Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl and His Legacy 081650072X, 9780816500727

Citation preview

Fernando de A lva Ixtli lxochitl and Hi s Legacy

E d i ted by

G alen B rok aw Jongs oo L e e

Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl and His Legacy

TUCSON

The University of Arizona Press www.uapress.arizona.edu © 2016 The Arizona Board of Regents All rights reserved. Published 2016 Printed in the United States of America 21 20 19 18 17 16   6 5 4 3 2 1 ISBN-13: 978-0-8165-0072-7 (cloth) Cover designed by Lori Lieber Cover image: Mapa Tlotzin, details; courtesy Bibliothèque Nationale de France Publication of this book is made possible in part by the proceeds of a permanent endowment created with the assistance of a Challenge Grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities, a federal agency. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his legacy / edited by Galen Brokaw and Jongsoo Lee. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8165-0072-7 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de, 1578–1650. 2. Historians—Mexico—17th century—Biography. 3. Mexico—History—Spanish colony, 1540–1810. I. Brokaw, Galen, 1966– editor. II. Lee, Jongsoo, 1964– editor. F1225.A55F47 2016 972.07202—dc23 [B] 2015029044 This paper meets the requirements of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).

Contents

1 Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Colonial Indigenous Historiography from the Conquest to the Present Jongsoo Lee and Galen Brokaw 2 The Identities of Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl Gordon Whit taker 3 Ixtlilxochitl’s Ethnographic Encounter: Understanding the Codex Xolotl and Its Dependent Alphabetic Texts Jerome A. Offner 4 Colonial Writings and Indigenous Politics in New Spain: Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Chronicles and the Cacicazgo of Teotihuacan Jongsoo Lee

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77

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5 Constructed Discourse in Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Chronicles 153 Heather Allen 6 Voice in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Historical Writings José Rabasa

179

7 Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Marina and Other Women of Conquest Susan Kellogg

209

vi contents

8 Alva Ixtlilxochitl and the Guadalupe Legend: The Question of Authorship Amber Brian

235

9 Credible, Accurate, and Approved: Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Mexico’s Patriotic Historiography Pablo García Loaeza

257

Chronology 283 Glossary 287 Contributors 295 Index 299

Fernando de A lva Ixtli lxochitl and Hi s Legacy

1 Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Colonial Indigenous Historiography from the Conquest to the Present Jongsoo Lee and Galen Brokaw

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is one of the most important Mexican chroniclers from the colonial period, but he is also a controversial figure. Traditionally known as a mestizo historian of  Tetzcoco, Alva Ixtlilxochitl was a prolific writer, producing several manuscripts and colonial documents that covered various aspects of pre- and postconquest history, religion, and literature. He was also an enthusiastic collector of indigenous sources such as pictorial codices and Nahuatl-language manuscripts. From the time of their appearance in manuscript form in the seventeenth century to the twentieth century, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles and the indigenous sources he preserved have been invaluable to scholars of Prehispanic and colonial culture and history. His work contributed to the formation of Mexican creole patriotism during the colonial period and of Mexican nationalism after independence. Compared to his native contemporaries such as Hernando Alvarado Tezozomoc and Domingo de San Antón Muñón Chimalpahin Quauhtlehuanitzin, however, Alva Ixtlilxochitl has received less attention in recent scholarship because his work is seen as being more heavily inflected by a European religious and chronological perspective. In his chronicles, indigenous figures and historical events lose their original form and structure in favor of European ones. This volume explores the complexities of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s life and works from the perspectives of various disciplines such as anthropology, history, linguistics, and literature. on Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl

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Alva Ixtlilxochitl was born around 1578 in San Juan Teotihuacan, where his family had occupied the cacicazgo since 1533. His mother, doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, who was cacica of the town, married a Spaniard, Juan Navas de Peraleda, who worked as an interpreter for the Real Audiencia. Alva Ixtlilxochitl, their second son, was originally named Hernando Peraleda Ixtlilxochitl (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: II, 289; see Whittaker, chapter 2, this volume, and the chronology at the end of this volume). But later, as was customary among his contemporaries (Spaniards and Indians alike), he adopted prominent surnames: he changed his name to Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl after the famous Spanish captain of his time, Fernando Alvarez de Toledo, duque de Alva. In this way, his name invoked two iconic figures: Alva of the Old World and Ixtlilxochitl of the New (Bernand and Gruzinski 1999: 161; O’Gorman 1997: 17). As children of a mestizo mother and a Spanish father, Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his brothers and sisters were technically castizos. All of them except his youngest brother, Bartolomé de Alva, who became a priest, married Spaniards. This effectively gave them the same status as other creoles (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: II, 354–69; Vázquez 1985: 33).1 After his death in 1650, Alva Ixtlilxochitl was buried in the chapel of the parish (capilla de la parroquia) of Santa Catarina, a privilege reserved primarily for Spaniards (Pescador 1992, quoted in Velazco 2003: 53). Despite his racial proximity to Spanish blood, Alva Ixtlilxochitl had a bicultural background. He is thought to have attended the famous Colegio de Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco, which was founded for indigenous noble descendants.2 As Gordon Whittaker demonstrates in chapter 2 of this volume, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s proficiency in Nahuatl seems to have been somewhat limited, at least early in his career. The fact that he worked as an interpreter for the Real Audiencia and as a governor of indigenous towns, however, corroborates that he had a functional ability in the language. As an educated bilingual Spaniard or castizo, Alva Ixtlilxochitl could have pursued several options in his professional life, but he chose a career as an interpreter, politician, and historian. While working for the colonial administration as an official interpreter and governor, Alva Ixtlilxochitl dedicated much of his life to promoting aspects of indigenous culture and history that the European colonizers had denigrated during the decades after the conquest (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: II, 527–28). Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora in the seventeenth century and William Prescott in the nineteenth century recognized Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s contribution to Prehispanic and colonial historiography, calling him the “Cicero of the Mexican language” and the “Livy of Anahuac,” respectively (More 2013: 157; Prescott 1843: 116).

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Alva Ixtlilxochitl was a prolific writer. He wrote numerous texts, some of which have gone missing (Gibson and Glass 1975: 338). According to Edmundo O’Gorman (1997: 197–225), the surviving works of Alva Ixtlilxochitl can be divided into three groups: historiography, poetry, and other texts of uncertain authorship that have been attributed to the chronicler. The historical works include five texts: Sumaria relación de todas las cosas que han sucedido en la Nueva España, Relación sucinta en forma de memorial de la historia de Nueva España y sus señoríos, Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco, Sumaria relación de la historia general de esta Nueva España, and Historia de la nación chichimeca. The titles of these five historical texts (abbreviated here) were assigned by later scholars such as Lorenzo Boturini Benaduci, Francisco Javier Clavijero, and Mariano Fernández de Echeverría y Veytia. Among these historical texts, the Historia de la nación chichimeca contains the most extensive and comprehensive information on the Prehispanic and colonial periods in central Mexico. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s poetic works include two poems: “Cantares de Nezahualcoyotl,” and “Romances del rey don Sancho o El cerco de Zamora” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: II, 267–73). Both poems appear to be modified Spanish versions of Prehispanic songs that have been attributed to Nezahualcoyotl. Some scholars have attributed five additional works to Alva Ixtlilxochitl (O’Gorman 1997: 223–25), the most important of which are the Codex Ixtlilxochitl (1996) and the Relación de las apariciones guadalupanas. The Codex Ixtlilxochitl consists of several pictorial images of Prehispanic religious rituals, rulers, and gods, including portraits of the Tetzcoca rulers Nezahualcoyotl and Nezahualpilli in Prehispanic costume. The Relación de las apariciones guadalupanas contains the most important document related to the cult of the Virgin of Guadalupe, Nican mopohua, which records in Nahuatl the apparition of the virgin to Juan Diego. According to O’Gorman, later historians who accessed the manuscript of this story attributed its authorship to one of the following three authors: Antonio Valeriano, a bilingual student of Bernardino de Sahagún in the sixteenth century; Gerónimo de Mendieta, a Franciscan priest of the sixteenth century; or Alva Ixtlilxochitl, who possessed the original manuscript. Recent studies challenge O’Gorman’s argument on the authorship of the document. As Amber Brian demonstrates in chapter 8 of this volume, there is a close connection between the Alva Ixtlilxochitl family and the Guadalupe legend, but there is no evidence that verifies Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s authorship of the Nahuatl manuscript.3 Whether he was the author of the document or not, Alva Ixtlilxochitl was a great collector of indigenous historical materials, some of which have survived. He collected and used several pictorial

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codices, such as the Codex Xolotl, the Mapa Quinatzin, and the Mapa Tlotzin (Douglas 2010: 17–18), and manuscripts in Nahuatl such as the Codex Chimalpopoca, which have served as major sources for the study of Prehispanic history and culture (Bierhorst 1998: 12; Brian 2014). Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s works and the texts attributed to him have been presented as representative of mestizo historical writings in which European and indigenous historical traditions appeared in a mixed form. Angel María Garibay K. (1992: 789–811) and Martin Lienhard (1983, 1991) define mestizo texts as those that employ the European alphabet to record indigenous traditions and history. For Garibay and Lienhard, alphabetic yet indigenous texts could be produced by writers of any ethnic origin. Thus, the colonial chronicles of Spaniards such as Diego Durán, those by mestizos such as Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Diego Muñoz Carmargo, and those by Indians such as Alvarado Tezozomoc and Chimalpahin all qualify as mestizo texts. However, this classification simplifies the complex transition from indigenous oral and pictorial traditions to European alphabetic texts. Garibay recognizes the historical specificity of colonial texts, but he examines alphabetic texts as if they were European: he classifies them as poetry, prose, and drama. The imposition of European literary genres ignores the fact that oral and pictorial texts undergo a transformation when they are transliterated into alphabetic script (Lee 2014; Mignolo 2003: 69–169). Unlike Garibay, Lienhard pays attention to the transition from indigenous oral and pictorial texts to European alphabetic texts, arguing that Prehispanic indigenous “literary” traditions were first transformed, then fossilized in alphabetic texts. But like Garibay, Lienhard moves within the broad concept of literature primarily focusing on alphabetic texts that he calls examples of “alternative literature.” In texts of this kind of literature, Lienhard examines mestizo voices and narrators that were first assimilated into European literary styles and later transculturated in the colonial context. Shifting the focus from a theorization of the nature of the texts, Rolena Adorno (1989) and Salvador Velazco (2003) examine the sociohistorical context that produced them. Adorno discusses how Alva Ixtlilxochitl configured Prehispanic history and culture from the perspective of multiple subject positions and according to postconquest religious and discursive expectations. Along similar lines, Velazco (2003) examines the ideological complexities of the political context that informs Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work. A reading of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles in particular requires a comprehensive understanding of the racial, social, political, and religious dimensions of the writer’s reality. A similar

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focus has led Gabriela Ramos and Yanna Yannakakis (2014) to call mestizo and indigenous historians “colonial intellectuals.” In the foreword of Ramos and Yannakakis’s edited volume, Elizabeth Hill Boone (2014) presents indigenous and mestizo chroniclers during the colonial period as a new kind of tlamatinime (sages or indigenous painters) who were in charge of pictorial and oral records before the conquest. In other words, Boone emphasizes their role as the conveyors of Prehispanic historical traditions even after the conquest. In the same volume, John F. Schwaller examines Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his brother Bartolomé de Alva as intellectual leaders who served as “cultural intermediaries between the dominant Spanish culture and the colonized Nahua culture” (2014: 53). All these approaches acknowledge the complexity of the practices in which colonial writers engage and the products that they produce. The categorization of the chronicles as mestizo or alternative literature (Garibay and Lienhard) and as a unique form of discursive practice (Adorno and Velazco) attempts to convey the realities of the colonial context. As Boone and Schwaller point out, colonial chroniclers connect pre- and postconquest historical events and figures, and they rely on indigenous pictorial and oral traditions as their major sources. These various projects should remind us that the texts produced by colonial writers (whether Spanish, mestizo, or indigenous) are not homogenous. Some chronicles such as Tezozomoc’s Crónica mexicayotl and Chimalpahin’s works can be considered more “indigenous,” because they more closely follow Prehispanic indigenous form and content (e.g., annals) and were mostly written in Nahuatl. Other chronicles such as those of Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Pomar, and Muñoz Camargo can be considered more “colonial,” because they convert Prehispanic indigenous historical formats and traditions into European-style historical texts and were written in Spanish. The various complexities of these texts derive from the fact that there are innumerable ways in which they can, and do, select and organize indigenous historical events and figures and engage in and/ or with the various political or cultural agendas of their authors and readers. Here we refer in general to both the practice and the product of writers who take indigenous history as their theme as colonial indigenous historiography. The major works of colonial indigenous historiography began to appear in the second half of the sixteenth century and in the first half of the seventeenth. Juan Bautista Pomar from Tetzcoco and Diego Muñoz Camargo from Tlaxcala wrote their historical texts in the 1580s, and Fernando Alvarado Tezozomoc from Tenochtitlan, Domingo Francisco de San Antón Muñón Chimalpahin Quauhtlehuanitzin from Chalco, and Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl from

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Teotihuacan began writing their indigenous histories in the 1590s and continued through the first half of the seventeenth century. Most of these chroniclers, whose ethnic origin was either indigenous or mestizo, wrote their texts in Spanish and/or Nahuatl (choosing the European alphabetic system as their medium), covered indigenous history from the Prehispanic period through their own historical present in the colonial period, and claimed that they relied on indigenous oral and pictorial sources. Among these writers, Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl stands out. In his chronicles, Alva Ixtlilxochitl compares pre- and postconquest indigenous events and figures to biblical and European ones, and he converts indigenous calendrical dates to the Gregorian calendar. Along with the assimilation of indigenous history into European paradigms, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles exhibit another unique feature that other works of colonial indigenous historiography do not have. Almost all indigenous or mestizo historians wrote indigenous histories focusing on the events and figures of their hometowns; for example, Tezozomoc, Chimalpahin, Camargo, and Pomar recorded the histories of their respective hometowns of  Tenochtitlan, Chalco, Tlaxcala, and Tetzcoco. Unlike these chroniclers, Alva Ixtlilxochitl focused not on his hometown of  Teotihuacan but rather on Tetzcoco, from which his maternal ancestors originated. For many years, this led readers to believe that he was from Tetzcoco. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s promotion of  Tetzcoco and the particular way in which he assimilated indigenous history into European models are keys to understanding both his own chronicles and colonial indigenous historiography more generally. Before Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s alphabetic texts appeared at the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth century, most historical information related to Tetzcoco and its leaders was available from indigenous oral traditions and pictorial texts such as the Codex Xolotl, the Mapa Tlotzin, and the Mapa Quinatzin, but these sources were largely unknown to, or ignored by, previous chroniclers. There existed important alphabetic works on Tetzcoco before Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s manuscripts appeared, but the information they contained was relatively limited. The Franciscan priests Toribio de Benavente o Motolinía, Andrés de Olmos, and Bernardino de Sahagún included in their chronicles certain religious traditions and the royal genealogy of  Tetzcoco, and the mestizo historian Juan Bautista Pomar wrote the Relación geográfica de Texcoco responding to a questionnaire sent out by the Spanish Crown. All these writers relied primarily on oral traditions and some pictorial texts, but their texts were not as diverse or comprehensive as Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles. Despite his focus on

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Tetzcoco, Alva Ixtlilxochitl frequently provided important information on other major cities in the Aztec empire such as Tenochtitlan and Tlacopan and on Aztec political and religious systems such as the Triple Alliance and the Xochiyaotl (Flowery War). Thus, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles made a significant contribution to colonial indigenous historiography not only on Tetzcoco but also on other cities. Yet his reliance on the chronicles of Spanish priests and his local, Tetzcoco-centric perspective require certain precautions when reading his work. As soon as Spanish priests arrived at the old capital of the Aztec empire, Tenochtitlan, they began to assess indigenous history and culture, and they recorded their observations in chronicles and letters. The priests asserted that their information came from indigenous informants who could read indigenous pictorial books and were responsible for maintaining indigenous oral traditions, and later historians have relied on their texts as indispensable sources of information on Prehispanic history and culture. As several scholars demonstrate (Burkhart 1989; Lee 2008: 2–5, 19–21), however, the Spanish priests selected and condensed the much more extensive historical information that appears in their sources. Motolinía, Olmos, and Sahagún were millenarians who believed that the millennial kingdom was dependent on the conversion of indigenous people in the New World. For this reason, they focused on indigenous traditions such as the legal system and religious practices similar to European ones that demonstrated the Indians’ intellectual capacity and their suitability for conversion to Catholicism. At the same time, they ignored or overlooked other indigenous practices that did not relate to these themes. Other priests such as Diego Durán focused on the similarities between indigenous religion and Catholicism, believing that the Indians in the New World had originally been Christians. Based on this diffusionist theory, they began to promote the idea that one of the indigenous gods, Quetzalcoatl (Feathered Serpent), was actually the Christian apostle Saint Thomas, whom Jesus sent to preach the gospel all over the world.4 Alva Ixtlilxochitl built on the works of Spanish priests to further develop some important historical themes (Lee 2008: 28–37). According to him, the people of  Tetzcoco were exemplary Christians because they had developed highly civilized social systems, thanks to wise and illustrious rulers such as Nezahualcoyotl and Nezahualpilli. According to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles, that was the reason that the Tetzcoca under the leadership of Cortés Ixtlilxochitl became the Spaniards’ most faithful allies during the conquest of Tenochtitlan: they were already living in a civilized way before the conquest and

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were eager to accept the new religion. Alva Ixtlilxochitl also implicitly further developed the Quetzalcoatl–Saint Thomas myth by arguing that his Tetzcoca ancestors, particularly Nezahualcoyotl, preserved the Christian-like teachings of Quetzalcoatl until the arrival of the Christians in the early sixteenth century. The “Christianization” of Prehispanic Tetzcoco required Alva Ixtlilxochitl to alter certain historical events and the chronology of  Tetzcoca history (Lee 2008: 63–72; Townsend 2014a: 9–13). In doing so, he served as an intermediary between the priests of the sixteenth century and the creoles of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries who would embrace the Christianized version of indigenous history. Along with the Christianization of Prehispanic Tetzcoco, Alva Ixtlilxochitl projected a regional Tetzcoca perspective onto the entire Aztec empire: he minimized many historical events that were important for other cities, and he gave prominence to events and issues related to Tetzcoco. As Sigüenza y Góngora noticed as early as the seventeenth century, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles are dominated by Tetzcoca regionalism and Tetzcoca bias (Brian 2010: 129–30). Throughout his chronicles, Alva Ixtlilxochitl describes Tetzcoco as the strong­ est city from its beginning to the end of Nezahualcoyotl’s reign in 1472. As the legitimate heirs of the Chichimec leader Xolotl, who came to central Mexico in the twelfth century and dominated inside and outside the basin, the Tetzcoca rulers had played a leading role and controlled extensive lands for centuries. Even though Tetzcoca political authority was challenged by the rulers of other cities such as Tezozomoc of Azcapotzalco in the fifteenth century, Tetzcoco was militarily and culturally the strongest and most influential city in the basin. Even in the formation of the Aztec empire in the fifteenth century, Tetzcoco played a leading role by initially proposing the Triple Alliance and functioning as the major partner. In Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles, the Tetzcoca ruler Nezahualcoyotl appears as the most authoritative figure, more powerful than even the Mexica rulers such as Itzcoatl and Moctezuma I. However, the chroniclers from its allied cities, Tenochtitlan and Tlacopan, and from its subject cities such as Huexotla, Acolman, and Tepechpan recorded Prehispanic history quite differently. The greatness and supreme political power of  Tetzcoco in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings appear to have been part of a well-planned political project. In the colonial system, the Spanish king granted certain political rights to the Prehispanic nobility, and he compensated his indigenous allies for their contributions to the conquest. To take advantage of these benefits, the indigenous descendants of this noble class had to document the nobility of their lineage and the

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aid that they or their ancestors had given to the Spaniards. Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his family enjoyed privileges, but these were only commensurate with the relatively minor political status of  Teotihuacan. The nobility from the much more important town of  Tetzcoco inherited even greater status in the colonial order. Before the conquest, Tetzcoco played an important role in the Aztec empire as a partner of the Triple Alliance and as a regional power with subordinate cities such as Huexotla, Coatlichan, Coatepec, Tepechpan, Acolman, and Teotihuacan; but the only connection Alva Ixtlilxochitl had to Tetzcoco was that his mother was a great-granddaughter of the postconquest Tetzcoca ruler Cortés Ixtlilxochitl. Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his family dominated local politics in Teotihuacan, but if they could prove that they were the legitimate heirs of Tetzcoco by virtue of their relationship to Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, they could claim the privileges and lands of the Tetzcoca kings. Thus, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s project had two major components or goals: first, to establish a genealogical relationship between his family and the Tetzcoca royal line; and second, to aggrandize Tetzcoco’s political dominance prior to the conquest to maximize the rights and privileges of the Tetzcoca nobility in the colonial system (see Lee, chapter 4, this volume). Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s project was largely successful, as evidenced by the fact that numerous scholars from the colonial period to the present have accepted and perpetuated his version of Prehispanic history and the role Cortés Ixtlilxochitl and Tetzcoco played in the Spanish conquest. After Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s death in 1650, his son, Juan de Alva Cortés, presented his collection of materials to Sigüenza y Góngora. Sigüenza y Góngora drew from Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s manuscripts and collections to reinforce the Quetzalcoatl–Saint Thomas myth (Lee 2008: 8) and to correlate the indigenous and European calendars (CañizaresEsguerra 2001: 224). In the eighteenth century, Agustin Betancourt, Lorenzo Boturini Benaduci, Mariano Fernández de Echeverría y Veytia, and Francisco Javier Clavijero relied on Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work in their investigations of Prehispanic Mexican history, and most of them also contributed to making the Virgin of Guadalupe the most popular Marian cult in Mexico by drawing a connection between the apparition of the Virgin and the Quetzalcoatl– Saint Thomas myth. In the nineteenth century, to promote a spirit of independence from the Spanish colonial regime, some Mexican creoles such as Carlos María de Bustamante published selections of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s works that dealt with the horrific destruction and crimes committed by the Spanish conquistadors (Brading 1991: 638–39; see García, chapter 9, this volume). In the

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nineteenth century, William H. Prescott relied heavily on Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles in his construction of pre- and postconquest Mexican history. The most conspicuous example of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s influence on Prescott appears in the contrast between the image of the barbarous Mexica and that of the civilized Tetzcoca, an opposition that Alva Ixtlilxochitl constructed in his works (Prescott 1843: 93–127). Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles finally appeared for the first time in print in the nineteenth century (Kingsborough 1848: IX, 197–468; O’Gorman 1997: 247). Prior to this publication, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work had been available only in manuscript or in the form of fragments included in the broader histories of other chroniclers. The publication of these manuscripts appears to have provoked an interest in the study of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work by Mexican scholars such as José Fernando Ramírez. Inspired by Kingsborough’s edition, Ramírez conducted a study of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles, but he died before his work was published (Torre Villar 2001: 107).5 The modern study of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles was initiated with the publication of Alfredo Chavero’s edition at the end of the nineteenth century. Basing his text on Ramirez’s research, Chavero published Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles in two volumes in 1891 and 1892, with an introduction in each volume that dealt with Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s various manuscripts and the history of their ownership. Chavero’s introductions also included a chronological study of the manuscripts and provided the historical context in which Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles appeared. In addition to the published work, Chavero’s thorough notes have served as an important source for later studies. Chavero’s edition was reprinted in 1952 and 1965 with a prologue by José Ignacio Dávila Garibi. The most recent and comprehensive edition of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles was published by Edmundo O’Gorman in 1975 (volume 1) and 1977 (volume 2). O’Gorman’s edition included detailed biographical and bibliographical studies on the chronicler and his works. In his introduction, O’Gorman provides a historical chronology of Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his family, lists his major sources and writings, and examines the inventory of his manuscripts and the previously published editions of his work. An appendix contains several important documents such as wills of his ancestors and legal documents related to the lawsuits in which Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his family were involved. In sum, O’Gorman’s edition provides the most extensive information about Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his work. Since the publication of O’Gorman’s edition, some of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles have been republished individually. Among them, worth mentioning

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is Germán Vázquez’s edition of the Historia de la nación chichimeca (1985). Vázquez provides a useful introduction that deals with Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s life, major sources, motives, and identity as a historian. Along with O’Gorman’s work, Vázquez’s introduction has become an important source for scholarship on Alva Ixtlilxochitl.6 In late twentieth- and early twenty-first-century scholarship, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles have had a mixed reception. Most scholars have noted some Tetzcoca bias and the colonial influence in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work, but much historical and ethnohistorical research accepts the essential substance of the information that it records. For historians and anthropologists, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles have been useful in reconstructing the Prehispanic and colonial history of the central basin of Mexico, because they contain more detailed information than most other sources (Brundage 1972; Offner 1983). Scholars of Prehispanic religion who refer to Nezahualcoyotl’s Unknown God and his peaceful religious practices base their descriptions mainly on Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings (Gillmor 1983; León-Portilla 1972; Martínez 1996). Literary critics have also derived their understanding of Nahuatl literature from Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles. His work is the basis for the concept of the Nahuatl-language poet and the dominant interpretive framework for understanding Nahuatl poetry (Garibay 1992, 1993; León-Portilla 1963, 1992, 1994, 1996). Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s most significant contribution to current Aztec studies may be his reading of indigenous pictorial texts. Alva Ixtlilxochitl transliterated many parts of his chronicles glyph by glyph from the Codex Xolotl and the Mapa Quinatzin. The relationship between the pictorial sources and the alphabetic transliteration in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work has been an indispensable tool for modern scholars. For instance, Charles Dibble’s study of the Codex Xolotl (Códice Xolotl 1996) and Luz María Mohar’s study of the Mapa Quinatzin (2004) would not have been possible without Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles. While no one denies the importance of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work, many scholars find more colonial influence in it than trustworthy information. For them, Alva Ixtlilxochitl was a highly acculturated writer who frequently Europeanized Prehispanic history and culture. The Mexican scholar Enrique Florescano, for example, argues that chroniclers such as Alva Ixtlilxochitl “thought like Spaniards” and that “their stories written in Spanish were not directed at the indigenous population but at the conquerors” (1994: 126). For Florescano (ibid.: 127–31), the chronicles of Alva Ixtlilxochitl engage in a process of “disindigenization” that misinterprets indigenous sources to make indigenous historical

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time fit a Christian interpretation of history. While Florescano points out the colonial influence in the construction of history and culture in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles, John Bierhorst does the same with regard to Nahua poetry. He shows that Alva Ixtlilxochitl Europeanized indigenous song traditions by imposing European conceptions of authorship and poetry. The most sustained effort by Alva Ixtlilxochitl along these lines is his identification of his ancestor Nezahualcoyotl as a poet and his interpretation of the poems attributed to Nezahualcoyotl as expressions of a peaceful, Christian-like ideology (Bierhorst 1985: 103–5, 115–17). James Lockhart’s critical examination of Bierhorst’s study confirms that Alva Ixtlilxochitl was “a great distorter of earlier phenomena, far less knowledgeable and trustworthy than his immediate predecessors such as Tezozomoc and Chimalpahin” (1991: 143). Most recently, Jongsoo Lee (2008) has called into question the version of  Tetzcocan politics, religion, and song traditions that Alva Ixtlilxochitl promoted throughout his chronicles. By focusing on Nezahualcoyotl, Lee demonstrates how Alva Ixtlilxochitl exaggerated Tetzcocan political and military power and assimilated Tetzcocan song and religious traditions to make them conform to Christian models. Lee also points out that later historians and literary critics have uncritically accepted Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles as reliable sources. Another group of scholars recognizes the presence of historical distortions in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work as a distinctive characteristic of mestizo writing, and they examine the factors that produce these distortions. Georges Baudot (1995) demonstrates how Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s history makes a smooth transition from the Prehispanic period to the conquest and the importance of the role his ancestors such as Nezahualcoyotl and Cortés Ixtlilxochitl played. According to Baudot, Alva Ixtlilxochitl created a civilized, peaceful, Christian-like Nezahualcoyotl in his chronicles and included some of his songs to establish an indigenous precursor to Christianity. As instructed by Nezahualcoyotl, his grandson, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, embraced the new religion and allied with the Spaniards. Baudot argues that Alva Ixtlilxochitl presented this smooth transition to provide a basis for claiming that the descendants of Nezahualcoyotl and Cortés Ixtlilxochitl should be able to maintain the same political status after the conquest that they had enjoyed in the preconquest period. Carmen Bernand and Serge Gruzinski (1999: 159–68) point out that Alva Ixtlilxochitl converted indigenous historical figures into “knights,” “lords,” and “vassals” and that he reconstructed Prehispanic indigenous history to make it fit into Greek and Roman models. According to Bernand and Gruzinski, however,

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Alva Ixtlilxochitl also attempted to rescue elements of Prehispanic and colonial Tetzcoca history that had been ignored by European chroniclers. In his research on Prehispanic and colonial Tetzcoco, Patrick Lesbre (2001, 2010) explains how Alva Ixtlilxochitl transformed indigenous history by silencing or suppressing certain historical details about figures such as Nezahualcoyotl and places such as Tetzcotzinco to make Tetzcoco appear less foreign and more European.7 Many recent studies of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work are less concerned with the trustworthiness of the information that it contains. Rather, drawing on modern theories of discourse such as those of Michel de Certeau, Michel Foucault, and Martin Lienhard, they tend to view his chronicles as colonial discourse in search of an ethnic or national identity. Rolena Adorno (1989), Salvador Velazco (2003), Amber Brian (2010), and Thomas Ward (2011) see Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles as a form of mestizo writing that attempts to establish a political and cultural space within the colonial discursive traditions already dominated by the colonizers. Adorno’s (1989: 214) view of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles as a response to European oversight, Velazco’s (2003: 43–125) study of the chronicles as historiographic imagination, Brian’s reading of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work as an archive of his own time and space, and Ward’s analysis of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s quest for coevalness between indigenous and European culture all examine the writer’s ethnic and cultural identity. Other studies by scholars such as David Brading (1991), Jorge CañizaresEsguerra (2001), and Pablo García (2007, 2009) focus on the influential role that Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work played in the development of Mexican nationalism. Brading studies Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles as important indigenous sources for creole patriots such as Sigüenza y Góngora, Clavijero, Fernández de Echeverría y Veytia, and Bustamante who eulogized the indigenous past either to demonstrate a high level of intellectual development in Prehispanic civilizations or to promote patriotism for Mexico and resistance to Spanish oppression. Drawing on Brading’s study, Cañizares-Esguerra (2001: 221–25) examines how Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles and collection of indigenous sources contributed to the formation of a “patriotic epistemology,” which refuted the ideas of northern European enlightened intellectuals who belittled American indigenous traditions. Cañizares-Esguerra studies in detail how Mariano Fernández de Echeverría y Veytia took Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles at face value to counter the distortions of indigenous history made by Europeans. While Brading and Cañizares-Esguerra trace Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s broader legacy, García studies in detail the influence of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings, focusing on specific historians

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of the period. He examines how Sigüenza y Góngora and Bustamante used Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles to develop the idea of a creole nation in the seventeenth century and of an independent Mexican nation in the nineteenth century. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings have been important sources for many scholars, but at the same time they have been the focus of numerous polemics in the study of Prehispanic and colonial historiography. The chapters in this volume provide detailed studies about many of these issues from both diachronic and synchronic perspectives. In “The Identities of Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl,” Gordon Whittaker presents an overview of what is known about Alva Ixtlilxochitl and an analysis of his ethnic identity. Whittaker points out that Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, as he is commonly known today, did not actually use the “Ixtlilxochitl” portion of his name in his everyday adult life. The only known instance in which his signature includes “Ixtlilxochitl” is at the end of a historiographic text written in support of legal claims regarding his family’s status based on their descent from indigenous nobility. Furthermore, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s discourse reveals that ethnically he identified more with the Spaniards than he did with the indigenous people. He was, after all, a castizo: the son of a Spaniard and a mestiza. Based on an analysis of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s use of Nahuatl, Whittaker argues that he “acquired his knowledge of Prehispanic traditions [including the Nahuatl language] less from hearth and home during his childhood and adolescence than from a careful adult reliance on manuscript sources and on consultations with select contemporaries possessing the information he sought.” Building from this ethnic origin and linguistic analysis, Whittaker then goes on to discuss some unresolved issues regarding Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work. He examines the chronology of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s earliest works, and he proposes a solution to the mystery of an unnamed informant in the Historia tolteca. One of the most important aspects of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work has to do precisely with his sources of information, both human and textual. In “Ixtlilxochitl’s Ethnographic Encounter,” Jerome Offner examines the relationship between Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work and what is arguably his most important known native source text, the Codex Xolotl. Perhaps the most common critiques of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles are that they exhibit a Tetzcocan bias and that they are informed by the colonial context. Of course, the Codex Xolotl and other native sources employed by Alva Ixtlilxochitl are Tetzcocan texts, and thus they inherently present a Tetzcocan perspective. But all native sources exhibit the

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same kind of bias toward the polity from which they originate. And Tetzcocan chroniclers were not the only ones to draw on the Codex Xolotl. Offner compares Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s reading of this important text to that of other chroniclers, particularly the Franciscan friar Juan de Torquemada. Torquemada’s work corroborates the important role played by Tetzcoco in the Valley of Mexico, but Offner’s analysis demonstrates that Alva Ixtlilxochitl was a more reliable reader of the Codex Xolotl than were Torquemada and other chroniclers. This is not to say that Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles are unbiased or unfiltered by the colonial context. In fact, Offner points out both errors and omissions in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s readings of the codex. The implication of this analysis is that scholars need to examine native sources as well as the alphabetic texts from the colonial period that relied on them. Alva Ixtlilxochitl was clearly neither a perfect nor an unbiased reader of such texts, but his understanding of native traditions has made it much easier for modern scholars to work with the Codex Xolotl specifically and iconographic texts more generally. Offner demonstrates that Alva Ixtlilxochitl still has much to teach us, and we ignore him at our peril. In “Colonial Writings and Indigenous Politics in New Spain,” Jongsoo Lee helps reconcile the apparent contradiction between Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Spanish identity as explained by Whittaker on the one hand and his expertise in Nahua history and culture emphasized by Offner on the other. The fact that Alva Ixtlilxochitl wrote exclusively in Spanish has led most critics to focus on the way in which he participated in European historiography. As Offner (2014) and other scholars such as Leisa Kauffmann (2014) have shown, such a focus is misleading, because it is often blind to the presence of modes, themes, and other elements derived from indigenous textual and oral discourses. Lee further broadens this perspective by examining the way the indigenous political context informed Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historical writings. As with much colonial historiography, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work was motivated in part by his family’s political and economic interests. More specifically, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles construct Prehispanic history so as to justify his family’s cacique status along with all of its rights and privileges in the colonial context. The point here is not to reduce Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work to a series of statements designed to provide support for legal claims, but the political context that motivated such claims is the larger context in which Alva Ixtlilxochitl was working. And Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s political interests are omnipresent in his work even when it engages with other issues. In “Constructed Discourse in Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Chronicles,” Heather Allen is also interested in the way Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s politics inform

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the construction of his histories, but she focuses primarily on discursive techniques and their effects. Allen points out that constructed dialogue generally functions to develop characters, represent power relationships, and convey both implicit and explicit evaluations, and she examines the role of such functions in the work of Alva Ixtlilxochitl as compared to Hernando Alvarado Tezozomoc, who focused on the history of the Mexica and their city of  Tenochtitlan. She demonstrates how the constructed dialogues allowed Alva Ixtlilxochitl to give primacy to Tetzcoco over other ethnic groups and to critique the Spanish conquistadors while distancing himself from, or avoiding responsibility for, the substantive content or effect of these discourses. While Allen is not interested in determining the indigenous as opposed to the European nature of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s discourse, that is precisely what José Rabasa sets out to do. In “Voice in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Historical Writings,” Rabasa identifies four different types of voices in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles: ancient painting and the voice of elders; paraphrases and direct quotation; interpretation of empirical data; and the silencing of rebellious indomitable peoples. Perhaps the most intriguing part of Rabasa’s project is his attempt to correlate portions of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work with specific types of indigenous sources such as iconographic texts and oral accounts. This is a difficult problem that has yet to be explored to the degree that it demands. While certain aspects of Rabasa’s treatment of this topic may be controversial, his chapter opens the conversation and lays the groundwork for further analysis. While it is important to keep in mind the political and discursive issues discussed above, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work contains a wealth of cultural and historical information. Susan Kellogg examines the way Alva Ixtlilxochitl portrays Marina, the woman who served as a translator for Hernán Cortés, and indigenous women more generally. As Camilla Townsend (2014b) has demonstrated, women were exchanged as a means to create and strengthen alliances and to reconfigure political hierarchies. Kellogg argues that the women given to, or taken by, Cortés must be understood in this context. She goes on briefly to explain how masculinity was tied to achievements in battle and that the colonial order did not maintain the same gender or class values that characterized Prehispanic society. While most scholars read Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work to investigate Prehispanic history and culture, the analyses presented in most of the chapters in this volume demonstrate that even Prehispanic themes have colonial implications. In her chapter, “Alva Ixtlilxochitl and the Guadalupe Legend,” Amber Brian

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examines the relationship between Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work and the origin of the apparition story of the Virgin of Guadalupe. Many scholars have maintained that this story originated with Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Antonio Valeriano, a native Nahuatl speaker associated with the Colegio de Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco. More recently, scholars such as Stafford Poole have called into question this attribution. Brian provides a detailed discussion of the textual history of the apparition story and how it came to be attributed to Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl. While she confirms the problematic nature of this attribution, the evidence also suggests a connection between the Ixtlilxochitl family and the Virgin of Guadalupe story. Brian argues, however, that the written version of the apparition story may have originated with Fernando’s brother Bartolomé de Alva, who was actively engaged in the production of Nahuatl texts of various kinds. She also emphasizes the oral and collective origin of the story, making the issue of individual authorship less significant. In the final chapter of the volume, “Credible, Accurate, and Approved,” Pablo García Loaeza analyzes the relationship between Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work and the later creole patriotism of Mexican historiographers such as Torquemada, Sigüenza y Góngora, Clavijero, and Bustamante. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s project was similar to those of the creole historiographers in that they all aimed to construct histories that would rehabilitate the indigenous past to bolster political agendas in the present. For Alva Ixtlilxochitl, that project involved the justification of his family’s status in the colonial order but also more generally the portrayal of a civilized Prehispanic Tetzcocan society embodied in such figures as Nezahualcoyotl and Quetzalcoatl. The creole historiographers seized upon these figures and the image of a civilized people as the basis for a creole patriotism that would later feed into Mexican nationalism. While the emphases in the chapters included here range from indigenous history and politics to creole patriotism, they all inevitably take into account the negotiation between the Prehispanic and colonial periods in which Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his later readers were engaged. An understanding of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work must take into account the sociocultural and political importance of both his Spanish and his indigenous heritage. Analyses of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings may focus primarily on the indigenous dimension of his texts or primarily on the way in which it participates in the discursive space of Spanish culture, but as the chapters in this volume attest, the tension, interaction, or dialogue between the two must always be acknowledged. This dialogue manifests itself in different ways and in a variety of themes, including religion, the

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representation of women, and politics. The chapters in this volume do not pretend to exhaust all the complexities of this relationship. In fact, the nature of the cultural encounter that takes place in and around Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work may be in many ways inexhaustible. Of course, as García Loaeza demonstrates in his chapter on the role Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work played in the development of creole patriotism, the interaction itself changes over time. But even Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s relationship to his indigenous heritage is a complex and multifaceted issue that scholars will be exploring for many years to come. While this volume makes no claim to comprehensiveness, it provides an overview of many of the issues and problems that Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his work pose for modern scholars.

Notes 1. For more details on Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his family’s genealogy, see the seventeenth-century text titled “Relación del señorío de Teotihuacan” and modern studies such as Bernand and Gruzinski 1999: 159–62; Münch 1976: 58–68; O’Gorman 1997: 10–44; Vázquez 1985: 18–22. O’Gorman correlates major historical events to the life and times of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s family from 1492 through the death of Alva Ixtlilxochitl (see the chronology at the end of the present volume). Münch traces Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s genealogy from the founder of the Tetzcocan dynasty, Xolotl, through his descendants in the twentieth century. 2. Whether Alva Ixtlilxochitl attended the Colegio de Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco has been disputed. While Angel María Garibay (1992: 807) and Germán Vázquez (1985: 20) record his attendance at the Colegio, other scholars doubt that he ever attended the school, because “he was not a full blooded native” (Schwaller 1999: 5). For more discussion on this issue, see Townsend 2014a: 3–4 and Whittaker’s chapter in the present volume (chapter 2). 3. The story of the Virgin of Guadalupe has been a polemical issue in Mexican theology and history. Details—from the date of her apparition and the Spanish or indigenous origin of the tradition to the identity of the witness, the so-called Juan Diego—have been widely discussed and debated. See Brading 2001; Poole 2006. 4. The identity of Quetzalcoatl has been a popular topic among scholars from the colonial period through the present. Using the studies of Alfonso Caso and Alfredo López Austin on the Toltecs and Quetzalcoatl, David Carrasco

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(2000: 56–62) has identified three different interpretive approaches taken by historians: diffusionist, symbolic, and historical. The diffusionist design sees Quetzalcoatl as a foreign figure who brought Old World influences to the Americas long before the Spanish conquest. This kind of approach can be found in the studies of Diego Durán, Alexander Von Humboldt, William Prescott, Walter Krickeberg, and Robert Heine Gelden. The symbolic design views Quetzalcoatl as a mythical and religious figure invented in response to the forces of nature or the need for spiritual integration. This antihistorical approach to Quetzalcoatl is represented in the studies of Eduardo Seler, Laurette Séjourné, and Miguel León-Portilla. The historical design presents Quetzalcoatl as a historical figure who was once a king or hero and later became deified in myth. The scholars of this design—such as Francisco Clavijero, Manuel Orozco y Berra, Alfredo Chavero, Jiménez Moreno, Paul Kirchhoff, and H. B. Nicholson—have explicitly rejected the diffusionist approach and have tried to identify the historical Quetzalcoatl in the various mythical and historical texts. 5. O’Gorman (1997: 119–96) documents how later historians used Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles as sources of information. 6. See the list of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work at the beginning of the reference list. 7. Several PhD dissertations on Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his chronicles have not yet been published: Allen 2011; Borchard 2009 (chap. 4); Brian 2007; Daneri 2002; Fernández 1983; García 2006; Höhl 1991; Kauffmann 2004. The fact that most of them were written in the twenty-first century demonstrates the recent interest of young scholars in his chronicles.

Works of Alva Ixtlilxochitl Complete Editions Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de. 1848. Historia chichimeca and Relaciones. In Antiquities of Mexico: Comprising Facsimiles of Ancient Mexican Paintings and Hieroglyphics, Preserved in the Royal Libraries of Paris, Berlin and Dresden, in the Imperial Library of Vienna, in the Vatican Library, in the Borgian Museum at Rome, in the Library of the Institute at Bologna, and in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, Together with The Monuments of New Spain by M. Dupaix, with Their Respective Scales of Measurement and Accompanying Descriptions, edited by Edward King, Viscount Kingsborough, vol. 9, 197–478. London: Robert Havell and Colnaghi.

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———. 1891–92. Obras históricas de don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl. Edited by Alfredo Chavero. 2 vols. Mexico City: Secretaria de Foment. ———. 1997. Obras históricas. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. 2 vols. Reprint, Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Originally published 1975–77.

Partial Editions Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de. 1969. Ally of Cortés: Account 13, of the Coming of the Spaniards and the Beginning of the Evangelical Law. Translated by Douglass K. Ballentine. El Paso: Texas Western Press. ———. 1985. Historia de la nación chichimeca. Edited by Germán Vázquez. Madrid: Historia 16. ———. 1999. “The Fall of  Tula.” In The Highland Maya in Fact and Legend: Francisco Ximénez, Fernando Alva de Ixtlilxóchitl, and Other Commentators on Indian Origins and Deeds; From Escolias a las historias del origen de los Indios and De los reyes Toltecas y su destrucción, translated and edited by Marshall N. Peterson, 9–17. Lancaster, PA: Labyrinthos. ———. 2002. Historia general de esta Nueva España: Sumaria relación. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. Mexico City: Planeta. ———. 2004. “El amor criminal de un rey” and “La reina adúltera.” In Relatos y relaciones de Hispanoamérica colonial, edited by Otto Olivera, 32–37. Austin: University of  Texas Press. (2 chapters from Historia de la nación chichimeca.) ———. 2006. Visión de la conquista. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. ———. 2008. Historia de la nación chichimeca. Barcelona: Linkgua Ediciones. ———. 2015. The Native Conquistador: Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Account of the Conquest of New Spain. Edited and translated by Amber Brian, Bradley Benton, and Pablo García Loaeza. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press.

Secondary Sources Adorno, Rolena. 1989. “Arms, Letters and the Native Historian in Early Colonial Mexico.” In 1492–1992: Re/discovering Colonial Writing, edited by René Jara and Nicholas Spadaccini, 201–24. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Allen, Heather J. 2011. “Literacy, Text, and Performance in Histories of the Conquest of Mexico.” PhD dissertation, University of Chicago.

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Alvarado Tezozomoc, Fernando de. 1992. Crónica mexicayotl. Translated by Adrián León. Mexico City: Universidad Autónoma de México. Aubin, M. 1886a. Mapa Quinatzin. Anales del museo nacional de México 3: 321–68. ———. 1886b. Mapa Tlotzin. Anales del museo nacional de México 3: 304–20. Baudot, Georges. 1995. “Nezahualcoyotl: Príncipe providencial en los escritos de Alva Ixtlilxochitl.” Estudios de Cultura Náhuatl 25: 17–28. Bernand, Carmen, and Serge Gruzinski. 1999. Historia del Nuevo Mundo: Los mestizajes (1550–1640). Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Bierhorst, John. 1985. “General Introduction and Commentary.” In Cantares Mexicanos, translated by John Bierhorst, 7–130. Stanford: Stanford University Press. ———. 1998. “Introduction.” In History and Mythology of the Aztecs: The Codex Chimalpopoca, translated by John Bierhorst, 1–16. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Boone, Elizabeth Hill. 2014. Foreword to Indigenous Intellectuals: Knowledge, Power, and Colonial Culture in Mexico and the Andes, edited by Gabriela Ramos and Yanna Yannakakis, ix–xiv. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Borchard, Kimberly. 2009. “The Science of History: Empiricism and Historiography in the First Century of Spanish Colonialism in the New World.” PhD dissertation, University of Chicago. Brading, David A. 1991. The First America: The Spanish Monarchy, Creole Patriots, and the Liberal State, 1492–1867. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2001. Mexican Phoenix, Our Lady of Guadalupe: Image and Tradition Across Five Centuries. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brian, Amber. 2007. “Dual Identities: Colonial Subjectivities in Seventeenth-Century New Spain; Don Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora and Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl.” PhD dissertation, University of Wisconsin–Madison. ———. 2010. “Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Narratives of the Conquest of Mexico: Colonial Subjectivity and the Circulation of Native Knowledge.” In The Conquest All Over Again: Nahuas and Zapotecs Thinking, Writing, and Painting Spanish Colonialism, edited by Susan Schroeder, 124–42. Eastbourne, UK: Sussex Academic Press. ———. 2014. “The Original Alva Ixtlilxochitl Manuscripts at Cambridge University.” Colonial Latin American Review 23 (1): 84–101. Brundage, Burr Cartwright. 1972. A Rain of Darts: The Mexica Aztecs. Austin: University of  Texas Press. Burkhart, M. Louise. 1989. The Slippery Earth: Nahua-Christian Moral Dialogue in Sixteenth-Century Mexico. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.

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Bustamante, Carlos María de. 1821. Galería de antiguos príncipes mexicanos dedicada a la suprema potestad nacional que les sucediere en el mando para su mejor gobierno. Puebla, Mexico: Oficina del Gobierno Imperial. ———. 1826. Tezcoco en los últimos tiempos de sus antiguos reyes. Mexico City: Mariano Galván Rivera. ———. 1829. Horribles crueldades de los conquistadores de México y de los indios que los auxiliaron para subyugarlo a la corona de Castilla: Ó sea memoria escrita por d. Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxúchitl. Mexico City: Alejandro Valdés. Bustamante, Jesús. 1995. “Professional Indian, Professional Criollo: Nahuatl Version of Classical Spanish Theatre.” In Shifting Cultures: Interaction and Discourse in the Expansion of Europe, edited by Henriette Bugge and Joan Pau Rubiés, 71–95. Münster: Lit Verlag. Cañizares-Esguerra, Jorge. 2001. How to Write the History of the New World: Histories, Epistemologies and Identities in the Eighteenth-Century Atlantic World. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Carrasco, David. 2000. Quetzalcoatl and the Irony of Empire: Myths and Prophecies in the Aztec Tradition. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Chavero, Alfredo. 1891–92. Volume introductions to Obras históricas de don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, vol. 1, 3–9, and vol. 2, 3–10. Edited by Alfredo Chavero. Mexico City: Secretaria de Fomento. Chimalpahin Cuauhtlehuanitzin, Domingo Francisco de San Antón Muñón. 1997. Codex Chimalpahin: Society and Politics in Mexico Tenochtitlan, Tlatelolco, Texcoco, Culhuacan, and Other Nahua Altepetl in Central Mexico. Edited and translated by Arthur J. O. Anderson and Susan Schroeder. 2 vols. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. ———. 1998. Las ocho relaciones y memorial de Colhuacan. 2 vols. Translated by Rafael Tena. Mexico City: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Letras. Clavijero, Francisco Javier. 1968. Historia antigua de México. Edited by Mariano Cuevas. Mexico City: Porrúa. Códice Ixtlilxochitl. 1996. Edited by Ferdinand Anders, Maarten Jansen, and Luis Reyes García. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Códice Xolotl. 1996. Edited by Charles Dibble. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónomo de México. Daneri, Juan José. 2002. “El agua a su molino: Tres historiadores novohispanos y sus cronicas en castellano (Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Hernando Alvarado Tezozomoc, Diego Muñoz Camargo).” PhD dissertation, Washington University in St. Louis.

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Douglas, Eduardo. 2010. In the Palace of Nezahualcoyotl: Painting Manuscripts, Writing the Pre-Hispanic Past in Early Colonial Period Tetzcoco, Mexico. Austin: University of  Texas Press. Fernandez, Irène. 1983. “Historiographie métisse du Mexique á la fin du XVIème siècle; fondements d’une identité nationale? Un cas particulier: Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl.” PhD dissertation, Université de Toulouse. Florescano, Enrique. 1994. Memory, Myth, and Time in Mexico: From the Aztecs to Independence. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. García, Pablo. 2006. “Estrategias para (des)aparecer: La historiografia de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl y la colonizacion criolla del pasado prehispanico.” PhD dissertation, Indiana University. ———. 2007. “La historia al servicio de la patria: El patriota mexicano Carlos María de Bustamante (siglo XIX) edita al historiador novohispano Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl (siglo XVII).” Colonial Latin American Historical Review 16 (1): 37–64. ———. 2009. “Saldos del criollismo: El Teatro de virtudes políticas de Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora a la luz de la historiografía de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl.” Colonial Latin American Review 18 (2): 219–35. Garibay, Angel María K. 1992. Historia de la literatura nahuatl. Mexico City: Porrúa. ———. 1993. Poesía náhuatl. 3 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Gibson, Charles, and John B. Glass. 1975. “A Census of Middle American Prose Manuscripts in the Native Historical Tradition.” In Handbook of Middle American Indians, vol. 15, edited by Howard F. Cline, 322–400. Austin: University of Texas Press. Gillmor, Frances. 1983. Flute of the Smoking Mirror: A Portrait of Nezahualcoyotl, Poet-King of the Aztecs. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Höhl, Manfred. 1991. “Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl y su obra.” PhD dissertation, University of Complutense de Madrid. Kauffmann, Leisa Annette. 2004. “Hybrid Historiography in Colonial Mexico: Genre, Event and Time in the Cuauhtitlan Annuals and the Historia de la nación chichimeca.” PhD dissertation, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. ———. 2014. “The Reinvented Man-God of Colonial Texcoco: Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Nezahualcoyotl.” In Texcoco: Prehispanic and Colonial Perspectives, edited by Jongsoo Lee and Galen Brokaw, 243–59. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Keen, Benjamin. 1971. The Aztec Image in Western Thought. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press.

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Kingsborough, Viscount [Edward King], ed. 1848. Antiquities of Mexico: Comprising Facsimiles of Ancient Mexican Paintings and Hieroglyphics, . . . Vol 9. London: Robert Havell and Colnaghi. Lafaye, Jacques. 1995. Quetzalcóatl y Guadalupe: La formación de la conciencia nacional en México. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Lee, Jongsoo. 2008. The Allure of Nezahualcoyotl: Pre-Hispanic History, Religion, and Nahua Poetics. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. ———. 2014. “Mestizaje and the Creation of Mexican National Literature: Angel María Garibay Kintana’s Nahuatl Project.” Bulletin of Spanish Studies 91 (6): 889–912. Lee, Jongsoo, and Galen Brokaw, eds. 2014. Texcoco: Prehispanic and Colonial Perspectives. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. León-Portilla, Miguel. 1963. Aztec Thought and Culture. Translated by Jack Emory Davis. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. ———. 1966. La filosofía nahuatl estudiada en sus fuentes. Mexico City: Universidad Autónoma de México. ———. 1972. Nezahualcoyotl: Poesía y pensamiento. Texcoco: Gobierno del Estado de Mexico. ———. 1992. Fifteen Poets of the Aztec World. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. ———. 1994. Quince poetas del mundo nahuatl. Mexico City: Diana. ———. 1996. Los antiguos mexicanos a través de sus crónicas y cantares. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Lesbre, Patrick. 2001. “El Tetzcutzingo en la obra de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl.” Estudios de Cultura Nahuatl 32: 323–40. ———. 2010. “Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl et son Histoire [de la nation] chichimèque.” Nuevo Mundo/Mundos Nuevos. http://nuevomundo.revues.org/59357. Lienhard, Martin. 1983. “La crónica mestiza en México y el Perú hasta 1620: Apuntes para su estudio histórico-literario.” Revista de Crítica Literaria Latinoamericana 9 (17): 105–15. ———. 1991. La voz y su huella: Escritura y conflict étnico-social en América Latina (1492–1988). Hanover, NH: Ediciones del Norte. Lockhart, James. 1991. “Care, Ingenuity, and Irresponsibility: The Bierhorst Edition of the Cantares Mexicanos.” In Nahuas and Spaniards: Postconquest Central Mexican History and Philosophy, edited by James Lockhart, 141–57. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Mapa Quinatzin. See Aubin 1886a. Mapa Tlotzin. See Aubin 1886b.

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Martínez, José Luis. 1996. Nezahualcoyotl: Textos coleccionados con un estudio preliminar. Mexico City: Secretaria de Educación Pública. Mignolo, Walter. 2003. The Darker Side of the Renaissance: Literacy, Territoriality, and Colonization. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Mohar Betancourt, Luz María. 2004. Códice Mapa Quinatzin: Justicia y derechos humanos en el México antiguo. Mexico City: Comisión Nacional de Derechos Humanos México. More, Anna. 2013. Baroque Sovereignty: Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora and the Creole Archive of Colonial Mexico. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Münch G., Guido. 1976. El cacicazgo de San Juan Teotihuacan durante la colonia (1521–1821). Colección científica, historia 32. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Offner, Jerome A. 1983. Law and Politics in Aztec Texcoco. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2014. “Improving Western Historiography of  Texcoco.” In Texcoco: Prehispanic and Colonial Perspectives, edited by Jongsoo Lee and Galen Brokaw, 25–61. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. O’Gorman, Edmundo. 1997. “Estudio introductorio.” In Obras históricas de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, vol. 1, 1–257. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. Reprint, Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Pescador, Juan Javier. 1992. De bautismo a fieles difuntos: Familia y mentalidades en una parroquia urbana; Santa Catalina de México, 1568–1820. Mexico City: El Colegio de México. Pomar, Juan Bautista. 1993. Relación geográfica de Texcoco. In Poesía náhuatl, edited by Angel María Garibay K., vol. 1, 149–219. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Poole, Stafford. 2006. The Guadalupe Controversies in Mexico. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Prescott, William H. 1843. History of the Conquest of Mexico. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott. Ramos, Gabriela, and Yanna Yannakakis. 2014. “Introduction.” In Indigenous Intellectuals: Knowledge, Power, and Colonial Culture in Mexico and the Andes, edited by Gabriela Ramos and Yanna Yannakakis, 1–17. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. “Relación del señorío de Teotihuacan.” 2000. In La nobleza indígena de México después de la conquista, edited by Emma Pérez-Rocha and Rafael Tena, 379–404. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia.

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Schwaller, John Frederick. 1999. “Don Bartolomé de Alva, Nahuatl Scholar of the Seventeenth Century.” In A Guide to Confession Large and Small in the Mexican Language, 1634, by Bartolomé de Alva, 1–15. Edited by Barry D. Sell and John Frederick Schwaller, with Lu Ann Homza. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. ———. 2014. “The Brothers Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Bartolomé de Alva.” In Indigenous Intellectuals: Knowledge, Power, and Colonial Culture in Mexico and the Andes, edited by Gabriela Ramos and Yanna Yannakakis, 39–59. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Torre Villar, Ernesto de la. 2001. “Advertencia al tomo primero.” In Obras históricas, by José Fernando Ramírez, vol. 1, 95–115. Edited by Ernesto de la Torre Villar. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Townsend, Camilla. 2014a. “Introduction: The Evolution of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Scholarly Life.” Colonial Latin American Review 23 (1): 1–17. ———. 2014b. “Polygyny and the Divided Altepetl: The Tetzcocan Key to Preconquest Nahua Politics.” In Texcoco: Prehispanic and Colonial Perspectives, edited by Jongsoo Lee and Galen Brokaw, 93–116. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Vázquez, Germán. 1985. “Introducción.” In Historia de la nación chichimeca, by Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, 7–41. Edited by Germán Vázquez. Madrid: Historia 16. Velazco, Salvador. 2003. Visiones de Anáhuac: Reconstrucciones historiográficas y etnicidades emergentes en el México colonial; Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, Diego Muñoz Camargo y Hernando Alvarado Tezozómoc. Guadalajara: Universidad de Guadalajara. Ward, Thomas. 2011. “Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Civilization, and the Quest for Coevalness.” Studies in American Indian Literatures 23 (1): 96–125.

2 The Identities of Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl Gordon Whittaker

C

with the life and works of don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, the noted colonial-period historian of central Mexico’s Prehispanic past, is a little like wrestling with an enthralling whodunit. Even after the passage of some four hundred years, we still have many burning questions to which we seek answers, if we are to come to viable conclusions about the nature of his copious work. The past forty years of scholarship have filled in many pieces of the puzzle, but many have proven resistant to the tools of the investigator. What exactly do we know of the author? That is, which of the various identities ascribed to him presents an accurate picture of the man and how he viewed himself in his social and political context? How good was his command of Nahuatl? How well could he read Nahuatl hieroglyphic writing? When did he embark on his career as a historian, and with what motivation? In which order were his works written? This chapter examines these aspects of the puzzle, in an attempt to fill in missing pieces and rectify misidentifications. Let us start with the matter of the historian’s identity or identities. oming to grips

What’s in a Name? We can begin with the matter of his name. In the higher nobility of New Spain, a name sequence could consist of at least one given (Christian) name, one

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patronymic (in this case a surname, rather than a given name, derived from the father), and one metronymic (a surname derived from the mother). Frequently we encounter before or after a surname (or both), often immediately preceded by the Spanish preposition de, an additional surname element or elements.1 This is characteristically derived from a prior generation, a baptismal sponsor, or even a parish (see, e.g., Whittaker 2012: 142, 155n10). Such names could be passed on, in variable order, as part of the patronymic or metronymic sequence to following generations. Scholars are in agreement that our historian was known and titled as “don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl,” a sequence that, interestingly, suppresses the entire patronymic sequence and even the primary metronymic (“Cortés”) but retains two secondary surname elements from his mother’s family. Yet we have to look far afield to find evidence that the author referred to himself, or was styled by his contemporaries, in even this full a fashion. A scion of the Acolhua line hailing on the maternal side from Xolotl down to the philosopher king Nezahualcoyotl, and beyond to the rebel prince (Fernando Cortés) Ixtlilxochitl of the conquest period, our author might be expected to display the indigenous part of his name, inherited from his mother, doña Ana (de Alva) Cortés Ixtlilxochitl y Santa Cruz (for the latter see Münch 1976: 48), with pride on all documents bearing his signature. This is, after all, the name by which he is primarily known (along with Alva Ixtlilxochitl) in most modern references to him and his writings. It comes, therefore, as something of a surprise to discover that he rarely used the secondary metronymic. Indeed, not one of the many records gathered together in the extensive documentary sections of Edmundo O’Gorman’s edition of the historical works and of Guido Münch’s study of his family’s cacicazgo (lordship) attests to our author’s use of the name. In all cases, he signs simply with his mother’s other secondary metronymic, “de Alva” (or one of its orthographic variants, “de Alba,” “Dalva,” or “Dalba”), and never with his secondary patronymic, “(de) Peraleda,” or with his primary metronymic, “Cortés.” Furthermore, with rare exceptions, all documents drawn up during his adult lifetime refer to him solely as “de Alva.” The earliest document that names the future historian is the testament of his grandmother, doña Francisca Verdugo, which is dated 1596. In it her teenage grandson is called “Hernando de Peraleda Izquisuchitl” (AGN, Vínculos, tomo 232, f. 21r–25v, in O’Gorman 1975–77: II, 289), the son of her daughter, Ana Cortés, and of a Spaniard, Juan (de Navas Pérez de) Peraleda (for his full name see Münch 1976: 61, 62). There are several interesting features here. First, the youth is referred to as “Hernando,” rather than “Fernando,” the latter being

The Identities of Fernando de Alva Ix tlil xochitl  31

the variant by which he is almost universally known in later documents signed by, or referring to, him. Second, his primary surname here is “(de) Peraleda,” which, as we should expect, is inherited from his father, rather than “de Alva,” from his mother. Third, his secondary metronymic, here given as “Izquisuchitl,” is not a mere scribal error or inaccuracy for the expected “Ixtlilxochitl.” It is meaningful in itself (īzquixōchitl ‘the white-flowered Bourreria huanita’ versus īxtlilxōchitl ‘a kind of vine’; see Karttunen 1983: 121–22, 123) and is an indication that someone with a good knowledge of Nahuatl misheard the actual name. This someone was probably the interpreter, Francisco Rodríguez, or perhaps the scribe, Gerónimo de los Reyes. What is interesting is that this very same mistake is repeated in documents from a much later period. In three legal documents from 1666 (AGN, Vínculos, tomo 232, f. 58r–65v, 234r–234v, 246r–248r, in O’Gorman 1975–77: II, 373–84), Juan de Alva Cortés asserts correctly that he is the legitimate son of don Fernando de Alva (also Dalva), whose indigenous metronymic, when added, is rendered five times as “Ixquixochil,” three times as “Izquixochil,” and twice as “Isquixochil”—never as “Ixtlilxochi(t)l.” In a fourth document from the same year (AGN, Vínculos, tomo 232, f. 38r–45r, in ibid.: 385–89), the historian’s metronymic is rendered as “Icetlixochitl” ~ “Ycetlixochitl,” contrasting with that of the plaintiff, his uncle, don Luis de Alva, which is given as “Istlixuchil.” All of this suggests that the historian rarely referred to himself, or was referred to, by his Nahuatl-derived secondary metronymic. Similarly, none of his siblings appears ever to have used the name. During his adult lifetime, the instances in which he is named in this manner are limited to just five documents: two dated 1608 from the town fathers of Cuauhtlatzinco and the ayuntamiento of  Tetzcoco (in ibid.: I, 517–21), asserting the veracity of the author’s historical writings; one document from 1612 (republished in ibid.: II, 334–35), announcing his appointment as juez gobernador (judge governor) of  Tetzcoco; and two from 1620, one his father’s testament, in which he is called Hernando de Alba Ixtlilxuchitl, and the other a royal cédula (warrant) (AGN, Vínculos, tomo 232, f. 26r–32v, republished in ibid.: 338–43). None of these documents attests directly to the historian’s own use of the metronymic. The historian’s primary metronymic, “Cortés,” which he passed on to his descendants, is never, or almost never, attested during his lifetime. The one exception appears to be the above-mentioned statement of endorsement signed by the town fathers of Cuauhtlatzinco and Otumba in 1608, in which he is named (with accents added silently by O’Gorman) “don Fernando de Alva Cortés” in the title,

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contrasting with “don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxúchitl” twice in the body of the document. O’Gorman considers the metronymic “Cortés” an error, as can be seen by the fact that he follows it by a parenthetical “sic.” If one demonstrated that the title of the endorsement was added at some date after the document was drawn up and signed, there would be reason to question the appropriateness of the metronymic in this early context. Unfortunately, the editor fails to explain or defend his negative stance. The first unquestionable attestations of the primary metronymic in lieu of, or together with, his indigenous metronymic do not occur until long after the author’s death: in a testamentary record of 1680 (AGN, Vínculos, tomo 232, f. 151r, in ibid.: 390–91) set down by his widow, Antonia Gutiérrez, in which he is called both “don Fernando de Alba Cortés” and “don Fernando Cortés de Alba”; and in judicial proceedings from 1683 (ibid.: 395–98), involving testimony by don Felipe de Alva Cortés, cacique of San Juan Teotihuacan, in which the long-deceased writer is called “don Fernando Cortés Istlilchuchil.” It should be noted that the author’s descendants continued to carry the name “(de) Alva Cortés” down through the generations almost to the present day. The last bearer of the name combination would appear to have been Luis de Alva Cortés Alarcón, who died at the age of 105 in 1953 (Münch 1976: 66). Thus, it would appear that our historian was known by one name sequence, “Hernando de Peraleda Ixtlilxochitl,” during his childhood and adolescence and by another during his adult lifetime and beyond, “don Fernando de Alva Cortés (or Cortés de Alva) Ixtlilxochitl,” with each of the metronymics omissible as in standard Spanish practice. The historian is never known to have signed with, or to have otherwise used, his primary metronymic, “Cortés,” or (with one notable exception) his secondary metronymic, “Ixtlilxochitl,” preferring instead his mother’s secondary metronymic, “de Alva.” But even this, as we shall see, is not the whole picture. There is a (so far) solitary instance in which the historian includes in his signature more than one surname element. In the former Bible Society MS (henceforth ex-BSMS) 374, until 2014 part of the Special Collections of Cambridge University Library, what seem to be the original versions of the historian’s works make up the greater part of volumes 1 and 2 of the manuscript set.2 On the final page (f. 9v, unnumbered) of the Relación sucinta en forma de memorial de la historia de Nueva España y sus señoríos (henceforth Relación sucinta), we find the signature of its author (Whittaker 2014). At first glance it would appear to read .3 This is clearly what the great Italian scholar Lorenzo Boturini Benaduci thought, and his eighteenth-century

The Identities of Fernando de Alva Ix tlil xochitl  33

transcription of the text forms the basis for all later copies and editions (see O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 413, where one reads, in modernized spelling, “Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl”). For no immediately evident reason, the signature at the end of the Relación sucinta has been written over, as when one retraces the strokes and curves of a word to emphasize its contours, much as we do typographically with bold print. The effect is a stronger, yet less elegantly traced, signature in darker ink. A closer examination, however, reveals why this was done. Between and a change has been made to the name. Neither the original nor the alteration reads . The final sequence presents us with what was first altered to , to which a superscript was added as an afterthought to suggest the name’s unelided form, “de Alva.”  The fainter lines beneath yield, by contrast, , reflecting the “de Navas” in his father’s name, inherited from the latter’s mother (see the reference to an aunt, Marina de Nabas, in his father’s testament [AGN, Vínculos, tomo 232, f. 26r–32v, in ibid.: II, 341]). This patronymic element crops up in the name of his elder brother, don Francisco de Nabas Quetzatlmamalitzi (for Quetzalmamalintzin or Quetzalmamalitzin), as his father calls him in his testament (ibid.: 340), or don Francisco de Nabas y Peraleda, as his mother styles him in her own (AGN, Vínculos, tomo 232, f. 32r–33v, in ibid.: 347). If the historian is the one who penned ex-BSMS 374’s text of the Relación sucinta, as appears evident from a multitude of features in the manuscript, then the alteration must indicate a conscious decision to change his name. Three of his nine siblings are stated by their parents to bear the name “de Navas,” inherited from his father, while four are called “de Alva,” inherited from his mother. Evidently, the historian, his parents’ second-born child, decided at some point after drafting the Relación sucinta to replace this part of his name, and he altered his original signature to accommodate the change. Thus, it is probable that his childhood name was (similar to that of his elder brother) “Hernando de Navas y Peraleda.” It is curious that at no time does he or any of his siblings use his father’s primary surname, “Pérez.” Potentially, the name sequence available to the historian would have been “Hernando (or Fernando) de Navas Pérez de Peraleda Cortés de Alva Ixtlilxochitl.” However, an unwieldy chain of this kind, while not unheard-of in this period, was typically reduced for various purposes and in various contexts to a more manageable string, within the patronymic and metronymic subsets of which the elements could fluctuate in order. Thus, we find both “de Alva Cortés” and “Cortés de Alva” attested for our historian and his descendants. The variation in surname usage among

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members of the historian’s family underscores the dynamic nature of elite naming (both of oneself and of one’s children) in early New Spain and can be seen as an instance of what I would call identity styling. Why, then, did the author decide to include the indigenous metronymic in his signature? One likely reason has to do with the context. The Relación sucinta is described by the historian in his closing paragraph as extracted from the nine libros, or books (i.e., relaciones [accounts]), of the history he was still compiling. From a comparison of the contents, it has been argued that he was referring to the text known as the Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco (hereafter Compendio), which in its completed form consists of no less than thirteen relaciones. This text, which forms one of the three sections of ex-BSMS 374 that are in the historian’s handwriting, was written in support of legal claims that his beleaguered family was making as heirs of the royal house of  Tetzcoco and of the Acolhua lords of  Teotihuacan. Including his Nahuatl-based metronymic in his signature was a clear way of underscoring his direct descent from Ixtlilxochitl, king of  Tetzcoco and father of Nezahualcoyotl, and from Ixtlilxochitl, the Acolhua prince who became a key ally of Hernán Cortés during the conquest of Mexico. In honor of his achievements as a scholar of central Mexican Nahua history, and also for brevity’s sake, he will be referred to in the rest of this chapter simply as “Ixtlilxochitl.” 4

Ethnicity from the Perspective of Ixtlilxochitl We may now have a better understanding of his name politics, but do we have any way of judging how he perceived and presented his ethnic identity? It is an almost unanimous tendency in the academic literature to characterize the historian simply as a mestizo (e.g., León-Portilla 1963: xxi; Lockhart 1992: 513n162) or as “Mesticized” (Megged 2010: 70–71), and various far-reaching conclusions are usually drawn on the basis of this characterization. Most scholars use the rarely defined term mestizo generically to mean “person of mixed indigenous and Spanish origin.”  This generic usage is not in itself incorrect. The noun is, after all, derived from the verb mestizar ‘to miscegenate’ and is related to the general term for miscegenation, mestizaje, which is applied to all categories of interracial breeding. Nevertheless, it oversimplifies a more complex situation, and, as we shall see, it falsifies the manner in which Ixtlilxochitl and his family

The Identities of Fernando de Alva Ix tlil xochitl  35

saw themselves and were seen at the time. In one recent study, Ixtlilxochitl is introduced to us as “a mestizo historian from Tetzcoco” (Brian 2010: 124), but in reality he was neither a mestizo nor from Tetzcoco. Such use of the term mestizo is inexact, even anachronistic, and reflects more modern than colonial usage, including attitudes and assumptions about race in the contemporary United States and Mexico. Sixteenth-century New Spain, particularly its heartland, employed numerous terms to categorize (and stigmatize) race, and mestizo was just one of the convenient pigeonholes for classifying those issuing from miscegenation (see especially Chance 1978; Cope 1994; Lewis 2003). The offspring of marriage between a Spaniard and an indio or india was, indeed, a mestizo/mestiza in the narrow sense. But if a mestizo or mestiza married a Spaniard, the resulting child was known as a castizo/castiza. Technically speaking, Ixtlilxochitl, as the son of a Spaniard and a mestiza, was a castizo. Virtually alone in the scholarly literature up to now, Kathleen Ross (1996: 139) and Rocío Cortés (2008: 101) correctly state this fact. Furthermore, if a castizo or castiza had children with a Spaniard, the classification scheme would come full circle and the offspring would be regarded as Spaniards. Ixtlilxochitl had a father and grandfather who were Spaniards, and at least a couple of his siblings had Spanish spouses, which means that the family generation preceding his own, the one in which he and his siblings lived, and the one that followed them included Spaniards and Spanish in-laws. Thus, they were a Spanish-oriented elite—indeed, from more than one point of view a Spanish elite—but at the same time heirs to indigenous nobility, to the house of  Teotihuacan, over which his mother and elder brother presided. This would make them, viewed as a family at the time, every inch as Spanish as the condes and duques de Moctezuma have been from the colonial period down to the present day. Racial and societal classification was not simply an automatic, technical matter. It was often dynamic, influenced by various factors such as where one lived (e.g., in the capital or an outlying parish), with whom one associated, how one was employed, and the entire complex of familial, social, and political relationships in which an individual moved. By the end of the colonial period and the beginning of the national era, the three-way distinction between Spaniard, castizo, and mestizo seems to have lingered on only in Mexico City (see, e.g., the parish statistics given in González Navarro 1968). It is likely that a castizo elsewhere, even in the early colonial period, was often subsumed under a Spanish or mestizo identity, depending on the circumstances. For this reason, additional evidence is required in order to judge the status of our historian.

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There are two ways we can go about determining this. One way is to look for documents (ideally, legal papers) referring to the status of the family. The other is to examine statements made by Ixtlilxochitl in his writings. We are fortunate in having both. Indeed, we have sworn testimony by the historian concerning the status of his family. This is found in the judicial proceedings of 1643 on the question of whether the descendants of Juan Grande, who was the historian’s grandfather and a Spaniard, were also Spaniards. The investigating judge, almirante (admiral) don Andrés de Urbina Eguilus, sought to interrogate witnesses on the matter. In his statement on October 13 of that year, Ixtlilxochitl defends the Hispanic status of his family somewhat obliquely, emphasizing “no siendo indios los herederos” (since the heirs are not Indians) and a few sentences later, “se ha de entender no siendo de indios los dichos herederos” (justifiably since the said heirs are not [of the] Indians) (AGN, Vínculos, tomo 232, f. 632r–643r, in O’Gorman 1975–77: II, 356). The following day the admiral signed a judicial decree for the purpose of gathering information on how the heirs are Spaniards. He sought in particular documents backing the claim that “the heirs of the said Juan Grande who now possess the lands . . . are all Spaniards, as are doña Ana Cortés, daughter of the said Juan Grande, who was married to Juan Pérez de Peraleda, Spaniard, deceased . . . whose marriage produced children who [are] and whose descendants and heirs [are] all Spaniards” (ibid.: 358).5 The first witness, Diego Delgadillo, a Spanish farmer and resident of Ixtlilxochitl’s hometown, San Juan Teotihuacan, began his testimony by naming Fernando de Alva and his parents and siblings, all of whom he “has always regarded as Spaniards, which they are, along with the sons and daughters who have married Spanish men and women; the said Ana Cortés has given each one their legitimate share of the inheritance in lands and fields” (ibid.: 359).6 The next to be interrogated was Jerónimo Martínez, a Spanish scribe at the court of San Juan Teotihuacan, who testified in similar fashion that “the aforesaid [sons and daughters] and the offspring that some of them have had and have at present, grandchildren of the said Juan de Peraleda and his wife, and great-grandchildren of the said Juan Grande, are all Spaniards, descended from such, regarded and held as being such Spaniards” (ibid.: 360).7 The third to give testimony was Juan de Chávez y Soria, a Spanish resident of San Juan. Unlike his predecessors, Chávez argued that because the mother of Ana Cortés was an india, “all the aforesaid children of the said doña Ana Cortés are ultimately castizos” (ibid.: 361). For him it was not the collective identity of the family but rather the technical classification of the individual

The Identities of Fernando de Alva Ix tlil xochitl  37

that was salient. The same perspective was defended by the fourth and final witness, Diego de Yebra Turrillo, the Spanish son-in-law of Ana Cortés, whose children he “has regarded and regards as castizos” (ibid.: 362).8 What was the admiral to make of this? On October 17, Urbina Eguilus issued a judicial decree, announcing that “the record shows that the said heirs are Spaniards” (ibid.: 363).9 Technically speaking, of course, Ana Cortés, the mother of Ixtlilxochitl, was a mestiza; she was the daughter of Juan Grande, interpreter of the Real Audiencia, and of doña Francisca Verdugo Ixtlilxochitl, cacica principal (foremost lady) of San Juan Teotihuacan and the Nahua daughter of don Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalintzin (AGN, Vínculos, tomo 232, f. 21r–25v, in ibid.: 287–88). Here, however, the fact that both her father and her husband were Spaniards, and that she was a ruling noblewoman, seems to have overridden technicalities. Her children, including Fernando de Alva, were Spaniards by descent, marriage, association, and probably life-style. But are there any clues in Ixtlilxochitl’s writings as to his personal “ethnic” perspective? One approach would be to examine the manner in which he refers to Nahuas, commoners and nobles alike, and to Spaniards. In his study of the concept of “nation” in early colonial histories, Thomas Ward focuses on a single expression, “nuestra nación española” (our Spanish nation), found in chapter 90 of Ixtlilxochitl’s Historia de la nación chichimeca (O’Gorman 1975–77: II, 236), and argues that Ixtlilxochitl, as one of the “mestizo chroniclers,” was incorporating “old [pre-Cortesian] notions into a new construct know[n] as Spain” and that the latter’s “multiplicity of etnia [ethnicity]” was favorable to the “creation of a transoceanic nation that would quickly become the Spanish Empire, ‘nuestra nación española’ [our Spanish nation]” (Ward 2001: 231–32). Rather than inject too much into a single quotation taken out of context, let us review the manner in which Ixtlilxochitl employs the possessive adjective nuestro (our) and its relatives throughout his writings. Ixtlilxochitl speaks of “nuestros españoles” (our Spaniards) (O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 274, 287, 289, 309, 547; II, 214, 249); of Christian clergy as “nuestros religiosos” (our religious) (ibid.: I, 283); of the Gregorian calendar as “nuestra cuenta” (our reckoning) (ibid.: 304) and “nuestro calendario” (our calendar) (ibid.: 440, 463) in contrast to the indigenous system; of Spanish literature as “nuestras letras” (our letters) (ibid.: 413) in contrast to his iconographic-hieroglyphic “original historia” (original history); of Spanish measurements as “nuestra medida” (our measure) (ibid.: II, 93); and, finally, of the Spanish language as “nuestro romance” (our Romance language) (ibid.: I, 398, 422) and “nuestro vulgar castellano” (our common Castilian

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language) (ibid.: II, 132), into which he translates Nahuatl terms and phrases. These expressions are found throughout all five of his historical writings. In the Sumaria relación de todas las cosas que han sucedido en la Nueva España (henceforth Sumaria relación), Ixtlilxochitl writes, “And in the dry season, they would crown themselves with bunches of whitish [flowers?] that grow among the rocks, and on top a red flower, almost like the one we call amusga, which they call teoxuchitl, which means ‘flower of god’” (ibid.: I, 289–90).10 Here our author is clearly contrasting Spaniards (nosotros [we/us]), among whom he counts himself, with Nahuas (ellos [they/them]).11 A similar contrast is made when he describes the four councils of  Tetzcoco in the Relación sucinta: “The first [was] the government’s, where there were many people charged as officials for every matter, six nobles and six commoners, as among us [there are] judges, court sergeants, secretaries, and other royal officials, and a president” (ibid.: 406).12 When recounting the history of the Spaniards’ arrival in Mesoamerica and of their fateful march on Tenochtitlan, Ixtlilxochitl counts himself with the invaders even before they have reached central Mexico and gained Nahua allies, indeed, from the time of their first landfall. Thus, in his monumental final work, the Historia de la nación chichimeca, he relates how the Mayas on the island of Cozumel informed Cortés that “toward Yucatan there were also bearded men like ours” (ibid.: II, 195). Ixtlilxochitl recounts a battle in the Potonchan area shortly afterward and remarks that “sixty Spaniards were wounded, though afterward there were peace talks between our men and the natives” (ibid.: 197). Nevertheless, while Ixtlilxochitl consistently aligns himself with the Spaniards in contrast to naturales (natives) in general (i.e., excluding explicit references to lords and nobles) and to macehuales (commoners) in particular, there is one context in which a three-way distinction (Spaniards—we Acolhuaque—Mexica and other indigenous groups) emerges. Whenever he describes events involving his great-grandfather, the Acolhua prince Ixtlilxochitl and ally of Cortés, he employs nosotros (we) and nuestros (our) to associate himself with the latter and his troops, as in the following casualty report: “Many of our men and two Spaniards died” (ibid.: I, 459).13 The same is true of references to his noble relatives and ancestors. In the concluding words of the Sumaria relación, the historian complains bitterly of official injustice and lack of respect toward his family, despite the fact that we never made war on the Spaniards; instead, we have always obeyed them from the first day we heard the name of our lord the emperor . . .

The Identities of Fernando de Alva Ix tlil xochitl  39

And being, as we are, lords and natives, and senior to Mexico, . . . and being the

best Indians of New Spain, and those most entitled to be lords of what we had, . . .

all the towns and lands and authority that we had have been taken away from us, and they have only left us the principal city of  Tetzcoco. . . .

. . . After we were counted and the new rate assessed, not only are the com-

moners assessed to pay the aforesaid tribute, but all of us, the descendants of the royal stock, are equally assessed, against all justice, and we were given an unbearable burden. (ibid.: 392–93; all translations by Pablo García) 14

Here we have a rather complex situation. On the one hand, Ixtlilxochitl contrasts his lordly family with the Spaniards and, on the other, with the lowly macehuales. Yet in the same breath, he describes his family as lords and natives and as the best indios of New Spain, thus seeming to draw his family closer to the macehuales than to the Spaniards. This is, of course, a collective statement, not one that necessarily reflects his sense of personal identity. As we recall, in 1643 he declared before a judge that his family, the heirs of doña Ana Cortés, are definitely not indios. The solution lies in the temporal context. His phrase los mejores indios (the best Indians) is embedded in a reference to the past, to the state of affairs reigning when the Spaniards arrived, a time when the rebel prince Ixtlilxochitl was doing the Spaniards such great service. In his closing statement, however, he underscores the current status of his family as the descendants of royal stock. The present generations, the heirs of doña Ana, may now be Spanish, but at the same time they are also descended from indigenous royalty. Let us now return to the expression on which Ward based his thesis that mestizo chroniclers were in the process of developing a concept of transoceanic Spanish nationhood: nuestra nación española (our Spanish nation). What is the context of this expression? It occurs but once in the entirety of Ixtlilxochitl’s works, in chapter 90 of the Historia de la nación chichimeca, where the accession of Cuauhtemoc in 1520 is recounted. The historian describes how the newly elected emperor consulted with his partners in the Triple Alliance, Coanacoch of  Tetzcoco and Tetlepanquetza of  Tlacopan, on the best strategy for defeating the Spanish. They decide to offer perpetual peace and other benefits to provinces that had rebelled and gone over to Cortés and to “request their aid and assistance in destroying and eliminating our Spanish nation” (ibid.: II, 236).15 It is quite clear from this passage that we are not dealing with some burgeoning notion of nationhood, at least not of a Spanish one. On the contrary, we have here nothing more than a backward-looking reference to a plan to destroy the Spanish before

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they could leave their refuge in Tlaxcallan, still several months before the fledgling Spanish empire could establish itself in Mesoamerica. What is significant is only the clear identification of the historian with the surrounded and threatened Spanish. His targeted readership was Spanish, the language of his histories was Spanish, and his beleaguered family was now, in his eyes, Spanish. He may well have felt that his readers would note the parallel between the threat facing the Spanish in 1520 and that facing his own Spanish family a century later. His family had come to the aid of the beleaguered Spanish; perhaps his Spanish readership would recognize this and graciously return the favor.

The Languages of Ixtlilxochitl The next question we need to address is the matter of the historian’s language skills. It has often been assumed that Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, as the latter name might suggest, was a fluent speaker not only of Spanish but also of Nahuatl. From time to time, however, aspersions have been cast on both his command of Spanish and his command of Nahuatl history, and a general picture of unreliability has proceeded to dog the historian down to the present day. An examination of the Spanish in his works does indeed reveal no few idiosyncrasies and even grammatical errors, not to mention instances in which a sentence fails to make sense on a broader scale. I have been transcribing the originals in ex-BSMS 374 and preparing a thorough commentary of the manuscripts for publication. In the course of my study, I have ascertained that many of the grammatical errors and other linguistic oddities in the O’Gorman edition result from misunderstandings and misreadings by the eighteenth-century historian and collector Boturini, whose transcriptions, and the later copies derived from them, form the basis for the 1975–77 edition (the Bible Society manuscripts being unknown at that time). Boturini’s texts are excellent, but as I have determined, at many points he was evidently forced to guess at the correct reading of a word that disappeared into the binding or under an inkblot, or of a line that had faded at the bottom of a page, and at other points he seems to have been overwhelmed by tiredness or to have jumped a line to the same word further on—all of these the typical and time-honored outcome of endless hours of transcription of unfamiliar material. Ixtlilxochitl’s Spanish is, thus, when read from the originals, far more typical of his times than its reputation would allow. The orthography is variable.

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The letters b, u, and v, on the one hand, and c, s, and z, on the other, are used interchangeably for the same labial or sibilant consonant without regard for etymology, suggesting that our historian, unlike those educated in the orbit of the friars, had no Latin or familiarity with standardizing trends in Spain, as, for example, enshrined in the pioneering 1492 grammar and dictionary of Elio Antonio de Lebrixa (Nebrija). He was guided more by pronunciation than literature. His Sumaria relación, generally regarded as his first historical production, frequently breaks up words into syllables, with the consequence that an occasional syllable is repeated or dropped. Sometimes he writes the final syllable of one word in unbroken sequence with the initial syllable of the next. Punctuation is rare and irregular. Capitalization is uncommon both at the onset of a sentence and within, with a preference given to nouns beginning with r. In many respects, Ixtlilxochitl’s spelling patterns are reminiscent of those found in numerous legal documents in New Spain, suggesting that he was educated by someone working in, or in close proximity to, law and administration. This makes sense, given the fact that Ixtlilxochitl spent his adult life closely associated with these circles. He endured many years of strenuous litigation, defending the rights and claims of his family, and sought employment both as an administrator (e.g., as juez gobernador [judge governor] of  Tetzcoco in 1612) and as an interpreter. In this chapter, however, we are more concerned with the question of the historian’s command of Nahuatl, since this reflects on his ability to handle indigenous sources. Ixtlilxochitl rarely incorporates Nahuatl into his works, apart from a plentiful stock of (usually untranslated) indigenous names. These, of course, need reveal little about his knowledge of language and lexicon. Nevertheless, in one instance, he makes the surprising statement that “properly translated in our (Romance) language, Xolotl means eye” (O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 398),16 appearing to confuse īxtelolòtli ‘eye’ with xōlōtl ‘page, servant; dog (sp.)’ (see Karttunen 1983: 119, 330) (in this chapter I employ the 1645 orthography of Horacio Carochi). Throughout his works, the author follows standard practice in adapting Nahuatl nouns for members of political and ethnic groups to Spanish by adding the plural marker -s where a glottal stop would have been in the original: tultecas for tōltēcâ (or tūltēcâ), chichimecas for chīchīmēcâ, and tepanecas for tepanēcâ. It might, thus, seem only reasonable that we find huey tlapalanecas (O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 269; cf. the Sumaria relación original on f. 4r: ) for the inhabitants of Huei Tlapallan. However, the correct Nahuatl for ‘inhabitants of Huei Tlapallan’ would have been huēi tlapaltēcâ,

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yielding the Hispanicized huey tlapaltecas. Similarly, Ixtlilxochitl’s frequent aztlanecas (e.g., O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 305) for the inhabitants of Aztlan is in conflict with Nahuatl aztēcâ, which is not only well attested but also the only admissible derivative.17 Ixtlilxochitl appears to have correctly adapted Nahuatl forms familiar to him, such as the names of communities still in existence in the Valley of Mexico, but trips up when seeking to derive names of communities from mythical homelands, as in the case of Huei (or Huehue) Tlapallan, the alleged Toltec homeland, and Aztlan, the traditional homeland of the Mexica and other Nahua peoples. Apparently, at the time of writing, his command of indigenous traditions and linguistic forms was still tentative (see, e.g., his fluctuation between , which is inadmissible, and for Tlaloc on f. 6v of the Sumaria relación in ex-BSMS 374). In any event, it must be stressed that Ixtlilxochitl’s Spanish -(t)lanecas is an invention on the false analogy of -panecas. A further indication of the extent of Ixtlilxochitl’s language skills in Nahuatl at the time that he composed the Sumaria relación can be deduced from the manner in which he records higher numbers. Because the vigesimal system in Nahuatl is at odds with European numeration, which is decimal, any figures higher than nineteen require some mental gymnastics when being transferred from one system to the other. In the Sumaria relación we find several instances of such numbers. The first can be found toward the end of his Toltec history, the earliest text incorporated into the Sumaria relación. Our author describes there how a Toltec embassy was sent to the Gulf Coast, bearing a weighty, but nonetheless miniature, jewel-studded ballcourt as a present. The Nahuatl number and text, together with Ixtlilxochitl’s translation into Spanish, is cited here first as in the 1975–77 O’Gorman edition (I, 279), followed by my transcription of the original in ex-BSMS 374 for comparison (Sumaria relación, f. 11r; line divisions are marked with a diagonal slash). The number of bearers required for the transport is said to have amounted to no fewer than “onxi quipilitlacatl de los tultecas que son ciento ochenta hombres”

(onxi quipilitlacatl of the Toltecs, which is one hundred and eighty men)

(on xi qui pi li tla catl of the Toltecs, which is 18 thousand men)

The relative length of spaces between connected sequences in the original is only an approximation, to give the reader a rough idea of the points at which Ixtlilxochitl raised his pen and at which he recommenced writing. The briefer

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spaces (and, conversely, the lack thereof ) should not be understood as giving an impression of the author’s sense of word boundaries. They are more a reflection of the manner in which he sounded out the text in his head syllable by syllable as he formulated it or, more likely, as he copied it from an earlier draft. Although it seems clear that Boturini (whose text, as I have mentioned, underlies O’Gorman’s edition) took the line division to coincide with a word boundary and attached tla catl, translated as “[h]ombres” (men), to the numeral because of the ambiguity of the syllable breaks, there is a curious discrepancy in the Spanish translation that cannot so easily be explained. Neither 180 (in O’Gorman’s edition) nor 18,000 (in ex-BSMS 374) is an accurate translation of Nahuatl ōnxiquipilli tlācatl, which can be rendered only as ‘16,000 people’ (literally, ‘2 × 8,000 people’) (Karttunen 1983: 326). Evidently, a mistake made by the author was later compounded by Boturini. The original error may have involved nothing more serious than accidentally substituting “8” for an intended “6.”  To pursue the question of Ixtlilxochitl’s Nahuatl skills we will have to move on to even higher numbers. At the close of his Toltec history and at an early point in his Chichimec history, which forms the second part of the Sumaria relación, we come across a series of numbers tallying the casualties of the civil war that brought about the fall of the Toltec state and ushered in the Chichimec kingdom that preceded the rise of  Tetzcoco. These numbers are unusual in several respects: they are constructed in a fashion foreign to the Nahuatl from Ixtlilxochitl’s time down to the present, and they are translated as figures soaring into the millions. The numerical sequences, together with Ixtlilxochitl’s translations, are given again first as in the 1975–77 O’Gorman edition (I, 284), followed by my transcription of the original in ex-BSMS 374: 1. Loyalist losses:

“zenzon xiquilpiltzontli oquixtli zihuatl, que son tres millones y doscientos mil hombres y mujeres” (which is three million two hundred thousand men and women)

(which is three million two hundred thousand men and women)

2. Rebel losses:

“caxtol pohualtzontiquipilzotli tlacatl, que fueron dos millones y cuatrocientos

mil hombres” (which was two million four hundred thousand men)

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(which is two million four hundred thousand men)

3. Sum of losses on both sides:

“zentzon xipiltzontli y huan caxtol pohualtzontli, que son cinco millones y seis­ cientas personas” (which is five million six hundred people)

(which is five million six hundred people)

4. Refugees fleeing the Toltec capital:

“nauhtzontli y huan nauhpohuali on matlactli y huan ome oquixtli zihuatl, que fueron mil seiscientas doce personas” (which was one thousand six hundred and twelve people)

(which is 1,612 people)

The calligraphic neatness of the manuscripts, with very few subsequent (and then only cosmetic) alterations and additions to the wording per page, is an indication that the texts in ex-BSMS 374 are final versions of his works. In the above cases, there are only minor discrepancies in wording between the originals and the 1975–77 edition (the original’s [are] has twice via later copies become O’Gorman’s fueron [were]), but there are no other differences between the two versions, except in the areas of spelling and spacing. Thus, we can confidently assess Ixtlilxochitl’s statistics on the basis of either text. Obviously, these numerical expressions involve implausibly high casualty figures. But let us leave that issue aside and instead concentrate on how the expressions are formed, how they relate to standard Nahuatl expressions of the sixteenth century, and whether they correspond to their translations in the Sumaria relación. The Spanish numerals in examples 1 and 2 should add up to that given in example 3, and indeed they almost do. The sum should be 5,600,000, but Ixtlilxochitl has forgotten to include (or carry over from an earlier draft) the numeral mil, resulting in a total of 5,000,600 instead. So far, so good. The plot thickens, however, when we turn to the supposedly equivalent Nahuatl numerals. A comparison of these numerical expressions with what we know about Nahuatl arithmetic shows that not a single one of Ixtlilxochitl’s figures is correct as given. In standard orthography the problematical expressions would be as follows:

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1. centzonxiquipiltzontli, i.e., 1 × 400 × 8,000 × 400 = 1,280,000,000

2. caxtōlpōhualtzonxiquipiltzontli, i.e., 15 × 20 × 400 × 8,000 × 400 = 384,000,000,000 3. centzonxiquipiltzontli īhuān caxtōlpōhualtzontli, i.e., (1 × 400 × 8,000 × 400) + (15 × 20 × 400) = 1,280,000,000 + 120,000 = 1,280,120,000

4. nāuhtzontli īhuān nāuhpōhualli ommàtlactli īhuān ōme, i.e., (4 × 400) + (4 × 20) + 10 + 2 = 1,600 + 80 + 12 = 1,692

The first three figures are, as we know, interrelated. All three expressions are, however, impossible constructions in Nahuatl. The unit tzontli (400) cannot both precede and succeed xiquipilli (8,000) in the same nominal compound but only precede it. Thus, expression 1 should read centzonxiquipilli (1 × 400 × 8,000), which would indeed yield the expected 3,200,000 indicated by the Spanish figure. Expression 2 has an incorrect and superfluous tzontli unit both before and after xiquipilli. The phrase should read caxtōlpōhualxiquipilli (15 × 20 × 8,000), which yields the 2,400,000 indicated by its Spanish equivalent. Finally, expression 3 has an inadmissible tzontli unit suffixed to xiquipilli and to caxtōlpōhualli but is also a truncated sequence that is missing several units. This complex error can be rendered as follows, with incorrect additions struck out and missing sections placed within square brackets: centzonxiquipiltzontli īhuān caxtōlpōhual[xiquipilli īhuān cen]tzontli [īhuān màt-

lacpōhualli], i.e., (1 × 400 × 8,000) + (15 × 20 × 8,000) + (1 × 400) + (10 × 20) = 3,200,000 + 2,400,000 + 400 + 200 = 5,600,600

The resulting sum is neither 5,600,000, which should have been the total of Ixtlilxochitl’s Spanish figures for the loyalist and rebel losses, nor 5,000,600, the Spanish sum provided by the historian for the total of all casualties, but rather 5,600,600. The repeated insertion of an inadmissible tzontli unit in these expressions makes it appear rather probable that Ixtlilxochitl was not at home in Nahuatl arithmetic. Indeed, given the sweeping nature of these errors, it must be asked whether he was a fully fluent speaker of Nahuatl at all, something that could not simply be answered by reference to an official document in Nahuatl signed by our author, even if we had such an item from this period. As far as his arithmetic is concerned, he seems to have been unsure of himself with regard to the relative values of tzontli and xiquipilli, numerals that, even in the midseventeenth century, when Carochi was publishing his grammar, were still

46 Gordon Whit taker

familiar to fluent speakers. At the very least, we can deduce that Ixtlilxochitl was not used to calculating large numbers in Nahuatl and that this lack of experience led him to construct an artificial and meaningless compound, xiquipiltzontli. Such glaring, nonorthographical errors cannot be blamed on a copyist. They must have come from the pen of Ixtlilxochitl himself. Expression 4, a manageably small figure, totals the number of refugees fleeing the fall of  Tollan. Here again we see that Ixtlilxochitl’s command of Nahuatl arithmetic at this point in his life was not up to the elite standard of Tenochtitlan and Tetzcoco. While the units are given correctly, the connective particle between digits (īhuān instead of om-) is not. This nonstandard usage is attested in the Nahuatl of  Teotihuacan in the early twentieth century: matlaχtli uan ome (González Casanova 1922: II, 614). In the elite standard of Ixtlilxochitl’s time, expression 4 should read nāuhtzontli īhuān nāuhpōhualli ommàtlactli omōme (4 × 400) + (4 × 20) + 10 + 2 = 1,692

His Spanish translation is faulty. The number should have been ‘1,692’, not 1,612. He arrived at his figure by overlooking nāuhpōhualli ‘eighty’, possibly an oversight but nevertheless an indication of insufficient attention to detail on his part. Interestingly, at the level of this numerical expression in ex-BSMS 374, we find in the left-hand margin, apparently in his hand but at a later date (the ink is darker and the stroke thinner than in the main body of text), an equation that checks the accuracy of the Nahuatl expression: 1600 80 12 1692.

The marginal calculation was almost certainly added to the Sumaria relación manuscript after the text was complete. Nevertheless, despite Ixtlilxochitl’s discovery that his Spanish translation was in error, the text remained uncorrected. The historian was apparently reviewing the contents of the Sumaria relación while preparing his next text, the Relación sucinta, because four calculations of a similar type can be seen at the top of folio 1r of the Relación sucinta. Are Ixtlilxochitl’s figures perhaps just figments of his imagination? Certainly his grossly exaggerated casualty statistics suggest this. However, we should

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consider the possibility that Ixtlilxochitl had a hieroglyphic-iconographic pictorial before him that indeed gave some statistics for losses in Tollan’s civil war—statistics that he either had great difficulty interpreting or was attempting, awkwardly, to embellish.18 One reconstruction that delivers plausible figures would be as follows, with his conjectured embellishments struck out: centzonxiquipiltzontli = 8,000 loyalist casualties

caxtōlpōhualtzonxiquipiltzontli = 6,000 rebel casualties

centzonxiquipiltzontli īhuān caxtōlpōhualtzontli = 8,000 + 6,000 = 14,000 persons

nāuhtzontli īhuān nāuhpōhualli ommàtlactli īhuān ōme = 1,692 refugees

Note that Ixtlilxochitl betrays his inflationary manipulation of the figures in the way he repeats the numeral for the rebel casualties in his grand total: in the former instance he appears to have inserted pōhualtzonxiquipil, in the latter just pōhual. The figures as reconstructed above are, of course, unrealistically low for a civil war that lasted some three years, unless they tally only elite casualties. However, they stand now in far better proportion to the number of refugees given by Ixtlilxochitl for the same war. If these statistics derive from the lost hieroglyphic-iconographic Historia y crónica de los tultecas, seen and named by the officials of Cuauhtlatzinco and Otumba in 1608 as his source for this period,19 did he understand the exact context in which they occurred? The original figures could have referred to the results of a final battle, rather than the entire war. Indeed, this interpretation is supported by the following passage: “The battle lasted exactly three years, and on the last of these, since Topiltzin’s men had little food and support, and every day a great number of people came to join Topiltzin’s three rival lords, his forces were defeated and most of the people killed. Many Toltec matrons also fought very bravely in this battle, helping their husbands, dying, and defeating many of [the enemy]” (O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 281).20 This reference to the men and women who perished in the final onslaught may well be connected to Ixtlilxochitl’s casualty statistics, which specifically includes women in the tally, but this is speculation, since we unfortunately have no way of deciding the matter. A final example of a Nahuatl arithmetic expression is found in the second relación of the Historia chichimeca, the sweeping text that follows the Historia tulteca in the Sumaria relación. There, on folio 19v of ex-BSMS 374, we are informed that, after the disintegration of the Toltec state, Xolotl arrived in the Valley of Mexico with a host numbering (which is three million two hundred two thousand men and women) (cf. O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 292: “zezon xiquipiltzontli yhuan macuilzotli zíhuatl oquiztli, que son tres millones doscientos y dos mil hombres y mujeres” [which is three million two hundred two thousand men and women]). Once again, Ixtlilxochitl constructs the impossible compound xiquipiltzontli for what should have been simply xiquipilli ‘8,000’. If we delete the inadmissible -tzontli, the first number repeats the centzonxiquipilli ‘(1 × 400 × 8,000 =) 3,200,000’ that we encountered earlier in the statistics of  Toltec loyalist losses. To this a mere mācuīltzontli ‘(5 × 400 =) 2,000’ has been added, yielding centzonxiquipiltzontli īhuān mācuīltzontli = 3,202,000 Chichimec immigrants

However, the original number more likely would have been cenxiquipilli īhuān mācuīltzontli ‘10,000’. Discussion of Ixtlilxochitl’s Nahuatl would not be complete without an analysis of two short passages: one in the eleventh relación of the Relación sucinta (f. 4v), the other in chapter 32 of the Historia de la nación chichimeca. I confine myself here to an analysis of the former, because, unlike the latter, an excerpt from a xopancuicatl in an unknown scribal hand and of unknown origins and date, the Relación sucinta passage is at least in Ixtlilxochitl’s handwriting and thus is directly pertinent to the issue of how well the historian could navigate the waters of Nahuatl literature and lore. In the O’Gorman edition (1975–77: I, 404–5), the passage in question reads as follows: Ypan yn Chahconauhtla manpan meztica intloque nahuaque ypal nenohuani teyocoyani ic el téotl oquiyócox yníxquex quéxquix mita ynamota, which properly translated

means “beyond nine tiers is the creator of heaven and earth, by whom creatures live, and a single god who created all things visible and invisible.” 21

This garbled text has, in the above form, little in common with its purported translation. It appears to refer to a town (“Chahconauhtla”) and renders prominent by-names of the Nahua deity Tloque Nahuaque poorly as “ypal nenohuani” (for Ipalnemohuani) and “ic el téotl” (for Icelteotl). If we compare this with the ex-BSMS 374 original, however, a very different picture emerges: 22

In the normalized orthography of Carochi and with added punctuation, the Nahuatl would be as follows: īpan in chiucnāuhtlamanpan m[oy]etzticâ in Tloquê Nāhuaquê, Īpalnemohuani, Tēyōcoyani, Īcēlteōtl; ōquiyōcox in īxquich quēxquich mitta, in àmotta.

“Beyond the nine layers is the Lord of the Near and Nigh, the One through Whom there is Life, Creator of People, Sole God; he created all that is seen and unseen.”

As reconstructed, the Nahuatl is natural, fluid, and contextually appropriate and says pretty much what Ixtlilxochitl says it should say. If one looks more closely at the text of ex-BSMS 374, a few points do lend themselves to some criticism, however. First, he is a little free with his translation: “Lord of the Near and Nigh” and “Creator of People” are not really summed up in “criador del cielo y de la tierra” (creator of heaven and earth), nor is “the One through Whom there is Life” quite as limited in scope as “por quien viven las criaturas” (by whom creatures live) would lead us to believe. But these are minor quibbles. More significant are two morphological features in the text: the truncated form of the reverential copula ‘is’ and the nonstandard construction of the reflexive verb ‘is seen’. The reverential verb in its typical progressive form, as here, should be segmentable in Classical Nahuatl (that is, in the standard spoken in the former capitals, Mexico and Tetzcoco) as mo-yetz-ticâ. The lack of the vowel of the reflexive prefix and the initial consonant of the verb stem cannot easily be attributed to an error in copying (or composing), since then we should expect, in the light of Ixtlilxochitl’s syllabic writing practices, the sequence ye or yetz to have been accidentally passed over, not oy. It would seem that the young historian was not yet at home in constructing the complex reverential forms of Nahuatl verbs, as required in the elite speech of Acolhuacan. However, the form metzticâ does occur elsewhere. It is a dialect variant recorded, for example, in several unpublished Bible fragments of the sixteenth century and in the present-day speech of Zacatlan, Ahuacatlan, and Tepe-­ tzintla, northeast of the Valley of Mexico in Puebla (e.g., Liga Bíblica Internacional 2012: 8).23 In the Valley of Mexico, we find this reverential variant today in the informal speech of Santa Ana Tlacotenco (Catherine Whittaker, personal communication, January 13, 2015), contrasting with the formal moyetzticâ. It

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would not be surprising if it were to turn up as a nonstandard form in colonial texts from the Teotihuacan area as well. Similarly, Ixtlilxochitl seems unfamiliar with the standard, and certainly the Tetzcocan, reflexive form of the verb itta ‘see’, which should be mo-tta, not m-itta, from mo- + itta. Our historian vacillates uncomfortably between both eventualities, eliding the vowel of the prefix for the positive ‘is seen’ but the initial vowel of the verb for the negative ‘is not seen’. We may assume that the dropping of the prefix vowel in the reverential verb as well points to an uncertainty with regard to the rules of elision. It seems reasonable to conclude on the basis of the evidence evaluated so far that the historian’s command of the elite standard of  Tetzcoco was, at least when he was writing the Sumaria relación, somewhat less than that of a fluent speaker, who should exhibit an equal conversance with the various constructions, registers, and subsystems of Nahuatl. We can safely rule out once and for all the hypothesis put forward by Alfredo Chavero (1891–92: I, 462–64n2), followed to an extent by Henry Nicholson (1957: 185; 2001: 126–27), that our historian wrote his works in Nahuatl, that those manuscripts are now lost, and that the “defectos” (flaws) in the surviving manuscripts derive from the secondary nature of these materials. In this, as O’Gorman (1975–77: 122–23) rightly argues, the editor relies on one questionable assumption—that the interpreter of the 1608 certificate of authenticity issued by the town fathers of Cuauhtlatzinco and Otumba implicitly says as much. What the interpreter actually writes is, however, nothing more than “I, Francisco Rodríguez, the person charged with this transcription, transcribed it from the original” (O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 520). Regardless of how we take the noun trasunto and the related verb trasunté (as ‘copied, transcribed’, the usual sense, or as ‘summarized’), they are clearly referring to the 1608 document, not to the works of Ixtlilxochitl, let alone to a translation of the same. To complicate matters, on the heels of the 1608 endorsement, an acta (affidavit) of the ayuntamiento of  Tetzcoco was recorded in which it is explicitly stated that the interpreter “translated it from the Mexican language to Castilian” (ibid.: 521). The la (it) would appear to refer back to Ixtlilxochitl’s “history of the kings and native lords of this New Spain that he has written” mentioned just a few lines earlier, but because the affidavit states unequivocally that the interpreter is responding to an order by the town fathers in connection with their approval of said history (the Compendio), it would seem reasonable to conclude that the reference is simply to an authorized translation of their endorsement, not to a painstaking translation of the voluminous Compendio that it endorses. Had a

The Identities of Fernando de Alva Ix tlil xochitl  51

translation of this entire historia (history) been commissioned, the task would no doubt have required the undivided attention of the official interpreter for a period of several months, something that no official body could have afforded or would have condoned for a private work of scholarship.24 If taken out of context, one statement out of the mouth of Ixtlilxochitl would admittedly seem to lend support to those who, like Chavero and Nicholson, have taken for granted that the historian was from the beginning fully fluent in Nahuatl and thus could have composed his works originally in the language: “And truly, even having the histories in my possession, and knowing the language like the natives themselves because I grew up with it [O’Gorman: them], and knowing all the elders and notables of this land, writing this properly has cost me much labor and study, seeking always the truth of each thing I have written and will write in the history of the Chichimecs” (ex-BSMS 374, f. 17r [punctuation added]; cf. O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 288).25 However, just a few lines earlier, he confides with exemplary frankness (ex-BSMS 374, f. 16r [punctuation added]; cf. O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 287), “Others tell made-up fables as if the words were real and true, and others without understanding well the language or what the elders tell them, as has happened to me many times with the natives [despite] having been born and raised among them and being so well known by all the notables and lords [O’Gorman: foremost lords] of New Spain.” 26 Here we see that, although he grew up among “los naturales” (the natives), the young Ixtlilxochitl’s still imperfect knowledge of the language frequently hampered his communication with them.27 This honest researcher, however, went to great pains to overcome his handicap, double-checking his information and reconsidering his statements and data in successive works. On the authority of Boturini, O’Gorman (1975–77: I, 21, 230) estimates that Ixtlilxochitl was composing the Sumaria relación in the “primeros años” (early years) of the seventeenth century, when the historian, born in or around 1578, would have been in his early twenties. The Relación sucinta and Compendio, which followed a few years later, were complete by the end of 1608 (ibid.: 23). In these early days when he was just embarking on his quest to reconstruct the illustrious history of his beloved country and, by extension, of his family, his language skills in Nahuatl would still have been somewhat rudimentary or rustic. By 1640, however, after a lifetime of diligent engagement with the language and traditions of Acolhuacan, his command of Nahuatl had become fluent enough for him to take up a position as interpreter at the Juzgado de Indios (Indian Court) (ibid.: 31).

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Our historian would have been a different person in 1600 from what he had become by 1625, when he was working on his magnum opus, the Historia de la nación chichimeca (ibid.: 29), and beyond. During this quarter of a century, Ixtlilxochitl amassed an enormous and widely acknowledged competence as a historian of Nahua civilization, which would surely have entailed an intensive and long-term study of the vehicle of this civilization, Nahuatl. In the 1630s, his reputation in this area was already such that his much younger brother, the cleric Bartolomé de Alva, could cite his authority in terminological matters (Schwaller 1999: 13). Bartolomé’s own expertise in Nahuatl was excellent, as attested by the fact that he composed elegant (and extant) works in the language and served as one of the clerical examiners who endorsed the quality of Carochi’s 1645 grammar. Thus, we have reason to regard his elder brother Fernando by this time as also something of an expert on Nahuatl. Nevertheless, a revealing comment in a manuscript fragment attributed to Bartolomé suggests that his elder brother’s expertise may have been more lexical than literary. The marginal note reads, “Don Ferndo puts a glottal stop in teòcal; I don’t know why and I doubt it should be” (quoted in ibid.: 14).28 The commentator clearly regards a Nahuatl form teòcal (for ‘temple’) with a glottal stop as both puzzling and questionable. The first element in the Nahuatl term for ‘temple’, which is a transparent compound of teō- ‘god’ and cal- ‘house’, is indeed attested almost everywhere, and abundantly at that, in both free and bound form with a long vowel rather than a glottal stop. There is but one exception: its occurrence in the word for ‘temple’. No lesser an authority than Carochi records the term twice in his grammar with a glottal stop instead of a macron over the o, and the Bancroft Dialogues, which hail from his school, corroborate this with a further attestation (see Karttunen 1983: 227). We must, therefore, accept the validity of the unusual form teòcal-. The implication of the marginal note, then, is that the brothers Fernando and Bartolomé learned and honed their Nahuatl in different environments—the former in everyday exchanges and in interviews with elders, the latter in formal schooling, in which the term for ‘temple’ had long since been replaced by teōpan(tli) ‘church’, with its characteristic long vowel in the first element. The historian’s familiarity in the early 1600s with Nahuatl names is, as we have seen in the case of versus , somewhat shaky. This is probably due, on the one hand, to a lack of thorough education in the area of indigenous tradition and, on the other, to the fact that indigenous naming was moribund by this time. Thus, he can be forgiven for his occasional uncertainty

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concerning the correct form of a Prehispanic ruler’s or deity’s name, although it does come as a surprise that he should waver over the proper form for such a popular deity as Tlaloc, despite its somewhat opaque etymology. His rendition of the name of the most feared and infamous of Postclassic dynasts, Tezozomoc, which he renders sometimes as sometimes as , seems to hint again at his unfamiliarity with the names of a bygone era.29 Yet one must not forget that this name was borne by a contemporary and, indeed, a relative of his—the historian Hernando de Alvarado Tezozomoc. In some instances it appears probable that Ixtlilxochitl was uncertain how to best transcribe a name in a written source at his disposal. Thus, we find an unambiguous on folio 15r of the Sumaria relación for what was likely to have been the well-known Nahua dynastic name Xiuhtemoc, presumably written in the lost source. In the cursive style of the period, and indeed in Ixtlilxochitl’s handwriting, the letter c is sometimes elongated to the height and approximate shape of the letter l, so his mistake is understandable. Nevertheless, if he had known the name, he should have been able to detect the intended reading. We cannot rule out the possibility that other incorrect and inexact forms in his works derive from spellings taken from glossed pictorials and alphabetic texts of diverse origin.

The Hieroglyphic Skills of Ixtlilxochitl A thorough discussion of Ixtlilxochitl’s language competence should not confine itself to evidence bearing on his ability to speak and understand elite Nahuatl. It should also consider and evaluate his skills in reading and interpreting indigenous documents, both those containing Nahuatl names, words, and phrases in alphabetic texts and those displaying Nahuatl glyphic writing. Evidence for the former can be gleaned from spellings used by the historian that do not conform to his usual orthographic practice or that appear to misread a name or word (as in the example of above). Evidence for the latter can be acquired by examining the correspondence of Ixtlilxochitl’s versions of Nahuatl names to the hieroglyphic originals in identical contexts in his primary indigenous source, the collection of documents known today as the Codex Xolotl. Rather than discuss the relationship of Ixtlilxochitl’s readings to the glyphs of the Codex Xolotl, which is part of an ongoing project and will be dealt with elsewhere, I concentrate here on certain discrepancies in the Toltec history

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section of Ixtlilxochitl’s works, for which no original source material is known to be extant. I am referring in particular to the lost Historia y crónica de los tultecas, one of the two pictorials examined by the town fathers of Otumba and Cuauhtlatzinco in 1608.30 In his accounts of  Toltec history, Ixtlilxochitl enumerates the migration leaders of the trek from Huehue Tlapallan to Tollan, then lists the kings of  Tollan down to the civil war that brought about the collapse of the Toltec state. These names are found for the first time in the Sumaria relación and are repeated partially or entirely in all the historian’s subsequent works. Two things strike us when we examine these lists: first, there is precious little relationship between the Toltecs of Ixtlilxochitl and those named in other sources in connection with the Tollan Xicocotitlan of the Postclassic period, such as in the Codex Chimalpopoca and the works of Chimalpahin Cuauhtlehuanitzin; and second, Ixtlilxochitl’s names for the Toltec migration leaders and monarchs vary in significant, yet unexplained, ways from one work to the next. If we juxtapose the different versions of the lists in Ixtlilxochitl’s works, disregarding variation in their sequencing,31 these discrepancies become evident. For the purpose of this demonstration, I restrict my analysis to his list of migration leaders as given in the ex-BSMS 374 texts (see table 2.1).32 Some of the variation we see here is morphological (e.g., vs. ) or orthographical (e.g., vs. ) but minor, and need not concern us. Other discrepancies, however, are not so easily dismissed. Let us focus on the last three migration leaders. Note in particular the parallel sequences / and / in the Relación sucinta and the Compendio, respectively, documents drawn up in quick succession circa 1608. The Relación sucinta agrees with the prior Sumaria relación, whereas the Historia de la nación chichimeca agrees with the Compendio, so we must deduce that Ixtlilxochitl changed his mind about the reading of the names in his source after extracting the Relación sucinta from his Compendio material but before his draft of the latter took on its final form.33 But why would he have done this? The answer lies in the semantics of the names. “Tlapalhuitz” and “Huitz” are transparent and mean ‘Blood-Red Thorn’ and ‘Thorn’, respectively. “Tlapalmetzo(tzin)” and “Metzo(tzin)” are not quite as simple: ‘BloodRed (?)’ and ‘(?)’ (plus reverential). The Sumaria relación offers and ~ . The first would in this case mean ‘Blood-Red Maguey’. This suggests that the other variants also relate in some way to the semantic domain of maguey. As it turns out, meçotl occurs both in Alonso de Molina’s Vocabulario (1571: f. 55r) and in the Nahuatl of twentieth-century

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Table 2.1. 

Names of Toltec migration leaders in Ixtlilxochitl’s works

Sumaria relación

Relación sucinta

Compendio

Historia de la nación chichimeca

1

Acapichtzin (2r, 3r, 3v)

zaca (1r)

Acatl (2r)

Tlacomihua (2v) ~ Acatl (3r)

2

Chalcatzin (2r, 3r) chalcatzin (1r)

chalcatzin (2r)

Chalchiuhmatzopetz (3r)

3

eecatzin (2r, 3v)

eecatl (2r)

Heecatl (3r)

4

cohuatzon (3r, 3v) cohuatzon (1r)

cohuatzon (2r)

Coatzon (3r)

5

tziuhcohuatl (3r), ziuhcohuatl (3v)

tzihuaccohuatl (1r)

~ tziuhcohuatl (2r)

maçacohuatl (2r)

Tziuhcoatl (3r)

6

tlapalmetzin (3v)

tlapalmetzotzin (1r) tlapalhuiz (2r)

Tlapalhuitz (3r)

7

meçotzin (3r), metzotzin (3v)

metzotzin (1r)

Huitz (3r)

ecatzin (1r)

huitz (2r)

Teotihuacan (González Casanova 1922: 638) with the same meaning: ‘maguey seco’ (dry maguey). In the Nahuatl of present-day Tlacotenco (Milpa Alta, D.F.), mezotl specifically refers to the spiny ‘penca de maguey seco’ (dry maguey leaf ) (Inocente Morales Baranda, personal communication to Catherine Whittaker, January 30, 2015; see also metzolli ‘tronco de maguey’ [maguey stalk]). Ixtlilxochitl’s spellings with tz suggest confusion with metzolli. What, then, could have motivated this alternation in naming the same individual? Because Nahuatl me-, mezō-, and huitz- are distinct in form but related in meaning—assuming, of course, that ‘thorn’ refers to the thorny spike of the maguey, as was usually the case in Nahua life and ritual—we must look for the solution to our problem not in an alphabetic text but, with a high degree of probability, in a hieroglyphic rendition. As we know from the Matrícula de tributos and a host of other documents, the logogram for huitz- ‘thorn’ depicts a thorny maguey leaf, typically with a red (tlapal-) flank. Ixtlilxochitl was likely examining a pictorial document that recorded two successive leaders or lords by means of a thorn hieroglyph with and without a reddened flank. His uncertainty with regard to the exact form of the names in question surely hails from unfamiliarity with the oral tradition that would once have accompanied the manuscript. We must presume that he was unable to track down an authority capable of reading these names unambiguously. One explanation for this would

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be that the period covered by the pictorial manuscript was too remote to have constituted general knowledge in Ixtlilxochitl’s day. Let us now consider the name of the immediate predecessor of these three leaders. In Ixtlilxochitl’s earliest and latest works, the Sumaria relación and the Historia de la nación chichimeca, their predecessor’s name is recorded as “(T)ziuhco(hu)atl.”  This is a transparent compound of tziuh- ‘turquoise-browed motmot (bird sp.)’ (Sahagún 1963: bk. 11, p. 21) and cōātl ‘serpent’. In the Relación sucinta, however, his name is given as , the first element of which has no relationship, other than a fortuitous one, to the motmot: tzihuac- names a species of small maguey (Sahagún 1963: bk. 11, p. 218). Which of these two, then, was Ixtlilxochitl thinking of—a bird snake or a bush snake? Fortunately, the Compendio provides us with a means of resolving the dilemma. Here the historian presents us with an alternative name, (compounded with mazā- ‘deer’), ‘mazacuate (boa sp.; caterpillar sp.)’. This refers to a snake named after its diet, whereas the caterpillar “takes its name from its antler-like projections” (Karttunen 1983: 142). Both species are conventionally depicted with antlers in the Florentine Codex. The two alternative names put forward by Ixtlilxochitl must represent his attempts to read a single hieroglyph. The compound sign would have consisted of a serpent with excrescences on the head that reminded him on the one hand of a tzihuactli plant, on the other of a deer’s horns. Because he would have heard of the mazacoatl but perhaps knew that it lacked horns, he might have hesitated to read the sign definitively as such. A serpent living among the magueys would have seemed a more likely option. That he wavered back and forth between tziuh- and tzihuac- indicates some confusion on his part regarding the correct name of the plant. Nevertheless, his approach to deciphering hieroglyphs such as these, considering and reconsidering the options, is reminiscent of the manner in which modern scholars tackle the same challenge today. Analysis of the other discrepancies in naming Toltec personages reinforces these conclusions but will be discussed in a future article, so I confine myself here to the following brief observations. There are many such name alternations and oddities in Ixtlilxochitl’s interpretation of both the lost Toltec pictorial and the Codex Xolotl, all of which can be convincingly ascribed to difficulties in reading and rendering unfamiliar names and names of unfamiliar individuals. What they do reveal, however, is that the historian already possessed at the very beginning of his career, when he was in his early twenties, a good working knowledge of the principles of Nahuatl writing.

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The Sources and Sequence of Ixtlilxochitl’s Works We must deduce, then, that the historian acquired his knowledge of Prehispanic traditions less from hearth and home during his childhood and adolescence than from a careful adult reliance on manuscript sources and on consultations with select contemporaries possessing the information he sought. How did he go about this, and when did he embark on his quest to gather together and relate the historical traditions of his indigenous forefathers? The question as to the chronological sequence of Ixtlilxochitl’s first works, the Sumaria relación, the Relación sucinta, and the Compendio, remains to be resolved definitively. In his Catálogo del Museo indiano, Boturini (1746: II, §II, 1–2) lists in his section on Toltec history 1. Some historical accounts of the same nation on European paper, which I tran-

scribed myself from the original on 13 sheets. Their author [was] don Fernando de Alba Yxtlilxòchitl, one of the Tlatòques descended from the Chichimec

emperors of Tetzcùco. Said accounts were written around the year 1600 and were drawn by said author from the ancient Original Painting, which he possessed as

certified by testimony, though in spite of every effort I was unable to discover it.

2. There are also fragments of the same history in other accounts that said author

made for one of the viceroys of New Spain, and in his Sumaria relación of the Chichimec kings, which will be itemized later.34

There are several important pieces of information in this entry: 1. Boturini personally copied some relaciones históricas (historical accounts) from Ixtlilxochitl’s original onto thirteen folios.

2. These relaciones (accounts) were written “around the year 1600.”

3. Ixtlilxochitl extracted his Toltec data from an ancient pictorial document.35

4. Excerpts of the Historia tulteca are found in other accounts prepared by Ixtlilxochitl for an unnamed viceroy.

With regard to the first point, such a manuscript in Boturini’s hand is indeed known: it is preserved in the Ayer Collection of the Newberry Library as MS 1109.36 I have ascertained that the first thirteen folios of this manuscript

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reproduce entirely the Historia tulteca section of the Sumaria relación, including its afterword on sources. There has been much ado about the second and fourth points. As mentioned earlier, O’Gorman avers that the Sumaria relación as a whole was composed in the opening years of the 1600s, citing Boturini as his authority. This may, indeed, be an accurate interpretation, but we must keep in mind that Boturini is only specific about the initial section, the Historia tulteca. If Ixtlilxochitl penned the latter work around 1600, when he was no more than twenty-two years of age, then the latter study, and presumably the entire Sumaria relación, would constitute the first of his known scholarly writings, taken down before the Relación sucinta and the Compendio, which we know were complete, or nearing completion, in late 1608. This view, while widely shared, has not gone unchallenged. There is no controversy with regard to the date of the Relación sucinta and the Compendio, because the town fathers of Cuauhtlatzinco and Otumba were reviewing the latter in 1608 and Ixtlilxochitl tells us that the Relación sucinta represents a condensed version of the same: “I have drawn this account, most excellent lord, from the nine books I am writing” (O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 412).37 As for the brief Sumaria relación de la historia general de esta Nueva España and the voluminous Historia de la nación chichimeca, these are late works. O’Gorman (1975–77: 29) conjectures that the Sumaria relación was completed in 1625, in which year Ixtlilxochitl either began or resumed work on his magnum opus, the Historia de la nación chichimeca. In the present study, however, we are concerned only with the beginnings of the historian’s scholarly production. In the decade leading up to his arrest and expulsion from New Spain in 1743, Boturini succeeded in examining and copying some of the Ixtlilxochitl materials, including the Sumaria relación, which were at that time owned by the library of the Jesuit Colegio de San Pedro y San Pablo in Mexico City. Ixtlilxochitl’s papers, works, and other materials had been bequeathed by his son and heir, Juan de Alva (Cortés) Ixtlilxochitl, to the Jesuit historian Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, who in turn left his collection to the college. This was where another Jesuit scholar, Francisco Javier Clavijero (1964: xxxvi, 535), studied them in the late 1750s, before he was transferred to Puebla in 1761. O’Gorman makes a surprising assertion, on the alleged authority of Clavijero, in support of a date no later than 1603 for the Sumaria relación: “It is also necessary to note . . . the statement by Clavijero (who does not reveal its basis) to the fact that the accounts in

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that work were written by order of the viceroy [the] count of Monterrey, whose term of office ended in 1603” (1975–77: I, 230).38 If we examine Clavijero’s manuscript, however, we find that he says only that Ixtlilxochitl “wrote, urged by the viceroy of Mexico, some erudite and very worthwhile works” (1964: xxviii),39 failing to name the viceroy here or elsewhere. This appears to be no more than an echo of Boturini’s remark (see point 4 above), inflated into a generalized conjecture that the viceroy in question encouraged Ixtlilxochitl to take up his pen. A similarly undocumented claim to this effect is cited in an earlier, and unfortunately error-ridden, study of colonial-period indigenous and mestizo historians: “According to some, his works were written in compliance with an order from Viceroy don Luis de Velasco (1590–1595); according to others, from Viceroy don Gaspar de Zúñiga y Acevedo, count of Monterrey (1595–1603)” (Carrera Stampa 1971: 223).40 One wonders what might have allegedly driven Velasco to order a teenager from Teotihuacan to write historical treatises—Ixtlilxochitl would, after all, have been no more than twelve to seventeen years of age during the viceroy’s term of office! This spurious claim would seem to rest on the assumption that our historian was born in 1568, rather than 1578, yet Carrera Stampa, who acknowledges the correct date, neglects to comment on this and draw the necessary conclusions. Likewise, there is, to the best of my knowledge, no evidence for the assertion that Velasco’s successor, the conde de Monterrey, commissioned the Sumaria relación or other relaciones. While it is remotely possible that Clavijero had authoritative information on the inspiration behind Ixtlilxochitl’s historical studies, there is no known basis for the above-mentioned claims that Velasco or Zúñiga y Acevedo ordered Ixtlilxochitl to take up his pen and, thus, no viceregal terminus ante quem for the beginnings of the Sumaria relación project. Over the course of the past two and a half centuries, Boturini’s statement that Ixtlilxochitl prepared “otras Relaciones” (other accounts), but not the Historia tulteca, for one of the viceroys, and quite possibly on his own initiative, has transformed into a claim that he composed “algunas obras” (some works) only after being encouraged by the count of Monterrey (according to Clavijero) and in recent years has transmuted further into repeated claims that he wrote either “sus obras” (his works) not on his own initiative but in an act of obedience, under orders from one of two specific viceroys (per Carrera Stampa), or just “aquella obra” (that work), the Sumaria relación, under orders from the count of Monterrey (per O’Gorman). The source of Boturini’s reference to the viceroy is, however, found easily

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enough. The only text that Ixtlilxochitl says consisted of excerpts is the Relación sucinta, and at the end of that brief account we come across a telltale passage standing alone without a heading (f. 9v, below with punctuation added and word boundaries restored; cf. O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 412–13): I have drawn this account, most excellent lord, from the nine books I am writing about the events of the land from more than two thousand years ago to the

present time, drawn by according to the original history of the lords of this land, as I

have interpreted it, and as the elders, distinguished and learned individuals with whom I have

discussed it, have declared it to me; for to one who understands it, it is as clear as our letters.

[in left margin: I beg] and Your Excellency to accept this small service and

to remember the poor and descendants of these lords whenever your excellency

should write his majesty the king, my lord

receive favor and grace.

??? his majesty

his majesty, for by this we will

Your Excellency’s humble servant, who kisses your feet kisses your hands Don f do de e nabas alva yxtlilxuchitl 41

We see here all too vividly how Ixtlilxochitl struggled with this particular text, as well as with his identity. It is quite apparent that he prepared the Relación sucinta as a gift to the unnamed viceroy (the “ecselentísimo Sr” [most excellent lord]) in the hope that the latter would as a consequence be sufficiently well-disposed toward him as to intercede on behalf of his family in a letter to the king, so that property and privileges might be restored. There is no suggestion that the viceroy commissioned the Relación sucinta or was even aware in advance that it was being prepared. Ixtlilxochitl clearly agonized over the wording, trying to strike just the right accent and show appropriate deference, without appearing to grovel. The viceroy, incidentally, can now be identified. Because the Relación sucinta dates to around 1608, the viceroy would have been Luis de Velasco, who was in office for a second term from 1607 to 1611. Apart from Boturini’s brief remark on the dating of the Historia tulteca, made roughly a century after the death of Ixtlilxochitl and on the basis of a source or sources unknown to us today, we have little to aid us in resolving the chronological conundrum. One approach is to look for clues in the scanty biographical information Ixtlilxochitl provided on the experts on whose data he drew. Directly after concluding his Historia tulteca, the first of the two major parts of the Sumaria relación, Ixtlilxochitl names several key authorities

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(O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 285–86), at least one of whom was no longer living at the time of writing: 1. don Lucas Cortés Calanta (108 years of age!), the Tepehua lord of Conzoquitlan; 2. don Jacobo de Mendoza Tlaltecatzin (almost 90), a noble of  Tepepolco;

3. [don] Gabriel de Segovia Acapipiyoltzin (in O’Gorman’s list variously spelled “Acapipiotzin,” “Acapiotzin,” and “Acapioltzin,” age 88) of  Tetzcoco;

4. an unnamed noble (84) of Mexico Tlatelolco;

5. don Francisco Ximénez (80), lord of Huexotla; and

6. don Alonso Axayacatl Ixhuetzcatocatzin (“Alfonso Izhuezcatocatzin, y por otro

nombre Axayacatzin” [Alfonso Izhuezcatocatzin, also called Axayacatzin]), more than twenty years deceased at the time of writing), lord of Itztapalapan.

Calculating when the first section of the Sumaria relación was composed could be accomplished by reference to dated documents in which the age of one or more of these individuals is recorded. In his dissertation on Ixtlilxochitl and his works, Manfred Höhl attempts to do just that. Taking issue with O’Gorman’s (and, ultimately, Boturini’s) dating of the Sumaria relación to the “primeros años” (early years) of the seventeenth century, Höhl (1991: 38) notes that in the probanza (certification) of doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, the mother of Fernando de Alva, it is recorded that don Gabriel de Segovia Acapipiyoltzin gave testimony in September 1611. The legal papers (AGN, Vínculos, tomo 232, f. 66r–145r, in O’Gorman 1975–77: II, 294–333) include a brief reference to the age of each witness under the heading Generales, employing the formula “Regarding the general legal questions he said he was (or he is) around ___ years of age and (that) he is exempt from the general questions (and answers thus).”  The age of the twelfth witness, “Gabriel de Segobia, distinguished Indian from Tescuco [Tetzcoco]” is entered as “around eighty-seven years” (ibid.: 325–26).42 He is by far the oldest of those called upon to testify. Using this information as an anchor point, Höhl argues that if Acapipiyoltzin was eighty-eight years old at the time that Ixtlilxochitl concluded the Historia tulteca, then one can deduce that the historian finished this first section of the Sumaria relación in 1612. If this is true, then the Sumaria relación was written a full decade later than previously thought and was not the first but the third of his writings, after the Relación sucinta and the Compendio. But let us reconsider the information on the fourteen witnesses in the certification. For them the following ages are recorded: 52 (witness 6), 57 (10),

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60 (2 and 3), 65 (9), 70 (7, 8, and 14), 75 (1 and 13), 78 (4 and 11), 79 (5), and 87 (12). As we see, in eight of the fourteen instances the ages given are multiples of 5, suggesting that “poco más o menos” (around) is to be taken liberally rather than literally. In a ninth instance, the age is exactly one calendar round of 52 years, again suggesting an approximation. This leaves five instances, all ending in the upper digits 7, 8, or 9. As a whole, they suggest impressionistic ages, most given as Spanish renditions of Nahuatl “round” numbers—that is, of numbers constituting multiples of 5 or a full-year count (52). The remaining ages (ending in 7, 8, and 9) may be accurate assessments or, just as likely in this context, since they too are qualified as “poco más o menos,” rough indications of the high age of the witness. Seen in this light, the age recorded for Acapipiyoltzin does not alone and in itself force a readjustment of the conjectured relative chronology of Ixtlilxochitl’s works. Other evidence must be sought. Fortunately, we have concrete information on one other person named in the list of authorities: don Alonso (de) Axayacatl Ixhuetzcatocatzin. Because Ixtlilxochitl tells us that he died a little more than twenty years before the time of writing (“it must be about twenty-some years since he died” [O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 286]),43 a securely dated document recording his death would provide us with a fixed point for assessing the completion date for the Historia tulteca, though probably not for the Sumaria relación as a whole. I am not aware of the existence of such a document. However, two documents have been published that help us pin down this important date. One of them records the date of his testament as March 27, 1581, the other the titles of the foundation of a chaplaincy in Itztapalapan, dated March 7, 1583 (Monjarás-Ruiz 1980: 296, 313), in which Axayacatl is described as deceased. Thus, we know that his date of death lies somewhere between March 1581 and March 1583, a fairly small window. On the basis of this, the completion date for the Historia tulteca must have been somewhat later than 1601. We now have a precise terminus post quem but still lack a means of gauging the end date. Nevertheless, Ixtlilxochitl’s wording “veinte y tantos” (twenty-some) makes clear that the terminus ante quem lies before 1610, and probably several years before. Let us now examine the passage as it appears in ex-BSMS 374. Here on folio 16r we find, unsurprisingly, (it must be about 20-some). At least, this is what seems to be written. But if we look more closely, we discover that a diagonal line has been added to alter the “0” of 20 into 26. This implies that at some point after completing the Historia tulteca Ixtlilxochitl revisited his manuscript and altered the wording. As mentioned earlier, this

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occurs rarely in what must be the clean copy, not a draft, of the Historia text and then usually to elaborate on a phrase or replace it with a more felicitous one, rather than to add data. Although he did not strike out the word (some) or alter the ages of the other authorities named, our historian does appear to have paused while reviewing the manuscript and to have updated this particular entry. This suggests that the final review took place approximately twenty-six years after the death of Axayacatl—in other words, in or shortly after 1607. I have already mentioned that when Ixtlilxochitl reviewed his Nahuatl expression for the number of  Toltec refugees and discovered in his marginal calculation that he had erred, he left his translation of the expression untouched. This calculation in the Sumaria relación resembles others found on the first page of the Relación sucinta, a brief text that he describes as extracted from the Compendio. Given the fact that the Compendio was under review by the town fathers of Cuauhtlatzinco and Otumba in 1608, it would seem reasonable to infer that Ixtlilxochitl undertook a reexamination of the Sumaria relación in the process of preparing the new treatise. We can conclude, therefore, that the Historia tulteca was begun no earlier than 1601 and was last revised (probably with the remainder of the Sumaria relación) around 1607. A final puzzle remains. In his edition of Ixtlilxochitl’s works, O’Gorman (1975–77: I, 286) leaves one person unnamed in the list of key authorities at the end of the Historia tulteca, explaining in a footnote that this is because Boturini left a space blank where the name should be in the original. The unnamed source is referred to only as “another notable from Mexico Tlatelolco, called . . .” 44 Was the name in the original illegible or perhaps obscured by an inkblot? This was one of the first things I intended to resolve with the help of ex-BSMS 374. My hunch was that this set of documents contained the suspected original copied by Boturini. On examining the manuscript in question, I discovered to my disappointment that Boturini had copied not only what Ixtlilxochitl wrote but also what he did not write. The full passage reads as follows on folio 15v of the original (with punctuation added): Another notable from Mexico Tlatelulco called . . . aged 84 years, whose fore­ fathers and [their] descendants were historians from the city of Mexico, and

[who] still has many very ancient documents and records, which those who first

learned to write thereafter inscribed [O’Gorman: described], who [O’Gorman: and] also gave me many accounts that agreed with the original history that I have

in my possession.45

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There is indeed a blank space where the name should have been. Clearly, the author left this space, which is as long as the sequence (in my possession), for a reason. And this reason must still have been valid when he reviewed his manuscript during preparation of the Relación sucinta and the Compendio around 1607. Could he have forgotten the source’s name, or did he perhaps feel that the name was not important enough to mention? The first possibility is unlikely, given the fact that Ixtlilxochitl was not trying to recall the name of someone he had consulted decades earlier—the Historia tulteca was, after all, his first treatise, written while he was in his early twenties. The second is equally implausible. Ixtlilxochitl was quite diligent, unusually so for the time in which he lived, in naming the authorities and materials he drew from in drafting his histories. If he had not intended, or hoped, at some point in the future to reveal the identity of his source, he would not have bothered to leave (called) in the text. We must deduce that Ixtlilxochitl was well aware of the source’s identity but decided quite deliberately to withhold this information for the moment. What factor could have motivated such a decision? The most likely explanation is that he was protecting his informant, whose identity he had agreed to suppress so long as the latter, already quite advanced in age, was still alive and vulnerable. The information we are given on the source’s identity suggests that he possessed Prehispanic materials or texts of a potentially controversial nature on indigenous traditions. It is also possible that he worked closely with the Church, whose hierarchy might not have approved of his involvement in a project devoted to resurrecting the glory of the pre-Christian past. Given that Ixtlilxochitl was diligent in naming those whom he consulted and whose works he consulted, his protracted silence on one source’s identity can hardly be construed as indicative of a cavalier attitude toward accreditation. Who, then, could this nobleman have been? We know that many of the elite students educated in the second quarter of the sixteenth century at the Colegio de Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco worked closely with early missionaries, most notably with Bernardino de Sahagún. Some of these, such as Antonio Valeriano of Azcapotzalco, were as interested in their Prehispanic traditions as they were in their sponsors’ proselytizing efforts. After Sahagún’s monumental work on Nahua civilization, the Historia general de las cosas de la Nueva España, was confiscated in 1577 (see, e.g., Browne 2000: 24–34; Hidalgo 2006: 62–64), indigenous scholars involved in the project would have become acutely aware of the dangers, if not to life and limb then at least to one’s materials and writings, that association with

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such research posed for them. As Louise Burkhart notes, anonymity “shielded the Nahua scholars from ecclesiastical and civil authorities who might have challenged their participation” in the publication of religious works (1996: 71). One candidate emerges from the many students (listed in SilverMoon 2007: 201–38, esp. 214–16) known to have hailed from, or worked at, the college— Agustín de la Fuente. This scholar came from Tlatelolco, worked at the college, and collaborated with the friars Sahagún, Pedro Oroz, Juan Bautista, and Juan de Mijangos. Bautista explicitly praised de la Fuente, whom he called “Maestro del Colegio de sancta Cruz” (teacher at the Colegio de Santa Cruz) (1606: iv–v [prólogo, unnumbered]), as one of the greatest of scribes and as an erudite scholar of the Nahuatl language, adding in a marginal note that de la Fuente helped Bautista write, among other things, three comedias (plays), including one on the lives of saints. Ángel María Garibay states, unfortunately without documentation, that de la Fuente “was born in Tlatelolco around the time of the conquest, and died around 1610” (1971: II, 225).46 We know that he was still alive and thriving in 1607 because Juan de Mijangos, who published his Espejo divino in that year, names him as “corrector de la lengua” (language checker) and prays that God “le guarde muchos años” (may keep him for many years) (1607: 563). If de la Fuente was born between 1518 and 1521, he would have turned eighty-four at some point between 1602 and 1605, a time frame compatible with Boturini’s reference to the dating of the Historia tulteca. Because he was still alive when Ixtlilxochitl conducted his final revision of the Historia (around 1607), the space reserved for his name remained blank.

Conclusion In this brief study I endeavor to restore some color, depth, and perspective to the portrait of Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl. However, it goes without saying that his rich writings still have much to reveal about the complex personality and motivation of one of the foremost and influential historians of New Spain. What comes across clearly as one delves into his life and writings is the sincerity and intellectual honesty of a man torn between a colonial Spanish identity invested in the future of New Spain and, depending on the focal depth, an elite Nahua, Acolhua, and Teotihua identity devoted to reviving memory of the splendor of Prehispanic civilization at one end of the scale and of his ancestral lineage at the other.47 His desire to counter the distortions in the works of

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previous writers by offering his own account of central Mexican history based on documents and fieldwork (albeit introducing here and there fresh distortions of his own making) was tempered by an awareness of the limits of his own knowledge and abilities, as we see expressed at the end of the Historia tulteca (f. 16r [punctuation added]; cf. O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 287): I have read many histories by Spaniards who have written [about] the events of

this land, all of which are very different from what is in the original history . . . , and it doesn’t amaze me because, since they are offhand accounts, some say basket

[cesta] and others crossbow [ballesta], as they say, to say one thing they say another, some speaking from passion and others from prejudice, and others tell made-up fables as if the words were real and true, and others without understanding well the language or what the elders tell them, as has happened to me many times with

the natives [despite] having been born and raised among them and being so well

known by all the notables and lords [O’Gorman: foremost lords] of New Spain, Aculhua Chichimecs as well as Mexicans, Tlaxcaltecs, Tepanecs, and Toltecs, and

[from] other nations, and it is because, as I have said, some speak from passion and others from prejudice.48

At the end of the fourth relación (the fifth in O’Gorman’s edition) of the Historia de los señores chichimecas, which constitutes the second part of the Sumaria relación, Ixtlilxochitl sums up his work aptly in the following words (f. 27v [punctuation added]; cf. O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 306): This is the true origin [O’Gorman: original] of the lords of this land, drawn from

the original history and from the other particular ones and [from the] accounts that I have in my possession, as I have been able to draw it out and [as] the distinguished elders have declared it to me.49

Notes 1. Two such genitive-locative sequences could be joined by y with omission of the second de: thus, “de Navas” + “de Peraleda” will merge as “de Navas y Peraleda.” Names of this kind were imitated, and sometimes exaggerated, by the indigenous aristocracy of New Spain. An extreme instance of the concatenation of such sequences is the name of a village lord’s son encountered by

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Fray Domingo Navarrete on the road to Acapulco: “don Francis de Aragón y Portugal y Mendoza y Guzmán y Manrique y Campuzano” (Israel 1975: 42n70). 2. This former Bible Society manuscript, which was purchased by Mexico’s Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia on May 20, 2014, is actually a series of manuscripts of diverse origins, bound up in three 17th-century volumes. A thorough and accurate description of the contents of ex-BSMS 374 has been published by Ruwet (1997 [volumes 1 and 2, however, are mislabeled 2 and 1, respectively]). Volume 3 contains several works by Ixtlilxochitl’s contemporary, Domingo de San Antón Muñón Chimalpahin Cuauhtlehuanitzin (Schroeder 1997), in his own hand. Regrettably, the label Codex Chimalpahin, appropriate only in connection with volume 3, has been extended to include the first two volumes, which are the work and materials of Ixtlilxochitl. I am grateful to the (British and Foreign) Bible Society, Swindon, England, and especially to Allan Richards, for granting me permission to transliterate the works of Ixtlilxochitl and to Meg Ford of Christie’s of London for graciously offering me office space on my visits to London to work on the manuscript. 3. Angle brackets indicate quotations from the original manuscript. Quotation marks indicate quotations from published, often modernized editions of the text. 4. By the same token, Hernando de Alvarado Tezozomoc and Domingo (Francisco) de San Antón Muñón Chimalpahin Cuauhtlehuanitzin can legitimately be referred to simply as Tezozomoc and Chimalpahin, and indexed accordingly. These are their primary—indeed their only known—names in the indigenous tradition to which they dedicated their lives and work. 5. “Los herederos del dicho Juan Grande que hoy poseen las tierras . . . son todos españoles, como lo son doña Ana Cortés, hija del dicho Juan Grande que fue casada con Juan Pérez de Peraleda, español, difunto . . . de cuyo matrimonio quedaron hijos los cuales y sus descendientes y herederos todos españoles.” 6. “Ha tenido siempre por españoles, como lo son y los hijos e hijas que se han casado con españoles y españolas, la dicha Ana Cortés les ha dado la parte de la legítima que a cada uno le ha pertenecido en tierras y labores.” 7. “Los suso dichos y los hijos que algunos de ellos han tenido y tienen el día de hoy, nietos del dicho Juan de Peraleda y su mujer y bisnietos del dicho Juan Grande son todos españoles descendientes de tales, habidos y tenidos por tales españoles.” 8. “Todos los suso dichos hijos de la dicha doña Ana Cortés vienen a ser castizos”; “ha tenido y tiene por castizos.” 9. “Consta que los dichos herederos son españoles.”

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10. “Y el tiempo de secas, se coronaban con unos ramos que crían en las peñas blanquizcos, y una flor colorada al cabo casi a la que nosotros llamamos amusga, la cual ellos llaman teoxuchitl, que quiere decir flor de dios.” 11. This is highly reminiscent of similar contrasts in the Historia de Tlaxcala of Ixtlilxochitl’s immediate predecessor, Diego Muñoz Camargo, who speaks, for example, in book 1, chapter 16 (Vázquez 1986: 155–56) of “la carne de un pájaro que llaman pito en nuestra lengua [y] ellos lo llaman oconenetl, que comida la carne de este pájaro provoca a ver todas estas visiones. La misma propiedad tiene un hongo pequeño y zancudo que llaman los naturales nanacatl.” (The meat of a bird called “whistle” in our language; they call it oconenetl, for eating the meat of this bird causes one to see all these visions. A small long-stemmed mushroom that the natives call nanacatl has the same property.) 12. “El primero del gobierno, donde estaban muchas personas con cargas de oficios, de cada cosa, seis nobles y seis villanos, como entre nosotros, oidores, alcaldes de corte, secretarios y demás oficiales reales, y un presidente.” 13. “Hacia Yucatán había también hombres barbados como los nuestros”; “quedaron heridos sesenta españoles, aunque luego hubo tratos de paz entre los nuestros y naturales”; “murieron muchos de los nuestros y dos españoles.” 14. “Nunca dimos guerra a los españoles, sino que siempre los hemos obedecido, y desde el primer día que oímos nombrar al emperador nuestro señor”; “y siendo como somos señores y naturales, y primero que México, . . . y siendo los mejores indios de la Nueva España, y los que con mejor título éramos señores de lo que teníamos, . . . se nos han quitado todos los pueblos y tierras y mando que teníamos y nos han dejado solamente con la cabecera de Tezcuco”; “después de habernos contado y hecho la nueva tasación, no solamente están tasados los mazehuales que paguen el susodicho tributo, sino también todos nosotros, descendientes de la real cepa, estamos tasados contra todo el derecho y se nos dio una carga incomportable.” 15. “Pedirles socorro y ayuda para destruir y consumir nuestra nación española.” 16. “En nuestro romance bien interpretado, Xolotl quiere decir ojo.” 17. For a more skillful Hispanicization of Nahuatl gentilics, compare the writings of Diego Muñoz Camargo. 18. One such instance of inflationary figures that seems to reflect Ixtlilxochitl’s difficulties in interpreting, or accepting, indigenous statistics as recorded in a lost pictorial has been detected and discussed at length by Offner (1981: 53–58). 19. The cabildo officials proclaim in their testimonial (in O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 518), “Hemos visto cinco historias y crónicas de los dichos reyes y señores

The Identities of Fernando de Alva Ix tlil xochitl  69

20.

21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

antiquísimas, escritas en pinturas y caracteres sin otros muchos papeles y recaudos de donde se ha sacado la dicha historia y crónica; las cuales, la primera, se intitula la historia y crónica de los tultecas; la segunda, se nombra la crónica de los reyes chichimecas. . . . Estas dos crónicas referidas hay mucho tiempo que fueron escritas o pintadas.” (We have seen five very ancient histories and chronicles of the said kings and lords, written in pictures and symbols, besides many documents and records from which the said history and chronicle has been drawn, of which the first is titled the history and chronicle of the Toltecs; the second is called the chronicle of the Chichimec kings. . . . These two chronicles were written or painted a very long time ago.) The first of these pictorials was the basis for Ixtlilxochitl’s Historia tulteca; the second, his primary source for his Historia chichimeca, is known today as the Codex Xolotl. “Duró la batalla tres años justos, y al último de ellos, como los de Topiltzin tenían poco refrigerio y socorro y los tres señores sus competidores cada día se les venían grandes suma de gentes, fueron vencidos, y muerto casi toda la gente. En esta batalla pelearon también muy valerosamente muchas matronas tultecas ayudando a sus maridos, muriendo y venciendo muchos de ellos.” “Ypan yn Chahconauhtla manpan meztica intloque nahuaque ypal nenohuani teyocoyani ic el téotl oquiyócox yníxquex quéxquix mita ynamota, que bien interpretado quiere decir: ‘después de nueve andanas está el criador del cielo y de la tierra, por quien viven las criaturas, y un solo dios que crió las cosas visibles e invisibles.’”

I am very grateful to Uta Berger for access to this material, which she is in the process of preparing for publication, and for informing me of the modern occurrence of this variant. “Yo, Francisco Rodríguez, persona a quien se cometió este trasunto, lo trasunté del original”; “la traslade del idioma mexicano al castellano”; “historia de los reyes y señores naturales de esta Nueva España que tiene escrita.” (punctuation added).

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26. (punctuation added). 27. Thus, it is unwise to assume, as some do, an unqualified native-speaker competence for Ixtlilxochitl from childhood onward simply on the basis of his environment (discussed earlier in this chapter) and on the first of the above quotations. 28. “Don Ferndo pone saltillo en teòcal no se porque y dudo que se deva poner.” 29. This inaccuracy on the part of Ixtlilxochitl cannot be dismissed as a simple case of varying orthography— and represent autonomous phonemes in Nahuatl. The spelling of the name Tezozomoc with tz is, however, reminiscent of present-day hypercorrections such as “Netzahualcoyotl,” which can be attributed to a sense that is more exotic and thus more Nahuatl. 30. The certificate of the cabildo of San Salvador Cuauhtlatzinco lists among the source material presented by Ixtlilxochitl for examination “cinco historias y crónicas de los dichos reyes y señores antiquísimas, escritas en pinturas y caracteres . . . ; las cuales, la primera, se intitula la historia y crónica de los tultecas; la segunda, se nombra la crónica de los reyes chichimecas. . . . Estas dos crónicas referidas hay mucho tiempo que fueron escritas o pintadas” (five histories and chronicles of the said kings and lords, written in pictures and symbols . . . of which the first is titled the history and chronicle of the Toltecs; the second is called the chronicle of the Chichimec kings. . . . These two chronicles were written or painted a very long time ago) (O’Gorman 1975–77, I: 518). The first of these is the lost Toltec history pictorial, the second the Codex Xolotl. 31. The Sumaria relación has a rotating roster rather than a list. 32. Only some marginal annotations in the Historia de la nación chichimeca (HNC ) are in Ixtlilxochitl’s hand. None of these annotations, however, corrects the scribe’s rendition of the names of the migration leaders. In numerous instances, names in the texts appear in a somewhat different shape in the O’Gorman edition of Ixtlilxochitl’s works, but these are simply errors reproduced from a misreading of the originals by Boturini and Veytia and are not discussed here. The second half of the name Chalchiuhmatzopetz in the HNC is damaged at the upper fringe of the page and difficult to read, although all letters are at least partially visible.

The Identities of Fernando de Alva Ix tlil xochitl  71

33. The Compendio was about three-quarters complete at this time. 34. “1 Unas Relaciones Historicas de la misma Nacion en papel Europèo, que trasladè de proprio puño en 13. Fojas de su original, Autor de ellas Don Fernando de Alba Yxtlilxòchitl, uno de los Tlatòques descendientes de los Emperadores Chichimècos de Tetzcùco. Se escribieron dichas Relaciones por los años de 1600. y se sacaron por dicho Autor de la antigua Original Pintura, que tuvo en su poder, y consta de Testimonio, aunque por mas diligencias que hice no la pude descubrir; 2 Se hallan tambien Fragmentos de la misma Historia en otras Relaciones, que dicho Autor hizo à uno de los Virreyes de la Nueva España, y en su sumaria Relacion de los Reyes Chichimècos, que se referiràn despues.” 35. The original historia on which Ixtlilxochitl based his Chichimec accounts is still extant and known today as the Codex Xolotl (Dibble 1951). Whether his Toltec history was also based on such an original historia, now lost, has been a matter of some controversy, despite Boturini’s entry. Nicholson (1957: 184–85; 2001: 126) leans somewhat hesitantly toward the possibility of a “Toltec pictorial history,” but the issue has not until now received the attention it deserves. Aveni and Calnek (1999: 91–92 and n12 [brought to my attention recently by Jerome Offner]) have argued that astronomical data in the Sumaria relación must derive from a “now-lost pictorial text.” Nicholson, echoed later by Aveni and Calnek, sees a plausible reference to the latter in the 1608 certificate of authenticity issued by the cabildos of Cuauhtlatzinco and Otumba (O’Gorman 1975–77: I, 518), discussed above in the section on hieroglyphic interpretation, where I present arguments based on name variation in the works of Ixtlilxochitl for the existence of just such a pictorial (argued at greater length in Whittaker 2006 and forthcoming). 36. I am indebted to Jerome Offner, who kindly went to the Newberry Library and painstakingly photographed the Boturini manuscript for me so that I could compare it with what was then known as Bible Society MS 374. I am also very grateful to the Newberry for permitting photography of MS 1109. 37. “Esta relación he sacado, excelentísimo señor, de los nueve libros que estoy escribiendo.” 38. “También debe aducirse . . . la noticia de Clavigero (cuyo fundamento no expresa) relativa a que las relaciones de aquella obra fueron escritas por orden del virrey conde de Monterrey, cuyo mandato concluyó en 1603.” 39. “Escribió excitado por el virrey de México, algunas obras eruditas y muy apreciables.”

72 Gordon Whit taker

40. “Sus obras, según unos, fueron escritas obedeciendo una orden del virrey don Luís de Velasco (1590–1595); según otros, del virrey don Gaspar de Zúñiga y Acevedo, Conde de Monterrey (1595–1603).” 41. 42. “De las generales de la ley dijo ser (or que es) de edad de ___ años poco más o menos y (que) no le tocan las generales (y esto responde)”; “Gabriel de Segobia, indio principal de Tescuco”; “ochenta y siete años poco más o menos.” 43. “Habrá como veinte y tantos años que murió.” 44. “Otro principal de México [sic] Tlatelolco, llamado . . .” 45. 46. “Había nacido en Tlatelolco por los años de la Conquista, y murió por el 1610.” 47. At the international symposium “Mapping the Worlds of Sixteenth-Century Mexico” (Yale University) on September 16, 2006, I first proposed the Nahuatl construction “Teotihua” as an alternative to the hybrid “Teotihuacano” that has been current until now. This proposal has been adopted recently by Teotihuacan researchers Jesper Nielsen and Christophe Helmke of the University of Copenhagen. 48. (punctuation added). 49. (punctuation added).

Works Cited Aveni, Anthony F., and Edward E. Calnek. 1999. “Astronomical Considerations in the Aztec Expression of History: Eclipse Data.” Ancient Mesoamerica 10: 87–98. Bautista [Baptista], Juan. 1606. Sermonario en lengua mexicana. Mexico City: Diego López Dávalos. Boturini Benaduci, Lorenzo. 1746. Catálogo del Museo indiano. In Idea de una nueva historia general de la América septentrional, by Lorenzo Boturini Benaduci. Madrid: Imprenta de Juan de Zúñiga. Brian, Amber. 2010. “Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Narratives of the Conquest of Mexico: Colonial Subjectivity and the Circulation of Native Knowledge.” In The Conquest All Over Again: Nahuas and Zapotecs Thinking, Writing, and Painting Spanish Colonialism, edited by Susan Schroeder, 124–43. Eastbourne, UK: Sussex Academic Press. Browne, Walden. 2000. Sahagún and the Transition to Modernity. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Burkhart, Louise M. 1996. Holy Wednesday: A Nahua Drama from Early Colonial Mexico. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Carrera Stampa, Manuel. 1971. “Historiadores indígenas y mestizos novohispanos: Siglos XVI–XVII.” Revista Española de Antropología Americana 6: 205–43. Chance, John. 1978. Race and Class in Colonial Oaxaca. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Chavero, Alfredo, ed. 1891–92. Obras históricas de don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl. Facsimile reprint, 1965. Mexico City: Editora Nacional. Chimalpahin Cuauhtlehuanitzin, Domingo Francisco de San Antón Muñón. 1997. Codex Chimalpahin: Society and Politics in Mexico Tenochtitlan, Tlatelolco, Texcoco,

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Culhuacan, and Other Nahua Altepetl in Central Mexico. Edited and translated by Arthur J. O. Anderson and Susan Schroeder. 2 vols. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Clavijero, Francisco J. 1964. Historia antigua de México. Edited by Mariano Cuevas. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa. Cope, R. Douglas. 1994. The Limits of Racial Domination: Plebeian Society in Colonial Mexico City, 1660–1720. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Cortés, Rocío. 2008. “The Colegio Imperial de Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco and Its Aftermath: Nahua Intellectuals and the Spiritual Conquest of Mexico.” In A Companion to Latin American Literature and Culture, edited by Sara CastroKlaren, 86–105. Oxford, UK: Blackwell. Dibble, Charles E. 1951. Códice Xolotl. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas. Garibay, Ángel María. 1971. Historia de la literatura náhuatl. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa. González Casanova, Pablo. 1922. “El mexicano de Teotihuacán.” In La población del valle de Teotihuacán, edited by Manuel Gamio, vol. 2, 595–648. Mexico City: Dirección de Antropología, Secretaría de Agricultura y Fomento. González Navarro, Moisés. 1968. “El mestizaje mexicano en el período nacional.” Revista Mexicana de Sociología 30: 35–52. Hidalgo, Margarita. 2006. “The Multiple Dimensions of Language Maintenance and Shift in Colonial Mexico.” In Mexican Indigenous Languages at the Dawn of the Twenty-First Century, edited by Margarita Hidalgo, 53–86. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Höhl, Manfred. 1991. Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl y su obra. Colección Tesis Doctorales 205/91. Madrid: Universidad Complutense de Madrid. Israel, Jonathan I. 1975. Race, Class and Politics in Colonial Mexico, 1610–1670. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Karttunen, Frances. 1983. An Analytical Dictionary of Nahuatl. Austin: University of Texas Press. León-Portilla, Miguel. 1963. Aztec Thought and Culture: A Study of the Ancient Nahuatl Mind. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Lewis, Laura A. 2003. Hall of Mirrors: Power, Witchcraft and Caste in Colonial Mexico. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Liga Bíblica Internacional. 2012. In Yancuic Tlahtolsintilil: El Nuevo Testamento en el náhuatl de Zacatlán, Ahuacatlán y Tepetzintla. Electronic edition. Wycliffe and

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Liga Bíblica Internacional. www.scriptureearth.org/data/nhi/PDF/00-WNTnhi -web.pdf. Lockhart, James. 1992. The Nahuas After the Conquest: A Social and Cultural History of the Indians of Central Mexico, Sixteenth Through Eighteenth Centuries. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Megged, Amos. 2010. Social Memory in Ancient and Colonial Mesoamerica. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mijangos, Juan de. 1607. Espejo divino en lengua mexicana. Mexico City: Diego López Dávalos. Molina, Alonso de. 1571. Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana. Mexico City: Casa de Antonio de Spinosa. Monjarás-Ruiz, Jesús. 1980. “Sobre el testamento y la fundación de una capellanía por parte de don Alonso de Axayacatl cacique de Iztapalapa.”  Tlalocan 8: 289–321. Münch G., Guido. 1976. El cacicazgo de San Juan Teotihuacan durante la colonia, 1521–1821. Colección científica, historia no. 32. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Nicholson, Henry B. 1957. “Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl of  Tollan: A Problem in Mesoamerican Ethnohistory.” Doctoral thesis, Harvard University. ———. 2001. Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl: The Once and Future Lord of the Toltecs. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Offner, Jerome A. 1981. “On the Inapplicability of ‘Oriental Despotism’ and the ‘Asiatic Mode of Production’ to the Aztecs of  Texcoco.” American Antiquity 46: 43–61. O’Gorman, Edmundo. 1975. “Estudio introductorio.” In Obras históricas de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, vol. 1, 1–257. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. ———, ed. 1975–77. Obras históricas de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl. 2 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Ross, Kathleen. 1996. “Historians of the Conquest and Colonization of the New World: 1550–1620.” In The Cambridge History of Latin American Literature, edited by Roberto González Echevarría and Enrique Pupo-Walker, vol. 1, 101–42. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ruwet, Wayne. 1997. “Physical Description of the Manuscripts.” In Codex Chimalpahin: Society and Politics in Mexico Tenochtitlan, Tlatelolco, Texcoco, Culhuacan, and Other Nahua Altepetl in Central Mexico, edited and translated by Arthur J. O. Anderson and Susan Schroeder, vol. 1, 17–24. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

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Sahagún, Bernardino de, ed. 1963. Florentine Codex: General History of the Things of New Spain. Translated by Charles E. Dibble and Arthur J. O. Anderson. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. Schroeder, Susan. 1997. “Introduction.” In Codex Chimalpahin: Society and Politics in Mexico Tenochtitlan, Tlatelolco, Texcoco, Culhuacan, and Other Nahua Altepetl in Central Mexico, edited and translated by Arthur J. O. Anderson and Susan Schroeder, vol. 1, 3–16. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Schwaller, John Frederick. 1999. “Don Bartolomé de Alva, Nahuatl Scholar of the Seventeenth Century.” In A Guide to Confession Large and Small in the Mexican Language, 1634, by Bartolomé de Alva, 1–15. Edited by Barry D. Sell and John Frederick Schwaller, with Lu Ann Homza. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. SilverMoon. 2007. The Imperial College of Tlatelolco and the Emergence of a New Nahua Intellectual Elite in New Spain (1500–1760). PhD dissertation, Duke University. Ann Arbor, MI: UMI, ProQuest Dissertations and Theses. Vázquez, Germán, ed. 1986. Historia de Tlaxcala, by Diego Múñoz Camargo. Madrid: Historia 16. Ward, Thomas. 2001. “From the ‘People’ to the ‘Nation’: An Emerging Notion in Sahagún, Ixtlilxóchitl and Muñoz Camargo.” Estudios de Cultura Náhuatl 32: 223–34. Whittaker, Gordon. 2006. “Tollan in Memoriam: Reconstructing the Glyphs in a Missing 16th-Century Pictorial Manuscript.” Presentation given at the conference “Mapping the Worlds of Sixteenth-Century Mexico,” Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, September 15, 2006. ———. 2012. “Nahuatl Hieroglyphic Writing and the Beinecke Map.” In Painting a Map of Sixteenth-Century Mexico City: Land, Writing, and Native Rule, edited by Mary E. Miller and Barbara E. Mundy, 137–57. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. ———. 2014. “The Signature of Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl.” Mexicon 36: 69–71. ———. Forthcoming. “Tollan in Memoriam: Ixtlilxochitl’s Historia tulteca as a Possible Reflection of, and on, Classic-Period Teotihuacan.” In Teotihuacan: Medios de comunicación y poder en la Ciudad de los Dioses, edited by Ingrid Kummels and Nikolai Grube. Berlin: Lateinamerika-Institut; Bonn: Abteilung für Altamerikanistik der Universität Bonn.

3 Ixtlilxochitl’s Ethnographic Encounter Understanding the Codex Xolotl and Its Dependent Alphabetic Texts Jerome A. Offner

F

has suffered perennial criticism for local bias, internal and external source contradiction, and colonial influences in reporting the history of the well-known city of  Tetzcoco.1 In broader perspective, however, Ixtlilxochitl’s insight into indigenous, particularly Nahua, historiography is unsurpassed among his contemporaries, as evidenced by his richly nuanced analysis and presentation of the most extensive surviving pictorial Nahua history, the Codex Xolotl (Códice Xolotl 1951).2 More careful attention to the nature and substance of the ethnographic encounter that Ixtlilxochitl enjoyed with indigenous peoples for many years will improve understanding of this remarkable man’s accomplishments.3 ernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl

Understanding the Codex Xolotl The Codex Xolotl, located in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, is composed of ten painted, thickly populated planchas measuring approximately 48 centimeters by 42 centimeters, the reverse of plancha 1,4 and three fragments, all on indigenous paper, or amatl.5 The most recent study of the codex is found in Eduardo de J. Douglas’s conservative work, In the Palace of Nezahualcoyotl

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(2010). Although many investigators of  Tetzcoco cite this presentation of the Codex Xolotl, many aspects of the codex, either scarcely considered by investigators or of longstanding scholarly consensus, need correction, reconsideration, and further investigation. Douglas allows for two Codex Xolotl scribes at most (ibid.: 26; cf. Offner 2014a: 56n23) despite the differences in styles among various components of the codex. Even a cursory examination reveals different plancha borders (figure 3.1), different renderings of mountains, caves, and other landscape and lakeshore details (figure 3.2), different execution, arrangements, and clustering of glyphs (figure 3.3), and other indications of multiple scribal hands, particularly when comparing the lower-numbered to the higher-numbered planchas. In addition, I share Marc Thouvenot’s view (1987: 37–38; cf. Douglas 2010: 201n24) that the fragments are from another document, but I would also encourage research into whether Fragments X.011 and X.012 may be from a second document and Fragment X.013 may be from a third document.6 The three fragments may constitute evidence of other workshops—perhaps limited to the Basin of Mexico, perhaps not—executing such documents.7 Douglas’s presentation of the fragments as “radical pictorial experiments” (ibid.: 20) becomes less probable as their narrative content and substantive details are studied more intensively (figure 3.4, and see below).8 The stains, folds, and other damage to the Codex Xolotl remain inadequately analyzed from a codicological point of view. They indicate that various planchas or groups of planchas had different storage histories before and after their assembly into what we know as the Codex Xolotl, although the known separate Double-line border, X.020, upper left corner. See also figure 3.5. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.1a. 

Single-line border, X.060, lower left corner. See also figures 3.6 and 3.8. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.1c. 

Figure 3.1b. 

Single-line border, X.012, right margin. See also figure 3.4. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Lake detail, X.010. Note holes in amatl. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.2a. 

Lake detail, X.040. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.2c.  Lake detail, X.030. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Lake detail, X.012. Note hole in amatl. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.2b. 

Figure 3.2d. 

Figure 3.2g.  Acolhuacan, X.040. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Acolhuacan, X.020. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.2e. 

Acolhuacan, X.050. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France. Figure 3.2h. 

Figure 3.2f.  Acolhuacan, X.030. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Acolhuacan, X.060. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.2i. 

Glyph grouping, X.010. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.3a. 

Glyph grouping, X.070. The Codex Xolotl contains the longest strings of Nahuatl glyphs known. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.3b. 

Detail of X.012. Note the vertical watercourses arising in the mountains. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.4. 

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  81

Detail of X.020 showing kin relationships of Chalchiuhtlanextzin (arrow). Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.5. 

history of X.020 and X.030 in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (ibid.: 20) complicates the analysis considerably. For example, X.010, X.012, and X.020 exhibit evidence of horizontal as well as vertical folding; Fragment X.011 shows a horizontal fold; and X.030 may have also been folded.9 In addition, content analysis suggests that X.020 (figure 3.5), with the predominant attention and emphasis it gives to the tlacamecayotl of the rulers of Cuauhquechollan, much like X.012 (see figure 3.4), may be descended from earlier copies that do not ultimately originate in Tetzcoco.10 The unique double-line border (with a thick and a thin line) of X.020—the border of X.010 is unfortunately totally destroyed— also argues for a separate origin of this plancha’s predecessor documents.11 The age and style of each plancha of the codex need reconsideration. If, as Douglas (ibid.: 204n45) says, only the representation of corpses is left as an

82  Jerome A . Offner

argument for its being postcontact, I have “proven” elsewhere (Offner 2011) that the codex is precontact. The representation of corpses, with exposed faces but also with headcloths, is unlikely to be postcontact, because it is deeply embedded in indigenous Tetzcocan concepts of ritual and liminality, involving installation of rulers, priests, corpses, and headcloths. Douglas’s argument concerning the depictions of corpses in the Codex Xolotl rests only on their different appearance in other codices.12 Nevertheless, the Codex Xolotl has several other distinctive elements. For example, among the depictions of hands in it, there are many with hanging fingers accompanying a pointing finger along with an element that resembles knuckles (several are visible in the various figures in this chapter). This form appears to be without precedent in Mesoamerican art, but neither does it appear Western.13 In addition, the featherwork device cozoyahualolli, which appears in the Codex Xolotl in two key places, is used in Tetzcoco to signal the status of legitimate successor to rulership, but it is not used in that manner in the remainder of the Basin of Mexico, where it indicates only Chichimec status or prowess.14 The events in the codex end in 1431, and its content may—and probably does—contain numerous features based on older conventions. The dating of the various planchas and fragments is, however, more complicated than the depiction of corpses, with my current estimation being that the various physical elements of the codex are perhaps exclusively postcontact but certainly of different ages and that their content is reflective of conserved scribal conventions reaching far back in time. The members of the Codex Xolotl Project proficient in the Complutense school of codicology will doubtless expand and correct these observations in the coming years. Finally, the narrative structure of the Codex Xolotl is not complete and does not flow smoothly. This is not entirely accidental but is reflective of the Nahua historiographic process. The precontact tlacuiloque (highly skilled artists, historians, historiographers, geopolitical analysts, performers, advisors, and more [Offner 2012, 2014a]) were on call by the ruler’s court and perhaps by others to produce documents for a variety of purposes. The documents gathered and assembled to create the Codex Xolotl were based on adaptations of adaptations— of unknown fidelity—of such documents stretching back across the contact boundary to before the long series of events in the codex that ends in about 1431. The production expense invested and the important information recorded in these documents suggest that the tlacuiloque reused, repurposed, or created new versions of single or multiple documents for specific purposes and audiences, as requested, from collections available to them, whether personally, as a group, or from the royal archive of  Tetzcoco (destroyed during a looting of  Tetzcoco

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  83

by allies of the Spanish). It is important to realize the rich store of aesthetic, historical, oral, and performance choices the tlacuiloque had to choose from to maximize the impact of their work on their various audiences.15 They could draw upon a vast cloud of written and performance information and methods to describe, appraise, celebrate, advise on, or warn against destinies being woven by or for their audiences. Their deliberations and results became the many painted works with accompanying performance components that were copied, adapted, and elaborated on as the predecessors to the Codex Xolotl. Indeed, the Codex Xolotl fragments, even if all from Tetzcoco, argue for the diversity of possible models for the tlacuiloque to bring into play as the need arose. The Codex Xolotl is not a unitary work. It is instead a collection of documents of a similar form. Nor is it a Western narrative book to be “read” from beginning to end.16 It contains planchas of differing ages, based on predecessor documents of differing origins and purposes that were themselves gathered for unknown precontact purposes. These predecessor documents were the basis for postcontact documents that were again gathered and probably again repurposed in the chaotic immediate postcontact decades to form what we now call the Codex Xolotl. There is also the possibility that new documents or new parts of predecessor documents were created postcontact from oral information. Thus, modern notions that the Codex Xolotl was somehow entirely composed after contact for a specific colonial agenda have vanishingly small probability. One of the most important questions regarding the Codex Xolotl remains: What was it for? 17 The predecessors of its constituent documents most likely did not all have the same original purpose. The final section of the codex (X.101) has become more comprehensible recently and may serve to provide a purpose to certain of the later planchas that fits more a precontact than a postcontact agenda.18 This does not preclude, however, a different purpose or purposes for the assembly or serial assemblies, by unknown parties, of X.101 and its related documents in the postcontact period into the larger collection we now call the Codex Xolotl.19 Consequently, assumptions or statements concerning the intentions or goal of “the Codex Xolotl” as a unitary object with single intentionality in either the precontact or the postcontact period need careful evaluation. In addition, the use that writers of alphabetic texts—as well as those who presented it to such people—made of the Codex Xolotl later may also be different. We cannot at this point be certain what goals, public or private, the original postcontact gathering or gatherings of the documents that we call the Codex Xolotl served, nor can we be certain how and why informants explained the codex to those who wrote alphabetic texts, nor can we be certain of how those writers reacted

84  Jerome A . Offner

to and interpreted what they were being told. Our best chance of resolving or at least further defining these matters is a close study of the Codex Xolotl and the many ways its derivative alphabetic texts depend on it. Overall, the point is that the Codex Xolotl bears only an extremely limited resemblance to the Western concept of an alphabetic book, with respect to its origins, composition, uses, or purposes, and we cannot confidently tie the gathering together of its physical elements in its present state to specific precontact or postcontact agendas. These shifting frames of reference and uncertain chains of custody of knowledge, some barely discernible if not invisible to us, make what appears to be a simple and conventional task of writing alphabetic texts commenting on alphabetic texts based on the Codex Xolotl a much more uncertain enterprise than many have perceived it to be. This complicated, multicultural, multimedia history cannot be telescoped down to a “single” Codex Xolotl serving as the source for a body of alphabetic texts without the quality of historiography suffering. In the same way that Western scholars have underestimated the diversity and complexity of the Codex Xolotl, they also continue to underestimate how the Codex Xolotl transmits its meaning. Although glyphs in the Codex Xolotl are numerous, they do not carry the burden of the meaning of the codex but form only a subsystem within a highly sophisticated indigenous graphic communication system of systems that includes semasiographic components as well (Mikulska, forthcoming). The Codex Xolotl is, in addition, related to other subsystems within the overall Nahua historiographic system that generated significant oral and performance elements, of which only scant traces remain in the dependent alphabetic sources and which varied according to the audiences and purposes for the uses of its constituent documents. Thus, claims that this or similar documents were “in effect translated” (Douglas 2010: 20), transliterated (García Loaeza 2014: 232),20 or otherwise read and recorded alphabetically glyph by glyph or “layer by layer” (Megged 2014: 171) only serve to underline investigators’ misapprehension of such documents and their content and intent, along with investigators’ equally misplaced confidence in the ability of alphabetic text to capture the full meaning of such documents or of Nahua historiography per se.21 Explicit Western recognition of, and inquiry into, the concept of Nahua historiography has developed in recent years (Diel 2008; Offner 2012, 2014a: 44–50; Peperstraete 2007; Townsend 2009), in contrast to an earlier aggressive imposition of Western categories and methods, exemplified by Susan Gillespie’s The Aztec Kings (1989), concerned primarily with the invalidation of the content of indigenous history. Historiography is clearly a complex, longstanding, and

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  85

sophisticated cultural expression that will require inquiry and analysis for some time. As with all attempts to impose or privilege Western methods, classifications, or descriptors on Nahua culture (e.g., books, writing, gender, religion, and political economy), the Nahua concepts corresponding to history and historiography exhibit an array of differences from, as well as commonalities with, Western notions that render such efforts nonproductive and ethnocentric. Current research tends instead toward the discovery, recovery, and comprehension of indigenous categories, methods, and practices, producing findings that in turn invalidate these earlier Western claims of invalidation and knowledge while improving understanding of indigenous history, historiography, and culture. More specific than these general methodological problems is the fact that criticism of Ixtlilxochitl has been founded in the supposed inerrancy of Tenochcan sources or deference to Spanish colonial historiography as somehow superior to indigenous historiography. Nevertheless, Sylvie Peperstraete’s recent study (2007) of the premier Tenochcan source, Crónica X, has exposed it as filled with the biases, contradictions, and formulaic history typical of other sources of the period. As for Spanish historiography, a comparison between Ixtlilxochitl’s (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77) and Torquemada’s (1969) understanding of the Codex Xolotl neutralizes any perceived need to privilege such Spanish colonial writers. In addition, perhaps it still needs to be noted that the colonialist missionary Juan de Torquemada filled many pages of book 1 of his work with attempts to integrate Christian mythology with ancient and emerging scientific understanding and misunderstanding about the nature and history of the world, and these efforts continued throughout his work. He also professed belief in a living and active devil fighting an often puzzlingly inert or testing God, with the devil being especially active—and successful—among those not like Torquemada and his fellow Spaniards and colonists.22 This partially digested welter of conflicting facts, errors, and influences, representative of  Western historiography of the time, certainly provided no logically consistent or exemplary historiographic model for Ixtlilxochitl to emulate. Ixtlilxochitl’s work, therefore, cannot be understood in the conventional historical or literary ways as alphabetic texts to be interpreted in the light of other alphabetic texts. It is instead a simultaneous effort on his part to distill an enormously complex alien historiographic heritage and to reconcile it with a significantly defective yet hegemonic colonial historiography, further limited by its nearly exclusive use of alphabetic text. Certainly, Torquemada exhibited considerable sensitivity to these issues, but the content of the Codex Xolotl

86  Jerome A . Offner

makes clear that Ixtlilxochitl, with his longer period of fieldwork and more secular and indigenous bent, was more accurate and successful in this pursuit. To comprehend Ixtlilxochitl’s and Torquemada’s works, we also need to understand portions of two additional alphabetic texts—themselves dependent on pictorial sources, perhaps the same as the Codex Xolotl or perhaps only related or parallel to it: small portions of the Nahuatl-language Anónimo Mexicano (2005) and brief passages in the Nahuatl-language Anales de Cuauhtitlan (Bierhorst 1992a: 46–51; 1992b: 83–90).23 Within Ixtlilxochitl’s text, Patrick Lesbre (1995) has found traces of an earlier source, most likely written by Alonso Axayacatl and drawing from a variety of sources. The dependence of these alphabetic texts on the Codex Xolotl, especially when the codex is considered in its full multimedia ethnographic context, provides the ideal laboratory for the exploration of Nahua historiography, and careful attention to this surface—this ethnographic interface—both promotes understanding of the indigenous reality and serves to more accurately constrain contemporaneous misinterpretations in, as well as modern misinterpretations of, the dependent alphabetic sources. It is also the indispensable laboratory for the study of Ixtlilxochitl: the sole still-extant circumstance in which we can contemplate the pictorial and, to some extent, the oral and performance evidence along with the alphabetic evidence, to determine how one was derived from the other, not only by him but also by others. Only through a close study of the ethnographic encounter between Ixtlilxochitl and his indigenous sources, centered on the Codex Xolotl interface, can we appreciate Ixtlilxochitl and his accomplishment and optimize our chances of adequately understanding and writing about the past, particularly the works of Ixtlilxochitl. Does incomplete understanding of the content or nature of the Codex Xolotl matter? Would greater familiarity with these enhance current research on it or on Ixtlilxochitl? I can briefly present two examples. Leisa Kauffmann (2014) brings a promising analytic literary approach to one of Ixtlilxochitl’s texts, which relates the announcement of a new governmental order and a “dead or alive” reward for Nezahualcoyotl to the conquered people of  Tetzcoco and their allies by a captain or herald of  Tezozomoc of Azcapotzalco.24 Her approach, however, would profit from consideration of details of the relevant scene in the Codex Xolotl (X.080, upper right [figure 3.6]). Ixtlilxochitl relates, The second measure that he carried out was to order that all the noble and common people of all the republics and all the cities, towns and places which were of

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  87

The young Nezahualcoyotl listens to Tezozomoc’s captain announce the new order of things. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.6 

the patrimony of the empire be gathered together on a plain that lies between the city of  Tetzcuco and the town of  Tepetlaoztoc, and climbing atop a cu and temple (which was in the middle of that plain), a captain said loudly in both the

Chichimeca and Tolteca languages (which at that time were spoken generally

throughout the empire) that from that day henceforth they were to recognize as their emperor and supreme lord king Tezozomoc of the Tepanecs and that they

were to come to him with all the rents and tributes belonging to the empire, and

not to any other province, on penalty of death; and if they were to find Prince Nezahualcoyotzin, they were to seize him and bring him dead or alive into the

presence of  Tezozomoc his master that he might reward those who might do him

such a service. To all of this, Prince Nezahualcoyotzin listened from a rugged hill, which was nearby and was called Cuauhyacac, and therefore he sought to live with discretion and caution, forsaking his homeland. This happened in the last days of 1418. (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 50–51 [this and all subsequent translations are mine]) 25

Kauffmann says, Nezahualcoyotl, from a hiding place on the summit of a hill, watches Tezozo-

moc, who is standing on top of a temple between Tetzcoco and Tepetlaoztoc, pronounce a death sentence against him. . . . Here, the contrast between the hill and the temple seems to imply a distinction between the “fabricated” power of

88  Jerome A . Offner

the illegitimate usurper of the Acolhua ruler’s authority and Nezahualcoyotl’s

“authentic” rulership of the altepetl (the Nahua city-state). In addition, Nezahualcoyotl’s perspective from the mountaintop makes him an omniscient witness to his own fate but also transcendent over that of  Tezozomoc . . . , a characteristic embodied by Tezcatlipoca, known for his ability to determine (and reveal) the fates of people and empires, as we will see below. (2014: 72)

The actual pictorial content that Ixtlilxochitl knew is different. The herald (not Tezozomoc, who is absent from the scene), holding two spears or arrows and a special staff, stands on an apparently abandoned temple (with its two elements of tlachinolli) along with an element along the bottom for tolin (reeds), quite possibly an allusion to Toltec, and therefore ancient and authentic, power. Ixtlilxochitl, however, does not mention either the signs of abandonment or the possible legitimizing Toltec element on the temple. It can also be pointed out that Cuauhyacac (or Quauhyacac), which Ixtlilxochitl does mention, is both presented and glossed in the Mapa Tlotzin as the place where the founding migration leaders Amacui, Nopal, and Tlotli first settled before dispersing respectively to Coatlichan, Huexotla, and Oztoticpac (Aubin 2002: 71; see below). It is also depicted several times in the Codex Xolotl and is therefore an important place for Nezahualcoyotl to be located. The herald is drawn higher than Nezahualcoyotl, who is shown in clear view on top of the hill, above his “tutor,”  Tehuitzilihuitl, watching him closely (shown by two eye symbols for tlachia [observes]) and weeping, alone among all others in the scene. Ixtlilxochitl’s assertion that the herald spoke in both “Tolteca” (Toltec, Nahuatl) and “Chichimeca” is supported by glyphs attached, in addition to name glyphs, to the two representatives of the city of  Tetzcoco, which may indicate as well that they are the only ones among the newly subjugated leaders of other cities allowed to answer him (and their rulers [see below]) in the codex.26 The overall scene composition presents the new superior lords representing the Tepaneca, Mexica, and Tlatelolca issuing commands, but the content of the herald’s speech is not otherwise specified, except perhaps by Nezahualcoyotl’s attentiveness and weeping. As can be seen in this comparison with the Codex Xolotl, Ixtlilxochitl makes important choices of inclusion and exclusion in constructing his text in this passage, and Kauffmann’s interpretation of his resulting text could be augmented through reference to the Codex Xolotl. Pablo García Loaeza’s recent (2014) discussion of Ixtlilxochitl’s handling of the descent of  Tetzcocan rulers would also benefit from a greater understanding

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  89

of the Codex Xolotl, as well as Nahua culture and ethnography. His arguments concerning Ixtlilxochitl’s use of the European concept of tracing descent in the male line to the most distant ancestors and the possible intrusion of this concept into the Codex Xolotl might have been made more efficient by referencing the work of H. B. Nicholson on the history of  Tollan.27 In his 1957 dissertation, published with a limited number of additional comments in 2001, Nicholson observes (2001: 123) that a list of early rulers found in Ixtlilxochitl’s Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 421) comes from what Nicholson calls the Juan Cano relaciones (Nicholson 2001: 8–12), also known as the Relación de la genealogía and the Origen de los mexicanos, published by García Icazbalceta in 1891 under the title Varias relaciones antiguas (ibid.: 8; Varias relaciones antiguas 1891: 263–80, 281–307). Nicholson asserts, “From internal evidence, it is known that the account was prepared in 1532 by unnamed Franciscan friars at the petition of Juan Cano, one of the primeros conquistadores, to legitimatize, by tracing her pedigree back to the Creation, the claims of his wife Doña Isabel (Tecuichpo, the famed, oft-wed daughter of Motecuhzoma II) to what he considered her lawful patrimony” (2001: 9). Thus we know already that the Spanish were using this technology by 1532 to generate claims to property and status by using indigenous sources, including pictorial sources, and that, based on the similarities in the list of rulers alone, Ixtlilxochitl probably knew of this practice.28 Because he had his own pictorial and different source on Tollan, however, Ixtlilxochitl mentions the list only peripherally in his early Compendio work. And his Toltec source, as presented in the early pages of his Sumaria relación de todas las cosas que han sucedido en la Nueva España, begins with the descent of the rulers of  Tollan through a deliberately imported Chichimec male, traced then through an initial female Toltec link in a line that includes a four-year rule under a ruler’s wife (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 272) and an illegitimate link—hardly an idealized Iberian sequence. This less-thanideal pattern is similar to the later version in the Historia de la nación chichimeca (ibid.: II, 10–11), in which the illegitimacy issue remains and the four-year rule by a succeeding queen is mentioned without any special explanation, and to the report in the Compendio (ibid.: I, 419), which also tells of the imported Chichimec male and illegitimacy. Nevertheless, García Loaeza cites a passage from my 1983 book regarding cautions about “the indigenous and colonial historiographic process” in Tetzcocan sources, both indigenous and alphabetic, and my statement that “they remain a valuable record of what the Texcocans themselves, both pre-colonial

90  Jerome A . Offner

and post-colonial, viewed as significant in their history and imperial development ” (Offner 1983: 19) so that he can assert, “If so, pre-colonial interest in legitimacy and lineage is remarkably similar to that found in medieval Europe” (García Loaeza 2014: 231). I can observe here that acquaintance with world history and social anthropology would indicate that the desire for parents to transmit property by inheritance and status and office by succession to their children is very likely a human universal and that concerns regarding lineage and legitimacy have not been limited to the Iberian Peninsula or Europe in human history, nor should the existence of joint depictions of rulers, their genealogies, and the land require European inspiration in what would then have to be a somehow oddly lacking Nahua culture. The problem, however, is more involved than this, in that García Loaeza is too much influenced by Ixtlilxochitl’s (and Torquemada’s) presentation of the Codex Xolotl to discern its complicated messages on kinship and descent or filiation.29 The central fact is that there is no evidence in the Codex Xolotl that Nopaltzin is the son of Xolotl. If we disregard the alphabetic sources and appreciate the messaging of the codex removed from later interpretation, it depicts a typical migration group of seven, of which two leaders are the most important, coming into the Basin of Mexico. We see such patterns in the Códice de Xicotepec (Offner 2010), in which the two important leaders found Cuauhchinanco and Xicotepec, and in Ixtlilxochitl’s reports of the Toltec migration from Tlapallan (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 265–68, 418–19).30 The kinship relationship between the two leaders is not specified in any of these three reports.31 Migration leaders can also come in other numbers—three or six, for example. As mentioned above, the Mapa Tlotzin depicts six migration leaders. Among the three men, one is Nopal, one is Tlotli, and the third is Amacui. Xolotl is absent.32 Again, if attention is paid to what is presented in the codex, rather than to the alphabetic texts or glosses written on top of it, no filiational link is shown between Amacui, Nopal, and Tlotli—nor do the glosses claim any links. Although García Loaeza cites Susan Spitler’s view (1998) on the Tetzcocan “streamlined genealogy” in the Mapa Tlotzin, it should be mentioned that in her very brief article she does not in fact deal with the most basic issues of generational continuity, while also confusing depiction of succession to office with genealogy.33 The cave for Oztoticpac, to which the familiar ruler names of  Tetzcoco are appended, has two married couples in it, Tlotli and Quinatzin along with their wives, although the precise linkage between Tlotli and Quinatzin requires an unrecorded story involving Tlotli (with a smaller male

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figure underneath him, probably Tecpoyo Achcauhtli, judging from the hairdo) calling his son’s name to his wife holding an infant in the cave depicted on the extreme right (cf. Mapa Quinatzin, leaf 1, lámina q1 in Mohar Betancourt 2004). Other than this, there are no genealogical links shown, merely a succession of rulers to office up to colonial times, rendering claims about a “streamlined genealogy” baseless. Additionally, the caves for Huexotla and Coatlichan contain only one married couple, and there is a visual impression that a married couple is missing nearer the top of each of these two caves. The gloss near Cuauhyacac states that Nopal went to Huexotla and Amacui to Coatlichan while Tlotli went to Oztoticpac. The cave at Huexotla contains Tochinteuctli, which agrees with the Codex Xolotl (X.030.B.26), if not the Primeros memoriales (Sahagún 1997: 53r). The Coatlichan cave, however, omits Tzontecoma and his wife and includes only the next generation, Itzmitl and Malinalxochitzin, the parents of Huetzin (X.020.C.20 and C.23). Thus, these cities’ succession histories are detached from the migration leaders, while Nopal is not shown as Tlotli’s father, and Nopal is assigned to a founding role that is invisible in the codex presentation and specified in the gloss as related to the least important city. And the matter gets more complicated, as the pictorial-based founding stories of nearby Coatepec and Chimalhuacan in their compound relación geográfica each tell of three founding brothers, perhaps accompanied by three unmentioned founding wives (Relación de Coatepec y su partido 1905).34 For Coatepec, they are Totomihua Chichimecatl, Aculhua, and Acatonal (ibid.: 41). Huehue Totomihua rules first, followed by his brother Acatonal and then by Acatonal’s son and others in a not-unbroken chain of succession with some formulaic reign lengths (ibid.: 50–51). At Chimalhuacan, the brothers are Huaxomatl, Chalchiuhtlatonac, and Tlatzcantecuhtli (ibid.: 65), who succeed each other with descent thereafter traced through a first cousin at one point and again with some formulaic reign lengths (ibid.: 70–71). The situation at Chicualoapa, also in the same relación, seems simpler, with a single founder, Apaztli Chichimecatl, who left no successor. But he comes from Chicomoztoc, which may indicate a seven-leader migration tale, and he is a descendant of the ruler of Coatlichan (ibid.: 80, 82–83). Thus, both in Tetzcoco and in neighboring towns, claims of descent from migration leaders and founding ancestors were made in different ways (cf. Townsend 2009). We know that Ixtlilxochitl and, earlier, Torquemada both reported Nopaltzin as having been Xolotl’s son, but the relationship of Nopaltzin and Xolotl in the Codex Xolotl is not specified and has to be considered in the context of other migration presentations in other codices, extant or as reported in alphabetic sources.35

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In the same way, acquaintance with Nahua kinship assists in understanding the content of X.020; merely citing sources on kinship does not substitute for the ability to recognize it in action. This plancha features what may be our earliest and best depiction of a Nahua tlacamecayotl, which, curiously, is most centered on Cuauhquechollan, Puebla, and in which there are not only filiational but also many other kinds of kinship links in which Tlotzin and the future ruler of  Tetzcoco, Quinatzin, are enmeshed. Many of the same features are also seen in X.012.36 The central figure in the tlacamecayotl may be Chalchiuhtlanextzin, also called Chalchiuhtlatonac (X.020.D.31). We learn from X.010 (Códice Xolotl 1951: 23, 31) that his father and father’s brother were born in Tlatzalan Tlallanoztoc but migrated to Cuauhquechollan after visiting other Toltec towns. They practiced their crafts of precious stone working and goldsmithing in their new town. The son Chalchiuhtlanextzin is shown establishing his own town, said to be Tlalmanalco, just south of Chalco, in the alphabetic texts (ibid.: 32; e.g., Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 299); this is indicated by a bold line. If we use the tlacamecayotl concept in this instance as personal kindred tracing outward from him as “ego” 37 and pay attention to bold lines, we see that one of his sisters married the ruler of Colhuacan and another gave birth to a ruler in Cholollan. Two of his daughters were married to two of the original six followers of Xolotl at Mamal(i)huazco; they produced the wives of a later ruler of Acolhuacan and of  Tlotzin. A third daughter became the wife of the founding ruler of Acolhuacan. A dark line unites the first several children of  Tlotzin. Other dark lines show the marriage of his father’s brother’s daughter to a person off the plancha, while a wife is brought in from Xaltocan for “Chalchiuhtotemotzin” of Chalco Atenco. Finally, we see the wife of Nopaltzin arriving from a damaged portion of the plancha (Códice Xolotl 1951: 32–33). Thus, X.020 treats movements of women for marriage with bold lines along with Chalchiuhtlanextzin’s founding of his town (and the tribute imposition for Huetzin by Xolotl and Nopaltzin). At Chalchiuhtlanextzin’s feet we see perhaps why bold lines involve him so frequently—there is the symbol for his craft as a tlacuilo.38 Later, we learn from X.040.B.27 that the Tetzcocan scribes, the tlailotlaque, come from Chalco (figure 3.7).39 Except for X.012, no other page of the Codex Xolotl except X.020 traces genealogy or marital alliance in this way,40 and it, or they, may well be based on predecessor documents from the Chalco region. The Mapa Tlotzin also illustrates the influence of Chalco on Tetzcoco via Tlatzalan Tlallanoztoc. In addition, Fragment X.012 (see figure 3.4) shows Nopaltzin and Xolotl observing a kinship grouping already in place at Acolhuacan (without a glyph,

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  93

The tlailotlaque depart from Chalco on the way to Tetzcoco. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.7a. 

The tlailotlaque arrive at Techotlalatzin’s Tetzcoco. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.7b. 

but see below), with Nopaltzin looking over his son’s (Tlotzin’s) family nearby. The reception of the leaders of the three ethnic groups by Xolotl and Nopaltzin on X.012 is also noteworthy because Huetzin is already noted in a glyph attached to Tzontecoma and an Acolhuacan glyph. Further, although Nopaltzin is shown in subordinate poses in X.010 and X.030, he is not shown in such poses in X.020, with its unique border (or in X.012).41 Even in such poses, he is shown speaking. Throughout the codex, all such situations of political subordination involve mutual speech, while the one case we have of a father speaking to his sons in the codex, where Tezozomoc warns his sons about Nezahualcoyotl (X.080.D), shows the sons, on the point of succession, in a subordinate posture confronted with a veritable cloud of nine speech scrolls and remaining silent. This implies that Nopaltzin may be a political subordinate rather than a son. In summary, then, the early pages of the Codex Xolotl do not in fact show succession from Xolotl to the rulers of  Tetzcoco. Instead, there is a contrast between Nopaltzin’s descendants and their links to the people in his wife’s home, to Cuauhquechollan, to towns in the Chalco region, and to Coatlichan and Colhuacan. The descendants of Xolotl at Azcapotzalco and Xaltocan are traced through female links, which is not a preferred method for transmission of succession in indigenous society (Offner 1983: 203–13), whether in Tetzcoco, where father-son succession was preferred, or in Tenochtitlan, which exhibited a

94  Jerome A . Offner

preference for a very different pattern of fraternal succession.42 Such divisions of interest could—and did—lead to wars later, despite intermarriage and alliances. García Loaeza’s comparison of the codex to the concerns of medieval Europe fails; the Codex Xolotl is quite Nahua in its composition and concerns. García Loaeza’s citation (2014: 231) of Nigel Davies (1980: 97) as seeing “in the Codex Xolotl a combination of twelfth-century legend and thirteenth-century history intended ‘to confect a long history of glamorous ancestors’ in which the Great Chichimec Xolotl represents less a precise historical personage than a concept of imperial authority and lineage” and his ensuing claim that “if the purpose of the Codex Xolotl is clear, its reading is complicated by the marked influences of foreign cultural notions” show that he (and Davies) incorrectly conceive of the Codex Xolotl as an “it”—a unified object with a coordinated, single intentionality. There are other problems with García Loaeza’s presentation of evidence. Tayauhtzin’s death is also justified by his killer, Maxtla, because of  Tayauhtzin’s plotting his own act of fratricide with Chimalpopoca of  Tenochtitlan—to murder Maxtla himself (cf. García Loaeza 2014: 223). Acts of intrafamilial killing were hardly unknown, and essentially expected, among the Tetzcocan and Tenochcan ruling families (Offner 1994). Nezahualpilli would have been wise and would have shown foresight not to approve an heir knowing that the Mexica would insist on a son descended from them anyway (cf. García Loaeza 2014: 226). Quinatzin was in fact the oldest son of  Tlotzin, as is shown in the Codex Xolotl and in the alphabetic sources (cf. ibid.: 238n22).43 García Loaeza cites Barbara Mundy’s (2005) discussion of the late (c. 1580) Mapa de Teozacoalco, saying that she “finds that the genealogical maps of the Mixtec tradition parallel medieval maps in the way the correspondence between the geographic and social orders is displayed,” but Mundy carefully establishes the precontact context for what we see in Mixtec documents, some of which are precontact: genealogy, history, and their portrayals in geographic context. Most important, however, are García Loaeza’s comments on chronology in the Tetzcocan pictorial sources, for which, relying again on Spitler (1998: 79), he makes the claim that “the painted maps seem to intentionally underplay chronology, displaying events on an atemporal plane, to emphasize Texcoco’s timeless eminence” (García Loaeza 2014: 232). Only the Mapa Tlotzin is without dates or year-duration counts. The Codex Xolotl and the Mapa Quinatzin contain prominent fiftytwo-year calendar dates and year-duration counts by twenties (as well as by thirteens in the Codex Xolotl) carefully included in the composition in locations important to the narrative. It is only a matter of taking the time to learn to read

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  95

them and how they function in the codices. The Codex Xolotl can actually specify events to the time of day—such as Tezozomoc’s death at dawn (X.080.E.08; Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 350). Rather than investigating and beginning to understand the substance of the matter, García Loaeza, ignoring the better advice and opinion of Edmundo O’Gorman, elects to deprecate Ixtlilxochitl’s efforts at synchronology (García Loaeza 2014: 232–33). It becomes apparent that much of García Loaeza’s difficulty with the Codex Xolotl stems from his perception of “ambiguities” in it, arising from his failure to perceive it from the indigenous point of view. As I recently pointed out, “Nahua historiography was typically and deliberately complex because it was used as a negotiating tool in the ever-shifting power alliances among the large and small states of the time. It was in fact a tool of the oppressed, always providing evidence that could be used to advocate for rights to resources and calls to kinship” (Offner 2012: 160–61). Most recently I explained, The “message” of such documents is the entire page and indeed, for complex documents, the entire set of pages taken together. Further, the events depicted on the

page can produce a multiplicity of accounts during interplay with the oral presen-

tation of the document. The accounts must ultimately derive from certain facts on

the page, such as names, places, dates, and actions shown; but an oral rendering can approach such documents from many points of view. This makes this medium of communication both a storehouse of strategic information and a vehicle and

method of analysis for diplomacy, war, kinship and marital alliance, negotiation, and other statecraft. (Offner 2014a: 47)

That is, we are confronted not with mere or defective ambiguity but with a deliberately and richly structured and highly functional multivalence of meaning. And this multivalence is increased, in the case of the Codex Xolotl, by the nonunitary nature of the codex.44 García Loaeza’s advocacy for imposing European concepts on this content mischaracterizes the Codex Xolotl, obscures important indigenous content and intent and its proper interpretation, and in fact lessens the impact of his central if not novel argument: Ixtlilxochitl’s decision to emphasize linea recta, a typical and expected practice of his time. García Loaeza’s arguments on Ixtlilxochitl’s decision making would become more nuanced and accurate if he engaged with the substance of Codex Xolotl and Nahua culture. More than thirty years ago, I announced my intention to devote attention “for the obscure early period in

96  Jerome A . Offner

Texcocan history—the reigns (c. A.D. 1244–c. 1377) of Xolotl, Nopaltzin, Tlotzin, and Quinatzin . . . to how, rather than how accurately Texcocans viewed their past” (Offner 1983: 19). The histories of these rulers were already viewed as problematic by 1983—in other words, the false choice between Ixtlilxochitl’s “detractors” and his “supporters” as proclaiming “the incontrovertible character of his Texcocan sources” (García Loaeza 2014: 222) is decades out of date. It would have been better to expend additional effort in investigating and appreciating the content of the Codex Xolotl and of Nahua culture rather than to attempt to diminish these by falling back on the usual tired Western machinery employed to strip indigenous peoples of their history and then urging European concepts as filler for the resulting falsely emptied spaces. There is much basic work still to be done to understand Ixtlilxochitl’s writing. With regard to the alphabetic texts, although comments are sometimes made regarding known and possible links between Ixtlilxochitl, Torquemada (Townsend 2014: 6–7), Múñoz Camargo (Brian 2014: 88–90), and others, determinative and informative work that could be accomplished by textual analysis and collation remains largely unaddressed. A study of the sources used by Torquemada was published over three decades ago (Torquemada 1975–83) and has also been online for several years.45 It contains many references to the Codex Xolotl and Ixtlilxochitl, along with frequent brief discussions of difficulties in sorting out the instances of copying and discrepancies.46 A particularly interesting work, the Nahuatl-language Anónimo Mexicano, proposed as a back copy of parts of  Torquemada’s Monarquía indiana into Nahuatl by Hanns Prem (1999: 26), or as one of  Torquemada’s sources with content shared with Múñoz Camargo (Anónimo Mexicano 2005; Offner 2007), could be easily investigated and compared and collated with the other alphabetic texts, because of its limited length.47 Not only, then, do many writers content themselves with writing exclusively or nearly exclusively about the dependent alphabetic texts, but also they have not yet analyzed the relationships in and among these texts adequately, perhaps because the origin point involves nonalphabetic Nahua histori­ ography and the Codex Xolotl. It is not surprising, then, that the more difficult task of comprehending the ethnographic encounter and interface is ignored amid a florescence of essays dealing with the more familiar alphabetic content, with at most occasional references, of varying value, to decontextualized details from the indigenous pictorial documents. In contrast, in this volume (chapter 2), Gordon Whittaker characteristically steps right up to the ethnographic interface discussed above and examines it

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  97

carefully from a linguistic anthropologist’s point of view. We know that Ixtlilxochitl was conversant from childhood in Nahuatl (“y saber la lengua como los mismos naturales, porque me crié entre ellos” [and know the language like the natives themselves, because I was raised among them] [Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975– 77: I, 288]). Given the nature of child-rearing in elite households in the Basin of Mexico in the sixteenth century, as well as his parents’ backgrounds and careers, there seems little reason to doubt that he had extensive exposure to Nahuatl from infancy and developed native-speaker intuition at least through late childhood. Whittaker does a careful and important job of showing, however, the degree to which Ixtlilxochitl struggled with presenting certain elements of the pictorial documents and probably also written, spoken, or otherwise performed texts through the limited Spanish alphabetic script. As Whittaker points out, Ixtlilxochitl did improve his skills as his ethnographic efforts intensified, although it has to be borne in mind that his accomplishments in fieldwork and work with informants as evidenced in the early Compendio are quite remarkable for a man in his twenties.48 Ixtlilxochitl’s difficulties, as isolated by Whittaker, are indeed a sign of the extreme complexity of the ethnographic encounter in which he persisted for so many years. Many skills were required to deal with the Codex Xolotl and Nahuatl historiography in general. Certainly, fluency in spoken (and sung and performed) Nahuatl and Spanish was required, as well as intimate knowledge of many realms of expertise in both cultures. Ixtlilxochitl’s efforts to apprehend and control the burgeoning details of Nahua history to which he was exposed would have been both exhilarating and exhausting as he struggled to keep in active memory or in notes the knowledge imparted to him by a series of expert indigenous historiographers from different areas. The ethnographic encounter demanded more, however, than understanding and remembering a variety of Nahuatl speech performances, as well as speaking, reading, and writing in two languages. Ixtlilxochitl also had to learn the skill of comprehending and communicating in alphabetic script what he could not only of glyphic but also of semasiographic methodology and content, for which, in the end, he has no known equal, even if he errs from time to time in glyphic or semasiographic understanding and his orthography wanders into the sui generis.49 Additionally, Whittaker has recently pointed out that notation “used in recording mathematical information, tallied counts, music, pottery batches, and so on” “serves to calculate, order and distinguish units of nonlinguistic data” (2007: 51, 53; 2011: 935). Further, notation does not necessarily record speech

98  Jerome A . Offner

specific to any one language but is comprehensible across many languages (e.g., Arabic numerals and the numerical notation system of central Mexico). Such notation systems are therefore considerably different from writing systems that are conventionally considered to record speech. Nevertheless, the two systems can borrow from each other (e.g., to identify time periods), posing additional analytical challenges to someone like Ixtlilxochitl, and both numerical and writing or glottographic systems are subsystems of graphic communication systems. Katarzyna Mikulska, employing a similar set of ideas, explores in detail the classification, analytic, and data problems and resulting implications posed in Mesoamerica and elsewhere by definitions of writing, dates, and numerical notation (2014), and, more broadly, in Nahua and other graphic communication systems (forthcoming). That Ixtlilxochitl struggled with understanding Nahua numerical notation and with numerical calculations and their transcription into Nahuatl and Spanish is, therefore, not a failing limited solely to understanding Nahuatl. Indeed, large, conflicting, and otherwise odd numerical counts for sacrificed prisoners or tribute items are commonplace—if not notorious—in central Mexican sources, including Torquemada’s Monarquía indiana (e.g., Offner 1981: 52–58). What Whittaker has done in chapter 2 in this volume, therefore, is to examine the ethnographic interface in new detail to note and comment on Ixtlilxochitl’s various abilities and the extent to which he developed them during his intensive and long-duration fieldwork. What we learn from Whittaker is that Ixtlilxochitl’s accomplishment is the undertaking not of a cynical man interested only in material gain or leverage in litigation but of a widely talented man tested to his limits, drawing on every inner resource, and drawn deeply into the sophisticated historiographic enterprise of a complex and engrossing culture that he saw changing and, in many ways, disappearing rapidly before his eyes. Ixtlilxochitl’s method of signing his work to emphasize ties to and through his mother (as noted by Whittaker [2014 and chapter 2, this volume]),50 along with his increasing interest in Tetzcoco and Nezahualcoyotl, are testaments to his fascination with Nahua history per se. This fascination in turn evidences the captivating power of Nahua historiography in all its modes. It is important to bear in mind the very difficult task Ixtlilxochitl had before him in reconciling this great indigenous historiographic heritage with the hegemonic, if significantly flawed, Spanish historiography of the time. This reconciliation posed an enormous challenge that he met head on with creativity and resourcefulness, attempting to correlate the long history and mythical content

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  99

found in indigenous sources with Western mythical content and the strangely short world history dictated by the Old Testament. And he had to employ Spanish political and legal descriptors for his intended audience while striving to include details that would inform that audience of the distinctive nature of the indigenous culture. If we now perceive—or believe we perceive—commonalities among his descriptions of indigenous and Spanish or colonial culture, can we accurately infer, better than he, the degree of accuracy of his descriptions of commonalities and make valid accusatory claims about his intent to influence his audience? The study of Ixtlilxochitl’s work, therefore, should amount to more than a conventional Western historiographic or literary enterprise of data mining a relatively neglected alphabetic text, decontextualized from its ethnographic nonalphabetic matrix, for material of current Western topical interest. Overall, this chapter is designed to serve as an invitation for interested scholars to eschew exclusively alphabetic approaches to alphabetic sources (which are, after all, based on nonalphabetic sources) in favor of delving into the substance of indigenous precontact Tetzcocan history and the more challenging problems presented by comparisons of  Western historiography, both colonial and modern, and Nahua historiography.

Correlation of the Sources The remainder of this chapter briefly correlates the pictorial content of the Codex Xolotl with later reports on it in the works of Ixtlilxochitl, Torquemada, and small portions of the Anónimo Mexicano to facilitate work by future researchers. It then focuses on certain specific episodes in the codex and their interpretation by the two authors. This second task can largely be accomplished by referring to already published research. Nevertheless, as an exercise in methodology, I provide one new example of the comparative quality of Ixtlilxochitl’s and Torquemada’s reporting of the content of the Codex Xolotl. As I noted recently (Offner 2014a: 55n8), becoming familiar with methods of the Nahua graphic communication system and the content of the Codex Xolotl involves a steep learning curve. Nevertheless, the effort is required to begin to understand the indigenous otherness with which Ixtlilxochitl, as well as Torquemada, was confronted. In addition, it is important to identify and study in detail how both Torquemada and Ixtlilxochitl struggled to accomplish this same task, so that we can gain an

100  Jerome A . Offner

understanding of the resulting alphabetic texts, which constitute only a residue of their complicated investigations, contemplations, and judgments. For the correlation of the content of the Codex Xolotl, the most modern, readily available paper editions of sources were used for the preparation of table 3.1. While each of these editions has its critics, the editions are easy to obtain, and the reader can do further research into them and the original manuscripts on which they are based, as necessary: 1. The 1975–77 edition of Ixtlilxochitl’s Obras históricas by O’Gorman

2. The 1969 Porrúa edition of  Torquemada’s Monarquía indiana, based on the 1723 facsimile rather than the earlier, scarcely available 1615 first edition 51

3. Crapo’s 2005 paleography and translation of the Nahuatl Anónimo Mexicano 52 4. Dibble’s 1951 work on the Códice Xolotl, reissued in 1980

5. Bierhorst’s paleography and English translation (1992a, 1992b) of the Nahuatl Anales de Cuauhtitlan

Comparative Historiography: Evaluating Reports of Specific Episodes in the Codex Xolotl Charles Dibble’s still-indispensable 1951 study of the codex did not investigate discrepancies between Ixtlilxochitl’s and Torquemada’s reports. Dibble took the position early on (Códice Xolotl 1951: 9) that Torquemada followed Ixtlilxochitl’s work, and so Dibble uses Torquemada only occasionally as a supplement to elucidate the context of the codex. Clearly, however, Torquemada in many instances did not follow Ixtlilxochitl, instead providing his own different but often inaccurate interpretations, sometimes preferring instead the error-ridden Anónimo Mexicano. Nevertheless, Torquemada also arrived at the conclusion that Tetzcoco played a very important role in the history of the Basin of Mexico, indicating the strong nature of the indigenous evidence available to him. This in turn shows that simple accusations of self-serving local bias by Ixtlilxochitl fail to deal with the historiographic complexities and field realities with which he, Torquemada, and others were presented at the time. A generation later, I began to expose the differences between Ixtlilxochitl’s and Torquemada’s histories by focusing on the reign of Techotlalatzin, ruler of  Tetzcoco (Offner 1979). It was possible to demonstrate that Torquemada and the author of the Anónimo Mexicano had misinterpreted numerous pictorial

Table 3.1. 

Codex Xolotl

Correlation of other sources to the content of the Codex Xolotl

Ixtlilxochitl’s Obras históricas*

Torquemada’s Monarquía indiana

Anónimo Mexicano

SRC

RSF

CHR

SRH

HNC

X.010

284–85, 292–97

399

421–22

532

14–15

42–45, 47

12–16

X.010v

284–85, 297–300

—

421–23

532

—

51

14–16

X.011

284–85

—

—

—

—

—

—

X.012

297–300

—

421–23

532

—

51

14–16

X.013

—

—

—

—

—

—

—

X.020

297–302

399–400, 409

422–24

532

15–21

46, 51–58, 62

16–18

X.030

302–6, 309

400–401

424–27

532

21–24, 25

58–66, 67

18–19

X.040

307–22

401–2, 409

427–31

532–34

24–25, 29–33, 35, 37

68, 73–74, 84–87

19

X.050

322–24

402–3, 409

431–33

534–35

34–37

87–89

20

X.060

324–27, 331

403, 409

433–34, 435

535

37–40

108, 110

X.070

327–43

403–4, 409

434–39

535–36

41–49

109–14

X.080

344–59

409

440

537–40

50–62

114–29

19–20

X.090 X.100

359–71

404, 410

440–42

541

63–76

129–31, 133–34

—

136

—

X.101

371

—

—

—

—

543

76

Note: The Anales de Cuauhtitlan (Bierhorst 1992a, 1992b) contains many similarities to the Codex

Xolotl. In the English translation (Bierhorst 1992b), page 81 describes the death of Cihuacuecuenotzin in Otompan, depicted in Codex Xolotl X.070.A. Page 84 lists and discusses the children of Tezozomoc, including Maxtla. Codex Xolotl X.050 shows children of Tezozomoc. Page 85 mentions the death of Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli, ruler of Texcoco (1409–1418) but the description differs from the scene in Codex Xolotl X.050. Nezahualcoyotl’s capture of the Chalcan woman “Cilimiyauhtzin” is depicted on X.080 and described on page 85. The Codex Xolotl shows the dream of Tezozomoc, recounted on page 88. On page 98, the conquest of Coatlinchan and death of Quetzalmaquiztli, depicted on Codex Xolotl X.100, are mentioned. Pages 85–90 tell the stories of the trickster figure Coyohua (see also Lesbre 2000; and Offner 2014a: 43, 47–48). * Abbreviations: SRC = Sumaria relación de todas las cosas que han sucedido en la Nueva España; RSF = Relación sucinta en forma de memorial de la historia de Nueva España y sus señoríos; CHR = Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco; SRH = Sumaria relación de la historia general de esta Nueva España; HNC = Historia de la nación chichimeca.

102  Jerome A . Offner

details in claiming that Techotlalatzin had engaged in a systematic, proportional distribution of ethnic groups within his realm. Their description of a quadripartite governmental system in Techotlalatzin’s little realm was also mistaken. In contrast, Ixtlilxochitl correctly interpreted the same scenes as a dispersion of ethnic groups to several towns, including Tetzcoco, from a fallen Colhuacan. Ixtlilxochitl also described how four principal ethnic groups were shown asking Techotlalatzin for admittance to his realm. I updated these observations in 2004 and 2007 because researchers, too often attracted to the idea of centralized governmental power, had continued to follow the erroneous interpretations, in one recent example presenting the Anónimo Mexicano in an oddly obscure fashion (see Offner 2007: 513–14). In the case of  Techotlalatzin, it should be noted that Torquemada, without a local bias in favor of Tetzcoco, arrived at a description of the power and accomplishments of  Techotlalatzin that is considerably more expansive than Ixtlilxochitl’s. Nearly three decades later (Offner 2007: 513–14; 2014a: 39–42), I added an additional example centered on the dream that Tezozomoc of Azcapotzalco had regarding Nezahualcoyotl that is depicted on X.080 of the Codex Xolotl. The Anónimo Mexicano (2005: 19–20) misinterprets several iconographic details in this scene as the burial of  Tenancaltzin of  Tenayuca. In contrast, Ixtlilxochitl’s interpretation of the scene is correct, with the Anales de Cuauhtitlan (Bierhorst 1992a: 49; 1992b: 88) providing a supportive parallel alphabetic version with additional details not visible in the Codex Xolotl. Torquemada (1969: I, 87) appears to make use of many details of the Anónimo Mexicano in his description of the cremation of Quinatzin, which is found in no other source. Simultaneously, Torquemada (1969: I, 117–18) recounts the dreams of  Tezozomoc accurately, perhaps following an Ixtlilxochitl manuscript that may have been available to him, Ixtlilxochitl’s Azcapotzalco source (probably Alonso Axayacatl), or other Tetzcocan sources (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 349; Lesbre 1995, 2001). By 1995, Patrick Lesbre had noticed and explored traces of several predecessor sources used by Ixtlilxochitl, including an important one probably from Alonso Axayacatl. Lesbre’s 1996 dissertation, regrettably still unpublished, explores the sources of  Tetzcocan history to a degree still unparalleled. In 2000, Lesbre pointed out details in the Anales de Cuauhtitlan regarding episodes in Nezahualcoyotl’s life that were not in fact in the works of Ixtlilxochitl or Torquemada or in the Codex Xolotl. In 2001, Lesbre also provided what remains the best analysis of  Torquemada’s interaction with the postconquest indigenous elites, including Ixtlilxochitl. His observations in this important article provide a fieldwork context for Torquemada’s interaction

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  103

with Tetzcoco, its surviving elites, and preconquest physical remains. Lesbre’s work goes a long way in explaining how Torquemada’s history of the fifteenthcentury Basin of Mexico came to be composed of alternating sequences from Mexica and Tetzcocan sources, synchronized and coordinated to the extent that Torquemada could manage. The location, the subject matter, and even the custodians of the surviving significant historical documents of the time all contributed to a powerful set of local biases from both major centers that he struggled to reconcile. Torquemada’s ethnographic situation and resulting difficulties in interpretation vitiate modern simplistic portrayals of Ixtlilxochitl distorting history merely in the service of colonial political advantage. More recently (Offner 2011), I pointed out the role of a featherwork device (cozoyahualolli) in the Codex Xolotl in signaling the status of legitimate successor to the rulership of  Tetzcoco. In that study and a newer article (Offner 2014a), I call attention to differences between Ixtlilxochitl’s description of the ceremony of investiture and its composition in the Codex Xolotl (X.070.C.43) and suggest (2011, 2014a) that investigation of the true extent of the Tetzcocan ruler Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli’s power at the time bears closer examination. Whether or not Ixtlilxochitl is to be faulted for claiming that Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli, the soon-to-be-assassinated ruler of  Tetzcoco, was sworn in as emperor over Tetzcoco and other cities, Torquemada (1969: I, 109) also states that “fue jurado . . . Jxtlilxuchitl, por Emperador” (Ixtlilxochitl was sworn in as emperor), accepting a similar high position for Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli and Tetzcoco. Although there was considerable contact between Ixtlilxochitl and Torquemada, it remains relatively easy to find examples where the latter’s interpretation of the Codex Xolotl is less accurate than the former’s. It is worth noting, for example, that Torquemada (1969: I, 130–31) does not identify an important character in the life of Nezahualcoyotl correctly. Coyohua, who in many ways resembles a North American Indian trickster figure, the coyote, plays a key role in several wily escapes by Nezahualcoyotl from Tezozomoc, ruler of Azcapotzalco. His story is evidenced in both the Codex Xolotl and the Anales de Cuauhtitlan. Torquemada refers to him as “Ocelotl” (see Lesbre 2000). More problematic is the difference between Ixtlilxochitl and Torquemada in their interpretation of a scene in the Codex Xolotl (X.070.A) involving the murder of Cihuacuecuenotzin at Otompan (see figure 3.8). We are fortunate to have four reports of this event in the alphabetic sources. In his Sumaria relación de las cosas de la Nueva España (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 339), Ixtlilxochitl provides a detailed description of this historical vignette. Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli,

104  Jerome A . Offner

the ruler of  Tetzcoco, under severe pressure from Tezozomoc in Azcapotzalco, sent his “son” (su hijo) Cihuacuecuenotzin to Otompan to ask for its aid against Tezozomoc.53 Before the mission, they discussed its perilous, probably fatal, outcome, and Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli, along with his son Nezahualcoyotl, promised to provide for Cihuacuecuenotzin’s two sons in the event of his death. Upon arriving in Otompan, Cihuacuecuenotzin was informed by one of its governors of their preferred allegiance to Tezozomoc. He was then sent into the main square to ask for support for “his father” (su padre), Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli, but the large crowd, on a major market day, instead tore him to pieces. Torquemada (1969: I, 110–11) reports certain details of the incident differently. For example, he identifies Cihuacuecuenotzin as “a nephew” (un sobrino) of Ixtlilxochitl and further specifies his genealogy as the son of a sister of “Jztacxochitzin” who had married Chalchiuhtlatonac in Azcapotzalco. Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli provided him with a model speech to use, employing the standard metaphorical extensions of kinship terms in referring to the rulers of Otompan and surrounding towns as “my Father, and my Mother” (mi Padre, y mi Madre) and himself as “their Son” (su Hijo).54 Cihuacuecuenotzin replied that he agreed to carry out the mission if his two sons were provided for by being placed in the service of Nezahualcoyotl. Cihuacuecuenotzin arrived in the town square in Otompan and met the same fate after being allowed to present his embassy to the people who had already been assembled there to hear the orders of emissaries from Azcapotzalco. Torquemada adds a new detail by specifically mentioning a man named Itzcuintlatlacca who was the first to pick up a stone and cast it at the head of Cihuacuecuenotzin and begin shouting and inciting the crowd to violence, further abetted by Tepaneca, who had remained silent until then.55 Although Ixtlilxochitl nearly always reports the greatest amount of detail from such scenes in the Codex Xolotl in his Sumaria relación de las cosas de la Nueva España, in this case, his report in the Historia de la nación chichimeca (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 45–47) is supplemented by an explanation of the action of Itzcuintlatlacca that is very different from Torquemada’s account; he seems to have been driven (for reasons unknown—perhaps by his informant network) to correct the record.56 Ixtlilxochitl begins his eighteenth chapter by noting how Tezozomoc had been adept in dividing the allegiance of sons and fathers and even of brothers and relatives (deudos) between himself and Ixtlilxochitl the ruler. He describes Cihuacuecuenotzin as “the nephew” (el sobrino) of Ixtlilxochitl. The proposed speech that the ruler Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli provides to Cihuacuecuenotzin includes the phrase “mis padres los de la provincia

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de Otompan” (“my parents, those from the province of Otompan”), and the Mexica (mexicanos) are added as opponents, along with the “tepanecas.” Cihuacuecuenotzin refers to his two sons not with the kinship term but instead as “criados” of Ixtlilxochitl and asks that they be put in the service of Nezahualcoyotl. Near the end of his journey to Otompan, Cihuacuecuenotzin is seized and brought into its main square, where he then gives his speech. He is rebuked by a leader in Otompan, Quetzalcuixtli, who tells the crowd that Tezozomoc is “our father” (nuestro padre). The other leader of Otompan, “Lacatzone,” is the one who incites the crowd to fatal violence, and Ixtlilxochitl names a warrior from Ahuatepec, not visible in the codex, as the first one to strike. There is then a sharp divergence in the accounts of  Torquemada and Ixtlilxochitl concerning the role of Itzcuintlatlacca (spelled identically here to Torquemada’s spelling). Ixtlilxochitl states that “Itzcuintlatlacca, a native of Ahuatepec who was present at the time, hurried to see the king, Ixtlilxochitl, and to notify him of the sad case” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 46).57 He also includes two anecdotes not visible in the codex. The first involves “Lacatzone’s” use of the fallen ambassador’s fingernails on a necklace, and the second is the death of four servants accompanying Cihuacuecuenotzin (although perhaps he had mistaken the people of Otompan, shown as a group of four, for these). Overall, then, Itzcuintlatlacca provides a report of the tragic event to Ixtlilxochitl rather than precipitating the death of Cihuacuecuenotzin. The Anales de Cuauhtitlan (Bierhorst 1992a: 44, 46–47; 1992b: 81, 84–85) provides additional information that illuminates the preceding reports. Cihuacuecuenotzin is again reported to have met his death in Otompan. The people there reacted adversely to a “son of  Tezozomoc” (ypiltzin) wishing to make war against his “father” (ytatzin).58 A little later in the narrative, further removed from the political context with its metaphorical extensions of kinship terms, Cihuacuecuenotzin is described more precisely as “the grandson of  Tezozomoc” (yn yxuiuh yn teçoçomoctli). But more interesting information remains: Cihuacuecuenotzin, by virtue of his birth, was at the root of the reported cause of the death of both himself and Ixtlilxochitl the ruler. Chalchiuhtlatonacatzin, fifth son of  Tezozomoc, had married a Tetzcocan woman, Cuauhcihuatzin, described as both the sister of  Techotlalatzin and the daughter of Coxcotzin of Tetzcoco. Cihuacuecuenotzin was the product of this union, but he was rejected as “their nephew” (ymach) by his “elder brothers” (ytiachcahuan [Bierhorst suggests “elder kinsmen” as the translation]), who tried to abandon him at Mazahuacan so that he would die.59 As a result, his mother went to Tetzcoco and

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The death of Cihuacuecuenotzin at Otompan. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.8. 

took up with another man from Huexotla. This act reportedly enraged Tezozomoc to the extent that he ordered the death of Ixtlilxochitl the ruler. Examination of figure 3.8 shows the doomed Cihuacuecuenotzin addressing the people at Otompan. He is then shown behind them dismembered, along with a day date of 5 Coatl. Itzcuintlatlacca is positioned slightly behind and mostly above the people of Otompan. He does not face them or appear to address them, nor is a stone shown in his hand. Instead, he faces in the direction of  Tetzcoco, Huexotla, and Coatlichan with one standard and one more-elaborate speech scroll emerging from his mouth. The more-elaborate speech scroll is found in only two other contexts in the Codex Xolotl. One is the name of Cihuacuecuenotzin himself. The other is in X.101 of the codex, in a context already involving Cihuacuecuenotzin. In the latter scene (figure 3.9), we see Nezahualcoyotl at his palace of (Te)Cillan (“Zilan,” in Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 371), and it is noted that the scene takes place eleven years after the death of Ixtlilxochitl and Cihuacuecuenotzin, who are both depicted as ritually prepared corpses. The speech scrolls emanating from the deceased Ixtlilxochitl designate him as a ruler. Behind Nezahualcoyotl appear Cihuacuecuenotzin and an unnamed wife, along with their two sons, Acolmiztli and Tzontecochatzin, who had been entrusted to Ixtlilxochitl and to Nezahualcoyotl before Ixtlilxochitl’s death. Cihuacuecuenotzin is shown on an icpalli in his role as a warrior with a speech scroll, as he

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  107

Nezahualcoyotl discusses the fate of disloyal kinsmen. Codex Xolotl, Bibliothèque Nationale de France.

Figure 3.9. 

was capitán general.60 This scene, then, is a poignant reminder of Nezahualcoyotl’s obligations to his kinsmen as well as of the conflicting loyalties that could ensnare any person in the broad and complicated web of tlacamecayotl. Facing Nezahualcoyotl are two figures, Cemilhuitzin and Quecholtzin. They share pulque (octli), and all three are shown with the more elaborate speech scroll.61 These two figures are depicted as emissaries of two figures below: Chimalpopoca, shown with an additional glyph, perhaps a title of Cihuacoatl; and Iztaccoyotl, accompanied by a tlailotlaque glyph. These two figures in turn are the first two of the four children of Nonohualcatzin and Tozquentzin, depicted at the top of X.101, who are described by Ixtlilxochitl (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 371, 376, 379; II, 76) as particularly traitorous close relatives of Nezahualcoyotl, apparently living in the barrio of Chimalpan. In the scene at the bottom of X.101, Chimalpopoca and Iztaccoyotl are engrossed in a discussion with Cemilhuitzin and Quecholtzin wherein the two sons suggest to the two emissaries that they have octli with Nezahualcoyotl. It is in this meeting, in the middle of X.101 (see figure 3.9), that the more elaborate speech scrolls appear. The commonalities involved between this scene and the speech scrolls of Itzcuintlatacca appear to be difficult discussions regarding kinship and political obligations. Indeed, although Nezahualcoyotl pardoned his errant relatives, not even the clever Coyohua could persuade them to stay in Acolhuacan. Perhaps they did

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eventually return, because their third son, Acatenehuatzin, was later celebrated in Tetzcoco as a man of wise but also peculiar judgment (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975– 77: II, 85, 134), perhaps underscoring his still-suspect, liminal status. Overall, then, the evidence indicates that Torquemada had many of the important facts of the story of Cihuacuecuenotzin correct but that Ixtlilxochitl was more precise, particularly regarding the role of Itzcuintlatlacca. Ixtlilxochitl is also more aware of the central message of Cihuacuecuenotzin’s story but articulates it only indirectly in his introduction to chapter 18 of the Historia de la nación chichimeca (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 45). Appropriately placed at the end of the Codex Xolotl, this story of conflicting kinship ties in the context of complex and shifting political realities is reminiscent of, if more complex than, the struggles of intrafamily violence that drive some of the great Greek tragic myths and plays or the plays of Shakespeare, as actors try to reconcile their duties to both the state and their kinsmen. The Codex Xolotl is, then, not just a recording of events but also a source of contemplation regarding an individual Nahua’s place in such a society. The story of Cihuacuecuenotzin is not only a reported historical sequence of events but also a drama with a struggle, a resolution, and recommendations for proper behavior—and perhaps the impossibility of knowing proper behavior—in the future as well as in the past.

Conclusion Ixtlilxochitl’s explanation of the Codex Xolotl in the works attributed to him is unmatched by any of his contemporaries, including the Western priest and historiographer Torquemada and the Nahuatl-writing informant in the Anónimo Mexicano. Especially instructive is Torquemada’s repeated acceptance of a very strong role for Tetzcoco in Aztec history. It is curious that Ixtlilxochitl has borne the brunt of criticism by modern critics, sometimes verging on scorn and ridicule, for local bias, while Torquemada has remained largely immune from the same lines of attack regarding his portrayal of major periods of the same history. This uneven evaluation of the mestizo versus the Spanish historiographer by these critics is a defect arising from modern historiographic prejudices that should both give historiographers pause and invite investigation and self-examination of these persistent biases of our own time.62 Ixtlilxochitl’s success in interpreting the greatest of the Nahua pictorial histories is founded in his prolonged fieldwork (with its constant improvement), his close attention to detail, his work with a variety of indigenous informants,

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his understanding of Nahuatl, and his respect for, and his ability to learn from, the accomplishments of Nahua historiography and culture. Modern students of Ixtlilxochitl would be well advised and well served to follow those aspects of his four-century-old path still available to us.

Acknowledgments I would like to acknowledge Una Canger’s extensive help with the Nahuatl names in Torquemada’s Totonac history in Offner 2012, which acknowledgment was unfortunately lost in the editorial process for that book. This is my first opportunity to say thank you again. For the current study, I wish to acknowledge the help and support of many members of the Codex Xolotl Project, which had its first and second meetings in Warsaw and in Göttingen in 2013, with a third meeting in the fall of 2014 in Madrid. As an exceedingly complex document seemingly armored with a surface of prisms, the Codex Xolotl requires the multiple perspectives arising from collaborative work for successful study. Katarzyna Szoblik and especially Miguel Angel Ruz Barrio contributed new insights into the physical composition and present state of the codex. Gordon Whittaker provided indispensable help with Nahuatl, glyphic readings, and details of  Tetzcocan and Toltec history. He also proofread the penultimate draft of this chapter and provided some articles, both new and difficult to obtain. Agnieszka Brylak furnished fresh insights into Nahua performance, and Julia Madjaczak, an occasional contributor to the project, did the same with advice on kinship terminology and its use in texts of the sixteenth century. Katarzyna Mikulska provided invaluable insights into the nature and functioning of the Nahua graphic communication system and its relationship to spoken and written Nahuatl. I thank Miguel Angel Ruz Barrio, Gordon Whittaker, Julia Madajczak, and Katarzyna Mikulska for timely reading and commenting on late drafts of this chapter.

Notes 1. This is especially interesting because he was a native of  Teotihuacan, a rival to Tetzcoco after and sometimes before contact. See Benton 2014. 2. The Codex Xolotl is not in fact a codex, although certain “pages” (planchas) seem to have been sewn together on the left side at some unknown time (Douglas 2010: 22). The use of the term codices in Mesoamerican studies has

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unfortunately come to embrace all manner of documents that happen to have some pictorial content; the term seems ineradicable. 3. Conventionally he is referred to as “Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl,” but see Whittaker’s chapter in this volume regarding the use of the name “Ixtlilxochitl” by itself, which I have always used with one recent exception (2014a), in that instance as preferred by editors. 4. The reverse of plancha 1 is problematic in many respects, and its content is not the sole result of transference of pigment from the three fragments, as scholars as recent as Douglas (2010: 204n45) have claimed. Miguel Angel Ruz Barrio (trained in the Universidad Complutense, Madrid, codicological approach) is currently leading an investigation into this matter. 5. See Sandstrom and Sandstrom 1986 for an excellent treatment of paper and papermaking in Mexico across the centuries and into the current day. 6. For the identification of specific parts of the Codex Xolotl throughout this chapter, I draw upon the notation system within Marc Thouvenot’s monumental work (Thouvenot 1987; Thouvenot et al. 2014). Thus, X.010 is plancha 1, X.020 is plancha 2, and so forth, with the extreme right of plancha 10 being X.101, divided by two thin lines from X.100. With regard to the fragments, correlating Thouvenot’s notation system with the old notation, X.011 and X.012 are Fragments 1A and 1B, and X.013 is Fragment 1C. The reverse of X.010 will provisionally be identified as X.010v. The grid approach Thouvenot applied to the pictorial content does operate without regard to historical narratives in the codex, but this is a trivial problem, and no other scholar has provided identifiers for so many elements in the codex, nor has any other scholar or group of scholars produced a substitute reference system. 7. Thouvenot (personal communications, Paris, 2006, and Toulouse, July 2008), during discussions on the Codex Xolotl and the Códice de Xicotepec, proposed the idea of multiple workshops and its careful investigation. Dibble also discussed the possibility that the fragments X.011 and X.012 might be from “una plancha pintada por ambos lados de un códice anterior” (“a leaf painted on both sides from an older codex”) (Dibble 1951: 46). 8. The contents of X.011 and X.013 seem to be unreported in any alphabetic source, while X.012 shares content with X.010, X.020, X.030, X.040, and X.050 (Dibble 1951: 46) and contains content not found in them. Like X.020, X.012 provides little information on Tetzcoco other than a single toponymic glyph (X.012.A.10) (this notation is an example of the fullest extension of Thouvenot’s system—to identify a single glyph). The second fragment (X.012)

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does, however, provide plentiful information on the Chalco region, especially Cuauhquechollan (modern San Martín Huaquechula in Puebla), which has its own important pictorial manuscript, the Lienzo de Quauhquechollan (www .lienzo.ufm.edu/; Asselbergs 2004), heavily influenced by Spanish conventions, in instructive contrast to the Codex Xolotl. Perhaps X.012 should be considered another version of early Tetzcocan history, but first its content needs controlled comparison with the rest of the codex and its dependent alphabetic sources. 9. I thank Miguel Angel Ruz Barrio for several perspective-altering discussions on these matters. X.020 and X.030 were mounted on cardboard apparently by J. F. M. Waldeck during their separation from the codex in the nineteenth century, making folding more difficult to detect. This will be further investigated on my next visit to the codex. 10. For an explanation of the flexible and effective indigenous kinship concept tlacamecayotl, see Offner 1983: 197–201. See also Olko 2012: 54–57. 11. To complicate matters further, X.012 has the single-line border of the rest of the codex—at least on its surviving right border. Additionally, it is only one of two elements of the codex depicting thin watercourses in blue arising from the mountains and flowing into the lake system (see figure 3.4); X.010v, related to X.012, also depicts such watercourses. A spring is shown to the left of Xaltocan on X.020 flowing into the lake system in a thicker watercourse in blue (cf. X.010, X.040, X.050, X.060, and X.070, without color). Two blue watercourses, drawn in a more typical Nahua manner with shells, flow from the mountains on either side of Cholollan in a unique depiction of that city in the codex on X.030. 12. Unfortunately there are no corpses among the fragments (which may be from other documents, as mentioned above). The corpse preparation of  Tezozomoc of Azcapotzalco should be noted (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 351), along with the depiction of his corpse bundle being cremated on X.080. Another corpse bundle is depicted in the much less formal funeral of Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli on X.070. See also the corpse bundle, with head and face covered, seated on an icpalli in the Codex Telleriano-Remensis (f. 44r). We may well be seeing a conventionalized presentation of particular stages of funerary rites in the Codex Xolotl. The Mapa Tlotzin also contains a drawing, added later, of an unglossed ritually prepared corpse extended on what appears to be an unusual petlatl construct. 13. Deducing the meaning or meanings of this type of hand in its various contexts in the codex will be an interesting analytical adventure. Note that X.011 and X.012 also contain examples of this type of hand; X.013 has one peculiar,

1 1 2  Jerome A . Offner

probably related, hand in it. I have found no commentary on the unique shape of these hands. 14. The cozoyahualolli device does seem to have the specialized Tetzcocan meaning outside the basin to the east at Xicotepec and at Taxco, municipio de Tetela de Ocampo, Puebla, where the Mapa de Metlatoyuca originates. See Offner 2011 and Offner 2014b and n.d. 15. I thank Agnieszka Brylak for productive discussions regarding performance in Nahua culture. 16. I thank Katarzyna Mikulska for many transformative comments and discussions regarding the purposes and uses of such documents as the Codex Xolotl in Nahua culture. 17. Another key question is how, when, and why Ixtlilxochitl, not from Tetzcoco, came to possess the most important Tetzcocan pictorial documents. Bradley Benton (2014) considers him both a collector and a Tetzcocan outsider, making these questions more urgent. 18. I have a publication in process on this section and what it tells us about the meaning and uses of the codex (Offner 2014c). See also the example involving Cihuacuecuenotzin at the end of this chapter. 19. Careful reading of the Compendio of Ixtlilxochitl against the Codex Xolotl should aid in the determination of what parts of it he possessed by 1608. 20. García Loaeza appears to turn the fault around to blame the indigenous content, whose “ambiguities” he claims “are compounded by the very process of rendering them into lineal alphabetic narrative” (García Loaeza 2014: 232). Perhaps it is instead the inadequacy of linear script to specify complex sets of meanings efficiently that should be examined and criticized. See also note 21. García Loaeza’s thorough misunderstanding of Ixtlilxochitl’s entire enterprise and accomplishment is revealed by his description of the Sumaria relación, as being “actually a sourcebook rather than an original work” (ibid.: 228). 21. See the discussion in Mikulska 2014 regarding writing, semasiography, and Western tendencies and perceptions. Insistent and habitual Western textcentric perception of documents limits our understanding of presentations such as the Codex Xolotl. Rendering such a presentation into text would be comparable to rendering a movie into text while capturing every nuance of the movie-creating and movie-watching experiences. The media are fundamentally mismatched. 22. Torquemada’s dependence on a culturally specific belief system is representative of the Spanish historiography of the time in the same way that another

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  1 1 3

23.

24.

25.

26. 27.

28.

29.

variety of belief systems, European political ideologies, determined the interpretation of Aztec history more recently (Offner 2014a: 25–27). For the relevant portions of the Anónimo Mexicano and the Anales de Cuauhtitlan coordinated with the content of the Codex Xolotl, see table 3.1 (including the table footnote). Kauffmann forgets that the announcement is made by a “capitán” of  Tezozomoc and not by that ruler himself and that the herald does not pronounce a death sentence per se but announces a “wanted dead or alive” notice with a reward. “La segunda diligencia que puso por obra fue mandar juntar toda la gente principal y plebe de todas las repúblicas y de todas las ciudades, pueblos y lugares que eran del patrimonio del imperio, en un llano que está entre la ciudad de Tetzcuco y pueblo de Tepetlaóztoc, y subiéndose encima de un cu y templo (que estaba en medio del llano referido), un capitán a voces les dijo en ambas lenguas chichimeca y tolteca (que ge­neralmente en aquel tiempo corría en todo el imperio), que desde aquel día en adelante reconociesen por su emperador y supremo señor a Te­zozómoc rey de los tepanecas, y a él acudiesen con todas las rentas y tributos pertenecientes a el imperio, y no a otra provincia, pena de la vida; y que si hallasen al príncipe Nezahualcoyotzin, lo prendiesen y llevasen vivo o muerto a la presencia de Tezozómoc su señor, que él premiaría a los que tal servicio le hiciesen. A todo lo cual estuvo el prín­cipe Nezahualcoyotzin escuchando desde un cerro montuoso que cerca de allí estaba y que se dice Cuauhyácac, y así procuró vivir con recato y aviso, desamparando su patria. Lo cual sucedió los últimos días del año de 1418.” The speech scrolls may be present only to specify the differing languages or may indicate the authority of the representatives to speak as well. Nicholson’s quest to understand Quetzalcoatl as a historical figure (Nicholson 2001) was complicated by Ixtlilxochitl’s detailed reports on the history of Tollan. As a result, Nicholson discounted Ixtlilxochitl. His reasons for marginalizing Ixtlilxochitl differ therefore from those of García Loaeza as well as from those of John Bierhorst (e.g., 2010). Perhaps Ixtlilxochitl can instead be considered in his own terms. Even if Ixtlilxochitl had not seen these sources, clearly the linea recta technology was well in place by his time. See Justyna Olko’s 2012 study of depictions of genealogy in pictorial and alphabetic sources that analyzes them from indigenous and Spanish and precontact and postcontact perspectives without promoting preconceived notions of European influence. Filiation refers to the father-son tie and more broadly to the parent-child tie.

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30. The greatly abbreviated account in the later Historia de la nación chichimeca (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 10) reports that a single leader was elected after arrival in Tollantzinco before the final transition to Tollan. 31. These reports are almost certainly from a pictorial source. Nicholson (2001: 125–26) begrudgingly admits that a pictorial source most likely existed. Anthony Aveni and Edward Calnek (1999: 91–92) describe it as “a now-lost pictorial text” and provide astronomical and historiographic evidence for its existence. Whittaker has had a lifelong fascination with this same issue (see chapter 2, this volume, and multiple public presentations, e.g., Whittaker 2006). 32. The figure glossed as Amacui has a vertically oriented rectangular glyph, perhaps a sheet of amatl, in no way resembling a glyph for Xolotl. 33. Olko (2012: 52–53, 64–65, 66), also misled by Spitler, seems to consider it a genealogy, an error I also make elsewhere in describing it as “genealogical” (Offner 2014a: 52), despite having avoided the term in 1983. Olko includes a drawing of the part of the Codex Xolotl that shows true genealogical tracing involving Tochinteuctli, much as Joseph Aubin (2002: 67) included a genealogy of  Tlotzin from that same codex in his work but later refers to it more correctly as a “ruler list.”  This studied lack of depiction of genealogical links in the Mapa Tlotzin needs further investigation with regard to its colonial context and purpose or purposes, which remain poorly understood. It may have to do with the succession struggles after Nezahualpilli or shifting views regarding rights of succession to native office and rights to colonial office-holding, resulting from administrative and legal struggles and decisions of the time. The Mapa Quinatzin, probably a presentation piece of some kind, also depicts succession to office but not genealogical ties. This discussion is another reason why these three most prominent Tetzcocan pictorial documents should not be conceived of as a coordinated set. 34. The pictorial sources seem to have been quite detailed. Those of Chiculoapa mention that Coatlichan had been called “Aculhuacan” (Relación de Coatepec y su partido 1905: 80) in an earlier time, a pattern we also see in the Codex Xolotl. The “brother” connections, of course, may or may not be fictive. 35. Examination of the content of the Codex Xolotl without reference to later interpretations is vital to understanding it. See also Offner 1979. 36. In both documents, differing types of lines can be seen. 37. We could instead trace his parents’ descendants or take the origin point of the ruler of Coatlichan and trace relationships from him, etc.

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38. Dibble identifies this as “the day sign, and indicates that he was instructed in the art of painting the codices, that is to say that he was a ‘tlacuilo’” (“el signo del día [ilhuitl, author’s note], e indica que estaba instruido en el arte de pintar los códices, es decir era ‘tlacuilo’”) (1951: 32). 39. This is what the pictorial evidence indicates, although Ixtlilxochitl says they were Toltecs and came from the Mixteca (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I: 430; II, 232). Interestingly, Ixtlilxochitl was juez gobernador in both Tlalmanalco and Chalco (see O’Gorman 1975: 26–28), but this occurred after his completion of the Compendio (see Whittaker, chapter 2, this volume). 40. On other pages, footprints, dotted lines, combinations of the two, etc., are used to show movement of spouses. The notation involved is complex and varied and deserves separate study. 41. Recently, Olko (2014) presented and analyzed certain aspects of body language in Nahua culture. 42. These preferences were mirrored in and related to household organization in the two different Nahua groups. 43. I have been unable to locate where García Loaeza got the impression that Quinatzin was not the eldest son (García Loaeza 20014: 328n2). Perhaps he read the genealogy in the Codex Xolotl from left to right. Perhaps he is thinking of Quinatzin’s son, Techotlalatzin. 44. This nonunitary nature also increases the challenges of reconciling the chronology noted within. 45. The link to the entire edition is www.historicas.unam.mx/publicaciones/publica digital/monarquia/index.html. The study on sources is found at www.historicas .unam.mx/publicaciones/publicadigital/monarquia/volumen/07/miv7009.pdf. 46. See the later discussion in this chapter for some discrepancies, as opposed to mere assertions of copying, that appear in the two authors’ works and are revealed when they are compared in a coordinated manner to the Codex Xolotl. 47. See the later discussion of how this document compares with the content of the Codex Xolotl, a project I began in 1979. 48. This early record of expertise and accomplishment also raises doubts regarding Ixtlilxochitl already and/or merely plotting for career and material gain. 49. Consider Torquemada’s transcription of Nahuatl names and words and his misidentification of glyphs (discussed later in the chapter). 50. And visible to him as an expert on many systems of writing as opposed to others with only alphabetic-text experience exposed to the same manuscript for many years (see Brian 2014).

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51. The 1615 edition of the Monarquía indiana is now available online through Google Books. A third edition is also now online, although it does not clearly state how the text was harmonized and modernized between the 1615 and 1723 editions. Nevertheless, readers can navigate between the three editions by using book and chapter divisions. 52. This edition of the Anónimo Mexicano is now freely available online at http:// digitalcommons.usu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1014&context= usupress_pubs. 53. I thank Julia Madajczak for many discussions and sharing research on Nahuatl kinship terminology, including its metaphorical extensions. She notes here that it would be appropriate for Cihuacuecuenotzin to be metaphorically referred to as Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli’s son because Cihuacuecuenotzin serves as his emissary. 54. Madajczak points out that he therefore positioned himself to receive whatever the rulers could give him. The fact that he was provided with his speech by Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli may be an additional reason that Ixtlilxochitl the historian refers to him as Ixtlilxochitl Ome Tochtli’s son. 55. Thouvenot analyzes the name glyph as “Itzcuinxotzin” (see his note to X.070.A.57, Thouvenot 1987: 311–12, 400), but Whittaker (personal communication, January 26, 2013) points to the double c that is transcribed by both Torquemada and Ixtlilxochitl for “Itzcuintlatlacca” as significant. Whittaker reads the glyph’s two elements—dog and leg—as with ‘move fast, run’, or cz rather than xo. Thus, there would originally have been a cedilla on the second c. The name means “Runs Like a Dog,” and Whittaker views this as support for Ixtlilxochitl having had direct oral tradition upon which to draw. 56. Evidently, even in the seventeenth century, it was important to assign responsibility for this killing and/or present the narrative structure of the codex accurately. 57. “Itzcuintlatlacca, un caballero natural de Ahuatépec que se hallo presente cuando lo referido, fue a toda prisa a ver al rey Ixtlilxóchitl y darle cuenta del caso infeliz referido.” 58. Madajczak points out the additional meaning of a subordinate ruler wishing to make war against his superior. 59. Note that the kin terms are not reciprocal in this instance. Madajczak reports no metaphorical extensions of the older brother term that would cross generations, and such extensions for the nephew term are poorly attested. It is

Ix tlil xochitl’ s E thnogr aphic Encounter  1 17

unlikely that Cihuacuecuenotzin’s own older brothers could have exposed him at Mazahuacan when he was a newborn. Later they may have been apprehensive about his potential claims to office and property and moved against him. This part of the Anales de Cuauhtitlan is, however, not as formally structured as other parts, so perhaps it was indeed his uncles who tried to kill him as a newborn, precipitating his mother’s flight. Given these uncertainties, Bierhorst’s suggestion of “elder kinsmen” is therefore quite reasonable. 60. In the Anales de Cuauhtitlan he is referred to as tlacateccatl (Bierhorst 1992a: 44; 1992b: 81). 61. I thank Katarzyna Mikulska for calling my attention to this speech scroll and its similarity to the Otompan scene, as well as for the ensuing productive discussions. 62. I note a sudden profusion of references to Ixtlilxochitl as a castizo in the present volume, but I wonder whether this is more informative to a general audience than the term mestizo. Whittaker (see chapter 2, this volume) considers both terms less than ideal.

Works Cited Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de. 1975–77. Obras históricas. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. 2 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Anónimo Mexicano. 2005. Edited and translated by Richley Crapo and Bonnie Glass-Coffin. Logan: Utah State University Press. Asselbergs, Florine G. L. 2004. Conquered Conquistadors: The Lienzo de Quauhquechollan; A Nahua Vision of the Conquest of Guatemala. Leiden: CNWS Publications. Aubin, Joseph Marius Alexis. 2002. Memorias sobre la pintura didáctica y la escritura figurativa de los antiguos mexicanos. Edited by Patrice Giasson. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Aveni, Anthony F., and Edward E. Calnek. 1999. “Astronomical Considerations in the Aztec Expression of History.” Ancient Mesoamerica 10: 87–98. Benton, Bradley. 2014. “The Outsider: Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Tenuous Ties to the City of  Tetzcoco.” Colonial Latin American Review 23 (1): 37–52. Bierhorst, John. 1992a. Annals of Cuauhtitlan. In Codex Chimalpopoca: The Text in Nahuatl with a Glossary and Grammatical Notes, 1–84. Tucson: University of Arizona Press.

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———. 1992b. Annals of Cuauhtitlan. In History and Mythology of the Aztecs: The Codex Chimalpopoca, translated by John Bierhorst, 17–138. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. ———. 2010. Ballads of the Lords of New Spain. Austin: University of  Texas Press. Brian, Amber. 2014. “The Original Alva Ixtlilxochitl Manuscripts at Cambridge University.” Colonial Latin American Review 23 (1): 84–101. Códice Xolotl. 1951. Edited by Charles Dibble. Vol. 2. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas. Davies, Nigel. 1980. The Toltec Heritage: From the Fall of Tula to the Rise of Tenochtitlan. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Dibble, Charles. 1951. Códice Xolotl. Vol. 1. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas. Diel, Lori Boornazian. 2008. The Tíra de Tepechpan: Negotiating Place Under Aztec and Spanish Rule. Austin: University of  Texas Press. Douglas, Eduardo de J. 2010. In the Palace of Nezahualcoyotl: Painting Manuscripts, Writing the Pre-Hispanic Past in Early Colonial Period Tetzcoco. Austin: University of  Texas Press. García Loaeza, Pablo. 2014. “Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Texcocan Dynasty.” In Texcoco: Prehispanic and Colonial Perspectives, edited by Jongsoo Lee and Galen Brokaw, 219–42. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Gillespie, Susan D. 1989. The Aztec Kings: The Construction of Rulership in Mexica History. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Kauffmann, Leisa. 2014. “Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Colonial Mexican Trickster Tale: Nezahualcoyotl and Tezcatlipoca in the Historia de la nación chichimeca.” Colonial Latin American Review 23 (1): 70–83. Lesbre, Patrick. 1995. “Premiers chroniqueurs acolhua.” In La quête du cinquième soleil: Mille ans de civilisation mésoaméricaines, edited by Jacqueline de Durand-Forest and Georges Baudot, 167–88. Paris: L’Harmattan. ———. 1996. “Tezcoco-Acolhuacan face à Tenochtitlan d’après les sources historiques, 1431–1521.” Dissertation, École de Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, Paris. ———. 2000. “Coyohua itlatollo: El ciclo de Coyohua.” Latin American Indian Literatures Journal 16 (1): 47–75. ———. 2001. “Le passé préhispanique au service des privilèges coloniaux? Aristocratie tezcocane et chroniqueurs espagnols de la seconde moitié du XVIe siècle.” In Le savoir, pouvoir des élites dans l’empire espagnol d’Amérique, edited by Bernard Lavallé and Allain Milhou, 31–46. Centre de Recherche sur l’Amérique

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Espagnole Coloniale, Travaux et Documents 3. Paris: Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle Paris III. Megged, Amos. 2014. “Between History, Memory, and Law: Courtroom Methods in Mexico.” Journal of Interdisciplinary History 45 (2): 163–86. Mikulska, Katarzyna. 2014. “On Numbers, Tables and Calendars: When Writing Appeared.” Contributions in New World Archaeology 7: 47–72. ———. forthcoming. Tejiendo destinos: Un acercamiento al sistema de comunicación gráfica en los códices adivinatorios. Toluca, Mexico: Colegio Mexiquense. Mohar Betancourt, Luz María. 2004. Códice Mapa Quinatzin: Justicia y derechos humanos en el México antiguo. Mexico City: Comisión Nacional de los Derechos Humanos / CIESAS / Miguel Angel Porrúa Grupo. Mundy, Barbara E. 2005. “At Home in the World: Mixtec Elites and the Teozacoalco Map-Genealogy.” In Painted Books and Indigenous Knowledge in Mesoamerica: Manuscript Studies in Honor of Mary Elizabeth Smith, edited by Elizabeth Hill Boone, 363–82. New Orleans: Middle American Research Institute, Tulane University. Nicholson, H. B. 2001. Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl: The Once and Future Lord of the Toltecs. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Offner, Jerome. 1979. “A Reassessment of the Structuring and Extent of the Empire of Techotlalatzin, Fourteenth Century Ruler of  Texcoco.” Ethnohistory 26 (3): 231–41. ———. 1981. “On the Inapplicability of ‘Oriental Despotism’ and the ‘Asiatic Mode of Production’ to the Aztecs of  Texcoco.” American Antiquity 46 (1): 43–61. ———. 1983. Law and Politics in Aztec Texcoco. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1994. “Dueling Rulers and Strange Attractors: Some Patterns of Disorder and Killing in Aztec Society.” PoLAR: Political and Legal Anthropology Review 16: 65–74. ———. 2004. Review of Códice Mapa Quinatzin: Justicia y derechos humanos en el México antiguo, by Luz María Mohar Betancourt. Ethnohistory 52 (3): 650–62. ———. 2007. Review of Códice Mapa Quinatzin: Justicia y derechos humanos en el México antiguo, by Luz María Mohar Betancourt. Estudios de Cultura Náhuatl 38: 511–14. ———. 2010. “Un segundo vistazo al Códice de Xicotepec.” Itinerarios 11: 55–83. ———. 2011. “A Curious Commonality Among Some Eastern Basin of Mexico and Eastern Mexican Pictorial Manuscripts.” Estudios de Cultura Náhuatl 41: 259–79. ———. 2012. “Exploring Three Sixteenth-Century ‘Totonac’ Pictorial Manuscripts.” In Mesoamerican Memory: Enduring Systems of Remembrance, edited

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by Amos Megged and Stephanie Wood, 147–71. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. ———. 2014a. “Improving Western Historiography of  Texcoco.” In Texcoco: Prehispanic and Colonial Perspectives, edited by Jongsoo Lee and Galen Brokaw, 25–61. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. ———. 2014b. “Why the Mapa de Metlatoyuca Is Not the Map of Metlatoyuca: It Is the Mapa de Taxco (Tlachco), Municipio Tetela de Ocampo, Puebla, Mexico.” Contributions in New World Archaeology 7: 159–76. ———. 2014c. “Apuntes sobre la plancha X del Códice Xolotl: Cincuenta años más tarde.” Paper presented at Simposio Internacional Sobre Códices del Centro de México, October 17, at Universidad Complutense, Madrid, Spain. ———. n.d. “Conflictos indígenas interétnicos en algunos pueblos del este de México antes y después de la conquista.” Unpublished paper. O’Gorman, Edmundo. 1975. “Estudio introductorio.” In Obras históricas de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, vol. 1, 1–257. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Olko, Justyna. 2012. “Remembering the Ancestors: Native Pictorial Genealogies of Central Mexico and Their Pre-Hispanic Roots.” In Mesoamerican Memory: Enduring Systems of Remembrance, edited by Amos Megged and Stephanie Wood, 51–71. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. ———. 2014. “Body Language in the Preconquest and Colonial Nahua World.” Ethnohistory 61 (1): 149–79. Peperstraete, Sylvie. 2007. Chronique X: Reconstitution et analyse d’une source perdue fondamentale sur la civilisation Aztèque, d’après L’Historia de las Indias de Nueva España de D. Duran (1581) et La Crónica Mexicano de F. A. Tezozomoc (ca. 1598). BAR International Series 1630. Oxford, UK: Archaeopress. Prem, Hanns J. 1999. “Los reyes de Tollan y Colhuacan.” Estudios de Cultura Náhuatl 30: 23–70. Relación de Coatepec y su partido. 1905. In Relaciones geograficas de la diocesis de Mexico, vol. 6 of Papeles de Nueva España, edited by Francisco de Paso y Troncoso, 49–86. 8 vols. Segunda serie: Geografía y estadística. Madrid: Est. Tipográfico Succesores de Rivadeneyra. Sahagún, Bernardino de. 1997. Primeros memoriales. Edited and translated by Thelma D. Sullivan. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Sandstrom, Alan R., and Pamela Effrein Sandstrom. 1986. Traditional Papermaking and Paper Cult Figures of Mexico. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

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Spitler, Susan. 1998. “The Mapa Tlotzin: Preconquest History in Colonial Texcoco.” Journal de la Société des Américanistes 84 (2): 71–81. Thouvenot, Marc. 1987. “Codex Xolotl: Étude d’une des composantes de son écriture; Les glyphes. Dictionnaire des éléments constitutifs des glyphes.” Doctoral thesis, École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, Paris. Thouvenot, Marc, Paul Fisher, and Sybille de Pury. 2014. Pohua/Tlachia, Temoa, Chachalaca, G.D.N. CEN. www.sup-infor.com (accessed August 20). Torquemada, Fray Juan de. 1969. Monarquía indiana. 3 vols. Mexico City: Porrúa. ———. 1975–83. Monarquía indiana. 3rd edition. Prepared for Seminario para el Estudio de Fuentes de Tradición Indígena, coordinated by Miguel León-Portilla. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas. Townsend, Camilla. 2009. “Glimpsing Native American Historiography: The Cellular Principle in Sixteenth-Century Nahuatl Annals.” Ethnohistory 56 (4): 625–50. ———. 2014. “Introduction: The Evolution of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Scholarly Life.” Colonial Latin American Review 23 (1): 1–17. Varis relaciones antiguas. 1891. In Nueva colección de documentos para la historia de México, edited by Joaquín García Icazbalceta, vol. 3, 228–319. Mexico City: Andrade y Morales. Whittaker, Gordon. “Tollan in Memoriam: Reconstructing the Glyphs in a Missing Sixteenth-Century Pictorial Manuscript.” Paper presented at the symposium “Mapping the Worlds of Sixteenth-Century Mexico,” New Haven, CT, September 16, 2006. ———. 2007. “The Principles of Nahuatl Writing.” Göttinger Beiträge zur Sprachwissenschaft 16: 47–81. ———. 2011. “Writing Systems.” In The Cambridge Encyclopedia of the Language Sciences, edited by Patrick Colm Hogan, 935–39. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. 2014. “The Signature of Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl.” Mexicon 36 (3): 70–71.

4 Colonial Writings and Indigenous Politics in New Spain Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Chronicles and the Cacicazgo of  Teotihuacan Jongsoo Lee

A

t the end of the sixteenth century in New Spain, there appeared

several important colonial chroniclers such as Hernando de Alvarado Tezozomoc from Tenochtitlan, Domingo Francisco de San Antón Muñón de Chimalpahin Quauhtlehuanitzin from Chalco, and Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl from Teotihuacan. Most of them belonged to their respective cities’ nobility, and they wrote Prehispanic and colonial history with the purpose of “keeping to tradition while securing vestigial positions of high status within the colonial system” (Schroeder 1997: 6). The most controversial of these writers was Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl. Numerous scholars have examined Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings as participating in the Spanish genre probanza y mérito, through which he sought royal support from the Spanish crown.1 Yet his ethnic origin made his chronicles quite distinctive from those of Spanish colonizers. Several scholars have made clear that Alva Ixtlilxochitl was a colonial subject who attempted to construct his own cultural space or archive by constantly challenging or negotiating the dominant European historiographical tradition (Adorno 1989; Brian 2010; Velazco 2003; Villella 2014). What is less immediately evident, however, is the way in which Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work was shaped by the political context in which indigenous leaders, commoners, and towns in New Spain competed with each other to acquire better political positions and benefits under colonial rule.2

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The conquest brought about a complex change in native politics. In the colonial system, the indigenous nobility maintained their status and enjoyed certain privileges, but many of the indigenous elites lost their rights to tribute and personal services from their subject towns and people. This situation often gave rise to internal conflicts over primary leadership positions between eligible relatives (e.g., brothers, half brothers, nephews).3 In addition, some cities that were subordinate to more powerful cities before the arrival of the Spaniards— especially those subject to the three major powers, Tenochtitlan, Tetzcoco, and Tlacopan—took advantage of the conquest to challenge their subordinate status in an attempt to free themselves from Prehispanic political and tributary duties. Moreover, the commoners (macehualtzin) also challenged the rights of the indigenous nobility to escape from labor and tribute duties. Most of these conflicts among indigenous people and towns were presented in Spanish courts and resolved by the Spanish legal system. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s family belonged to a Tetzcoca dynasty that maintained a cacicazgo in Teotihuacan. From the 1530s, when his great-grandfather don Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin became cacique of  Teotihuacan, to the mid-seventeenth century, when Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s mother, Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, and his elder brother, don Francisco de Navas, served as caciques of the town, the family appears to have suffered legal challenges by other nobles, neighboring towns, and commoners. Because the preparation and presentation of written documents was the most essential part of the legal process, Alva Ixtlilxochitl actively defended his family’s rights to the cacicazgo of  Teotihuacan through the preparation of legal documents and chronicles that supported his family’s status. He was well suited for this task, as he was an excellent writer who had worked as an official translator for the Real Audiencia. Examining Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles and legal documents from the perspective of indigenous politics provides insights into both his writings and those by other sixteenth- and seventeenth-century indigenous and mestizo chroniclers.

Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Family, the Teotihuacan Cacicazgo, and Local Indigenous Politics The best way to legally prove cacique status was to present written documents that contained “genealogical information as well as records of royal grants and of the lineage’s services to the crown” (Martínez 2008: 110). The written

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documents presented at the court, however, represented the highly selective and partisan perspective of the preparer, who tended to promote and exaggerate his ancestors’ loyalty to the Spaniards while discounting or ignoring that of his rival’s ancestors. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles and legal documents are products of this selective and partisan writing practice influenced by colonial politics. Alva Ixtlilxochitl wrote five historical chronicles and prepared several legal documents. One of his five chronicles, entitled Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco, was presented to the officials of Otumba as a legal document to legitimate his Tetzcoca ancestors as natural rulers of vast lands before the conquest and to document his ancestor Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s significant contribution to the conquest of  Tenochtitlan (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: I, 517–21). In addition, he prepared several legal documents such as “Diligencia de información y probanza de doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl” (ibid.: II, 294–333) to prove the cacica status of his mother, and he translated his great-grandfather don Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin’s will from Nahuatl into Spanish (ibid.: II, 281–86). In most of his chronicles, however, Alva Ixtlilxochitl paid little attention to the history of his hometown, San Juan Teotihuacan, in which he was born and where his ancestors had ruled for centuries. Instead, Alva Ixtlilxochitl focused almost exclusively on the hometown of his maternal great-great-grandfather, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, and his Tetzcoca ancestors such as Nezahualcoyotl and Nezahualpilli. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s major chronicles include only minimal genealogical information on his immediate ancestors who ruled Teotihuacan.4 These tenuous ties to Tetzcoco that Alva Ixtlilxochitl tenaciously highlighted throughout his writings (Benton 2014) seem to have been a cautiously selected strategy to protect and secure his family’s ruling status, which was frequently challenged by local nobles and the indigenous commoners of  Teotihuacan. According to the few documents currently available, the Ixtlilxochitl family inherited the status of cacique in Teotihuacan from don Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin, who was tlahtoani of  Teotihuacan between 1533 and 1563.5 Don Francisco was married to Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, daughter of the Tetzcoca ruler, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, and this couple had a daughter, Francisca Verdugo Ixtlilxochitl. Doña Francisca married a Spaniard, Juan Grande; she bore a daughter named Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, who was also married to a Spaniard, Juan de Navas Pérez de Peraleda. Ana Cortés in turn became the mother of Alva Ixtlilxochitl. The marriage between don Francisco Quetzalmamalitzin and Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl represented a political union between the Tetzcoca and Teotihuacan royal families. According to the Relación del

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señorío de Teotihuacan (2000: 388–89), Cortés Ixtlilxochitl named or approved the ruler of  Teotihuacan, and he seems to have maintained considerable lands and exercised political power over the city from the middle of the 1520s to the beginning of the 1530s. In 1533 when don Francisco was about to inherit the cacicazgo of  Teotihuacan from Tlazolyaotzin, it appears that the altepetl was divided into two regions: one controlled by the ruler of  Teotihuacan and the other by Cortés Ixtlilxochitl. When Tlazolyaotzin died in 1533, the Tetzcoca ruler, Pedro Tetlahuehuetzquitzin, appointed don Francisco Quetzalmamalitzin as cacique of  Teotihuacan following the recommendation of the Teotihuacan nobles. Apparently Francisco Quetzalmamalitzin inherited the region that the previous cacique, Tlazolyaotzin, had ruled, and the other region was inherited by doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, daughter of Cortés Ixtlilxochitl. The viceroy Juan de Zumárraga “ordered” Francisco Quetzalmamalitzin to marry Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl (Relación del señorío 2000: 389). Francisco Quetzalmamalitzin’s marriage with Ana Cortés apparently united the land and people in Teotihuacan, but his political alliance with the Ixtlilxochitl family did not consolidate his status as cacique. In 1543, 1552, and 1553, Teotihuacan commoners led by Yacapitzahuac brought lawsuits against Francisco Quetzalmamalitzin regarding tribute, land distribution and cultivation, and personal services for the cacique. Even though the viceroy repeatedly confirmed Francisco Quetzalmamalitzin’s position as cacique of  Teotihuacan, these lawsuits affected the tribute that he received and the lands that he possessed (Münch 1976: 18–19; Relación del señorío 2000: 389–92). The death of don Francisco Quetzalmamalitzin in 1563 seems to have significantly reduced the political power of the Ixtlilxochitl family in Teotihuacan. Under normal circumstances, a cacique was elected or appointed by the Spanish authority as governor of his town, but if he died without a male heir, then his wife or daughter was able to inherit only the cacicazgo, not the governorship.6 Thus, doña Francisca Ixtlilxochitl, the only child of don Francisco and his wife Ana Cortés, could inherit only the status of cacique but not the governorship. Hence, after 1563, the Ixtlilxochitl family lost control over the indigenous commoners of  Teotihuacan and its subject villages, leaving political power to the city council (cabildo) (Bernand and Gruzinski 1999:148–49; Münch 1976:14–15). In addition, the Ixtlilxochitl family permanently lost some lands that were associated with the governorship. From that point on, they received only the rents from the traditionally recognized patrimonial lands of the cacicazgo (Münch 1976: 14). However, the distinction between the lands associated with

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the cacicazgo and those associated with the governorship was not clear.7 After the death of Francisco Quetzalmamalitzin, several Teotihuacan nobles including don Antonio de Cadena Atecpanecatzintli, Pedro de Pazmaquiztecatzintli, Miguel de San Francisco, Antonio de San Francisco, Nicolás Tlachnahuacatl, and Damian Cohuatolcatl, all of whom had served as witnesses of don Francisco’s will (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: II, 285), filed lawsuits against his widow, doña Ana Cortés (Relación del señorío 2000: 393–94). They requested that her lands be divided between her and themselves, but the Real Audiencia denied their request. In 1580 they filed another lawsuit, this one against Ana Cortés’s daughter, Francisca Verdugo Ixtlilxochitl, requesting that the lands called tlatocatlalli (ruler’s land) and tecpantlalli (palace land) be divided between Francisca and them. This request was also denied (ibid.: 395). The lands in legal disputes were related to the Teotihuacan governorship, and some of the litigants’ names, such as don Cristobal Pimentel and Antonio de San Francisco, appear repeatedly as principal figures in major documents produced in Teotihuacan, such as the Relaciones geográficas (1982–88: VII, 239).Even after losing the governorship of  Teotihuacan, the Ixtlilxochitl family faced continuous challenges to their rights to the cacicazgo because of their ethnicity. As his grandmother and mother had both married Spaniards, Alva Ixtlilxochitl was born a castizo. Because colonial law granted rights to the cacicazgo in principle only to pure indigenous descendants (Martínez 2008: 116), some indigenous and Spanish residents of  Teotihuacan challenged the legality of Ana Cortés’s landownership related to her status as cacica. In 1643, Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s tenants argued in their testimonies that this family could not claim rights to the cacicazgo anymore because she and her children were Spaniards or castizos (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: II, 357–64). Even Ana Cortés’s son-in-law, Diego de Yerba, who was acting as her proxy and was also called by the judge as a witness, confirmed the racial identity of the Ixtlilxochitl family as castizo (ibid.: II, 362). The major purpose of the tenants’ lawsuit was to avoid paying their rents to Ana Cortés, but their attempt failed, as the Real Audiencia confirmed again her cacique status. When she died in 1643, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s elder brother, don Francisco de Navas, succeeded her as cacique of  Teotihuacan. Despite the constant legal challenges to their cacicazgo rights by Teotihuacan nobles and commoners, the Ixtlilxochitl family always obtained favorable results from the colonial authorities thanks to the marriages of the female members of the Ixtlilxochitl family to Spaniards who had connections in the colonial legal system (Bernand and Gruzinski 1999: 136–37). Both Juan Grande, husband

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of Francisca Verdugo Ixtlilxochitl, and Juan de Navas Pérez de Peraleda, husband of Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, worked closely with the Real Audiencia as official interpreters. Thus, they could manage the situation to protect their family’s interests. Alva Ixtlilxochitl also became an interpreter for the Real Audiencia, which allowed him to play a significant role in maintaining the political status of his family as well. Unlike his father and grandfather, who were dealing with the lawsuits arising from the local politics of  Teotihuacan, however, Alva Ixtlilxochitl had a more ambitious plan for his family: making his mother, Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, a legitimate heir of  Tetzcoco, the second most powerful city of the Aztec empire before the conquest. In his writings, Alva Ixtlilxochitl emphasized that doña Ana had a legal right to possess the vast lands that Tetzcoca rulers had governed before the conquest. Alva Ixtlilxochitl, who would have been familiar with colonial indigenous politics from his work as an official interpreter of the Real Audiencia, aspired to what indigenous nobles of major cities like Tenochtitlan and Tetzcoco had achieved through the colonial legal system. While the Ixtlilxochitl family was being sued continuously by their fellow Teotihuacan nobles and indigenous commoners during the sixteenth century, the rulers of  Tetzcoco, alone or in conjunction with those of  Tenochtitlan and Tlacopan, were consistently negotiating with the Spanish Crown to recover their political power as a regional center and the subject towns that they had ruled before the conquest (Carrasco 1999: 50–61; Gillespie 1998: 245–47). In the middle of the sixteenth century, the Tetzcoca nobles along with the Mexica and the Tlacopaneca began to promote the concept of the Triple Alliance, through which Tenochtitlan, Tetzcoco, and Tlacopan had dominated New Spain before the conquest.8 For example, in 1562, the indigenous governors, don Cristóbal of Tenochtitlan, don Hernando Pimentel of  Tetzcoco, and don Antonio Cortés of  Tlacopan, sent a letter to the Spanish king requesting the return of the lands and privileges that the Spaniards had taken away from their cities after the conquest (Pérez-Rocha and Tena 2000: 253–55).9 In 1602, the Tetzcoca nobles don Juan de Alvarado, don Francisco Pimentel, and Juan Bautista Pomar sent a letter to the viceroy of New Spain requesting the ownership of the lands that the Spaniards and macehuales were supposedly occupying without their author­ ization. The Tetzcoca nobles argued that they had rights to the lands as descendants of Nezahualpilli who had occupied them before the conquest, and the viceroy granted their petition (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: II, 292–93).10 When Alva Ixtlilxochitl began to write his chronicles at the end of the sixteenth century, he seemed to have been fully aware of the Tetzcoca nobles’

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strategy to document the status of their hometown as the dominant power in the eastern basin and thus the associated right to control lands and tributes in those towns. By taking advantage of this strategy, Alva Ixtlilxochitl presented his mother, Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, as the legitimate heir of the Triple Alliance. In fact, he suggested that she had a stronger claim than the rulers of  Tetzcoco to inherit the land of the Triple Alliance. In “Diligencia de información y probanza de doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl,” which he wrote in 1610 and 1611 to prove his mother’s rights to the cacicazgo and landownership of  Teotihuacan, Alva Ixtlilxochitl posed the following question to his witnesses: Item, if they know that the three heads that existed in this New Spain are the kings of  Tetzcoco, Mexico, and Tlacopan, and the other lords of their family and lineage were lords of the territory and the lands were theirs, and on these lands

the natives served them and paid tribute and vassalage of farming and food, and

that to the said Ana Cortés, as legitimate successor of the said kings and natural

lords, and descendants of her family and lineage belongs, and she is the owner of, the said lands and people; tell what they know, and if they heard it from their ancestors and elders, etc. (1997: II, 297) 11

This question that Alva Ixtlilxochitl prepared demonstrates his ambitious intention of converting his local Teotihuacan family into a regional or even central leading family. As expected, all the witnesses from various regions of  Teotihuacan, Tenochtitlan, Tetzcoco, Huexotla, Acolman, Otumba, and Cuauhtlatzinco confirmed Ana Cortés as the legitimate heir of the Triple Alliance. The reason that Alva Ixtlilxochitl tenaciously attempted to establish a close tie between Tetzcoco and his hometown of  Teotihuacan in his chronicles and legal documents is clear: this connection not only guaranteed the legitimacy to the Ixtlilxochitl family as caciques in Teotihuacan but also provided them a legal basis to claim the lands and tributes that belonged to the Tetzcoca ruler before the conquest. However, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s ambitions faced serious challenges not only because the conquests that Tetzcoco conducted as a member of the Triple Alliance were denied by many conquered towns after the conquest but also because there were numerous noble descendants in Tetzcoco who could claim to be the legitimate heirs of the Triple Alliance. In fact, some of them had been acting as rulers of  Tetzcoco.12 In his chronicles, Alva Ixtlilxochitl consistently dealt with these two challenges by legitimating the conquests of Nezahualcoyotl over other towns as a member of the Triple Alliance before the

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conquest and by portraying his direct ancestor Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, grandson of Nezahualcoyotl, as the legitimate heir of the Tetzcoca empire. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s argument was that as the great-granddaughter of Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, his mother was the only descendant of the kings of  Tetzcoco with the right to inherit the lands of the Triple Alliance.

Tetzcoca Dominance, Anti-Tetzcoco Sentiment, and Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Chronicles The rulers of  Teotihuacan under the influence of  Tetzcoco began to appear around 1435 when Nezahualcoyotl conquered major towns inside and outside of the eastern basin with the Mexica of  Tenochtitlan (Relación del señorío 2000: 383). Thereafter, all the rulers of  Teotihuacan were married to the daughters of Tetzcoca rulers, and their children succeeded to the rulership of  Teotihuacan. The Ixtlilxochitl family went through the same process to become the rulers of Teotihuacan. As mentioned before, Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl (who was a daughter of the Tetzcoca ruler, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, and the great-grandmother of Alva Ixtlilxochitl) married don Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin, who was the ruler of  Teotihuacan beginning in 1533. Despite the long dominance of  Tetzcoco over Teotihuacan from the 1430s, when Nezahualcoyotl conquered the town, to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s family was governing it, some contemporaries of Alva Ixtlilxochitl in Teotihuacan still did not want to recognize Tetzcoca dominance over their town. They described the Tetzcoca conquest as illegal usurpation. This anti-Tetzcoca sentiment was common among many cities in the eastern basin, particularly in Teotihuacan and its surrounding cities: Acolman, Tepechpan, and Tequizistlan. The origin of  Teotihuacan’s antagonism toward Tetzcoco and its neighboring cities goes back to the beginning of the fifteenth century. In the history of Prehispanic Mexico, the entire basin of central Mexico was involved in the Tepanec-Acolhuacan war circa 1415 through 1418. When Tezozomoc of Azcapotzalco tried to unify the basin under his control, almost all the citystates in or close to the basin fought each other, either against or in alliance with Tezozomoc. According to the Codex Xolotl (plate 6), when Huehue Ixtlilxochitl, Nezahualcoyotl’s father, was ruling Tetzcoco and Tezozomoc of Azcapotzalco was extending his control over the basin, Teotihuacan appears to have been

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Tezozomoc’s ally. According to the codex, Tezozomoc named his sons and grandsons rulers of the city-states that he conquered. Plate 6 of the codex indicates that a son of  Tezozomoc named Teyolcohuatzin was ruling Acolman with its three neighboring cities Tezoyucan, Tepechpan, and Chiconauhtla. As a neighboring city of these towns, Teotihuacan sided with them in support of the Tepaneca of Azcapotzalco during the Tepanec-Acolhuacan war (Evans 2001: 91). Alva Ixtlilxochitl, who describes the war in detail, indirectly confirms Teotihuacan’s alliance with Tezozomoc. He repeatedly mentions Acolman, Tepechpan, and Chiconauhtla as the enemy towns of  Tetzcoco, but he does not include his hometown of  Teotihuacan in this group or in the list of the Tetzcocaallied cities (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: I, 330–31). However, the postconquest documents from Teotihuacan such as relaciones geográficas share the same favorable attitude of its neighboring cities toward Tezozomoc by describing him as a universal ruler. In the Tepanec-Acolhuacan war, the Tetzcoca ruler, Huehue Ixtlilxochitl, was killed by the allies of  Tezozomoc, who was then able to gain control of the entire central basin of Mexico as well as the Teotihuacan Valley. Until Nezahualcoyotl’s Tetzcoco conquered Teotihuacan with the Mexica of  Tenochtitlan around 1430, Teotihuacan seems to have been ruled by Tepanec descendants or at least native nobles supported by the Tepanec rulers of Azcapotzalco.13 The pro-Azcapotzalco policy of the Teotihuacan ruling class did not last long. After Tezozomoc’s death in 1423, his sons fought over the rulership of Azcapotzalco. Nezahualcoyotl took advantage of the political turmoil in Azcapotzalco and overthrew the Tepanec empire around 1428 with the help of the Mexica. At that point, Tetzcoco became the most powerful city in the eastern basin. After Nezahualcoyotl’s inauguration, Teotihuacan became a subordinate city of  Tetzcoco. Nezahualcoyotl began to consolidate his influence by marrying his several daughters to the rulers of the towns under his political influence. In the fashion of Prehispanic marriage politics, Nezahualcoyotl aimed to have his own descendants as rulers of the towns under his control. As one of the subordinate rulers of  Tetzcoco, Quetzalmamalitzin, ruler of  Teotihuacan, married Tzinquetzalpoztectzin, daughter of Nezahualcoyotl, and this couple had five sons and seven daughters, who would eventually form a financially and politically dominant noble group in Teotihuacan (Relación del señorío 2000: 383–87). From that point on, all the rulers of  Teotihuacan were descendants of Nezahualcoyotl, and their political power was consolidated through marriages with the daughters of later Tetzcoca rulers such as Nezahualpilli and Cortés Ixtlilxochitl.

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The introduction and formation of a group of  Tetzcoca nobles in Teotihuacan displaced the city’s previously dominant nobles. The historical fact that Quetzalmamalitzin as ruler of  Teotihuacan was forced to accept a Tetzcoca princess and thus initiate a Teotihuacan noble class that originated from Tetzcoco gave rise to a steadfast anti-Tetzcoca sentiment in Teotihuacan. Quetzalmamalitzin fought not only against Huehue Ixtlilxochitl, who was assassinated during the Tepanec-Acolhuacan war, but also against Nezahualcoyotl, who sided with the Mexica during the Mexica-Tepaneca war. Quetzalmamalitzin was finally subjugated when his Tepanec allies were defeated around 1430, and Nezahualcoyotl and the Mexica king Itzcoatl allowed him to retain his rulership (Lee 2008: 99–101; Offner 1983: 87–89). The confirmation of the ex-enemy rulers in the conquered towns was very common as long as they accepted their subordinate political status. In this case, the existing noble class of the conquered city remained intact, even though their financial and political status was diminished because of the new tribute imposed by the conquerors and the introduction of a new noble line initiated by the marriage of the local ruler to the daughter of the conqueror. The original Teotihuacan nobility resented the new Tetzcoca nobles, and they were always looking for a chance to recover their political power by taking advantage of internal and external conflicts and aid from other city-states (Hicks 1994: 237; Lockhart 1992: 32). More than 150 years after Nezahualcoyotl’s conquest of  Teotihuacan, some Teotihuacan nobles still considered this event as illegal political usurpation. The scribe of the relaciones geográficas and several principals who signed the relaciones presented the conquerors of their town, Nezahualcoyotl and the Mexica ruler Moctezuma, as tyrants: “In their pagan times, [the inhabitants of  Teotihuacan] were autonomous people and maintained their own republic without recognizing anyone except their natural lords, whom they called Chichimecas, until Nezahualcoyotzin, lord of  Tetzcoco, tyrannized the entire region, killing the children of  Tetzotzomoctli, lord of Azcapotzalco, whom everyone recognized, by war. And after the death of  Tetzotzomoctli, the said Nezahualcoyotzin became powerful, allying with Montezuma, lord of Mexico” (Relaciones geográficas 1982–88: VII, 232).14 It is important to note that the word tiranizar (tyrannized) used by the scribe and confirmed by the witnesses of the relaciones geográficas of San Juan Teotihuacan clearly contradicts the idea of Nezahualcoyotl as a “señor natural” (natural lord), an idea that Alva Ixtlilxochitl attempted to establish many times in his legal documents and chronicles. As Robert Chamberlain demonstrates in his study of Castilian legal and

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administrative documents, “a tyrant is the direct opposite of a señor natural, both with regard to the mode by which he acquires power and the methods by which he governs. Consequently, if one who rightfully achieved dominion and exercised authority as a señor natural were to govern contrary to divine, natural, and human law, justice, and reason, and thus act in contradiction of his supposedly inherently superior nature, he would thereby lose his title” (1939: 134). It is important to note again that the leading nobles of not only Teotihuacan but also its neighboring cities (Acolman, Tequizistlan, and Tepechpan) commonly presented Nezahualcoyotl and his Mexica allies as illegitimate usurpers.15 In the argument of the Teotihuacan scribe and noble witnesses, then, all the distributions of lands that these usurpers made and the tributes that the people of  Teotihuacan paid them were illegal and unlawful. This perception of Nezahualcoyotl as a usurper could have been a serious threat to the Ixtlilxochitl family’s legal claims regarding their rights to the cacicazgo in Teotihuacan. If Nezahualcoyotl’s conquest was an illegal subjugation, then the landholdings, political status, and tribute that the Ixtlilxochitl family enjoyed by virtue of their status as descendants of  Tetzcoca rulers would also have been illegal. In fact, the ruler of  Tequizistlan, which became the leading city of the Teotihuacan Valley during the colonial period, filed a lawsuit against the Tetzcoca ruler in 1537 arguing that the subjugation of  Tequizistlan by Tetzcoco was illegal, and the colonial authorities ruled in his favor, granting him lands and property (Megged 2007: 358–62). This legal case would have alarmed the Ixtlilxochitl family and the rulers of other cities who descended from Tetzcoca nobility, because it could have undermined their legal status in the colonial system. In response to the legal challenges to Tetzcoca dominance over Teotihuacan and other towns, Alva Ixtlilxochitl focused on two major figures—the legendary Chichimec leader Xolotl of the twelfth century and Nezahualcoyotl of the fifteenth century—in hopes that the heroic achievement of these two ancestors would effectively counter the anti-Tetzcoca sentiment of his fellow nobles in Teotihuacan. Using Tetzcoca sources such as the Codex Xolotl, the Mapa Quinatzin, and the Mapa Tlotzin, Alva Ixtlilxochitl presented the legendary Chichimec leader Xolotl as the genealogical origin of the Tetzcoca dynasty.16 Xolotl seems to have been the founder of many city-states in central Mexico around the twelfth century. According to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles, Tetzcoca rulers were the legitimate heirs of Xolotl, and as such they dominated many other city-states, especially in the eastern basin of central Mexico, including Teotihuacan. After Xolotl’s death, however, Tezozomoc of Azcapotzalco

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betrayed and killed Xolotl’s legitimate heir, Huehue Ixtlilxochitl of  Tetzcoco, and thus tyrannically took power and territory away from the latter’s legitimate son Nezahualcoyotl. The cities that were once subordinate to Xolotl and thus should have been subordinate to Nezahualcoyotl, including Acolman, Tepechpan, and Teotihuacan, were tyrannically subjugated by Tezozomoc. Contrary to the relaciones geográficas of  Teotihuacan, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles present Tezozomoc not only as an illegal usurper but also as a cruel tyrant, comparable to Herod the Great. Much as Herod ordered the killing of innocent children upon learning about the birth of the King of the Jews, Tezozomoc ordered the execution of the children who did not recognize him as their king (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: I, 343; II, 50). Thus, according to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, when Nezahualcoyotl reconquered the cities in the eastern basin such as Acolman, Tepechpan, and Teotihuacan with his Mexica allies from Tenochtitlan, he was just recovering the empire that Tezozomoc of Azcapotzalco had illegally seized from the legitimate Tetzcoca rulers (Lee 2008: 63). After justifying Tetzcoca supremacy in the eastern basin and its vicinities, Alva Ixtlilxochitl presented Teotihuacan’s subordinate status to Tetzcoco by manipulating or ignoring some important historical information in his chronicles, especially about foundational figures of  Teotihuacan. According to La relación del señorío de Teotihuacan, which provides the most detailed information on the genealogy of  Teotihuacan rulers, Teotihuacan royalty descended not from Tetzcoco but from Huexotla, which was one of the leading cities in the eastern basin before the conquest. The relación states that Xolotl awarded Huexotla and its vicinity, including Teotihuacan, to a Chichimec leader named Tochintecuhtli. After Tochintecuhtli’s death, his first son and grandson inherited the rulership in Huexotla while his second grandson, Huetzin, became the first ruler of  Teotihuacan. In his first two chronicles, Sumaria relación de todas las cosas que han sucedido en la Nueva España and Relación sucinta en forma de memorial, Alva Ixtlilxochitl simply describes Tochintecuhtli as the ruler of Huexotla without mentioning the close relationship between Huexotla and Teotihuacan. However, the close connection between the two cities was well-known to indigenous people of the Acolhuacan region, as evidenced by the fact that when Alva Ixtlilxochitl prepared a legal document in 1610 and 1611 to prove his mother’s genealogical right to the cacicazgo, four out of fourteen indigenous witnesses from various towns mentioned Tochintecuhtli and Huetzin as the first rulers of Teotihuacan. Two out of those four witnesses—don Juan de Santiago, who was governor of Huexotla, and Cristobal de Santa María, who was

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the indigenous principal of Huexotla—clearly remembered the foundational history of  Teotihuacan in which Huetzin from Huexotla appeared as the first ruler of  Teotihuacan (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: II, 312–16). In addition, one of the remaining two witnesses, don Bernabé de Santa María, cacique of  Tetzcoco, remembered that Huetzin, son of Quiauhtzin and grandson of  Tochintecuhtli, was the first ruler of  Teotihuacan (ibid.: II, 323–24). The other witness from Tetzcoco, Gabriel de Segobia, indigenous principal of  Tetzcoco, remembered the same line of rulers and specifically mentioned that Tochintecuhtli was from Huexotla (ibid.: II, 325–26). In contrast, in Sumaria relación de todas las cosas que han sucedido en la Nueva España and Relación sucinta en forma de memorial, Alva Ixtlilxochitl describes Tochintecuhtli as a younger brother of the Tetzcoca ruler Quinatzin (ibid.: I, 303, 308, 401). In so doing, Alva Ixtlilxochitl insinuates that Huexotla began as a town subordinate to Tetzcoco and that consequently Teotihuacan, which was a subordinate town of Huexotla, was also subject to Tetzcoco. However, this claim is not consistent with Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s major pictorial source, the Codex Xolotl, which depicts that Tochintecuhtli of Huexotla came not from Tetzcoco but from another region (Lee 2008: 81).17 By omitting or misrepresenting the foundational connection between Teotihuacan and Huexotla, Alva Ixtlilxochitl tried to demonstrate that Teotihuacan originated as a town under Tetzcoca influence to contradict any possible challenge by anti-Tetzcoca indigenous leaders in Teotihuacan.

Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, Tetzcoca Genealogy, and Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Chronicles Justifying Tetzcoca dominance over the basin during Nezahualcoyotl’s reign did not guarantee that the Ixtlilxochitl family would be recognized as the legitimate heirs of Nezahualcoyotl. Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, grandson of Nezahualcoyotl, had numerous brothers and half brothers who could also claim such legitimacy. Thus, Alva Ixtlilxochitl also attempted to establish that his great-great-grandfather, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, was the legitimate heir of Nezahualpilli, Nezahualcoyotl’s son and heir. He made this argument based on two historical events: the succession of Cacama following the rule of Nezahualpilli, and Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s rebellion against Cacama, which Alva Ixtlilxochitl argues was lawful. According to numerous colonial sources, when Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s father, Nezahualpilli, died in 1515, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s half brother, Cacama, succeeded to the Tetzcoca

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kingship. In his chronicles, however, Alva Ixtlilxochitl presents this succession as illegitimate, because Cacama’s mother was a concubine while Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s mother was the legitimate wife of Nezahualpilli. Alva Ixtlilxochitl (1997: I, 450; II, 190–92) insists that this illegal succession was possible only because Moctezuma of  Tenochtitlan supported Cacama. Moctezuma was an uncle of Cacama’s mother, and he forced other candidates to give up the throne. The argument about Cacama’s illegitimacy also relies on a projection of Spanish standards of legitimacy into the indigenous past. In Mesoamerica, the concept of a single legitimate wife for a ruler did not exist before the conquest. Of course, there were several types of wives with different social status whom a king could have, but selecting the successor of a king among the children of these wives was highly dependent on the political power of the family from which each wife came (Carrasco 1984b; Townsend 2014). The succession of  Tetzcoca rulers such as Nezahualcoyotl and Nezahualpilli went through the same process. Nezahualcoyotl had several half brothers, but he was selected as ruler of  Tetzcoco by the Mexica because his mother was a daughter of the Mexica king Huitzilihuitl. Following this same pattern, his son Nezahualpilli was selected as ruler of  Tetzcoco among many of his half brothers because his mother was a daughter of an influential Mexica noble (Offner 1983: 228–29). Alva Ixtlilxochitl (1997: II, 190–92) also confirms that Cacama’s mother was a daughter of the elder sister of Moctezuma, and thus Moctezuma favored him. The selection of Cacama as ruler of  Tetzcoco followed normal procedures, and even Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s brothers accepted the selection. Most of Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s brothers stayed in Tetzcoco, while his elder brother, Coanacochtzin, who, according to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, was the most favorable candidate for the rulership among these brothers, stayed in Tetzcoco serving as guardian of Cacama. Later he was a faithful follower of Moctezuma, joining with the Mexica when the Spaniards came to Tetzcoco on the way to conquer Tenochtitlan. In his characterization of Cacama’s succession to the kingship of  Tetzcoco as unlawful, Alva Ixtlilxochitl describes how Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, who thought his elder brother Coanacochtzin or he himself should be the ruler of  Tetzcoco, rebelled against Cacama and faced Moctezuma of  Tenochtitlan.18 Alva Ixtlilxochitl records that Cortés Ixtlilxochitl allied with the Totonaca of Metztitlan and confronted Cacama and Moctezuma’s army in the northeastern region of Tetzcoco: Papalotlan, Acolman, Chiunauhtla, Tecacman, Tzompanco, and Huehuetocan. According to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s (1997: II, 190–91) chronicles, after several failures to capture Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, Moctezuma just ignored him.

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Even though Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s departure from Tetzcoco may have been motivated by Cacama’s succession and Moctezuma’s intervention in Tetzcoca politics, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s military rebellion seems to have been either very minimal or an invention by Alva Ixtlilxochitl, who wished to justify his ancestor’s legitimacy for Tetzcoca rulership before the conquest. First of all, Alva Ixtlilxochitl does not provide much information on Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s rebellion. He mentions it only briefly in just one of his five chronicles, Historia de la nación chichimeca. He did not record whom Cortés Ixtlilxochitl named as rulers of the conquered towns or how he distributed lands and collected tributes. In addition, in other Tetzcoca sources (Chimalpahin 1997: II, 182–239), Tetzcoca nobles identify Cortés Ixtlilxochitl as one of the leaders of the period, but they do not recall any rebellion against Cacama before the conquest. Moreover, colonial documents such as the relaciones geográficas from the major cities of Acolman and Tepechpan, where Alva Ixtlilxochitl claims that Cortés Ixtlilxochitl confronted Moctezuma’s army, do not record any rebellion against Tetzcoco and Moctezuma. The absence of Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s rebellion in these sources seems very strange, because it would have been an important opportunity for the anti-Tetzcoca cities such as Acolman and Tepechpan to free themselves from Aztec imperial obligations. Furthermore, the Mexica would have been affected by Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s rebellion, but Mexica-centric chroniclers such as Alvarado Tezozomoc, Diego Durán, and Chimalpahin do not mention it. Most important, the flow of tribute from the areas that Cortés Ixtlilxochitl occupied was not interrupted. While Cortés Ixtlilxochitl was allegedly besieging Tetzcoco, all the tribute from the northern area of the Aztec empire was transported to Tenochtitlan without problems (Hicks 1994: 239). Before the conquest, it was common knowledge among indigenous people that paying and conveying tribute from subject cities to Tenochtitlan were signs of recognizing Tenochtitlan’s supremacy, while refusing to pay tribute meant war or rebellion. The fact that there was no interruption in the flow of tribute from the region dominated by Cortés Ixtlilxochitl to Tenochtitlan demonstrates either that his rebellion was very minimal, short-lived, and nonthreatening or that it did not happen at all. Making his ancestor, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, the legitimate heir of Nezahualpilli and thus Nezahualcoyotl was not enough for Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s family to inherit the lands and privileges that Tetzcoca rulers had maintained. In determining royal merits, the Spanish Crown took into consideration genealogical succession as well as contributions to, and loyalty during, the conquest. To make Cortés Ixtlilxochitl the most reliable and powerful ally of the Spaniards,

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Alva Ixtlilxochitl singled him out of the many Tetzcoca nobles who aided the Spaniards. In Historia de la nación chichimeca, Alva Ixtlilxochitl (1997: II, 201) records that when Moctezuma sent his first messengers to Hernán Cortés, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, who was rebelling against Cacama and Moctezuma, also sent his messengers to the Spanish conquistador to ally with him in avenging the tyranny of Moctezuma, which made Cortés happy to receive them.19 In other chronicles, however, Alva Ixtlilxochitl did not mention the alliance, simply stating that when Cortés came to Tetzcoco, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl met him for the first time as one of the many principals of the city who came out to welcome the Spaniards (ibid.: I, 455). However, neither Spanish nor indigenous sources of other regions mention Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s messengers to Cortés. According to Spanish sources, the first gesture of alliance that the Spaniards received from the Tetzcoca was when Cortés was coming back to Tenochtitlan through Tetzcoco from Tlaxcala. Cortés (1993: 321–24) and Bernal Díaz del Castillo (1992: 288) record that several Tetzcoca leaders sent by the Tetzcoca ruler Coanacochtzin received Cortés. Even after the peaceful reception by the Tetzcoca, however, Cortés still did not trust them, because Coanacochtzin fled to Tenochtitlan with his relatives and royal treasures. At the beginning stage of the conquest of  Tenochtitlan, the Spaniards did not count the Tetzcoca among their indigenous allies. Cortés and Díaz del Castillo identified the Tlaxcalteca, the Huexotzinca, and the Cempoalteca as reliable indigenous allies with whom they entered Tenochtitlan. Cortés considered the Tetzcoca king Cacama, in contrast, as the most dangerous and threatening enemy and had Moctezuma kill Cacama in prison (ibid.: 226–27).20 Alva Ixtlilxochitl (1997: II, 201) presents Cortés Ixtlilxochitl as one of the first loyal indigenous allies of Cortés, like the Tlaxcalteca and Huexotzinca, but Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s collaboration with the Spaniards seems to have begun far later than that of these other groups. When the Spaniards were fleeing from Tenochtitlan after the Noche Triste and on the way back to Tlaxcala through the Tetzcoca-dominated region, Cortés (1993: 279–87) and Díaz del Castillo (1992: 254–62) each describe how they were constantly attacked by the Mexica and their allies without receiving any provisions or military aid until they finally arrived at Tlaxcala. Cortés (1993: 338) mentions in particular the battle in Otumba, where all the indigenous military forces joined to finish off the Spaniards. Díaz del Castillo (1992: 260) states that many of the Spaniards and their indigenous allies were killed in Otumba, as many as in Tenochtitlan during the Noche Triste. This Spanish description of the battle in Otumba calls into

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question Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s depiction of Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s military power and his contribution to the early stage of the conquest, because Otumba must have been under the control of Cortés Ixtlilxochitl even before the conquest. According to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s (1997: II, 191–92) chronicles, when Cortés Ixtlilxochitl rebelled against his brother Cacama and Moctezuma, he formed a front against the Tetzcoca and Mexica army at the eastern cities of Acolhuacan such as Papalotlan and Acolman and the northern cities of Acolhuacan such as Tecacman, Tzompanco, and Huehuetocan. If this was the case, Otumba, located in the far northeast of Acolhuacan, must have been conquered before the formation of this front. Furthermore, the alliance between the Tetzcoca nobles and the Spaniards does not seem to have been voluntary. After Coanacochtzin fled to Tenochtitlan when Cortés arrived at Tetzcoco, Cortés named one of Nezahualpilli’s sons, don Hernando Tecocoltzin, as ruler of  Tetzcoca. This divided the Tetzcoca nobles into two groups: pro- and anti-Spaniards (Chimalpahin 1997: II, 193). At the beginning of the alliance between the Tetzcoca nobles and the Spaniards, contrary to what Alva Ixtlilxochitl claims in his chronicles, Hernando Tecocoltzin, not Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, played a leading role. Cortés (1993: 381) and Díaz del Castillo (1992: 355–56) confirm that Cortés Ixtlilxochitl aided the Spaniards in the conquest of Mexico, but both conquistadors explain that his contributions were made under the command of his brother Hernando Tecocoltzin. Alva Ixtlilxochitl, however, discounts or in some cases ignores Hernando Tecocoltzin’s role, exaggerating or focusing exclusively on Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s heroic deeds. Several sources, both indigenous and Spanish, identify Hernando Tecocoltzin’s commanding role in the conquest of  Tenochtitlan. According to the “Tetzcoca accounts of conquest episodes” (Chimalpahin 1997: II, 189, 193), Hernando Tecocoltzin was named by Cortés as ruler of  Tetzcoco, and Tetzcoco served as the military base from which the Spaniards launched their attack on Tenochtitlan. Cortés Ixtlilxochitl built boats and transported them to Tenochtitlan following the orders of Hernando Tecocoltzin. Cortés (1993: 364–65) and Díaz del Castillo (1992: 288–89) also confirm the important role of Hernando Tecocoltzin, with a minimal difference in the process of building brigantines. According to them, Hernando Tecocoltzin ruled Tetzcoco and aided Cortés until his death slightly before the conquest of  Tenochtitlan. Alva Ixtlilxochitl (1997: I, 390–91, 455–57) echoes Cortés and Díaz del Castillo in recording the process by which Hernando Tecocoltzin was named by Cortés as ruler of Tetzcoco, but he mnimizes Hernando Tecocoltzin’s commanding role

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in the conquest of Tenochtitlan. In other passages, Alva Ixtlilxochitl portrays all of Tetzcoco’s military exploits under the command of Hernando Tecocoltzin as collaborative efforts with Cortés Ixtlilxochitl (ibid.: II, 255–59). One of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s reasons for writing the chronicles was to discount or silence Tecocoltzin’s, and to promote Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s, contribution to the conquest of  Tenochtitlan. The following description from Alva Ixtlilxochitl about the Tetzcoca contribution to the conquest of  Tenochtitlan indicates his purpose (ibid.: I, 467). When the Spaniards were exhausted and in much need of soldiers to counter the strong resistance of the Mexica, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl received fifty thousand troops from his brother Ahuachpitzactzin. According to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, all of these soldiers were his vassals. In this way, Alva Ixtlilxochitl presents this Tetzcoca support as coming from Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, thus contradicting Spanish sources that identify Hernando Tecocoltzin as the source of the reinforcements: Some historians, especially Spaniards, write that Ixtlilxochitl came with this army of fifty thousand men by order of his brother Tecocoltzin, which is quite the opposite, because, according to don Alonso Axayaca and the relaciones and paintings of the natives, especially one that I have in my possession, written in the

Tolteca or Mexica language, now thus called, and signed by all the old principals

of  Tetzcoco and confirmed and testified by the rest of the city and by principals and elders of the land, which are those that I follow in [writing] my history

because they are the most true, and those who wrote or painted them personally

were present on these occasions, and, whom I was able to find at their very old age, told and explained to me in person—a few years before they died—the way it happened, that Tecocoltzin was already dead at this time. (ibid.: I, 467)21

With his version of the story, Alva Ixtlilxochitl tries to emphasize Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s military action independent of  Tecocoltzin’s political leadership, but it gives some insights into Tetzcoca indigenous politics during and after the conquest. Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s political power was not as strong at the beginning of the conquest as Alva Ixtlilxochitl argues in his chronicles, at least until the death of  Tecocoltzin, which shows that Alva Ixtlilxochitl implicitly accepts Tecocoltzin’s leadership of  Tetzcoco during the conquest. In addition, the contribution of  Tecocoltzin to the conquest was so well-known and important that some Spanish historians recorded it in their chronicles, and the indigenous principals of  Tetzcoco as well as other towns still remembered it in the late

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sixteenth and early seventeenth century when Alva Ixtlilxochitl was writing his chronicles. Moreover, the fact that Ahuachpitzactzin sent the fifty thousand soldiers (as Alva Ixtlilxochitl records) also undermines his claim, because Ahuachpitzactzin was named by Hernán Cortés as ruler of  Tetzcoco right after Hernando Tecocoltzin’s death (Chimalpahin 1997: II, 195). By describing Cortés Ixtlilxochitl as the legitimate ruler of  Tetzcoco and the most significant contributor to the conquest, Alva Ixtlilxochitl presents his ancestor as the most powerful and autonomous leader in the eastern basin. The chronicler records that Cortés decided to award Cortés Ixtlilxochitl three provinces after the conquest—Otumba, Itziuhcohuac, and Cholula—but Cortés Ixtlilxochitl silenced Cortés by declaring that those provinces were already his. Then he came back to Tetzcoco and divided the Tetzcoca domain with his brother Coanacochtzin: Cortés Ixtlilxochitl took the northern part of the Tetzcoca kingdom, which included towns such as Otumba, Teotihuacan, Tulantzinco, and Pahuatla, and designated Otumba and Teotihuacan as head towns (cabeceras) where he built palaces for himself (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: I, 485). As a contributor to the conquest, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl must have received some lands from Cortés, and Cortés Ixtlilxochitl appears to have maintained political power over the northern part of the Tetzcoca kingdom. The nobles from Otumba and Cuauhtlatzinco who originated from the Tetzcoca dynasty confirm that Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicle does not have “any fault or defect, and it is very accurate and true” (ibid.: I, 519) 22 and that Cortés Ixtlilxochitl “was king and natural lord of the city of  Tetzcoco and this province of Otumba and kingdom of the Acolhuas and of the other provinces subject to them” (ibid.: I, 519).23 The Teotihuacan source, La relación del señorío de Teotihuacan (2000: 388–489), also confirms that Cortés Ixtlilxochitl owned considerable lands in Teotihuacan. These sources appear to corroborate Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s dominance in the towns of the northern area, but his power as described in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles looks very much exaggerated or inconsistent with the historical context in which Cortés Ixtlilxochitl became ruler of  Tetzcoco after the conquest. According to “Tetzcoca accounts of conquest episodes,” Cortés took all Tetzcoca lands after the conquest and named Cortés Ixtlilxochitl ruler of only Otumba (Chimalpahin 1997: II, 195), which would partially explain the dominance of Cortés Ixtlilxochitl over the northern area. According to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, however, the distribution of the Tetzcoca kingdom between Coanacochtzin and Cortés Ixtlilxochitl occurred right after the conquest of  Tenochtitlan, but neither Coanacochtzin nor Cortés Ixtlilxochitl actually had the political power to divide

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the Tetzcoca kingdom among themselves. After the conquest, Coanacochtzin was locked up in Coyoacan with Cuauhtemoc as a prisoner of Cortés because he had fought against the Spaniards until the fall of  Tenochtitlan. Tetzcoco was governed by Carlos Ahuachpitzactzin, whom Cortés named as ruler but later deposed because of his unwillingness to cooperate with the Spaniards (Chimalpahin 1997: II, 195–99); Cortés then appointed a commoner named Itzcuincuani as ruler of  Tetzcoco, about which the Tetzcoca nobles complained very much (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: I, 515–16; Chimalpahin 1997: II, 199–200). During these frequent changes of  Tetzcoca rulership, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl seems not to have had much power until he was appointed ruler by Cortés in the year Eight Rabbit (1526). He ruled Tetzcoco for five years until his death in Thirteen Reed (1531) (Chimalpahin 1997: II, 39; Codex en Cruz 1981: I, 48, 50). It should be remembered, however, that after the conquest Tetzcoca rulers controlled significantly reduced lands and tributes, mostly in the areas around Tetzcoco, losing their political power and control over their former subject towns in the Acolhuacan region (Gibson 1964: 51–52). After the conquest, the Spaniards introduced the cabecera system, through which they acknowledged the political power of local tlahtoqueh, and they controlled lands and tributes of the towns through these tlahtoqueh. The introduction of the cabecera system affected the political status of higher-rank towns such as Tenochtitlan and Tetzcoco, and there arose several lawsuits between the higher-rank towns and their former subject towns (Gibson 1964: 44–54; Lockhart 1992: 52–58). During his rulership of  Tetzcoco, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl attempted to restore Tetzcoca power by imposing traditional punishment on some local rulers who defied Tetzcoca dominance after the conquest. In a court trial between Tetzcoco and Tequizistlan in 1537 (Megged 2007: 359–62), the indigenous witnesses of  Tequizistlan testified that Cortés Ixtlilxochitl had killed their ruler because he did not recognize Tetzcoca control of land and labor in the town. Cortés Ixtlilxochitl also raided the ruler’s house and looted his precious belongings. One of the witnesses recalled that because of this illegal action, the Real Audiencia took away the rulership of Otumba from Cortés Ixtlilxochitl and expropriated lands that he had taken by force from other towns. The witness also recalled that Cortés Ixtlilxochitl fled to a Franciscan monastery in Tetzcoco and died there painfully. Cortés Ixtlilxochitl may have been a great ancestor-hero for Alva Ixtlilxochitl, but he was only one of many Tetzcoca nobles who contributed to the conquest. Thanks to this contribution, he became ruler of  Tetzcoco during the colonial period and exercised Tetzcoca power on the eastern side of the central basin

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of Mexico with a preconquest mindset. His anachronistic actions made him a criminal persecuted by the colonial authorities. Alva Ixtlilxochitl ends most of his chronicles with the conquest, focusing on his ancestor Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s military deeds. He does not provide more information about his ancestor’s later life as ruler of  Tetzcoco, probably because depicting the final moments of Cortés Ixtlilxochitl as a criminal would significantly jeopardize his own prospects of receiving support from the Spanish Crown.

Conclusion In his chronicles, Alva Ixtlilxochitl argues that his family, by virtue of being the legitimate descendants of  Tetzcoca rulers such as Nezahualpilli and Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, deserved to control the cacicazgo of  Teotihuacan and also to share the lands and tribute that the postconquest Tetzcoca rulers were controlling. However, this political strategy was easily challenged by the local opponents of his family in Teotihuacan. In a legal conflict in 1643, some Teotihuacan nobles and officials asked Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl to present the evidence of her right to the cacicazgo (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: II, 354–69). Against this challenge, Diego de Yerba Turrillo, who was the son-in-law of doña Ana Cortés and thus brother-in-law of Alva Ixtlilxochitl, used the same argument and strategy that Alva Ixtlilxochitl employed to defend his mother’s right to the cacicazgo about thirty years previously, in 1610. According to Yerba Turrillo, Ana Cortés had the right to possess lands in Teotihuacan as a legitimate descendant of the Tetzcoca king Nezahualpilli because in 1602, Salinas, the viceroy of New Spain, had ordered that all previous Tetzcoca lands be returned to Nezahualpilli’s descendants. In addition, Yerba Turrillo mentioned that Ana Cortés’s right to the cacicazgo was verified by the probanza that Alva Ixtlilxochitl prepared in 1610 (ibid.: II, 363–64). In the counterargument, the investigating judge argued that Viceroy Salinas’s order applied only to Tetzcoco and the descendants of that city, not to Teotihuacan, which was beyond Tetzcoca jurisdiction (ibid.: II, 365– 67). Despite this legal challenge in Teotihuacan, however, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s justification of his family’s right to the cacicazgo was accepted and recognized by the colonial administration in Tenochtitlan. This case clearly demonstrates that Alva Ixtlilxochitl understood colonial politics well, and his writings greatly assisted his family in maintaining their political status.

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Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s promotion of  Tetzcoca ancestry in his chronicles also brought him an incredibly successful career in the colonial administration. In 1612, he was appointed judge-governor of  Tetzcoco by the viceroy of New Spain, who was asked by “the principals and commoners of the said city [of ] Tetzcoco . . . to name don Fernando Ixtlilsúchil Dalva [de Alva Ixtlilxochitl] as a judge-governor of the city, by being close and legitimate successor of the kings who were from the said city and being capable and adequate for this ministry” (ibid.: II, 334).24 After the Tetzcoca governorship, the viceroy also appointed Alva Ixtlilxochitl judge-governor of  Tlalmanalco in Chalco in 1617. Alva Ixtlilxochitl was finally able to enter the political center in Tenochtitlan from the local town of  Teotihuacan. The most significant evidence that shows Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s success as an influential figure in Tenochtitlan is the letter of 1620 in which the Spanish king recommended official positions for Alva Ixtlilxochitl. Summarizing the same argument that Alva Ixtlilxochitl made in his chronicles, the king recommended him for official positions. In his letter, the king explained to the viceroy of New Spain that Alva Ixtlilxochitl deserved merit and favor as a descendant of Nezahualpilli and Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, who had been rulers of  Tetzcoco, one of the three leading cities before the conquest, and as great-grandson of the latter, who had significantly contributed to the conquest of  Tenochtitlan: “My will is that the said don Fernando de Alva Ixtilsúchil [Ixtlilxochitl] receive merit and favor, I command you to have him recommended, and that you keep and have him in positions and offices of my service, that deserve his quality and capacity so that he may serve me honorably, and that you help, honor, and favor him as needed, for in this I will be served” (ibid.: II, 343).25 Alva Ixtlilxochitl became one of the most successful castizo writers in the first half of the seventeenth century by promoting a favorable version of his indigenous origin in his chronicle. As a result, he and his family enjoyed royal support and favor for many years.

Notes 1. It is obvious that Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles and legal documents were closely related to the Spanish literary genre probanza y mérito. In all of his chronicles, Alva Ixtlilxochitl explicitly asked the Spanish authorities to grant his family royal favor, and he included some of his chronicles in support of

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his case. In his first chronicle, titled Sumaria relación de las cosas de la Nueva España, Alva Ixtlilxochitl (1997: I, 392–93) complains about the desperate situation of the Tetzcoca noble descendants: their noble status was not recognized, and they were being taxed. In the “Dedicatoria” of his second chronicle, Relación sucinta en forma de memorial, Alva Ixtlilxochitl asks one of the viceroys of New Spain to help noble descendants receive royal favor: “Suplico a vuestra excelencia reciba este pequeño servicio y se acuerde de los pobres descendientes de estos señores cuando se ofrezca ocasión que vuestra excelencia escriba a su majestad, que en ello recibiremos muchos bienes” (I beg Your Excellency to receive this little service and to remember the poor descendants of these lords when Your Excellency has a chance to write to Your Majesty, so that we will receive many favors) (ibid.: I, 413). All translations are mine. 2. While I was preparing this chapter, Bradley Benton (2014) published an article on the relationship between Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles and Tetzcoca native politics. Benton examines why Alva Ixtlilxochitl tried to establish a close relationship with the Tetzcoca dynasty and how he exploited this relationship to obtain political posts in the colonial administration. My study focuses on the relationship between Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles and the regional and local politics of  Tetzcoco and Teotihuacan. 3. The legal conflicts over the Teotihuacan cacicazgo between Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s son and his brother in the middle of the seventeenth century are a good example of this kind of internal conflict. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s eldest brother, Francisco de Navas Pérez de Peraleda, inherited the Teotihuacan cacicazgo from his mother, doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl. Because don Francisco did not bear any offspring, he declared in 1655 his younger brother don Luis de Alva to be the inheritor of the Teotihuacan cacicazgo. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s son don Juan de Alva Cortés acquired a legal order that verified him as the legitimate son of his late father, Alva Ixtlilxochitl, the second son of doña Ana, and therefore also the rightful heir of the cacicazgo of  Teotihuacan. Don Luis initiated a lawsuit against his nephew don Juan, but he lost. The colonial court recognized the legal rights of don Juan as cacique of  Teotihuacan in 1666. In the process of this legal conflict, the seventeenth-century creole intellectual Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora played an important role as the legal advocate of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s son don Juan (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1997: I, 37–42; II, 371–89). Probably thanks to his legal assistance in the lawsuit, Sigüenza y Góngora was able to gain access to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s manuscripts and indigenous

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informants who descended from Alva Ixtlilxochitl. For more details about the close relationship between Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s sons and Sigüenza y Góngora, see More 2013: 155–57. 4. Unlike his contemporary chroniclers such as Tezozomoc and Chimalpahin, Alva Ixtlilxochitl did not pay much attention to the chronological genealogy of the rulers of his hometown, San Juan Teotihuacan. In the document entitled “Diligencia de información y probanza de doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl,” Alva Ixtlilxochitl (1997: II, 294–301) briefly mentions Xiuhtototzin as tlahtoani of  Teotihuacan and as the father of don Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin. In Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles, however, Francisco Quetzalmamalitzin virtually disappears. In none of his chronicles does Alva Ixtlilxochitl try to connect himself and his family to Xiuhtototzin and Francisco Quetzalmamalitzin. Rather, he explicitly presents Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl as a daughter of Cortés Ixtlilxochitl and thus a legitimate descendant of  Tetzcoca kings such as Nezahualpilli and Nezahualcoyotl (ibid.: I, 493). 5. The wills of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s ancestors don Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin and doña Francisca Verdugo, the legal documents that Alva Ixtlilxochitl prepared such as “Diligencia de información y probanza de doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl,” and other documents from Teotihuacan such as Relación del señorío de Teotihuacan are useful sources in reconstructing the genealogy of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s family and its role in Teotihuacan. Most modern studies that deal with the genealogy of  Teotihuacan rulers are based on these sources (Benton 2014: 39–42; Sanders and Price 2003: 76–77; Villella 2014: 22). The most detailed and comprehensive study of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s family and its role in Teotihuacan is that of Ignacio B. del Castillo (1922), which covers the genealogical succession of the Teotihuacan lords from 1439 to 1857. 6. Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s case should not be used to generalize the political status of indigenous women during the colonial period. Despite the fact that Spanish colonial authorities attempted to bar indigenous women from participating in public life by introducing Spanish rules and customs, many indigenous women were disobedient and defiant. They actively engaged in economic, political, and religious activities to protect their legal rights and their families, and they sometimes organized violent outbreaks against the colonial administration (Haskett 1997: 145–64). 7. James Lockhart’s study of Prehispanic land classification and its modification after the conquest provides some clues to understanding these lawsuits (1992:

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8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

155–76), but establishing which lands doña Francisca Verdugo Ixtlilxochitl lost or was able to keep after the lawsuits is difficult because of a lack of information on land distribution between the cacique and the governor of Teotihuacan. The account of this joint political campaign of the three cities Tenochtitlan, Tetzcoco, and Tlacopan attempted to provide a basis for the concept of the so-called Triple Alliance before the conquest. This alliance appears to be a postconquest invention by means of which the three cities attempted to recover their lands and tribute under Spanish colonial rule (Gillespie 1998; Lee 2013). For more examples like these petition letters, see Pérez-Rocha and Tena 2000 (La nobleza indígena del centro de México después de la conquista). This book includes several letters from the rulers of the major cities Tenochtitlan, Tetzcoco, and Tlacopan, as well as those of other cities. It also includes other important documents about colonial Teotihuacan such as don Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin’s proof of merit (ibid.: 203–10) and his letter petitioning a coat of arms from the Spanish Crown for the contribution of his ancestors to the conquest of  Tenochtitlan and the suppression of the rebellion of Nuño de Guzman (ibid.: 201–2). The favorable decision by the viceroy in response to the petition of the Tetzcoca rulers had both a positive and a negative impact on the Ixtlilxochitl family in Teotihuacan. On the one hand, they now could claim that as descendants of the former Tetzcoca ruler Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, they should share the lands and tribute of  Tetzcoco. On the other hand, the viceroy’s decision served as a legal basis for the claims of don Francisco Pimentel, the governor of  Tetzcoco, who in 1576 brought a lawsuit against doña Francisca Verdugo Ixtlilxochitl regarding lands and tribute in Teotihuacan, which, according to the Tetzcoca rulers, were previously located in the Tetzcoca jurisdiction (Horcasitas 1978: 14–18). “Item, si saben que las tres cabezas que fueron de esta Nueva España, que son los reyes de Tezcuco, México y Tlacupan, y los demás señores de su casa y linaje eran señores del suelo y las tierras eran suyas, y sobre ellas los naturales les servían y pagaban tributo y vasallaje de labranza y crianza, y que la dicha Ana Cortés, como legítima sucesora de los dichos reyes y señores naturales, y descendientes de su casa y linaje le pertenecen y es señora de las dichas tierras y suelo del dicho pueblo; digan lo que saben, y si lo oyeron a sus mayores y más ancianos, etcétera.” The descendants of Cortés Ixtlilxochitl in Teotihuacan and any of them who still lived in Tetzcoco lost their political power, because the children of Cortés

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Ixtlilxochitl’s brother Coanacochtzin dominated in the succession of  Tetzcoca rulership. Thus, those Tetzcoca rulers and their descendants could claim whatever lands the colonial administration awarded Tetzcoco as a member of the Triple Alliance. In this political context, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s effort to make his mother a legitimate heir of the Triple Alliance would have been ridiculous from the perspective of many of his contemporary indigenous nobles (Benton 2014: 49). 13. Alva Ixtlilxochitl (1997) and Juan de Torquemada (1986: 108–16) provide the most detailed information on the Tepanec-Acolhuacan war. For a modern interpretation of the war, see Davies 1980: 293–302; Lee 2008: 86–90; Offner 1983: 40–45. 14. “En tiempo de su gentilidad fueron gente y república sobre sí, sin reconocer a nadie, sino a sus señores naturales, [a los] q[ue] llamaban chichimecas, hasta que Nezahualcoyotzin, señor de Tezcuco, tiranizó toda comarca, matando a los hijos de Tetzotzomoctli, señor de [A]zcapotzalco, a quien todos reconocían, por guerra. Y, después de su muerte de Tetzotzomoctli, el dicho Nezahualcoyotzin se hizo poderoso, aliándose con Montezuma, señor de México.” 15. Both the scribes of the relaciones geográficas from Acolman, Tequizistlan, and Tepechpan and those of  Teotihuacan use the word tiranizar (tyrannize) to describe Nezahualcoyotl’s conquest of their towns (Relaciones geográficas 1982–88: VII, 226, 242, 245). 16. Alva Ixtlilxochitl adapted the same strategy that his relatives in Tetzcoco used previously to promote their supremacy over other cities in the eastern basin after the conquest. In the 1540s and 1560s, Tetzcoca nobles created several pictorial codices such as the Codex Xolotl, the Mapa Quinatzin, and the Mapa Tlotzin to demonstrate that Tetzcoco was the leading city in the eastern basin before the conquest (Douglas 2003; Spitler 1998). 17. In later chronicles, Alva Ixtlilxochitl provides the right version of the Codex Xolotl, but nowhere does he record that the Teotihuacan dynasty originated from Tochintecuhtli’s Huexotla. 18. Offner (1983: 238–41) summarizes Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s rebellion and the historical context in which this rebellion occurred. 19. If Cortés Ixtlilxochitl really proposed an alliance with the Spaniards even before their arrival at Tenochtitlan, Hernán Cortés would have recorded this proposed alliance in his second letter, which dealt with the arrival at Tenochtitlan and the retreat to Tlaxcala. Cortés mentions that many indigenous

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groups wanted to join or offer him military aid, because they had been suffering under Moctezuma’s tyranny. It is unlikely that Cortés would not have mentioned Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s proposal in his letter, because an alliance with the rebellious prince of  Tetzcoco, the second city of the Aztec empire, would have been a significant military alliance as well as useful political propaganda against his Aztec enemies. 20. Few of the existing Tetzcoca sources such as Pomar’s Relación geográfica de Texcoco (1993), Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles (1997), and the Tetzcoca documents collected by Chimalpahin (1997) mention Cacama or describe him as a good ruler. The negative image of Cacama was partly due to the Spanish conquistadors’ perception of him as he tenaciously fought against the Spaniards during the conquest of  Tenochtitlan. 21. “Algunos historiadores, especialmente españoles, escriben que con este ejército de cincuenta mil hombres vino Ixtlilxúchitl por mandado de su hermano Tecocotzin, lo cual es muy al revés, porque según Don Alonso Axayaca y las relaciones y pinturas de los naturales, especialmente de una que tengo en mi poder, escrita en lengua tulteca o mexicana, que ahora llaman así, y firmada de todos los principales viejos de Tezcuco y confirmada y testificada por los demás de la ciudad más principales y antiguos de esta tierra, que son los que yo sigo en mi historia por ser las más verdaderas, y que los que las escribieron o pintaron se hallaron personalmente a estas ocasiones, demás de que algunos de ellos me lo han dicho vocalmente y contado de la manera que sucedió, que ha pocos años que se han muerto, los cuales yo alcancé ya muy viejos, que Tecocotzin era ya muerto a esta ocasión y a la manera que está referido.” 22. “Ninguna falta y defecto y es muy cierta y verdadera.” 23. “Rey y señor natural que fue de la ciudad de Tezcoco y esta provincia de Otumba y reino de aculhuas y de las demás provincias sus sujetas.” 24. “Los principales y común de dicha ciudad de Tezcuco me [el virrey] han pedido nombre por juez gobernador de ella a Don Fernando Dalva Ixtlisúchil, por ser propincuo y legítimo sucesor de los reyes que fueron de la dicha ciudad y ser persona capaz y suficiente para este ministerio.” 25. “Mi voluntad es que el dicho Don Fernando de Alva Ixtilsúchil reciba merced y favor, os mando le tengáis por recomendado y que lo proveáis, y ocupéis en oficios y cargos de mi servicio, que sean de su calidad y suficiencia en que me pueda servir honradamente, y en lo demás que se le ofreciere le ayudéis, honréis y favorezcáis, que en ello seré servido.”

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Works Cited Adorno, Rolena. 1989. “Arms, Letters and the Native Historian in Early Colonial Mexico.” In 1492–1992: Re/discovering Colonial Writing, edited by René Jara and Nicholas Spadaccini, 201–24. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de. 1997. Obras históricas. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. 2 vols. Reprint, Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Anales de Tlatelolco. 1948. Edited by Heinrich Berlin-Neubart. Mexico City: Antigua Librería Robredo. Annals of Cuauhtitlan. 1992. In History and Mythology of the Aztecs: The Codex Chimalpopoca, translated by John Bierhorst, 17–138. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Baudot, Georges. 1995. “Nezahualcóyotl, príncipe providencial en los escritos de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl.” Estudios de Cultura Nahuatl 25: 17–28. Benton, Bradley. 2014. “The Outsiders: Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Tenuous Ties to the City of  Tetzcoco.” Colonial Latin American Review 23 (1): 37–52. Bernand, Carmen, and Serge Gruzinski. 1999. Historia del Nuevo Mundo: Los mestizajes II (1550–1640). Vol. 2. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Brian, Amber. 2010. “Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Narratives of the Conquest of Mexico: Colonial Subjectivity and the Circulation of Native Knowledge.” In The Conquest All Over Again: Nahuas and Zapotecs Thinking, Writing, and Painting Spanish Colonialism, edited by Susan Schroeder, 124–43. Eastbourne, UK: Sussex Academic Press. Carrasco, Pedro. 1984a. “The Extent of the Tepanec Empire.” In The Native Sources and the History of the Valley of Mexico: Proceedings of International Congress of Americanistas, Manchester 1982, edited by J. de Durand-Forest, 72–79. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports. ———. 1984b. “Royal Marriages in Ancient Mexico.” In Explorations in Ethnohistory, edited by H. R. Harvey and Hanns J. Prem, 41–81. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. ———. 1999. The Tenochca Empire of Ancient Mexico: The Triple Alliance of Tenochtitlan, Tetzcoco, and Tlacopan. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Castillo, Ignacio B. del. 1922. “Apuntes para la genealogía de los señores de Teotihuacan.” In La población del Valle de Teotihuacan, vol. 1, pt. 2, edited by Manuel Gamio, 535–47. Mexico City: Secretaria de Agricultura y Fomento. Chamberlain, Robert S. 1939. “The Concept of Señor Natural as Revealed by Castilian Law and Administrative Documents.” Hispanic American Historical Review 19: 130–37.

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Pomar, Juan Bautista. 1993. Relación geográfica de Texcoco. In Poesía náhuatl, edited by Angel María Garibay K., vol. 1, 149–219. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Relación del señorío de Teotihuacan. 2000. In La nobleza indígena del centro de México después de la conquista, edited by Emma Pérez-Rocha and Rafael Tena, 379–404. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Relaciones geográficas del siglo XVI: México. 1982–88. Edited by René Acuña. 10 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Sanders, William T., and Barbara J. Price. 2003. “The Native Aristocracy and the Evolution of the Latifundio in the Teotihuacan Valley, 1521–1917.” Ethnohistory 50 (1): 69–88. Santamaría, Carlos. 2006. “Acolhuacan bajo dominio Tepaneca: Un capítulo de la expansión de Azcapotzalco.” Anales del Museo de América 14: 9–26. Schroeder, Susan. 1997. “Introduction.” In Codex Chimalpahin: Society and Politics in Mexico Tenochtitlan, Tlatelolco, Texcoco, Culhuacan, and Other Nahua Altepetl in Central Mexico, edited and translated by Arthur J. O. Anderson and Susan Schroeder, vol. 1, 3–16. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Spitler, Susan. 1998. “The Mapa Tlotzin: Preconquest History in Colonial Mexico.” Journal de la Societe des Americanistas 84: 71–81. ———. 2000. “El equilibrio entre la veracidad histórica y el propósito en los códices de Texcoco.” In Códices y documentos sobre México: Tercer Simposio Internacional, coordinated by Constanza Vega Sosa, 617–31. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Tezozomoc, Fernando Alvarado. 1992. Crónica mexicayotl. Translated by Adrián León. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Torquemada, Juan de. 1983. Monarquía indiana. Edited by Miguel León-Portilla. 3 vols. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa. Townsend, Camilla. 2014. “Polygyny and the Divided Altepetl: The Tetzcocan Key to Preconquest Nahua Politics.” In Texcoco: Prehispanic and Colonial Perspectives, edited by Jongsoo Lee and Galen Brokaw, 93–116. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Velazco, Salvador. 2003. Visiones de Anáhuac: Reconstrucciones historiográficas y etnicidades emergentes en el México colonial; Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, Diego Muñoz Camargo y Hernando Alvarado Tezozómoc. Guadalajara: Universidad de Guadalajara. Villella, Peter B. 2014. “The Last Acolhua: Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Elite Native Historiography in Early New Spain.” Colonial Latin American Review 23 (1): 18–36.

5 Constructed Discourse in Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Chronicles Heather Allen

I

I argue that the frequent appearance of direct and indirect dialogue in Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work should be understood as a form of constructed discourse. First, I explain the meaning of constructed discourse and contest some scholars’ assumption that the dialogue form is largely indigenous in origin and accordingly signifies that some of the information communicated in the dialogue derives from indigenous sources. Second, by closely reading an event narrated in constructed discourse in the Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco and the Historia de la nación chichimeca, I contend that purely internal evidence supports the inference that constructed discourse enhances an account’s apparent objectivity while also signaling its special importance for the author. In Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s case specifically, even though the dialogues in his two reconstructions of the same event have opposing results, both support his historiographical goals given the political and military context. The reading proposed here demonstrates that, while questioning the efficacy of the search for authenticity in sources, an engagement with the text that is sensitive to constructed discourse as a rhetorical device rather than a marker of indigenous authenticity can enrich our understanding of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work, enhancing its value both as a literary and as a historiographical source in its own right. By comparing the ways in which Alva Ixtlilxochitl portrays similar historical events, this chapter works in line with Jerome Offner’s invitation n this chapter,

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for a comparative study of Alva Ixtlilxochitl and contemporary European historiographers of New Spain (see chapter 3 of this volume), albeit within a single author’s texts rather than in reference to multiple historians’ works.1 Moreover, comparing Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s use of constructed discourse with that of contemporary mestizo and native chroniclers such as Hernando de Alvarado Tezozomoc and Domingo Francisco de San Antón Muñón Chimalpahin Quauhtlehuanitzin—in addition to documents that have already been identified as sources for parts of his chronicles, such as Juan de Torquemada’s Monarquía indiana, the Codex Xolotl, and the Mapa Quinatzin—could move research on oral characteristics in historiography beyond identification of source materials.

What Is Constructed Dialogue? Linguist Deborah Tannen defines “constructed dialogue” as reported speech within another conversation or written discourse (1982: 2; 2007: 17). Other terms that have been used to describe this concept include “quoted speech” (Koven 2001: 513), and “recorded dialogue” (Tedlock 1999: 163). Tannen finds these terms misleading, however, since what is called “reported speech” was never in fact vocalized. This is because the reporter necessarily alters it in the telling—from a change in context at the simplest level to more subtle and complex changes in tense, case, and lexicon—so that the speech attributed to the original speaker now belongs to the reporter (Tannen 2007: 104–5). The term “constructed dialogue,” in contrast, emphasizes that when one person narrates the words of another, although such words are often put forth as being the exact ones stated by the original speaker, they are actually a “recontextualization of words in current discourse” (Tannen 2007: 17, 110). Formulated thus, it is evident that constructed dialogue is by no means a neutral reporting device—although it may masquerade as impartial—but rather a way in which the speaker or author constructs a story and conveys, consciously or unconsciously, his or her ideological positions.2 In its role as rhetorical device, there are two types of constructed dialogue: direct and indirect quotation. The former reproduces, often in first person, the words of another and in modern editions is conventionally set off with quotation marks, indicating the supposed fidelity of the reproduction to the original statement. Linguists describe direct quotation as “a more vivid manner of reporting speech which retains expressive features of the quoted utterance” (Koven 2001: 527). Whether direct or indirect, quoted dialogue is a discursive

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strategy with multiple purposes. It characterizes individuals and brings nuance to the relationships between those involved in the dialogue, further establishing character identity (Álvarez-Cáccamo 1996: 34; Francis 2001: 79; Hill 1995: 116– 17; Koven 2001: 528). It can also be evaluative in nature, hinting at one person’s attitude toward another or at the author’s evaluation of the characters speaking or events that take place ( Johnstone 1987: 35–36; Schiffrin 1981: 45).

Constructed Dialogue in New Spanish Historiography: Problems of Source Identification Despite the existence of constructed dialogue in the literary traditions of both Mesoamerican and European cultures, scholars tend to explain away its presence within colonial historiography in two ways. If direct dialogue forms a substantial portion of the narrative, then it is most often considered a legacy of indigenous oral discourse. Mesoamericanists tend to identify elaborate and extensive direct dialogues as a particularly indigenous trait because they figure prominently in oral discourse (Cortés 2006: 29; Lockhart 1992: 390; Tedlock 1999: 163, 172), which in turn is a major component of Prehispanic indigenous literature, accompanying and explicating material record-keeping items such as painted manuscripts and sculptures (Gruzinski 1993: 12–13; Hill Boone 2000: 20–22).3 For instance, Miguel León-Portilla and James Lockhart have identified characteristics of indigenous oral and pictorial traditions in the constructed dialogues of alphabetical histories of Prehispanic Mesoamerican peoples, including book 12 of Sahagún’s Historia general de las cosas de la Nueva España, Hernando de Alvarado Tezozomoc’s Crónica mexicana, and the collective history Anales de Tlatelolco.4 If we take this tendency one step further, we see that when scholars identify a constructed dialogue as originating from a preconquest indigenous source, they often imply or take for granted that the dialogue is authentic rather than the historian’s own postconquest European- or Spanish-influenced reconstruction. It is certainly impossible to deny that constructed dialogues like those found in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s histories exhibit indigenous communication modes— these elements are clearly evident, as scholars have demonstrated. However, it is unfounded to conclude that the presence of apparent indigenous communication modes unequivocally indicates the chronicler’s exclusive use of “pure”

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Mesoamerican sources, or even Mesoamerican rather than Hispanic sources, and that he consequently presents an “uncontaminated” vision of Prehispanic societies.5 One compelling reason why such a position can be unfounded is that critics also identify extensive constructed dialogue as a European literary device in the same texts and contexts. Indeed, in ancient Greek and Roman historiography, which heavily influenced European medieval and early modern historiography (Hansen 1993: 173), direct dialogue was frequently used to present longer, more developed speeches such as battle exhortations, which were used to increase dramatic tension and bring variety to long narratives of war (Iglesias Zoido 2007: 143–44). What is more, colloquial registers, parallelisms, repetition of sounds, words, phrases, and syntactic constructions, and the extensive presence of direct dialogue, all of which scholars of Nahuatl tend to identify as indigenous (Calnek 1978: 260; Hill 1998: 11–12; León-Portilla 1996: 6–7; Lockhart 1992: 364–66; Townsend 2009: 627), are common to oral discourse in many languages in addition to Nahuatl, as linguists have noted (Bright 1990: 439; Francis 2001: 85; Tannen 1982: 3, 7; 2007: 128).6 When critics view constructed discourse such as a battle exhortation, an extended speech, or an argument between two enemies as a legacy of European and classical rather than native historiography, it is often dismissed as “literary license designed to give agility and pleasantness to the account” (“licencias literarias destinadas a proporcionar agilidad y amenidad al relato”) (Vázquez 1985: 98n34) or “a discourse strategy for framing information in a way that communicates effectively and creates involvement” (Tannen 2007: 112). In other words, it is there simply to capture and maintain the reader’s interest (Iglesias Zoido 2007: 144; Koven 2001: 528).7 Alva Ixtlilxochitl extensively utilized direct and indirect discourse in his works to report the utterances of historical figures. Although critics such as Ángel María Garibay argue that his works exemplify indigenous historiography, recent researchers have questioned this assessment. They consider his composition and style predominantly European (Vázquez 1985: 33) because he largely utilized Spanish terminology—for example, using rey and república rather than the Nahuatl tlahtoani and altepetl to describe the Prehispanic indigenous world (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 451, 501)—a supposed indication of his cultural “Hispanization,” 8 and he followed European historiographical conventions (e.g., employing chapter divisions and headings and a Christian teleological chronology [ibid.: I, 64, 65, 454; 1985, 59, 158]) (Vázquez 1985: 33, 36; Velazco 2003a: 44).9 Rolena Adorno, Salvador Velazco, and Jongsoo Lee, for instance,

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have demonstrated in different ways how Alva Ixtlilxochitl constructed his Prehispanic Tetzcoca history via European ideologies and historiographical conventions. Adorno contends that Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s goal was to highlight the military values shared by indigenous and European cultures as embodied by his grandfather, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, thus emphasizing and demanding recognition of the latter’s role as Cortés’s ally in the conquest of Mexico-Tenochtitlan (2007: 142). Velazco shows how Alva Ixtlilxochitl integrated the Tetzcoca past into the European flow of a history guided by the hand of God (2003a: 56). Lee demonstrates that although Alva Ixtlilxochitl did indeed use indigenous pictorial and alphabetical sources to redact his works, his use of such sources was filtered and manipulated through a colonial Catholic Spanish lens to present Nezahualcoyotl as an ideal ruler according to European standards (Lee 2008: 229).10 An examination of one of the three instances of direct dialogue in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s “Decimatercia relación” from the Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco (1608) reveals a mix of influences and thus the difficulties inherent in accurately and definitively identifying the cultural origin of constructed discourse.11 For instance, the chronicler employs apostrophe to open the dialogue (“¡ah, señor” [Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 501]), a discursive technique found in both traditions, which makes determining the origin difficult if not impossible. Another example of this ambivalence is evident in a soliloquy given by the tlacatecatl Temilotzin to chastise the younger generals for joking about who will receive more privileges from the Spanish in return for their loyalty during the conquest.12 In the following quotation, Alva Ixtlilxochitl shows “a tendency to double if not triple or quadruple every noun, verb, and larger phrase” (Lockhart 1992: 366): “The Chichimec empire lacked the peace and concordance which is a good pastor in kingdoms, and our pride and discord delivered us into the hands of these foreigners to suffer long and arduous treks, hunger, cold, and another thousand calamities we suffer, dispossessed of our realms and control” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 501).13 Communicating a sense of unremitting hardship, this repetition of nouns and noun phrases is characteristic of Nahua discourse, as Lockhart observes (1992: 366). However, hendiatris, or triple iteration (“las hambres, fríos y otras mil calamidades” [hunger, cold, and another thousand calamities]), and hendiadys, or two words linked with a conjunction (“la paz y concordancia” [peace and concordance]), are also integral devices used for emphasis in Western rhetoric. They are found in classical texts including works by Cicero and Virgil, as well as the Bible (Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. “hendiadys”), all of which are texts

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Alva Ixtlilxochitl most likely read as part of his education. Direct discourse, therefore, regardless of whether it is extensive or brief, should be evaluated carefully, as Lockhart warns (1992: 366), to determine its influences and sources. Thus, while the presence of these elements may indeed indicate that the historian worked from an indigenous source, we must be cautious in making such an assessment and use other indications to confirm that this was indeed the case.

Constructed Discourse in the Works of Alva Ixtlilxochitl: Problematizing Cacama Through Direct Dialogue Setting aside the tendency to categorize, given the difficulties inherent in claiming direct dialogue as evidence of an indigenous or European source, this section focuses on constructed discourse’s discursive functions in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles. The episodes examined come from the “Decimatercia relación,” the most extensive of the thirteen relaciones forming the Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco (1608), and the Historia de la nación chichimeca (c. 1615; hereafter Historia), which historian Edmundo O’Gorman considers “the definitive work to which one should refer in order to capture [Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s] conception of the indigenous past” (1975: 218).14 Both works span from Prehispanic Tetzcoca history through the Spanish invasion, thus offering for comparison not only similar pre- and postconquest historical events such as battle exhortations, sermons, war councils, and messenger and ambassador exchanges but also occasionally the same historical events. Indeed, the two texts are complementary: the “Decimatercia relación,” according to O’Gorman, “replaces what is missing from the Historia de la nación chichimeca” (ibid.: 211), whose manuscript is incomplete and, like the “Decimatercia relación,” probably narrated Cortés’s trip to Honduras (Hibueras) in 1524 (ibid.: 217).15 For these reasons, these particular works provide the most useful passages for assessing Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s use of constructed discourse. War councils recounted in both direct and indirect dialogue are commonly occurring constructed discourses in the “Decimatercia relación” and the Historia.16 One war council in particular transpires at a pivotal historical moment: Moctezuma receives news that a group of odd foreigners with strange animals and transportation modes—Cortés’s expedition—has landed and is making its way toward Tenochtitlan with the expressly stated purpose of visiting him. To decide on an appropriate course of action in response to this information,

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according to standard political procedure he convenes a consejo with a group of advisers composed of principal tlahtoqueh, some of whom are kinsmen (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 451–52; 1985: 220–21, 229–32; Hassig 1988: 50–51; Offner 1983: 161).17 Alva Ixtlilxochitl recounts two different versions of this meeting in the “Decimatercia relación” and the Historia.18 In both, Cacama, the tlahtoani of Tetzcoco and Moctezuma’s nephew, is one of only two principals mentioned by name in the consejo (the other is Moctezuma’s brother Cuitlahuac). Yet although Cacama speaks and provides similar advice in both works, the dialogue alters the causality of events in each text, problematizing the ways in which Cacama’s importance as a historical actor can be understood.19 Before Cacama speaks, he is briefly characterized in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s narrative in the Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco. At the end of the “Duodécima relación,” the chronicler reports, “The pride of Moctezuma, who controlled what was his own and others’, grew more, and thus, although against the will of the principal rulers of  Tetzcoco, he commanded the coronation of his nephew Cacama, natural son of the king Nezahualpiltzintli, born of one of his concubines who was Moctezuma’s sister” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 450).20 With this phrase, Cacama is first introduced as dependent on Moctezuma for his political power, able to become tlahtoani only through his uncle’s machinations.21 Going into the subsequent “Decimatercia relación,” the reader thus knows nothing else of Cacama, and the little information given only treats him in relation to Moctezuma.22 Throughout the next few paragraphs, however, Alva Ixtlilxochitl offers slightly more information providing further characterization of Cacama. In a highly condensed narrative (which differs from the Historia in the order and presence of events), he recounts Cortés’s journey toward Tenochtitlan to meet with Moctezuma. After Cortés travels through Quiyahuitzan and Tlaxcala and meets with their inhabitants, Alva Ixtlilxochitl narrates in greater detail a meeting that occurs when Cortés and his allies arrive in Ayutzinco: Where king Cacama came out to receive them, offering them his city of  Tetzcoco

if they would like to go there, and they, especially Captain Cortés, thanked him profusely, and told him that there was no time, that another time [Cortés] would

do [Cacama] the honor, because at the moment [Cortés] was on his way with all

possible haste to see Moctezuma, and thus Cacama returned to Tetzcoco, and from there he left for Mexico City, and once he arrived related everything he

had seen, and how the Spaniards were very close because by then they were in Iztapalapan. (1975–77: I, 451)23

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This indirect dialogue with Cortés, in which Cacama courteously extends his city’s hospitality, exemplifies the politesse for which Tetzcoco is renowned (Offner 1983: 242; 1993: 72), a respected skill Cacama displays again in the war council Moctezuma convenes shortly. Additionally, it solidifies Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s suggestion in the “Duodécima relación” that Cacama is under Moctezuma’s thumb, an insinuation he repeats at the beginning of the “Decimatercia relación” when he states, “[Moctezuma] governed all that belonged to Tetzcoco and its kingdoms and provinces, because King Cacama was his nephew and had been put in power by him” (“Lo que era de Tezcuco y sus reinos y provincias [Moctezuma] lo mandaba todo, porque el rey Cacama era su sobrino y puesto por su mano”) (1975–77: I, 450). That is, although Moctezuma is only one of three rulers of the Triple Alliance, he actually controls another of the three kingdoms through his influence over his nephew. Because of the manner in which he comes to power, then, Cacama’s behavior in the scene above confirms via actions his implicated role as Moctezuma’s pawn. Indeed, as soon as Cortés’s retinue continues on its journey to Tenochtitlan, Cacama manages to lap the expedition, arriving in Tenochtitlan in time to warn his uncle of their imminent arrival even though he stops first in Tetzcoco. Immediately following Cacama’s report to Moctezuma, Alva Ixtlilxochitl states that “Moctezuma convened council many times, as to whether it would be good to receive the Christians” (1975–77: I, 451).24 His juxtaposition of Cacama’s report and mention of Moctezuma’s councils give the impression that the latter are a direct result of the former.25 In turn, this suggests that although Cacama is at least loyal to his uncle and at most under Moctezuma’s control, he also holds some influence over Moctezuma, since his report on the Spaniards and their expedition causes Moctezuma to convene a war council. Cacama’s influence, suggested by the order of events Alva Ixtlilxochitl elected to narrate in the “Decimatercia relación” (which differ from those in the Historia, as discussed below), is made clearer in the war council itself, in which he and Cuitlahuac, Moctezuma’s brother and tlahtoani of Iztapalapan (Hassig 1988: 244), voice the only two named opinions. After Alva Ixtlilxochitl states that Moctezuma asks his advisers whether it would be acceptable to welcome the Christians, he continues: Cuitlahuac his brother and other nobles were of the opinion that in no way was it advisable, [while] Cacama was of a very contrary opinion, saying that it was a base

act for princes to refuse the embassies of [other princes], especially [those] of the

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Christians, who [were], according to them, the greatest in the world, as in effect

the emperor our lord was, although this had already been established, and thus the

next day Moctezuma went out with his nephew Cacama and his brother Cuitlahuac and all of his court to receive Cortés. (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 451) 26

Cacama’s dialogue consists of an impersonal phrase in the imperfect rather than present indicative tense and therefore is structured as indirect discourse. Although it is indirect rather than direct discourse—which can be considered a stronger, clearer voice, because the word diciendo (saying) is used to preface only Cacama’s speech and not that of Cuitlahuac and the other nobles—his voice holds more narrative space and therefore weight than theirs. Indeed, through this advice Cacama suddenly seems more powerful, willing to state a dissenting opinion clearly in the presence of his uncle and other important leaders who may have been against his election as tlahtoani of  Tetzcoco. Furthermore, to hint that the advisors are counseling Moctezuma to commit a bajeza (vile or base act) makes Cacama appear less like a puppet and more independent—that is, he is not a follower in this scene. In fact, he is stating common practice in Mesoamerica: official ambassadors “were received in peace even by enemy cities and . . . enjoyed certain immunities when traveling, as long as they stayed on the main roads” (Hassig 1988: 50).27 While his counsel makes Cacama seem more independent than his initial characterization allowed, the impersonal phrasing he utilizes (“it was a base act” [era bajeza de príncipes]), and its allusion to Tetzcoco’s famed and respected expertise in political matters such as etiquette among nobles (Offner 1993: 70), places him (and by extension Tetzcoco) in a neutral position vis-à-vis both the Spanish colonial administration and Tenochtitlan. He provides his kinsman and ally Moctezuma with advice on political procedure that had long been accepted in Mesoamerica as sound (Hassig 1988: 50–51), while showing that Tetzcoco aided Cortés (and by extension the Spanish Crown) in opening the way for Catholicism by offering hospitality to Cortés’s embassy and counseling that it be received in Tenochtitlan (Velazco 2003a: 56). In terms of the dialogue’s placement in the narrative’s teleology, when Alva Ixtlilxochitl immediately follows Cacama’s speech act with the news that Moctezuma and his retinue go out to receive Cortés’s expedition, the chronicler suggests that Moctezuma heeds Cacama although the other principals disagree. As a result of bracketing Cacama’s discourse with two events apparently caused by Cacama’s speech acts (the invitation he extends to Cortés, followed by his

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arrival in Tenochtitlan, where he informs Moctezuma of Cortés’s immanent arrival, and Moctezuma receiving Cortés’s embassy)—eliding, in the process, many events that led up to Moctezuma’s meeting with Cortés—Cacama’s constructed discourse becomes the driving force of this portion of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s teleology, the hinge upon which the historical order of events turns. In using constructed discourse to narrate in part Cacama’s seemingly contradictory actions, Alva Ixtlilxochitl employs a rhetorical device, in addition to other strategies scholars of his work have analyzed, to build his relación de méritos arguing for Tetzcoco’s continuing favored status as Spanish allies from the beginning of contact, without presenting his great-uncle Cacama as a traitor to the Triple Alliance.28 Stated differently, Cacama’s historical role stands out because Alva Ixtlilxochitl names him and gives him a voice, while the indirect speech indicates the need for a filtered or subdued role that will mirror the neutrality Alva Ixtlilxochitl constructs for Tetzcoco, in which it is neither a traitor to its native allies nor an enemy to the invading Spaniards. The incidents that Alva Ixtlilxochitl elides or condenses in the “Decimatercia relación” between Cacama’s succession in 1515 and Cortés’s and Moctezuma’s first meeting in 1520 are narrated in the Historia in much greater detail. Furthermore, Cacama speaks directly, rather than indirectly, during the war council that Moctezuma convenes when Cortés is approaching Tenochtitlan. Although there is great parity in the advice Cacama offers in both the “Decimatercia relación” and the Historia, however, its causes are apparently different. While Cacama is introduced briefly vis-à-vis his relationship with Moctezuma in the “Decimatercia relación,” making him at first appear to be the Tenochca’s puppet, in the Historia Alva Ixtlilxochitl provides a slightly more favorable characterization of Cacama when he contextualizes the conflict over succession in Tetzcoco after King Nezahualpilli’s death. According to the chronicler, possible successors were narrowed down to three infantes: Coanacoch, Cacama, and Cortés Ixtlilxochitl (Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s grandfather). Although Alva Ixtlilxochitl reports, as he does in the “Decimatercia relación,” that Moctezuma aims “to put into effect that his nephew Prince Cacama enter the succession,” in the Historia he provides specific and legitimate reasons for Moctezuma’s preference: Cacama “was of sufficient age to govern, and in the past wars he had proved very well his bravery and that he was a valuable captain” (1985: 220).29 These reasons indicate that Cacama is qualified to rule for reasons apart from his kinship with the Tetzcoca ruling family and Moctezuma. In the Historia he is thus introduced not only in relation to Moctezuma’s desire to

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install a malleable leader in Tetzcoco but also based in part on his own merits— something that becomes clear in the “Decimatercia relación” only in the advice he provides in the war council via his indirect dialogue. However, although Cacama’s merit is mentioned in the Historia, he is still portrayed as passive when compared to his two brothers also under consideration for coronation, both of whom have speaking roles in the succession meeting. In direct dialogue, Coanacoch throws his support behind Cacama, whether, Alva Ixtlilxochitl speculates, “it was for the love and excessive good will he felt for his brother Cacama, or because he supported Moctezuma,” while Cortés Ixtlilxochitl vehemently disagrees, claiming that the throne should be his (ibid.: 220–21). His forceful contradiction, which is slightly mitigated as indirect dialogue, riles up the other council participants to the point that the meeting cannot continue, and “Cacama was forced to retreat to Mexico City to ask the help and favor of his uncle, King Moctezuma, in order to be received in the kingdom” (ibid.).30 On the basis of Cacama’s reported actions, as yet lacking his own voice in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s narrative, readers are left with the impression that he is politically dependent on others—on Coanacoch to advocate directly, and Moctezuma indirectly, for him in the Tetzcoco election process and on Moctezuma to protect him during moments of political unrest.31 In the Historia, when Moctezuma receives the news—from a governor named Teotlili and not from Cacama, as he does in the “Decimatercia relación”—that an embassy from a great king is nearing Tenochtitlan, as in the “Decimatercia relación” he “summoned to council all the noblemen of the empire to discuss what should be done” (“citó a consejo a todos los señores del imperio para tratar lo que se debía hacer”) (ibid.: 230). Unlike in the “Decimatercia relación,” however, Alva Ixtlilxochitl provides more information about why Moctezuma convenes the consejo and what is discussed. Referencing the myth of Quetzalcoatl’s return, Alva Ixtlilxochitl reports that Moctezuma presents his advisers with two possible options for responding to Cortés.32 If these men are Quetzalcoatl and his sons who have come back to rule, then the tlah­ toqueh should attempt to prevent their arrival in order to maintain political control; and if, as they claim, they are ambassadors, then Moctezuma and his allies should receive them (ibid.: 230). Cuitlahuac and Cacama are again the only two named speakers whose discourse is reported, but in the Historia Alva Ixtlilxochitl reproduces their advice as direct dialogue in first person rather than the indirect reported discourse he uses in the “Decimatercia relación.” Each represents one of the possible options for

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a response Moctezuma has suggested upon convening the meeting. Cuitlahuac, as the “man more experienced in the business [at hand]” (ibid.: 230), speaks first, stating a simple, direct opinion: “You should not allow anyone in your house who could expel you from it” (ibid.: 230).33 Cacama offers his more substantiated opinion next, repeating the phrase he utters in the “Decimatercia relación” with very similar language: “If Your Highness does not admit the ambassadors of such a great ruler as they say the ruler of Spain is, it is a very base act on your part and ours and the entire empire, since princes are obligated by law to give an audience to the ambassadors of other rulers” (“Si vuestra alteza no admite la embajada de un tan gran señor como dicen que es el de España, es muy gran bajeza suya y nuestra y de todo el imperio, pues los príncipes tienen la obligación y es ley de dar auditorio a los embajadores de otros”) (ibid.: 230–31, my emphasis). Alva Ixtlilxochitl then has Cacama extensively elaborate the reasoning behind his opinion: if the ambassadors are planning an ambush, they will easily be stopped by the guards placed around them, but if the ambassadors bring new information or a threat of tyranny, the sooner their message is heard, the more promptly and adequately Moctezuma can respond. Cacama pointedly explains what could happen if Cuitlahuac’s advice is followed and Moctezuma does not receive the embassy: the ambassadors “will recognize weakness and little spirit in Your Majesty and in everyone in the empire when four foreigners are not admitted, which will increase their daring spirit and intention to agitate the land” (ibid.: 231).34 Because Cacama speaks in direct dialogue here, unlike the indirect discourse used in the “Decimatercia relación,” calling the refusal to receive an embassy a base act comes across as a much stronger accusation. Indeed, in the “Decimatercia relación,” “era bajeza de príncipes” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 451) is a statement directed at rulers in general, while “it is a very base act on your part and ours and the entire empire” (“es muy gran bajeza suya y nuestra y de todo el imperio”) (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1985: 230–31) is a direct accusation against Moctezuma (suya), the principals in the war council (nuestra), and their subjects (todo el imperio). Moreover, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Cacama in the Historia is not only versed in correct political etiquette (“it is the law to give an audience to the ambassadors of other rulers”) (Hassig 1988: 50–51), as he is in the “Decimatercia relación,” but also a good tactician. Indeed, Cacama’s thorough description of what could happen in the case of either option (accepting or rejecting the embassy) quite accurately summarizes consequent historical events. Through his perfect hindsight as a historiographer writing many years after the events he chronicles, Alva Ixtlilxochitl is able to construct Cacama as such

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a great tactician that he can almost predict the future. This reinforces Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s initial description of Cacama several chapters previously as a good candidate for tlahtoani because of his military record for bravery and leadership skills as captain (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1985: 220). Thus, although Cacama initially appears dependent on others for his political capital and therefore politically passive (although less so than in the “Decimatercia relación”), he shows himself in this direct dialogue to be knowledgeable and unafraid to speak up against a dissenting opinion and to verbally attack those who hold it. In narrating the response of the principals to Cacama’s extended discourse, Alva Ixtlilxochitl suggests as much: “What King Cacama had said seemed right to all of lords of spirit and valor, and I don’t believe they were deceived” (ibid.: 231).35 It is therefore quite surprising when Alva Ixtlilxochitl states next, “King Moctezuma with other lords of his court took Cuitlahuac’s advice to be better, and thus Moctezuma attempted in all cases to prevent Cortés and his men from entering” (ibid.).36 Despite the lords’ seemingly widespread agreement with Cacama’s well-argued position, to which Alva Ixtlilxochitl adds his opinion as historian (“I don’t believe they were deceived” [“no creo que se engañaban”]), Moctezuma goes against the standard political procedure his nephew advocates and follows instead the succinct opinion of Cuitlahuac. The consequence of this decision, according to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, is that Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s messengers have the opportunity to reach out to Cortés, who then forms an alliance with Cortés Ixtlilxochitl against Moctezuma. This alliance ultimately leads to Spanish victory: “Cortés was pleased to learn of the conflicts and factions among these lords, because Moctezuma had them discontent and tyrannized, and consequently he saw the path to his aims opened, and he subsequently succeeded” (ibid.: 232).37 What is more, this is precisely what Cacama predicted if Cuitlahuac’s advice was heeded. This string of cause and effect in the Historia markedly differs from what Alva Ixtlilxochitl constructed in the “Decimatercia relación,” written several years previously. In the “Decimatercia relación,” the war council in which Cacama advises receiving Cortés’s embassy immediately precedes the first meeting between Moctezuma and Cortés. The proximity of these events suggests that Moctezuma takes Cacama’s advice. There is thus no implication, as in the Historia, that Cortés’s eventual victory was possible expressly because Moctezuma did not follow Cacama’s advice. In the Historia, in contrast, Alva Ixtlilxochitl expressly states that Moctezuma rejects Cacama’s advice, and furthermore the first meeting between the two leaders occurs much later, after Moctezuma

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has dedicated significant time and resources to preventing Cortés’s arrival in Tenochtitlan.

Conclusion and Directions for Further Research These differences suggest a change in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s perspective and/or purpose in the time between composing the “Decimatercia relación” (1608) and the Historia (c. 1615). The “Decimatercia relación” serves “to record and bring worth to the lordship of his progenitors, their merits, and above all the services rendered by don Fernando Cortés Ixtlilxochitl to the Spanish Crown” (O’Gorman 1975: 211).38 The Historia, composed later, also contains a relación de méritos for his grandfather, but Alva Ixtlilxochitl manages to present Tetzcoco as neutral, neither disloyal to native allies nor preventing the Spanish embassy’s entry into Tenochtitlan.39 This is accomplished via Cacama’s indirect dialogue, which stands out as the only named voice prefaced by the speaking verb diciendo, and its immediate consequences according to the narrative constructed around it. While Cacama initially appears to be Moctezuma’s pawn, the advice he provides the tlahtoani of  Tenochtitlan regarding receiving the ambassadors of other rulers clearly contradicts the advice of other counselors yet is in line with politics and etiquette among the ethnic groups in the Basin of Mexico. Cacama’s bravery in stating a differing opinion in the face of opposition belies his initial characterization as a pawn. And the first meeting between Cortés and Moctezuma, which according to the “Decimatercia relación” occurs immediately following the war council, indicates that Moctezuma respects Cacama’s advice. Thus, Cacama’s indirect discourse discreetly and succinctly paves the way for Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s presentation of his grand­father, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, by setting up Tetzcoco as a region with rulers who can remain loyal to their people yet also aid the Spaniards. In the Historia, in contrast, according to O’Gorman, Alva Ixtlilxochitl focuses on “the Tetzcoca kingdom and valor, virtue, and wisdom of its monarchs” (1975: 217), a much broader topic that provides the context to report on a greater number of historical actors.40 Whereas Cacama is characterized at first as politically weak, he does not appear as dependent in the Historia as he does in the “Decimatercia relación.” Although Cacama does not speak for himself during Tetzcoco succession talks, Alva Ixtlilxochitl includes information that

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suggests he is worthy of rule beyond Moctezuma’s support—his military and leadership experience. His clear, defiant voice in the war council—narrated in direct discourse and squarely in opposition to Cuitlahuac, the other principals, and Moctezuma—serves also to strengthen his initial pawn-like appearance. Counterbalancing this characterization through dialogue as a forceful person, Moctezuma’s decision to disregard his advice and follow that of Cuitlahuac belies Cacama’s apparent influence. Moctezuma’s error, however, as Alva Ixtlilxochitl understands conquest chronology, ultimately leads to Spanish victory. Thus, although Cacama’s advice in the “Decimatercia relación” and that in the Historia are seemingly received in opposite ways, the end result is the same: Spanish victory with the help of  Tetzcoco. Cacama’s advice in the war council is just one of many instances of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s use of constructed discourse. More broadly, the overlap or lack thereof among the historical events that Alva Ixtlilxochitl and contemporary historiographers chose to narrate using constructed discourse indicates that it does more than add narrative variety or suggest that the information in dialogue perhaps originated from a native source. As such, its role as a rhetorical device in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historiography and also that of his contemporaries—whether occurring in similar pre- and postconquest historical events or identical historical events, within the work of a single author or among chronicles authored by different historians—thus merits further investigation because it contributes to research on the role of oral characteristics in historiography beyond identification of source materials and, as evidenced by the complementary and contradictory data presented in the two versions of Cacama’s wartime advice, a better understanding of  Tetzcoca history.

Notes 1. A few scholars have conducted similar studies of constructed discourse in the work of other early modern Spanish American texts. Anthropologist Dennis Tedlock studies what he refers to as “some of the earliest recorded dialogues between European invaders and the indigenous peoples of the Americas” (1999: 163). Tedlock finds that direct dialogue is a substantial component not only of American origin myths but also of native retellings of biblical and European stories. This indicates, he maintains, that rather than passively assimilating such traditions, natives actively and “radically reformulated” them

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(ibid.: 166). Furthermore, after comparing Spanish eyewitness conquest narratives such as those of Hernán Cortés and Bernal Díaz del Castillo with indigenous versions of the conquest of Mexico, Tedlock notes a significant difference in how dialogue is constructed and employed: the former tend to indirectly quote either the Spanish or the indigenous side of a dialogue but not both, while the latter consistently quote both sides using direct discourse. For instance, when Díaz del Castillo (2011: 164–65) recounts how Cortés explains Catholicism to Moctezuma, he summarizes the conversation using indirect dialogue, switching to direct style only to relate Moctezuma’s famous speech in which the ruler explains to Cortés that he is not a god but flesh and blood. In what Tedlock refers to as “Mexica-authored texts,” in contrast, the authors reconstruct both sides of conversations between natives and Spaniards, most often quoting the conversation directly. The effort in native accounts to report both sides of dialogues between themselves and the Spaniards, concludes Tedlock, suggests their outrage at “the asymmetrical conditions [the invaders] imposed on the conduct of key dialogues” (1999: 164–68). The preliminary survey of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s works conducted for this chapter indicates that Tedlock’s findings do not describe the Tetzcoca chronicler’s patterns of use for constructed discourse. In his chronicles recounting the conquest, the Historia de la nación chichimeca (hereafter Historia) and the “Decimatercia relación” from the Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco, there are instances of direct and indirect discourse both before and after the conquest, among and across ethnic lines. Indeed, after Cortés’s arrival in the Historia, Alva Ixtlilxochitl employs direct dialogues within ethnic groups (1975–77: I, 501; 1985: 225) and between the Spaniards and the natives (1975–77: I, 476, 478, 501; 1985: 229), as well as indirect dialogues uttered by Cortés, Moctezuma (1975–77: I, 450, 452, 453, 503; 1985: 249–50, 262), and other prominent historical figures including Cacama and Pedro de Alvarado, for example (1975–77: I, 451; 1985: 248, 260–61). Salvador Velazco also conducts an in-depth analysis of constructed dialogue, focusing on a dialogized episode in Diego Muñoz Camargo’s Historia de Tlaxcala (1585) in which Cortés successfully convinces four Tlaxcalteca tlahtoqueh to convert to Catholicism, after which they are baptized. Velazco demonstrates that the Coloquios y doctrina cristiana, in which Bernardino de Sahagún composes a discussion between Franciscan friars and a group of Nahua elders about Catholic and indigenous religious doctrines (Klor de Alva 1980), likely served as a model for Muñoz Camargo in writing this particular

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episode, given that he had access to the manuscript and both discuss almost identical doctrinal points (Velazco 2003b: 314–15). But whereas Sahagún’s coloquios were meant to serve as an ecclesiastical tool of conversion, Velazco contends that Muñoz Camargo’s coloquio positions Tlaxcala as a political ally of the Spanish through conversion rather than conquest—the four tlah­ toqueh freely accept Catholicism and in doing so become willing allies of the Spanish—thus justifying their special political status within colonial society, which included, among other privileges, exemption from taxes. In other words, Muñoz Camargo chose to use constructed dialogue because it is a discursive device particularly well suited to his goal of placing Tlaxcala on a more balanced political footing with the colonial Spanish government. A further difference Velazco notes, much like Tedlock in his analysis of constructed discourse in conquest narratives, is that while Sahagún’s dialogue in the end becomes a monologue, reducing the Nahua elders to voiceless subordinates, Muñoz Camargo’s coloquio remains a two-sided dialogue throughout, and thus the Tlaxcalteca maintain footing on par with Cortés (ibid.: 310–18). These two studies and the present chapter indicate the productivity of further research into direct and indirect discourse both within the same work and comparatively across works. 2. Stated in terms of literary criticism, in his theory of discourse in the novel Mikhail Bakhtin also notes, similar to Deborah Tannen, that the person who constructs the dialogue—the novelist in his case, as opposed to Tannen’s speaker—slants it to his or her own purpose. When writing a character’s speech, Bakhtin explains, “the prose writer makes use of words that are already populated with the social intentions of others and compels them to serve his own new intentions, to serve a second master. Therefore the intentions of the prose writer are refracted, and refracted at different angles, depending on the degree to which the refracted, heteroglot languages he deals with are socio-ideologically alien” (2004: 299–300). That is, the character’s statement has many layers of meaning, from within the narrated context to the context in which the writer himself composes and beyond. Further, the more “alien” or unfamiliar the character is to the writer, the greater the disjoint or “refraction” between the attitudes of both. Bakhtin calls the author’s voice “‘nondirect speaking’—not in language but through language, through the linguistic medium of another—and consequently through a refraction of authorial intentions” (ibid.: 313). Constructed dialogue in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s and Alvarado Tezozomoc’s historiography is an example of “nondirect speaking”—the chroniclers

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speak obliquely through the mouths of their historical characters—which provides lenses through which to see reconstructions of the Prehispanic world of the Basin of Mexico, the historiographers’ attitudes and worldviews against the backdrop of their socioeconomic, sociohistoric, and linguistic contexts. Or, as Bakhtin puts it, “the speaking person in the novel is always, to one degree or another, an ideologue, and his words are always ideologemes. A particular language in a novel is always a particular way of viewing the world, one that strives for a social significance” (ibid.: 333). 3. Elizabeth Hill Boone (2000), Serge Gruzinski (1993), and others have shown that oral testimony was both inseparable from and complementary to indigenous paintings. For detailed descriptions of indigenous literatures, see Hill Boone’s Stories in Red and Black (2000), Serge Gruzinski’s The Conquest of Mexico (1993) and La colonización de lo imaginario (2007), and Miguel León-Portilla’s The Aztec Image of Self and Society (1992). 4. Other preconquest characteristics of such texts include the use of words and phrases that suggest the author is describing an image (“here is,” or izcatqui) or recording an oral discourse (“here it is said,” or nican mihtoa, motenehua); use of parallelisms, colloquial or oral registers (of which constructed dialogue is one), and repetition of sounds, words, phrases, syntactic constructions, and events; and narrative tropes such as movement through ritual landscape (Calnek 1978: 260; Hill 1998: 11–12; León-Portilla 1996: 6–7; Lockhart 1992: 364–66; Townsend 2009: 627). Germán Vázquez explains, for example, that the conversations between historical characters and the extended speeches in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Historia contain “metaphors that are typical of the Nahuatl language as well as reiteration, tone, and structure. The explanation of such a unique phenomenon is more related to oral history or narration than written history” (“metáforas [que] son típicas de la lengua nahuatl, así como la reiteración, el tono y la estructura. La explicación de tan singular fenómeno está más relacionada con la historia o narración oral que con la historia escrita”) (Vázquez 1985: 98n34; all translations are mine). 5. Jongsoo Lee cautions against this pitfall in The Allure of Nezahualcoyotl (2008) with an incisive analysis of how Alva Ixtlilxochitl constructed the Tetzcoca ruler Nezahualcoyotl as a proto-Christian ruler, endowing him with characteristics the Catholic Church valorized, such as an innate dislike of human sacrifice, distrust of his people’s tutelary gods, and a natural belief in one true creator god. Lee (2008: 1–7) demonstrates systematically how various colonial authors, from Motolinía to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, attributed these supposedly Prehispanic

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characteristics to Nezahualcoyotl, and later scholars mistakenly interpreted their works as accurate Prehispanic biographies of the famous leader. 6. Using constructed dialogue as a discursive resource is common to many languages and cultures but is, of course, exploited by diverse speakers in different ways (Tannen 2007: 128). 7. Another often-erroneous assumption common in the scholarship is the idea that written and oral discourse use separate and different rhetorical strategies. To the contrary, Tannen finds in a qualitative study comparing oral and written versions of the same story that literary discourse is not necessarily different from oral. Indeed, her results show that the boundary between the two is much more permeable, with discursive techniques such as repetition of phonemes, lexical items, and use of similar syntactic constructions, appearing in both (Tannen 1982: 7, 13). While Tannen identifies this as literary discourse borrowing from oral discourse, William Bright sees it more as a genre similarity: both can be considered literature and thus share expressive techniques. Indeed, this is why the definition of literature, for Bright (1981: 273), is not the dividing line separating speech and writing. Thus, we cannot assume that elements of oral discourse necessarily originate from Nahuatl oral sources. 8. Linguists utilize the Graded Intergenerational Disruption Scale (GIDS) to measure the loss of a mother tongue among a given population. Claudia Parodi turns this measurement on its head by showing how Spaniards in New Spain adopted and incorporated “Mesoamerican languages, cultural traits, and practices” in a process of “Indianization” (2006: 30), the reverse of what Alva Ixtlilxochitl evidences through his use of Spanish terms to describe his ancestors’ “usos y costumbres” (habits and customs). 9. These citations are just a few examples of where these characteristics can be found in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s work. There are many more examples. For a discussion of how Alva Ixtlilxochitl inserts Tetzcoca history into the Christian historical worldview, see Velazco 2003a. 10. Although he concedes the Western influence in the chronicler’s work, in chapter 3 of this volume Jerome Offner suggests that Alva Ixtlilxochitl cultivated a hybrid historiography combining Western and indigenous record-keeping practices and sources that in fact relate Prehispanic history in a more complete way. In contrast to the researchers discussed, Offner invites scholars to change their focus from Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Tetzcoca bias and the supposed “corrupting” influence of  Western historiography and instead conduct comparative investigations of chronicles written and extant sources used by Alva

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Ixtlilxochitl and contemporary Spanish and criollo historiographers such as Juan de Torquemada. Such comparative work, he suggests, will better reveal the depth and quality of  Tetzcoca history. 11. All other conversations and speeches/soliloquies are recounted using indirect discourse. 12. A tlacatecatl is a military general (Hassig 1988: 271, 278). 13. “El imperio chichimeca careció la paz y concordia que es buen pastor en los reinos, y nuestra soberbia y discordia nos entregaron a manos de estos extranjeros para padecer los largos y ásperos caminos, las hambres, fríos y otras mil calamidades que padecemos, desposeídos de nuestros reinos y señoríos.” 14. “La obra definitiva del autor a la que debe recurrirse preferentemente para captar su concepción del pasado indígena.” 15. “Suple lo que le falta a la Historia de la nación chichimeca.” 16. Ross Hassig explains that “intelligence and communications were two of the most crucial aspects of Mesoamerican warfare” (1988: 49). This shows why war council meetings, in which intelligence is communicated and analyzed by the principals, might be common occurrences in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s histories. 17. For a discussion of other methods Moctezuma uses to determine a course of action, see Allen 2013. 18. The “Decimatercia relación” condenses in one page events that span five chapters in the Historia. There are several possible reasons for this difference. According to O’Gorman’s attempts to reconstruct the chronology of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s works, he completed the “Decimatercia relación” in 1608. Around 1615, he had begun but not yet completed the Historia, because in the latter half he quotes Torquemada’s Monarquía indiana, which was published in 1615 (O’Gorman 1975: 232). The two versions of Moctezuma’s war council are examined in the chronological order in which they were written. 19. Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Torquemada, whom Alva Ixtlilxochitl used as a source, present different versions of Cacama’s coronation. While the former reports that Cacama was not next in line for the throne but rather his elder brother Tetlahuehuetzquititzin was (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 451–52; 1985: 220–21, 229–32), the latter states that Cacama was the legitimate heir and says nothing of Moctezuma’s alleged manipulation of the election (Torquemada 1975–83: vol. 1, bk. 2, pp. 83, 303). For a concise overview of the conflicting accounts of Cacama’s parentage and claim to the throne, see Offner 1983: 238–39. 20. “Creció más la soberbia de Moteczuma que mandaba lo suyo y ajeno, y así, aunque contra la voluntad de los grandes del reino de Tezcuco, mandó jurar a

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21.

22.

23.

24.

su sobrino Cacama hijo natural del rey Nezahualpiltzintli, habido en una de sus concubinas que era hermana de Moteczuma.” Offner (1983: 203–5) notes that Tetzcoca royal succession did not necessarily fall to the firstborn son of the principal wife. If Cuitlahuac were considered unworthy or his father had never named a successor, he would not necessarily have become tlahtoani even had Moctezuma not lobbied on Cacama’s behalf. Indeed, Alva Ixtlilxochitl states that “[Nezahualpiltzintli] had not designated any [of his sons] to succeed him, and the person to whom it could belong by inheritance and seniority, which was Tetlahuehuetzuititzin, was not capable of reigning over and governing such a large kingdom” (“A ninguno [Nezahualpiltzintli] había dejado declarado que le había de suceder, y que a quien por herencia y mayoría le podía pertenecer, que era Tetlahuehuetzquititzin, no era apto para poder regir y gobernar un reino tan grande”) (1985: 220). It should also be noted that Moctezuma’s machinations to make Cacama tlahtoani of Tetzcoco were only partially successful. He was forced to make a treaty with Cortés Ixtlilxochitl so that Cacama ruled only those territories in Tetzcoco that were not under Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s control (Hassig 1988: 233). This is logical, considering that critics agree the chronicler used the “Decimatercia relación” to laud his grandfather’s contribution to Cortés’s campaigns, one of which was to conquer Moctezuma and the territories he controlled (O’Gorman 1975: 211). “En donde les salió a recibir el rey Cacama ofreciéndoles su ciudad de Tezcuco si querían ir a ella, los cuales, especialmente el capitán Cortés se lo agradeció mucho, y le dijo que por entonces no había lugar, que para otra vez le haría merced, porque iba por la posta a ver a Moteczuma, y así Cacama dio la vuelta para Tezcuco, y desde aquí se embarcó para México, y llegado que fue dio razón de todo lo que había visto, y cómo los españoles estaban ya muy cerca porque ya en esta ocasión estaban en Iztapalapan.” “Moteczuma entró muchas veces en consejo, si sería bien recibir a los cristianos.”  These meetings were likely part of the process leading up to a declaration of war. Hassig explains that “the basic decision [to declare war] rested with [the king’s] councilors and the people, who required a just cause if they were to accept going to war. They could counsel against war, but if the king persisted, calling them back two or three times to ask for war, they relented, and war was declared . . . and the responsibility was the king’s alone” (1988: 48). For a discussion of Moctezuma’s decision-making process regarding war with Cortés’s expedition, see Allen 2013.

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25. This meeting occurs much later in the Historia, before which Alva Ixtlilxochitl narrates Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s uprising and recounts how Cortés garnered native allies (1985: 220–48). As in the “Decimatercia relación,” it is an indirect dialogue that underlines Cacama’s knowledge of political custom and etiquette. However, its placement suggests that, unlike in the “Decimatercia relación,” it does not cause the subsequent meeting that Moctezuma convenes in the Historia. 26. “Cuitlahua su hermano y otros señores fueron de parecer, que por ninguna vía no convenía, Cacama fue de muy contrario parecer, diciendo que era bajeza de príncipes, no recibir los embajadores de otros, especialmente el de los cristianos, según ellos decían que era el mayor del mundo, como en efecto lo era el emperador nuestro señor, aunque esto antes de ahora estaba ya edificado y así otro día salió Moteczuma con su sobrino Cacama y su hermano Cuitlahua y toda su corte a recibir a Cortés.” 27. Whether Cortés could be considered an ambassador at this point, considering that he had amassed a group of native allies on the journey toward Tenochtitlan, is another matter. 28. See, for instance, Adorno 2007 and other research outlined in the introduction to this volume. 29. “Poner por efecto que entrase en la sucesión el infante Cacama, su sobrino”; “Tenía edad suficiente para poder gobernar, y que en las guerras pasadas había probado muy bien su valor y era muy valeroso capitán.” 30. “Fuese por amor y demasiada voluntad, que tenía a su hermano Cacama, o por estar del lado del rey Motecuhzoma”; “Le fue fuerza a su hermano Cacama retirarse a la ciudad de México a pedir ayuda y favor a su tío, el rey Motecuhzoma, para que fuese recibido en el reino.” 31. Subsequent chapters in the Historia relate events entirely omitted from the “Decimatercia relación.”  They are dedicated to Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s military and political maneuvers in his attempts to gain allies and prevent Cacama from becoming tlahtoani of  Tetzcoco, which sets the stage for the divided Mesoamerica that allows Cortés to successfully seize control of  Tenochtitlan; a brief biography of Cortés and his progress toward Tenochtitlan during which he gains allies and two translators, destroys idols and preaches the Catholic faith, and finally arrives in Tenochtitlan; and Moctezuma’s responses to the various reports he receives of Cortés’s actions and journey to Tenochtitlan (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1985: 220–32). Cacama is markedly missing from these chapters, which focus instead on Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s grandfather Cortés Ixtlilxochitl and his largely successful military and political efforts to undermine Moctezuma’s

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cruel and tyrannical reign and prepare the way “for the entry of the holy Catholic faith in this New World” (“para la entrada de [la] santa fe católica en este nuevo mundo”) (ibid.: 222). 32. For investigations of the Quetzalcoatl myth, which has been thoroughly debunked as a postconquest European creation, see Colston 1985 and Gillespie 1989. 33. “Hombre más experimentado en negocios”; “Que no metáis en vuestra casa quien os eche de ella.” 34. “Conocerán flaqueza y poco ánimo en vuestra alteza y en todos los del imperio, pues no admite en su corte a cuatro extranjeros, con que se les aumentará el ánimo de su osadía e intención de alterar la tierra.” 35. “A todos los señores de ánimo y coraje les pareció muy bien lo que el rey Cacama había dicho, y no creo que se engañaban.” 36. “El rey Motecuhzoma con otros señores de su corte, tomaron por mejor el consejo de Cuitlahuac, y así Motecuhzoma procuró por todas instancias impedir la entrada de Cortés y los suyos.” 37. “Se holgó infinito Cortés saber las alteraciones y bandos que había entre estos señores, porque Motecuhzoma los tenia descontentos y como tiranizados, y vio luego abierto el camino para la felicidad, que después le sucedió.” 38. “Hacer constar y valer los derechos señoriales de sus progenitores, sus méritos y sobre todo los servicios prestados por don Fernando Cortés Ixtlilxochitl a la corona española.” 39. There are moments when Cacama expresses disagreement with Cortés’s actions, but he is always kept in line, either by his own willpower or by Moctezuma’s commands, and responds in accordance with Cortés’s requests. Through Cacama’s habit of expressing disagreement yet acting in agreement, Alva Ixtlilxochitl (1975–77: I, 451–53) can criticize Cortés’s questionable decisions yet still show that Tetzcoco supported him. 40. “El señorío texcocano y el valor, virtud y sabiduría de sus monarcas.”

Works Cited Adorno, Rolena. 2007. The Polemics of Possession in Spanish America. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Allen, Heather J. 2008. “Authorial (Im)Propriety: Fernando Alva Ixtlilxóchitl Vs. Hernán Cortés.” Lucero 18/19: 28–35.

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———. 2013. “‘Que cotexase uno con otro’: Archival and Ritual Uses of Amatl in the ‘Crónicas X’ Histories.” In La resignificación del Nuevo Mundo: Crónica, retórica y semántica en la América virreinal, edited by Claudia Parodi, Manuel Pérez, and Jimena Rodríguez, 31–52. Frankfurt: Iberoamericana Editorial Vervuert. Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de. 1975–77. Obras históricas. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. 2 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. ———. 1985. Historia de la nación chichimeca. Edited by Germán Vázquez. Madrid: Historia 16. Álvarez-Cáccamo, Celso. 1996. “The Power of Reflexive Language(s): Code Displacement in Reported Speech.” Journal of Pragmatics 25: 33–59. Bakhtin, Mikhail. 2004. “Discourse and the Novel.” In The Dialogic Imagination, edited by Michael Holquist, translated by Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist, 259–422. Austin: University of  Texas Press. Bright, William. 1981. “Literature: Written and Oral.” In Analyzing Discourse: Text and Talk, edited by Deborah Tannen, 271–83. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. ———. 1990. “‘With One Lip, with Two Lips’: Parallelism in Nahuatl.” Language 66 (3): 437–52. Calnek, Edward E. 1978. “The Analysis of Prehispanic Central Mexican Historical Texts.” Estudios de Cultura Náhuatl 13: 239–66. Colston, Stephen A. 1985. “‘No Longer Will There Be a Mexico’: Omens, Prophecies, and the Conquest of the Aztec Empire.” American Indian Quarterly 9 (3): 239–58. Cortés, Rocío. 2006. “Moctezuma/Huemac y Quetzalcoatl/Cortés: Referencia mítica sobre el fin del imperio mexica en la Crónica mexica de don Hernando de Alvarado Tezozomoc.” Hofstra Hispanic Review 3 (1): 26–40. Díaz del Castillo, Bernal. 2011. Historia verdadera de la conquista de la Nueva España. Edited by Joaquín Ramírez Cabañas. 25th edition. Mexico City: Porrúa. Francis, Norbert. 2001. “Géneros orales y estilos de narrativa: El desarrollo de la competencia discursiva.” Estudios de Lingüística Aplicada 33: 71–92. Gillespie, Susan D. 1989. The Aztec Kings. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Gruzinski, Serge. 1993. The Conquest of Mexico. Translated by Eileen Corrigan. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell. ———. 2007. La colonización de lo imaginario: Sociedades indígenas y occidentalización en el México español: Siglos XVI–XVIII. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Hansen, Mogens Herman. 1993. “The Battle Exhortation in Ancient Historiography: Fact or Fiction?” Historia 42 (2): 161–80.

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Hassig, Ross. 1988. Aztec Warfare: Imperial Expansion and Political Control. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Hill, Jane H. 1995. “The Voices of Don Gabriel: Responsibility and Self in a Modern Mexicano Narrative.” In The Dialogic Emergence of Culture, edited by Dennis Tedlock and Bruce Mannheim, 97–147. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. ———. 1998. “The Revenge of Huitzilopochtli: A Tale from Crónica X in Spanish and Nahuatl.” In The Life of Language, edited by Jane H. Hill, P. J. Mistry, Lyle Campbell, and Murray B. Emeneau, 1–18. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Hill Boone, Elizabeth. 2000. Stories in Red and Black: Pictorial Histories of the Aztecs and Mixtecs. Austin: University of  Texas Press. Iglesias Zoido, Juan Carlos. 2007. “The Battle Exhortation in Ancient Rhetoric.” Rhetorica: A Journal of the History of Rhetoric 25 (2): 141–58. Johnstone, Barbara. 1987. “‘He Says . . . So I Said’: Verb Tense Alternation and Narrative Depictions of Authority in American English.” Linguistics 25: 33–52. Klor de Alva, J. Jorge. 1980. “The Aztec-Spanish Dialogues of 1524.” Alcheringa/ Ethnopoetics 4 (2): 56–103. Koven, Michele. 2001. “Comparing Bilinguals’ Quoted Performances of Self and Others in Tellings of the Same Experience in Two Languages.” Language in Society 30: 513–58. Lee, Jongsoo. 2008. The Allure of Nezahualcoyotl: Pre-Hispanic History, Religion, and Nahua Poetics. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. León-Portilla, Miguel. 1992. The Aztec Image of Self and Society. Edited by Jorge Klor de Alva. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. ———. 1996. El destino de la palabra. Mexico City: El Colegio Nacional. Lockhart, James, 1992. The Nahuas After the Conquest. Stanford: Stanford University Press. ———, ed. and trans. 2004. We People Here: Nahuatl Accounts of the Conquest of Mexico. Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock. Muñoz Camargo, Diego. 2002. Historia de Tlaxcala. Edited by Germán Vázquez. Madrid: Dastín. Offner, Jerome A. 1983. Law and Politics in Aztec Texcoco. New York: Cambridge University Press. ———. 1993. “Dueling Rulers and Strange Attractors: Some Patterns of Disorder and Killing in Aztec Society.” Political and Legal Anthropology Review 16 (2): 65–73. O’Gorman, Edmundo. 1975. “Estudio introductorio.” In Obras históricas de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, vol. 1, 1–257. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México.

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Oxford English Dictionary. 2014. Online edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. www.oed.com. Parodi, Claudia. 2006. “The Indianization of Spaniards in New Spain.” In Mexican Indigenous Languages at the Dawn of the Twenty-First Century, edited by Margarita Hidalgo, 29–52. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Schiffrin, Deborah. 1981. “Tense Variation in Narrative.” Language 57 (1): 45–62. Tannen, Deborah. 1982. “Oral and Literate Strategies in Spoken and Written Narratives.” Language 58 (1): 1–21. ———. 2007. Talking Voices. New York: Cambridge University Press. Tedlock, Dennis. 1999. “Dialogues Between Worlds: Mesoamerica After and Before the European Invasion.” In Theorizing the Americanist Tradition, edited by Lisa Philips Valentine and Regna Darnell, 163–80. Toronto: University of  Toronto Press. Torquemada, Juan de. 1975–83. Monarquía indiana. Edited by Miguel León-Portilla. 7 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigación Histórica. www.historicas.unam.mx/publicaciones/publicadigital/ monarquia/. Townsend, Camilla. 2009. “Glimpsing Native American Historiography: The Cellular Principle in Sixteenth-Century Nahuatl Annals.” Ethnohistory 56 (4): 625–50. Vázquez, Germán. 1985. “Introducción.” In Historia de la nación chichimeca, by Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, 7–41. Edited by Germán Vázquez. Madrid: Historia 16. ———. 2002. “Introducción.” In Historia de Tlaxcala, by Diego Muñoz Camargo, 5–66. Edited by Germán Vázquez. Madrid: Dastín. Velazco, Salvador. 2003a. Visiones de Anáhuac. Guadalajara: Universidad de Guadalajara. ———. 2003b. “El ‘Coloquio de Tlaxcala’ de Diego Muñoz Camargo.” Estudios de la Cultura Náhuatl 34: 307–29.

6 Voice in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Historical Writings José Rabasa

F

ernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historical writings build on a combination of pictorial documents and the relaciones (accounts) and cantos (chants) gathered from eyewitnesses of the ancient Precolumbian worlds and their destruction following the Spanish invasion. As a castizo, that is, son of both a mestiza descendant from the royal house of ancient Tetzcoco and a Spaniard, Alva Ixtlilxochitl had privileged access to indigenous pictorial documents and their interpretation by elders belonging to different communities. Alva Ixtlilxochitl was thus an insider who nonetheless often spoke as an outsider. He was clearly writing in the time of the cross, but his references to the history of salvation, the often-repeated “according to our account” (conforme a nuestra cuenta), would seem to include all indigenous peoples after evangelization. His is a story of cultural survival yet also of the supersession of the pictographic histories and Nahuatl accounts he used in writing a history in Spanish. One cannot avoid reflecting on the analogy between the fire that consumed the archives under the supervision of the first missionaries and the hermeneutic fire that inevitably supplanted the Nahuatl verbal and pictorial sources: “And what escaped from the fires and the aforementioned calamities that my elders endured [of the royal archives of  Tetzcoco] came to my hands, from which I have extracted and translated the history I am undertaking. . . . It has been accomplished with great effort and diligence in interpreting the understanding and knowledge of the paintings and characters that were their writing and the

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translation of the chants to reach their true meaning” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 527–28 [this and all subsequent translations are mine]).1 Translation and interpretation supplement (in the dual sense of taking the place of and of producing a surplus of meaning) what Alva Ixtlilxochitl calls the “original history” (original historia), further contributing to the destruction of the ancient civilization.2 Alphabetical writing will erase the “paintings and characters” (pinturas y caracteres), while interpretation will obviate using Nahuatl to attain the “true meaning” (verdadero sentido). If this assessment sounds excessive, my intent in this chapter is to convey the brilliance of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historiographical practices, of which his metahistorical commentaries should be singled out, not to pass judgment on his choice to write in Spanish and the European conceptual tools he deployed. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s references to the original historia are somewhat paradoxical given the multiple sources that he seems to have included under this term. I am inclined to understand by the term original historia the multiple pictorial and verbal accounts in Nahuatl that are representative of the ancient historiographical and poetic traditions that anteceded Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s translation and interpretation. We may assume that for the history of  Tetzcoco, the original historia included three distinct pictographic documents, all produced in the early decades following the Spanish invasion of central Mexico—namely, the Codex Xolotl, the Codex Quinatzin, and the Mapa Tlotzin. Scholars have identified the Codex Xolotl with a Prehispanic text identified in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Historia de la nación chichimeca as “the Historia general del imperio de los chichimecas, one of whose authors was named Cemilhuitzin and the other Quauhquechol” (1975–77: II, 76).3 Cemilhuitzin and Quauhquechol do appear on the lower right corner of plate 10 of the codex, but we know that the Codex Xolotl was produced after the conquest. Given that Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s library contained many works now lost, there is no reason for assuming that the Codex Xolotl should be privileged as the most important source or that it corresponds exclusively to the original historia; after all, the events painted in the Codex Xolotl constitute only a minor section of the Historia de la nación chichimeca (see Códice Xolotl 1996: esp. 1 and 11). Moreover, in his first historical work, the Sumaria relación de todas las cosas de la Nueva España, Alva Ixtlilxochitl also refers to the information derived from the songs of viejos principales (elders) as the original historia: “I understand as it appears in the original historia that the elders sing” (1975–77: I, 361).4 He also mentions the memoriales written by those Nahuas who were the first to learn alphabetical writing, calling them “other memoriales written by those who first learned to write” (ibid.: 285).5 This

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suggests that the original historia was a composite of the pictorial texts and the narratives as well as songs chanted and recorded in writing by the elders. Under this assumption, the original historia encompasses the multiple sources available for writing the histories of the various altepetl (city-states) located in the basin of what today constitutes Mexico City. I understand the concept of “original historia” as a performative concept rather than as referring to a specific text: this category encompasses all testimonies (oral, pictographic, and alphabetic) that Alva Ixtlilxochitl considered valid and therefore introduced into the collection.6 I single out the Sumaria relación de las cosas because of its recurrent metahistorical observations, which are for the most part absent in what scholars have considered Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s magnum opus, the Historia de la nación chichimeca. To the Sumaria relación de las cosas we may add three other brief texts that also abound in metahistorical commentaries: the Relación sucinta en forma de memorial, the Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco, and the Sumaria relación de la historia general de esta Nueva España.7 The metahistorical commentaries in these minor works open the possibility of identifying voices beyond Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s use of European concepts. In the Historia de la nación chichimeca, we find the final polished product of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s use of sacred history. The use of the past for inscribing Mesoamerican history in the history of salvation has its parallel in other uses of the past for political reasons, such as the interpretation of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historical work in terms of nationalist and identitarian categories. Edmundo O’Gorman, for example, has argued that the Historia de la nación chichimeca “is not only the author’s definitive work, which should be consulted preferably to capture his conception of the indigenous past, but [also] the most important work in the complex process of the formation of the conciencia novohispana [New Spanish (i.e., Mexican creole) consciousness] and, in the last instance, of the conciencia nacional [national consciousness]” (1975: 218).8 But even if it is indisputably his most accomplished and polished history, the Historia de la nación chichimeca could—in fact, should—be read outside the horizon of the conciencia novohispana and the conciencia nacional that O’Gorman projects. These categories bar us from grasping Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historical practices on their own terms. O’Gorman’s apparently innocuous historicist statement situates my own reading in terms of a systematic undoing of the naturalness of history, of all those insistences that all peoples have (or must be shown to have) history, as if lacking history were a deficiency. I conclude this chapter by considering how Alva Ixtlilxochitl situates the limits of historicity when he addresses

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nomadic peoples. Reading Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s brilliance enables me to interrogate our contemporary practices of history, our scientific hubris. O’Gorman is correct when he assumes that the Historia de la nación chichimeca builds on the Sumaria relación de la historia general, which “served the author in the composition of the Historia, where with a refined critical sense the selection of the facts and the manner of presenting them was more careful and less credulous” (1975: 214).9 Yet the same deficiencies that O’Gorman identifies in the Sumaria relación de la historia general (and by extension could be attributed to the other minor histories) offer points of entry for the analysis of the multiple voices from which Alva Ixtlilxochitl derived his data for his subsequent seamless narrative. One may trace a plurality of voices in the minor works, in contradistinction to the prevalent authorial single voice of the Historia de la nación chichimeca.10 Even when Alva Ixtlilxochitl represents Precolumbian personages in the Historia de la nación chichimeca delivering speeches or engaging in dialogue, these voices are subjected to a translation process that erases the Nahuatl speech we may presume was spoken by the elders who served as informants. It is important to note that in the minor works, voices are for the most part paraphrased, rarely cited verbatim—notwithstanding, they bear the traces of Nahuatl speech patterns and terminology. O’Gorman’s assessment testifies to the prominent place the Historia de la nación chichimeca has had in the imagining of ancient Mesoamerica. Scholars building on Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s texts have modernized his conceptual apparatus with the current terms preferred in the social and human sciences. Yet the language of property, class or stratum, empire, city-state, myth, and corporation— and of that most unexamined category of the sacred—that modern scholarship privileges continues to fulfill a function not only in the interpretation of sources but also in the identification of what counts as empirical data. We ought to keep in mind that Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s choice to write in Spanish carries the burden of standard European narrative forms and concepts. His translation strategies may be compared with Diego Durán’s Historia de la Nueva España e islas de Tierra Firme as well as with Bernardino de Sahagún’s translation of book 12 of the Historia general de las cosas de la Nueva España (see Navarrete 2007: 105). Even if all three can be considered “earwitnesses,” offering testimony of what elders said, we need to differentiate Alva Ixtlilxochitl from these Spanish counterparts in that he claims an intimate if not a familial connection to the viejos (old men) he consulted. This intimate knowledge of the informants and the possibility of claiming Nahuatl as a mother tongue underlie his privileged access to the

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meaning of the stories.11 In separating the fabulous from the historical, Alva Ixtlilxochitl sought to avoid the proliferation of misunderstandings and errors he found among Spanish historians. He seems to be saying that the repetition of stories, which Spanish historians dismissed as fables yet reproduced, at times mockingly (defined as childish, nonsense, or superstition), fulfills a dubious function. These thoughts play an important metahistorical function in the minor works but have no place in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Historia de la nación chichimeca. In both the seamless narrative of the Historia de la nación chichimeca and the theoretical sutures of the Sumaria relación de todas las cosas and other minor works, we face a deployment of European concepts for the interpretation of the data derived from the pictorial and verbal sources, from the original historia. We may differentiate the “history pure and simple” of the sources (that is, the original historia and the data contained therein) from the interpretative forms that define their historicity. Reinhart Koselleck has traced to the eighteenth century the semantic beginnings of the distinction one may draw between the German usages of Geschichte and Histoire, between “history pure and simple” and the “historical philosophy” that results from the “discovery of history in itself ” (2004: 93). If, for Koselleck, this distinction defines “our modern experience,” he quickly dispels the notion that this distinction had no precedents or that it could not be traced in earlier periods or outside the West: “Theoretical premises must be developed that are capable of comprehending our own experience; only in this way is it possible to secure the unity of history as a science” (ibid.: 94). Koselleck reminds us that the distinction can already be found in ancient Western works: “One need only recall Augustin, who once stated that, while human institutions made up the theme of historia, ipsa historia was not a human construct. History itself was claimed to derive directly from God and be nothing but the ordo temporum in which all events were established and according to which they were arranged. The metahistorical (and also temporal) meaning of historia ipsa is thus not merely a modern construction but had already been anticipated theologically” (ibid.: 93). It is precisely in these terms that we ought to read Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s use of sacred history, as providing concepts and figures for the interpretation of ancient Mesoamerican history. It is both a metahistorical strategy for finding the correct forms of interpretation and a temporal question, the ordo temporum that enables Alva Ixtlilxochitl to address a perpetual present wherein the contemporaneity of the noncontemporaneous emerges. François Hartog (2003) has benefitted from Koselleck’s conceptualization in his definition of régime d’historicité, the attention one must pay to the uses of

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time, that most unexamined category in history. For Hartog, régimes are characterized by the preference for a temporal frame, be that the past, present, or future. Hartog defines his own project as foregrounding the present, in what he calls présentisme. By présentisme Hartog understands the distance that the concept of regimes of historicity allows him to take vis-à-vis the objects of study—the uses of time in historicity, whether European or “savage,” as manifest in his discussion of Marshall Sahlins’s Islands of History. In this regard his use of presentism differs from the common binary that opposes presentism (the writing of history from the standpoint of the present, the so-called Whiggish narratives) to historicism (the accurate representation of the past on its own terms). I consider Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s uses of time a variety of presentism. The apparent predominance of the history of salvation in narrating Mesoamerican antiquity (a Whiggish narrative) should actually be reconceptualized as a mode of—indeed, as evidence of—an omnipresent present of Christianity (Hartog 2003: 27). Being less given by temperament and disciplinary background, if not national tradition, to conceive of my work as scientific, I abstain from verifying the scientific veracity of Koselleck’s or Hartog’s terms. Instead, I take the distinction between “history in itself ” and “history as an epistemological object” as a lead for reading Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s language of history. Koselleck’s three modes of temporal experience—namely, the irreversibility of events (irrevocable befores and afters), the repeatability of events (the possibility of prognosis), and the contemporaneity of the noncontemporaneous (the coexistence of diverse temporal strata)—resonate in my readings of Alva Ixtlilxochitl. In the end, both modern categories and Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s fulfill a function in historical writing that Koselleck has defined as follows: “Concepts that comprehend past states, relations, and processes become for the historian who employs them formal categories which are the conditions of possible histories” (2004: 112). Insofar as these three temporal criteria are manifest in the scriptures (linearity, prophecy, and evangelization), they fulfill a privileged place in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s interpretation of Mesoamerican antiquity and the difference brought about by the Spanish conquest. Even when the history of salvation figures prominently in the histories of Hernando Alvarado Tezozomoc and Domingo Chimalpahin, we must differentiate their projects from Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s deployment of European concepts by the fact that these Nahua historians recorded the accounts of elders “verbatim” in Nahuatl, even if with Christian filters (for example, confining the ancient pantheon to the devil or using the

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European calendar to draw temporal equivalences). These filters in the works of Tezozomoc and Chimalpahin could have formed part of the narratives of the elders.12 Those who first learned to write, who were the first Christians according to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s characterization of his sources, could have already incorporated the demonology and calendar equivalences introduced by the missionaries. Yet Tezozomoc and Chimalpahin could be seen as reproducing what would be the equivalent of their original historia as spoken by the elders, including the fables that Alva Ixtlilxochitl often censured—that is, did not consider worthy of repetition. In elaborating a distinction between Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Nahua historians writing in Nahuatl, we ultimately face a question pertaining to the presence of the informants’ voices. Tezozomoc and Chimalpahin claim that their writings record the stories as narrated by the elders. There is a stenographic dimension to their assertions. There is no concern with making Nahuatl concepts and categories intelligible. Their audience consists of present and future Nahuatl speakers and readers, perhaps nowhere so dramatically stated as in Chimalpahin’s Octava relación: Never will it be lost or forgotten. It will always be kept, because we will keep it. We who are the younger brothers, the children, the grandchildren, the great-

grandchildren, the great-great-grandchildren, the very elders. We who are their beard, their eyebrow, their color, and [their] blood. We who are the descendants

of the Tlailotlaca, who have been born and live in the first tlaxillacalyacatl, called Tlailotlacan Tecpan, where the rulers, the loved ancients and loved tlahtoqueh

Chichimeca, the tlahtoqueh and teuctin Tlailotlaca lived and governed. Hence it is called [the] “Tlailotlacan Tecpan archive.” (1998: 272–73)13

Ixtlilxochitl wrote in Spanish with the intent of transforming ancient Mesoamerican accounts, as expressed in the speech of the elders or in the paintings, into a recognizable history from a European point of view. As I point out above, the retention of Nahuatl conceptual terms differs radically in the minor works punctuated with metahistorical comments and the smooth Historia de la nación chichimeca, purportedly his most accomplished work. Beyond the scriptural language, we need to account for the categories that make “history pure and simple” intelligible. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s interpretative strategies range from the use of European courtly terms (such as rey, infante, vasallo, and caballero) to the deployment of juridical categories (such as obediencia, padrones generales, dominio, mercedes, mayorazgo, posesión de la tierra,

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patrimonio, and repartición). These categories and terms function as universals. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s vocabulary and translation practices are not, however, that distant from the current terms used in the modern social sciences. Even when our Marxian, Weberian, or Durkheimian preferred terminologies (as well as Carl Schmitt’s in The Nomos of the Earth) seem more advanced, that is, less ideologically loaded, modern scholars continue to operate under the interpretative paradigm favored by Alva Ixtlilxochitl. In the remainder of this chapter, I analyze four uses of voice and their corresponding conceptual and temporal frames that lend them intelligibility: ancient painting and the voice of the elders; paraphrases and direct quotation; interpretation of empirical data; and the silencing of rebellious indomitable peoples. I mainly draw the examples from the minor works listed above.

Ancient Painting and the Voice of the Elders In the Sumaria relación de la historia general, Alva Ixtlilxochitl identifies five ancient Mesoamerican historical genres underlying his translations and interpretations: anales (annals); genealogías (genealogies); los términos, mojoneras y límites de las ciudades (the borders, boundary markers, and perimeters of the cities); leyes, ritos y ceremonias (laws, rites, and ceremonies); and las ciencias (sciences). The last category includes the filósofos (philosophers), who taught the “songs that their sciences and histories observed” (cantos que observaban sus ciencias e historias) (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 527). It might seem somewhat paradoxical to speak of a pictorial genre as voice; however, this impression is mitigated once we consider the narrative forms called forth by these pictorial genres. It is not a question of verbal description that merely reproduces the contents of the pictorial texts, even when Alva Ixtlilxochitl speaks in these terms, but of pictorial records of the songs the filósofos were taught to memorize. We should not reduce the songs to the cantares and romances of such collections as the Cantares mexicanos and the Romances de los señores de la Nueva España but should instead include forms of telling migration stories, genealogical listing, dialogues, monologues, and cries that were recorded in the pictographs. As such, the pinturas supplement the cantos.14 The pinturas, in turn, are supplemented by verbal expressions first in Nahuatl and then in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s translations. The verbal and the pictorial supplement each other—for pictography is a form of writing that captures a verbal event that nonetheless needs a verbal

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performance to bring it to life. Alphabetical writing erases the original speech but at the same time rehabilitates it in the possible readings, which in different modes amount to performances, even when Spanish translation has created an unspannable distance from the original.15 But then again, what would have been the experience of listening to the elders, the tone and timbre of their voices, the echoes of the chambers in which they spoke, and the mingling of other senses—the smell of incense, the dampness of the dwelling, the luminosity of the candles, perhaps the taste of the pulque? Alva Ixtlilxochitl identifies some of the elders by name and age. Their ages range from 80 to 108 years old. Thus, he constitutes himself as an earwitness who consulted the surviving eyewitnesses of the grandeur of  Tetzcoco and retained a memory of accounts predating the invasion. These eyewitnesses possessed ancient paintings, some of which Alva Ixtlilxochitl inherited. Those lost by fire or neglect remain visible and audible in the descriptions by elders who first learned alphabetical writing in the early years following the Spanish invasion. One of the recurring autores in the Sumaria relación de las cosas is Alonso Axayacatzin (also named Alfonso Izhuezcatocatzin), a legitimate son of Cuitlahuac who took over the rule of  Tenochtitlan after Moctezuma’s death at the beginning of the conquest: “This prince was so curious and learned that, while governing Tetzcoco, he collected many histories and historians from the royal archives of  Tetzcoco with others he had in his possession; today his daughters, the señoras de Ixtapalapa, in particular doña Bartola, have a few shreds” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 286).16 Alonso Axayacatzin collected histories and gathered elders to give accounts. His is, however, a history in shreds (“today his daughters have a few shreds”), one more ruin that Alva Ixtlilxochitl compares with the data contained in the original historia: “These accounts . . . I have had in my possession, and they agree in their totality with the original historia” (ibid.).17 In addition to Axayacatzin, Alva Ixtlilxochitl mentions the many elders who gave him diverse accounts: “Many other elders have given me accounts, that because they are so many and different among themselves . . . I do not name them here, but only include the most authentic and serious, and that agree in the whole with my history and the original from which I draw it” (ibid.: 287).18 Here the word original suggests a single document rather than a corpus of texts that one may construe as evidence of ancient historiographic practices, in the pictographic, oral, and written forms I identify above. The basis for differentiating the accounts of elders that may be considered part of the original historia from the kind exemplified by Axayacatzin that lend support to what Alva

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Ixtlilxochitl identifies as original historia resides in that the former seem to be Mexica rather than belonging to the historiography of  Tetzcoco’s nobility. Mexica sources serve to compare and validate the data drawn from Tetzcoca sources. We remain in the dark, however, as to the criteria used by Alva Ixtlilxochitl to determine those sources deemed “the most authentic and serious.” One would imagine that one of the main criteria for determining authenticity would be the use of proper Nahuatl. According to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, truth in history can be ascertained only by consulting the “paintings and characters which are that with which their histories are written and memorialized” by autores graves (serious authors), whom Alva Ixtlilxochitl describes as belonging to the nobility, “since kings themselves were among the most illustrious and learned” (ibid.: 527). Thus, in the Sumaria relación de la historia general, the ancient Nahua thinkers are comparable in their precision and interpretation (cuenta y razón) to the “most serious and trustworthy authors in the world” (ibid.).19 His recourse to pinturas and cantos produced when the events occurred (cuando sucedieron las cosas acaecidas) enabled Alva Ixtlilxochitl to dispense with the diverse, contrary, and mistaken opinions of earlier autores, among whom Spanish historians figured prominently in their repetition of nonsense and lack of proper research. This fault among historians, however, was excusable: “As I have pointed out, it is not the fault of the historians, who, because they were given false accounts, have written what I have said” (ibid.: 288). 20 Their shortcomings resulted from naiveté and the lack of credible sources. Alva Ixtlilxochitl had privileged access to historical truth because he possessed what he characterizes as ancient pictographic histories and also because of his intimate knowledge of Nahuatl, which he describes as “knowing Nahuatl as the natives do since I grew up among them” (ibid.).21 He compounded the pictographic materials and his linguistic skills with rigorous consultation of elders and systematic study: “To know all the elders and principales of the land to draw a clean copy has involved great study and labor” (ibid.).22 The combination of trustworthy sources and rigorous interpretation grounded the truth of his historical writings. But Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s filtering of voices (pictographic and verbal) imposed a shroud of silence on the same sources he drew from to validate the idea that his narratives are devoid of all fables. The fabulous is not limited to unbelievable stories owing to an excess of fantasy but also arises from shoddy historiographical practices. Alva Ixtlilxochitl could not be clearer in the Sumaria relación de las cosas when he exposes the errors in the genealogies of the royal house of  Tetzcoco and Tenochtitlan narrated by “a certain friend, a

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gentleman named don Lope Zerón” (ibid.), who, by refusing to recognize the evidence offered by Alva Ixtlilxochitl, manifested his low social status: “which I have said are fancy and passionate words spoken by a commoner who if he were a noble, would have realized his errors readily by the use of reason” (ibid.).23 Nobility indexes authenticity and gravity. These metahistorical statements have played an important role in the acceptance of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s accounts of ancient Mesoamerica and the conquest.24 My objective here is to study the historiography of Alva Ixtlilxochitl not with the intention of debunking his claims to a truthful account but rather to identify his language of history as including both the category of “history pure and simple” and translation practices of the data he claimed to have found in the original historia. This move enables me to go beyond the interrogation of the place of Alva Ixtlilxochitl in the construction of the Prehispanic world. My intention is to examine the extent to which Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s paradigm remains a constant in historical writing. Other chapters in this volume dedicated to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s pictorial sources and the accuracy of his data for ethnological and ethnohistorical as well as archaeological research fulfill the function of evaluating his data. Before drawing an analysis of European concepts in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historical works, let us dwell briefly on the practice of paraphrase and citation.

Paraphrases and Direct Quotation The Sumaria relación de las cosas offers an account of the ages of the world, of the four suns characterized by the predominant substances leading to destruction: water, air, earth, and fire. Alva Ixtlilxochitl speaks in terms of edades (ages) comprising 104 years (two times the 52-year cycle, known as xiuhtlalpile). He underscores the significance of the dates ce acatl (One Reed) and ce tecpatl (One Flint) in the sequence of years. If the suns follow each other in a lineal form, the edades follow a cyclical pattern. Whereas Alva Ixtlilxochitl superimposes a biblical periodicity on the suns (the Deluge, Babel, the coming of Christ, implicitly the end of the world by fire), the events experienced during the edades suggest a repetition that would enable the prognosis of future events. The fabulous gives place to rational calculability, which of course does not exclude the temporality of the scriptures. The figure of Huematzin captures well the rationality of prognosis: “A great astrologer named Huematzin rose among them, telling them

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[that] in the histories he found that since the creation of the world there have been great persecutions from the sky, and that afterwards had followed great goods, prosperous lands, and large dominions, and always their persecution occurred in the year ce tecpatl, which is One Flint, a star that always persecuted them” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 266).25 Astrology or the ancient Mesoamerican calendrical patterns find a place in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s rational schemas. It is a process of translation rather than an assumption that the thinkers of ancient Tetzcoco lacked reasoning in their prognosis. Keep in mind that prognosis is one of Koselleck’s categories defining the temporality of modern historiography. Here I am concerned with elucidating the specifics of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s interpretation of ancient practices. In passing, let me add that when Alva Ixtlilxochitl speaks of Nezahualcoyotl’s prophecy of the coming of the Spaniards, he underscores the correspondence of dates, in this case of One Reed, the year in which the Templo Mayor in Tenochtitlan was built and its subsequent destruction by the hosts of Cortés fifty-two years later. This suggests, at least in principle, that prognosis on the basis of the Mesoamerican calendar could include events significant from a European perspective. The juxtaposition of European chronologies and events in the history of ancient Mesoamerica conveys a simultaneity that retains their discreet systems: “In this year of ce calli, which is the figure of a house, sign or planet that signifies prosperity and prosperous and abundant dominion, blessed in all things, the Toltecs arrived, or better said, the huey Tlapaneca, at Tula” (ibid.: 269).26 The arrival under the sign of prosperity would seem to validate the astrology of the ancients, perhaps its continuous meaning and usage after the invasion. In fact, Alva Ixtlilxochitl lets the significance of Mesoamerican calendrical times stand even when he systematically draws correspondences with European chronologies: “According to our count, it was in the [year] 556 of the incarnation of Christ our lord, and the forty-sixth year of the government [of ] Justinian the Roman emperor and in Spain of King Atanagildo and in Rome the fifteenth year of the pontificate of the supreme pope Vigilius the Roman” (ibid.).27 The arrival and beginnings of  Tula under the leadership and astrological calculations of Huematzin suggest a temporality and influence of the planets independent of the corresponding events in Christendom, that is, unless there is a significance underlying these events that is explicable with the date One Reed (ce calli). Alva Ixtlilxochitl abstains from drawing any parallelism and treats the question of signs and planets exclusively according to their Mesoamerican pertinence. Yet

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the example of the building and destruction of the Templo Mayor includes Spanish history. The possibility of understanding colonial events in terms of the Mesoamerica system remains. The Historia de la nación chichimeca offers a smooth version of the founding of  Tula in which Huematzin’s astrological calculations give place to discourses of presage and prophecy no longer bound to calendrical significance. Consider the dating of the final destruction of  Tula: “The last and total destruction of Tula was in the year 950 of the incarnation of Christ our lord, which they call ce tecpatl, during John XII’s pontificate of the Church of God, and Othon [the] emperor of Germany with this name and [the] king of Castile don García” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 13).28 The possibility of connecting One Flint (ce tecpatl) to the tradition of historical prognosis remains, but the reader must have learned the knowledge of the calendar elsewhere. The brief treatment of the founding of  Tula and the Toltecs in general might be attributable to the centrality of Nezahualcoyotl in the Historia de la nación chichimeca. Alva Ixtlilxochitl defines the centrality both by the antecedents of Nezahualcoyotl (Xolotl, Quenatzin, and Tlotzin) and by the continuation of his wisdom after the conquest in the figure of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s great-grandfather Ixtlilxochitl, the tlah­toani of  Tetzcoco and ally of Cortés. Nezahualcoyotl emerges as the sum of greatness in Mesoamerica and the key figure for understanding the incorporation of Mesoamerica into the history of salvation. Scholars have identified this gesture (correctly, I would add) with Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s call for a restitution of the ancient nobility. However, one may also read in his discussion of Nezahualcoyotl a political proposal for the regeneration of the corrupt Spanish empire. As such, it is a history of the past for the present, not unlike Niccolò Machiavelli’s rewriting of  Tito Livy in the Discourses. The parallelism stops there, however, given that Alva Ixtlilxochitl emerges as an apologist of empire and the privileges of the nobility, unlike Machiavelli’s republicanism and discovery of the force of the multitude. This is not the place to elaborate the similarities and differences; my mention here fulfills the mere function of underscoring Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s presentism, that is, his writing of history from the standpoint of the present. Let us return to the differences between the Sumaria relación de las cosas and the Historia de la nación chichimeca. As far as I recall, the only prophecies connected to the Mesoamerican calendar in the Historia de la nación chichimeca are Nezahualcoyotl’s anticipation of the Spanish invasion and the significance of One Reed (ce acatl). In chapter XLVII, Alva Ixtlilxochitl quotes Nezahualcoyotl as saying, “In a year [such] as

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this one, the temple, which is now inaugurated, will be destroyed. Who will be present? Will it be my son or my grandson? Then the world will decline, and the lords will end” (ibid.: 132).29 Even if the language of Nezahualcoyotl is primarily of Spanish stock, the references to the cantos in the opening sentence to chapter 47 (ibid.: 132) correspond to one of the genres, the one practiced by the filósofos y sabios (philosophers and wise men) identified earlier in a passage from the Sumaria relación de la historia. We may further elucidate the genre of the discourses produced by the wise with the account of the soles or edades and its correspondence (or lack thereof ) with Leyenda de los soles. Leyenda de los soles uses the term tlamachiliztlatolaçaçanilli. The key word in this compound is çaçanilli, which Alonso de Molina translates as “concejuelas para hacer reir” (words containing knowledge to make one laugh) (Molina 1571: f.12v.). John Bierhorst translates it as “wisdom tales” (Bierhorst 1985: 422). Among the laughing components, one may mention the turning of men into monkeys at the end of the Sun of  W ind, a story Alva Ixtlilxochitl dismisses as a fable. Thus, he avoids the genre of çaçanilli although he retains the historical fact that after the Deluge, those who came to inhabit the new age found the world filled with monkeys: “They found it covered and populated with monkeys, and during this time they did not see the sun or the moon that the air had brought, and about this the Indians invented a fable about men becoming monkeys” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 264).30 Leyenda de los soles was one of the papeles in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s possession. We do not know, however, whether he also had a pictorial version of the edades de los soles such as the one recorded in the Codex Vaticanus A, produced in Italy in the mid-sixteenth century, which includes a depiction of the monkeys caught in a whirl of wind. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s precise dating of the sequence underscores the historicity of the edades de los soles. If Leyenda de los soles lists the number of years the suns lasted in terms of fifty-two-year series, Alva Ixtlilxochitl supplements the temporality of the edades with corresponding events in JudeoChristian history (Creation, the Deluge, Babel, the birth of Christ, and implicitly the Apocalypse). Because of the close connection of the version in Leyenda de los soles with Mexica practices of sacrifice to sustain the Sun of Movement, the fifth sun is not included in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s account. The çaçanilli, the “consejuelas para hacer reir,” have no place in the earnest Judeo-Christian periodicity he superimposes on the edades de los soles. The voice of the çaçanilli is suppressed as amounting to fables not worthy of consideration. Thus, he privileges the knowledge contained in the stories in terms of a spiritual progress

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captured by the term alcanzaron: “The Toltecs achieved [alcanzaron] these and many other things since the creation of the world, and almost up to our time, which, to avoid being prolific, will not be written as they appear in their histories and paintings, mainly, in the original, that is to say, of the things for which there is [still] found painting and history, for all is shorthand when compared to the histories that the first archbishop burned” (ibid.: 265 [emphasis added]).31 Alva Ixtlilxochitl laments the disappearance, the reduction of the sources to a few remaining paintings, saying, “Todo es cifra” (all is shorthand). Implied is the assumption that additional sources would further establish the spiritual progress of the ancient Mesoamericans, in particular, of Nezahualcoyotl. Consider the discourse of  Temilotzin (“general of the kingdom of Mexico”), which expands the principle of alcanzar beyond Tetzcoco to include the Mexica: Oh, wise kings Nezahualcoyotl and Nezahualpilli, how was this world for you in

this fortunate time so praised and admired since you so much desired to see and contradicted us in our errors! Many times more are we blessed that we delighted

in it, and our work was well employed that they should receive two prizes, one in

this life, even it were not more than honor and fame with no interest in riches,

which are perishable, and the other, in the eternal where the Tloque Nahuaque is, which the Spaniards call Jesucristo. (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 502) 32

This discourse expresses a double temporality constituted by the fateful events of the conquest predicted by Nezahualcoyotl and Nezahualpilli and the time of salvation that ultimately makes the events significant. This does not keep Alva Ixtlilxochitl from denouncing the injustices of the Spanish invasion, however. The account of the hanging of the nobility of  Tetzcoco, Tenochtitlan, and Tlacopan on the way to Hibueras (Honduras) leads to the description of the reduction of the descendants of the ancient rulers to the status of commoners at the end of the Compendio. We hear the voices of the principales of San Juan Quauhtlacinco, even if in translation from the Nahuatl, as expressed in the Acta del Ayuntamiento de Texcoco (dated November 7, 1608), which approved the account of the Compendio: “Having been examined by those of Otumba, they approved it, and they ordered that the interpreter Francisco Rodríguez, alguacil, translate it from the Mexican language into Castilian” (ibid.: 521).33 Salvador Velazco has underscored that the Compendio amounts to a subaltern text that fell onto deaf ears, because there is no record that indicates its having been read by the higher authorities.34 His argument is incontrovertible

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given that the lost privileges of the descendants of the ancient nobles proved to be irreversible. Yet the denunciation of the loss of privileges also carries the burden that Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s family retained a privileged position in the colonial order and that the history of caciques holding power continues to our day. But this falls outside the scope of this chapter.

Voice in the Interpretation of Empirical Data We have already seen that Alva Ixtlilxochitl superimposed on the edades de los soles a periodicity inspired by the scriptures. We have also noted that Temilotzin elaborates a dual history that consists of worldly deeds (“honor and fame with no interest in riches, which are perishable”) and their significance in eternal life (“in eternal life where the Tloque Nahuaque is, which the Spaniards call Jesucristo”). The principle of spiritual progress articulated under the notion of alcan­ zar foregrounds Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s identification of Nezahualcoyotl with the spiritual accomplishments of David. Readers of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s histories have often noted Nezahualcoyotl’s parallelisms to David in his denunciation of idolatry (“he considered all the gods worshipped by those of the land to be false”), his effort to discover the true God (“searching for light to confirm the true God”), his accomplishments as a poet (“he composed sixty-some-odd very moral songs”), and his fame as a lawgiver (“in the discourse of his reign, he established eighty laws”).35 But also, as narrated in the Historia de la nación chichimeca, a parallel can be found in the murder of Quaquauhtzin in order to marry Tenancacihutzin (“[Quaquauhtzin] was placed in the most dangerous place in the battleground so that he would not come out alive” [Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 120–21]),36 which repeats the stratagem David devised to gain the love of Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah. The birth of Solomon from Bathsheba has a parallel in the birth of Nezahualpilli.37 These parallelisms with David suggest a history of affect occurring in different places and times whereby God prepares humanity for the reception of revelation—an instance of the contemporaneity of the noncontemporaneous. In this regard, Alva Ixtlilxochitl shares with the Franciscan order an affinity with John Duns Scotus’s theory of the evolution of divine law and revelation. To the principle of evolution, that “God proceeded in an orderly and efficient manner from imperfection to perfection” with respect to the supernatural truth revealed by God, Scotus added the gradual development in moral consciousness:

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“In their evolution, human generations have always craved the revelation of truth.” 38 According to this equivalence between the history of the supernatural law in the scriptures and the process of human generations desirous of learning the truth, one may trace a series of moments in which God prepares humanity affectively for the reception of revealed truth. Duns Scotus’s principle of moral evolution would seem to inform Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s preparatio evangelica, at least indirectly, through the influential millenarian Franciscans Toribio de Benavente (better known as Motolinía) and Jerónimo Mendieta. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s notion of alcanzar conveys the arrival at a spiritual stage (albeit with historical discontinuity) of both David and Nezahualcoyotl. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s discourse on Nezahualcoyotl’s proto-Christian spirituality—or, for that matter, his suggestion (never explicitly made) that Quetzalcoatl was the apostle Saint Thomas, who supposedly preached the gospel in the Americas following the passion of Christ—is an unmistakable supplement to empirical data drawn from the original historia and other verbal sources. But these supplements of “history pure and simple” have a more subtle manifestation in the concepts Alva Ixtlilxochitl uses in recounting the events in Spanish. In tracing supplements of empirical data, we risk falling victim to a logical structure in which the trace of the original moment proves endless. Indeed, the original historia, as in all cases of historicity, cannot be dislodged from the supplements. Therefore, events (more precisely, for our purposes of tracing voice, speech events) are never accessible as such, given the initial mediation already in place in the act of listening, let alone of writing using phonetic script.39 Moreover, speech events predate the pictorial recording that functions as a written supplement. We have seen that Alva Ixtlilxochitl is far from clear as to what he understands by or what is included in the original historia to which he constantly alludes and which he characterizes in various ways. Rather than repeating the self-evident fact (already laid out in my discussion of Nezahualcoyotl’s proto-Christian spirituality) that Alva Ixtlilxochitl occidentalizes Mesoamerican history, as if one could proceed otherwise, I will trace the inevitability of the Spanish (read: European) concepts that come into play by the mere fact that one writes in a European language. The social sciences today engage in practices parallel to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s deployment of Spanish concepts. In what follows, I elaborate my discussion on the basis of a brief passage in the Sumaria relación de las cosas. The narrative sutures I have identified in the Sumaria relación de las cosas—in the recurrent metahistorical comments and in the proximity to the historical genres that Alva Ixtlilxochitl identifies as

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cartographic and genealogical—manifest a closer link to the original historia than does the smooth, monological narrative that is characteristic of the Historia de la nación chichimeca. Let us examine the section dedicated to Xolotl’s taking possession of the lands as he surveys the Valley of Mexico. In the pictorial account known as the Codex Xolotl, Xolotl figures as leading with his son Nopaltzin the first Chichimecs who would intermarry and adopt the civilized ways first developed by the Toltecs. Xolotl and Nopaltzin appear in conversation right below a depiction of the ruins of  Tula. The sequence of events and the genealogical data in the Codex Xolotl serve as a subtext, as the original historia on which Alva Ixtlilxochitl grounds his account. My objective is not to evaluate the accuracy of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s reading of the Codex Xolotl but rather to examine the concepts he uses in describing the activities depicted in the pictographic history. Consider the following passage: And making his farewell to his brother, he departed from this land with his wife the queen Tamiyauh, who was a lady of  Tamiyauh and Tampizo, and a son of

his named Nopaltzin, and with the six lords his vassals, without the many other particulars, he wandered over diverse parts of the land for two years, walking from

one end to the other, until he reached Acuextecatl and Chocayan, where he reconnoitered many ruined Toltec places, towns, and cities. . . . In the most appropriate places for his purposes he would leave some people and nobles to be the gover-

nors. Thus came Xolotl to these parts with zezon xiquipiltzontli yhuan macuilzotli zihuatl oquiztli, which are three million two hundred and two thousand men and women, as it appears in the history. (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 292) 40

The Nahuatl numeral indicating 3,202,000 men and women with whom Xolotl settled in the Valley of Mexico appears to have come from an oral account or from Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s own vintage, rather than from the pictographic Codex Xolotl (at least, I have not been able to identify this numeral in the codex). I find significant the use of Nahuatl for rendering the numeral, suggesting either the voice of the elders Alva Ixtlilxochitl consulted or the written record of a speech event that supplemented the pictorial text or even his own use of Nahuatl for authentication. Given that the Codex Xolotl was painted after the Spanish invasion, one could speak of an “original” verbal account that provided the elements for what would in this light be considered the pictographic supplement.

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Pictography, after all, is a form of writing, hence its function as a supplement to an oral account, which could in turn be based on previous pictographic records. I insist on this fluid sense of supplementation to avoid the notion that there is a more authentic account than Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s occidentalized version. The passage speaks of Xolotl’s practice of leaving “nobles to be the governors.”  The nomadic Chichimecs thereby, in the blink of an eye, turn into settlers of the land. The empirical fact of their migration and settlement is transformed into a sociopolitical structure comprising nobles and governors. The phrase “reconnoitered many places” (reconoció muchos lugares) replicates the language of reconnoitering that is characteristic of the Spanish exploration of the world. The objective clearly is to naturalize, hence legitimate, the history of  Tetzcoco and Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s claims of nobility and his mother’s cacicazgo that he validates in the Compendio. The narrative structure seems to replicate the kind of oral stories he would have collected from elders or found in alphabetical writing that purportedly recorded the elders’ speech in Nahuatl. These concepts, however, make the depicted or narrated events recognizable in terms of Spanish political structures. As we move into Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s account of Xolotl, the language of empire gains precision. Alva Ixtlilxochitl uses three components of imperial expansion (in fact, of all social founding, according to Schmitt’s Nomos of the Earth): appropriation, distribution, and production. One wonders whether the correspondence between Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Schmitt has to do with the fact that Schmitt drew his language from the Spanish legal theorist Francisco de Vitoria, and so would Alva Ixtlilxochitl have done, or that Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s and Schmitt’s trinity (appropriation, distribution, and production), as Schmitt would underscore, consists of universal transhistorical practices. This much Alva Ixtlilxochitl suggests in the following passage in the Sumaria relación de las cosas by the terms posesión and demarcación: “After the demarcation, and sending four lords to take possession of more land that remained between one coast and the other, and being already in his city, Xolotl ordered the distribution of the land within this demarcation to all his vassals” (1975–77: I, 296). 41 To the acts of appropriation and distribution (posesión and demarcación), Alva Ixtlilxochitl adds the third component, production: “He was pleased to see him [a lord named Xyotecua] and gave him a place where he and his vassals settled, and where they would build a hunting enclosure for all kinds of game in order to pay him tribute and thereby give recognition” (ibid.: 297).42

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We may add to the triad of appropriation/distribution/production the concepts of vasallaje and reconocimiento, hence of sovereignty and the obligation to render obedience. But the subordination is closer to suzerainty (a tributary form imposed on a foreign group that retains autonomy, or dominio eminente) than to sovereignty, which implies servitude. Other peoples in the valley, “on learning of the greatness of the great Xolotl, as he had taken possession of all the land and was populating it, . . . came to give him obedience and be allotted land to settle; he was pleased to see them because they were civilized people and of good government” (ibid.: 299).43 Alva Ixtlilxochitl goes on to trace the genealogy of the intermarriages of the Toltecs with the Chichimecs. But not all Chichimecs are docile, and those less prone to accept sedentary life also receive land with the obligation to pay tribute: He ordered that each of them build a hunting enclosure for the tribute and rec-

ognition to be given to him; as it appears in the history of the places that were in

Tepetlaóztoc y Oztotícpac, Tezayucan, and other parts. These Chichimecs were

almost indomitable, hence Xolotl did not want to give them large and ample land to settle . . . , but [settled them] in small places enclosed by others, and with more recognition and fewer liberties than the others; fearing that at some point . . . they

would rise again as their ancestors had done at other times, because they were very arrogant people and very self-centered, who revolted because they were so enclosed by the others, as we will see later on. (ibid.: 297)44

The restriction on freedom suggests a form of sovereignty, of supreme rule (más reconocimiento y menos libertades), in contradistinction to the suzerainty I identify above. Contrary to Schmitt (2006), who makes no allowance for forms of life that do not validate the principle that all humans by nature appropriate the world, Alva Ixtlilxochitl speaks of nomadic peoples who cannot be subsumed conceptually or politically. I cannot go into great depth on the issue of regimes of property recorded by Alva Ixtlilxochitl, but clearly in the cited passage we find an instance of granting lands to people with little or no calling for sedentary life. One may wonder whether the most basic unit—not the family, as some recent social scientists have argued, but the calpulli—bears the traces of ancient forms of communal landholdings, as suggested by Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s call for the privileges of the cacicazgo of  Tetzcoco, of what may be conceived as pillalli, lands of the pilli, of the nobility. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s claims for the cacicazgo and

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his lamentation of the lost privileges of the nobility betray a resistance to be blended into the communal landholdings of the macehuales (the reduction of all Indians to commoners) that arguably could be conceived as continuities with Prehispanic life forms.45

The Silencing of Rebellious Indomitable Peoples If all the peoples in central Mexico prided themselves on their Chichimec ancestry (“All are proud of this lineage, and most of New Spain is Chichimec” [Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 412]), Alva Ixtlilxochitl in the Relación sucinta isolates radical differences. He specifies that the “Mexicans were great idolaters, more than the Toltecs” (ibid.).46 Tetzcoco is exceptional and Nezahualcoyotl even more so. The exceptional character of Nezahualcoyotl resided in his denunciation of idolatry and pursuit of a proto-Christian truth. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s taxonomy of Chichimecs poses them as indomitable barbarians at the limit of intelligibility, that is, of historicity. It is as if they lacked an original historia that would lend itself to interpretation in terms of sacred history. In their origins, the Chichimecs had their reinos y señorios (kingdoms and dominions) in the north, notwithstanding that they were gente bárbara y feroz (barbarous and ferocious people). But even in their savagery, their ferocious nature defined them as conquering, empire-building peoples, almost as strong as the Spaniards, and Alva Ixtlilxochitl describes them as “the strongest nation that this New World had and has today, excepting the Spaniards” (ibid.: 299).47 Ferocity bears a positive sign of entrepreneurial peoples, yet Alva Ixtlilxochitl develops a discourse on degrees and forms of savagery: “There are many kinds of Chichimecs, some more barbarous than others, and others that were indomitable, that wander as gypsies, without king or lord, wherein the one who has more strength is the captain and lord” (ibid.: 290).48 These peoples have nothing to do with the “lineages in this nation, because they have their republics, cities, and kingdoms and provinces and keep certain laws” (ibid.).49 These lineages with republics, cities, and laws keep the other Chichimecs from coming near their settled provinces. Those with political structures oppress savages and force them into inhospitable lands (“tierras ásperas y desiertas”) (ibid.). In response to attempts by kings and lords to “establish order among them, giving them lords to govern them, they have risen against them and killed them, and thus as lost

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people they leave them and pay them no heed” (ibid.).50 Chichimecs without lords, who are “great idolaters, and always carry the devil, an idol, among themselves,” must be distinguished from those who are the subject of history, “those courageous people . . . with much government [who] keep their word and do not break it . . . [who] to sublimate themselves would say they were invincible Chichimecs and were obeyed all over the land. . . . To call a king ‘Chichimec’ was like telling him the most supreme word one can speak” (ibid.).51 Cantos and pinturas offer abundant evidence of this mode of being Chichimec; Alva Ixtlilxochitl cites songs and lists the Chichimec lords who have history (“se les halla historia”) (ibid.: 291). The unsettled Chichimecs, those without lords and political structures, are a people who refuse incorporation into the state and its history. Historicity resides in the existence of pictographic documents (se les halla historia y pintura) as well as narratives and songs that have been recorded using Latin script. The rise of the Chichimec empire, to adopt Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s term, consists of a subordination (or, better, attempted subordination) of nomadic peoples who prefer to live outside the state and lack history. Following subaltern scholars such as Ranajit Guha, John Beverley, and more recently Swati Chattopadhyay, one may argue that the subaltern in the process of being represented and recognized turns into the people (see Guha 1999; Beverly 2011; Chattopadhyay 2012). To my mind, the benefit to be derived from writing their history is suspect. I underscore their history because the indomitable peoples—“turned into outlaws, without recognizing king or lord, as their descendants live today” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 534),52 about whom Alva Ixtlilxochitl traces a limit of their intelligibility—chose (and perhaps continue to choose) to remain without history, in the sense of both remaining outside of and lacking history. In fact, they are outlaws, bandoleros, in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s dictum. Turning them into the people amounts to their subordination to categories and forms of life that we grant them in our hospitality or charitable readings. In the end, their recognition involves an imperative. These peoples, of course, did not reach (alcanzaron) the truth of  Tloque Nahuaque: “The Toltecs reached and knew about the creation of the world and how the Tloque Nahuaque created it” (ibid.: 263).53 So to the lack of state and history, one must add godlessness—that is, they were idolaters under the spell of the devil. We can certainly argue that their pasts do indeed have histories, that their forms of life do indeed have a logic of their own, that the Tetzcoca empire, the viceroyalty, and the republic could and should have recognized these

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forms of life and made an effort to integrate them into a multicultural (if not pluri-national) state. That was indeed the objective of Mesoamerican empires and the viceroyalty, as well as of the republic, but the fact remains that “indomitable savages” would rise again.54 For all the willingness historians today show toward the “people without history,” the discipline remains caught in the terms favored by Alva Ixtlilxochitl. The difference resides in the recognition of certain forms of life (forms that Alva Ixtlilxochitl was not willing to recognize as “original historia”) and the incorporation of them into the realm of history. The expectation, of course, is that the descendants, our contemporary bandoleros, will be willing to be domesticated by history and the state. Given this predicament, we would reiterate Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s gesture.

Notes 1. “Y de lo que escapó de los incendios y calamidades referidas, que guardaron mis mayores, vino [los archivos reales de Tetzcuco] a mis manos, de donde he sacado y traducido la historia que prometo . . . alcanzada con harto trabajo y diligencia en entender la interpretación y conocimiento de las pinturas y caracteres que eran sus letras, y la traducción de los cantos en alcanzar su verdadero sentido.” 2. My use of the term supplement should resonate with Jacques Derrida’s writings, in particular the “The Supplement of the Origin” in Speech and Phenomena (1973: 88–104) and “. . . That Dangerous Supplement . . .” in Of Grammatology (1976: 141–64). Let this mention stand as such without further development. Alva Ixtlilxochitl offers a series of metahistorical statements that carry a theory of supplementation in their own right. 3. “Dio fin la Historia general del imperio de los chichimecas, cuyos autores se decían el uno Cemilhuitzin y el otro Quauhquechol.” 4. “Entiendo según parece en la original historia, que los viejos principales cantan.” 5. “Otros memoriales escritos de los primeros que supieron escribir.” 6. I owe this observation to Federico Navarrete Linares (personal communication). According to Navarrete, the original historia is the one transmitted among the Acolhuas and among the royal lineage and nobles from Tetzcoco and Teotihuacan, and thus the Mexica histories do not belong to it and serve only to document and verify data. In a nutshell, as Alva Ixtlilxochitl produces his history, he constructs his original historia (his sources and the ones to which he attributes originality and validity).

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7. For a discussion of the chronology of these histories, see O’Gorman 1975: 229–33. 8. “No es solo, pues, la obra definitiva del autor a la que debe recurrirse preferentemente para captar su concepción del pasado indígena, sino una obra de la más subida importancia en el complejo proceso de formación de la conciencia novohispana y en ultimo término, de la conciencia nacional.” 9. “Le sirvió al autor de guía para la composición de la Historia donde con un sentido crítico afinado, la selección de los hechos y la manera de exponerlos fue más cuidadosa y menos crédula.” 10. For a comparative study of authorial voice in Chimalpahin’s and Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s histories that builds on Mikhail Bakhtin’s identification of polyphony in Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics, see Navarrete 2007. I agree in the main with Navarrete’s argument that Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s authorial voice is monological in comparison to Chimalpahin’s proliferation of plural voices. However, in the Sumaria relación de la historia general, in contradistinction to the Historia de la nación chichimeca, we may trace Nahuatl voices along with the European categories and terms. 11. Gordon Whittaker in this volume (chapter 2) questions Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s fluency in Nahuatl. I read Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s claims to know Nahuatl as part of the metahistorical apparatus that grounds his credibility. 12. I do not want to suggest that there are no metahistorical statements in Tezozomoc’s and Chimalpahin’s work; rather, I would argue that those historians’ reflections on the selection, valuation, and privileging of accounts lack the transformative process of the “original” texts that Alva Ixtlilxochitl brought about through interpretation and translation. One could perhaps read Tezozomoc’s and Chimalpahin’s histories using Koselleck’s categories, but in doing so, we might be forced to make explicit the specifics of an indigenous historiographical tradition. I leave the question of the authorship of the histories attributed to Tezozomoc but arguably the product of Chimalpahin for another occasion. For a definition of the tradición histórica indígena, see Navarrete 2011. 13. “Ayc polihuiz ayc ylcahuiz, mochipa pialoz, ticpiazque yn titepilhuan in titeixhuihuan in titeyccahuan in titemintonhuan in titepiptonhuan in titechichicahuan, in tetentzonhuan in titeyxquamolhuan in titeteyztihuan, in titetlapallohuan in titehezçohuan, intitlayllotlacatepilhuan, in ipan otiyolque otitlacatque in icce tlaxillacalyacatl moteneuhua Tlayllotlacan Tecpan, y huel oncan catca y huel oncan omotlahtocatillico yn izquintin in tlaçohuehuetque

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in tlaçotlahtoque chichimeca, in tlayllotlacatlahtoque in tlayllotlacateteuhctin, ynic mitohua inin tlahtolli ‘Tlayllotlacan Tecpan pielli.’” 14. In this regard, my use of the term supplement differs from Derrida’s (1973, 1976) conceptualization in terms of (alphabetical) writing versus speech. 15. In personal communication, Jerome Offner has called my attention to the problematic use of the term original. My use does not assume an ur-text (i.e., some sort of fixed text) but instead posits a “first instance” (if there can ever be such) in a chain of verbal and pictographic performances. I thank Offner for this and many other observations on my text. 16. “Fue tan curioso este príncipe y muy leído, estando gobernando Tezcuco, junto muchas historias y viejos historiadores de los archivos reales de Tezcuco con otros que el tenía en su poder, que hoy día tienen algunos pedazos sus hijas las señoras de Ixtapalapa, especialmente doña Bartola.” 17. “Las cuales relaciones . . . he tenido en mi poder, y conforma en todo con la original historia.” 18. “Otros muchos viejos principales me han dado relación, que por ser tantos y unos tan diferentes de otros . . . no los pongo aquí, pero los más auténticos y graves, y que conforman en todo con mi historia y la original donde la saco.” 19. “Pinturas y caracteres que son con que están escritas y memorizadas sus historias”; “pues fueron los mismos reyes y de la gente más ilustre y entendida”; “más graves y fidedignos autores y históricos del mundo.” 20. “Así como tengo dicho, los historiadores no tienen la culpa que por haberles dado falsas relaciones, han escrito lo que tengo declarado.” 21. “Saber la lengua como los mismos naturales, porque me crié entre ellos.” In note 11 I suggest that Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s claims to be fluent in Nahuatl are primarily metahistorical. Yet this mention of growing up in a Nahuatl-speaking household should perhaps be taken literally, for otherwise Alva Ixtlilxochitl would have risked being called a liar. 22. “Conocer a todos los viejos y principales de esta tierra para haber de sacar esto en limpio, me ha costado harto estudio y trabajo.” 23. “A cierto amigo caballero llamado don Lope Zerón”; “lo cual todo como tengo dicho palabras de afición y passion dichas de un villano, que si fuera noble, luego con la razón cayera en su falta.” 24. I have already mentioned Navarrete’s explanation of the function of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s monological authorial voice, in particular in the Historia de la nación chichimeca, which O’Gorman identifies with the conciencia novohispana

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and the conciencia nacional. The most systematic deconstruction of the figure of Nezahualcoyotl is Lee 2008. 25. “Se levantó entre ellos un gran astrólogo que se decía Huematzin, diciendoles: que en las historias hallaba que desde la creación del mundo siempre habían tendio grandes persecuciones del cielo, y después de ellas se les había seguido a sus pasados grandes bienes, tierras prosperas y largos señoríos, y siempre sus persecuciones era en el año de ce técpatl, que es uno pedernal, estrella que tanto los perseguía.” 26. “En el año de ce calli, que es una figura de una casa, signo u planeta que significa prosperidad y imperio prospero y abundante, dichosos en todas las cosas, llegaron los tultecas, o por major decir, los huey tlapalanecas en Tula.” 27. “Conforme a nuestra cuenta fue en el de 556 de la encarnación de Cristo nuestro señor, y a los cuarenta y seis años del gobierno de Justiniano emperador romano, y en España el rey Atanagildo y en Roma por sumo pontífice a Vigilio romano, a los quince años de su pontificado.” 28. “La última y total destrucción fue en el año de 950 de la encarnación de Cristo nuestro señor, que llaman ce técpatl, siendo pontífice de la iglesia de Dios Joannes XII, y emperador de Alemania Othón de este nombre y rey de Castilla don García.” 29. “En tal año como éste se destruirá este templo, que ahora se extrena ¿quién se hallará presente?, ¿si sera mi hijo o mi nieto? Entonces irá a disminución la tierra, y se acabarán los señores.” 30. “La hallaron toda cubierta y poblada de monos, y estuvieron todo este tiempo sin ver el sol ni la luna que el aire había traido y de esto inventaron los indios una fibula, que dicen que los hombres se volvieron monas.” 31. “Estas y otras muchas cosas alcanzaron los tultecas desde la creación del mundo, y casi hasta en nuestros tiempos, que, por excusar prolijidad no se ponen según en sus historias y pinturas parece, principalmente de la original, digo de las cosas que se les halla pintura e historia, que todo es cifra en comparación de las historias que mandó quemar el primer arzobispo que fue de México.” 32. “¡Oh sapientísimos reyes Nezahualcoyotl y Nezahualpilli, cómo fuera para vosotros este tiempo dichoso tan alabado y ensalzado pues tanto deseasteis ver y nos contradijiste nuestros errores! Muchas veces más bienaventurados nosotros que los gozamos, y nuestros trabajos bien empleados que han de tener dos premios, el uno en esta vida, cuando no sea más que la honra y fama sin interés de riqueza que son perecederas, y el otro, en la vida eternal donde está el Tloque Nahuaque, que llaman los españoles Jesucristo.”

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33. “Habiéndola examinado los de Otumba la aprobaron, mandaron que el interprete Francisco Rodríguez, alguacil la traslade del idioma mexicano al castellano.” 34. See Velazco 1998. 35. “Tuvo por falsos a todos los dioses que adoraban los de la tierra”; “buscando de donde tomar lumbre para certificarse del verdadero Dios”; “compuso sesenta y tantos cantos de mucha moralidad”; “en el discurso de su reinado estableció ochenta leyes.” See Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 136. 36. “Mando que lo pusiesen en lo más peligroso de la batalla de manera que no escapase con la vida, como en efecto sucedió.” 37. See Sumaria relación de la historia (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 544–47) and the Historia de la nación chichimeca (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 135–37). 38. “Deus ordinate agens procedit de imperfecto ad perfectum”; “In processu generationis humanae, semper crevit notitia veritatis.” See Wolter 1990: 162. 39. For a theory of listening, see Nancy 2007. 40. “Y despedido de su hermano, se partió por esta tierra con su mujer la reina Tomiyauh que era señora de Tamiyauh y Tampizo, y un hijo suyo llamado Nopaltzin, y con los seis señores sus vasallos, sin los otros muchos particulares, el cual, anduvo dos años por diversas partes, dando muchas vueltas por un cabo y otro, hasta llegar en Acuextécatl y Chocayan, en donde reconoció muchos lugares, pueblos y ciudades toltecas arruinados. . . . Y en los lugares más acomodados a su propósito venían dejando algunas gentes y algunos nobles para sus gobernadores. De esta manera vino Xolotl a estas partes con zezon xiquipiltzontli yhuan macuilzotli zihualt oquiztli, que son tres millones doscientos y dos mil hombres y mujeres, según parece en la historia.” 41. “Después de haber hecho la demarcación que hizo Xolotl, y enviado a los cuatro señores para tomar posesión de más tierra que quedaba de una mar a otra, y estando ya en su ciudad, mandó repartir toda la tierra que estaba dentro de esta demarcación a todos sus vasallos.” 42. “Se holgó mucho de verle [a lord named Xyotecua] y le dio un lugar donde poblaron él y sus vasallos, y que hicieran un cercado de todos géneros de caza para que le tributaran y dieran de esto reconocimiento.” 43. “Teniedo noticia de la grandeza del gran Xólotl, como había tomado posesión sobre toda la tierra y la iba poblando vinieron a darle obediencia y que les diera tierra donde poblasen, el cual se holgó de verlos porque era gente política y de buen gobierno.” 44. “Les mandó hiciera cada uno de éstos un cercado de caza para el tributo y reconocimiento que le habían de dar; y parece por la historia que fueron los

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45.

46. 47. 48.

49. 50. 51.

52. 53. 54.

lugares en Tepetlaóztoc y Oztotícpac, Tezayucan y otras partes. Eran estos Chichimecos casi indómitos, por eso no quizo Xolotl darles tierras largas y anchas donde poblasen . . . , sino lugares pequeños y cercados de los otros, y con más reconocimiento y menos libertades que los otros, temiendo de ellos no en algún tiempo. . . . se realzarían como otras veces lo habían hecho sus pasados, porque era una gente muy soberbia y muy sobre si, los cuales andando el tiempo, se vinieron a alzarse con estar tan cercados de los otros, como adelante se verá.” Perhaps in a contrary spirit we may mention James Lockhart’s insistence on the continuity of ancient forms of life after the conquest. These continuities survive despite the destruction of the native elite. I say “perhaps in a contrary spirit” because I would underscore the communalism that one finds in Mexico today, whereas Lockhart makes no allusion to communalism when speaking of the calpulli. Lockhart characterizes the calpulli as a corporation. See Lockhart 1992. “Todos se precían de este linaje, y la mayor parte de la Nueva España son todos chichimecas”; “mexicanos fueron grandísimos idólatras, más que los toltecas.” “La más fuerte nación que tuvo y tiene hoy día este nuevo mundo, sacando a los españoles aparte.” “Hay muchos géneros de chichimecos, unos más bárbaros que otros, y otros indómitos que andan como gitanos, que no tienen ni rey ni señor, sino que el que más puede ese es su capitán y señor.” “Linajes de los de esta tierra, porque tienen sus repúblicas, ciudades y reinos y provincias, y guardan sus ciertas leyes.” “Poner bien, dándoles señores que los gobiernen; se han levantado contra ellos y los han muerto, y así como gente perdida los dejan y no hacen caso de ellos.” “Grandes idólatras, y traen siempre al demonio, un ídolo, consigo”; “estos hombres valerosos y de mucho gobierno cumplen su palabra y no la quebrantan . . . por sublimarse decían que eran chichimecos invencibles y obedecidos por toda la tierra, e llamar a un rey chichimeco, era como decirle la más suprema palabra que se puede decir.” “Hechos bandoleros, sin reconocer a rey ni señor como lo están el día de hoy sus descendientes.” “Los toltecas alcanzaron y supieron la creación del mundo, y cómo el Tloque nahuaque lo crió.” For accounts of indigenous peoples resistant to being incorporated into the state, see Alcántara Rojas and Navarrete 2011.

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Works Cited Alcántara Rojas, Berenice, and Federico Navarrete. 2011. Los pueblos amerindios más allá del estado. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de. 1975–77. Obras históricas. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. 2 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Beverley, John. 2011. Latinamericanism After 9/11. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Bierhorst, John. 1985. A Nahuatl-English Dictionary and Concordance to the Canatres Mexicanos with an Analytical Transcription and Grammatical Notes. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Chattopadhyay, Swati. 2012. Unlearning the City: Infrastructure in a New Optical Field. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Chimalpahin Cuauhtlehuanitzin, Domingo Francisco de San Antón Muñón. 1998. La ocho relaciones y el memorial de Colhuacan. Edited and translated by Rafael Tena. Mexico City: CONACULTA. Códice Mapa de Tlotzin. 2002. In Memorias sobre la pintura didáctica y la escritura figurativa de los antiguos mexicanos, by J. M. A. Aubin. Edited by Patrice Giasson and translated by Francisco Zaballa and Patrice Giasson, n.p. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Códice Mapa Quinatzin: Justicia y derechos humanos en el México antiguo. 2004. Edited by Luz María Mohar Betancourt. Mexico City: CIESAS. Códice Xolotl. 1996. Edited by Charles Dibble. 2 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Derrida, Jacques. 1973. Speech and Phenomena and Other Essays on Husserl’s Theory of Signs. Translated by David B. Allison. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. ———. 1976. Of Grammatology. Translated by Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Guha, Ranajit. 1999. Elementary Structures of Peasant Insurgency in Colonial India. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Hartog, François. 2003. Régimes d’historicité: Présentisme et expérience du temps. Paris: Seuil. Koselleck, Reinhart. 2004. “History, Histories, and Formal Time Structures.” In Future Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time, 93–104. Translated by Keith Tribe. New York: Columbia University Press.

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Lee, Jongsoo. 2008. The Allure of Nezahualcoyotl: Pre-Hispanic History, Religion, and Nahua Poetics. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Lockhart, James. 1992. The Nahuas After the Conquest: A Social and Cultural History of the Indians of Central Mexico, Sixteenth Through Eighteenth Centuries. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Molina, Alonso de. 1571. Vocabulario en lengua mexicana y castellana. Mexico City: Antonio de Spinosa. Nancy, Jean-Luc. 2007. Listening. Bronx, NY: Fordham University Press. Navarrete Linares, Federico. 2007. “Chimalpahin y Alva Ixtlilxochitl, dos estrategias de traducción cultural.” In Indios, mestizos y españoles: Interculturalidad e historiografía en la Nueva España, edited by Levin Rojo and Federico Navarrete, 97–112. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. ———. 2011. Los orígenes de los pueblos del Valle de México: Los altépetl y sus historias. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas. O’Gorman, Edmundo. 1975. “Estudio introductorio.” In Obras históricas de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, vol. 1, 1–257. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Schmitt, Carl. 2006. The Nomos of the Earth in the International Law of the Jus Publicum Europaeum. Translated by G. L. Ulmen. New York: Telos Press. Velazco, Salvador. 1998. “La imaginación historiográfica de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl: Etnicidades emergentes y espacios de enunciación.” Colonial Latin American Review 7 (1): 33–58. Wolter, Allan Bernard. 1990. The Philosophical Theology of Duns Scotus. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

7 Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Marina and Other Women of Conquest Susan Kellogg

W

the intensive investigation of Nahuatl-language documentation by Mesoamericanists, writers such as Fernando Alva Ixtlilxochitl, the colonial mixed-identity chronicler of the altepetl, or kingdom, of  Tetzcoco, tended until quite recently to be neglected. That indifference to his writings can be tied to his mixed identity, his work as a colonial official and translator, and the incongruities and complexities found in his works—all written in Spanish—though as a nahuatlato translator he would have been fluent in the Nahuatl language. Although often referred to as a mestizo (of indigenous and Spanish descent), in ethnoracial terms he was a castizo (of mestizo and Spanish descent).1 An unapologetic promoter of his ancestral home region, Alva Ixtlilxochitl sometimes made inaccurate or misleading claims about the political history of  Tetzcoco, which served to reinforce the tendency by some historians to downplay the usefulness of his writings.2 In this chapter I argue, nevertheless, that his chronicles constitute essential historical texts of enduring value that offer a window onto the political, social, and cultural history not only of  Tetzcoco but also of the broader Basin of Mexico and beyond, both before and after the arrival of the Spaniards. While his ethnoracial identity is often the subject of comment in analyses of his writings, the theme of gender is much less considered. Yet Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s texts offer a treasure trove of information about women, men, and family relations of  Tetzcoco, especially its nobility, both before and after the conquest. ith the turn to

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As the castizo great-great-grandson of Ixtlilxochitl (who was a ruler of the altepetl of  Tetzcoco during the turbulent years of the conquest period and a prominent figure in some of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings), Alva Ixtlilxochitl was the descendant of a line of nobles who traced their ancestry to early rulers in the Postclassic Basin of Mexico, as the Tolteca and Chichimeca peoples came together to form the communities and ethnic groups that Spaniards would encounter beginning in 1519. Alva Ixtlilxochitl traced this ancestry through a line of women going back to his great-grandmother, doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, a daughter of Ixtlilxochitl (himself a son of Nezahualpilli, the ruler of Tetzcoco in the years prior to conquest, 1473–1515); his grandmother, doña Francisca (Christina) Verdugo Ixtlilxochitl; and his mother, doña Ana Cortés. The first doña Ana brought lands, tribute, and status to her husband, don Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin, upon their marriage, and the Spaniards granted him the cacicazgo (colonial indigenous rulership) of San Juan Teotihuacan, an important community that had been an altepetl subject to Tetzcoco in the late Prehispanic period. These women figure prominently in the histories and legal wranglings of Tetzcoco and its ruling family as represented in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings and the legal texts produced and kept by his relatives.3 The comings and goings of great queens—reinas, as Alva Ixtlilxochitl called them, because he used Spanish terms for positions of governance—fill the pages of his texts. Scheming concubines and mysterious mothers (especially the mothers of the rulers of greatest importance to Prehispanic-era Tetzcoca history, Nezahualcoyotl and Nezahualpilli) make frequent appearances in the texts written by him, though he often writes about these Prehispanic women with little clarity or consistency.4 The focus of this chapter, however, is on Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s renderings of women during and shortly after the conquest— the women of  Tetzcoco and the famous or infamous Marina. In this chapter I also touch briefly on the portrayal of masculinity, especially in relationship to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s representation of the warrior king Ixtlilxochitl. What can be learned about women during the conquest era based on a chronologically organized analysis of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s depictions of gender in his conquestrelated writings? Three of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s texts are particularly relevant to a discussion of the conquest period.5 The first consists of what appear to have been “papers and notes” (papeles y notas, in the words of Edmundo O’Gorman) appended to the Sumaria relación de todas las cosas que han sucedido en la Nueva España, apparently intended to be used in later writings (O’Gorman 1975: 199, 201). These brief

Alva Ix tlil xochitl’ s M arina and Other Women of Conques t  21 1

Genealogical diagram showing Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s female ascendants, their marriages, and parentage. Sources: “Diligencias de información y probanza de doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl,” in Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 292–333; “Relación del señorio de Teotihuacan,” in Pérez-Rocha and Tena 2000: 379–97.

Figure 7.1. 

documents, labeled “Número 6” and “Número 7” by O’Gorman, carry the titles “La venida de los españoles a esta Nueva España” and “Entrada de los españoles a Tezcuco,” respectively. O’Gorman also observes that “Número 7” appears to be a continuation of “Número 6.” Undated, they were likely composed before the Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco and introduce themes that Alva Ixtlilxochitl developed at greater length in the “Decimatercia relación” (“Thirteenth Relation”), the final section of the Compendio, which deals with the conquest (O’Gorman 1975: 229–30; Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 390n19). The Compendio is the most securely dated of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings and one of the best known, especially the “Decimatercia relación.”  The author presented the Compendio to the authorities of two towns within the Tetzcoco region, Otumba and San Salvador Cuauhtlatzinco, in 1608. The authorities affirmed the validity of the history presented therein, a history clearly intended to support the claims of towns and leaders as they sought to protect lands, titles, and status in a colonial environment in which altepetl increasingly struggled to meet Spanish demands for labor and tribute and competed against each other to maintain or gain privileges through the use of the Spanish legal system. The

21 2 Susan Kellogg

persuasive intent of this particular text makes it different in both content and tone from the early Sumaria relación and the later Historia de la nación chichimeca (discussed below) and heavily influences the way the writer presents the events, rulers, warriors, and women who populate the text (O’Gorman 1975: 199, 201). Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s final work, the one many ethnohistorians rely on for their portraits of the so-called Aztec empire, the Historia de la nación chichimeca, is his magnum opus.6 It encompasses the history of his home altepetl from its origins through the conquest period and constitutes the comprehensive history that he intended to write, perhaps from the time he was a young man (ibid.: 201). O’Gorman dates its composition to after 1615, but the exact date of writing and whether it was ever finished, since only incomplete versions survive, remain unknown (ibid.: 233; Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 263n1; also see Brian 2010: 134–35). Amber Brian (2010) has written about the significant differences between the narratives of conquest in the “Decimatercia relación” and the Historia de la nación chichimeca in the ways Alva Ixtlilxochitl approaches these events, with the former devoted largely to recounting the exploits of the author’s great-great-grandfather, without whom, according to the “Thirteenth Relation,” Hernán Cortés could have neither conquered nor governed. The Historia treats the Spanish context at greater length. Even though it remains either incomplete or unfinished, the conquest-related section constitutes just over one-third of the text, and the text, while still treating Ixtlilxochitl as Cortés’s heroic closest ally, is more about Cortés as military leader and great evangelizer. It is important, as Brian suggests, to consider a wider array of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings, something ethnohistorians rarely do, to recognize both their chronological and thematic interrelationships.

Tetzcoca Women During the Conquest Three themes related to women during the conquest appear in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s texts. One has to do with the daughters of rulers of  Tetzcoco and how they were taken by Cortés as hostages; another addresses violence against women as part of these wars; and the third treats the case of one of the women captured, according to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, during the Spanish seizure of the Mexica ruler Cuauhtemoc. The document labeled “Número 6” introduces the first, a topic that recurs in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings and is echoed in both Spanishand indigenous-authored accounts. What insights does Alva Ixtlilxochitl give

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us about the experiences of royal women, usually daughters of leaders and the highest nobility, who were given to the Spaniards? The handing over of the daughters of rulers to create or reinforce alliances between kingdoms, and in the process make statements about the ranking of those allied kingdoms, had a long history across Mesoamerica.7 Whereas the Tlaxcalteca leaders have been portrayed in Spanish and indigenous sources as having voluntarily turned over some of their daughters (with little evidence of any woman’s agency in this transaction), Cortés and Bernal Díaz del Castillo each described how royal women, particularly Moctezuma’s daughters, were either taken as hostages or treated as prisoners, although they also describe other occurrences in which women were given more freely (Cortés 1993: 328; Díaz del Castillo 1982: 202). But for the case of  Tetzcoco, Alva Ixtlilxochitl clearly depicts, even emphasizes, the involuntary nature of the way Tetzcoco’s leaders handed over some of their daughters. He plainly states that the transfer of women took place as the result of a demand by Cortés. In a scene that depicts Cortés as attempting to extort the maximum amount of gold from Cacama, the ruler of  Tetzcoco in 1519, Alva Ixtlilxochitl (1975–77: I, 389) describes how Cortés, in seizing Cacama, demanded that some royal women accompany the ruler. Cacama then ordered four of his sisters delivered to Cortés. Alva Ixtlilxochitl also says that Cortés made the same demand of the rulers of  Tenochtitlan and Tlacopan and that many such women were thus brought together and handed over to Cortés.8 Three of the Tetzcoca women, along with two of Cacama’s brothers, died as the Spaniards and their native allies retreated during the Noche Triste. Both the “Decimatercia relación” and the Historia de la nación chichimeca add a few more details to this spare but nonetheless telling account. The former embellishes the first version slightly by saying that Cortés promised Cacama that he would be freed if he provided some of his brothers and sisters to serve as hostages (rehenes [ibid.: 452]). That text does not discuss the women’s deaths, but the Historia does. Only one of the four daughters of Nezahualpilli given to Cortés as hostages survived. One of those who died, a woman baptized doña Juana, was—according to Alva Ixtlilxochitl—both “the most liberated” (la más bien librada) and “very loved” (tan querida) by Cortés. She was days away from giving birth, presumably to his child. The text implies that the pregnancy was the reason for her baptism.9 The violence carried out against these women of high birth also appears in other descriptions of women in the tumult of the conquest campaigns as

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recounted by Alva Ixtlilxochitl. He provides evidence about the destruction wrought by war and how women sought to aid warriors on both sides of the conflict. Especially in the “Decimatercia relación,” Alva Ixtlilxochitl builds on this theme and takes pains to describe how the Tetzcoca tried to protect the lives and property of women. He details scenes of destruction in both Tetzcoco and Tenochtitlan when the Tlaxcalteca—who were for Alva Ixtlilxochitl the bad indigenous allies of the Spaniards against whom he contrasted the Tetzcoca—sacked the city of  Tetzcoco, burning its archive (an event discussed further below). He then explains how Acolhua (the broader ethnic group of whom the Tetzcoca were a part) warriors declined out of pity to carry out violence against, or take the property of, Mexica women, children, and the elderly in battles, contenting themselves with killing “their husbands or fathers or sons.” 10 Thus the Acolhua, particularly the Tetzcoca, were the civilized indigenous allies as depicted by the author, as opposed to the savage and brutal Tlaxcalteca. Shortly after the Mexica ruler Cuauhtemoc surrendered, the Tlaxcalteca laid waste to Tenochtitlan, leaving women and children in a horrible plight for which Ixtlilxochitl and the Tetzcoca took pity on them, with Cortés and Ixtlilxochitl ordering that the hungry women, children, and elderly of  Tenochtitlan not be harmed (ibid.: 476, 478). Given the Historia’s greater focus on Cortés and the Spaniards, it does not manifest the theme of  Tetzcoca concern for women to the same extent as the “Decimatercia relación,” but it does suggest the great violence that women both experienced and witnessed, describing, for example, the capture of women and children during battles (ibid.: II, 252). In August 1521 the siege of  Tenochtitlan came to an end when Cuauhtemoc was captured. Like Spanish accounts, the “Decimatercia relación” credits a Spaniard, García Holguín, with the capture of Cuauhtemoc, but given the text’s overall concern with highlighting, even glorifying, the role of Ixtlilxochitl during and after the fall of  Tenochtitlan, the author explains that Ixtlilxochitl could not himself capture Cuauhtemoc because his canoe was slower than the Spanish brigantines. Alva Ixtlilxochitl, however, also points out that Ixtlilxochitl seized two other canoes, one of which held the heirs to the thrones of Tenochtitlan and Tlacopan. In the other sat the queen, Papantzin Oxocotzin, along with other noblewomen (ibid.: I, 479). Who was this woman in the canoe? Whereas Bernal Díaz refers to the capture of Cuauhtemoc’s wife and identifies her as a daughter of Moctezuma, most likely Tecuichpo, the woman who became known as doña Isabela Moctezuma,11 Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s account of a woman in a captured canoe is different. He makes no mention of  Tecuichpo

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and instead states that Ixtlilxochitl captured sons of Moctezuma and the ruler of  Tlacopan among other important men in one boat. Perched in the other was a group of women, among whom was Papantzin Oxocotzin, the “legitimate wife” (mujer legítima) of Cuitlahuac (the ruler who followed Moctezuma Xocoyotl, who had died shortly after ascending to the rulership), who was then the wife (or wife-to-be) of Cuauhtemoc, Cuitlahuac’s successor.12 Ixtlilxochitl turned the men over to Cortés. The women he took to Tetzcoco under heavy guard, and there they stayed. Papantzin would later marry Ixtlilxochitl. Thus she became Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s great-great-grandmother (tartarabuela [ibid.: 479, 492]). Both these women, Papantzin Oxocotzin and Tecuichpo, appear to have been wives first of Cuitlahuac, then of Cuauhtemoc (Carrasco 1984: 62, 66; Martínez Baracs 2000: 208–9). Tecuichpo/doña Isabela would go on to marry Spaniards (Alonso de Grado, Pedro Gallego de Andrade, and Juan Cano de Saavedra) and bear several mestizo children, including one to Cortés himself. Papantzin/doña Beatriz (as she would be named after her baptism) was the daughter of Nezahualpilli’s brother, Quahtlehuanitzin, and thus Ixtlilxochitl’s father’s brother’s daughter and his first cousin. She would continue the indigenous Tetzcoca rulers’ line of descent, which was seemingly a source of pride to Alva Ixtlilxochitl.13 While these earlier texts, the Sumaria relación and the “Decimatercia relación,” are informative about the role of some of the Tetzcoca royal women in the events leading up to and during the siege of  Tenochtitlan, a notable conquest personage about whom we learn little from Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s early writings is Marina. He provides a bit more detail about her in the Historia. How is Marina described in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s conquest-related writings?

Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Marina The first time Alva Ixtlilxochitl mentions Marina—to whose name he never attaches the honorific doña—is in the Sumaria relación in the text labeled “Número 6,” the first of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings (as mentioned above) that introduces the subject of the arrival of the Spaniards, as well as the theme of the indispensable help provided by the Tetzcoca. Marina is said to have translated the list of services and goods demanded by Cortés from the Tetzcoca ruler Cacama’s brother, Nezahualquentzin, whom Cacama charged with overseeing this provisioning as he sought unsuccessfully to avoid the imprisonment Moctezuma had already suffered. Marina also translated for Cortés as he explained to

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Moctezuma and Cacama his plan to confront Spaniards who had arrived on the coast, the Narváez expedition, while leaving Pedro de Alvarado in charge of the Spanish forces in Tenochtitlan (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 388–89).14 In the “Thirteenth Relation,” Marina appears one time only. She shows up late in that text, during the Honduran campaign, translating for Ixtlilxochitl after Cortés demanded that rulers of two provinces, Xapaxina and Papayca, come to meet with him. The rulers refused, and Ixtlilxochitl explained that the Spaniards had frightened them by kidnapping men and forcibly carrying them away on Spanish ships (ibid.: 511). Thus, the figure who appears so critical to the events of conquest in many indigenous and Spanish accounts materializes only as a minor figure in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s early writings. Given that the “Decimatercia relación” most fully embodies an indigenous Tetzcoca perspective on the conquest as rendered by a descendant of its Prehispanic ruling family, that Marina receives so little attention at first glance might seem surprising. Why might that have been the case? First, it should be noted that Marina garners more attention in the more Spanish-centered description in the Historia. In that text, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s portrait of her runs roughly parallel to other accounts, especially those of Bernal Díaz del Castillo, Francisco López de Gómara, Bernardino de Sahagún, Diego Durán, and even the Tlaxcalteca-centered accounts in the Lienzo de Tlaxcala and that offered by Diego Muñoz Camargo. But Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s anti-Tlaxcala sentiments still show up (especially in the description of the events of  Toxcatl, for example, which provoked the Tenochca uprising, forcing the Spaniards to abandon Tenochtitlan and retreat to Tlaxcala in late June 1520), as does the emphasis on Ixtlilxochitl as the most crucial indigenous ally of Cortés (ibid.: II, 228–29). The Historia introduces Marina as one of the women given by the ruler of Potonchan to Cortés and provides a brief biography of her, explaining that she was born of noble parentage in Huilotlan of the province of Xalatzinco on the southeastern Mesoamerican Gulf Coast.15 Stolen by some merchants who sold her at the Xicalanco market, she came to be in the care of Potonchan’s ruler, who gave her and other women to Cortés. Converted and named Marina, she began, with Jerónimo Aguilar, to translate for Cortés and soon learned Spanish. Alva Ixtlilxochitl says that her translating skills were crucial to the conversion efforts, but he also states that she married Aguilar, which was not the case. A friar, Aguilar did not represent husband material, and her relationships with Cortés and Alonso de Hernández de Puertocarrero, along with her marriage to Juan Jaramillo, are well documented. She next appears in the early stages of

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the Spanish march toward Tenochtitlan, translating as Cortés and the ruler of Cempoala discussed an alliance against Moctezuma (ibid.: 203). Cortés also made use of Marina’s translating skills in his encounter with Olintetl, ruler of Zacatlan, as she rendered Cortés’s description of both Christ and the king of Spain to that ruler (ibid.: 208). It was during this early stage in the march toward Tenochtitlan that Cortés began to communicate with the Tlaxcalteca leaders. Marina played a key role in the negotiations between those rulers and Cortés that resulted in their close alliance (ibid.: 210–11). To deepen that alliance, the Tlaxcalteca leadership decided to provide some of their daughters to Cortés. This scene, narrated at some length in the Historia, identifies Marina as the translator: Likewise the leadership agreed to give some daughters to Cortés and the rest of his companions, thus Xicotencatl (it was he who had this idea) chose two of his daughters, one named Tecuiloatzin and the other Tolquequetzaltzin; Maxixcatzin

chose Zicuetzin, daughter of Atlapaltzin; and [the leader] of Quiahuiztlan chose

Zacuancozcatl, daughter of Axoquentzin, and Huitznahuazihuatzin, daughter of

Tecuanitzin; and having brought many other young women together with these noblewomen, they gave them to Cortés and his followers, carrying many gifts of

gold, blankets, feather, and precious stones; and Maxixcatzin told Marina that she should tell the captain that there were those young women, daughters of Xicoten-

catl and other noblewomen, so that he and his companions could welcome them as wives and spouses. (ibid.: 214) 16

Marina appears in one more passage of the Historia; that reference too concerns the Tlaxcalteca. After retreating from Tenochtitlan after the Noche Triste, Cortés—through Marina—addressed his closest Tlaxcalteca allies, along with two Tetzcoca leaders, Tecocoltzin and Tocpacxochitzin, telling them that while they should mourn their fellow soldiers who had died, if they were loyal, not only could evangelization continue, but also they could protect their “estates and lordships” (estados y señorios [ibid.: 232]). The one place where Marina’s translating role receives greater attention from Alva Ixtlilxochitl is in that section, detailing the origin of the Tlaxcalteca alliance with the Spaniards. He specifies his use of  Tlaxcala-origin sources for these passages. But while the author acknowledges Marina’s role, as already noted he uses no honorifics, and after the Cortés speech just described, she disappears from the narrative (ibid.: 213, 232). For Alva Ixtlilxochitl, she apparently played

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an insignificant role in Tetzcoco or in the process of the conquest of Tenochtitlan. Yet other sources describe Marina translating for Cortés as he dealt with the Tetzcoca leadership, particularly in the period when the Spaniards and their Tlaxcalteca allies left Tlaxcala for Tetzcoco in the last days of 1520 as Cortés set out to achieve the final defeat of the Mexica and the conquest of  Tenochtitlan. Both Bernal Díaz and Diego Durán place Marina with Cortés in this period, as does the indigenous-influenced Códice Ramírez (Códice Ramírez [1943] 1980: 146–47; Díaz del Castillo 1982: 318; Durán 1967: II, 567). This was a crucial time in Tetzcoca-Spanish relations, as schisms among members of  Tetzcoca’s ruling family meant that one group, centered on Cacama and Cohuanacochtzin, allied themselves with Cuauhtemoc and the Mexica, and another group, centered first on Tecocoltzin and then, more importantly, on Ixtlilxochitl, allied with the Spaniards. As Cortés entered Tetzcoco with his Tlaxcalteca allies after leaving Tlaxcala, the city seemed largely deserted. Instead of being ready to receive Cortés as he had been promised by the Tetzcoca leadership, they and much of the population had fled. In frustration, Cortés permitted the Tlaxcalteca to sack the city. The Tlaxcalteca carried out acts of demolition that included the burning of Nezahualpilli’s palaces and the destruction of the Tetzcoca archive (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 468). Anonymous Tetzcoca Nahuatl-language accounts of the conquest also place Marina with Cortés at the time the Spaniards left Tlaxcala for Tetzcoco. They recount how she translated Cortés’s demands for food to Tocpacxochitzin, one of the hostage sons of Nezahualpilli. This son then died at the hands of Cohuanacochtzin as he conveyed a message from Cortés not to wage war. These texts also mention Marina translating later between Cortés and Tetzcoco’s highest nobility, when Cortés chose a ruler from among them (Nezahualpilli’s son Tecocoltzin) and when Cortés used the leaders to redirect labor and resources to the new Spanish government in the early 1520s (Chimalpahin 1997: II, 186– 89, 195, 199–203). This was also the period when the catastrophic trip to Honduras took place. Marina had accompanied Cortés on this journey, one that from Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s point of view proved disastrous for Tetzcoca’s ruling family. Perhaps the writer saw Marina as too closely tied both to events that had been calamitous for his Tetzcoca forebears during and after the fall of  Tenochtitlan and to the Tlaxcalteca, whom he so bitterly resented. Thus, his fealty to the altepetl of  Tetzcoco may well have shaped how Alva Ixtlilxochitl viewed this complex woman, who played an important role in the relationship between Cortés and any number of Nahua altepetl and their rulers.

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The Postconquest Era for Tetzcoca Women For women after the conquest, the “Decimatercia relación,” again, is the most informative text. In it the author provides significant evidence relating to women and evangelization, a discussion embedded in his description of the very early evangelizing efforts of the twelve Franciscan friars who arrived in 1524. While several, including Pedro de Gante, who served in Tetzcoco, had already come to central Mexico in 1523 and begun the work of religious instruction, the famous twelve came in 1524 from the coast to Tetzcoco, where they were greeted with rejoicing. There they celebrated a Mass and began to baptize the populace of the altepetl; the first to be baptized by Fray Martín de Valencia was Ixtlilxochitl, who was “named don Fernando for the Catholic king” (llamóse don Fernando por el rey católico) (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 492). Valencia also baptized Cohuanacochtzin along with other brothers, “legitimate” and “natural,” as well as additional relatives. Next to be baptized was Ixtlilxochitl’s mother, the queen Tlacoxhuatzin.17 But according to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, because of  Tlacoxhuatzin’s Mexica heritage (she was a granddaughter of Moctezuma Ilhuicama) as well as her being “somewhat dogmatic” (algo endurecida) in her beliefs, she rejected the idea. Ixtlilxochitl, however, was not having it. He proceeded to the temple where she had taken refuge with some nobles and asked her to reconsider. She harshly rejected his entreaties, telling him “that he was crazy for wanting to deny their deities and the law of their ancestors. Seeing the determination of his mother, Ixtlilxochitl became very angry and threatened to burn her alive if she did not want to be baptized” (ibid.).18 Ixtlilxochitl convinced his mother and her supporters to go to the church, where they underwent the ceremony. Alva Ixtlilxochitl refers to her as the first woman—presumably he means in Tetzcoco—to be baptized. She took the name doña María, and Cortés was her godfather. She was followed by Papantzin, who became known as doña Beatriz, also the goddaughter of Cortés (ibid.). But even with Ixtlilxochitl’s own efforts at evangelizing—with words “so holy,” it was as if they “came from an apostle” (ibid.)19—confusion abounded among the Tetzcoca because it was difficult to learn new customs, such as the way to greet a priest. Alva Ixtlilxochitl gives the example of one of Ixtlilxochitl’s sisters going to visit Fray Martín Valencia and greeting him inappropriately, “as if she were a man, kneeling down” (ibid.: 493).20 She apologized for what Valencia

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found to be a humorous lapse and explained that in Tetzcoco Nahua women and men showed respect to others, offering greetings in the same way (ibid.). This section then mentions a synod on marriage held in 1524 in Tetzcoco attended by some thirty Spaniards, friars, priests, and others. As the attendees tried and failed to fully comprehend indigenous marriage practices, they decided, according to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, that natives could marry whomever they wished, likely meaning that polygamous husbands could choose the wife to whom they wished to commit themselves (ibid.: 493–94). These passages describe the first evangelization efforts in Tetzcoco. Such an effort, however haphazardly formulated at this early point, had the intention of bringing about changes in family life and marriage practices and provoked consternation among members of the ruling family as they were exposed to these new ideas. Alva Ixtlilxochitl comments that despite all of Ixtlilxochitl’s efforts on behalf of evangelization and his entreaty to Cortés that the Spanish king be informed of these sacrifices, no message from the king recognizing Ixtlilxochitl’s efforts ever arrived. Or if it came, Alva Ixtlilxochitl reasoned, it did so after Ixtlilxochitl had died and his heirs were too young to benefit, “especially doña Ana and doña Luisa, who were his very young legitimate daughters, who had no one on their side. . . . His poor relatives were cast aside, hardly having houses in which to live and each day losing those” (ibid.: 493).21 While Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s bitterness appears particularly focused on the loss of status and wealth of his family, his writings, along with other Tetzcoca-based sources, show that the region became a kind of ground zero for conversion and efforts to root out apostasy.22 Motolinía’s writings contain ample evidence of these early efforts in the Tetzcoco area, as well as the resistance he and other friars experienced from within and beyond the Tetzcoca royal family, in regard to not only ending polygamy but also their preaching against patron deities, efforts to impose a new and more expansively conceived concept of morality, and attempts to do away with many household, agricultural, and/or calendrical ceremonies (Motolinía 1971: 36–43, 146–58, 189). Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s discussion of these first endeavors to convert Tetzcoca’s population, especially the nobility, reveals that the episodes he narrates in his vivid and often anecdotal style provoked gendered tensions. Both indigenous men (particularly Ixtlilxochitl, in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s telling) and Spanish priests tried to impose their wills on women, who did not always respond favorably, but the “Thirteenth Relation” also describes ways in which the arrival and actions of Spaniards undermined both the status of male nobles and traditional expressions of their masculinity.

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What About Men? The Journey of Great Kings Toward the end of the “Decimatercia relación,” a lengthy section treats the events involved in Cortés’s trip to Honduras in 1524, undertaken to find and discipline Cristóbal de Olid for his rebellion. Several native rulers accompanied Cortés; the group included not only Cuauhtemoc, Cohuanacochtzin (of  Tetzcoco), and Tetlepanquetzatzin (of  Tlacopan), but also, in this version, Ixtlilxochitl as well as other high-ranking nobles.23 Alva Ixtlilxochitl begins his account by explaining that Ixtlilxochitl left a servant (criado) of his as governor in his place, and with that a remarkable account of the events of this trip ensues (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 494). The ambivalence that Alva Ixtlilxochitl felt toward the Spaniards, while never far from the surface in the “Decimatercia relación,” fully flowers in this part of the text as the author—in sometimes heart-wrenching prose—details, from his elite perspective, the agony of the rulers’ travels and the wrongful decision to put them to death. The kings and nobles were forced to labor, building a bridge, for example. They experienced hunger and misery, knowing that the Spaniards did not want to feed them, but never complaining (ibid.: 500). Arguing that the kings could have killed the Spaniards had they wanted, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s text details a scene of the rulers joking and boasting among themselves about who among them might govern the provinces they were traveling to conquer. As the kings and nobles discussed all that had happened to them—with one lord and military leader, Temilotzin, arguing that the conversion indeed justified all the suffering—Cortés began to imagine that the rulers were plotting against him and ordered the kings, except for Ixtlilxochitl, to be put to death (ibid.: 501–3; also see Terraciano 2010: 22–24). After learning that Cohuanacochtzin, Ixtlilxochitl’s brother, was in the process of being hanged, Ixtlilxochitl brought his warriors to confront Cortés, who then cut the cord from Cohuanacochtzin’s neck to let him down. Even with Ixtlilxochitl’s ministrations, however, Cohuanacochtzin died several days later. Cortés, in this account, rationalized his actions to Ixtlilxochitl, explaining that the kings were plotting against him. Ixtlilxochitl was able to overcome his anger over his brother’s death only to allow evangelization to move forward. Alva Ixtlilxochitl (1975–77: I, 503–6), however, underlines the unjust nature of this event, saying that Cortés put the rulers to death to rid the newly conquered region of its most important rulers. The text portrays the leaders in highly sympathetic terms, as men who could

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reflect with intelligence and irony about what had befallen them, who could remain stoic under terrible circumstances, and who sought even in the most trying moments to set an example for the warriors they commanded. This picture of stoic and prudent leaders reinforces a theme tying masculinity to warrior achievement that runs throughout Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s body of writing, whether he was discussing leaders during the Prehispanic era or those of the conquest and early aftermath. The “Decimatercia relación” showcases, for example, Ixtlilxochitl’s prowess as a warrior in battle. He is shown to have burned an adversary alive and dismembered others, all while bearing his own wounds silently. The text also repeatedly describes how Ixtlilxochitl effectively led the thousands of warriors who were essential for the success of the Spanish cause. As much as this text “has the effect of a probanza de méritos y servicios written on behalf of himself as a direct descendant of the indispensable princely ally of Cortés” (Adorno 1989b: 239), it also—especially when read in the context of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s consistent portrayal of achievements in battle as an essential ingredient for ascension to rulership—conveys the military values prized by the Tetzcoca, Mexica, and other Nahua peoples that so shaped the late Prehispanic Mesoamerican political culture of shifting alliances among altepetl, interdynastic competition, and war.24 The executions of these kings spread fear among the Mayas as the Spaniards and their allies continued their journey south, with men, women, and children fleeing before them. As noted above, the only time Marina appears in the “Decimatercia relación” is toward the end of this text as Cortés, Ixtlilxochitl, their indigenous allies, and other Spaniards reached the port at Honduras and Cortés tried to contact two rulers of nearby provinces. They told Ixtlilxochitl they were loathe to visit Cortés or provide him aid because of the hardships Cortés’s group was inflicting on the local peoples. But after Ixtlilxochitl’s intervention, the rulers quickly agreed to gather the needed supplies (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 511). The “Thirteenth Relation” ends on a deeply disillusioned note, with Alva Ixtlilxochitl analogizing Ixtlilxochitl to Topiltzin, the tragic Tolteca ruler who lost his domain early in the Postclassic period. The author comments on the sources he used to describe the journey to Honduras and then back to central Mexico, mentioning the songs, paintings, histories, and even interviews with elders, still alive, who had seen Ixtlilxochitl and told Alva Ixtlilxochitl about him (ibid.: 514–15). Bitterness, tragedy, and a sense of injustice suffuse the last part of this chronicle as its writer tries to grapple with the enormity of the impact of the conquest. Alva Ixtlilxochitl observes that Ixtlilxochitl—ruler, great warrior, and

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Catholic evangelizer—somehow survived the fate that befell his fellow rulers on that terrible trip. Yet he failed to be rewarded, even when he humbled himself, as did other nobles, to carry materials and help build the new church of San Francisco in Mexico City. He even sent guards for the friars to protect them from their fellow Spaniards. The text seems to call out: who could have done more? Great kings had been unfairly killed, and villains—lowborn men—began to lead. With rulers no longer able to carry out the masculine task of protecting even their own women and children, this greatest warrior and native evangelizer knew (as the ruler of  Tlacopan comments in the scene of conversation among the rulers that Alva Ixtlilxochitl portrayed) that “now everything is backwards” (“ya que va todo al revés” [ibid.: 501]). Indeed, in many ways it was.

Conclusion The Tetzcoca world had certainly been turned upside down from the perspective of descendants of its Prehispanic ruling dynasty. Not only had non-nobles begun to take over the positions and prerogatives of rulers and their close relatives during the 1520s, but this usurpation also had consequences for the descendants of those families a century later. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s “Decimatercia relación” especially speaks to this theme, describing the failure of Cortés and the king of Spain to properly reward Ixtlilxochitl and his family for their roles in the conquest and evangelization. Not only were lowborn men (servants and commoners) governing, but also they were receiving rents from the very properties for which they had once paid tribute to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s ancestors. In the “Número 7” document, the author explains how this role reversal affected women: In order to pay tribute, our wives and children work . . . and the sons and daugh-

ters, granddaughters and relatives of Nezahualcoyotzin and Nezahualpiltzintli go about plowing and digging in order to eat, in order that each of us can pay ten

reales and half a bushel of maize to His Majesty, because after having counted and

assessed the new taxation, not only must the commoners pay the tribute, but all of us must also, descendants of the royal lineage, we are taxed unfairly and given an intolerable burden. (ibid.: 393)25

While this specific commentary would be toned down somewhat in the “Thirteenth Relation” and dressed up in the discourse of Christian piety, which

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might have been meant to make this persuasively intended, yet still sometimes critical, text more palatable to any Spaniards who read it, by the time Alva Ixtlilxochitl wrote the Historia, his critique of Cortés and the impact of colonial rule had become still less openly expressed. Reading Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s conquestperiod writings with chronologically sensitive eyes indicates how the way he expressed his ideas about the gendered impact of the arrival and actions of the Spaniards grew more muted as the persuasive intent of the “Decimatercia relación” gave way to the more historically intended chronicle of the Historia de la nación chichimeca.26 Yet the author’s feelings of loyalty toward and promotion of his home altepetl still shine through his history as he promotes the tlahtoani Nezahualcoyotl as a “Judeo-Christian precursor” (Lee 2008: 5). And as the lens of gender has helped us to see throughout his writings, he downplayed the role and importance of Marina to reinforce his picture of the Tetzcoca and especially his forefather, Ixtlilxochitl, great warrior king, as key to the conquest of the Mexica and the early evangelization effort. The virtual kidnapping of some female pawns (such as Nezahualpilli’s daughters), the violence against women and children that accompanied many of the battles, and the upside-down nature of labor, tribute, taxation, and by extension gender relations show Alva Ixtlilxochitl to have been a close observer of the changes that colonial rule was bringing to the early seventeenth-century Tetzcoca world even as he sought to retain the privileges he and fellow family members, female and male, had been fighting to maintain since the fall of  Tenochtitlan. By moving beyond a simple assumption that Alva Ixtlilxochitl and other mestizo and indigenous chroniclers wrote self-interested and therefore inauthentic accounts, we can interpret such texts, even the Spanish-language texts like those of Alva Ixtlilxochitl, in the light of what is known about the political organization within and relations between altepetl.27 Earlier in this chapter, I alluded to some of the conflicts within Tetzcoco’s ruling dynasty, which are typically interpreted as being due to the arrival of Spaniards. But the split within the ruling family and the ambivalent feelings toward Tenochtitlan’s rulers characterizing Tetzcoco’s politics from 1519 to 1521 date back to before the conquest. They reflect the altepetl-focused political system of the late Postclassic period Basin of Mexico, as well as the gendered dynamics of marriage and parent-child relations. Reading Alva Ixtlilxochitl with an eye to women and gender reveals information not only about Tetzcoca women in the conquest era but also about how gender relations shaped political alliances and conflicts prior to the arrival

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of Spaniards, with those conflicts playing out in sometimes unexpected ways as altepetl had to respond to rapidly changing political contexts during and after the fall of  Tenochtitlan.

Notes 1. Many thanks to Susan Deeds, Matthew Restall, and William Walker for tremendously helpful comments and suggestions on this chapter. Sonya LipsettRivera’s commentary on a related paper given at the 2014 RMCLAS meeting in Durango, Colorado, was also very useful. All responsibility for the interpretations offered remains with me. On the concept of “ethnorace,” see Kellogg 2000: 70–74, 83n1. 2. When reading recent scholarship about Alva Ixtlilxochitl, it is impossible not to be struck by how often historians and literary scholars focus on his ethnoracial identity as the prism through which they analyze his writings. For some, notably Enrique Florescano and James Lockhart, he is a mestizo, poorly informed about the Prehispanic political history and structure of the altepetl of  Tetzcoco, not only responsible for errors that have crept into the historical record but also exemplifying and furthering a process of what Florescano calls “disindigenization” (Florescano 1994: 127; Lockhart 1992: 25, 513n162). This line of argument culminates in Jorge Cañizares-Esguerra’s discussion of how Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings shaped a colonial creole historiography that closely linked indigenous elites with colonial creoles, with whom—in his view—Alva Ixtlilxochitl identified (see Cañizares-Esguerra 2001: 221–25; also see Brading 1991: 273–75). Others, such as Salvador Velazco, echoing Rolena Adorno’s rejection of the idea of inauthenticity, view Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s effort to reconcile the indigenous past with the seventeenth-century colonial present with more sympathy. For Velazco, despite having only one indigenous grandparent, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s assertions of a deep Christian history stretching back to the Prehispanic era served more to promote his view of  Tetzcoco as the “center of the ancient Mesoamerican world” than to promote an identification with creoles (2003: 43). Also see Adorno 1989a: 216; Brian 2007: 19–23. On Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s connections to the Tetzcoco of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century, see Benton 2014 (esp. 38–42). For a brief biography and overview of identity-based issues pertaining to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, see Townsend 2014; also see Schwaller 2014. For recent studies of early colonial Tetzcoco, see Lee and Brokaw 2014.

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3. See the wills of don Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin and his daughter, doña Francisca Verdugo, as well as witness testimony about the cacicazgo, its properties, and the transmission of both, transcriptions of which can be found in the documentary appendix of the O’Gorman edition of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writings (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 281–333). The Nahuatl version of don Francisco’s will can be found in Rojas Rabiela, Rea López, and Medina Lima 1999: 130–42. Related documentation can also be found in Pérez Rocha and Tena 2000: 201–10, 379–404. For a detailed analysis of the San Juan Teotihuacan cacicazgo, see Münch 1976. 4. On these mothers, see Kellogg 2013 (my discussion of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s texts here overlaps with that of the 2013 chapter). 5. Amber Brian (2010: 129–30) explains that in 1983 the autograph manuscript versions of the texts discussed here were discovered in the Bible Society collection at Cambridge University Library. In 2014, these manuscripts were acquired by Mexico’s Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia (INAH). Also see Brian 2014; Ruwet 1997; Schroeder 1997: 4–5. Edmundo O’Gorman’s two-volume transcription of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s texts (1975–77), which remains the most available and complete version, is what I rely on here. O’Gorman (1975: 197–218) explains in his introduction to the volumes that of the manuscript versions then extant, none apparently was in the writer’s own hand. 6. While Susan Gillespie (1998) argues that the “Aztec” empire is a postconquest fiction, both Ross Hassig (1994) and Pedro Carrasco (1999) provide compelling evidence and analyses that point to the structure of this imperial system, situating it within a Prehispanic Nahua political economy and cultural configuration. 7. For elite Nahua marriage practices, see Carrasco 1984: 45–51; Schroeder 1992: 54–74. 8. The theme of the taking of royal women as hostages also appears in some of Chimalpahin’s writings. It is especially apparent in his translation of Gómara’s La conquista de México; see Tavárez 2010: 25. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s account receives support also from a document of anonymous authorship recounting aspects of the conquest from a Tetzcoca perspective, included in papers belonging to Chimalpahin. See Chimalpahin 1997: II, 187. 9. “De las cuatro hijas de Nezahualpiltzintli que se le dieron en rehenes murieron las tres, aunque la una de ellas fue la más bien librada, porque murió bautizada

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y se llamó doña Juana, que por ser tan querida de Cortés y estar en días de parir la hizo cristiana” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 230). 10. “Se contentasen con quitar la vida de sus maridos o padres o hijos” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl, 1975–77: I, 468). Brian (2010: 133–34) also notes the way Alva Ixtlilxochitl scorns the Tlaxcalteca and praises the Tetzcoca. 11. There is an extensive literature on Tecuichpo/doña Isabela. See Chipman 2005: chaps. 2–3; Kalyuta 2007; López de Meneses 1948. 12. “En la otra [canoa] iban la reina Papantzin Oxocotzin, mujer legítima que había de ser de Quauhtémoc que fue del rey Quitlahua, con muchas señoras” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 479). 13. For Papantzin’s parentage, see Alvarado Tezozomoc 1975: 160–61; Chimalpahin 1997: I, 165. For additional discussion of  Tecuichpo and Papantzin, see Martínez Baracs 2000. Rodrigo Martínez Baracs asserts that the Ixtlilxochitl faction of the conquest-era Tetzcoca ruling dynasty was poorly disposed toward Tecuichpo. These negative feelings may have been rooted in the split between Ixtlilxochitl and Moctezuma Xocoyotzin because of the latter’s interference with the royal succession against which Ixtlilxochitl had rebelled (Martínez Baracs 2000: 207–8). Lori Diel argues that the roots of this antipathy go back even further: to Nezahualpilli’s killing of his Mexica wife (2007: 267–68; also see Kellogg 2013: 161, 170n16). 14. As with Tecuichpo, there is an extensive literature on Marina. Chapters in Glantz 1994 trace her life and image as a textual, literary, and visual figure; also see Cypess 1991; Karttunen 1997. Camilla Townsend’s biography (2006) analyzes her life in cultural context and provides an extensive bibliography. On her biography, also see Herren 1991; Karttunen 1994: 1–23; Lanyon 1999. 15. For a thorough discussion of the primary sources on Marina’s origins, see Townsend 2006: 230–32n5, 233n10. 16. “Asimismo la señoría acordó de dar sus hijas a Cortés y a los demás sus compañeros; de manera que Xicoténcatl (que fue el que dio este parecer), eligió a dos hijas suyas llamada la una Tecuiloatzin y la otra Tolquequetzaltzin; Maxixcatzin eligió a Zicuetzin hija de Atlapaltzin; y el de Quiahuiztlan a Zacuancózcatl hija de Axoquetzin, y a Huitznahuazihuatzin hija de Tecuanitzin; y habiendo juntado otras muchas doncellas con estas señoras, se las dieron a Cortés y a los suyos, cargadas de muchos presentes de oro, mantas, plumería y pedrería; y dijo Maxixcatzin a Marina que dijese al señor capitán, que allí estaban aquellas doncellas hijas de Xicoténcatl y otros señores noble, para que

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17.

18.

19. 20. 21.

22.

él y sus compañeros las recibiesen por mujeres y esposas.”  These passages from the Historia associating Marina with Tlaxcala are interesting because of the fairly neutral way Alva Ixtlilxochitl discusses the Tlaxcalteca, which contrasts with the usual scorn he expresses toward them. Alva Ixtlilxochitl provides conflicting information about the name and descent line of Ixtlilxochitl’s mother. The name given in the “Decimatercia relación” adds a fifth variant to the list of names he gave, but questions about her name and descent line do not change the discussion here about Ixtlilxochitl’s alleged response to her refusal to convert. Jerome Offner and I each consider this issue in detail. See Kellogg 2013: 158–64; Offner 1983: 238–40. Also see Diel 2007: 267. “Ella le riñó y trató muy mal de palabras diciéndole . . . que era un loco, pues tan presto negaba a sus dioses y ley de sus pasados. Ixtlilxúchitl viendo la determinación de su madre se enojó mucho y la amenazó que la quemaría viva si no se quería bautizar.”  The Códice Ramírez, in a section dealing with the conquest in Tetzcoco, contains a passage that describes this event. The chronology is different in that this conversion happens even before the imprisonment of Moctezuma, and the codex has Ixtlilxochitl saying “that, were she not his mother, his response [to her rejection of baptism] would be to take her head off her shoulders, but that she would do it [get baptized], even if she didn’t want to, because it mattered to the life of the soul” (“Que si no fuera su madre la respuesta [a su rechazo del bautismo] fuera quitarle la cabeza de los hombros, pero que lo habia de hazer aunque no quisiese, que importaba la vida del alma”) (Códice Ramírez [1943] 1980: 137). “Palabras . . . tan santas que les decía como si fuera un apóstal.” “Como si fuera varón, hincando una rodilla.” “Especialmente doña Ana y doña Luisa que eran sus hijas legítimas pequeñitas y que no tenían a nadie de su parte. . . . Y sus descendientes pobres y arrinconados que apenas tienen casas en que vivan y esas cada día se las quitan.” See Don 2010 (esp. chap. 5) for a detailed analysis of the experiences of Motolinía and other friars and priests in the Tetzcoca region. Patricia Lopes Don focuses on the Inquisition trials carried out by Zumárraga and shows the difficulties that the conversion efforts—especially those intended to instill new beliefs about family morality—led to, provoking severe tensions within and beyond the Tetzcoca ruling family. Motolinía, Mendieta, and Torquemada all wrote about the difficulties in trying to bring polygamy to an end in the Tetzcoca area. See Mendieta 1945: II, 147–52; Motolinía 1971: 148–58, 189;

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Torquemada 1975: III, 284–85, 292–95. While Mendieta and Torquemada drew upon Motolinía’s history of evangelization, they, too, saw the issues surrounding the ending of polygyny as worthy of comment. 23. As to Ixtlilxochitl’s presence on this journey, neither Cortés nor Bernal Díaz mentions him (nor do they name Cohuanacochtzin). While López de Gómara (1986: 354) also fails to mention Ixtlilxochitl, he does name Cohuanacochtzin. Chimalpahin (2010: 375) adds a longer list of names to López de Gómara’s account, including that of Ixtlilxochitl. The indigenous, Tlatelolca-inflected sources, the Florentine Codex and the Anales de Tlatelolco, also fail to mention either Cohuanacochtzin or Ixtlilxochitl. 24. In addition to Adorno’s (1989b) discussion of the portrayal of Ixtlilxochitl and warrior culture, also see, on the burning and killing by dismemberment of enemies, Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 456–57, 472–73. Inga Clendinnen (1991: 146–49) ties Aztec masculinity to warfare, as does Kevin Terraciano (2010: 31–32). Pete Sigal (2011: 147–51) argues, however, that manliness was an ambiguously gendered category, even in warfare. On indigenous sexuality also see Trexler 1995 and Powers 2005 (chaps. 1–3). On late Postclassic political culture and the political volatility of city-state (altepetl) interrelations, particularly in the Basin of Mexico, see many of the chapters in Smith and Berdan 2003. 25. “Que para pagar los tributos, nuestras mujeres y hijas trabajan . . . y que los hijos y hijas, nietas y parientes de Nezahualcoyotzin y Nezahualpiltzintli, andan arando y cabando para tener qué comer, y para pagar cada uno de nosotros diez reales de plata y media fanega de maíz a su majestad, porque después de habernos contado y hecho la nueva tasación, no solamente están tasados los mazehuales que paguen el susodicho tribute, sino también todos nosotros, descendientes de la real cepa, estamos tasados contra todo el derecho y se nos dio una carga incomportable.” 26. Susan Schroeder discusses why Chimalpahin might have included additional references to Christianity in his Nahuatl translation of López de Gómara’s La conquista de México, speculating that “he may have interspersed such information to temper suspicion about the content of his writings” (2010: 110). She argues that Chimalpahin was nonetheless a “devout Catholic” (ibid.), and I see no reason to think the same was not true of Alva Ixtlilxochitl. Each writer thus found ways to attempt to make his ideas palatable for Spaniards who might read their texts. In a study of the evolution of  Tlaxcalteca-produced visual images of the conquest (the Lienzo de Tlaxcala and two closely related

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texts), including of this event, Travis Kranz argues for visual texts that the presentation of gendered themes changed over time: “The giving of women and gifts is de-emphasized over time as the Tlaxcalteca perceived other visual arguments to be more effective in securing privileges from the Spaniards” (2010: 59). 27. Chimalpahin is the exception in terms of the indictment of self-interest shaping the chronicles of Mesoamerican indigenous and mestizo authors. Susan Schroeder’s scholarship has consistently made the case for the quality of his work as a historian and writer (see, esp., Schroeder 1991).

Works Cited Adorno, Rolena. 1989a. “Arms, Letters, and the Native Historian in Early Colonial Mexico.” In 1492/1992: Re/discovering Colonial Writing, edited by René Jara and Nicholas Spadaccini, 201–24. Minneapolis: Prisma Institute. ———. 1989b. “The Warrior and the War Community: Constructions of the Civil Order in Mexican Conquest History.” Dispositio 14: 225–46. Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de. 1975–77. Obras históricas. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. 2 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Alvarado Tezozomoc, Fernando. 1975. Crónica mexicayotl. Translated by Adrián León. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Benton, Bradley. 2014. “The Outsider: Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Tenuous Ties to the City of  Tetzcoco.” Colonial Latin American Review 23: 37–52. Brading, D. A. 1991. The First America: The Spanish Monarchy, Creole Patriots, and the Liberal State, 1492–1867. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brian, Amber. 2007. “Dual Identities: Colonial Subjectivities in Seventeenth-Century New Spain; Don Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora and Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl.” PhD dissertation, University of  Wisconsin–Madison. ———. 2010. “Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Narratives of the Conquest of Mexico: Colonial Subjectivity and the Circulation of Native Knowledge.” In The Conquest All Over Again: Nahuas and Zapotecs Thinking, Writing, and Painting Spanish Colonialism, edited by Susan Schroeder, 124–43. Eastbourne, UK: Sussex Academic Press. ———. 2014. “The Original Alva Ixtlilxochitl Manuscripts at Cambridge University.” Colonial Latin American Review 23: 85–93.

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Cañizares-Esguerra, Jorge. 2001. How to Write the History of the New World: Histories, Epistemologies, and Identities in the Eighteenth-Century Atlantic World. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Carrasco, Pedro. 1984. “Royal Marriages in Ancient Mexico.” In Explorations in Ethnohistory: Indians of Central Mexico in the Sixteenth Century, edited by H. R. Harvey and Hanns J. Prem, 41–81. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. ———. 1999. The Tenochca Empire of Ancient Mexico: The Triple Alliance of Tenochtitlan, Tetzcoco, and Tlacopan. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Chimalpahin Cuauhtlehuanitzin, Domingo Francisco de San Antón Muñón. 1997. Codex Chimalpahin: Society and Politics in Mexico Tenochtitlan, Tlatelolco, Texcoco, Culhuacan, and Other Nahua Altepetl in Central Mexico. Edited and translated by Arthur J. O. Anderson and Susan Schroeder. 2 vols. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. ———, ed. 2010. Chimalpahín’s Conquest: A Nahua Historian’s Rewriting of Francisco López de Gómara’s La conquista de México. Edited and translated by Susan Schroeder, Anne J. Cruz, Cristián Roa de la Carrera, and David E. Tavárez. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Chipman, Donald E. 2005. Moctezuma’s Children: Aztec Royalty Under Spanish Rule, 1520–1700. Austin: University of  Texas Press. Clendinnen, Inga. 1991. Aztecs: An Interpretation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Códice Ramírez. (1943) 1980. In Crónica Mexicana/Códice Ramírez, 17–149. Edited by Manuel Orozco y Berra. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa. Cortés, Hernán. 1993. Cartas de relación. Edited by Ángel Delgado Gómez. Madrid: Clásicos Castalia. Cypess, Sandra Messinger. 1991. La Malinche in Mexican Literature: From History to Myth. Austin: University of  Texas Press. Díaz del Castillo, Bernal. 1982. Historia verdadera de la conquista de la Nueva España. Madrid: Instituto Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo, C.S.I.C.; Guatemala City: Universidad Rafael Landívar, de la Nueva Guatemala de la Asunción. Diel, Lori Boornazian. 2007. “Til Death Do Us Part: Unconventional Marriages as Aztec Political Strategy.” Ancient Mesoamerica 18: 259–72. Don, Patricia Lopes. 2010. Bonfires of Culture: Franciscans, Indigenous Leaders, and the Inquisition in Early Mexico, 1524–1540. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Durán, Diego. 1967. Historia de las Indias de Nueva España. 2 vols. Edited by Angel María Garibay. Mexico City: Porrúa.

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Florescano, Enrique. 1994. Memory, Myth, and Time in Mexico: From the Aztecs to Independence. Translated by Albert G. Bork. Austin: University of  Texas Press. Gillespie, Susan D. 1998. “The Aztec Triple Alliance: A Postconquest Tradition.” In Native Traditions in the Postconquest World, edited by Elizabeth Hill Boone and Tom Cummins, 233–63. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Glantz, Margo, ed. 1994. La Malinche, sus padres y sus hijos. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Hassig, Ross. 1994. Mexico and the Spanish Conquest. London: Longman. Herren, Ricard. 1991. La conquista erótica de las Indias. Barcelona: Planeta. Kalyuta, Anastasia. 2007. “The Household and Estate of a Mexica Lord: ‘Información de doña Isabel de Moctezuma,’ México.” www.famsi.org/reports/06045/ index.html. Karttunen, Frances. 1994. Between Worlds: Interpreters, Guides, and Survivors. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. ———. 1997. “Rethinking Malinche.” In Indian Women of Early Mexico, edited by Susan Schroeder, Stephanie Wood, and Robert Haskett, 291–312. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Kellogg, Susan. 2000. “Depicting Mestizaje: Gendered Images of Ethnorace in Colonial Mexican Texts.” Journal of Women History 12: 69–92. ———. 2013. “The Mysterious Mothers of Alva Ixtlilxochitl: Women, Kings and Power in Late Prehispanic and Conquest Tetzcoco.” In Género y arqueología en Mesoamérica: Homenaje a Rosemary A. Joyce, edited by María Rodríguez-Shadow and Susan Kellogg, 153–77. Mexico City: Centro de Estudios de Antropología de la Mujer. (Also available at www.ceam.mx.) Kranz, Travis Barton. 2010. “Visual Persuasion: Sixteenth-Century Tlaxcalan Pictorials in Response to the Conquest of Mexico.” In The Conquest All Over Again: Nahuas and Zapotecs Thinking, Writing, and Painting Spanish Colonialism, edited by Susan Schroeder, 41–73. Eastbourne, UK: Sussex Academic Press. Lanyon, Anna. 1999. Malinche’s Conquest. St. Leonards, New South Wales, Australia: Allen and Edwards. Lee, Jongsoo. 2008. The Allure of Nezahualcoyotl: Pre-Hispanic History, Religion, and Nahua Poetics. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Lee, Jongsoo, and Galen Brokaw, eds. 2014. Texcoco: Prehispanic and Colonial Perspectives. Boulder: University Press of Colorado. Lockhart, James. 1992. The Nahuas After the Conquest: A Social and Cultural History of the Indians of Central Mexico, Sixteenth Through Eighteenth Centuries. Stanford: Stanford University Press.

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López de Gómara, Francisco. 1986. La conquista de México. Edited by José Luis de Rojas. Madrid: Historia 16. López de Meneses, Amada. 1948. “Tecuichpochtzin, hija de Moctezuma (¿1510?– 1550).” Revista de Indias 9: 31–47. Martínez Baracs, Rodrigo. 2000. “Imágenes de doña Isabel Moctezuma, Tecuichpo.” In Códices y documentos sobre México: Tercer Simposio Internacional, ed. Constanza Vega Sosa, 197–225. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Mendieta, Gerónimo de. 1945. Historia eclesiástica indiana. 4 vols. Mexico City: Editorial Salvador Chávez Hayoe. Motolinía, Toribio de Benavente. 1971. Memoriales o libro de las cosas de la Nueva España y de los naturales de ella. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Münch G., Guido. 1976. El cacicazgo de San Juan Teotihuacán durante la colonia, 1521–1821. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Offner, Jerome A. 1983. Law and Politics in Aztec Texcoco. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. O’Gorman, Edmundo. 1975. “Estudio introductorio.” In Obras históricas, by Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, vol. 1, 1–257. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Pérez-Rocha, Emma, and Rafael Tena, eds. 2000. La nobleza indígena del centro de México después de la conquista. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia . Powers, Karen Vieira. 2005. Women in the Crucible of Conquest: The Gendered Genesis of Spanish American Society, 1500–1600. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Rojas Rabiela, Teresa, Elsa Leticia Rea López, and Constantino Medina Lima, eds. 1999. Vidas y bienes olvidados: Testamentos en náhuatl y castellano del siglo XVI. Vol. 2. Mexico City: CIESAS. Ruwet, Wayne. 1997. “Physical Description of the Manuscripts.” In Codex Chimalpahin: Society and Politics in Mexico Tenochtitlan, Tlatelolco, Texcoco, Culhuacan, and Other Nahua Altepetl in Central Mexico, edited and translated by Arthur J. O. Anderson and Susan Schroeder, vol. 1, 17–24. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Schroeder, Susan. 1991. Chimalpahin and the Kingdoms of Chalco. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. ———. 1992. “The Noblewomen of Chalco.” Estudios de Cultura Náhuatl 22: 45–86. ———. 1997. “Introduction.” In Codex Chimalpahin: Society and Politics in Mexico Tenochtitlan, Tlatelolco, Texcoco, Culhuacan, and Other Nahua Altepetl in Central

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Mexico, edited and translated by Arthur J. O. Anderson and Susan Schroeder, vol. 1, 3–13. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. ———. 2010. “Chimalpahin Rewrites the Conquest: Yet Another Epic History?” In The Conquest All Over Again: Nahuas and Zapotecs Thinking, Writing, and Painting Spanish Colonialism, edited by Susan Schroeder, 101–23. Eastbourne, UK: Sussex Academic Press. Schwaller, John Frederick. 2014. “The Brothers Fernando Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Bartolomé de Alva: Two ‘Native’ Intellectuals of Seventeenth-Century Mexico.” In Indigenous Intellectuals: Knowledge, Power, and Colonial Culture in Mexico and the Andes, edited by Gabriela Ramos and Yanna Yannakakis, 39–59. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Sigal, Pete. 2011. The Flower and the Scorpion: Sexuality and Ritual in Early Nahua Culture. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Smith, Michael E., and Frances F. Berdan, eds. 2003. The Postclassic Mesoamerican World. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. Tavárez, David E. 2010. “Reclaiming the Conquest: An Assessment of Chimalpahin’s Modifications to La conquista de México.” In Chimalpahin’s Conquest: A Nahua Historian’s Rewriting of Francisco López de Gómara’s La conquista de México, edited and translated by Susan Schroeder, Anne J. Cruz, Cristián Roa-de-la Carrera, and David E. Tavárez, 17–34. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Terraciano, Kevin. 2010. “Three Views of the Conquest of Mexico from the Other Mexica.” In The Conquest All Over Again: Nahuas and Zapotecs Thinking, Writing, and Painting Spanish Colonialism, edited by Susan Schroeder, 15–40. Eastbourne, UK: Sussex Academic Press. Torquemada, Juan de. 1975. Monarquía indiana. Edited by Miguel León-Portilla. 3 vols. Mexico City: Porrúa. Townsend, Camilla. 2006. Malintzin’s Choices: An Indian Woman in the Conquest of Mexico. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. ———. 2014. “Introduction: The Evolution of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Scholarly Life.” Colonial Latin American Review 23: 1–17. Trexler, Richard. 1995. Sex and Conquest: Gendered Power, Political Order and European Conquest of the Americas. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Velazco, Salvador. 2003. Visiones de Anáhuac: Reconstrucciones historiográficos y etnicidades emergentes en el México colonial; Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, Diego Muñoz Camargo y Hernando Alvarado Tezozómoc. Guadalajara: Universidad de Guadalajara.

8 Alva Ixtlilxochitl and the Guadalupe Legend The Question of Authorship Amber Brian I say, and I swear, that I found this Relation among don Fernando de Alva’s papers, of which I have all, and that it is the same one Luis Becerra [Tanco] claims in his book [Felicidad de México] (page 30 in the Seville edition of 1685) to have had. The original in Nahuatl is in the hand of don Antonio Valeriano, Indian, who is its true author, and at the end are added some miracles in the hand of don Fernando, also in Nahuatl. The text I loaned to the Reverend Father Francisco de Florencia was a periphrastic translation of both texts done by don Fernando, and also in his hand. 1 — C a r lo s d e S i g ü e n z a y G ó n g o r a , P i e d a d h e r oy c a d e d o n F e r n a n d o C o r t é s

T

multiple apparitions to Juan Diego culminating in the miraculous imprint of her image onto the humble macehual ’s tilma on December 12, 1531, has long been foundational to cultural nationalism, religious faith, and patriotic history in Mexico.2 Even antiapparitionist scholars, such as Stafford Poole, C.M., agree on the centrality of her deep and abiding connection to Mexican culture and religious experience.3 The cultural and religious significance of Guadalupe notwithstanding, the origin and genealogy of the narratives associated with the virgen morena have been the source of controversy and confusion for centuries. The scholarly consensus is that the apparition stories were first written and published in the he tale of the Virgin of Guadalupe’s

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seventeenth century and the authors were all creole clerics. In an influential 1953 study, Francisco de la Maza referred to these authors as the “four evangelists,” and the epithet has stuck. The principal texts that relate the apparition story are Miguel Sánchez’s Imagen de la Virgen María Madre de Dios de Guadalupe (1648), Luis Laso de la Vega’s Huei tlamahuiçoltica (1649), Luis Becerra Tanco’s Felicidad de México (1675), and Francisco de Florencia’s La estrella del norte de México (1688). Piedad heroyca de don Fernando Cortés (c. 1689) by Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora has also become an important source for the history of the Virgin of Guadalupe, because it includes a significant and oft-cited anecdote about materials related to the apparition in an account primarily concerning Hernán Cortés. The epigraph that opens this chapter encapsulates the contentious ground on which the narrative tradition of the apparition is founded. Sigüenza ties the written story of the Virgin of Guadalupe’s apparition to two Nahua intellectuals, don Antonio Valeriano (c. 1520–1605) and don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl (c. 1578–1650), both active scholars and colonial administrators during the century after the conquest. Valeriano was an early pupil and then instructor of Latin and other subjects at the Colegio de Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco, and later in life he was governor of the Indian portion of Mexico City. Alva Ixtlilxochitl was (and still is, as the present volume demonstrates) known for his historical writings on Precolumbian and conquest-era Tetzcoco, as well as his family’s part in passing on his collection of manuscripts, maps, codices, and other pictorial materials to Sigüenza y Góngora. Sigüenza grounded his authority as a historian of native culture on this cache of materials given to him by Juan de Alva Cortés, Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s son. Sigüenza claims that these materials included documents pointing to Valeriano and Alva Ixtlilxochitl as the authors of the original written narrative of the apparition of the Virgin of Guadalupe and the miracles associated with her. The founding of the apparition story in the native community—and specifically in the hands of native intellectuals—is a central tenet of popular understanding of the Guadalupe legend and is still a common approach to Guadalupe scholarship in academic circles.4 In this chapter I address the genealogy and significance of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s association with the Guadalupe legend, building on the studies of scholars who have contested the presumed native authorship of the apparition story and subsequent miracles (Brading 2001; Poole 1995, 2006; Sousa et al. 1998). Though there is no evidence that Alva Ixtlilxochitl had any direct role in shaping the narrative of the Virgin’s apparition and miracles, the popular and scholarly insistence on drawing him into

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that process underlines his reputation as an authority on indigenous history and also points to the multilingual and multiethnic context in which the legend took hold.

Creole Clerics, Indian Intellectuals, and the Apparition Story Born in the last quarter of the seventeenth century, Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl (c. 1578–1650) was at least a generation older than Miguel Sánchez (1606–1674), Luis Laso de la Vega (c. 1600–c. 1660), Luis Becerra Tanco (1603– 1672), Francisco de Florencia (1620–1695), and Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora (1645–1700). Becerra Tanco wrote of knowing Alva Ixtlilxochitl personally, but Sigüenza would have been a very young child at the time of the chronicler’s death. Sigüenza was, however, close friends with Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s eldest son, Juan de Alva Cortés, and it is through that connection that he came to possess Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s papers, some of which he later shared with Florencia. This larger context of friendship, collective inquiry, and intellectual exchange provides the background for the writing of the story of Guadalupe’s apparition and the miracles associated with her. Miguel Sánchez is indisputably the first author of a published narrative of Guadalupe’s apparition. As the title might lead us to imagine, the tilma image is the focal point of his text.5 Imagen de la Virgen María Madre de Dios de Guadalupe presents a commentary on the significance of the Guadalupe image in the context of the Western intellectual tradition and Catholic practices in New Spain. The miraculous appearance of the Virgin of Guadalupe’s likeness on the tilma both provides a climax to the tale of the multiple apparitions of the Virgin to Juan Diego and allows the creole writer to underline a preeminently Nahua theme in the story. The Virgin, as Sánchez and later authors emphasize, appeared to Juan Diego, a macehual and Nahua neophyte, rather than to a Spaniard. Her blessing of Juan Diego was intended as a blessing for the Indians of the New World recently arrived to the faith and as a blessing for the new Catholic realm in Mexico more broadly. Sánchez wrote for an educated audience in what is often described as Baroque prose that is heavily laden with theological digressions, including abundant Latin passages. This was not a text aimed at the general populace. In fact, Mateo de la Cruz published an extracted and simpler version of Sánchez’s

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text, intended for wider reading, in 1660, under the title Relación de la milagrosa aparición de la Santa Virgen de Guadalupe. The most notable difference between Sánchez’s and later Guadalupe texts is that it is more encumbered by erudition; another important distinction is that Imagen de la Virgen is fundamentally about the image of the Virgin, and the author, though not for want of trying, does not engage with a written record of the apparition story. Sánchez (1982: 158) looked through archives and fruitlessly sought documentary evidence related to the apparition. Without textual sources to cite, his narrative became an exegesis of the image. Decades later, Becerra Tanco, Florencia, and Sigüenza foregrounded the ways in which they engaged with a written tradition of the Guadalupe legend that emerged out of the native community and was authored by Antonio Valeriano and Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl. Though these three creole authors do not specifically suggest that Valeriano and Alva Ixtlilxochitl wrote the Huei tlamahuiçoltica, their seventeenth-century works serve as the foundation of just such a connection.6 Published in Nahuatl in 1649, Huei tlamahuiçoltica omonexiti in ilhuicac tlatocacihuapilli Santa Maria totlaçonantzin Guadalupe in nican Huei altepenahuac Mexico itocyocan Tepeyacac (By the Great Miracle the Heavenly Queen, Saint Mary, Our Precious Mother of Guadalupe, Appeared Here near the Great Altepetl of Mexico, in a Place Called Tepeyacac) contains the Nican mopohua (Here Is Recounted), the story of the apparition of the Virgin, and the Nican motecpana (Here Is an Ordered Account), the miracle stories associated with her.7 The stated author of the text was Luis Laso de la Vega, a secular cleric and vicar at the Guadalupe chapel at Tepeyacac. The main text is preceded by a preface written in Nahuatl and signed by Laso de la Vega. There is a note from a Jesuit priest, Baltasar González, that supports the publication of the text and again attributes authorship to Laso de la Vega. There is also a notarized decree from Pedro de Barrientos Lomelín, vicar general of the archdiocese, that authorizes Laso de la Vega to publish the text. The text and the accompanying permissions all indicate that the author is Luis Laso de la Vega. Lisa Sousa, Stafford Poole, and James Lockhart, the editors of the 1998 translation of the text, state as much in their introduction. These three scholars conducted a careful philological analysis and concluded that there is a close relationship between the Imagen de la Virgen and the Huei tlamahuiçoltica and “a very strong role of Laso de la Vega himself in the composition of the Nahuatl work, going against [their] expectation that the person primarily responsible for the final version of an ecclesiastical text in older Nahuatl would have been an indigenous aide (or aides)” (Sousa et al. 1998: 3).

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Huei tlamahuiçoltica has been caught up in a confusing series of attributions that have led many scholarly and popular authorities to claim that this Nahuatl version of the Guadalupe story was written by Valeriano and Alva Ixtlilxochitl. Poole (1995: 167–69) writes that Lorenzo Boturini Benaduci was the first to identify Valeriano as the author of the Nican mopohua and that the nineteenth-century Jesuit historian Mariano Cuevas is the one responsible for popularizing the attribution. Poole separates the Huei tlamahuiçoltica from the Nahuatl sources mentioned by Becerra Tanco, Florencia, and Sigüenza: “The ‘Relación’ is not the same as the Nican mopohua and in fact is substantially different from it” (ibid.: 169). The question of authorship of the Huei tlamahuiçoltica, as well as the issue of sources for that text and the other seventeenth-century narratives, is complicated and polemical. The most thorough treatments of the topic are by Poole (1995) and David Brading (2001), though even these two eminent historians at times differ in their opinions. Brading, for example, offers a more cursory reading than Poole’s of Sigüenza’s Piedad heroyca and suggests that the creole author named “Antonio Valeriano was the author of the Nican mopohua” (2001: 117) when, in fact, that is not quite what Sigüenza states, as Poole (1995: 167) explains. The issue of concern here is what role, if any, Alva Ixtlilxochitl had in the emergence of the Guadalupe narratives. Becerra Tanco was the first to present Alva Ixtlilxochitl as an active player in recording the apparition and early miracles associated with the Virgin. Unlike Sánchez, who claimed early on that his efforts to make a full written account of the apparition were frustrated by his fruitless search for related documents, Becerra Tanco dedicated lengthy portions of his text to enumerating crucial oral and written sources from the native community. Becerra Tanco (1982: 310) announces in the prologue of Felicidad de México that because he was a native Nahuatl speaker, having grown up in a Nahuatl-speaking community near Taxco, he found himself obliged to write down everything he knew and had learned during his adolescence from Nahua pictorial records. Becerra Tanco’s original account was included in the 1666 Capitular Inquiry that relied on the testimony of twenty witnesses to seek a grant of a special feast, Mass, and office in honor of the Virgin of Guadalupe (Poole 1995: 138). Though Rome did not grant the request, the stories accumulated for the inquiry did serve as yet another milestone in the development of the narrative of the apparition and the miracles wrought by Guadalupe. Becerra Tanco reworked his written testimony from 1666; this second version was published posthumously as Felicidad de México en el principio, y milagroso origen, que tubo el Santuario de la Virgen Maria N. Señora de Guadalupe.8

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Felicidad de México provides the foundation for a narrative of the apparition that is rooted in the native community, and Becerra Tanco sees himself as singularly suited to bear witness to that story. He lists many oral sources that confirm the apparition story, and many of them are creole men—often religious—who were enmeshed in the Indian community. Their skills and proficiency in Nahuatl (or mexicano) are described as akin to those of Cicero in Latin or Demosthenes in Greek. And these learned and bicultural creoles communicated to Becerra Tanco the stories they had gathered from learned and bicultural Indians. For example, the maternal uncle of Becerra Tanco, Gaspar de Prabez, a grandson of one of the first conquistadors and a “Nahuatl Cicero,” related to his nephew that he had heard of the tradition from Antonio Valeriano (Becerra Tanco 1982: 329). Becerra Tanco himself maintained close ties to the native lettered community. He highlights the materials he read and studied that were in the possession of “[don] Fernando de Alva, interpreter in the Indian Court of this viceregal government, [a] capable and elderly man who understood and spoke Nahuatl with eminence and who understood the pictorial records of the natives” (ibid.: 325).9 Among Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s papers he held “a notebook written in [the Spanish] alphabet and in Nahuatl, in the hand of one of the most esteemed students from the College of Santa Cruz [de Tlatelolco]” (ibid.: 326).10 The central innovation that Becerra Tanco provides to the apparition story is its connection to Antonio Valeriano and Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, who in later decades would be further implicated in the emergence of the narrative of Guadalupe’s apparition and miracles and in later centuries would be put forth as the true authors of the Huei tlamahuiçoltica. Though Becerra Tanco was forty years older, he and Sigüenza y Góngora enjoyed a friendship that was based in part on a shared passion for Indian history, as well as a common interest in mathematics. Becerra Tanco was named the first chair of the Mathematics Department at the Royal University in 1672, just a few months before he died. Sigüenza succeeded to the same position later that year (Leonard 1929: 10). Sigüenza and Francisco de Florencia were also friends, and Sigüenza shared some of the materials he had inherited from Alva Ixtlilxochitl with the Jesuit historian. For all three of these creole clerics, Alva Ixtlilxochitl served as a source of information and authority for their studies of the apparition. Sigüenza’s Piedad heroyca de don Fernando Cortés offers a history of the hospital Cortés founded in Mexico City. Intended as a tribute to Hernán Cortés, Piedad heroyca places the hospital the conquistador founded amid the ruins of

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the Aztec capital. Sigüenza constructs Moctezuma as a formidable, though misguided, leader of a grand, though misguided, city, where the “extraordinarily pious” Cortés intervenes to bring Christian leadership to the noble gentiles (Sigüenza y Góngora 1960: 4). Sigüenza’s fascination with Precolumbian Nahua culture and history was central to his own scholarly investigations. Without means to publish his many studies, Sigüenza inserted his cherished bits of knowledge in the texts that were commissioned from him.11 Early in the Piedad heroyca, Sigüenza uses the location of the Hospital Amor de Dios as a pretext to demonstrate his knowledge of the Precolumbian layout of the city. Later he announces a coming digression in the descriptive title of chapter 10, “The university was not founded in a structure belonging to this hospital. Incidentally, it is explained where the image of [the] most holy Mary of Guadalupe appeared” (Sigüenza y Góngora 1960: 53).12 The chapter opens with a detailed refutation of the suggestion that the Royal University had been founded in a building belonging to the Hospital Amor de Dios. Tangentially, Sigüenza explains that the university was first installed in a building adjacent to the archbishop’s residence. The mention of that building allows Sigüenza a further digression into the story of the miraculous apparition of the Virgin of Guadalupe. In the year 1531, after appearing to Juan Diego, the Virgin instructed him to gather roses in his tilma and take them to the bishop, Juan de Zumárraga. (Zumárraga was named the first archbishop of New Spain in 1548, though he died before receiving the news.) While standing before Zumárraga, Juan Diego opened his tilma, and they both beheld a miraculous image of the Virgin imprinted on it. Though there is no connection between the Hospital Amor de Dios and the apparition of the Virgin of Guadalupe, it was important for Sigüenza to clarify where Zumárraga’s dwelling was located, because in 1688 Francisco de Florencia, a Jesuit priest, published an account of the Virgin of Guadalupe titled La estrella del norte, in which he asserts that the bishop resided in a different building, which by the seventeenth century belonged to the count of Santiago. Sigüenza, clearly offended by this suggestion, states adamantly that his version of the story is affirmed by numerous accounts, including an ancient and trusted manuscript in his possession (Sigüenza y Góngora 1960: 63).13 Though Sigüenza had loaned the manuscript to Florencia, the Jesuit author did not follow its story. In the final paragraphs of the chapter, Sigüenza reminds the reader of his close personal ties to Luis Becerra Tanco and Francisco de Florencia just as he expresses dismay at Florencia’s conclusions about the author of a manuscript

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Sigüenza had loaned him. Florencia declared the author of the manuscript to be Gerónimo de Mendieta, a Franciscan friar who had died well before many of the miracles recounted in the text occurred (Sigüenza y Góngora 1960: 65). Sigüenza then goes on to explain that the manuscript, or relación, was found among Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s papers, that the original is in the hand of don Antonio Valeriano, and that at the end don Fernando had added some miracles (Sigüenza y Góngora 1960: 65). Exactly which relación Sigüenza is referring to in this passage continues to be a source of confusion. For example, in his translation and edition of the Nican mopohua, Miguel León-Portilla cites this passage from the Piedad heroyca to support his assertion that Antonio Valeriano is the true author of the Nahuatl text.14 León-Portilla reads Sigüenza’s reference to a relación as a reference to the Nican mopohua, whereas Poole understands the relación to be a separate text.15 Poole’s doubts and the obvious confusions found in these texts have not prevented many scholars and popular writers from relying on this passage in Sigüenza’s Piedad heroyca to tie Valeriano and Alva Ixtlilxochitl to the Nican mopohua and the Nican motecpana. From the middle of the seventeenth century on, the figure of Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl has played a key role in the foundation and legitimation of the Guadalupan legend by a series of creole clerics. Portrayed as both the guardian of Antonio Valeriano’s account of the apparition and the author of miracles attributed to the Virgin in this genealogy, Alva Ixtlilxochitl served as the point of exchange between the Indian and Hispanic cultural and intellectual spheres. The details of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s involvement in the development of the Guadalupe narrative are riddled with contradictions and confusions, yet he continues to have a significant presence in popular and academic versions of the story.16 Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s own texts do not bear out any proof of either devotion to Guadalupe or participation in the documentation of the narrative of her apparition (though a confirmed connection between the Alva Ixtlilxochitl family and Guadalupe is addressed in the following section).

Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl and the Virgin of Guadalupe Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s five historical texts were not published until the nineteenth century, but his chronicles of Precolumbian and conquestera Mexico circulated among scholars from the time that they left his family’s

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hands and came into the possession of Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora.17 Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s reputation as an authority on Indian history in Mexico was well established in the seventeenth century and grew even greater with time. His works were studied by Lorenzo Boturini Benaduci, Francisco Javier Clavijero, Juan José Eguiara y Eguren, Carlos María de Bustamante, and even the U.S. historian William H. Prescott. He is known and recognized as the chronicler of  Tetzcoco, and that altepetl was his primary object of study. In his historical works and in other legal and administrative documents that have come to light, he foregrounds his familial ties to the laudable tlahtoqueh of  Tetzcoco: Nezahualcoyotl, Nezahualpilli, and the conquest-era leader Ixtlilxochitl. But his family connections to Nahua altepetl extended beyond the bounds of  Tetzcoco; in fact, during Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s lifetime, his family’s landholdings and titles were primarily based in San Juan Teotihuacan.18 Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s connections to the cacicazgo in San Juan Teotihuacan and its first cacique, don Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin-Huetzin, are part of the story of early Guadalupan devotion. Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin wrote of the Virgin of Guadalupe and her chapel at Tepeyacac in his 1563 will, which was transcribed by Alva Ixtlilxochitl in 1611. That connection merits closer attention and is explored further later in this chapter. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s histories, however, offer scant evidence that he was a Guadalupe devotee who authored part of the narrative surrounding her apparition. The Virgin of Guadalupe is mentioned four times in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historical relations, and on each occasion the hill where the apparition first occurred is provided as a geographical landmark for the reader, but there is no narrative of any sort related to the apparition or the subsequent miracles. Nezahualcoyotl and later Hernán Cortés use Tepeyacac to position themselves before undertaking attacks on Tenochtitlan. Nezahualcoyotl’s feats are described first in the Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco and then in the Historia de la nación chichimeca. In both versions of the story, Alva Ixtlilxochitl follows the same narrative: after the death of Maxtla and the defeat of Azcapotzalco, Nezahualcoyotl felt entitled to the honorary title of Chichimecatl Tecuhtli, which was given to the head of the Triple Alliance (Tenochtitlan, Tetzcoco, and Tlacopan). Itzcoatl, his uncle and the tlahtoani of  Tenochtitlan, wavered in anointing him, however, and Nezahualcoyotl decided it was necessary to lay siege to Tenochtitlan to prove his valor. In the “Eleventh Relation” of the Compendio, Alva Ixtlilxochitl mentions Tepeyacac by way of orienting the reader as he describes Nezahualcoyotl’s assault on Tenochtitlan: “Nezahualcoyotl, along with his warriors,

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. . . attacked Mexico Tenochtitlan and entered by way of  Tepeyacac, where Our Lady of Guadalupe is now” (1975–77: I, 445).19 Alva Ixtlilxochitl tells the story again in the Historia de la nación chichimeca, though this time the reference to Tepeyacac is reduced to a parenthetical statement: “The time arrived when Nezahualcoyotl attacked Mexico Tenochtitlan by way of  Tepeyacac (where it is now called Our Lady of Guadalupe)” (ibid.: II, 87).20 Nezahualcoyotl was successful in his ploy, and after he and his men entered Tenochtitlan and defeated the Mexica warriors, sacked the grandest houses, and burned the temples, Itzcoatl declared enough and they made peace (ibid.). Though this is a momentous episode in the tale of Nezahualcoyotl’s life and would have provided an appropriate moment in the narrative to digress into an explanation of the powers of the Virgin and the story of her appearance at Tepeyacac, Alva Ixtlilxochitl makes no effort to elaborate on her story, nor does he mention any other Prehispanic association with Tepeyacac. A core element of the popular Guadalupe story emphasizes a continuity of religious devotion, in which the Nahuas worshipped Tonantzin—“our beloved Mother”—at Tepeyacac in Precolumbian times and refocused that adoration on the Virgin of Guadalupe a decade after the conquest.21 In these passages from Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s histories, the Precolumbian associations with the site of the apparition are devoid of religious connotation. In this sense, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historical texts work against two elements of the Guadalupe legend: founding her devotion on a precontact devotion to a goddess known as Tonantzin and making Alva Ixtlilxochitl into an author of the story of Guadalupe’s apparition and miraculous deeds. Because the Virgin’s apparition to Juan Diego was presumed to have occurred exactly a decade after the conquest of  Tenochtitlan, one might expect Alva Ixtlilxochitl to present a more detailed description of the Virgin of Guadalupe’s association with Tepeyacac in the portions of the Historia de la nación chichimeca that deal with Hernán Cortés, yet we find the same cursory mention of the location of the apparition when Alva Ixtlilxochitl describes Cortés’s arrival in Tenochtitlan. In 1521, Cortés prepared his men on the outskirts of Tenochtitlan for the final siege of the city. Just as in the descriptions of Nezahualcoyotl’s incursion into Tenochtitlan, Alva Ixtlilxochitl uses Tepeyacac as a way to orient the reader, but in this passage he refers to the hill in the preferred Spanish form, with the diminutive suffix -uilla, as Tepeyaquilla: “After Cortés arrived, the troops mentioned above, along with the rearguard and support from the ships, entered by road and [the] walls of the city until they came

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to Tepeyaquilla, where the chapel for Our Lady of Guadalupe is now” (ibid.: 257).22 A few pages later, and in the same narrative context, the author makes the last mention of  Tepeyacac: “Gonzalo de Sandoval, even though he was injured, should go and establish his regiment in a small town called Tepeyacac (where the chapel for Our Lady of Guadalupe is today)” (ibid.: 262).23 Each of these passages cites the chapel, or ermita, at Tepeyacac as a geographical marker intended to guide the reader in narratives of battles and conquest. There is a notable disjunction embedded in these passing references where the author marks in each episode a present moment, ahora, in contrast to the Precolumbian and conquest-era past. By repeatedly using the temporal adverb “now,” Alva Ixtlilxochitl establishes a distinction between the present and the past associations with Tepeyacac. In the present, at Tepeyacac there is a chapel where the Virgin of Guadalupe is worshipped; in the past, Tepeyacac was simply a hill on the outskirts of  Tenochtitlan where leaders of various stripes prepared for entry into the city. Alva Ixtlilxochitl does not elaborate on devotional practices or a narrative history related to the Virgin of Guadalupe, even though each of these passages represented an opportunity to segue into a side story related to her apparition. Despite Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s lack of engagement with Guadalupan devotion in his historical writings, we can be certain that he was aware of the ardor she inspired in certain segments of the population of New Spain. In 1611, Alva Ixtlilxochitl petitioned the court for a certified translation of Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin-Huetzin’s 1563 will.24 During this period, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s family was involved in a series of legal struggles to maintain their cacicazgo in San Juan Teotihuacan. Court records contain a transcription by Alva Ixtlilxochitl of the original Nahuatl document, accompanied by a certified translation of the document. Guadalupe appears in the second item of the will: “2. Item. I ask that if and when God takes me from this earthly life, . . . a donation of four pesos be made to Our Lady of Guadalupe, so that the priest may give Masses” (ibid.: 282).25 Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin’s stated devotion to the Virgin of Guadalupe has been cited by numerous apparitionist sources in part because there are relatively few examples of documentary evidence pointing to sixteenth-century Guadalupan devotion. The will is also a compelling source because it seems to corroborate the mention of San Juan Teotihuacan and Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin in the Nican motecpana, the miracle stories found in the Huei tlamahuiçoltica. The last of the fourteen miracles told in the text concerns an episode

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in the history of San Juan Teotihuacan when there was a prolonged and bitter struggle between the native inhabitants of the town, led by the cacique Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin, and the religious and administrative authorities because the residents resisted an effort to replace the Franciscans with the Augustinians. Gerónimo de Mendieta offers a brief synopsis of these events in Historia eclesiástica indiana, which was completed in 1596 (though not published until the nineteenth century). The fraught requests by the Indians for a return to the Franciscans and the often-violent responses by representatives of the Church and the viceregal government eventually led the inhabitants of San Juan Teotihuacan to abandon their town and wander like nomads for a year. The story is striking in that the members of the community, almost unanimously, were united in their rejection of the Augustinians and their willingness to fight for the return of the Franciscans. While describing one of the many conflicts between townspeople and officials, Mendieta captures their united spirit by referring to the famed Spanish town of Fuenteovejuna, where in the fifteenth century the townspeople successfully stood united in taking collective responsibility for what was generally understood as a defensible murder of an abusive government official (Mendieta 1971: 350). Lope de Vega’s eponymous play about the town dates to several decades after Mendieta’s history, indicating that the example of the community was already part of popular lore. For Mendieta the Indians of San Juan Teotihuacan also demonstrated an admirable and justified resistance to outside authorities. After a year away from their homes, the people of the town received support from the king, the viceroy, and the archbishop to return and continue living under the religious guidance of the Franciscans. Their leader, Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin, provided a stalwart model of resistance, and according to the Nican motecpana he thanked the intervention of the Virgin of Guadalupe for their success. According to the fourteenth miracle story in the Nican motecpana, Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin was “secretly praying to the heavenly Lady of Guadalupe that her precious child might inspire the viceroy and the lords of the Royal Audiencia so that the citizens of the altepetl would be forgiven, be able to return to their homes, and be given the friars of Saint Francis to take care of them again” (Laso de la Vega 1998: 111). The fourteenth miracle is unique to the Huei tlamahuiçoltica. It is not mentioned in either the Sánchez text or the Stradanus images that also served as sources for the emerging story.26 This detail does establish a possible connection between the text and the Alva Ixtlilxochitl

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family, though I would suggest that we broaden the social and biographical context in which we study the nature of that connection.

Conclusion: Native Authorship of the Legend of Guadalupe In Poole’s skeptical account of the evolution of the Guadalupe story, he expresses his opinion that the miracle stories found in the Nican motecpana are most likely “a compilation of miracle stories associated with the shrine but with diverse origins” (1995: 119). In his discussion of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s involvement in the Nican motecpana, he declares, “The attribution to Alva Ixtlilxochitl is erroneous, as is the insertion of Guadalupe into the Teotihuacan story” (ibid.: 87). The rigor and thoroughness of Poole’s study is admirable and insuperable in many ways, yet on this point there is something more to say. There is a connection between the Alva Ixtlilxochitl family and the Huei tlamahuiçoltica: the relationship between Alva Ixtlilxochitl and the San Juan Teotihuacan cacicazgo is evident, and Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s great-grandfather, Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin-Huetzin, is present in the final miracle story in the Nican motecpana. I suggest that we imagine a different genealogy for native authorship of the Guadalupe legend involving not Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl but rather his younger brother Bartolomé de Alva, who was a secular priest known to have collaborated with the Jesuit priest and Nahuatl scholar Horacio Carochi. Bartolomé de Alva could have functioned as the link between the descendants of Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin and the Huei tlamahuiçoltica, the first and most significant Nahuatl version of the apparition and miracles associated with the Virgin of Guadalupe. John Schwaller (1994: 387) finds evidence in seventeenth-century New Spain of a Nahuatl literary circle centered on Carochi. For Schwaller the seventeenth century brought with it a new trend in Nahuatl publications, whose immediate purpose was no longer to aid parish clergy “but rather to provide didactic material written in Nahuatl, both for the use of the clergy and perhaps [for] the edification of literate Nahuatl speakers” (ibid.: 388). In midcentury, as Schwaller (ibid.: 393) points out, Laso de la Vega published the Huei tlamahuiçoltica (1649) and Horacio Carochi published Arte de la lengua mexicana (1645). Carochi collaborated closely with Bartolomé de Alva. Though Alva does not have the public profile long enjoyed by his elder brother, he was an active

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and productive scholar and writer during his lifetime. In 1634, he published Confessionario mayor y menor en lengua mexicana, a confessional guide intended to aid parish priests with the spiritual guidance of their Nahuatl-speaking congregants. In the early 1640s, Alva translated three Spanish Golden Age plays, including Pedro Calderón de la Barca’s El gran teatro del mundo, Antonio Mira de Amescua’s El animal profeta y dichosa patricida, and Lope de la Vega’s La madre de la mejor. Very little is known about Laso de la Vega’s biography, but there is an indication in the prefatory material in the Huei tlamahuiçoltica that he had an affiliation with the Jesuit order, since the priest who provided the opinion of the text, Baltasar González, was a member of the Society of Jesus. If indeed Laso de la Vega was connected to the Jesuits, as a nahuatlato writing at approximately the same time that Carochi was working on his Arte de la lengua mexicana, we might imagine that the two would have been in contact. With this intellectual context in mind, there is reason to suggest that the member of the Alva Ixtlilxochitl family potentially involved in the preparation of portions of the Huei tlamahuiçoltica, particularly the fourteenth miracle story, was not Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl but rather his brother Bartolomé de Alva. Because the authors of the foundational Guadalupan texts were creole clerics, scholars have focused on these authors as participants in an emerging creole discourse that aimed to incorporate their stories of the Virgin of Guadalupe into patriotic history.27 Yet the seventeenth-century narrative history of the Virgin of Guadalupe reveals a heterogeneous historiographical process. Here we could heed Michel Foucault and his caution against teleological history and instead imagine an alternative genealogy in which, as the French thinker suggests, “if genealogy in its own right gives rise to questions concerning our native land, native language, or the laws that govern us, its intention is to reveal the heterogeneous systems which, masked by the self, inhibit the formation of any form of identity” (1977: 162). Many of the authors associated with the Guadalupe texts were nahuatlato priests and immersed in both the Indian and the Hispanic cultural sphere. Laso de la Vega wrote in Nahuatl. Becerra Tanco wrote extensively of his growing up in a Nahuatl-speaking community, and his abilities to speak and understand the language are central to his establishing authority in matters related to Guadalupe’s apparition. Sigüenza was not a native speaker of Nahuatl but indicates that he did understand the language. Florencia was also conversant in Nahuatl. By the mid-seventeenth century, there were many Hispanic priests who were nahuatlato, conversant in the spoken language and also familiar with the more stylized classical form conserved in such texts as the Cantares

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mexicanos and the Romances de los señores de la Nueva España. There was a shared cultural context wherein the native expressive traditions were known and studied by both native and Hispanic intellectuals, sometimes in collaboration. There is no evidence that Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl himself was responsible for any of the early narrative related to the Virgin of Guadalupe. But looking at the question of his involvement in the history of the apparition and miracles associated with the Virgin allows us to focus on a shared cultural and intellectual context.28 The twentieth- and early twenty-first-century scholarship on the authorship of the Guadalupe legend has attempted to fixate on singular figures who created different versions of the narrative. Yet both within the seventeenth-century texts and in the context of their production we find evidence of a collective and collaborative enterprise. Becerra Tanco used his knowledge of Nahuatl to seek out stories of the Virgin of Guadalupe that had been maintained in oral tradition and written texts. His searching brought him into contact with Nahuatl-speaking creole priests and Alva Ixtlilxochitl. Sigüenza famously, and from his perspective regrettably, shared the materials related to Guadalupe that he had inherited from Alva Ixtlilxochitl with Florencia. Though there is no overt indication of collaboration in Laso de la Vega’s Huei tlamahuiçoltica, at a minimum he was familiar with the tradition of elevated Nahuatl discourse through sermons or religious treatises produced by other Nahuatl-speaking priests. It is also possible that he collaborated with someone like Bartolomé de Alva, who was a nahuatlato priest from an Indian family. These interpersonal connections provide the basis for a new way of approaching the question of cultural production and authorship of the seventeenth-century story of the Virgin of Guadalupe and the genealogy of the Guadalupe legend.

Notes 1. “Digo, y juro, que esta Relación hallé entre los papeles de D. Fernando de Alva, que tengo todos, y que es la misma que afirma el Licenciado Luis de Bezerra en su libro (pag. 30 de la impresion de Sevilla) haver visto en su poder. El original en Mexicano está de letra de Don Antonio Valeriano Indio, que es su verdadero autor, y al fin añadidos algunos milagros de letra de Don Fernando, también en Mexicano. Lo que presté al R.P. Francisco de Florencia, fué una tradución parafrastica, que de uno y otro hizo Don Fernando, y también está de su letra” (Sigüenza y Góngora 1960: 65). All translations are my own except those taken

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2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7. 8.

from Lisa Sousa, Stafford Poole, and James Lockhart’s translation of the Huei tlamahuiçoltica (Laso de la Vega 1998). The characterization of Juan Diego as a native man of humble origins wearing a distinctively indigenous item of clothing is central to the narrative of the Guadalupe apparition story. Macehual is the Hispanicized form of the Nahuatl macehualli, meaning “subject, commoner,” and tilma is the Hispanicized form of the Nahuatl tilmahtli, meaning “cloak, blanket, an indigenous man’s garment fastened on one shoulder” (Karttunen 1992: 127, 241). Sousa, Poole, and Lockhart open their introduction to The Story of Guadalupe: Luis Laso de la Vega’s Huei tlamahuiçoltica of 1649 with this sentence: “The devotion of Our Lady of Guadalupe is one of the most important elements in the development of a specifically Mexican tradition of religion and nationality over the centuries” (1998: 1). Miguel León-Portilla’s Tonantzin Guadalupe (2000), a translation and critical edition of the Nican mopohua (the apparition story from the Huei tlamahuiçoltica) unequivocally names Antonio Valeriano as the original author. Valeriano is also cited as the true author of the Nican mopohua in popular histories oriented toward Guadalupe devotees, such as Our Lady of Guadalupe: Mother of the Civilization of Love (Anderson and Chávez 2009: 171). The role of the image of Guadalupe in the apparition story is a seventeenthcentury innovation according to Stafford Poole, C.M. Of the beliefs around the tilma image in the mid-sixteenth century, Poole states, “Whatever the image may have been, it was regarded as miraculous in the sense that it worked miracles, not that it was miraculous in origin” (1995: 63). Jeanette Favrot Peterson (2005) convincingly explains that the now sacred and iconic tilma image was produced by the native artist Marcos Cipac de Aquino—who had been educated under the auspices of the Franciscan order at San José de los Naturales—and it was put on display at Tepeyacac in 1555 or 1556. Poole (1995: 127–70) carefully teases out the essential arguments and sources used in the seventeenth-century Guadalupan narratives. Though Becerra Tanco, Florencia, and Sigüenza each argued for a native connection to the Guadalupe story, Poole explains that they do not present Valeriano and Alva Ixtlilxochitl as the authors of the Huei tlamahuiçoltica. Sousa, Poole, and Lockhart (1998: 60, 92) offer these translations of the titles from the 1649 Nahuatl text. The 1666 text was given the title Origen milagroso del santuario de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, and that is the title offered for the version of the text found in

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9.

10. 11.

12. 13. 14.

15.

Torre Villar and Navarro de Anda’s Testimonios históricos guadalupanos (1982), though they, in fact, include the 1675 edition. A facsimile edition of Felicidad de México (1675) was published in 1979 by Editorial Jus. As Poole (1995: 144–49) has explained, there are significant differences between the 1666 and 1675 versions, which he summarizes as follows: “Becerra Tanco added the identification of the Indian as a graduate of Santa Cruz and suppressed the identification of his Nahuatl ‘Relación’ with the Nican mopohua” (ibid.: 147). “D. Fernando de Alva, intérprete que fue del juzgado de indios, de los señores virreyes en este gobierno, hombre muy capaz, y anciano, y que entendía y hablaba con eminencia la lengua mexicana, y tenía noticia de los caracteres y pinturas antiguas de los naturales.” “Un cuaderno escrito con letras de nuestro alfabeto en la lengua mexicana, de mano de un indio de los más provectos del Colegio de Santa Cruz.” In the prologue to Paraíso occidental, another commissioned work (this one about the nuns of the Royal Convent of Jesús María), Sigüenza laments that he is unable to publish his many writings about the natives: “Probably they will die with me (since I’ll never have the means to publish it because of my tremendous poverty)” (“Así probablemente morirán conmigo [pues jamás tender con qué poder imprimirlo por mi gran pobreza]”) (Sigüenza y Góngora [1684] 1995: 48). “No se fundó la universidad en casa perteneciente a este hospital. Dicese incidentemente donde se aparacio la imagen de Maria Santissima de Guadalupe.” “Una antiquíssima, que aun tengo M.S. y estimo en mucho.” “The well-known scholar and historian Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora offers testimony in which he attributes authorship of the Nican mopohua not to Laso de la Vega, whose publication he was familiar with, but rather to an Indian of considerable prestige. Regarding this, Sigüenza y Góngora wrote in one of his books, ‘I say and I swear that I found this relation [the Nican mopohua] among don Fernando de Alva’s papers’” (“Se debe al conocido erudito e historiador Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora un testimonio en que atribuye la autoría del Nican mopohua, no a Lasso de la Vega cuya publicación conocía, sino a un indígena de considerable prestigio. Acerca de esto Sigüenza y Góngora escribió en uno de sus libros: Digo y juro que esta relación [el Nican mopohua] que hallé entre los papeles de don Fernando de Alva”) (León-Portilla 2000: 24). “It is important to note that Sigüenza y Góngora did not identify this account with the Nican mopohua. He identified it as the original of the Spanish paraphrase that he lent to Florencia which the latter said had also been used by

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Becerra Tanco. As has been mentioned, the quotations given by Florencia show that the ‘Relación’ and the Nican mopohua were two different accounts and that the ‘Relación’ also differed from Becerra Tanco’s account” (Poole 1995: 167). 16. On this point Poole says, “Florencia and Sigüenza y Góngora are two of the most influential writers in the history of the Guadalupe tradition. In particular, they laid the foundation for Valeriano’s authorship of the Nican mopohua, an authorship that is widely accepted today. Yet careful analysis shows that this is not the case. Like Sánchez and others before them they had a maddening propensity for referring to documents that only they had seen and that they did not see fit to describe in detail or reproduce. Their testimonies were not clear and in the long run only added to the confusion that surrounds most Guadalupan documentation” (ibid.: 170). David Brading makes a similar statement about the lost documents and concludes by saying, “All that survived was the arguments of Becerra Tanco, the confused ruminations of Florencia and the stark affirmations of Sigüenza y Góngora” (2001: 118). 17. Carlos María de Bustamante was the first to publish one of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s works. Horribles crueldades de los conquistadores de México (1829) is the title Bustamante gave to the “Thirteenth Relation” of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1829). Kingsborough (1848) included Historia de la nación chichimeca and the four other historical relations in Antiquities of Mexico, vol. 9. In his introduction to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Obras históricas, Edmundo O’Gorman (1975: 119–96) includes a section titled “Citas y referencias” that enumerates the references to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s works and the editions of his works). 18. O’Gorman includes an appendix of primarily legal documents in the second volume of his edition of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Obras históricas (1975–77: II, 265–402). These materials indicate that Alva Ixtlilxochitl was personally involved in various lawsuits related to his family’s cacicazgo though he never became cacique, since he did not outlive his elder brother, don Francisco Navas y Peraleda. 19. “Nezahualcoyotzin juntó sus soldados . . . fue sobre México y entró por Tepeyácac, que es donde es ahora Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe.” 20. “Llegado el tiempo que fue sobre ella Nezahualcoyotzin por la parte que llaman Tepeyácac (que es lo que ahora llaman Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe).” 21. Louise Burkhart clearly and succinctly debunks the connection between the Virgin of Guadalupe and a Prehispanic goddess by asserting, “Tonantzin is Mary; Mary is Tonantzin. That Indians used this title for Mary indicates

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that they viewed her as a maternal figure personally connected with them. To understand what a figure like Our Lady of Guadalupe could mean to them, connections must be sought not to ancient goddesses but to the religious life of Christianized Nahua Indians in the Mexico City area during the second half of the sixteenth century” (2001: 209). 22. “Llegado que fuese Cortés, la dicha guarnición de gente, con el resguardo y ayuda de los bergantines, entrase por la calzada y albarrada de la ciudad hasta ponerse en Tepeyaquilla donde es ahora la ermita de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe.” 23. “Gonzalo de Sandoval, aunque estaba herido, fuese a sentar su real a un pueblo pequeño que se dice Tepeyácac (que es donde está ahora la ermita de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe).” 24. Some of these documents can be found in O’Gorman’s edition of Obras históricas (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 281–86) and Guido Münch’s El cacicazgo de San Juan Teotihuacan durante la colonia (1521–1821) (Münch 1976: 44–47). Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Nahuatl transcription of the will is found at the Archivo General de la Nación (Mexico City) in Vínculos y Mayorazgos 232. 25. “2. Item. Mando que si Dios me llevare de esta presente vida, que luego se lleve de limosna a nuestra señora de Guadalupe cuatro pesos para que por el padre que tiene cargo se digan de misas.” 26. In their introduction, Sousa, Poole, and Lockhart (1998) include a table indicating the fourteen miracle stories found in the Nican motecpana and the previously published textual and visual sources from Miguel Sánchez’s Imagen de la Virgen and Stadanus’s 1613 engraving. Peterson (2007: 131–33) offers a detailed study of the visual representations of the apparition and miracles associated with the Virgin of Guadalupe and includes an analysis of the 1613 Stradanus print, which was to later influence various written narratives. 27. The creole identity of the seventeenth-century authors of the Guadalupe story is foregrounded in foundational analyses of the patriotic motivations behind Guadalupan texts, such as Francisco de la Maza’s El guadalupanismo mexicano ([1953] 1981) and Jacques Lafaye’s Quetzalcóatl et Guadalupe (1974). 28. Peterson has described the context of the production of the iconic painting of the Virgin of Guadalupe as “kaleidoscopic,” with the painter having been “immersed in an array of iconographic, stylistic, and material sources as well as biblical and theological texts” (2005: 609). Peterson’s focus on the influence of multiple and diverse traditions in the painting is a potentially fruitful model for studying the writing of the narrative story of Guadalupe.

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Works Cited Alva, Bartolomé de. 1999. A Guide to Confession Large and Small in the Mexican Language, 1634. Edited and translated by Barry D. Sell and John Frederick Schwaller, with Lu Ann Homza. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. ———. 2008. Spanish Golden Age Drama in Mexican Translation. Vol. 3, Nahuatl Theater. Edited by Barry D. Sell, Louise Burkhart, and Elizabeth Wright. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de. 1829. Horribles crueldades de los conquistadores de México y de los indios que los auxiliaron para subyugarlo a la corona de Castilla. Edited by Carlos María de Bustamante. Mexico City: Alejandro Valdés. ———. 1975–77. Obras históricas. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. 2 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Anderson, Carl, and Eduardo Chávez. 2009. Our Lady of Guadalupe, Mother of the Civilization of Love. New York: Doubleday. Becerra Tanco, Luis. (1675) 1979. Felicidad de México en el principio, y milagroso origen, que tubo el Santuario de la Virgen Maria N. Señora de Guadalupe. Edited by Miguel Civeira Taboada. Facsimile edition. Mexico City: Editorial Jus. ———. (1666) 1982. “Origen milagroso del santuario de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe.” In Testimonios históricos guadalupanos, edited by Ernesto de la Torre Villar and Ramiro Navarro de Anda, 309–33. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Brading, David. 2001. Mexican Phoenix: Our Lady of Guadalupe; Image and Tradition Across Five Centuries. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Burkhart, Louise. 1993. “The Cult of the Virgin of Guadalupe in Mexico.” In World Spirituality: An Encyclopedic History of the Religious Quest, vol. 4, South and Meso-American Native Spirituality, edited by Gary Gossen and Miguel León-Portilla, 198–227. New York: Crossroad Publishing. ———. 2001. Before Guadalupe: The Virgin Mary in Early Colonial Nahuatl Literature. Albany: Institute for Mesoamerican Studies, State University of New York at Albany. Cruz, Mateo de la. 1660. Relación de la milagrosa aparición de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe de México. Puebla: Viuda de Borja. Florencia, Francisco de. 1982. La estrella del norte de México (1688). In Testimonios históricos guadalupanos, edited by Ernesto de la Torre Villar and Ramiro Navarro de Anda, 359–99. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica.

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Foucault, Michel. 1977. “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History.” In Language, CounterMemory, Practice: Selected Essays and Interviews by Michel Foucault, edited and translated by Donald Bouchard, 139–64. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Karttunen, Frances. 1992. An Analytical Dictionary of Nahuatl. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Kingsborough, Viscount [Edward King], ed. 1848. Antiquities of Mexico: Comprising Facsimiles of Ancient Mexican Paintings and Hieroglyphics, Preserved in the Royal Libraries of Paris, Berlin and Dresden, in the Imperial Library of Vienna, in the Vatican Library, in the Borgian Museum at Rome, in the Library of the Institute at Bologna, and in the Bodleian Library at Oxford, Together with The Monuments of New Spain by M. Dupaix, with Their Respective Scales of Measurement and Accompanying Descriptions. Vol. 9. London: Robert Havell and Colnaghi. Lafaye, Jacques. 1974. Quetzalcóatl et Guadalupe: La formation de la conscience nationale au Mexique. Paris: Éditions Gallimard. ———. 1976. Quetzalcoatl and Guadalupe: The Formation of Mexican National Consciousness, 1531–1813. Translated by Benjamin Keen. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Laso de la Vega, Luis. 1998. The Story of Guadalupe: Luis Laso de la Vega’s Huei tlamahuiçoltica of 1649. Edited and translated by Lisa Sousa, Stafford Poole, and James Lockhart. Stanford: Stanford University Press; Los Angeles: Latin American Center Publications, University of California–Los Angeles. Leonard, Irving. 1929. Don Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora: A Mexican Savant of the Seventeenth Century. Berkeley: University of California Press. León-Portilla, Miguel. 2000. Tonantzin Guadalupe: Pensamiento náhuatl y mensaje Cristiano en el Nican mopohua. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Maza, Francisco de la. (1953) 1981. El guadalupanismo mexicano. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Mendieta, Gerónimo de. 1971. Historia eclesiástica indiana. Mexico City: Editorial Porrúa. Münch G., Guido. 1976. El cacicazgo de San Juan Teotihuacan durante la colonia (1521– 1821). Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. O’Gorman, Edmundo. 1975. “Estudio introductorio.” In Obras históricas de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, vol. 1, 1–257. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Peterson, Jeanette Favrot. 2005. “Creating the Virgin of Guadalupe: The Cloth, the Artist, and Sources in Sixteenth-Century New Spain.” Americas 61 (4): 571–610.

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———. 2007. “Canonizing a Cult: A Wonder-Working Guadalupe in the Seventeenth Century.” In Religion in New Spain, edited by Susan Schroeder and Stafford Poole, 125–56. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Poole, Stafford. 1995. Our Lady of Guadalupe: The Origins and Sources of a Mexican National Symbol, 1531–1797. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. ———. 2006. The Guadalupan Controversies in Mexico. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Sánchez, Miguel. (1648) 1982. Imagen de la Virgen María Madre de Dios de Guadalupe. In Testimonios históricos guadalupanos, edited by Ernesto de la Torre Villar and Ramiro Navarro de Anda, 152–281. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Schwaller, John F. 1994. “Nahuatl Studies and the ‘Circle’ of Horacio Carochi.” Estudios de Cultura Náhuatl 24: 387–89. Sigüenza y Góngora, Carlos de. (c. 1689) 1960. Piedad heroyca de don Fernando Cortés. Edited by Jaime Delgado. Colección Chimalistac de libros y documentos acerca de España no. 7. Madrid: José Porrúa Turanzas. ———. (1684) 1995. Paraíso occidental. Edited by Margarita Peña. Mexico City: Cien de México. Sousa, Lisa, Stafford Poole, and James Lockhart. 1998. “Introduction.” In The Story of Guadalupe: Luis Laso de la Vega’s Huei tlamahuiçoltica of 1649, 1–46. Edited and translated by Lisa Sousa, Stafford Poole, and James Lockhart. Stanford: Stanford University Press; Los Angeles: Latin American Center Publications, University of California–Los Angeles. Vega, Lope de. (1619) 2006. Fuenteovejuna. Madrid: Cátedra.

9 Credible, Accurate, and Approved Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Mexico’s Patriotic Historiography Pablo García Loaeza

I

n the prologue to the Sumaria relación de la historia general de esta Nueva España desde el origen del mundo hasta la era de ahora, colegida y sacada de las historias, pinturas y caracteres de los naturales de ella y de los cantos antiguos con que la observaron (Summary Relation of the General History of  This New Spain from the Origin of the World to the Present Age, Collected and Extracted from the Histories, Paintings, and Characters of Its Native People and from the Ancient Songs by Which They Kept It), Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl (c. 1578–1650) assured the reader that his account was “very credible and accurate, and approved as such by all the distinguished and illustrious people of this New Spain” (1975–77: I, 528).1 The text’s title and the author’s assertion may be read together as a method and a program. Working in view of painted documents such as the Codex Xolotl, the Mapa Quinatzin, and the Mapa Tlotzin, Alva Ixtlilxochitl articulated the ancient history of New Spain in a flowing and unified narrative. The fact that it was based on “authentic” materials and sanctioned by implicitly knowledgeable individuals certified its veracity.2 Further, access to those rare sources, together with the ability to translate them, advantageously identified the historian as a member of the old native elite. In the long term, however, it was the new native elite, the criollos (Mexico-born children of Spaniards), who benefited from Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s talent as they

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sought to distinguish their patria and eventually their nation based on the merit of its antiquity. Such influential authors as Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora (1645–1700), Francisco Javier Clavijero (1731–87), and Carlos María de Bustamante (1774– 1848) worked to assert the worth of their compatriots based on the long and praiseworthy history of their patria, their homeland. Their efforts to recover, recast, and reclaim the past, which were fundamental in defining the patriotic version of Mexico’s ancient history, consistently echoed Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historiography. For instance, the dynastic structure, the prophetic impetus, and even the didactic intent of Sigüenza y Góngora’s Teatro de virtudes políticas que constituyen a un príncipe advertidas en los monarcas antiguos del mexicano imperio (Theatre of Political Virtues Constitutive of a Prince Discerned in the Ancient Monarchs of the Mexican Empire) (1680) strongly evoke Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Tetzcoca saga (García 2009).3 In the Historia antigua de México (Ancient History of Mexico) (1780–81), Clavijero overtly named Alva Ixtlilxochitl as a reliable source, noting that he was not only “extremely versed in his nation’s antiquities” but also “so cautious in writing that in order to remove any suspicion of falsehood, he had the conformity between his accounts and the historical paintings inherited from his exceedingly noble ancestors legally certified” (1968: xxviii).4 Likewise, in the Galería de antiguos príncipes mexicanos dedicada a la suprema potestad nacional que les sucediere en el mando para su mejor gobierno (Gallery of Ancient Mexican Princes Dedicated to the Supreme National Power That Should Succeed Them in Command for Its Better Governance) (1821), Bustamante remarked that “it may be difficult, not to say impossible, to find among the ancient writers of this America’s matter anyone who might compete with don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl” (1821: 26).5 Yet despite the admiring references to Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his works, his impact has not been adequately appreciated. The equivocations surrounding his identity have more often than not caused him to be omitted from the genealogy of criollo historiography.6 At the same time, the primacy of  Tetzcoco in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s works has veiled the extent of his influence on later criollo historians who gave preeminence to Mexica history. Nonetheless, their representations embraced key features of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s antiquarianism, as well as the overall thrust of the history that they found in his manuscripts.7 Specifically, Alva Ixtlilxochitl offered his criollo readers definite examples of the achievements of local antiquity in a readily accessible way. In the dedication of the Sumaria relación de la historia general, Alva Ixtlilxochitl explains how he sought

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to “understand all the paintings and histories and translate the songs according to their true meaning” (1975–77: I, 525).8 To be truly meaningful, however, the translation had to attend to the expectations of the target culture. In that sense, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s rendering of local tradition was flawless: by accepted standards, ancient Tetzcoca civilization was on par with those of “the Romans, Greeks, Medes, and other universally famous gentile republics renowned throughout the universe” (ibid.).9 Moreover, it was not bedeviled by Satan. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historiography tied in with the tenets and values of his audience in two areas that were regarded as the hallmarks of civilization: politics and religion. Alva Ixtlilxochitl systematically highlighted the policía, the civility that characterized the empire originally founded by Xolotl, the first Great Chichimec, until the Spanish conquest disrupted the social order. The acme of local ancient civilization was Tetzcoco in the time of Nezahualcoyotl, who was not only an exemplary ruler but also an enlightened monotheist. This legacy was crucial to the conversion of New Spain because it cemented the decisive allegiance between his grandson Fernando Cortés Ixtlilxochitl and Hernán Cortés.10 In the Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco (Historical Compendium of the Kingdom of  Tetzcoco), Alva Ixtlilxochitl insisted that “in the conquest or conversion of this land, [Cortés] Ixtlilxochitl incurred enormous and exorbitant expenses . . . (which was no small service to God and to His Majesty the emperor)” (ibid.: I, 515). However, Alva Ixtlilxochitl also remarked that despite his good deeds, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl “remained without protection or reward, as may be seen at present in his descendants, [who are] without any shelter but God’s and the clemency of Felipe III, our lord” (ibid.).11 Thus, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historiography provided a model not only for relating to the past by rendering it in conventional terms but also for linking it to the present by stressing its continued relevance. Through the colonial period and beyond, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s criollo readers offered as proof of their patria’s exceptional heritage examples of political and religious merit, always emphasizing the consequences of these examples for their own times. The connection with a brilliant past appeared in their works as a source of corporate, patriotic, and eventually national pride and identity (Florescano 2006: 225, 259). In the late nineteenth century, the administration of President Porfirio Díaz (1830–1915) actively promoted the notion of historical continuity as the basis of national unity (ibid.: 290). In this context, the outward aspirations of patriotic historiography, as well as the internal incongruities that had characterized it since its inception, took physical shape in the pavilion

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designed for the 1889 Paris World’s Fair. As a materialization of official discourse, the so-called Aztec Palace also signaled that, after sustained reiteration by the most prominent criollo ideologues, the gambits found in the works of Fernando Alva Ixtlilxochitl had been definitively integrated as part of official Mexican history. In the matter of policía, or civil organization, the attainments of the peoples of central New Spain were first documented by members of the Franciscan mission, who sought this knowledge not only to better manage their evangelization but also to demonstrate their readiness for receiving the gospel.12 The historical research conducted over many decades by the Friars Minor was compiled and repackaged by Juan de Torquemada (c. 1557–1624) in the Monarquía indiana (Indian Monarchy) (1615). In the Monarquía indiana’s general prologue, Torquemada explains that the text is partly intended to excuse the gente indiana “if not wholly of their errors and blindness, at least in the matters which [he could] not condemn, and to bring to light all the things through which they kept themselves in their gentile republics that excuse them from the label of bestial given to them by our Spaniards” ([1723] 1943: I, 16).13 David Brading (1998: 330) finds that by highlighting the achievements of local antiquity, works such as the Monarquía indiana allowed the criollo elites to integrate the Prehispanic past into their patria’s historical sequence. Undoubtedly, the Monarquía indiana’s abundance of information made it an indispensable source for the history of ancient Mexico. However, the text presented many formal and conceptual challenges for the criollo patriots in search of their past. Clavijero decried Torquemada’s lack of memory, acumen, and taste and criticized his work for its “many gross contradictions, especially in the chronology, some ingenuous tales, and a great abundance of superfluous erudition” (1968: xxx).14 More-recent critics have also stated that the myriad quotes, digressions, and interpolations, added to continuous references to biblical and classical history, impede the Monarquía indiana’s narrative flow (Moreno Toscano 1963: 56).15 More significantly, the past presented by Torquemada not only belonged to others but also had been superseded because, as a result of conquest and conversion, the gente indiana were finally able to break away from their erroneous course and join the true progress of history—or, rather, the Catholic timeline. Whereas the Monarquía indiana tended to alienate the past, Alva Ixtlilxochitl made it more accessible and immediate. Torquemada’s text and Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historical works both stemmed from the Franciscan school of historiography and are therefore similar in some respects. Following medieval

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conventions, both authors used Greco-Roman history and the Old Testament as patterns for their accounts of the past (Phelan 1970: 116). Moreover, Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Torquemada looked at the same source materials for the history of  Tetzcoco, and they likely collaborated in their interpretation (León-Portilla 1983: 102). As a result, their texts are practically the same in terms of content.16 However, the texts are significantly different in form and conceptual design. For one thing, the Historia de la nación chichimeca (History of the Chichimec Nation) shows that Alva Ixtlilxochitl was a better storyteller than Torquemada. Generally devoid of encumbering comments and explanations, the Historia weaves a well-crafted tale of epic proportions that is also rich in detail. The lasting success of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historiography must be attributed in part to his literary ability. Though it may be impossible to measure, the power of a good story well told should not be underestimated. The one narrated in the Historia was rightly suited to stir the patriotic feelings of criollo readers who longed to identify with the past splendors of their homeland, none of which were more brilliant than those of  Tetzcoco as portrayed by Alva Ixtlilxochitl. When it came to expressing patriotic sentiment, few were more outspoken than Carlos María de Bustamante. In a letter published in the Diario de México on December 26, 1809, Bustamante exclaimed, “I know not what secret force transports my soul to the palaces that time has nearly ruined, to the moth-eaten books . . . that can give us some idea of the laws, mores, customs, temples, palaces, . . . etc. of the ancient dwellers of this vast and flowery continent!” (Bustamente et al. 1805–12: XI, 728).17 Many of Bustamante’s notions about his patria’s antiquity were taken from the works of Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl.18 Bustamante’s efforts, both as a politician and as an antiquarian, were directed at validating Mexico’s independence from Spain. To this end, he engaged in a tireless editorial campaign, publishing numerous texts that were meant to reveal, regardless of the paradox, the former excellence of the new nation. On the subject of govern­ance in particular, Bustamante pointed to the past to highlight, by contrast, the ills caused by three centuries of Spanish usurpation.19 At the same time, he called attention to the practices and principles that could serve as a model for the good management of the republic. As could be expected, Bustamante found readymade examples in Tetzcoco’s glory days, when, in the words of Clavijero, it was, “so to speak, the Athens of Anahuac, and Nezahualcoyotl, the Solon of those peoples” (1968: 115).20 In the introduction to Tezcoco en los últimos tiempos de sus antiguos reyes (Tetzcoco in the Latter Days of Its Ancient Kings) (1826), Bustamante complained

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that “the carelessness caused by the Spanish rulers determined to erase even the memory of what our fathers once were . . . has made us see, if not disdainfully, at least with indifference a place that in former times was the hub of the sciences, the conservatory of the arts, the quintessential great city” (1826: n.p.).21 Yet, coming from Tetzcoco’s ruins, Bustamante could hear a majestic voice that said, “Come closer . . . look at us, cry over this rubble, curse tyranny, examine us attentively, and go tell ancient Europe that here was the tutor of the magnificent Mexican empire” (ibid.: n.p.).22 Bustamante’s sentiment echoes Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s lament about how “with the changing times and the fall of my ancestors’ lordships and status, their stories were left buried” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 525).23 Part of the blame lay with the early missionaries, whose careless and inconsiderate burning of  Tetzcoco’s ancient records “was one of the greatest ills suffered by this New Spain, because the royal archives . . . were in the city of  Tetzcoco, since it had been the capital of all the sciences, mores, and good customs, because its kings were proud about this and they were the legislators of this new world” (ibid.: 527).24 It was obviously a model worth remembering and keeping in mind. Bustamante’s exhortation on behalf of  Tetzcoco, as a synecdoche of ancient Mexico, had been taken up earlier by fellow criollo patriot and Alva Ixtlilxochitl enthusiast Francisco Javier Clavijero. Bemoaning “the indolence or negligence of our elders in regard to our patria’s history” (1968: xviii), Clavijero’s Historia antigua de México was intended to “dissuade the unwary readers from the errors incurred by many modern authors who, without sufficient knowledge, have written about the land, the animals, and the men of America” (ibid.: 422).25 These authors included Georges-Louis Leclerc, the count of Buffon (1707–1788); Guillaume-Thomas de Raynal (1713–1796); William Robertson (1721–1793); and especially Cornelius de Pauw (1739–1799), whose Recherches philosophiques sur les Américains (Philosophical Inquiries About Americans) (1768), “like a sewer or cesspool, has collected all the filth, that is, the errors of all the others” (Clavijero 1968: 423).26 Basing his view on Buffon’s theses, de Pauw argued that even though the New World had risen from the watery depths only lately, it was already in decay. This paradox was manifest in its native peoples, who without having reached maturity were savage, degenerate beings (Gerbi 1960: 49, 51, 53). Therefore, de Pauw deemed that no great civilizations could have actually existed in America (Brading 1998: 465). In no uncertain terms, Clavijero begged to differ: in fact, New World antiquity was superior in many ways. For instance, according to Clavijero (1968: 552), marriage laws were more

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honest and decent in ancient Mexico than in Rome, Greece, Persia, and Egypt. Likewise, Clavijero claimed that Mexican religion “was less superstitious, less indecent, less childish, and less irrational than the religion of the most cultured nations of ancient Europe” (ibid.: 571).27 On this particular matter, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Nezahualcoyotl was ideally suited to dispute the opinion of European philosophers using their own terms. The tradition regarding Nezahualcoyotl’s moral wisdom and unorthodox beliefs had long been established. Torquemada reported how it was said that this king “often repeated that [the gods] were nothing but lumber and sticks and that it was ludicrous to worship them” ([1723] 1943: I, 174).28 But because dispelling the shadows in the New World was a role providentially reserved for the Franciscan missionaries, Torquemada’s Nezahualcoyotl remained a pagan who believed in father sun and mother earth. Alva Ixtlilxochitl asserted that Tetzcoco’s poet-king was nevertheless “he who wavered the most, searching for enlightening signs to gain certainty about the true God and creator of all things . . . as attested by the songs that he composed on the subject, saying, for instance, that there was only one; the one who was the maker of heaven and earth, and sustained all that he had created and made, and that he dwelled, peerless, above the nine heavens that were his domain” (1975–77: II, 136).29 Moreover, wonders such as prophetic dreams and angelic visitations proved that Heaven looked approvingly on Nezahualcoyotl’s spiritual accomplishments.30 Clavijero chose Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s allbut-Christian monarch over Torquemada’s heathen king.31 David Brading (1998: 493) points out that one of Clavijero’s objectives in the Historia antigua was to exorcize Mexican antiquity. That was also one of the objectives of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historiography, and Nezahualcoyotl played a central role in its realization. The narrative arc developed by Alva Ixtlilxochitl moved toward the fulfillment of a well-known prophecy allegedly issued by Quetzalcoatl. In the first chapter of the Historia de la nación chichimeca, Alva Ixtlilxochitl wrote that this godly man arrived a few years after Christ’s incarnation, that he taught virtue by word and deed, and that, before leaving, he told the people that “in the future, in a year called ce acatl, he would return, and then his doctrine would be received” (1975–77: II, 8).32 Quetzalcoatl’s prophecy was reiterated by Nezahualcoyotl, who, by passing his own godly teachings to his descendants, served as the bridge that allowed his grandson Fernando Cortés Ixtlilxochitl to become the material agent of its fulfillment.33 The Historia’s extant text is incomplete, but in the last relación of the Compendio, Alva Ixtlilxochitl wrote how, after helping Hernán Cortés conquer Mexico, Cortés Ixtlilxochitl taught

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the Christian doctrine to his kin, “recalling great things for them, moving them with the very good, very holy words that he told them, as if he were an apostle” (ibid.: I, 492).34 The great things that Alva Ixtlilxochitl had in mind could easily have included the prophecies spoken by Nezahualcoyotl and earlier by Quetzalcoatl, whose beard, white skin, and long tunic hinted at his true identity. What Alva Ixtlilxochitl implied was made explicit by Bustamante in the Diario de México. On April 29, 1808, without identifying the source, Bustamante published the section of the Historia de la nación chichimeca’s first chapter in which Alva Ixtlilxochitl describes Quetzalcoatl as “a well man, of grave demeanor, [who,] white and bearded, . . . wore a long tunic” (Bustamante et al. 1805–12: VIII, 378; Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 9).35 Subsequently, the editor asked his inquisitive readers, “Could this be Saint Thomas, the apostle of these realms according to tradition? What is true is that the seed of the gospel was spread in this immense field, because ‘in omnem terram exivit sonus eorum, et in finis orbis terrae verba eorum’” (their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world) (Bustamante et al. 1805–12: VIII, 378).36 The tradition that Bustamante mentions was promoted in the late sixteenth century by Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora, whose work on the subject was descriptively titled Fénix del Occidente, Santo Tomás Apóstol, hallado con el nombre de Quetzalcóatl entre las cenizas de antiguas tradiciones conservadas en piedras, en teoamoxtles tultecos y en cantares teochichimecos y mexicanos (Western Phoenix, the Apostle Saint Thomas, Discovered as Quetzalcoatl Among the Ashes of Ancient Traditions Preserved in Stones, in Toltec Teoamoxtles, and in Teochichimec and Mexican Songs).37 Undoubtedly, some of these materials (the Toltec books and the Great Chichimec songs) had previously been in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s possession. Alva Ixtlilxochitl was not the originator of the Quetzalcoatl–Saint Thomas tradition, but he was able to integrate it into an extensive narrative that helped criollo patriots such as Sigüenza and Bustamante conceive the extended history of their homeland and show that it had never been removed from God’s providence.38 As an eighteenth-century scientific philosopher, Clavijero (1968: 153) was decidedly skeptical about Quetzalcoatl’s supposed secret identity. As a Jesuit priest and an advocate of his patria’s antiquity, however, Clavijero had to address the question of Prehispanic religion, which had consistently been used to contest its merits. Torquemada observed, for instance, that because the indios of old had “lacked the Divine Light and the Science that God could have revealed to enlighten them, they were wrong about many things” ([1723] 1943: II, 371).39 However, revelation was not the only path to God or the most admissible in

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the Age of Reason. To redeem antiquity without provoking charges of fanaticism, Clavijero presented Nezahualcoyotl as an example of reasoned religious enlightenment. Applying the principles of natural philosophy, this wise king “inquisitively investigated the causes of the effects that he witnessed in nature, and this continuous reflection made him aware of idolatry’s implausibility and falsity” (Clavijero 1968: 115).40 Moreover, Nezahualcoyotl’s philosophical inquiries led him to conclude that there was only one God, the Creator of Heaven, in whose honor he had a tower built that was nine stories tall. At certain times, the tower’s keepers rang metal plates, “at the sound of which the king kneeled to pray to the Creator of Heaven, and in praise of the same God, he fasted” (ibid.).41 In a footnote, Clavijero revealed that he had taken these particulars from the precious manuscripts of Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, who had written them based on original paintings that he owned and understood perfectly. Thus, based on Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s authority, Clavijero could dismantle foreign condemnations of his homeland, both past and present. Clavijero came to identify so much with the subject of his work, argues Charles Ronan (1977: 347–48), that he took denigrating claims about the Nahua peoples as an affront to his ancestry. Later, Bustamante candidly integrated the wise rulers of ancient Tetzcoco into the patriotic genealogy when he called on his fellow citizens to recall what “our fathers” once were (Bustamante 1826: n.p.). In taking on the defense of the past as a birthright, Clavijero and Bustamante were taking up Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s struggle in like terms. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historiographic production was designed to showcase a very long line of ever more meritorious pasados (ancestors). His genealogical survey was also a selective endeavor that excluded the Spanish branches that made up three-fourths of his family tree and at the same time demonstrated that he was not an indio in the generic sense of the word. A telling anecdote recounts how one day Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl met Juan de Aguilar, the governor of Sultepec in the province of  Tetzcoco, walking along with a group of indios all in tears. Seeing Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s surprised expression, Aguilar said, “Grandson, why does my crying shock you? You know that these people, burdened with food like tapizques [laborers], are heirs, children, and descendants of King Nezahualcoyotl and that their misfortune is such that they are being taken to the repartimiento [compulsory labor] in Tacuba as if they were macehuales [commoners] and peasants” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 270).42 These native nobles had been cast down by the colonial regime, which resulted not only in their mistreatment but also in their misidentification as common indios.

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Clavijero makes an analogous distinction by asserting that the Historia antigua was “a history of Mexico written by a Mexican” and then pointing out that he had no “bond or consanguinity with the indios” (1968: xvii, 503).43 The latter had been brought so low by misery, oppression, and scorn that no one would believe in the former existence of great men, “were it not attested by their immortal works and the general consensus of the ages” (ibid.: 418, 519).44 In the historiographic tradition followed by Clavijero, these clearly superior individuals came exclusively from the aristocracy. The timeless contrast between the nobility and the common folk is neatly, though perhaps unintentionally, illustrated in a plate included in the original edition of the Historia antigua that was intended to show various styles of ancient dress; the image includes a noble and a plebeian with their backs to each other (figures 9.1 and 9.2). In the same elitist vein, Bustamante commented that in ancient Mexico, judgeships and high offices were always entrusted “to the noble tecutlis, or gentlemen, as the best suited to hold them honorably” (1846: 178).45 In the Compendio, Alva Ixtlilxochitl stated that after the Spanish conquest upended the social order, “those who governed the land were not any of these lords, but peasants all of them . . . and they slighted their natural lords, which resulted in many cases of tyranny” (1975–77: I, 517).46 The concept of señor natural implied a native connection to the land, but the implication is that his authority issued from a superior nature as well. Just as contemporary indios did not possess the wherewithal to assume charge of the present, they were not to be trusted with the preservation of the past. According to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, this responsibility was historically reserved for the elites. In the opening lines of the Historia de la nación chichimeca, Alva Ixtlilxochitl notes that the kings of old were also “the most serious authors and historians” (ibid.: II, 7).47 In contrast, in a statement about his sources included in the Sumaria relación de todas las cosas que han sucedido en la Nueva España (Summary Relation of Everything That Has Happened in New Spain), he deplores that commoners often made up stories full of nonsense when asked about ancient history (ibid.: I, 287). Clavijero recommended the creation of a museum where artifacts, paintings, and manuscripts might be preserved, encouraging his compatriots to work shrewdly and diligently “to remove this type of document from the hands of the indios” (1968: xviii).48 Bustamante et al. (1805–12: XI, 728) used the Diario de México to send an impassioned call to Mexico City scholars and town priests—especially those of Cuernavaca, Teotihuacan, and Tetzcoco—to report any revelations, any findings related to local antiquity. In sum, these authors became the self-appointed keepers of their patria’s history (Pacheco 1976: 42).

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A plebeian (detail view), Abiti Messicani, engraving in Clavigero 1780–81: II, plate following p. 224.

Figure 9.1. 

A noble (detail view), Abiti Messicani, engraving in Clavigero 1780–81: II, plate following p. 224. The image of the noble is evidently based on the Westernized portrait of Nezahualpilli included on f. 108r of the Códice Ixtlilxochitl.

Figure 9.2. 

Command of history made it possible to turn the past into a mirror, a reflection of current values. For instance, in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s accounts, Nezahualcoyotl appears as an exemplar medieval king, not only just and pious but also blessed. Building on that foundation, and in keeping with the spirit of his own times, Clavijero highlighted Nezahualcoyotl’s scientific and philosophical disposition. The romantic Bustamante never missed an opportunity to tout poetic eloquence

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as one of Nezahualcoyotl’s many virtues.49 At the same time, projection into the past rendered it familiar, conveying a sense of spiritual kinship that could easily be translated into one of entitlement in the present. This applies to historiography in general, but Alva Ixtlilxochitl and his readers were exceedingly capable at using it to advance their respective causes. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s historiography repeatedly gained him official recognition. In 1612 he was named governor of Tetzcoco because, according to his letter of appointment, he was “a near relative and legitimate successor to the said city’s former kings, as well as a qualified and competent person for that office” (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 334).50 Likewise, a royal patent dated in 1620 recognized the merits of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s ancestors and recommended him for honors, favors, and employment in posts commensurate with his status and competence (ibid.: 343). Alva Ixtlilxochitl held posts in New Spain’s colonial administration throughout his life. Over time, patriotic historiography adapted to match an ever-expanding notion of the criollo nation, but its main features and general purpose remained the same. In 1680, Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora put Mexico’s ancient rulers on display to convey a message about criollo political authority. Sponsored by Mexico’s criollo-controlled city council, Sigüenza’s Teatro de virtudes políticas was an allegorical arch built to celebrate the arrival of Viceroy Tomás de la Cerda y Aragón (1638–1692). In the arch’s printed description, Sigüenza explained that new rulers should take heed of the virtues of the elders so that they might “enter into the exercise of authority and command adorned by all the perfections proposed to them as a paradigm of government” (1984: 171).51 In other words, the incoming viceroy should take heed of New Spain’s long and admirable tradition of local government and avoid upsetting the status quo (Lorente 1996: 37). A hundred years later, Clavijero laid claim to antiquity for his Mexican nation. In the Historia antigua he called himself a mexicano and defended the achievements of the ancient mexicanos. Still, the indios did not necessarily belong in the same category (Lafaye 1995: 174).52 In any case, Clavijero’s recreation of ancient Mexican history was extremely successful both at home and abroad. The Historia antigua’s modern spirit and method earned it the approval of cultured Europe (Keen 1971: 300). In Mexico, the text has been described as a cornerstone of criollo patriotism and an intellectual declaration of independence (Florescano 2006: 229; Pacheco 1976: 43). Its author has been celebrated as the summit of the New Spanish enlightenment and a true father of the patria despite not having taken part in any battles (Pacheco 1976: 32; Rico González 1949: 18).53 Such accolades notwithstanding, Clavijero’s true feat was, as Brading

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(1998: 487, 500) suggests, overhauling a historiographic tradition that can be traced to Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Sigüenza y Góngora in accordance with the stylistic and intellectual standards of contemporary Europe. Accredited by the Historia antigua’s international recognition, the criollo conception of ancient Mexican history became integral to the patriotic sentiment that eventually brought the modern Mexican nation into being. At the time of Mexico’s independence, Bustamante engaged in a dogged editorial campaign to establish a national identity based on deep historical roots. In the Galería de antiguos príncipes mexicanos, Bustamante (1821) presented the Toltec, Chichimec, and Mexica rulers for the benefit of Mexico’s newest emperor, Agustín de Iturbide (1783–1824), entreating him to make himself worthy of being called the new Nezahualcoyotl. More cunningly, Bustamante turned the last relación of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco into a withering condemnation of the Spanish conquest. Alva Ixtlilxochitl clearly intended the relación to exalt the decisive services rendered by his great-great-grandfather Fernando Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, who “had been first in baptism and in the battles in God’s and the emperor’s service” (1975–77: I, 516).54 Bustamante published it as Horribles crueldades de los conquistadores de México y de los indios que los auxiliaron para subyugarlo a la corona de Castilla (Horrible Cruelties of the Conquerors of Mexico and of the Indians Who Helped Them Subjugate It to the Crown of Castile) (1829). In the introduction, he praises the account as a truthful denunciation of the crimes committed by the author’s ancestor, asking rhetorically whether anyone would fail to “admire the trust­ worthiness and the integrity, no less than the simplicity and the candor with which it relates deeds of the greatest atrocity and interest for the history of the Mexican people” (Bustamante 1829: iii).55 In the epilogue, Bustamante decries Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s perversity for having disregarded “the obligations of justice he owed to his homeland as a citizen and as a king” (ibid.: 118).56 Bustamante’s partisan reframing of the conquest was akin to Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s own efforts. A century and a half earlier, Sigüenza y Góngora warned that the version included in the Compendio histórico should “be read with great caution because, in order to extol his forefather, don Fernando Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, [Alva Ixtlilxochitl] disregards the truth about many things” (quoted in O’Gorman 1975: 168).57 Apparently unconcerned by Sigüenza’s warning, Bustamante dexterously managed to turn Fernando Cortés Ixtlilxochitl into an old enemy of a new nation while simultaneously accrediting Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl as a national historian. The equally dexterous Sigüenza had previously managed

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to tie two epochs together by asserting the providential character of ancient Mexico’s kingly succession. At the same time, they and Clavijero pointed to the gap that separated their antiquity’s brilliance from contemporary indio misery to further validate their entitlement to social, political, and cultural authority. Thus, appropriating Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s texts and tactics, with a similar sense of entitlement, privilege, and belonging, the most famous criollo historians deployed their patria’s idealized past to shape its present as well as its future. The triumph of Clavijero’s Historia antigua and Bustamante’s tireless exaltation of local antiquity helped integrate the criollo vision into Mexico’s official historical narrative.58 In the late nineteenth century, it was actively promoted as the country’s most distinctive feature both nationally and internationally.59 The Mexican pavilion for the 1889 Paris World’s Fair was conceived to represent an ancient teocalli, or temple (figure 9.3). The building was a three-dimensional manifestation of criollo historiography, accurately reflecting both its ambitions and its contradictions. The pavilion’s designers, Antonio Peñafiel and Antonio de Anza, drew inspiration from diverse archaeological monuments, carefully selecting and arranging the structure’s architectonic and decorative elements to allegor­ize the vigor of Mexico’s ancient civilization. Religion, agriculture, and the arts appeared as the principal elements of its progress. As Mauricio Tenorio Trillo (1996: 73, 75) points out, the design is consistent with a long ideological trend of selective reevaluation of the Prehispanic past as a source of identity. Also in keeping with that trend, Mexican antiquity was staged so as to gain recognition from a European audience. Thus, the ornamental effigies of Aztec gods and heroes cast by French-trained sculptor Jesús Contreras were classic figures garnished with supposedly Prehispanic motifs (ibid.: 108). Not surprisingly, Nezahualcoyotl was among the champions featured on the pavilion’s façade (figure 9.4). The outside of the Mexican pavilion was a stark contrast to its modern and cosmopolitan interior (figure 9.5). Inside, an anthropologic and ethnographic exhibit reflected the most current scientific trends. The display of Mexico’s various racial types—including face, head, and hand casts—demonstrated the relative inferiority of the indios and mestizos who made up most of the population. At the same time, that acknowledgment served to assert the superiority and sophistication of the white Mexican elites who were firmly in charge of the country (ibid.: 88–89). As Tenorio Trillo (ibid.: 95) recognizes, matching Europe’s scientific, social, and cultural discourse meant providing evidence that affirmed its hegemonic position. The same may be said for the pavilion’s exterior. Undoubtedly, some of its decorative elements were based on authentic

Pavilion of Mexico, Paris Exposition, 1889. Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Online Catalog (www.loc.gov/pictures/resource/cph.3c02655/).

Figure 9.3. 

Jesús F. Contreras, Nezahualcoyotl, relief, Mexico City. Photo by Pierre Tatarka. The reliefs of the Aztec Palace representing Itzcoatl, Nezahualcoyotl, and Totoquihuatzin, the rulers who established the Triple Alliance of Mexico, Tetzcoco, and Tlacopan, are on permanent display near the Museo del Ejército y Fuerza Aérea Mexicanos Bethlemitas in downtown Mexico City; the relief representing Cuauhtemoc is within the museum.

Figure 9.4. 

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Interior view of the Pavilion of Mexico, showing stairway and exhibits, Paris Exposition, 1889. Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Online Catalog (www.loc.gov/pictures/resource/cph.3a24192/).

Figure 9.5. 

archeological finds. However, the story it told reflected a long historiographic tradition of recasting the past in European terms, of gauging its achievements against those of European antiquity, and of seeking the recognition of European authorities. Through the work of Bustamante, Clavijero, and Sigüenza y Góngora, the criollo historiographic tradition can be traced back to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, whose own work marked a sharp conceptual break with the Franciscan historical narrative. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s history suggested that the New World was not the devil’s exclusive fiefdom and its redemption did not depend solely on the Spanish friars’ efforts. Alva Ixtlilxochitl also underplayed the conquest as a breaking point, emphasizing instead the continuity with a past that he claimed as his own. He may not have been unique in the way that he adapted autochthonous traditions to European forms and expectations.60 Nonetheless, the precision, breadth, and flow of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Tetzcoca epic made it especially

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attractive for criollo authors who sought indigenous evidence of their patria’s ancient splendor. The aims of his historiographic project may not have been as ambitious or comprehensive as those of later criollo historians. However, his works nourished the vision of the past that became their patria’s lasting historical foundation. Because Mexico-Tenochtitlan was always the patria criolla’s focal center, the purchase of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s vision was not always apparent. Yet the reach of Sigüenza y Góngora’s Teatro de virtudes, the key role played by Nezahualcoyotl in Clavijero’s Historia antigua, and the many references to ancient Tetzcoco in Bustamante’s work reveal these authors’ indebtedness not only to the substance of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Obras históricas but also to the attitude and outlook of his histories. The historian’s inconspicuousness may be a measure of how deeply ingrained his vision has become.61 Still, Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s contribution to Mexico’s patriotic historiography deserves to be acknowledged: the portrait of Nezahualcoyotl on the one-hundred-peso bill shows that the past that he envisioned is still current today.

Notes 1. “Muy fidedigna y verdadera, y aprobada por tal de toda la gente principal e ilustre de esta Nueva España.” Spanish quotations preserve their original spelling; all translations are my own. 2. On the “authenticity” of the Mapa Quinatzin, see Douglas 2003: 290. Douglas perceptively argues that its representation of the past makes allowances for Spanish political and religious preoccupations as well as the attitudes and pretensions of its aristocratic sponsors. The argument may be extrapolated to other similar sources. 3. Generally regarded as the original criollo patriot, Sigüenza inherited Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s collection of historical documents and historiographic works from his friend Juan de Alva, the historian’s son. 4. “Versadísimo en las antigüedades de su nación”; “tan cauto en escribir que para quitar toda sospecha de ficción, hizo constar legalmente la conformidad de sus relaciones con las pinturas históricas que había heredado de sus nobilísimos antepasados.” In 1608, Alva Ixtlilxochitl submitted the relaciones included in the Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco to the indigenous authorities of Otumba province; they testified that the history written by Alva Ixtlilxochitl “is without fault or defect and is very accurate and true” (“no tiene ninguna

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falta y defecto y es muy cierta y verdadera”) (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 519). Clavijero (1968: xxviii) also acknowledged that some of his material was drawn from Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s works, which were kept at the library of Mexico’s Jesuit College. Sigüenza y Góngora had bequeathed them to that institution along with the rest of his archive. 5. “Acaso sería difícil por no decir imposible, encontrar entre los antiguos escritores de las cosas de esta América, quien compitiese con don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl.” 6. Salvador Velazco’s contention that Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s voice “is not the voice of the Spaniard, nor of the indigene or the mestizo: it is each and every one of them” (“no es la voz del español ni la del indígena o la del mestizo: es todas y cada una de ellas”) (2003: 125) sums up the various views on the subject to the point of aporia. In Enrique Florescano’s work on the history of Mexican historiography (2006: 215, 220–60), Alva Ixtlilxochitl appears in the “Genealogical Reconstruction of the Basic Texts of Indigenous Memory,” but he is absent from the chapter on criollo historiography. 7. A full account of the complicated fate of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s manuscripts through the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries can be found in García 2007. 8. “Conocer todas las pinturas e historias y traducir los cantos en su verdadero sentido.” 9. “Romanos, griegos, medos y otras repúblicas gentílicas que tuvieron fama en el universo.” 10. Cortés Ixtlilxochitl disregarded many of the blunders committed by Hernán Cortés, including his brother’s near execution, “recalling . . . the faith that he had received, for if he were to do anything else, everything would be lost and evangelic law would not prosper” (“acordándose . . . de la fe que tenía recibida, que haciendo él otra cosa se perdería todo y la ley evangélica no pasaría adelante”) (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: I, 503). 11. “Fue grandísimo y excesivo el gasto que tuvo Ixtlilxúchitl en estas conquistas o conversión de esta tierra . . . (que no fue pequeño servicio a Dios y a su majestad el emperador) el cual quedó sin capa ni sin premio, y el día de hoy se ve en sus descendientes sin ningún abrigo sólo el de Dios y la clemencia de Felipe III, nuestro señor.” 12. For instance, Torquemada asserted that “a nation or people better suited and more willing to save their souls (with some assistance) than the indios of this New Spain has yet to be discovered” (“no se ha descubierto Nacion,

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ò Generacion de Gente mas dispuesta, y aparejada para salvar sus Animas [siendo aiudados para ello] que los Indios de esta Nueva-España”) (Torquemada [1723] 1943: III, 232). 13. “Ià que no totalmente en sus errores, y cegueras, al menos en la parte, que puedo no condenarlos, y sacar a la luz todas las cosas con que se conservaron en sus Repúblicas Gentilicas, que los escusa del Titulo Bestial, que nuestros Españoles los havian dado.” 14. “Muchas groseras contradicciones, principalmente en la cronología, algunas relaciones pueriles y una gran copia de erudición superflua.” 15. Likewise, John Leddy Phelan found that the Monarquía indiana “is saturated with analogies and comparisons, many of them of dubious pertinence, between the history of the Aztecs and that of the Greeks and the Romans” (1960: 761). 16. There are, however, a few inconsistencies. For instance, in the Monarquía indiana, Nezahualpilli’s mother is identified as Matlalcihuatzin (Torquemada [1723] 1943: I, 155), but in the Historia de la nación chichimeca, Alva Ixtlilxochitl calls her Azcalxochitzin (1975–77: II, 118). In one case, Torquemada credits Nezahualcoyotl with a deed that Alva Ixtlilxochitl attributes to Nezahualpilli (Torquemada [1723] 1943: I, 165; Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975–77: II, 173). 17. “¡Yo ignoro una secreta fuerza que transporta mi alma á los palacios casi arruinados por el tiempo, á los libros carcomidos por la polilla . . . que pueden darnos alguna idea de las leyes, usos, costumbres, templos, palacios, . . . &c. de los antiguos habitantes de èste vasto y florido continente!” 18. Bustamante knew Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s works from the copies held at the Secretaría del Virreinato, which after Mexico’s independence became the Archivo General de la Nación. Bustamante also relied on the work of Mariano Fernández de Echeverría y Veytia (1718–1780), which was largely based on Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s texts. In other words, Alva Ixtlilxochitl was, directly or indirectly, the source of Bustamante’s ideas about ancient Tetzcoco (Lemoine Villacaña 1997: 186). 19. In a speech prepared for revolutionary leader José María Morelos y Pavón (1765–1815), Bustamante wrote, “August 12, 1521, was succeeded by September 14, 1813; then the chains of our servitude were tightened in MexicoTenochtitlan, now they are forever broken in the fortunate town of Chilpancingo” (“Al 12 de agosto de 1521 sucedió el 14 de septiembre de 1813: en aquel se apretaron las cadenas de nuestra servidumbre en Mexico-Tenochtitlan; en este se rompen para siempre en el venturoso pueblo de Chilpancingo”) (1813: 7). 20. “Texcoco era, por decirlo así, la Atenas de Anáhuac, y Nezahualcóyotl el Solón de aquellos pueblos.”

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21. “El descuido en que nos pusieron los gobernantes españoles empeñados en borrar hasta la memoria de lo que fueron nuestros padres . . . ha hecho que veamos, si no con desprecio, á lo menos con indiferencia un lugar que en otros tiempos fue el emporio de las ciencias, el taller de las artes, la ciudad grande por excelencia.” 22. “Acércate . . . contémplanos, llora sobre estos escombros, maldice la tirania, examínanos atentamente, y vé á decir a la antigua Europa que esta fue la maestra del opulento imperio mexicano.” 23. “Con la mudanza de los tiempos y caída de los señoríos y estados de mis pasados, quedaron sepultadas sus historias.” 24. “Fue uno de los mayores daños que tuvo esta Nueva España; porque en la ciudad de Tetzcuco estaban los archivos reales . . . por haber sido la metrópoli de todas las ciencias, usos y buenas costumbres, porque los reyes que fueron de ella se preciaron de esto y fueron los legisladores de este nuevo mundo.” Alva Ixtlilxochitl makes these assertions, respectively, in the dedication and the prologue of the Sumaria relación de la historia de esta Nueva España. 25. “Disuadir a los incautos lectores de los errores en que han incurrido muchos autores modernos que, sin suficientes conocimientos, han escrito sobre la tierra, los animales y los hombres de América.” It was a recurrent complaint. In the prologue to the Sumaria relación de la historia, Alva Ixtlilxochitl explains that “considering the diversity and contrary opinions of the authors who have written the histories of this New Spain [he] did not want to follow any of them” (“considerando la variedad y contrarios pareceres de los autores que han tratado las historias de esta Nueva España no [ha] querido seguir a ninguno de ellos”) (1975–77: I, 527). 26. “Como una sentina o albañal, ha recogido todas las inmundicias, esto es los errores de todos los demás.” 27. “Fue menos supersticiosa, menos indecente, menos pueril y menos irracional que la de las más cultas naciones de la antigua Europa.” Nonetheless, Clavijero (1968: 578) had to admit that its cannibalistic rituals were more barbarous. 28. “Decía muchas veces, que [los dioses] no lo eran, sino maderos, y palos y que era risa, adorarlos.” 29. “El que más vaciló, buscando por donde tomar lumbre para certificarse del verdadero Dios y criador de todas las cosas . . . y dan testimonio sus cantos que compuso en razón de esto, como es el decir, que había uno solo, y que éste era el hacedor del cielo y de la tierra, y sustentaba todo lo hecho y criado por él, y que estaba, donde no tenía segundo, sobre los nueve cielos que él alcanzaba.”

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30. On a particularly revealing occasion, after Nezahualcoyotl had spent forty days fasting and praying to his unknown god, a resplendent youth appeared to one of his attendants and announced a military victory against Chalco and the birth of a worthy heir to the Tetzcoca throne (Alva Ixtlilxochitl 1975– 77: II, 125). 31. The characterization of Nezahualcoyotl’s son and heir provides further evidence. Torquemada acknowledged that compared to the kings of Mexico, who were greatly deceived by the devil, Nezahualpilli was more moderate “in his/ their deceitful and false religion” (“en su mentirosa, y falsa Religion”) ([1723] 1943: I, 189). Instead of calling attention to idolatry, Clavijero simply stated that Nezahualpilli was, “as regards religion, of the same opinion as his great father” (“en punto de religión del mismo dictamen de su gran padre”) (1968: 143). Likewise, Alva Ixtlilxochitl commented that Nezahualpilli “had no less courage and virtue than his father and, all things considered, . . . followed closely in his footsteps” (“no tuvo menos valor y virtud que su padre, y si bien se considera le siguió casi los mismos pasos”) (1975–77: II, 188). 32. “En los tiempos venideros, en un año que se llamaría ce ácatl, volvería, y entonces su doctrina sería recibida.” 33. According to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Nezahualcoyotl prophesied that in a ce acatl year “the tree of light, healing, and nourishment will come” (“llegará el árbol de la luz, y de la salud y el sustento”), and that it would happen in his son’s or his grandson’s time (1975–77: II, 132). 34. “Trayéndoles a la memoria grandes cosas, de tal manera que los enternecía con las palabras tan buenas, tan santas que les decía como si fuera un apóstol.” 35. “Un hombre bien dispuesto, de aspecto grave, blanco y barbado, su vestuario era una túnica larga” (Bustamante’s emphasis). 36. “¿Sería éste Santo Tomás Apostol de estos dominios segun la tradicion? ello es cierto que la semilla del evangelio se esparciò en éste campo inmenso, porque in omnem terram exivit sonus eorum, et in finis orbis terrae verba eorum.”  The Latin phrase comes from Psalm 19:4. 37. This text remains lost, but a summary of its contents is included in the prologue written by Sebastián de Guzmán for Sigüenza’s Libra astronómica y filosófica (Astronomic and Philosophic Scales) (1690). According to Guzmán’s summary, the evidence considered by Sigüenza in the Fénix de Occidente included Quetzalcoatl’s clothes, teachings, and prophecies (Sigüenza y Góngora 1984: 245).

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38. Quetzalcoatl’s significance in criollo patriotism is examined in detail by Jacques Lafaye (1998) in his classic study on the formation of Mexican national consciousness; it makes no mention of Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl. 39. “Como faltos de Luz Divina, y de la Ciencia revelada, con que Dios pudo alumbrarlos, erraron en muchas cosas.” 40. “Investigaba curiosamente las causas de los efectos que admiraba en la naturaleza y esta continua consideración le hizo conocer la insubsistencia y falsedad de la idolatría.” 41. “A cuyo sonido se arrodillaba el rey para hacer oración al Creador del Cielo y, en obsequio del mismo Dios, hacia cierto ayuno.” Clavijero was careful to omit the various miracles and portents described by Alva Ixtlilxochitl. 42. “Nieto, de que te espantas que me veas ir llorando, sabéis que éstos que aquí van cargados de comida como tapisques, son herederos, hijos y descendientes del rey Nezahualcóyotl, que la desdicha ha llegado a tanto como si fueran macehuales y villanos los llevan a repartir a Tacuba.”  The text is included in the appendix prepared by Edmundo O’Gorman for his edition of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Obras históricas (1975–77). 43. “Una historia de México escrita por un mexicano”; “afinidad o consanguinidad con los indios.” 44. “Si no estuviera asegurado, así por sus obras inmortales como por el consentimiento de todos los siglos.” Clavijero compared the situation with that of modern Greece. 45. “Á los a los nobles Tecuthlis ó caballeros, como los mas propios para desempeñarlas dignamente.” 46. “Los que gobernaban la tierra no eran ninguno de estos señores sino todos villanos . . . y menospreciaban a sus señores naturales, por cuya causa sucedieron muchas tiranías.” 47. “Los más graves autores y históricos.” Alva Ixtlilxochitl lists the names of Quetzalcoatl and Nezahualcoyotzin (king of  Tetzcoco), as well as the Mexica princes Itzcoatzin and Xiuhcozcatzin. 48. “Sacar esta clase de documentos de manos de los indios.” 49. Bustamante waxes poetic himself when he describes how Nezahualcoyotl “cleverly employs fleeting moments of joy . . . [and] speaks the language of nature, and from nature and the objects that surround him, he shapes his sublime comparisons. . . . He turns foolish joy into sweet melancholy” (“se vale con astucia de los fugaces instantes de alegría, habla el idioma de la naturaleza, y de ella, y de los objetos que le rodean forma sus comparaciones sublimes . . . torna la alegría

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loca en una melancolía dulce”) (1821: 18). Other references to Nezahualcoyotl’s poetic genius appear in Bustamante et al. 1805–12: XI, 640 and 1826: 194. 50. “Propincuo y legítimo sucesor de los reyes que fueron de la dicha ciudad y ser persona capaz y suficiente para ese ministerio.” 51. “Entren al ejercicio de la autoridad y del mando adornados de cuantas perfecciones se les proponen para ejemplar de gobierno.” 52. Jesús Gómez Fregoso (1979: 79) also calls attention to the instability of the term mexicanos in late eighteenth-century texts: it may refer to indios, to criollos, or to the people born in New Spain in general. 53. However, for a critique of Clavijero’s estimation as a promoter of independence, see Marchetti 1986. 54. “Había sido el primero en el bautismo y en las batallas en servicio de Dios y del emperador.” 55. “Admire la fidelidad y la entereza, no menos que la sencilléz y candor con que refiere hechos de la mayor atrocidad é interés para la historia del pueblo mexicano.” 56. “Las obligaciones de justicia que debia á su patria como ciudadano, y como rey.” 57. “Se debe leer con grande cautela pues por engrandecer a su progenitor don Fernando Cortés Ixtlilxúchitl falta en muchas cosas a la verdad.” 58. There were alternative possibilities. Both the conservative politician Lucas Alamán (1792–1853) and the liberal José María Luis Mora (1794–1850) reasoned that Mexican history actually began with the conquest of Mexico by Hernán Cortés, who ought to be regarded as the nation’s founding father (Brading 1998: 696, 700; García 2007: 3). 59. Examples of government-sponsored efforts to integrate indigenous history at this time include the Monumento a Cuauhtémoc (1878) and México a través de los siglos (1884–89), a monumental historiographic text. Located on the Paseo de la Reforma in Mexico City, the monument’s inscription reads “A la memoria de Cuauhtémoc y de los guerreros que combatieron heroicamente en defensa de su patria. Año de 1521” (“In memory of Cuauhtemoc and the warriors who fought heroically in defense of their patria. Year 1521”). The first volume of the historical survey covered ancient and conquest history; it was the work of Alfredo Chavero, who wrote in the introduction that his labor had been inspired “by the love of truth and by reverence for the patria” (“por el amor a la verdad y por el culto a la patria”) (Chavero [1884] n.d.: lx). 60. Peter Villella (2009) identifies a “cacique historical vision” that adopted strategies similar to those found in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s works. Nevertheless, Alva

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Ixtlilxochitl offers the clearest, best-developed, and most consistently singledout articulation of this perspective. 61. Jongsoo Lee (2008) challenges the uncritical acceptance of the “classic” Prehispanic antiquity represented in colonial sources.

Works Cited Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de. 1975–77. Obras históricas. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. 2 vols. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Brading, David A. 1998. Orbe indiano: De la monarquía católica a la república criolla, 1492–1867. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Bustamente, Carlos María de. 1813. “Discurso inaugural del Congreso de Chilpancingo.” Portal de la independencia mexicana. www.agn.gob.mx/independencia/doc umentos.html. ———. 1821. Galería de antiguos príncipes mexicanos dedicada a la suprema potestad nacional que les sucediere en el mando para su mejor gobierno. Puebla, Mexico: Oficina del Gobierno Imperial. ———. 1826. Tezcoco en los últimos tiempos de sus antiguos reyes. Mexico City: Mariano Galván Rivera. ———, ed. 1829. Horribles crueldades de los conquistadores de México y de los indios que los auxiliaron para subyugarlo a la corona de Castilla: Ó sea memoria escrita por d. Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxúchitl. Mexico City: Alejandro Valdés. ———. 1846. Historia del emperador d. Agustín de Iturbide hasta su muerte, y sus consecuencias: Y establecimiento de la República Popular Federal. Mexico City: I. Cumplido. Bustamante, Carlos María de, Jacobo de Villa Urrutia, and José de Iturrigaray Aróstegui, eds. 1805–12. Diario de México. 17 vols. Mexico City: Don Mariano José de Zúñiga y Ontiveros. Chavero, Alfredo. (1884) n.d. Historia antigua y de la conquista. Vol. 1 of México a través de los siglos. 5 vols. Mexico City: Ballescá; Barcelona: Espasa. Internet Archive. Clavigero, Francesco Saverio. 1780–81. Storia antica del Messico: Cavata da’ migliori storici spagnuoli, e da’ manoscritti, e dalle pitture antiche degl’ Indiani . . . e dissertazioni sulla terra, sugli animali, e sugli abitatori del Messico. 4 vols. Cesena: Gregorio Biasini. Internet Archive. Clavijero, Francisco Javier. 1968. Historia antigua de México. Edited by Mariano Cuevas. Mexico City: Porrúa.

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Douglas, Eduardo de J. 2003. “Figures of Speech: Pictorial History in the ‘Quinatzin Map’ of about 1542.” Art Bulletin 85 (2): 281–309. Florescano, Enrique. 2006. National Narratives in Mexico: A History. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. García Loaeza, Pablo. 2007. “La historia al servicio de la patria: El patriota mexicano Carlos María de Bustamante (siglo XIX) edita al historiador novohispano Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl (siglo XVII).” Colonial Latin American Historical Review 16 (1): 37–64. ———. 2009. “Saldos del criollismo: El teatro de virtudes políticas de Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora a la luz de la historiografía de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxó­ chitl.” Colonial Latin American Review 18 (2): 219–35. Gerbi, Antonello. 1960. La disputa del Nuevo Mundo: Historia de una polémica, 1750– 1900. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Gómez Fregoso, Jesús. 1979. Clavijero: Ensayo de interpretación y aportaciones para su estudio. Guadalajara: Universidad de Guadalajara. Keen, Benjamin. 1971. The Aztec Image in Western Thought. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Lafaye, Jacques. 1995. Quetzalcóatl y Guadalupe: La formación de la conciencia nacional en México. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Lee, Jongsoo. 2008. The Allure of Nezahualcoyotl: Pre-Hispanic History, Religion, and Nahua Poetics. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Lemoine Villicaña, Ernesto. 1997. “Nota preliminar y estudio introductorio” to Tezcoco en los últimos tiempos de sus antiguos reyes, by Mariano Veytia, edited by Carlos María de Bustamante. In Estudios historiográficos sobre Carlos María de Bustamante, edited by Héctor Cuauhtémoc Hernández Silva, 141–95. Azcapotzalco, Mexico: Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana-Azcapotzalco. León-Portilla, Miguel. 1983. “Fuentes de la Monarquía indiana.” In Monarquía indiana, by Fray Juan de Torquemada, vol. 7, 93–128. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas. IIH Digital. Lorente Medina, Antonio. 1996. La prosa de Sigüenza y Góngora y la formación de la conciencia criolla mexicana. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Marchetti, Giovanni. 1986. Cultura indígena e integración nacional: La Historia antigua de México de F. J. Clavijero. Xalapa: Universidad Veracruzana. Moreno Toscano, Alejandra. 1963. Fray Juan de Torquemada y su Monarquía indiana. Xalapa: Universidad Veracruzana.

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O’Gorman, Edmundo. 1975. “Estudio introductorio.” In Obras históricas, by Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl, vol. 1, 1–257. Edited by Edmundo O’Gorman. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Pacheco, José Emilio. 1976. “La patria perdida (notas sobre Clavijero y la ‘Cultura Nacional’).” In En torno a la cultura nacional, edited by Héctor Aguilar Camín, 15–50. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional Indigenista / Secretaria de Educación Pública. Phelan, John Leddy. 1970. The Millennial Kingdom of the Franciscans in the New World. 2nd edition. Berkeley: University of California Press. ———. 1960. “Neo-Aztecism in the Eighteenth Century and the Genesis of Mexican Nationalism.” In Culture in History: Essays in Honor of Paul Radin, edited by Stanley Diamond, 760–70. New York: Columbia University Press. Rico González, Víctor. 1949. Historiadores mexicanos del siglo XVIII: Estudios historiográficos sobre Clavijero, Veytia, Cavo y Alegre. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Ronan, Charles E. 1977. Francisco Javier Clavigero, S.J. (1731–1787), Figure of the Mexican Enlightenment: His Life and Works. Rome: Institutum Historicum S.I.; Chicago: Loyola University Press. Sigüenza y Góngora, Carlos de. 1984. Seis obras. Edited by Irving Leonard and William Bryant. Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho. Tenorio Trillo, Mauricio. 1996. Mexico at the World’s Fairs: Crafting a Modern Nation. Berkeley: University of California Press. Torquemada, Juan de. (1615) 1943. Monarquía indiana. 3 vols. Mexico City: Salvador Chávez Hayhoe. Velazco, Salvador. 2003. Visiones de Anáhuac: Reconstrucciones historiográficas y etnicidades emergentes en el México colonial; Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, Diego Muñoz Camargo y Hernando Alvarado Tezozómoc. Guadalajara: Universidad de Guadalajara. Villella, Peter B. 2009. The True Heirs to Anahuac: Native Nobles, Creole Patriots, and the “Natural Lords” of Colonial Mexico. PhD dissertation, University of California– Los Angeles. Ann Arbor: ProQuest/UMI (Publication No. 3401690).

Chronology

1578

Projected year of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s birth as the second son of doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl and Juan Navas Pérez de Peraleda. He was originally named Hernando de Peraleda Ixtlilxochitl, following his parents’ family names. 1580 Death of Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s great-grandmother, doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, who had the same name as his mother and served as cacica of  Teotihuacan. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s grandmother, doña Francisca Verdugo Ixtlilxochitl, inherited the cacicazgo of  Teotihuacan. 1582 Juan Bautista Pomar writes the Relación geográfica de Texcoco at the request of the Spanish king, Felipe II. 1591 Fray Juan de Torquemada begins work on his Monarquía Indiana. 1591 Juan Pérez de Peraleda, father of Alva Ixtlilxochitl, receives lands from the viceroy Velasco. 1592–94 Juan Pérez de Peraleda, father of Alva Ixtlilxochitl, works as the overseer (maestro de obras) of Mexico City’s construction projects. 1595 Doña Francisca Verdugo, grandmother of Alva Ixtlilxochitl, receives a grant of lands from the Crown. 1596 Doña Francisca Verdugo’s will is written in Mexico City. In the will she leaves some houses in Teotihuacan to Alva Ixtlilxochitl.

*Based on Edmundo O’Gorman’s study in Obras históricas de Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl (Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónomo de Mexico, 1997), vol. 1, 17–36.

284 chronology

1597

Death of doña Francisca Verdugo. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s mother, Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, inherits the cacicazgo of  Teotihuacan. 1600 Alva Ixtlilxochitl writes the Toltec and Chichimec history that formed parts of Sumaria relación de todas las cosas. 1608 Alva Ixtlilxochitl writes the Relación sucinta en forma de memorial and immediately finishes the Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco. He presents the second book with other documents to the indigenous authorities of Otumba and Cuatlatzinco to obtain their approval. 1610 Juan Pérez de Peraleda, father of Alva Ixtlilxochitl, asks the viceroy Velasco to recognize the rights of his wife, doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, as cacica of  Teotihuacan. The viceroy asks that he submit information to support the petition. 1611 Alva Ixtlilxochitl as proxy for his father prepares legal documents: he records the testimonies of fourteen witnesses to produce “Diligencias de información y probanza de doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, Teotihuacan, 1610–1611,” and he translates the will of his great-grandfather don Francisco Verdugo Quetzalmamalitzin from Nahuatl into Spanish. He presents the documents to the highest judiciary of  Teotihuacan, and the request for the recognition of Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s rights as cacica of  Teotihuacan is granted. 1611 Fray Juan de Torquemada finishes his Monarquía indiana. 1612 Appointment of Alva Ixtlilxochitl as judge-governor of  Tetzcoco. He ends up having to leave the position after a little more than a month, because many local Tetzcoca nobles complained about his incompetence as governor (Benton 2014: 45–46). 1614 Death of Juan Grande, grandfather of Alva Ixtlilxochitl. 1615 Publication in Seville of Fray Juan de Torquemada’s Primera, segunda y tercera partes de Los veintiún libros rituales y Monarquía indiana. 1616–18 Appointment of Alva Ixtlilxochitl as judge-governor of  Tlalmanalco. 1619 Appointment of Alva Ixtlilxochitl as judge-governor of Chalco. He serves in this city for several years. 1620 Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s father, Juan Pérez de Peraleda, writes his will and possibly dies in the same year. In his will, Pérez de Peraleda leaves a chaplaincy (capellania) in Mexico City hoping that Alva Ixtlilxochitl or one of his sons would be a priest. His desire was fulfilled as Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s brother, Bartolomé de Alva, became a priest.

chronology 285

1624

1624 1624 1625 1634

1639 1640 1641 1643

1643 1650

During the conflict between the archbishop Pérez de la Serna and the viceroy Marqués de Gelves, the former takes refuge in Teotihuacan. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s family seems to have facilitated the archbishop’s refuge. Alva Ixtlilxochitl dedicated one of his chronicles, Sumaria relación de la historia general de esta Nueva España, to the archbishop. Death of Fray Juan de Torquemada. Birth of don Juan de Alva Cortés, son of Alva Ixtlilxochitl and Antonia Gutiérrez Rodríguez. Alva Ixtlilxochitl finishes the Sumaria relación de la historia general de esta Nueva España and dedicates it to the archbishop Pérez de la Serna. He continues to write the Historia de la nación chichimeca. Bartolomé de Alva, Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s brother, publishes Confesario mayor y menor en lengua mexicana: Y pláticas contra las supersticiones de idolatría que el día de hoy han quedado a los naturales desta Nueva España, e instrucción de los santos sacramentos. Death of doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, mother of Alva Ixtlilxochitl, who leaves some houses and lands to him in her will. Alva Ixtlilxochitl works as an official interpreter at the Juzgado de Indios. Bartolomé de Alva, brother of Alva Ixtlilxochitl, translates two Spanish dramas into Nahuatl: La madre de la major of Lope de Vega and El gran teatro del mundo of Calderón de la Barca. The tenants of lands in Teotihuacan question the legitimacy of doña Ana Cortés Ixtlilxochitl’s position as cacique, because she and her children were Spaniards or castizos and thus had no right to an indigenous cacicazgo. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s family submitted supporting documentation to the judge, and they retain the cacicazgo of Teotihuacan. Birth of Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora. Death of Alva Ixtlilxochitl.

Glossary

The eastern region of the central basin in Mexico in which several major cities, such as Tetzcoco, Coatlichan, and Huexotla, were located. The term also frequently refers to the leading ethnic group or city of the region. Thus, around the time of the conquest, Acolhuacan and the word used for its residents, acolhuaque, often referred to Tetzcoco and the Tetzcoca, respectively. Altepetl. A city-state before the conquest governed by an independent ruler, tlahtoani. The term is made up of a(tl ) (water) and tepetl (mountain), which refer to the two most important geographic features associated with a territory and by metonymic association to the sociopolitical institution that occupies it. After the conquest, an altepetl became a cabeza or cabecera, and the neighboring subject villages became sujetos. Alvarado Tezozomoc, Hernando. An indigenous descendant of the Aztec king Moctezuma who wrote the Crónica mexicana in Spanish at the end of the sixteenth century and the Crónica mexicayotl in Nahuatl at the beginning of the seventeenth century. He followed the Mexica historiographical tradition, and thus his treatment of several Prehispanic events in his chronicles is quite different from that of Alva Ixtlilxochitl, who wrote from the perspective of  Tetzcoco. Anahuac. The name used to refer to Prehispanic Mexico, more specifically, the geographical extension dominated by the Aztec empire. The literal meaning of Anahuac is “place near water” [a(tl ) ‘water’ + nahuac ‘near’ + c ‘place’]. Tenochtitlan, the capital of the Aztec empire, was located on an island, and Acolhuacan.

288 glossary

thus the city was surrounded by water. The “place near water,” then, metonymically referred to the entire territory that the people of the island Tenochtitlan dominated. Aztecs or Aztec. Literally meaning “people from Aztlan,” Azteca refers to both the Mexica of  Tenochtitlan and their political allies such as the Tlatelolca, the Tetzcoca, and Tlacopaneca in the central basin who built the empire together. See also Aztlan. Aztlan. A sacred or mythical place from which several ethnic groups including the Mexica, Huexotzinca, Chalca, Xochimilca, and Tepaneca started their migration to the central basin. Cacama. A king of  Tetzcoco who succeeded to the throne upon the death of his father, Nezahualpilli, in 1515. He followed Moctezuma’s treatment of the Spaniards at the beginning stage of the conquest, but later he was killed by the Spaniards because of his conspiracy against them. See also Tetzcoca genealogy. cacicazgo. The geographical domain governed by a cacique along with the legal, political, and economic privileges associated with it. cacique. An indigenous Caribbean term referring to the chief or leader of a group inhabiting a geographic region. The analogous Nahuatl term was tlahtoani, but the Spanish had already begun using the Caribbean term cacique, which they applied to indigenous leaders throughout the Americas. calpulli. Literally meaning “large house,” this term refers to a kin group that constitutes a component of an altepetl. In some cases, these subunits of the altepetl appear to have been defined in terms of common ancestry. The altepetl of  Tetzcoco, for example, consisted of several calpulli made up of immigrant groups such as the Tlailotlaca, the Tepaneca, and the Mexica. Many scholars, however, have found it difficult to define the role and function of calpulli before the conquest. Cantares mexicanos. A manuscript of Nahua songs collected in the middle of the sixteenth century from the cities of central Mexico: Tenochtitlan, Tetzcoco, Chalco, Huexotzinco, and Tlaxcala. Based on information in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles, Mexican scholars such as Angel María Garibay K. and Miguel León-Portilla attributed several songs in this collection to the Tetzcoca rulers Nezahualcoyotl and Nezahualpilli. However, their interpretation of the songs and their attribution to specific poets have been challenged by John Bierhorst (1985) and Jongsoo Lee (2008).

glossary 289

A racial category produced by crossing of a Spaniard and a mestizo woman. Chichimecs or Chichimeca. The ethnic group that immigrated from the north to the central basin of Mexico in the twelfth century. Many colonial sources describe the Chichimeca as nomadic warriors who wore animal skins and used bows and arrows. Several cities in or near the basin, such as Tetzcoco, Cuauhtitlan, Tepetlaoztoc, and Tlaxcala, proudly present the Chichimecs as their founding ancestors. These immigrant Chichimecs mingled culturally and ethnically mingled with Toltec descendants who were already living in the central basin. Chimalpahin Quauhtlehuanitzin, Domingo de San Antón Muñón. An indigenous chronicler from Chalco who wrote several relaciones about his hometown and the Chalca area. He includes some historical events related to Prehispanic and colonial Tetzcoco. Codex Chimalpopoca. A Nahuatl manuscript named after the nineteenthcentury historian who was the first to attempt to translate it. It consists of two important texts: Anales de Cuauhtitlan and La leyenda de los soles. The first text provides detailed historical information on the TepanecAcolhuacan war, which includes the death of Nezahualcoyotl’s father, Huehue Ixtlilxochitl, and his escape from the persecution of the Tepanec king Tezozomoc. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s family genealogy is included in the manuscript, and its description of historical events is very similar to those found in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles. This work also includes historical events related to Prehispanic and colonial Tetzcoco. Codex Xolotl. One of the three pictorial texts that document the genealogical succession of  Tetzcoca rulers and their political dominance. The Codex Xolotl depicts the history of the basin of central Mexico from the arrival of the Chichimec leader Xolotl to the early life of Nezahualcoyotl right after his father, Huehue Ixtlilxochitl, was assassinated by the Tepanec king Tezozomoc. Modern scholars do not take the codex at face value, because it was made by Tetzcoca nobles around the 1540s as a means to acquire higher status in the colonial order by justifying their city’s political supremacy over neighboring cities. Alva Ixtlilxochitl used this text as one of his major sources. See also Mapa Quinatzin and Mapa Tlotzin. Colegio de Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco. A school for indigenous nobility that opened at Tlatelolco in 1536. The main purpose of the institution was castizo.

290 glossary

to facilitate Christian evangelization among the upper class of indigenous people. Most of the teachers were Franciscan priests such as Bernardino de Sahagún, and the curriculum was similar to that of European universities, including theology, philosophy, and rhetoric. creole. A term used for Spaniards born in the Americas. Cuauhtemoc. The last Aztec king, who surrendered to Hernán Cortés in 1521. During an expedition to Guatemala, Cortés accused Cuauhtemoc of conspiring against the Spaniards and had him hanged Cuitlahuac. The Aztec king who succeeded Montezuma II in 1520. He died of smallpox eighty days after taking power. judge-governor (juez-gobernador). A governor and judge appointed by the colonial administration to resolve specific problems in indigenous towns. The juez-gobernador had to be an acculturated Indian or mestizo familiar with both the Spanish political and legal system and indigenous traditions. Alva Ixtlilxochitl served as judge-governor in Tetzcoco, Tlalmanalco, and Chalco. macehual. A commoner obliged to pay taxes and render personal service to the noble class during Prehispanic times. Mapa Quinatzin. One of the three pictorial texts that Tetzcoca nobles produced in the 1540s. It depicts the cultural development of  Tetzcoco, focusing on the nomadic Tetzcoca ruler Quinatzin’s acceptance of  Toltequicized ethnic groups by Tetzcoco and later the political and legal system of  Tetzcoco under the reign of Nezahualcoyotl and Nezahualpilli. The second leaf of the map demonstrates the supremacy of  Tetzcoco over the other major cities in the eastern basin. Just like the Codex Xolotl, however, this map was created by Tetzcoca nobles to convince the Spaniards of  Tetzcoco’s prominence in the Prehispanic period. See also Codex Xolotl and Mapa Tlotzin. Mapa Tlotzin. One of the three pictorial texts produced in the 1540s by Tetzcoca nobles. It records the Tetzcoca royal genealogy from Tlotzin to the postconquest rulers Cacama and Cortés Ixtlilxochitl and the acculturation process of the nomadic Tlotzin to the sedentary Toltec life-style. The map also records the genealogical succession of the two major cities in the eastern basin, Coatlichan and Huexotla, but they are depicted as cities without their own rulers. The political power of  Tetzcoco in this map is emphasized. See also Codex Xolotl and Mapa Quinatzin. Mexica. One of the last Chichimec ethnic groups to arrive in the Basin of Mexico. The Mexica, also called Mexica-Tenochca, founded Tenochtitlan. The

glossary 291

term appears to be based on the name of one of the leaders who guided the group from Aztlan to Tenochtitlan: Mexi or Mexitl. mestizo. A person of mixed European and Amerindian ancestry. Moctezuma Xocoyotzin. Aztec king who ruled from 1502 until 1520, when he died while in Spanish custody. He is often called Montezuma II to distinguish him from the previous Aztec king with the same name from the first half of the fifteenth century. Nahuas. The people who speak Nahuatl, one of the Uto-Aztecan languages, and lived in the central basin of Mexico and its vicinity. The Nahuas include many different ethnic groups such as the Mexica, the Tetzcoca, the Tlacopaneca, the Colhuaque, the Xochimilca, and the Chalca in the basin and the Huexotzinca, the Cholulteca, and the Tlaxcalteca outside the basin. It is important to note that the Mexica used the same language as their political rivals such as the Tlaxcalteca and the Cholulteca. New Spain. The Spanish name given to the territory of the Aztec empire after the conquest. Nezahualcoyotl. Probably the most important king in the history of  Tetzcoco, Nezahualcoyotl was born in 1402, ascended to the Tetzcoca kingship around 1428, and ruled until 1472. Under Nezahualcoyotl’s reign Tetzcoco became the most powerful city in the eastern basin, conquering many citystates in alliance with the Mexica of  Tenochtitlan. Nezahualcoyotl also reformed the political, cultural, and legal systems of  Tetzcoco. He has been described as a peaceful philosopher-king who loved poetry and the arts, a religious reformer who prohibited human sacrifice, and a fair legal practitioner and legislator. This image is in stark contrast to the Mexica of  Tenochtitlan, who promoted imperial wars and human sacrifice. Most of these images of Nezahualcoyotl are based on Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles, which were designed to embellish the status of his ancestors. See also Tetzcoca genealogy. Nezahualpilli. Son of Nezahualcoyotl and ruler of  Tetzcoco from 1472 to 1515. According to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, he was a wise king just like his father. Noche Triste. “Night of Sorrows,” June 30, 1520. On this date the Spaniards fled the mounting tensions in Tenochtitlan precipitated by a slaughter of Mexica by the Spaniards. The Mexica attacked and pursued the Spaniards, killing about half of Cortés’s men (400–500), and innumerable indigenous allies lost their lives. proof of merit (probanza de mérito). Normally a letter (carta) or narrative account (relación) designed to document service to the Crown and submitted

292 glossary

in hopes of receiving recompense such as an encomienda, a monetary stipend, a position in the government, and other privileges. After the conquest, indigenous people also actively sent letters to the Spanish king requesting royal favor for their contributions to the conquest of  Tenochtitlan or another region, such as Guatemala and the northern part of New Spain. Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles demonstrate many features of this colonial genre. He elaborates on the contributions of his ancestor Cortés Ixtlilxochitl to the conquest of  Tenochtitlan, and he explicitly requests recompense for himself as a descendant of this indigenous conquistador. Laura E. Matthew and Michel R. Oudijk’s edited volume Indian Conquistadors: Indigenous Allies in the Conquest of Mesoamerica (2007) examines several cases of indigenous pictorial and alphabetic texts in the context of the Spanish tradition of probanza de mérito. Quetzalcoatl and the Quetzalcoatl–Saint Thomas myth. Before the conquest, Quetzalcoatl was one of the most important gods among many indigenous groups. Topiltzin-Quetzalcoatl was also the name of an esteemed ruler of the Toltec empire. After the conquest, the images of the mythical god and the historical ruler merged and became indistinguishable. Spanish priests who attempted to reconcile the existence of Amerindians and biblical history argued that Quetzalcoatl championed civilized practices such as fasting and the prohibition of human sacrifice, and they saw these practices as remnants of a Christian tradition. Some even suggested that Quetzalcoatl was the apostle Saint Thomas who came to the Americas to spread Christianity. Real Audiencia. The highest-level Spanish court in the Americas. It consisted of several judges who heard both civil and criminal cases. The court based its decisions on Spanish legal codes as well as indigenous custom. It accepted as evidence indigenous documents that used pictorial scripts and oral testimonies, and it employed Hispanicized Indians and mestizos or bilingual Spaniards as interpreters and scribes. The fact that Alva Ixtlilxochitl as well as his grandfather and father all worked as official interpreters of the Real Audiencia helps explain why the family was able to win so many lawsuits that challenged their political status as caciques of  Teotihuacan. Relaciones geográficas. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the Spanish kings sent a questionnaire out to all major colonial cities requesting information about history, geography, customs, languages, the population, and so forth. Each city was ordered to answer the questionnaire and send it

glossary 293

back to the Crown. In response to this questionnaire, Juan Bautista Pomar wrote Relación geográfica de Tetzcoco in 1582, and this text became one of the major sources for Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles. Romances de los señores de la Nueva España. A collection of Nahuatl songs that Juan Bautista Pomar attached to his Relación geográfica de Tetzcoco as an appendix. Several songs of the collection are very similar to songs that appear in the Cantares mexicanos. See also Relaciones geográficas. Tetzcoca bias. The tendency of  Tetzcoca sources to record Prehispanic and colonial history from their own regional perspective. This perspective leads to frequent exaggerations and the embellishment of  Tetzcoca political power and cultural influence. For example, Alva Ixtlilxochitl argues that Nezahualcoyotl’s Tetzcoco was politically and culturally superior to Tenochtitlan. While in the Prehispanic period each regional city-state may have produced its own history with such a bias, the pictorial texts that have survived and the alphabetic texts produced in the colonial period are inflected by the particular nature of colonial politics. Tetzcoca genealogy. Based on the Tetzcoca sources, the Codex Xolotl, the Mapa Tlotzin, the Mapa Quinatzin, and the chronicles of Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Alfonso Caso reconstructed the genealogical succession of  Tetzcoca rulers before the conquest as follows: Xolotl (1172–1232), Nopaltzin (1232–63), Tlotzin (1263–98), Quinatzin (1298–1357), Techotlalatzin (1357–1409), Huehue Ixtlilxochitl (1409–18), Nezahualcoyotl (1431–72), Nezahualpilli (1472–1515), and Cacama (1515–20). After the conquest, precisely who succeeded whom is unclear, as Hernán Cortés interrupted traditional succession practices by appointing his favorites as rulers. He even appointed a macehual named Itzcuincuani, who was rejected by the Tetzcoca nobles. (Alfonso Caso, “La época de los señores independientes,” Revista Mexicana de Estudios Antropológicos 20 [1966]: 47–52.) tlahtoani. A hereditary ruler or king of a city-state (altepetl) (literally, “one who speaks”; pl. tlahtoqueh). Tlahtoqueh maintained varying degrees of political autonomy within their domains and paid tribute and labor service to higher-level leaders. Hueitlahtoqueh, “great rulers,” were the rulers of Tenochtitlan, Tetzcoco, and Tlacopan. tlamatini. A Nahua sage or intellectual (literally, “one who knows something”; pl. tlamatinime). Some contemporary scholars such as Miguel León-Portilla have presented tlamatinime as peaceful sages who detested the practice of human sacrifice and the militarism of the Mexica of  Tenochtitlan. For those

294 glossary

who ascribe to this view, Nezahualcoyotl is an iconic example of a tlamatini. However, this interpretation is indebted to the chronicles of Alva Ixtlilxochitl and can only be arrived at by overlooking the colonial influence in his work and ignoring the evidence in the pictorial sources. Tloque Nahuaque (Owner of the Near and the Close). The name of a peaceful god that Nezahualcoyotl allegedly worshipped rather than the traditional indigenous gods such as Huitzilopochtli. According to Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Nezahualcoyotl prohibited human sacrifice after he intuited the existence of this god. This image of Nezahualcoyotl as a revolutionary religious reformer was fabricated by Alva Ixtlilxochitl to turn his ancestor into a precursor to Christianity. Tolteca. People of the Toltec empire. Some of the remnants of the Toltec civilization were living in the central basin before the arrival of the Chichimecs. The Aztecs admired the Tolteca and emulated their highly advanced political and cultural systems. Torquemada, Juan de. A Franciscan priest who published Monarquía indiana in 1615. This massive chronicle consists of three volumes and includes a history of  Tetzcoco that is as detailed as, but slightly different from, that of Alva Ixtlilxochitl. Both chroniclers shared the same sources in many cases and exchanged ideas about Prehispanic history. Xochiyaotl (Flowery War) or Xochiyaoyotl (Flowery War-ness). A war that Nahua city-states agreed to wage against each other with the purpose of obtaining victims for sacrifice. Typically, the three leading Aztec cities in the basin, Tenochtitlan, Tetzcoco, and Tlacopan, communicated with their three major enemy cities outside the basin, Huexotzinco, Cholula, and Tlaxcala, to decide the time and place for a battle. Xolotl. The legendary leader of the first group of Chichimecs who arrived in the basin of central Mexico in the twelfth century. Tetzcoca sources such as the Codex Xolotl and Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s chronicles present Xolotl as the exclusive founder of the Tetzcoca dynasty, but he was also the authority behind the establishment of many other ruling dynasties such as those in Azcapotzalco, Coatlichan, Huexotla, and Xaltocan.

Contributors

Heather Allen is an assistant professor of Spanish in the University of Mis-

sissippi’s Department of Modern Languages and editor for the journal Textual Cultures. She also served as a visiting assistant professor at the University of  Texas at Austin Department of Spanish and Portuguese. Her teaching and research focus on early modern Spanish American literature and historiography with an emphasis on Nahuatl studies and the cultural history of manuscript and print. In her in-progress monograph, she investigates the symbolic dimensions of literacy in early modern New Spanish historiography. Her other publications include articles and reviews in Colonial Latin American Review, Revista Internacional de Lingüística Iberoamericana, and Hispanic Research Journal and invited chapters in volumes edited by Cambridge University Press and the Universities of  Toronto and Arizona Presses. She has held a Tinker fellowship awarded by the University of Chicago, where she earned her PhD, Nahuatl study scholarships through Yale/IDIEZ-UAZ, and summer research fellowships from the University of Mississippi.

Amber Brian is an assistant professor in the Department of Spanish and Por-

tuguese at the University of Iowa and specializes in colonial Spanish American literature. Her publications include “Don Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s Narratives of the Conquest of Mexico: Colonial Subjectivity and the Circulation of Native Knowledge” in The Conquest All Over Again: Thinking, Writing, and Painting Spanish Colonialism, edited by Susan Schroeder (2010). She is

296 contributors

completing a monograph titled The Colonial Economy of Letters: The Circulation of Native Knowledge in Seventeenth-Century Mexico that takes as its point of departure the archive of native alphabetic and pictorial texts Alva Ixtlilxochitl consulted for his historical writings, which were later inherited by the Creole intellectual Carlos de Sigüenza y Góngora and incorporated into an incipient patriotic discourse in seventeenth-century Mexico.

Galen Brokaw teaches in the Department of Modern Languages and Literatures at Montana State University. He specializes in Prehispanic and colonial indigenous writing. He is the author of A History of the Khipu (Cambridge University Press, 2010) and numerous articles on indigenous media and colonial historiography and literature. Along with Jongsoo Lee, he also coedited the volume Texcoco: Prehispanic and Colonial Perspectives (University Press of Colorado, 2014).

Pablo García Loaeza is an associate professor of Spanish in the Depart-

ment of  World Languages, Literatures, and Linguistics at West Virginia University. He holds a PhD from Indiana University–Bloomington and specializes in early-modern Spanish American literature and culture. His research on historiography and identity formation in Mexico has appeared in such journals as Colonial Latin American Review and Colonial Latin American Historical Review. He is a contributor to the Cambridge History of Religions in America (2012) and to the Lexikon of the Hispanic Baroque (University of  Texas Press, 2013). His most recent work examines everyday objects and society formation in the early Spanish settlement of the Río de la Plata.

Susan Kellogg is a professor of history and the director of Latin American studies at the University of Houston. She is the author of Law and the Transformation of Aztec Culture, 1500–1700 (University of Oklahoma Press, 1995) and Weaving the Past (Oxford University Press, 2005) as well as numerous articles, including most recently “The Mysterious Mothers of Alva Ixtlilxochitl: Women, Kings and Power in Late Prehispanic and Conquest Tetzcoco” in Género y arqueología en Mesoamérica: Homenaje a Rosemary A. Joyce, edited by María J. Rodríguez-Shadow and Susan Kellogg (2013). Her current research and writing focus on the lives and writings of several early colonial indigenous and mestizo writers of the Basin of Mexico region.

contributors 297

Jongsoo Lee is an associate professor in the Department of  World Languages

and Literatures at the University of North Texas. He is the author of The Allure of Nezahualcoyotl: Pre-Hispanic History, Religion, and Nahua Poetics (University of New Mexico Press, 2008) and several articles that have appeared in the major journals of Latin American colonial and literary studies. With Galen Brokaw, he also coedited the volume of essays Texcoco: Prehispanic and Colonial Perspectives (University Press of Colorado, 2014).

Jerome A. Offner received his PhD in anthropology in 1979 from Yale Uni-

versity and published a book and numerous articles in the years immediately thereafter on Tetzcocan law, politics, kinship, religion, and history. His early interest in coordinating pictorial documents with alphabetic texts continues to the present day. A more recent wave of publications focuses on localization of pictorial documents to the east of the Basin of Mexico, Totonac history, Nahua historiography, and the Codex Xolotl. New directions involve an international collaborative project to study the indigenous historiography and graphic communication system represented in that document. He recently accepted an affiliation with the Houston Museum of Natural Science, where he is the associate curator of northern Mesoamerica.

José Rabasa teaches in the Department of Romance Languages and Literatures at Harvard University. His books include Inventing America: Spanish Historiography and the Formation of Ethnocentrism (University of Oklahoma Press, 1994); Writing Violence on the Northern Frontier: The Historiography of Sixteenth-Century New Mexico and Florida and the Legacy of Conquest (Duke University Press, 2000); and Without History: Subaltern Studies, the Zapatista Insurgency, and the Specter of History (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2010). Gordon Whittaker is a professor of ethnology in the Institute of Ethnology and the Department of Romance Philology at the University of Göttingen. He is the author of Calendar and Script in Protohistorical China and Mesoamerica: A Comparative Study of Day Names and Their Signs (Holos, 1991) and numerous articles on Mesoamerican writing systems.

Index

Acolman, 10, 11, 128–30, 132–33, 135–36, 138, 147n15 Adorno, Rolena, 6–7, 15, 156–57, 174n28, 225n2, 229n24 Ahuachpitzactzin, Carlos, 139–41 Allen, Heather, 17–18, 172n17, 173n24 alphabetic texts, 6, 8, 13, 17, 53, 55, 83–86, 89–92, 94, 96–97, 99–100, 102, 103, 110–11n8, 112n20, 113n28, 115n50, 155, 157, 180–81, 187, 197, 203n14 Alva, Bartolomé de, 4, 7, 19, 52, 247–49 Alva Cortés, Juan de, 11, 31, 58, 144n3, 236–37, 273n3 Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de: as castizo, 4, 117n62, 209; chronicles of, 3, 6–10, 12–18, 21n5, 21n7, 70n30, 122–24, 127–28, 131–33, 135–40, 142–43, 143–44nn1–2, 145n4, 147n17, 148n20, 148n22, 154, 158, 164, 168, 209, 242; chronology of the works of, 57–65; Codex Ixtlilxochitl, 5; Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco, 55, 34, 50, 51, 54–58, 61, 63–64, 71n33, 89, 97, 101, 112n19, 115n39, 124, 153, 157, 158–59, 168, 181, 193, 197, 211, 243, 252n17, 259, 263, 266, 269, 273n4; criticism of,

49, 77, 85, 108; “Decimatercia relación” (“Thirteenth relation”), 157–67, 168n1, 172n18, 173n22, 174n25, 174n31, 211–16, 219, 220–24, 228n17, 252n17; direct dialogue in the work of, 153–58, 161–65, 167, 167–69n1, 186; discursive techniques of, 18; ethnicity of, 34–40; Europeanization and, 13–14; gender in the work of, 18, 209–10, 220, 224, 229n24, 230n26; hieroglyphic/pictorial text reading skills of, 53–56; Historia de la nación chichimeca, 5, 13, 37–39, 47–48, 52, 54–56, 58, 68–69n19, 70n32, 89, 101, 104, 108, 114n30, 136–37, 153, 158, 166, 168, 170n4, 180–83, 185, 191, 194, 196, 202n10, 203n24, 212–13, 224, 243–44, 252n17, 261, 263–64, 266, 275n16; as historian, 3, 4, 13, 29–36, 38–41, 45–46, 48–54, 56–59, 61, 63, 65, 116n54, 155, 158, 165, 184, 257–58, 269, 273; historical distortions in the work of, 14, 40–66; as historiographer, 4–5, 8–9, 15–17, 85, 98–99, 153–54, 157, 164, 167, 171–72n10, 180, 188–89, 225n2, 258–61, 263, 265, 268–69, 272–73, 274n6; indirect dialogue in the work of, 153–54,

300 inde x

158, 160–64, 166, 168–69n1, 172n11, 174n25; as interpreter, 4, 41, 51, 127, 240; language skills of, 40–53, 56; as mestizo, 3, 6, 34–35, 108, 117n62, 225n2; name of, 29–34; lawsuits and, 12, 125, 144n3, 252n18; legal documents of, 12, 16–17, 31, 34, 36, 41, 61, 123–24, 128, 131, 133, 143n1, 145n5, 243, 252n18; Relación de las apariciones guadalupanas, 5; Relación sucinta en forma de memorial de la historia de Nueva España y sus señoríos, 5, 32, 101; sources used by, 3, 16, 41, 47, 53–54, 57–58, 63–64, 69n19, 70n30, 77, 86, 89, 99, 100–103, 114n31, 132, 134, 153–54, 157–58, 167, 171–72n10, 172n19, 179–83, 185, 188–89, 193, 195, 201n6, 217–18, 222, 261, 266; Sumaria relación de la historia general de esta Nueva España, 5, 58, 101, 181, 257; Sumaria relación de todas las cosas que han sucedido en la Nueva España, 5, 38, 41–51, 53–54, 56–63, 66, 70n31, 71n35, 89, 101, 103–4, 112n20, 133–34, 144, 181, 187, 188–89, 191, 195, 197, 210, 212, 215, 266; as translator, 18, 38, 42–44, 46, 48–50, 63, 123–24, 180, 182, 186–87, 189, 190, 193, 202n12, 209, 257, 258–59; Virgin of Guadalupe in the work of; voice in the work of, 18, 160–63, 166– 67, 181–82, 185–88, 192–93, 195–96, 202n10, 203n24, 274n6; women in the work of, 18, 20, 43, 47–48, 209–10, 212–17, 219–20, 223–24, 226n8. See also women; Virgin of Guadalupe; and specific works by name Alvarado, Pedro de, 168n1, 216 Alvarado Tezozomoc, Fernando (Hernando) de, 3, 6, 7, 14, 18, 67n4, 122, 136, 154, 155, 169, 184–85, 202n12; Crónica mexicayotl, 7 Alvarez de Toledo, Fernando, 4 Anales de Cuauhtitlan, 86, 100–103, 105, 113n23, 117nn59–60

Anónimo Mexicano, 86, 96, 99–102, 108, 113n23, 116n52 anthropology, 3, 13, 90, 97, 167n1, 270 Arte de la lengua mexicana (Carochi), 247–48 Aveni, Anthony F., 71n35, 114n31 Axayacatl, Alonso (de), 61–63, 86, 102 Aztec: empire, 9, 10–11, 127, 136, 148n19, 212, 226n6; history, 108, 112–13n22, 275; masculinity, 229n24; political system, 9; religion, 9. See also Tenochtitlán Aztec Palace, 260, 271 Aztec studies, 13 Bakhtin, Mikhail, 169–70n2, 202n10 Baudot, Georges, 14 Becerra Tanco, Luis, 235–41, 248–49, 250n6, 251n8, 252nn15–16; Felicidad de México, 235–36, 239–40, 251n8 Benavente, Toribio de (Motolinía), 8–9, 170n5, 195, 220, 228–29n22 Benton, Bradley, 112n17, 144n2 Bernand, Carmen, 4, 14, 20n1 Betancourt, Agustin, 11 Bierhorst, John, 14, 100, 105, 113n27, 117n59, 192 bilingualism, 4, 5 Boone, Elizabeth Hill, 7 Boturini Benaduci, Lorenzo, 5, 11, 32, 239, 243 Brading, David, 15, 239, 252n16, 260, 263, 268–69 Brian, Amber, 5, 15, 18–19, 212, 226n5, 227n10 Bright, William, 171n7 Burkhart, Louise, 65, 252n21 Bustamante, Carlos María de, 11, 15, 16, 19, 243, 252n17, 258, 261–62, 264–67, 269–70, 272–73, 275nn18–19, 278n49 Cacama, 134–38, 148n20, 158–67, 168n1, 172n19, 173n21, 174n25, 174n31, 175n39, 213, 215–16, 218

inde x 301

calendar: European, 11, 185; Gregorian, 8, 37; indigenous (Mesoamerican), 62, 94, 190–91 Calnek, Edward E., 71n35, 114n31 Cañizares-Esguerra, Jorge, 11, 15, 225n2 Cano, Juan, 89, 215 Carochi, Horacio, 41, 45, 49, 52, 247–48; Arte de la lengua mexicana, 247–48 Carrasco, David, 20n4 Carrasco, Pedro, 226n6 Carrera Stampa, Manuel, 59 Caso, Alfonso, 20n4 castizo/castiza, 4, 16, 35, 36–37, 117n62, 126, 143, 179, 209–10 Catholic Church, 170n5 Catholicism, 9, 157, 161, 168–69n1, 174–75n31, 223, 229n26, 237, 260 Cemilhuitzin, 107, 180 Certeau, Michel de, 15 Chamberlain, Robert, 131 Chavero, Alfredo, 12, 21n4, 50, 51, 279n59 Chimalpahin Quauhtlehuanitzin, Domingo de San Antón Muñón, 3, 6, 7–8, 14, 54, 67n2, 67n4, 122, 136, 145n4, 148n20, 154, 184–85, 202n10, 202n12, 226n8, 229n23, 229–30nn26–27 chronicles, 6, 9, 68–69n19, 167, 171n10, 230n27. See also Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de Clavijero, Francisco Javier, 5, 11, 15, 19, 21n4, 58–59, 243, 258, 260–68, 270, 272–73, 274n4, 276n27, 277n31, 278n41, 278n44, 279n53 Clendinnen, Inga, 229n24 Coatepec, 11, 91 Coatlichan, 11, 88, 91, 93, 106, 114n34, 114n37 Codex Chimalpopoca, 6, 54 Codex Ixtlilxochitl (Alva Ixtlilxochitl), 5 Codex Xolotl, 6, 8, 13, 16–17, 53, 56, 69n19, 70n30, 71n35, 77–97, 99–104, 106–9, 109n2, 110–11nn6–8, 111n12, 112n16, 112n19, 112n21, 113n23, 114nn33–35, 115n43, 115nn46–47, 129, 132, 134,

147nn16–17, 154, 180, 196, 257; codicology and, 78, 82, 110n4; ethnography and, 77, 86, 89, 96–98, 103; kinship and, 90, 92, 95, 104–5, 107–8 Colegio de Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco, 4, 19, 20n2, 64, 236 colonial history, 13, 122 Compendio histórico del reino de Texcoco (Alva Ixtlilxochitl), 5, 34, 50, 51, 54– 58, 61, 63–64, 71n33, 89, 97, 101, 112n19, 115n39, 124, 153, 157, 158–59, 168, 181, 193, 197, 211, 243, 252n17, 259, 263, 266, 269, 273n4 conquest, 7, 9–11, 14, 21n4, 30, 34, 65, 123–24, 127–29, 133, 135–43, 145–46nn7–9, 147nn15–16, 148n20, 157, 167, 168–69n1, 180, 184, 187, 189, 191, 193, 206n45, 209–13, 215–16, 218–19, 222–24, 226n8, 227n13, 228n18, 229n26, 236, 242–45, 259–60, 266, 269, 272, 279nn58–59 constructed discourse, 153–54, 156–58, 162, 167, 167–69n1 conversion, 9, 169, 216, 220–21, 228n18, 228n22, 259–60 Cortés, Hernán, 18, 34, 137, 140, 147n19, 168, 212, 236, 240, 243, 244, 259, 263, 274n10, 279n58 Cortés, Rocío, 35 Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, Ana, 4, 61, 123–29, 142, 144–45nn3–6, 210–11 Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando, 9, 11, 14, 30, 124–25, 129–30, 134–43, 145n4, 146n10, 146n12, 147nn18–19, 148n22, 157, 162–63, 165–66, 173n21, 174n25, 174n31, 259, 263, 269, 274n10 creole (criollo), 4, 10, 11, 144n3, 181, 225n2, 240, 279; clerics, 236, 240, 242, 248–49; historiography, 19, 172, 225n2, 258, 269–70, 272–73, 274n6; patriotism, 3, 15–16, 19–20, 260, 262, 264, 268, 273n3, 278n38; writing, 237–39, 248, 235n27 Crónica mexicayotl (Alvarado Tezozomoc), 7

302 inde x

Cuauhtemoc, 39, 141, 212, 214–15, 218, 221, 271, 279n59 Cuevas, Mariano, 239 “Decimatercia relación” (“Thirteenth relation”) (Alva Ixtlilxochitl), 157–67, 168n1, 172n18, 173n22, 174n25, 174n31, 211–16, 219, 220–24, 228n17, 252n17 de Pauw, Cornelius, 262 Derrida, Jacques, 201n2, 203n14 Díaz del Castillo, Bernal, 137–38, 168, 213, 216 Dibble, Charles, 13, 100, 110n7, 115n38 “disindigenization,” 13, 225n2 Durán, Diego, 6, 9, 21n4, 136, 182, 216, 218 Eguiara y Eguren, Juan José, 243 European historiography, 17, 122, 154, 156 Fernández de Echeverría y Veytia, Mariano, 5, 11, 15, 70n32, 275n18 Florencia, Francisco de, 235–42, 248–49, 250n6, 251–52nn15–16 Florescano, Enrique, 13–14, 225n2, 274n6 Foucault, Michel, 15, 248 García Loaeza, Pablo, 19–20, 88, 89–90, 94–95, 112n20, 113n27, 115n43 Garibay Kintana, Angel María, 6–7, 20n2, 65, 156 genealogy, 8, 20n1, 90–92, 94, 104, 113n28, 114n33, 115n43, 133–36, 145nn4–5, 198, 235–36, 242, 247–49, 258, 265 genre, 6, 122, 143, 171n7, 186, 192, 195 Gillespie, Susan, 84, 226n6 González, Baltasar, 238, 248 Graded Intergenerational Disruption Scale (GIDS), 171n8 Gruzinski, Serge, 4, 14, 20n1, 170n3 Hartog, François, 183–84 Hassig, Ross, 172n16, 173n24, 226n6 Heine-Geldern, Robert, 21n4

Historia de la nación chichimeca (Alva Ixtlilxochitl), 5, 13, 37–39, 47–48, 52, 54–56, 58, 68–69n19, 70n32, 89, 101, 104, 108, 114n30, 136–37, 153, 158, 166, 168, 170n4, 180–83, 185, 191, 194, 196, 202n10, 203n24, 212–13, 224, 243–44, 252n17, 261, 263–64, 266, 275n16 Historia tolteca, 16 Historia y crónica de los tultecas, 47, 54 historiography. See creole (criollo); indigenous; Nahua; Spanish historiography; Western historiography Höhl, Manfred, 61 Huei tlamahuiçoltica (Laso de la Vega), 236, 238–40, 245–49, 250n1, 250nn3–4, 250n6 Huetzin, 91–93, 133–34 Huexotla, 10, 11, 61, 88, 91, 106, 128, 133–34, 147n17 Humboldt, Alexander von, 21n4 identity, 13, 15–17, 29, 34–36, 39, 60, 65, 126, 255, 209, 225n2, 248, 253n27, 258, 259, 264, 269–70 indigenous: historiography, 7–9, 85, 156; history, 7–10, 14–15, 19, 84–85, 237, 279n59; nobility, 16, 35, 123; women, 18, 145n6. See also Nahua; women Juan Diego, 5, 20n3, 235, 237, 241, 244, 250n2 Kauffmann, Leisa, 17, 86–88, 113n24 Kellogg, Susan, 18, 225n1 Kirchhoff, Paul, 21n4 Koselleck, Reinhart, 183–84, 190, 202n12 Kranz, Travis, 230n26 Krickeberg, Walter, 21n4 Laso de la Vega, Luis, 236–38, 247–49, 250n3, 251n14; Huei tlamahuiçoltica, 236, 238–40, 245–49, 250n1, 250nn3–4, 250n6 Leclerc, Georges-Louis, 262 Lee, Jongsoo, 14, 17, 156-57, 170n5, 204n24, 225n2, 280n61

inde x 303

León-Portilla, Miguel, 21, 155, 170n3, 242, 250n4 Lesbre, Patrick, 15, 86, 102–3 Lienhard, Martin, 6–7, 15 linguistics, 3, 16, 40, 42, 97, 154, 156, 169–70n2, 171n8 literary criticism, 13–14, 169 literature, 3, 6, 41, 171n7; indigenous, 155, 170n3; Nauhatl, 13, 48; Spanish, 37 Lockhart, James, 14, 145n7, 155, 157–58, 206n45, 225n2, 238, 249–50n1, 250n3, 250n7, 253n26 Lope de Vega, Félix, 246 Lópes de Gómara, Francisco, 216, 229n23, 229n26 Lopes Don, Patricia, 228n22 López Austin, Alfredo, 20n4 macehualtzin (commoners), 38–39, 123, 127, 199, 235, 237, 250n2, 265 Madajczak, Julia, 116nn53–54, 116nn58–59 Mapa Quinatzin, 6, 8, 13, 91, 94, 114n33, 132, 147n16, 154, 257, 273n2 Mapa Tlotzin, 6, 8, 88, 90, 92, 94, 111n12, 114n33, 132, 147n16, 180, 257 Martínez Baracs, Rodrigo, 227n13 Mendieta, Gerónimo ( Jerónimo) de, 5, 195, 228–29n22, 242, 246 mestizo historians (chroniclers), 7–8, 37, 39, 59, 123, 154, 254 mestizo identity, 34–35, 215, 270, 274n6 mestizo texts, 6–7 mestizo writing, 14–15, 230n27 Mexica, 10, 12, 18, 38, 42, 88, 94, 103, 105, 127, 129–33, 135–39, 168, 188, 192–93, 201, 212, 214, 218–19, 222, 224, 227n13, 244, 258 Mexican independence, 3, 11, 261, 268–69, 275n18, 279n53 Mikulska, Katarzyna, 98, 112n16, 112n21, 117n16 millenarianism, 9, 195 Moctezuma, 10, 35, 131, 135–38, 147n19, 158–67, 168n1, 172nn17–19, 173nn21–22,

173–74nn24–25, 174n31, 175n39, 187, 213–17, 219, 227n13, 228n18, 241 Mohar Betancourt, Luz María, 13 Molina, Alonso de, 54, 192 Monarquía indiana (Torquemada), 96, 98, 100–101, 116n51, 154, 172n18, 260, 275nn15–16 Moreno, Jiménez, 21n4 Münch, Guido, 30 Mundy, Barbara, 94 Muñoz Camargo, Diego, 7, 68n11, 68n17, 96, 168–69, 216 Nahua: culture, 7, 14, 42, 48, 52, 55, 64, 85, 89, 90, 94–96, 98, 111n11, 112nn15– 16, 115n41, 226n7, 239, 241; historians, 184–85; historiography, 77, 82, 84, 86, 95, 96, 98–99, 109; history, 17, 34, 77, 97, 98, 108; intellectuals, 65, 188, 236; peoples, 42, 65, 222, 253n21, 265; poetry, 14; political economy, 226n6; women, 220 Nahuatl: arithmetic, 44–47; hieroglyphic writing, 29, 53, 80, 179; language, 3–4, 13, 16, 19, 29, 31, 34, 38, 40–55, 62, 70n29, 72n47, 86, 88, 96–98, 108–9, 115n49, 124, 156, 171n7, 179–80, 182, 184–85, 186, 188, 193, 196–97, 202n11, 202n22, 203n21, 209, 218, 226n3, 229n26, 234, 238–40, 245, 247–49, 250n2, 250–51nn7–8, 253n24; literature, 5–8, 13, 19, 48, 202n10, 238–40, 242, 247; names, 52, 53, 115n49; numerals, 44, 196; poetry, 13 nationalism (Mexican), 3, 15, 19, 181, 235, 250n3 Navas Pérez de Peraleda, Juan de, 30, 33, 124, 127, 144 Nezahualcoyotl, 5, 9–10, 13–15, 19, 30, 34, 86–88, 93, 98, 101–7, 124, 128, 36, 145n4, 147n15, 157, 170–71n5, 190–95, 199, 203–4n24, 210, 224, 243–44, 259, 261, 263–65, 267–71, 273, 275n16, 277nn30–31, 277n33, 278–79n49

304 inde x

Nezahualpilli, 5, 9, 94, 114n33, 124, 127, 130, 134–36, 138, 142–43, 145n4, 162, 193, 194, 210, 213, 215, 218, 224, 227n13, 234, 267, 275n16, 277n31 Nican mopohua, 5, 238–39, 242, 250n4, 251n8, 251–52nn14–16 Nican motecpana, 238, 242, 245–47, 253n26 Nicholson, Henry B., 21, 50, 51, 71n35, 89, 113n27, 114n31 Noche Triste (Night of Sorrows), 137, 213, 217 Offner, Jerome, 16–17, 68n18, 71nn35–36, 153, 171n10, 173n21, 203n15, 228n17 O’Gorman, Edmundo, 5, 12–13, 20n1, 21n5, 30–32, 36, 40, 42–44, 47–48, 50, 51, 58, 59, 61, 63, 66, 70n32, 95, 100, 158, 166, 172n18, 181–82, 203n24, 210–12, 226n3, 226n5, 252n18, 253n24, 278n42 Olko, Justyna, 113n28, 114n33, 115n41 Olmos, Andrés de, 8, 9 oral: discourse, 17, 155–56, 170n4, 171n7; testimony, 86, 170n3, 181, 240; texts, 6–8, 18–19, 95, 155, 167, 187, 196–97, 239; traditions, 6–9, 19, 55, 83–84, 116n55, 154–56, 197, 249 Orozco y Berra, Manuel, 21 patriotism (Mexican), 3, 15, 19–20, 235, 248, 253n27, 258, 259, 261, 265, 268–69, 273, 278n38 Peperstraete, Sylvie, 85 Phelan, John Leddy, 275n15 pictorial texts, 3, 5–9, 13, 47, 53–57, 68–69nn18–19, 70n30, 71n35, 77–78, 86, 88–89, 91, 94, 96–97, 99, 108, 110n2, 110n6, 111n8, 112n17, 113n28, 114n31, 114nn33–34, 115n39, 134, 147n16, 157, 179–81, 183, 186, 189, 192, 195–96, 236, 239–40 pictorial traditions, 6–7, 155 Piedad heroyca de don Fernando Cortés (Sigüenza y Góngora), 235–36, 239, 240–42

Pomar, Juan Bautista, 7–8, 128, 148n20; Relación geográfica de Texcoco, 8, 148n20 Poole, Stafford, 19, 235, 238, 239, 242, 247, 249–50n1, 250n3, 250–51nn5–8, 252n16, 253n26 Prehispanic: culture, 3, 5–6, 9, 18, 155–56, 222, 226n6; historiography, 4, 7; history, 3, 5, 8–11, 13–19, 29, 129, 157–58, 171n10, 210, 222, 225n2, 260, 270, 280n61; lit­ erature, 155; religion, 5, 13, 252n21, 264; texts 180 Prescott, William H., 4, 12, 21n4, 243 probanza y mérito, 122, 143 property relations, 60, 89–90, 117n59, 132, 182, 198, 214 Quauhquechol, 180 Quetzalcoatl (Feathered Serpent), 19, 20–21n4, 113n17, 163, 175n32, 263–64, 277n37, 278n38, 278n47; as Saint Thomas, 9–11, 195, 264 Quetzalmamalintzin, Francisco Verdugo, 37, 123–26, 129–31, 145nn4–5, 146n9, 210, 226n3, 243, 245–47 Rabasa, José, 18 Ramos, Gabriela, 7 Raynal, Guillaume-Thomas de, 262 Real Audiencia, 4, 17, 123, 126–27,141 Relación de las apariciones guadalupanas (Alva Ixtlilxochitl), 5 Relación geográfica de Texcoco (Pomar), 8, 148n20 Relación sucinta en forma de memorial de la historia de Nueva España y sus señoríos (Alva Ixtlilxochitl), 5, 32, 101 Reyes, Gerónimo de los, 31 Robertson, William, 262 Ronan, Charles, 265 Ross, Kathleen, 35 Sahagún, Bernardino de, 5, 8, 9, 56, 64– 65, 155, 168–69, 182, 216

inde x 305

Sánchez, Miguel, 236–39, 246, 252n16, 253n26 Schmitt, Carl, 186, 197–98 Schroeder, Susan, 229–30nn26–27 Schwaller, John F., 7, 247 Séjourné, Laurette, 21n4 Seler, Eduardo, 21n4 Sigal, Pete, 229n24 Sigüenza y Góngora, Carlos de, 4, 10, 11, 15–16, 19, 58, 144–45n3, 236–37, 240, 243, 251n14, 252n16, 258, 264, 268–69, 272–73, 273–74n4; Piedad heroyca de don Fernando Cortés, 235–36, 239, 240–42 Sousa, Lisa, 238, 250n1, 250n3, 250n7, 253n26 Spanish conquest. See conquest Spanish Crown, 8, 127, 136, 142, 146n9, 161, 166, 269 Spanish historiography, 85, 98, 112n22, 155–58 Sumaria relación de la historia general de esta Nueva España (Alva Ixtlilxochitl), 5, 58, 101, 181, 257 Sumaria relación de todas las cosas que han sucedido en la Nueva España (Alva Ixtlilxochitl), 5, 38, 41–51, 53–54, 56–63, 66, 70n31, 71n35, 89, 101, 103–4, 112n20, 133–34, 144, 181, 187, 188–89, 191, 195, 197, 210, 212, 215, 266 Tannen, Deborah, 154, 169n2, 171n7 Tecocoltzin, Hernando, 138–39, 148n22, 218 Tedlock, Dennis, 167–69n1 Tenochtitlán, 7–10, 18, 38, 93, 122–24, 127– 30, 133–45, 146nn8–9, 147n19, 148n20, 157–66, 174n27, 174n31, 187–88, 190, 193, 213–18, 224–25, 243–45, 273, 275n19 Teotihuacan, 4, 8, 11, 36–37, 46, 50, 55, 59, 72n47, 109n1, 122, 124–34, 140, 142–43, 144n2, 145n4, 146nn9–10, 147n15, 201n6, 210, 245–46, 266; cacicazgo of, 4, 32, 34, 35, 122–34, 142, 144n3, 145nn4–5, 146n7, 147n17, 226n3, 243, 245, 247

Tepanec-Acolhuacan War, 129–31, 147n13 Tepechpan, 10–11, 129–30, 132–33, 136, 147n15 Tepeyacac, 238, 243–45, 250n5 Tequizistlan, 129, 132, 141, 147n15 Tetzcoco, 7–11, 17, 34–35, 38–39, 43, 46, 49–50, 61, 77–78, 81–83, 86–88, 91–93, 98, 100–106, 108, 109n1, 110n8, 112n17, 123–42, 144n2, 146nn8–10, 146–47n12, 147n16, 159–63, 166, 167, 175n19, 179–80, 187–88, 190–94, 193, 197, 199, 259, 265–66, 271; Alva Ixtlilxochitl as judge-governor of, 4, 31, 41, 143, 268; in Alva Ixtlilxochitl’s writing, 4, 8–11, 15, 18, 124, 209–11, 225n2, 228n18, 236, 243, 258–59, 261, 263; in Bustamante’s writing, 262, 265, 273, 275n18; Christ­ ianization of, 9–10, 220; in Pomar’s writing, 8; rulers of, 90, 92–93, 100, 103–4, 127–31, 133–35, 138–43, 146n9, 148n19, 148n22, 159, 161–63, 173n21, 174n31, 188, 191, 193, 198, 201n6, 224, 243, 278n47; women in, 212–20. See also Triple Alliance Tezozomoc of Azcapotzalco, 10, 53, 86–88, 93, 95, 101–6, 111n12, 113n24, 129–30, 132–33 Thouvenot, Marc, 78, 110nn6–8, 116n55 Tlacopan, 9, 10, 39, 123, 127–28, 146nn8–9, 193, 213–15, 221, 223, 243, 271 tlamatinime (sages or indigenous painters), 7 Tonantzin, 244, 250n4, 252n21. See also Virgin of Guadalupe Torquemada, Juan de, 17, 19, 85–86, 90, 91, 96, 98, 99–105, 108, 112n22, 115n49, 116n55, 147n13, 154, 172n10, 172nn18–19, 228–29n22, 260–61, 263–64, 274n12, 275n16, 277n31; Monarquía indiana, 96, 98, 100–101, 116n51, 154, 172n18, 260, 275nn15–16 Townsend, Camilla, 18, 227n14 transliteration, 6, 13, 67n2, 84

306 inde x

Triple Alliance, 9–11, 39, 127–29, 146n8, 147n12, 160, 162, 243, 271 Tula, 190–91, 196 Valeriano, Antonio, 5, 19, 64, 235, 236, 238–40, 242, 250n4, 250n6, 252n16 Vázquez, Germán, 13, 20n2, 170n4 Velazco, Salvador, 6, 7, 15, 122, 156–57, 168–69, 193, 225n2, 274n6 Virgin of Guadalupe, 5, 11, 19, 20n3, 235–49, 252n21, 253n26, 253n28. See also Huei tlamahuiçoltica; Nican mopohua; Nican motecpana; Tonantzin Vitoria, Francisco de, 197

Ward, Thomas, 15, 37, 39 Western historiography, 85, 99, 171n10 Whittaker, Gordon, 4, 16–17, 20n2, 96–98, 110n3, 114n31, 116n55, 117n62, 202n11 women: violence against, 212–13. See also Alva Ixtlilxochitl, Fernando de Xochiyaotl (Flowery War), 9 Xolotl, 10, 20n1, 30, 41, 47, 90–93, 96, 114n32, 132–33, 191, 196–98, 259. See also Codex Xolotl Yannakakis, Yanna, 7