Prescott and the “History”

At first, I must say I found little to dislike or criticize regarding William H. Prescott’s History of the Conquest of Mexico. This classic (formerly seminal?) work, after all, was published well over a century and a half ago. The conditions in which Prescott worked (lengthy transatlantic crossings, laboriously copying manuscripts by hand, failing eyesight) give the resulting volume an impressiveness on par with Gibbon’s accomplishment of seventy years earlier. In addition, much of Prescott’s introductory remarks struck me as decidedly modern and, in keeping with my view of historians as some of the most generous people on earth, highly professional. The author gives credit where it is due, and gratitude to the librarians, archivists, and correspondents who have assisted him with the work. Already, Prescott came across well in my mind’s eye.

Moreover, the History is far from being a panegyric about the exploits of Cortes and the Spaniards, as I initially feared it would be. I was impressed, and surprised, at the attention given to the ancient Mexica, and the respect accorded their magnificent civilization. No doubt much of this is my own sense of presentism–no scholar of the nineteenth century could shed favorable light on the non-European conquered peoples, I perhaps assumed. Yet Prescott seeks to “acquaint the reader with the character of this extraordinary race,” and initially does so admirably (p. ix). The descriptions of Tenochitlan as th Venice of the New World, the appreciation of the engineering skills of the Mexica, and his open admiration of their horticultural abilities in that harsh climate was, for me, refreshing.

As I read, however, I began to do so more critically. Prescott indeed expressed some admiration for the ancient Mexicans, but by no means does he examine them on theitr own merits, as I initially assumed.  Much of Chapter 3 , for example, discusses the religions and rites of the Mexica, and I could not help but notice an implicit anti-clerical strain: “The influence of the priesthood must be greatest in an imperfect state of civilization, where it engrosses all the scanty science in its own body” (p. 55).  Just as I began to wonder whether Prescott was not expressing much of the anti-Catholicism of the educated American classes of the nineteenth century, the author makes a more explicit reference: “The secrets of the [Aztec] confessional were held inviolable, and penances were imposed of much the same kind as those enjoined by the Roman Catholic Church” (56). Prescott, like all historians everywhere, write from the perspective of the times in which they live.  On the other hand, Prescott’s admiration of Cortes (quite obviously Catholic) and Queen Isabella (ditto) are unmistakable, so this might be reading too much into the material.

That Prescott admires Cortes, however–as opposed to merely being intrigued or fascinated by him–is unmistakable. The great Captain’s “enlightened genius” shines on nearly every page (xi). This lead, for me, to the most important realization concerning Prescott’s fine, but imperfect, work.  (Much of the primary sources he accepts uncritically, particularly Bernal Diaz del Castillo.) Prescott’s narrative is largely a celebration of Cortes and his men, and the trials they endured as they marched toward the Valley of Mexico.  That is to say, the author writes with an agenda. Every scholar does, granted, but as I read it occured to me that Prescott never considered the Conquest as anything other than a major step in the march of progress.  Although he admired the Mexica on certain, primarily technical, grounds, at no point in the text does he suggest that they deserved to maintain their way of life. Perhaps, of course, it is not the histrians responsibility to do that–to play “what if” games. If  it is the historian’s task, however, to explain how and why things happen, Prescott’s work, for all its attributes, deserves to be remembred as the product of a bygone era.

To wit, concerning the Aztec women: “They appear to have…passed thir time in indolent tranquility, or in such feminine occupations as spinning, embroidery and the like[.]“  Yet perhaps I am being unduly harsh on Prescott; he was a product of his own time, as am I.  Suffice it to say, both the histories of Mexico and Peru (which, frankly, I prefer for a variety of reasons) are inarguably page-turners. If nothing else, Prescott is a master of the narrative form.