow of our author's bile by these irrelevant remarks. Let him have a full hearing: "Before closing this chapter, the status of our literature suggests an apology is necessary, for having opened it in conformity with the, now neglected, rules of history—that we should try and snatch something from the wreck of antiquity." [We cheerfully offer a reward of one copy of the present number of the "Atlantic" to any person who will parse the last sentence, explain the punctuation of it, and interpret its meaning.] "In other countries, the standard of history has been steadily rising for centuries; but with us, it has been so lowered, as to sink every other qualification in the single one of turning faultless periods; and a gentleman possessing this, has been adjudged fully capable of purging the annals of Spain and her quondam colonies, from the mass of modern fable and forgery which now disfigure them. Incapable of submitting Cortez' statement to the test, he assumes it to be true, even in those parts where it is impossible. Unable to detect the counterfeit in Diaz—he pronounces him the 'child of nature,' but does not on the testimony of this natural child reject the still more monstrous falsifier, Gomora; but adopts them both, according to the custom of novelists; and not the slightest objection is raised. Then descending lower and still lower; disregarding alike the warning of Lord Bacon 'a credulous man is a deceiver,' and of Tacitus fingunt simul creduntque—he rakes up even a devotee, Boturini, and makes him also an historic authority, without overtaxing public credulity; though this wretch, as we have seen, out-Munchausens Pietro himself, and as he may have surpassed every other man in Spain in drawing the long bow, was justly selected for historiographer, at a time when death was the penalty for possessing a book not licensed by the Inquisition. Thus are discarded and disgusting impostures brought up from the literary cesspools of Spain to form for us the history of events that, transpired on this continent hardly more than three hundred years ago!" (pp. 263, 264.) Instead of noticing the blunders and absurdities with which this paragraph is filled, we shall simply call attention to the remarkable good taste displayed in its allusions to a person with whom the writer, as he boasts, had maintained "the most kindly relations," from whom, as we have seen, he had received friendly offers of aid, and to whom, but a short time before the occurrence of that event which has so lately thrown the whole nation into mourning, he had been indebted, by his own admission, for the warmest encouragement in the prosecution of his inquiries.
But, though Prescott is the principal object of Mr. Wilson's assaults, he does not fall, for he has not stood, alone. With the single exception of the Hon. Lewis Cass, every modern writer who has investigated the history and former condition of Spanish America, either with the help of books or of personal observation of the present state of that part of our continent, shares the same fate. Robertson, Dupaix, Stephens, Humboldt, are all objects of Mr. Wilson's vituperation or contempt. To say that Alexander von Humboldt is probably the most learned man in Europe, and that Robert A. Wilson is undoubtedly one of the most ignorant men in America, would give but a slight notion of the contrast between them. Humboldt is not merely a man of science and a philosopher,—titles which the adopted Iroquois regards with natural scorn,—he has been also a great traveller, and knows almost every part of Spanish America from personal examination. Yet his claims to be considered as an authority on questions which no other living man is so competent to decide are disposed of by his shallow and conceited opponent in a single brief paragraph, which ends with a statement that "the only defect in his work is, that he started from false premises, and of course his conclusions amount to nothing."
Robertson, however, is the especial butt of Mr. Wilson's unwieldy sarcasms. Robertson, he tells us, was the "principal of the University High School of Edinburgh,"—an institution of which we do not remember ever to have heard before. He is especially indignant that "Robertson—a Presbyterian minister!" (the Italics and note of admiration are Mr. Wilson's own) should have dared even to attempt to write a history of America. As Roman Catholics are also forbidden to venture on this ground, we should be glad to know the particular sect or sects to whose use it is to be appropriated. A principal cause of our author's spite against Dr. Robertson appears to have been a statement made by the latter, that the Iroquois are cannibals. This allegation evidently touches a sensitive point. It is indignantly denied by the adopted member of the tribe. The Iroquois, he says, like other Indians, never eat human flesh, unless driven to it by hunger. He turns the tables (on which this ill-omened repast is spread) against the worthy Doctor. He charges him (falsely, however) with having represented Charles the Fifth as "a pattern of abstinence," when he was in fact one of the greatest of royal gourmands. On this point he is willing for once to accept even the authority of Mr. Prescott, who, he says, has upset Robertson's reputation as an historian by means of "the Samanca papers."
Mr. Wilson so often returns to these "Samanca" papers, and appears to labor under so many delusions in regard to them, that, hopeless as the attempt may seem, we cannot help trying to let a little daylight into his mind. "Mr. Prescott," he writes, "having obtained copies of the most important Simanca" [the reader must not be surprised at these little variations of orthography] "papers of Ximenes' collection, supposes them a new discovery, of great value. Doubtless they are;" [then there could be no great harm in supposing it;] "his agents did not fail to represent them to him in the most exalted terms, to enhance the value of their services according to the Spanish custom." Now we can assure Mr. Wilson that Mr. Prescott had not in his possession a copy of a single document placed in the Archives of Simancas (for so an excusable partiality for custom, and not any want of respect for our author, obliges us to spell this name) by Cardinal Ximenes. He will also, we trust, be glad to learn, that, for the documents relating to the Emperor Charles the Fifth which Mr. Prescott did receive from Simancas, he paid not a real beyond the established charge of the official copyists,—a charge which is the same in all cases, whatever may be the value of the originals,—the task of examining the collection and selecting the letters suitable for the purpose having been a labor of love on the part of the distinguished scholar by whom it was undertaken.
Mr. Wilson is animated by a fervent hatred against Cardinal Ximenes,—or "Jimines," as he sometimes calls him. He terms him "a monster," and "a wretch," and is especially indignant at his having "founded the Samanca collection of papers." "Any one," he adds, "who will carefully examine them will see that hardly a single paper has been put into this collection that does not, in some way, reflect glory on the church, or show the royal approval of the Inquisition." We cannot undertake to say what discoveries might be made by a person who should carefully examine the collection of papers at Simancas. A scholar on whom the antediluvian length of life necessary for such a labor had been bestowed might also be endowed with commensurate powers of intellect that might lead to the most astonishing results. Our own knowledge of the collection is limited to a very small portion of its contents,—a mere drop in the enormous bucket. We have been under the impression that explorers who had spent long periods of time in the examination,—Lembke or Gachard, for example,—had sunk their shafts but a little way into that great mine. At all events, we feel particularly certain that Mr. Wilson never in his life saw a single manuscript, or a single copy of a manuscript, from the Archives of Simancas.
"The monk Strada," our author goes on to inform us, "must have consulted them" [the "Samanca papers">[ "in the composition of his history of the Low Country Wars, though he does not call the papers by that name." [We should hope not.] "The Glanville papers are not alone his authorities." With regard to the "Glanville papers," we cannot speak positively, never having seen them, or even heard of them. If an allusion is intended to the "State Papers of Cardinal Granvelle," we admit that these were not Strada's only authorities; in fact, they were not his authorities at all; he never had the opportunity of consulting them. "Robertson's convent life of Charles V.," Mr. Wilson continues, "is almost literally taken from Strada." Now, if Strada followed the "Samanca papers," and Robertson has followed Strada, how is it that these same papers have been the groundwork for a complete refutation of Robertson? Surely, when brought to light, they ought, on the contrary, to have confirmed his statements. The truth is, that Strada, who had access to no other manuscripts than those in possession of the Farnese family, never saw the "Samanca papers"; and Robertson, far from following Strada exclusively, relied much more on the authority of Sandoval and other Spanish writers.
But our readers will naturally inquire what these matters have to do with the Aztec civilization and the Conquest of Mexico. So far as we know, nothing at all. We have merely followed our Iroquois foe, and kept perseveringly upon his track in the jungle to which he has taken. Whatever course he may take, we are determined to follow him. He shall not elude us. Through all the windings of his eccentric route, through pathless forests, across rugged sierras, along the sides of nameless streams, we shall pursue his trail. On the summit of the great teocalli of Mexico, dedicated to the fearful deity, Huitzilopotchli, he shall be offered up as a sacrifice, according to the awful customs in which he affects to disbelieve. We are compelled, indeed, by want of space, to grant him a respite for a month. Our present notice must be regarded only as a parboiling "preliminary." At the end of that time, with all due form and ceremony, we promise that the solemn rite shall be completed.
Bunsen's Gott in der Geschichte. (God in History.) Zweite Theil.
(Second Part.) Leipzig. 1858.
There is, probably, no philosophical author at the present day in Germany whose works are welcomed by so wide a circle of readers in America as those of Chevalier Bunsen. Though often more theoretical than exact in scholarship, and allowing his historical instincts to take the place of scientific conclusions, he not unfrequently anticipates thus the laborious efforts of scholars, while his peculiar suggestiveness of thought and his scope of view interest extremely the common student, and lend a charm to his works such as no other writer in the same field possesses. He has the art of making other men work for him, and, perhaps, has thus been tempted to write too much for his own fame.