Titiçih, Gender, Religion, and Medicine in Central Mexico, 1535-1650

The Devil’s Midwives: Titiçih, Gender, Religion, and Medicine in Central Mexico, 1535-1650

Item Type text; Electronic Dissertation

Authors Polanco, Edward Anthony

Publisher The University of Arizona.

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THE DEVIL’S MIDWIVES: TITIÇIH, GENDER, RELIGION, AND MEDICINE IN CENTRAL MEXICO, 1535-1650

Edward Anthony Polanco

A Dissertation Submitted to the Faculty of the

DEPARTMENT OF HISTORY

In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements

For the Degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

In the Graduate College

THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA

2018

STATEMENT BY AUTHOR

This dissertation has been submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for an advanced degree at the University of Arizona and is deposited in the University Library to be made available to borrowers under rules of the Library.

Brief quotations from this dissertation are allowable without special permission, provided that an accurate acknowledgement of the source is made. Requests for permission for extended quotation from or reproduction of this manuscript in whole or in part may be granted by the head of the major department or the Dean of the Graduate College when in his or her judgment the proposed use of the material is in the interests of scholarship. In all other instances, however, permission must be obtained from the author.

SIGNED: Edward Anthony Polanco

Acknowledgements

This dissertation would not have been possible without the help of countless individuals

in Tucson, AZ; Mexico City, Mexico; Puebla, Mexico; and Seville, Spain. I would like to begin

by thanking Martha B. Few. Her support of my work began before I arrived in Tucson as her

student at the University of Arizona. Without Martha’s dedication, I would not have achieved my

goals. It was in the final stages of my graduate studies that I fully realize the burden all the

letters, edits, and comments I requested must have been. I am much obliged for all her help.

Kevin Gosner has also guided me through the life changing process of my doctoral studies.

People have often described him as, “the nicest person ever.” I cannot disagree with that

assessment. Kevin has been a voice of reason, and always challenged me to develop my

understanding of the human condition. Michael Brescia’s backing has been instrumental in my

success, from letters of support, to comments on my work. I have always been able to count on

him, and I could never fully express my gratitude for that. Jadwiga Pieper-Mooney is a

wonderful scholar and mentor that has challenged me in the classroom, and in comprehensive

and oral exams. Thanks to her, I feel confident in my abilities to face tough questions and critical

discussion. Nancy Parezo’s knowledge about indigenous people in North America, and her grant

writing savy were a great benefit to me. She always supported my work, and pushed me to

improve it. I cannot express in words how grateful I am for Erika Pérez. Her assistance with grant proposals and the job market was always full of compassion and sincere advice. Though I was never Erika’s official student, her door was always open. She, like Kevin, Martha, Michael,

Nancy, and Jadwiga, are inspirations for the scholar that I hope to become. Lastly, Victoria

Parker and Elena Chabolla Stauffer made my time in the history department pleasant and enjoyable. Thank you for all your help. 5

I must also thank individuals at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. I would

like to extend a sincere thank you to my good friend and mentor Alfredo López Austin. From the

first day we met, he was always very generous and supportive of my work. Leopoldo Valiñas

Coalla was also very welcoming and opened up his Nahuatl classroom for me. Both Alfredo and

Polo made me feel welcome in Ciudad Universitaria and enriched my understanding of Mexico in ways that I would have never been able to predict. Gracias amigos queridos.

Tucson community members also facilitated my graduate studies and my ability to travel to and from Tucson. William M. Weiss and Roberta E. Weiss are among the rare gems on this planet that truly show an appreciation for education. Penny John, a fantastic friend and person, made me feel like a Tucsonan. Thank you all for making the “old pueblo” home.

Generous funding from the University of Arizona and various other institutions allowed me to conduct ample fieldwork, enhance my skills, and complete my degree in a timely manner.

At the University of Arizona, I am deeply indebted to the Social and Behavioral Sciences

Research Institute (SBSRI) for the pre-dissertation and dissertation grants that they awarded me.

A María Teresa Velez Graduate Diversity Fellowship, from the Graduate College allowed me to complete my final year of writing. Various small grants from the Department of History helped me get to Mexico and Spain to conduct archival research. A Foreign Language and Area Studies

(FLAS) academic year fellowship permitted me to study Kachikel at the University of Arizona.

A FLAS summer fellowship funded a six-week intensive Nahuatl course at Yale University in

2013. Lastly, a Fulbright García-Robles student research grant made ten months of fieldwork possible in Mexico City from 2015 to 2016. I was fortunate to receive other grants that I am also deeply grateful for. 6

I would like to show my deep appreciation for all the kind staff and personnel at various

archives in Spain and Mexico where I conducted my dissertation research. At the Archivo

General de la Nación in Mexico City, I want to pay special thanks to Daniela Méndez Cano, Luis

Fernando Tolentino Parrilla, Adrián Ortiz Martínez, Juan Bolaños Morales, Rubén Guzmán

Rosales, and Jessica Victoria Ortiz Ortega. Most notably to Antonio Augusto de Paz Palacio,

who has become a wonderful friend due to our shared passion for tacos and Mexico’s Colonial

period. At the Biblioteca Nacional de Antropología e Historia, I must express my deep gratitude

to María de Guadalupe Suarez Castro. In Puebla, Mexico, at the Archivo Historico Judicial, I

have no other option but to thank Jesús Joel Pena for his undying support and help with my

research on the dioceses of Tlaxcala. In Seville, Spain, at the Archivo General de Indias, Pedro

Vidal de Torres was my informant on Andaluz culture, and the AGI’s lay of the land.

Lastly, throughout the years of my graduate studies I have grown and developed

professionally in large part because of the help and support I received in the personal realm of

my life. My wife, Dominique Elise Polanco, a wonderful person and a fantastic scholar of

Colonial Mexico, has provided much needed strength, love, and foundation in my times of joy and defeat on the rollercoaster of graduate studies. During my lows and highs, she was always there to help me celebrate, or recuperate for the next battle. I will also attempt to thank my

mother, Linda, whose lifelong support for me as a person and scholar has never wavered. She believed I could do things I never imagined. She put her life on the line by crossing three borders and arriving in the United States with little knowledge of the English language. She worked hard to create opportunities for my siblings and me. If anything, I am proud that I could capitalize on those opportunities and do exactly what she told us, “estudien para que no tengan que trabajar

como burros.” All I can say is, muchísimas gracias mama. Lastly, to my unborn daughter, Zaida: 7 thank you for pushing me to finish and be a better human. Preparing for your arrival as I completed my dissertation has added a different perspective to my study, particularly regarding gestation and delivery. I love you, and I cannot wait to meet you.

Dedication

Para mi madre y Dominique

Contents List of Figures ...... 13

List of Tables ...... 14

List of Maps ...... 15

List of Abbreviations ...... 16

Abstract ...... 17

Introduction ...... 18

Titiçih, Tiçiyotl, and the Ç ...... 21

Ritual Language, Nahuallatolli, and Nahualtocaitl ...... 23

Why not use the term midwife or physician? ...... 26

Medicina ...... 27 Sourcing Nahua History ...... 30

Rethinking Titiçih and Tiçiyotl ...... 35

A Road Map for This Dissertation ...... 37

Chapter 1: Central Mexico in the First Half of the Colonial Period ...... 40

Introduction ...... 40

Disease and Disaster ...... 43

Illness and Epidemics ...... 45 Drought ...... 49 Nahua Response to Colonial Epidemics ...... 50 Titiçih as aggravating factors to Spanish Health Efforts ...... 62 The Province of Teotlalco and Forced Labor ...... 69 Congregaciones ...... 79 Cuitlatenamic to Jolalpan ...... 82 Conclusion ...... 96

Chapter 2: Discovering Nahua Medicine, and Losing Titiçih ...... 99 10

Introduction ...... 99

Nahua Informants and Collaborators ...... 104

Materia Medica in New Spain ...... 110

The Libellus and the Colegio de la Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco ...... 112

El Colegio de la Santa Cruz, and Cultural Conversion ...... 114 The Libellus’s Makers ...... 115 The Libellus ...... 120 Nicolas Bautista de Monardes ...... 131

Doctor Francisco Hernández...... 134

Hernández’s works...... 143 Conclusion ...... 149

Chapter 3: Titiçih and Tiçiyotl ...... 151

Introduction ...... 151

Cocoliztli and Pactinemiliztli ...... 153

Defining Titiçih, Médicos, Amanteca, and Parteras ...... 161

Becoming a Tiçitl ...... 171

Deities and the Titiçih ...... 178

Tlapohualiztli – Titiçih as Investigators ...... 179

Titiçih engaging in tlapohualiztli ...... 181 Ololiuhqui ...... 182

Offerings ...... 195 Yohualli and Tlapoyahua (The night, and early night) ...... 198

Titiçih and the Temazcalli ...... 200

Atonement ...... 203

The Nuptial Ceremony and Titiçih ...... 205 11

Conclusion ...... 209

Chapter 4: Female Titiçih, or Parteras? ...... 210

Introduction ...... 210

Midwives or Titiçih? ...... 215

Women as Ritual Specialists ...... 219

Women as Titiçih ...... 221

Ana de Xochimilco ...... 221 Magdalena Papalo y Coaxochi...... 229 Protecting the Recently Deceased Body of a Woman that Died in Labor ...... 248 Conclusion ...... 251

Chapter 5: Titiçih as a Threat to Spanish Colonial Efforts ...... 254

Introduction ...... 254

Policing Devotions in New Spain ...... 259 The Rise of Extirpation in the Seventeenth Century ...... 262 Ololiuhqui and Indians ...... 264

The Church Against Indigenous Use of Ololiuhqui, and Titiçih ...... 271

Jacinto de la Serna ...... 279 Setting the Sights on Titiçih ...... 280

Conclusion ...... 290

Chapter 6: Ololiuhqui and Ruiz de Alarcón’s Battle with Illness ...... 292

Introduction ...... 292

Ruiz de Alarcón’s Battle with Ololiuhqui ...... 296

The Holy Office Investigates Ruiz de Alarcón ...... 301 Inquisitor of the Court Against Indigenous Idolatry ...... 311 Conclusion ...... 333 12

Conclusion ...... 335

Appendices ...... 345

Appendix A: Epidemics in New Spain ...... 345

Appendix B: Droughts in Central Mexico ...... 346

Appendix C: Indigenous leaders of Cuitlatenamic in 1572 ...... 347

Appendix D: Nahua men attacked by Manuel Portugués in the Mines of Tlaucingo

(1626) ...... 348

Glossary of Terms ...... 349

Bibliography ...... 351

List of Figures Figure 1 - Distribution of Spanish Medical Practitioners ...... 29

Figure 2 The devastation of cocoliztli, and titiçih's response (El Dozeno Libro, f 53r) (line

drawing by author) ...... 55

Figure 3 A female Tiçitl offers a suffering parturient brewed Cihuapahtli. Sahagún, Bernardino

de. "Libro Undecimo." In Códice Florentino, edición facsimilar del manuscrito. Mexico

City: Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Archivo General de la Nación, 1979. f 170r ...... 123

Figure 4 - A female tiçitl offers a parturient a beverage made with Opuntia Paddles. Sahagún,

Bernardino de. "Libro Undecimo." In Códice Florentino, edición facsimilar del manuscrito.

Mexico City: Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Archivo General de la Nación, 197 ...... 125

Figure 5 - A parturient drinks a beverage made with tlacuatzin tail and chia seed, as she kneels

next to a chia plant...... 126

Figure 6 - Elderly titiçih tending a temazcalli’s fire in the Codex Magliabechiano ...... 201

Figure 7- Folio 78 r of the Codex Magliabechiano. A tiçitl performing tlaolchayahualiztli before

a weeping man...... 226

Figure 8 - A female tiçitl performing an act of atlan teitta with a male patient. (Codex

Magliabechiano, f 77r.) ...... 228

List of Tables Table 1 - Titiçih that Assisted Sahagún ...... 105

Table 2 - A comparison of translations for Nahuatl Healing Practitioners...... 165

Table 3 - Molina's translations for Tlapohualiztli ...... 180

Table 4 - Male Healing Ritual Specialists that Worshiped Teteo Innan...... 216

Table 5 - Indigenous Witnesses Interviewed by Rojas ...... 302

Table 6 - Ruiz de Alarcón's Autos de Fe ...... 305

Table 7 - Letters from Ruiz de Alarcón to the Inquisition ...... 313

List of Maps Map 1 - Central Mexico with Key Locations ...... 31

Map 2 – The Region of Teotlalco ...... 90

Map 3 - Base sites for Seventeenth-Century Extirpators ...... 272

Map 4 - Ruiz de Alarcon's Relation to Central Mexico ...... 308

List of Abbreviations

AGI ARCHIVO GENERAL DE INDIAS

AGN ARCHIVO GENERAL DE LA NACIÓN

AGS ARCHIVO GENERAL DE SIMANCAS

AHCMM ARCHIVO HISTÓRICO CASA NACIONAL DE MONEDA

AHN ARCHIVO HISTÓRICO NACIONAL

BNAH BIBLIOTECA NACIONAL DE ANTROPOLOGÍA E HISTORIA

BNE BIBLIOTECA NACIONAL DE ESPAÑA

Abstract This dissertation evaluates Spanish and Nahuatl (an indigenous language spoken by the Nahuas of Mexico) sources to probe tiçiyotl (Nahua healing knowledge) in sixteenth and seventeenth-century Central Mexico. My study covers a 150-mile area surrounding Mexico City and begins in 1538, when Juan de Zumárraga, the bishop of Mexico, oversaw the first trial against titiçih (healing ritual specialists). The temporal scope of my dissertation ends in 1656, when Jacinto de la Serna (rector of the University of Mexico) wrote a manual for priests who ministered to indigenous people, which was the last source to use the term tiçitl (sing. titiçih). Other notable sources and contributions include the investigation of ecclesiastical trials against titiçih in Central Mexico. These trials include biographical information, and in-depth information on ritual practices that add humanness to the abstract descriptions included in European treatises, manuals, and encyclopedias. By unpacking the history of Nahua healing knowledge in a colonial context, this study not only explores Nahua people, it also examines how Europeans processed and interpreted indigenous knowledge, materials, and practitioners. Starting in the late sixteenth-century, the Catholic Church systematically attacked Nahua healers in Central Mexico, particularly women, while Spanish physicians absorbed indigenous knowledge and discarded ritual practices and its practitioners. This has made women invisible in academic discussions of tiçiyotl. By employing non-European sources this study includes the perspectives and views of the “colonized,” that is, the indigenous peoples of Central Mexico. Lastly, this dissertation demonstrates that women were integral to the preservation of healing practices and ritual customs among Nahua people in the seventeenth century, and that women led the resistance against Spanish colonialism, and bore the brunt of its wrath.

Introduction En el idioma [náhuatl] he procurado usar de las voces más puras, propias, y genuinas, que usaron los más eminentes, y clásicos autores de la facultad: como son los Baptistas, los Molinas, los Mijangos, los Leones, Anunciación, Carochis, y Tobares, con otros naturales en el idioma, que nos dejaron sus libros, o impresos, o manuscritos; que conservan en su propiedad, y elegancia este facundo y elegantísimo idioma.

In the [Nahuatl] language I have attempted to use the purest, most proper, and most genuine voices, that were used by the utmost eminent and classic authors of this knowledge. Such as the likes of, [Juan] Bautista, [Alonso de] Molina, [Juan de] Mijangos, [Juan de la] Anunciación, [Horacio] Carochi, and [Juan de] Tovar, along with natives in the language, that have left us their books, printed or written; that conserve the properties and elegance of this prolific and elegant language.

Ignacio de Paredes Promptuario manual mexicano (1759) pg. xii

This dissertation explores the healing traditions of Nahua peoples (Nahuatl speaking

indigenous groups of Mexico) in Central Mexico during the first half of New Spain’s colonial

period. More precisely, this study is interested in how Spanish colonialism interpreted and

reacted to Nahua healing practices, and how Nahua healing traditions changed and adapted to

Spanish presence. This is as much a story of colonial subjects, as it is colonial powers.

Most of what we know about the pre-Columbian cultural practices of the indigenous people of Mexico, like other parts of the Western Hemisphere, is based on sixteenth-, seventeenth-, and eighteenth-century writings created by men of European descent. These documents contain Western languages, ideologies, preconceived notions, and traditions. This

study probes European documents, and sources created by—or with the information from—

indigenous people, to unearth a more complex understanding of Nahua healing practices that is

critical and inclusive of the role women played in the creation, preservation, and application of

said knowledge. 19

The geographic scope of this study is Central Mexico, which includes the modern states

of Guerrero, Morelos, Puebla, the State of Mexico, Michoacán, and Mexico City. Within this

largely Nahua region, the Central Valley, alternatively known as the Valley of Mexico, had a

strong cultural and political presence. The Central Valley is the plateau that surrounds what is

now Mexico City and the eastern part of the State of Mexico. This area was home to three

massive civilizations: Teotihuacan, the Toltec Empire, and the Aztec Empire (spearheaded by the

Mexica people centered in Tenochtitlan). Nahuatl speaking peoples governed both the Toltec and

Aztec empires. The latter existed and collapsed when Hernán Cortez and his native allies arrived

in Central Mexico.

When Spaniards arrived in 1519, the Central Valley was comprised of eight ethnic Nahua

groups (Cuitlahuaca, Mixquica, Xochimilca, Chalca, Tepaneca, Acolhuaque, and Mexica), and one Otomi. Five of the ethnic groups occupied areas with names that closely resembled their demonyms —Mexico, Xochimilco, Mixquic, Culhuacan, and Cuitlahuac. The Chalca were in

Tlamanalco, the Acolhuaque in Tetzcoco, and the Tepaneca in Tlacopan. Evidence suggests that ethnic terms used when referring to people in the Aztec period (1325-1521) were based on polity

membership.1

The region of Central Mexico witnessed some cultural uniformity after 900 CE with the

spread of Nahuatl, yet, Nahua groups are not monolithic. Barbara Stark and John Chance have

argued that in post-classic (900-1519 CE) Central Mexico, place and history, not kinship, appear

1 Emily Umberger, "Ethnicity and Other Identities in the Sculputres of Tenochtitlan," in Ethnic Identity in Nahua Mesoamerica: The View from Archaeology, Art History, Ethnohistory, and Contemporary Ethnography, ed. Frances Berdan, (Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press, 2008), 69-70. 20

to have informed Mesoamerican ethnic identity. They contend that kinship was less important

than migration stories, sacred places of origin, and identifying with cities and communities.2

The temporal scope of this project is 1535 to 1650. During this period there is a traceable

change in the way that Spanish authorities perceived and interacted with Nahua healers. This

study probes the history of Nahua healers in the colonial period, and how Spanish authorities conceptualized them and dealt with them. Despite the arrival of European, African, and Asian people to New Spain (the area that is now the Southwestern United States, Mexico, and Central

America), and catastrophic epidemics that wiped out up to 90% of the indigenous population in

certain areas of Mesoamerica, Nahuas continued to seek the help of their healing ritual

specialists into the seventeenth century, and beyond.

In the six chapters that follow, this dissertation argues that scholarship has oversimplified

the activities of female Nahua ritual specialists and their important roles in early colonial society.

Female titiçih were not just midwives, and they did more than just assist people with a narrow set

of illnesses. Moreover, this study illustrates that although Western medicine was not as hostile

towards indigenous people and their healing practitioners as the Church, it was just as

intellectually damaging. Spanish physicians collected plants, knowledge on how to use them, and

stripped it of its ritual context. The core issue between Spanish authorities (medical and clerical)

and Nahua tiçiyotl, was what caused illnesses, and how to cure them, and who would cure them.

Nahuas had their own understandings of causes for illness, what salubrious materials to use, and

what rituals to perform. These notions often conflicted with Spanish ideas. Colonial sources are

often silent on the importance women played in Nahua tiçiyotl. Lastly, this project will

2 Barbara L. Stark and John K. Chance, "Diachronic and Multidisfiplinary Perspectives on Mesoamerican Ethnicity," ibid., 2-4. 21

demonstrate that starting in the early seventh century the Church identified and targeted Nahua

healing ritual specialists as a threat to their efforts of Christianization and Hispanicization.

Titiçih, Tiçiyotl, and the Ç

Sixteenth century Nahua people practiced a complex healing system called tiçiyotl. This

process of healing traversed Western notions of medicine and religion. Healing ritual specialists

named titiçih (sing. tiçitl) helped patients achieve and maintain pactinemiliztli (wellness). Unlike

institutional Spanish Medicine, tiçiyotl afforded women prominent roles. Male and female titiçih

used complex ritual language and entheogenic substances (those that release the God within) –

along with other salubrious materials – to communicate with forces, and to appease them.

Women served as birth attendants, but also openly and officially cured women, children, and

men. The term tiçitl is rare in documents after the 1650s and is sparsely used today in the modern

dialects of Nahuatl.3

Following entries in Andres de Molina’s Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana y

mexicana y castellana (1571) and the Bernardino de Sahagún’s Historia general de las cosas de

Nueva España (1585), I argue that we should refer to Nahua healing traditions as tiçiyotl for

three reasons. 1) Using the Western concept “medicine” can lead us to view Nahua customs and

practices from a Western perspective, and not as the culturally specific phenomenon that it is. 2)

Use of other terms such as healing, curanderismo (folk-healing), witchcraft, etc. continues to use

Western concepts and risks making a value judgement on Nahua traditions by viewing them as

inferior to academic Western medicine. 3) The term tiçiyotl takes us a step closer to

understanding Nahua healing practices from a Nahua perspective by circumventing the barriers

3 Francisco Morales recorded that in the late 1980s in Milpa Alta a woman named Xilotzin was a self-proclaimed tiçitl. The term appears to be synonymous with curandera (folk healer). See Francisco Morales, "Xilotzin ihuan in ticitl," Estudios de Cultura Náhuatl 21 (1991). 22

that might lead us to expect beakers, doctors, surgeons, midwives, and universities, and the

judgements that follow when we do not find them.

Carlos Viesca Treviño has translated tiçiotl as the ancient medical concepts of the

Mexica.4 Molina and Sahagún’s work use the spelling ticiotl.5 Nevertheless, some of Molina’s

entries used a “y” in tiçiyotl. Ultimately, both ticiotl and tiçiyotl have the same pronunciation,

however, grammatically the latter is more correct. According to Thelma D. Sullivan, -otl is

mostly reserved for nouns that lose their -in, -tli, -tl, or -li absolutive suffix and end with an l or

z.6 Since the word tiçitl, after losing its absolutive suffix -tl, becomes tiçi, the more appropriate

addition would be -yotl. Thus, I argue tiçiyotl is the most appropriate spelling. This word

translates as tiçitlness, or perhaps things of the tiçitl. In the interest of providing more context I

would translate this as the investigatory and healing knowledge of titiçih.

Although the“tiçitl” can be spelled “ticitl,” “tisitl,” or “tizitl” in modern Nahuatl I use

the cedilla “ç” in tiçitl and titiçih for three reasons: tiçitl has fallen out of use in dialects of

modern Nahuatl; like the Spanish language, Nahuatl no longer uses the cedilla in written

expressions; a 1584 case against a woman named Magdalena Papalo y Coaxochi, and Hernando

Ruiz de Alarcón’s Tratado de las supersticiones y costumbres gentilicias que hoy viven entre los

indios naturales de esta Nueva España (1629) used the cedilla in tiçitl. Thus, I would argue the

term tiçitl with a “ç,” denotes a time in Nahua written history when Nahua people used said term.

The ç has been replaced in most dialects of Spanish, and Nahuatl, with a “z” or “s” sound which

are indistinguishable in most of the Spanish-speaking Western Hemisphere. Thus, tiçitl is

4 Carlos Viesca Treviño, Ticiotl: Conceptos médicos de los antiguos mexicanos, (Departamento de Historia y Filosofía de la Medicina, Facultad de Medicina, UNAM, 1997). 5 Bernardino de Sahagún, "Libro Decimo," in Códice Florentino, edición facsimilar del manuscrito Vol. 3, (Mexico City: Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Archivo General de la Nación, 1979), f 118v. 6 Thelma D. Sullivan, Compendio de la gramática náhuatl, (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas, 2014), 36. 23

pronounced tee-see-tl, the plural titiçih is pronounced tee-tee-see, and tiçiyotl sounds like tee-

see-yotl. Chapter 3 has a robust exploration and definition of the term tiçitl, but in short, I define

this term as a male or female healing ritual specialist that used various methods to investigate,

diagnose, and cure cocoliztli (illness).

Ritual Language, Nahuallatolli, and Nahualtocaitl

The terms “incantations,” “spells,” “prayers,” etc., have connotations that can

misrepresent the usage and intentions of the language Nahua ritual specialists used to perform

their healing practices. The terms “spell” and “incantation” have direct ties to “magic” which has

a long history of being at odds with orthodox Catholicism. Moreover, “magic” although used

rather casually contemporarily, implies the usage of illusions or other tactics to mislead an

audience. An easy solution to this conundrum would be a Nahuatl term that denotes the words

used by titiçih and other ritual specialists. However, no such term seems to exist except for the

problematic nahualtocaitl (nahualli names) and the related nahuallatolli (language of the

nahualli).

Before exploring the two above stated terms it is useful to consider that, at least in the

Central Valley, Nahua people qualified and differentiated styles and genres of speech. One

example is tecpillatolli which Molina translated as, “courtesan or elegant speech, or reasoning.”7

The Nahuatl portion of the Historia general used the term tecpillatolli to describe the elevated

language used by high ranking elites when welcoming a new ruler to his office.8 Conversely

Molina defined macehuallatoa as “to speak rustically.”9 Similarly the Historia general described

7 Alonso de Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 6a ed., (Mexico City, Mexico: Editorial Porrúa, 2013), 2, 93v. 8 Bernardino de Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," in Códice Florentino, edición facsimilar del manuscrito Vol. 2, (Mexico City: Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Archivo General de la Nación, 1979), f 50v-51r. 9 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 2, f 50v. 24

an idiom for individuals that behaved poorly, noting that the ill-behaved were rebuked and told

to “macamo ximacehuallato” (do not speak like a commoner).10 We can logically assume that a

macehuallatolli (words of the commoners) also existed, serving as perhaps the antithesis of

tecpillatolli.11 In contemporary contexts “macehuallatolli” is used to signify indigenous

languages in general, or more specifically Nahuatl.12 In short, in the Valley of Mexico Nahuas

referred to less refined speech as macehuallatolli and the elegant and elevated speech of the

elites as tecpillatolli.

In the same fashion scholars have speculated that there was a genre dedicated to ritual

activities, and they have posited two names— nahuallatolli and nahualtocaitl. Historian Alfredo

López Austin constructed Nahuallatolli in 1967 based on Ruiz de Alarcón’s and Jacinto de la

Serna’s usage of nahualtocaitl. He defined nahuallatolli as the language of the sorcerers or

magical language used to communicate with things in a realm outside of the human world.13

There are no attestations of nahuallatolli in colonial documents. M.E.R.G.N. Jansen built on

López Austin’s work and noted that nahualallatolli was a complex, metaphorical language that

magicians used to conjure, much like the Mixtec zuyua.14 The problem with this word is that it

places the phrases and language back in the magical context I am trying to avoid, and there are

no true textual attestations of this word’s existence. This leaves the second option, nahualtocaitl.

The only known source that uses the term nahuatltocaitl is Ruiz de Alarcón’s Tratado,

which employs the term twice. The term first appears when the zealous priest discussed

10 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 214r-14v. 11 Macehullatolli is constructed from macehualli and tlatollli. When macehuall- and tlatolli combine the “ll” and “tl” simply become “ll,” thus creating macehuallatolli and not macehualtlatolli. 12 For an example see, Librado Silva Galeana, "Miqueltzin León-Portilla ihuan macehuallahtolmomachtihqueh " Estudios de Cultura Náhuatl 37 (2006): 330. 13 Alfredo López Austin, "Términos del nahuallatolli," Historia Mexicana 17, no. 1 (1967): 1-2. Nahuallatolli would literally mean “nahualli language, or words.” 14 Maarten E. R. G. N. Jansen, "Las Lenguas Divinas del México Precolonial," Boletín de Estudios Latinoamericanos y del Caribe, no. 38 (1985): 6. 25

indigenous seed planting and he noted that the indigenous peoples essentially used one specific

form of ritual language for most planting contexts, only changing the name of the seed in

question. Ruiz de Alarcón explained that the ritual names were metaphorical and they were

called nahualtocaitl. His Spanish translation was arreboçado (covered, disguised), or name used

by hechiceros (sorcerers). He warned priests that they should suspect Indians that used these

terms of superstition and sorcery.15 Similarly when discussing illness investigations (which he

called divination) with hands, Ruiz de Alarcón mentioned that specialists used formulaic

language, that the Indians tried to disguise with metaphorical words that they called

nahualtocaitl. Again, he noted that the word meant language or name used by sorcerers.16 Jacinto

de la Serna also defined nahualtocaitl as “disguised names,” though it is very likely that he got

the term and definition from Ruiz de Alarcón’s Tratado.17

Scholars defined nahualtocaitl more broadly. Doris Heyden followed Serna and used the

term nahualtocaitl as an esoteric ritual metaphor consisting of disguised or secret terms used by

the few that could, “…interpret the calendar, mathematics, glyphs, and cosmic phenomena.”18

Ross Hassig and Richard J. Andrews stayed closer to Ruiz de Alarcón and defined nahualtocatil

as a, “…term used to denote disguised or metaphorical names.”19 Viviana Díaz Balsera argued

that the language that Ruiz de Alarcón captured that fell under the nahualtocaitl genre was used

15 Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado de las supersticiones y costumbres gentílicas que hoy viven entre los indios naturales de esta Nueva España; notas, comentarios y un estudio de Francisco del Paso y Troncoso, (México: Fuente Cultural de la Librería Navarro, 1953), 259. 16 Ibid., 338. 17 Jacinto de la Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, (Madrid: José Perales y Martínez, 1892), 430. 18 Doris Heyden, "Metaphors, Nahualtocaitl, and Other Disguised Terms Among the Aztecs," in Symbol and Meaning Beyond the Closed Community: Essays in Mesoamerican Communities ed. Gary H. Gossen, (Albany, New York: Institute for Mesoamerican Studies 1986), 43. 19 Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón, Treatise on the Heathen Superstitions That Today Live among the Indians Native to this New Spain, 1629, ed. J. Richard Andrews and Ross Hassig, 1st ed., The Civilization of the American Indian series (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1984), 349. 26

to alter the immediate identity of things to reveal their connection to various forces, spaces, and

time. Nahualtocaitl, Díaz Balsera added, was not diabolical, nor was it used to confuse people.

Instead it connected the similarities and confluences between objects.20

Many of the phrases and sets of language captured by Ruiz de Alarcón and a sixteenth-

century priest named León Carvajal fall within the analysis of all the scholars above.

Nevertheless, because Ruiz de Alarcón, and by extension Serna, provide the only attestations for

the use of nahualtocaitl it is difficult to say if Nahua people used the term widely throughout

Central Mexico. Thus, in this dissertation I use the phrase “ritual language” to signify the

specialized and often complex sets of words that titiçih and other ritual specialists used during

their operations.

Why not use the term midwife or physician?

The Spanish men that wrote about titiçih referred to them as supersticiosos

(superstitious), idolatras (idolaters), embusteros (swindlers), dogmatistas (dogmatizers) and

hechiceros (sorcerers). These terms are biased and privilege a Christian, and medical

perspective. Some early modern Spaniards, and most scholars, have used the terms medicina

(medicine), médicos (physicians), parteras (midwives), or curanderos (folk-healers) to describe

tiçiyotl and titiçih. These terms seem more objective and less biased. Indeed, they are, however, I

argue that these words also privilege Western healing, religious, and gender norms. Moreover,

they invite readers to understand Nahua ritual specialists and their practices as similar to those

conducted by their Western counterparts.

20 Viviana Díaz Balsera, "Nombres que conservan el mundo: los nahualtocaitl y el Tratado sobre idolatrías de Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón," Colonial Latin American Review 16, no. 2 (2007): 165-67. 27

To avoid confusion, I use the terms science and medicine only when referring to

European systems of knowledge. I use tiçiyotl to denote Nahua ritual healing knowledge. The goal of identifying the differences between the two systems of belief is not to make a moral judgment, but to highlight that they are distinct. Tiçiyotl and medicina are two distinct answers to similar a question: How do we keep people whole and alive? It is important to use culturally specific terms when possible to avoid the conflation or confusion of ideas. Early modern medicina was very different from tiçiyotl.

Medicina

Medicine was so important to Spanish culture that according to historian Gerardo

Martínez Hernández, medicine was the first science to make its way to New Spain.21 Western

ideologies regarding healing went beyond theoretical and clinical knowledge; it also included

social norms regarding gender and ethnicity. For much of the early modern period Catholic men

dominated the medical profession in Spain, while women and individuals that lacked limpieza de

sangre (literally “blood cleanliness,” that was free of Jewish or Muslim heritage) were precluded

from formal studies in universities, including medicine. Women could only officially practice

medicine as parteras (midwives), a lowly position in the medical hierarchy that men ascribed to

the female titiçih they encountered and described in early colonial Mexico.

Spanish society in New Spain barred women from attending universities and medical

schools, even if they had limpieza de sangre, and the financial means to cover the costs. This

prevented women from practicing any kind of healing that required a formal education. In the

Spanish empire healers were known as médicos, cirujanos (surgeons), parteras, ensalmadores

21 Gerardo Martínez Hernández, La medicina en la Nueva España, siglos XVI y XVII: consolidación de los modelos institucionales y académicos, Vol. 93 (México: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 2014), 23. 28

(bonesetters), and barberos (phlebotomists commonly called barbers).22 This hierarchy was a pyramid with descending power and increasing size, directly correlated to gender, class, and prestige. (Figure 1)

Médicos were university-trained, affluent, men, had limpeiza de sangre and composed the elite section of this pyramid.23 At the bottom of the pyramid were parteras, who were women,

poor, and did not have any university training and many would probably have not qualified for a

certificate of limpieza de sangre.24 Moreover, early-modern Spanish doctors refused to

participate in child labor until the mid-eighteenth century, when obstetrics began to emerge as a

distinct field of medical science.25 Médicos disassociated themselves from delivery because it

was linked to surgery, a marginalized vocation practiced by those that lacked limpieza de sangre and thus a proper university education.26

Cirujanos composed the second and fourth tier of the medical hierarchy. Cirujanos were

divided in two fundamental groups, latinos (trained in Latin) and romanticistas (not trained in

Latin). Cirujanos latinos occupied the second tier of Spanish medical hierarchy and received

some training in universities, consequently they had at least a minimal understanding of Latin

and society held them in higher regard.27

22 Sherry Lee Fields, Pestilence and Headcolds : Encountering Illness in Colonial Mexico, (New York: Columbia University Press, 2008), 50-59. 23 Ibid., 53. 24 John Tate Lanning and John Jay TePaske, The Royal Protomedicato: The Regulation of the Medical Professions in the Spanish Empire, (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1985), 179. 25 Teresa Ortiz, "From Hegemony to Subordination: Midwives in Early Modern Spain," in The Art of Midwifery: Early Modern Midwives in Europe, ed. Hilary Marland, (London ; New York: Routledge, 1993), 102. Obstetrics is the branch of medicine and surgery concerned with childbirth and the care of women giving birth. 26 Lanning and TePaske, The Royal Protomedicato: The Regulation of the Medical Professions in the Spanish Empire, 298. 27 Fields, Pestilence and Headcolds : Encountering Illness in Colonial Mexico, 58. 29

Médicos

Cirujanos Latinos

Boticarios

Cirujanos Romanticistas

Parteras

Figure 1 - Distribution of Spanish Medical Practitioners

The third tier within the medical hierarchy belonged to the boticarios (apothecaries). The

Protomedicato, a tribunal that will be discussed in Chapter 2, licensed these men to fulfill

prescriptions and sell sanctioned drugs. Boticarios were typically well-versed in Latin and had access to hundreds of medicinal items. This allowed boticarios to treat and medicate, despite not

holding a license to do so.28

The lower strata of the cirujanos occupied the fourth tier, the romanticistas (romance

surgeons). Cirujanos romanticistas were surgeons without university training who therefore did

not have a handle on Latin. These men received their training through apprenticeships, with

qualified cirujanos. Although romanticistas were the least prestigious male practitioners, they

provided most primary care to the masses who could not afford médicos or cirujanos latinos.29

28 Ibid., 60-61. 29 Ibid., 57. 30

As parteras, women dwelled in the basement of the Spanish medical system, as parteras.

In fact, they were technically not medical practitioners since they did not attend universities and at that time they did not need licenses to practice.30 Parteras attended all types of childbirth

deliveries ranging from normal to difficult. Médicos only stepped-in when the parturient became

feverish or generally ill (probably due to infection). The partera also cut the umbilical cord,

swaddled the baby, and cleaned the infant’s body, ears, and nose.31 Though this description

presents a static and rigid medical profession, there was much more fluidity in practice.

Sourcing Nahua History

Mexico’s Central Valley has the largest quantity, and most robust, extant sources on

Nahua people, and by extension tiçiyotl. Like most studies on Nahua people, the foundation for

this project comes from sources that I call “cultural and religious extirpation resources.” Clerics

created most of these documents to help other priests identify and counteract heterodoxy among

indigenous people. Paradoxically, they now serve as invaluable sources for the study of Nahua

peoples. Among these sources are manuals, treatises, and compendiums. A nuanced reading of

these documents reveals rich and complex knowledge of healing that Spanish gender and

medical norms distorted.

Europeans created or commissioned cultural and religious extirpation resources for other

Europeans, or European descended people living in colonial Mexico. To create these sources

Western men consulted indigenous peoples for information, and they mediated and polished the

finished product for their audiences, political and religious officials in colonial Mexico and in

Spain. Some of the Spaniards who wrote about tiçiyotl and titiçih, such as Sahagún and Ruiz de

30 Lanning and TePaske, The Royal Protomedicato: The Regulation of the Medical Professions in the Spanish Empire, 298. 31 Ortiz, "From Hegemony to Subordination: Midwives in Early Modern Spain," 98. 31

Alarcón, were aware of the nuances in Nahua culture due to their extensive research and contact with Nahua communities. Nevertheless, they both wrote in a manner that was digestible for

Europeans, so that other priests could easily identify and superficially understand Nahua ritual practices. The simplification and reinterpretation of Nahua culture becomes evident when we compare the Nahuatl and Spanish entries in some of these texts. Furthermore, ecclesiastical proceedings and reports made by officials were by their very nature created using colonial language and placed Nahua practices on the negative end of a dipolar spectrum.

Map 1 - Central Mexico with Key Locations

In pertinent places throughout this dissertation I expand on the biographical background of individuals that wrote important sources, however, because Bernardino de Sahagún and his work appear throughout this study, I will introduce him now. Sahagún served as a missionary in 32

Central Mexico from 1529 to 1590. Fray Francisco de Toral, the Provincial of the Franciscans,

commissioned Sahagún in 1558 to compile a Nahuatl guide on native culture that would help

Christianize and indoctrinate native populations in New Spain. Four of his former students (well- versed in Nahuatl, Spanish, and Latin) at the Colegio de Santa Cruz in Tlatelolco assisted

Sahagún in his investigations, and together they created what is perhaps one of the most important groups of sources for the study of Nahua people. Collectively these documents are known as the Sahaguntine texts. This includes the Primeros Memoriales, Codices Matritenses, and the Historia general de las cosas de la Nueva España (1585; hereinafter Historia general).

Of the three, the most popular is the latter, also known as the Florentine Codex.

Sahagún and his native assistants conducted their research in various sites. His first venture was in Tepepolco (located in Hidalgo) where he completed what Francisco del Paso y

Troncoso called the Primeros Memoriales. Once in Tepepolco, Sahagún gathered a team of informants consisting of the local native ruler, and ten to twelve community elders. 32 In 1561

Sahagún moved to the Colegio de la Santa Cruz in Tlatelolco, where he completed the

Manuscrito de Tlatelolco. Sahagún and his team of Nahua scholars completed the Historia

general in Nahuatl, with twelve volumes in 1569. This copy included additions and

modifications from informants from Tenochtitlan, and is now lost. From 1578-1580 Sahagún

supervised the creation of an illustrated Historia general with Spanish and Nahuatl text that he

sent to Spain and made its way to Florence no later than 1588, where it was dubbed the

Florentine Codex. A slightly modified version of the Florentine Codex, known as the

“Manuscrito de Tolosa” was reported in a Franciscan Convent in 1732-1733. According to

Sullivan, et al. most copies of the Historia general have been made of the manuscript in

32 H. B. Nicholson, "Introduction," in Primeros Memoriales, ed. Thelma D. Sullivan, et al., (Norman, Oklahoma: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997), 3-4. 33

Tolosa.33 The Nahua ethnic identities represented in the Sahaguntine texts are those from the

Central Valley of Mexico, influenced by Mexica culture after 1435.34

A similar group of sources, with key differences, are three treatises created by priests in the seventeenth century. Pedro Ponce de León and Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón (their biographical information is discussed in Chapters 5 and 6) created treatises on their observations during their time as parish priests and commissioned judges against indigenous idolatry in the Archdiocese of

Mexico. Ponce de León’s Tratado de los dioses y ritos de la gentilidad was completed in the early seventeenth century, and Ruiz de Alarcón finalized his Tratado in 1629. Both individuals were in the proverbial trenches combatting what they perceived to be indigenous idolatry, and they identified titiçih, particularly women, as a threat to Spanish attempts to convert indigenous communities. Jacinto de la Serna built on the work of these two men, and some of his own observations, to create the Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrias y extirpacio de ellas (1656), a manual to train priests with indigenous parishioners. Serna achieved a higher status within the Church than Ruiz de Alarcón and Ponce de León, and thus greater visibility. At the core of these seventeenth-century sources, was the overarching belief that indigenous communities had not fully converted to Christianity, and the main obstruction was what they called the “swindling physicians” that lived among the indigenous people. It is also important to note that while Sahagún and his assistants got their information from techniques that resemble modern ethnographic methods, Ponce de León, Ruiz de Alarcón, and

Serna all got their information from interrogations and investigations.

Other sources for this dissertation include ecclesiastical proceedings. Typically, functionaries of the Holy Office of the Inquisition, priests, commissioned judges against idolatry,

33 Ibid., 4. 34 Ibid., 5. 34

or members of the Tribunal of the Holy Office created these documents. The Holy Office asked

its local comisarios (functionaries) to alert them of possible violations of the Catholic faith that

they or others had detected in their jurisdiction. Because the Holy Office did not have

jurisdiction over indigenous people after 1571, many of these reports never developed into full-

scale investigations. Nevertheless, they often provide windows into indigenous practices in the

colonial period. Documents that fall into this genre include letters sent from parish priest and

judge against indigenous idolatry Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón in the 1620s and 1630s.

I also draw evidence from archival records from various parts of Central Mexico. Most

notably from the 1584 case against a Nahua tiçitl named Magdalena Papalo y Coaxochi, and an

investigation conducted against a Nahua healer named Joseph Chicon that same year.

Ecclesiastical authorities from the dioceses of Tlaxcala conducted both proceedings. These

records contain ritual language and practices that have received little attention from previous

scholarship.35 Furthermore, Chicon and Papalo y Coaxochi’s investigations contain specific

information about real practitioners with names, families, and their stories with tiçiyotl that add a

human element to the abstract information found in the sources discussed in the previous

paragraph.

The persecution of idolatry in the Indies (Spain’s possessions in the Western

Hemisphere), real or perceived, had a historical precedent in Iberia. Historian John F. Chuchiak

IV has noted that in 1571 Phillip II created the Holy Office of the Inquisition in New Spain and

indigenous people did not fall under its jurisdiction. In 1575 the Crown gave bishops and

archbishops authority to try indigenous people from crimes against the Catholic Faith, save for

35 Irma Guadalupe Cruz Soto wrote an undergraduate thesis at UNAM in 1993 on these two sources. See "Magdalena Papalo y Joseph Chicon: dos médicos nahuas del siglo XVI" (BA Thesis, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1993). 35

indigenous “brujos y hechiceros” (witches and sorcerers) that killed others with sorcery.

Indigenous people fell under the purview of bishops and archbishops. Furthermore, the Church via three Mexican provincial courts ramped up hostilities against indigenous practices by calling for the destruction of “idols” and temples and the prohibition of dances and games in 1585. In

1607 the Crown released a decree asking the Church to actively remove indigenous priests and ritual specialists from their communities. Chuchiak believes that these factors led to the eventual creation of the Provisorato de Indios in the Yucatán peninsula.36 A Church official empowered

by a bishop or archbishop to investigate and try indigenous people that had violated the laws of

the Catholic faith, including idolatry and polygamy.37 An institution that did not exist under the

same title in Central Mexico. The area of Central Mexico saw commissioned courts against

indigenous idolatry, typically led by priests well versed in indigenous languages and cultures.

This was the case in Papalo y Coaxochi’s and Chicon’s cases.

Rethinking Titiçih and Tiçiyotl

To critically explore tiçiyotl, this study builds on the rich ethnohistorical literature that exists

on Nahua peoples. For example, John Lockhart’s The Nahuas after the Conquest (1992) engaged

Nahuatl language sources, many previously ignored, to analyze Nahua social practices and

customs. Lockhart paved the way for future scholars to use sources written in indigenous

Mexican languages to gain perspectives on the lives of indigenous peoples during the colonial

period. Susan Kellogg’s Law and the Transformation of Aztec Culture, 1500-1700 (2005), which

used “gender parallelism” to characterize the separate and relatively equal relationships (when

compared to Iberian notions) between men and women in Nahua society. She wrote, “In the late

36 John F. Chuchiak, "The Indian Inquisition and The Extirpation of Idolatry : The Process of Punishment in The Provisorato de Indios of the Diocese Of Yucatan, 1563-1812" (2000), 83-87. 37 Ibid., 111. 36

pre-Hispanic period, ‘gender parallelism’ characterized Mexica society; that is, there were

parallel structures and cultural configurations for males and females.”38 Kellogg clarified that

gender parallelism did not denote gender equality, however, it did signify that Mexica (and other

Nahua) societies placed a high cultural value on tasks executed by women. Furthermore, in

various facets of Mexica life, Kellogg argued, women and men had complementary roles to each

other.39 In the same vein, Rebecca Overmyer-Velazquez’s “Christian Morality Revealed in New

Spain: The Inimical Nahua Woman in Book Ten of the Florentine Codex” (1998) argues that

although gender parallelism existed in Nahua communities, Sahagún used Spanish gender norms

to describe indigenous practices.40 Overmyer-Velazquez also contends that the Spanish invasion

introduced ideology that was hostile to the religious and social status of indigenous women in the

Americas.41 My study builds on this work by using sources written in Spanish, Nahuatl, and

Latin to show that male and female titiçih enjoyed the respect and venerations of their

communities. Though gendered divisions of labor existed among practitioners of tiçiyotl, Nahua

society did not limit women to the unsavory or less prestigious acts of ritual healing. It is crucial

to pay close attention to Nahuatl sources when available because they describe practitioners and

their knowledge from an indigenous perspective frequently eschewing a gendered dynamic that

accompanied European languages and often did not apply to indigenous ideas.

Scholarship on Nahua religion has also informed this study on titiçih. For instance, Alfredo

López Austin’s Cuerpo humano e ideología demonstrates that medicine, religion, and every

aspect of Nahua life were inseparably fused, and that ritual specialists were both healers and

38 Susan Kellogg, Law and the Transformation of Aztec Culture, 1500-1700, (University of Oklahoma Press, 2005), 88-92. 39 Ibid., 88. 40 Rebecca Overmyer-Velazquez, "Christian Morality Revealed in New Spain: The Inimical Nahua Woman in Book Ten of the Florentine Codex," Journal of Women's History 10, no. 2 (1998): 15. 41 Ibid., 13. 37

religious leaders. In “The Inquisition’s Repression of Curanderos,” Noemí Quezada contends

that Spanish officials intended to prove that medical expertise derived solely from Spanish

scientific knowledge by invalidating the healing practices of all other practitioners through

persecution via colonial structures (such as the Inquisition). Davíd Tavárez argued in The

Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico that indigenous

ritual specialists legitimized by Spanish authorities were in the collective sphere (public), while

their delegitimized counterparts were in the elective sphere (clandestine). Tavárez contends that

these distinctions were political, not a reflection of true or false devotions.42 My study builds on

this robust scholarship to show that titiçih functioned in a realm that was not just religious, nor

was it medical. By the early seventeenth century Spaniards identified female titiçih as a menace

to Christian society, and a risk to indigenous communities because they preserved and retained

Mesoamerican practices that clashed with Catholic orthodoxy.

A Road Map for This Dissertation

Chapter 1 situates this study in the history of sixteenth and seventeenth-century Central

Mexico. A notable contribution in this chapter is the detailed exploration of southwestern Puebla, an understudied region in Mexican and US scholarship for the sixteenth century, where various extirpation campaigns occurred in the 1580s. This chapter’s examination of late sixteenth- century demographic change caused by epidemics and forced removals sets the stage for subsequent chapters regarding titiçih’s labor and status through the Central Mexican region. In the face of late sixteenth-century epidemics, forced removals, and forced labor, female titiçih preserved pre-Columbian knowledge and responded to colonial needs.

42 Davíd E. Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2011). 38

My second chapter investigates how Spanish scientists, priests, and merchants silenced and

marginalized female titiçih by not including them in their writings. This chapter explores the

colonization of Nahua healing knowledge and the introduction of indigenous materia medica to

European markets. Archival evidence from Mexico and Spain illustrates how Spanish

physicians, and some clerics, incorporated indigenous plants and their healing qualities into

Western medical knowledge. These men sterilized plants used in indigenous ritual practices, and

downplayed the role of women in tiçiyotl. This chapter demonstrates that Spanish medicine was

less hostile towards indigenous healers, compared to the aggression shown by Church officials.

Both entities, however, had a long-lasting negative impact on Nahua women and the value of

tiçiyotl.

Chapter 3 provides a critical assessment of tiçiyotl and titiçih in the sixteenth and seventeenth

centuries. Using Nahuatl terms and concepts to present a nuanced understanding of tiçiyotl that

is inclusive of women, I detail the gendered divisions of labor within tiçiyotl; how men and

women became titiçih; the rituals they conducted; and the salubrious materials they used to heal

their communities. Here I explore core concepts for Nahua healing approaches, pactinemiliztli

(wellness), cocoliztli (disease), and the methods of tlapohualiztli (investigation through ritual)

that titiçih engaged in to restore and keep their communities balanced. Furthermore, by

decolonizing indigenous knowledge systems and moving away from Western terms that do not

sufficiently describe Nahua ideologies this chapter unearths the complexities of tiçiyotl.

This study’s fourth chapter, works closely with Chapter 3 and uses sixteenth-century archival and published materials (demographic records, royal and ecclesiastical decrees, and

Inquisitorial correspondence) to critically document the role of female titiçih beyond midwifery.

Using evidence from Papalo y Coaxochi’s case, along with the case of a woman named Ana 39

from Xochimilco, this chapter demonstrates the expansive and far reaching roles that women

played in tiçiyotl. Sixteenth- and seventeenth-century female titiçih–like their ancestors–were

practitioners of tiçiyotl who gazed into water, hurled corn kernels, applied salubrious materials

(plants, animals, and minerals), and communicated with deities to keep their communities whole.

Chapter 5 examines how seventeenth-century priests at the local level launched attacks on titiçih and other ritual specialists, particularly female practitioners. Parish priests Pedro Ponce de

León and parish priest Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón labeled titiçih as the main targets for extirpation in what became the State of Mexico and Guerrero respectively. One of the results of their campaigns was the creation of a report and a treatise on indigenous practices. When, King

Phillip II established the Mexican Inquisition in 1571, he denied inquisitors jurisdiction over

indigenous people. Archbishops and bishops could punish Indians, although they had to defer

non-Indigenous matters on heterodoxy to the Inquisition.

The sixth and final chapter explores Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón’s life and extirpation

trajectory. In the wake of destruction, persecution, and repression, Ruiz de Alarcón left a

complex and well-detailed explanation of seventeenth-century tiçiyotl. In the early-seventeenth

century, archbishop Juan Pérez de la Serna launched an assault on heterodoxy by commissioning

Ruiz de Alarcón (among others) as a judge against “indigenous idolatry.” Scholars have argued

that Ruiz de Alarcón’s denunciations of Indians to the Inquisition showcased his ignorance of

jurisdiction. I propose a different interpretation. By carefully analyzing a flurry of letters from

1624-1635, I argue that Ruiz de Alarcón manipulated Church officials, so he could interrogate all

ethnic groups to stamp out pre-Columbian rituals. Now, let us turn our attention to Central

Mexico in the sixteenth century, and the context in which tiçiyotl functioned.

Chapter 1: Central Mexico in the First Half of the Colonial Period

“…and you are warned that you are not to allow anyone, by any means, to write things that pertain to superstitions and the way that these Indians lived in any language, thereby serving God, our lord…”

Letter written by the Council of the Indies to the viceroy of New Spain, don Martín Enríquez April 22, 1577p Introduction

Dominican Fray Toribio de Motolinía wrote his Memoriales o libro de las cosas de la

Nueva España y de los naturales de ella (c. 1541) based on what he witnessed and heard when he arrived in 1524 in Mexico City, New Spain’s recently established capital. The mendicant priest witnessed high mortality rates and the destruction of the local indigenous society. He equated the biblical Egyptian Plagues to the plight of Nahua people in Tenochtitlan, and in this vein condemned Native lifestyle and deities as the cause for destruction and death.1 Motolinía

did not believe that a single factor caused indigenous fatalities. By providing ample examples of

how Catholicism and Spanish culture were superior to Nahua practices and customs, Motolinía

argued for a convergence of issues that caused indigenous depopulation.

Motolinía used the notion of plagues to demonstrate the magnitude of death that

indigenous people experienced. For example, a great famine (the third plague), had disastrous

effects on Nahua society. Motolinía explained that while Nahua people engaged in warfare,

either repelling or assisting the Spaniards, they neglected their crops. Many of the poor died from

the ensuing starvation. He also acknowledged colonial ventures as a cause for the destabilization

of indigenous society. Motolinía argued that the placement of calpixques2 (tribute collectors) in

Nahua communities was disastrous. These men were corrupt and demanded too much of the

indigenous populations. Calpixques also sent indigenous people to work in faraway lands, which

1 Toribio de Motolinía, Memoriales de Fray Toribio de Motolinia: Manuscrito de la colección del señor don Joaquín García Icazbalceta, ed. Luis García Pimentel, et al., (Jalisco, Mexico: Edmundo Aviña Levy, 1967), 21-28. 2 Tribute collectors and barrio-leaders that ensured tribute was paid to the Republica de Indios. 41

caused many deaths (the fourth plague). Similarly, Motolinía viewed the tremendous burden that

tribute caused indigenous people as the fifth plague. According to Motolinía, in the early years of

contact, Nahua people paid tribute with gold and other luxury items from their temples, but

eventually they had to turn to selling their land and children. Many perished after failing to pay

tribute, some from anguish and others in prisons where colonial authorities mistreated them.

Motolinía also noted that the edification of Mexico City (the seventh plague), claimed many

indigenous lives since Spaniards enlisted native workers to erect buildings. Gold mining (the

sixth plague), the enslavement of indigenous people (the eighth plague) to work in mines, and

the distance that indigenous people had to travel to reach the mines (the ninth plague) also

claimed many lives. According to Motolinía all these factors killed countless indigenous people

in the Caribbean and on the main land.3 Indigenous people died at the hands of colonial abuse,

and other natural disasters.

Though some scholars have questioned Motolinía’s accuracy regarding his discussion of

indigenous depopulation because of his usage of biblical references,4 others have noted that

Motolinía understood and highlighted the differences between Mexico and biblical Egypt.5

These variances are worth noting here. To Motolinía there were four distinctions between Egypt

and Mexico. First, in Egypt only one plague caused deaths, while in Mexico they all caused

mortalities. In Egypt God left every home with at least a person to mourn the dead, in Mexico

many homes had no survivors. In Egypt the plagues lasted days, in Mexico they lasted longer.

Lastly, in Egypt the plagues were God’s will, while in Mexico they were the cause of human

3 Motolinía, Memoriales de Fray Toribio de Motolinia: Manuscrito de la colección del señor don Joaquín García Icazbalceta, 21-28. 4 Francis J. Brooks, "Revising the Conquest of Mexico: Smallpox, Sources, and Populations," The Journal of Interdisciplinary History 24, no. 1 (1993): 22. 5 Robert McCaa, "Spanish and Nahuatl Views on Smallpox and Demographic Catastrophe in Mexico," ibid.25, no. 3 (1995): 415. 42

avarice and cruelty, albeit allowed by God. Motolinía believed that the sins of indigenous

peoples turned God against them.6

Motolinía identified the complex and intertwined factors that caused indigenous depopulation in Mexico and elsewhere. Violence played a role in depopulation and destabilization of indigenous societies. The same is true about Spanish colonial projects that included mining and sugar plantations. Disease and epidemics, compounded with droughts also whittled down indigenous populations. Motolinía clearly expressed that depopulation, and therefore destabilization, of indigenous people was devastating and multi-faceted. There is no singular answer that explains why and how native people rapidly lost exponential amounts of their populations.

This chapter extends Motolinía’s complex assessment of Nahua depopulation in Mexico

City, to the region of Teotlalco, although, with the benefit of a rich historiography and hundreds of years of hindsight. By exploring the context of Central Mexican Nahua communities in the sixteenth century, this chapter will illustrate the weakened and chaotic state in which Nahua ritual healers existed and persevered. Building on scholarship from the last few decades, this chapter establishes that instability and depopulation also existed in the rural regions of Central

Mexico. As Motolinía noted, disease was not the sole cause of death and social instability in areas outside of Mexico City.

Late sixteenth-century congregaciones (indigenous towns concentrated with sparsely populated settlements) also weakened indigenous communities as people made sense of their new surroundings and the positions they held in their newly constructed towns. The province of

Teotlalco (in southwestern Puebla) provides an excellent case study to illustrate this point,

6 Motolinía, Memoriales de Fray Toribio de Motolinia: Manuscrito de la colección del señor don Joaquín García Icazbalceta, 28. 43

especially the congregated town of Cuitlatenamic, a Nahua settlement that scholarship has

largely ignored after its name changed to Jolalpan in the eighteenth century. This is particularly

important because Cuitlatenamic was a vital Nahua town in pre-Columbian times and it was

home to Magdalena Papalo y Coaxochi, who an ecclesiastical judge prosecuted for idolatry in

1584.7 The province of Teotlalco also neighbored Atenango del Río, which at the hands of priest

Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón experienced its own campaign of extirpation in the first half of the

seventeenth century.

How did Nahua healers and communities respond to epidemics? It is highly probable that

titiçih responded to sixteenth-century epidemics like any other disease their community might

have faced before. This response included using tlapohualiztli (investigation through ritual

practices) that required close contact with patients. These individuals probably met the same fate

as their sick patients, leaving their communities without healers to care for them. A lack of able

bodied healers, compounded with waves of disease, famine, and violence resulted in devastating

casualties for Nahua communities in Central Mexico.

Disease and Disaster

It is impossible to accurately know the size of the indigenous population in the Western

Hemisphere when Europeans arrived. Figures range from Alfred Kroeber's low-end 8,400,000, to

Henry Dobyns’s high-end 112,553,750.8 Dobyns postulated that the area that is now the modern

country of Mexico would have had roughly 30,000,000 indigenous people at contact.9 According

to Cook and Borah the “Central Plateau,” which is the area that is now Mexico City and most of

7 This case is explored in detail in Chapter 4. 8 Alfred Louis Kroeber, Cultural and Natural Areas of Native North America, (University of California Press, 1939), 166.; Henry F. Dobyns, "An Appraisal of Techniques with a New Hemispheric Estimate," Current Anthropology 7, no. 4 (1966): 415. 9 Dobyns, "An Appraisal of Techniques with a New Hemispheric Estimate," 415. 44

the states that border it, had approximately 10.9 million people at contact.10 Cook and Simpson

estimated that this same region had 7,992,307 people by 1532, 1,707,758 in 1568, 1,233,032 in

1580, and by 1590 the population had dropped to an anemic 770,649.11 According to Dobyns, by

1650 what is now the country of Mexico had around 1,500,000 indigenous people.12 These

numbers show that a staggering population loss occurred in the sixteenth century after the arrival

of Europeans and Africans in Mesoamerica. A loss of roughly 28,500,000 people surely

destabilized the social fabric of Nahua, and other, societies.

Reports collectively known as the Relaciones geográficas portrayed more sixteenth-

century views of epidemics. In 1581, Pedro de Ledesma reported that the population in the

region had once been very large but two great epidemics had ravaged them, the first from 1544

to 1545 and the second in from 1576 to1577. The local Nahuatl-speaking population called these

epidemics cocolistlis (cocoliztli).13 Similarly, in 1580 Constantino Bravo de Laguna, alcade

mayor of Jalapa, reported that the area only had 639 tributary Indians. Though there were claims

that about 30,000 tributaries lived in the area during the time of Moctezuma (i.e., pre-Columbian times) in the 1550s cocoliste (cocoliztli) decimated the population.14

As historians have noted, and Motolinía illustrated, many factors caused the depopulation

of the Western Hemisphere, including disease and colonialism (e.g., violence, relocation, and

10 Woodrow W. Borah and Sherburne F. Cook, The Aboriginal Population of Central Mexico on the Eve of the Spanish Conquest, ed. J.H. Rowe, Woodrow W. Borah, and J.F. King, Vol. 45, Ibero-Americana (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1963), 78-79. 11 Sherburne Friend Cook and Woodrow Wilson Borah, The Indian Population of Central Mexico, 1531-1610, Ibero-americana:44 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1960), 48. 12 Dobyns, "An Appraisal of Techniques with a New Hemispheric Estimate," 415. 13 Francisco del Paso y Troncoso, Papeles de Nueva Españ, vol. IV, Vol. IV (Madrid: Establicimiento tip. "Sucesores de Rivadeneyra", 1905), 265. 14 Francisco del Paso y Troncoso, Papeles de Nueva España, vol. V, (Madrid: Est. tipografico "Sucesores de Rivadeneyra," 1905), 100. 45

forced labor).15 Nevertheless, the communities and individuals that remained were destabilized as they sought to adapt to the new conditions that Spanish colonial ventures presented. This section explores disease, Nahua response to disease, and drought to contextualize the world in which titiçih and other Nahua people functioned in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

Illness and Epidemics

There were three major epidemics that ravaged the indigenous population in Central

Mexico: 1520-21, 1545-46, and 1576-77. Historian Robert McCaa has argued that the first two were probably deadlier than the last because of the sheer amount of indigenous people who remained.16 In terms of the casualties from the three sixteenth-century epidemics, the number is

unclear and will probably remain so forever. Nevertheless, a common consensus is that

depending on the region, anywhere from one-third to one-half of the population died during the

1520s.17

One of the main killers in the tragic epidemic was smallpox, which affected indigenous

populations differently than those in Iberia and the rest of Europe. In Spain, smallpox had proven

to be a disease that mostly afflicted children and did not take many lives. Conversely, in New

Spain, the 1520 epidemic did not discriminate by age, and it claimed millions. Native leaders

were among the victims.18 This intensified the disruption of indigenous communities. For example, the Mexica lost Cuitlahuactzin, who initially repelled the Spaniards from Tenochtitlan,

15 Donald Joralemon, "New World Depopulation and the Case of Disease," in Biological Consequences of European Experiences, 1450-1800, ed. Kenneth F.; Beck Kiple, Stephen V. Vol. 26, (Vermont: Ashgate, 1997), 73.; Alfred W. Crosby, "Conquistador y Pestilencia: The First New World Pandemic and the Fall of the Great Indian Empires," The Hispanic American Historical Review 47, no. 3 (1967): 326.; J. N. Hays, The Burdens of Disease: Epidemics and Human Response in Western History, (London;New Brunswick, N.J;: Rutgers University Press, 1998), 74. 16 McCaa, "Spanish and Nahuatl Views on Smallpox and Demographic Catastrophe in Mexico," 428. 17 Crosby, "Conquistador y Pestilencia: The First New World Pandemic and the Fall of the Great Indian Empires," 333.; McCaa, "Spanish and Nahuatl Views on Smallpox and Demographic Catastrophe in Mexico," 399. 18 McCaa, "Spanish and Nahuatl Views on Smallpox and Demographic Catastrophe in Mexico," 419. 46

and his son Axayactzin. The lords of Chalco also fell to disease. In Cuahtitlan, Citlalcoatl and

Yohualtonatiuh both succumbed to illness.19 The loss of leadership left native communities

without their decision makers and a layer of defense against social cocoliztli, i.e., social

disequilibrium.

High mortality rates among indigenous populations have perplexed scholars, considering

that their African and European counterparts remained relatively unscathed. The “virgin soil” theory proposes that populations that have been isolated from certain illnesses, such as sixteenth- century indigenous people, suffer large casualties when they encounter new illnesses. This is of particular importance in the Western Hemisphere where smallpox, measles, malaria, and yellow fever did not exist prior to the arrival of Europeans.20 By comparing sixteenth- and seventeenth- century accounts of the Amazon with those from the twentieth century, scholars have concluded that malaria did not seem to affect said regions in the colonial period.21 As Donald Joralemon

noted, one thing remains clear, after contact with Europeans, indigenous populations decreased

due to disease. Whether this was because indigenous people were more susceptible to illnesses

that they had never encountered, or because they had “poor nursing care,” is something that has

yet to be fully proven.22

Alfred Crosby contended that the two primary reasons why disease ravaged indigenous

populations in the Western Hemisphere were: the nature of the illnesses; and the way in which

societies reacted to epidemic diseases.23 First, children were especially vulnerable to “virgin

soil” disease because they did not inherit antibodies for “local” illnesses. Moreover, according to

19 Ibid., 407-11. 20 Alfred W. Crosby, "Virgin Soil Epidemics as a Factor in the Aboriginal Depopulation in America," The William and Mary Quarterly 33, no. 2 (1976): 289. 21 Joralemon, "New World Depopulation and the Case of Disease," 74-75. 22 Ibid., 75. 23 Crosby, "Virgin Soil Epidemics as a Factor in the Aboriginal Depopulation in America," 293. 47

Crosby, children might also become neglected because their parents were sick, and their mothers

perhaps had a hard time lactating.24 He also argued that indigenous populations might have been hit with successive waves of diseases, and since no one had previous exposure, everyone got sick at once.25 Lastly, Crosby argued that indigenous people had no conception of contagion and did not separate the sick from the healthy, before Europeans arrived in the Western Hemisphere.26

This portrays Nahua medical cultures and their healers as at best unsophisticated and at worst

incapable of understanding illness and healing.

According to McCaa the reason smallpox devastated the population was the lack of caretakes and genetic factors.27 He argued that no evidence suggests that Europeans had genetic

immunity to small pox that indigenous people lacked. Instead, he contends that genetic diversity

was the key issue. Citing genetic research that claimed that indigenous people are among the

most homogenous groups genetically McCaa contended that small pox had an easier time going

through said population. His argument was simple, because indigenous people were more

genetically similar than Europeans and Africans, small pox routed their immune systems with

ease.28 To McCaa, isolation hindered genetic variations that would have acted as speed bumps

for disease.

J.N. Hays postulated a third, more complex understanding of the destruction that swept

indigenous populations. has argued that one of the marked differences between the sixteenth-

century indigenous and the fourteenth-century European epidemics is that in the 1340s plague

was the principal cause of deaths in Europe. People that overcame one epidemic, were vulnerable

24 Ibid., 294. 25 Ibid., 295. 26 Ibid., 296. 27 McCaa, "Spanish and Nahuatl Views on Smallpox and Demographic Catastrophe in Mexico," 419. 28 Ibid., 419-20. 48

to the next. Waves of smallpox, measles, plague, and typhus were difficult to overcome one after

the other. This was particularly true if influenza and pneumonia also became involved.29 Hays’ approach was closer to what Motolinía argued in the sixteenth century.

A similar argument comes from recent findings in Oaxaca, Mexico. Using a MALT

(MEGAN alignment tool) screening, a team of experts compared DNA from a site in

Teposcolula-Yucundaa (Oaxaca, Mexico) with a database of genomes from the National Center for Biotechnolgy Information. Researchers chose the location because it is the only known burial site that has been directly linked to the 1545-1550 epidemic that rocked New Spain. The team took data from the pulp chamber of the teeth of the indigenous individuals found at Teposcolula-

Yucundaa. They identified Salmonella enterica in the archaeological material that they analyzed.30 These new findings could help answer some of the questions regarding the Western

understanding of the epidemics from the 1540s. As the team points out, indigenous people

referred to the epidemic as cocoliztli and Spaniards used the term tabardillo, tabardete, and tifus

mortal. The common symptoms were red spots on the skin, bleeding from external orifices, and

vomiting. Vågene et al. argue that salmonella could have compounded with other pathogens to

create a syndemic (multiple epidemics occurring at once) effect on indigenous populations.31

This is in line with what Alfred W. Crosby has argued regarding the smallpox epidemic that

swept Tenochtitlan in 1520, which he believed was likely accompanied by pneumonia or

streptococcal infection.32

29 Hays, The Burdens of Disease: Epidemics and Human Response in Western History, 73-74. 30 Åshild J. Vågene et al., "Salmonella Enterica Genomes from Victims of a Major Sixteenth-Century Epidemic in Mexico," Nature Ecology & Evolution (2018): 2. 31 Ibid., 7. 32 Crosby, "Conquistador y Pestilencia: The First New World Pandemic and the Fall of the Great Indian Empires," 329. 49

Drought

Drought also contributed to the destabilization of early-colonial Mexico is drought.

Drought and other climate changes caused food shortages which in turn exacerbated epidemics.

Acuna-Soto et al., noted that in the sixteenth century the worst drought to affect North America

in the last half millennium ravaged Mexico. They argue that this “mega drought” worked in

conjunction with other ecologic and sociologic factors to intensify the effects of disease in

Mexico. Acuna-Soto et al., contend that a rodent-born illness might have initiated the cocoliztli outbreaks of the sixteenth century. The lack of water and foodstuffs pushed rodents to concentrate near humans, particularly indigenous people, who had fields and homes with food supplies.33

More recent data and studies support this argument. Using ancient Montezuma bald

cypress trees (Taxodium mucronatum) from Barranca de Amealco, Queretaro, and another from

Los Peroles, San Luis Potosí, a group of dendrochronologists have been able to provide precipitation data for the last 1,238 years.34 These records suggest that one of the worst droughts

in the Central Mexican Plateau in the last millennium occurred in the twelfth century. From 1149

to 1167 there was a massive drought in the Central Mexican region that possibly caused or

exacerbated the downfall of the Toltec civilization. This twelfth-century drought might have pushed hostile Chichimeca people south, causing instability in the Toltec state. According to

Stahle et al., the twelfth-century drought coincided with other water shortages in Yucatan,

Jalisco, and North America. There is also indication of drought from 1378-1404, right before the rise of the Colhua-Mexica and their allies (Aztec empire) in 1427. The Mexica did not go by

33 Rodolfo Acuna-Soto et al., "Megadrought and Megadeath in 16th Century Mexico," Emerging Infectious Diseases 8 (2002): 360-62. 34 D. W. Stahle et al., "Major Mesoamerican Droughts of the Past Millennium," Geophysical Research Letters 38, no. 5 (2011): 1. 50

unscathed. They were struck by drought in 1454. Drought hit them once more in 1514 just four

years before Cortes arrived in the area. This drought lasted until 1539 and compounded with the

smallpox epidemic that shook Central Mexico in 1520.35

Nahua Response to Colonial Epidemics

By examining clues left behind by Spanish sources regarding how Nahua people treated

and reacted to epidemics, this section demonstrates that Nahua people did have capable healers

that responded to outbreaks. Nevertheless, their techniques inadvertently advanced the spread of

disease among indigenous people, and most notably ritual healers themselves. Without healers

that understood the salubrious properties of plants and other materials, and the ritual knowledge

to make them function, Nahua communities were vulnerable to high mortality rates.

From Motolinía to modern scholars, many have believed that indigenous people were

simply not capable of providing an answer to diseases brought by Europeans. According to

Motolinía when Panfilo de Narváez arrived in New Spain seeking to capture Hernando Cortes, an infected black man transmitted smallpox to the population. This contagion caused some parts

of New Spain to lose up to half of their population. To Motolinía, native people’s ignorance to

smallpox’s “remedio” (remedy) attributed high indigenous mortality rates. He further argued that

indigenous people were accustomed to bathing frequently, whether they were healthy or sick.

This caused the indigenous people to “die like chinches” (bedbugs). 36 Many of the Native

people died from hunger, Motolinía believed, because everyone got sick at once, and thus they

were not able to heal or feed one another. Motolinía stated that this pestilence was known as

35 Ibid., 4. 36 Motolinía, Memoriales de Fray Toribio de Motolinia: Manuscrito de la colección del señor don Joaquín García Icazbalceta, 18. 51

hueyi zahuatl (great wheal37), which he translated as the “great leprosy” since the illness covered everyone with pustules from head-to-toe, like leprosy.38

Although Motolinía deemed indigenous people incompetent to find a remedy for

smallpox, his description suggests that, notwithstanding bathing too often, it was a question of

ability, not knowledge. Nahua people were unable to care for each other because most of them

became sick, not because their methods or practices were inadequate. The bathing aspect of this

description is probably an allusion to the temazcalli (steam bath) which, like Molina stated

above, was used by the sick and healthy and likely facilitated the spread of disease.39

McCaa also has asserted that lack medical knowledge was an important social factor that

led to high mortality rates among native peoples. He wrote, “Whereas Europeans possessed no

herbs, antibiotics, or prophylaxes, they, unlike the natives, understood, that chances of recovery

improved with care, water, food, and clean, warm clothing.”40 McCaa implied that only

Europeans understood how to care for the sick, especially in the context of illnesses that were more common in Europe. Yet, he did acknowledge that Spanish onlookers reported that the first epidemic affected children and adults, thus leaving indigenous people without caretakers, and food suppliers.41 I argue that this second assertion more accurately explains the disastrous results that Nahua communities had caring for their ill during the sixteenth-century epidemics.

Fray Bernardino de Sahagún and his Nahua assistants offered several accounts regarding the counteraction of cocoliztli (illness or pestilence) in the Historia general.42 Book Six’s first

37 A wheal is a small bump on the skin from an insect bite or some other injury. 38 Motolinía, Memoriales de Fray Toribio de Motolinia: Manuscrito de la colección del señor don Joaquín García Icazbalceta, 18. 39 The temazcalli is discussed in more detail in Chapter 2. 40 McCaa, "Spanish and Nahuatl Views on Smallpox and Demographic Catastrophe in Mexico," 420. 41 Ibid., 420-21. 42 Cocoliztli is a nominalized noun composed of the verb “cocoa” (to be hurt or sick) and the nominalizing suffix -liztli. Therefore, the literal translation would be “sickness,” or “the hurting.” Know, Molina demonstrates that the word can have a more abstract meaning, “enfermedad o pestilencia,” (illness or pestilence). (Molina 2, f 23v)is 52

chapter describes the veneration of Tezcatlipoca to treat an undated plague that struck the

Mexica people, likely one that struck in the 1520s. According to the Historia, the teopixqueh

(divinity keepers),43 were charged with appeasing Tezcatlipoca. They used courteous language and complex metaphors when speaking to their supreme deity in hopes of mitigating the impact of pestilence.44 Based on the events that unfolded in the 1520s and the rest of the sixteenth

century, it would seem that this approach did not prove to be effective. Nonetheless, it is

important to note that this would have been the job of the teopixqueh, and not titiçih. Nahua

communities entrusted Teopixqueh with the veneration and care deities, much like priests in the

Catholic Church, though they were not exactly healers dealing with infirm patients.45

Similarly, there is evidence that pre-Columbian tlatoqueh (rulers) in the Central Valley prepared, at least ritually, for the possibility of widespread disease, though perhaps not at the

proportions of the sixteenth-century epidemics. For example, the Historia general notes that after a community elected a tlatoani (sing. of tlatoqueh), he would humbly ask for Tezcatlipoca’s favor during his tenure. He asked for protection from illness.46 When this part of the ceremony

was complete, a hueyi pilli (high-ranking noble person) or a hueyi tecutlato (high-ranking ruler)

would address the new tlatoani. Among the many metaphors and verses of language that he used

to address the new ruler, the leader rhetorically asked him how he would react to famine,

population flight, and cocoliztli if it struck his city.47 This is a test that Moctezuma and his

used, thought it is not always necessary.is used, thought it is not always necessary.is used, thought it is not always necessary.is used, thought it is not always necessary.is used, thought it is not always necessary.is used, thought it is not always necessary. 43 Teopixque is often translated as priest, though the literal meaning would be “divinity keeper.” In this particular section the Historia uses inteopixcahuan, which would translate as “their divinity keepers.” 44 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 1r-5r. 45 For more information on teopixqueh see Louise M. Burkhart, Before Guadalupe: The Virgin Mary in Early Colonial Nahuatl literature, (Albany, NY: Institute for Mesoamerican Studies, University at Albany: Distributed by University of Texas Press, 2001), 33. 46 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 35v. 47 Ibid., f 41r-41v. 53

advisers faced in 1520 when a deadly far-reaching illness, and violence from war, weakened,

destabilized, and decimated the Central Basin.

Lastly, the Historia general offers an idiom used in times of “great war, or great

pestilence.” Nahua people would say, “It was done over us, or it passed over us, the ocean, the

war.”48 According to Sahagún et al., people would use this idiom after a big war or pestilence

had swept an area. Perhaps claiming many lives.49 Again, this was surely smaller in size and

scope than the devastation Nahua populations faced in the 1520s, 1540, and 1570s. This trio of

epidemics surely merited the phrase.

The Historia general also discusses the battles with European men, and with the

pathogens they brought to the Central Valley. Book Twelve, which is largely concerned with the

fall of Tenochtitlan, notes that before Spaniards left Tlaxcala, zahuatl (smallpox or great rash)

overtook the population.50 While this chapter does describe how the illness afflicted people, and

it weakened the Mexica warriors, the text does not explore how Nahua people treated their ill.

Like Motolinía, the Historia’s Nahuatl text described a starving population that suffered many

deaths that left no one to take care of others, or to undertake daily tasks. The Castilian text adds

that people were hungry because there was no one around to make food.51 Red bumps covered

the population, and those that survived were disfigured by pocks. According to the Historia, the

48 The Nahuatl reads, “Otopan mochiuh, anoço otopan onquiz: in iuhqui tehuatl, tlachinolli.” Ibid., f 202v.The Historia’s Book Eleven (Chapter 12) states that prior to the arrival of Europeans and conversion to Christianity, the indigenous people of New Spain referred to the ocean as teoatl. Sahagún et al., explain that the name did note denote a deity, but instead its beauty and marvel. Moreover, ilhuicatl was a synonym of teoatl, meaning heaven-water, because the water extended to the heavens. Though there seems to be evidence that these terms did have some religious connotation since after the conquest Nahuas in the Central Valley started referring to the ocean as “hueyi atl,” or “great water.” Ibid., f 222v - 23r. 49 Ibid., f 202v. 50Sahagún, "El Dozeno Libro," f 53r - 53v. 51 The Nahuatl text states, “…yhuan miequintin zan apizmicque, amizmicoac, aocac motecuitlahuiya, aocac teca mohiahuaya.” This translates as, “…. And many were just starving, they starved, no one took care of one another, no one did things for people.” (“El Dozeno Libro,” f 53r – 53v) 54

epidemic lasted sixty days and when the Mexica warriors started to recover, Spaniards

attacked.52 Like Motolinía the Historia paints an image of quick and rampant death that was

pushed to exponential numbers because no one was healthy enough to tend to the sick. It is

crucial to note that Sahagún and his Nahua assistants did not mention failed attempts to heal the sick be it by ritual or otherwise.

The accompanying image sheds some light on how the Nahua people in the Central

Valley might have responded to smallpox. (Figure 2) The image shows three separate scenes. On the right (scene 1), three unclothed individuals covered in bumps are laying on a petlatl (reed mat), wrapped in a blanket, with a rock serving as a support for their heads. The man on the top is covered from his ankles to his neck, and though alive, seems uncomfortable. The man in the middle appears to have succumbed to smallpox. While the man on the bottom look as if he is in

agony and perhaps dying. The bottom left side of the image (scene 2) depicts a supine, naked

man, covered with bumps. The man is wrapped in a blanket and appears to struggle to get up as

he shouts. This corroborates with the Nahuatl text which notes that the ill were unable to stand,

move, or lay on their backs or stomachs without great pain.53 Lastly, the top left corner (scene 3)

illustrates a shirtless – and perhaps naked – man covered in bumps, wrapped in a blanket and

propped up against a rock, or some other surface, as a woman speaks to him.

52 Ibid., f 53r - 53v. 53 Ibid., f 53v. 55

Figure 2 The devastation of cocoliztli, and titiçih's response (El Dozeno Libro, f 53r) (line drawing by author) Although there is no mention in the Nahuatl or Spanish text of the woman, I argue that

she is a tiçitl. Unlike the men depicted in any of the three scenes, the woman is fully clothed, her

hair is groomed, and her skin is free of blemishes. This suggests the woman is illness free.

Moreover, the woman’s posture and demeanor suggest that she is not related to the sick man she is assisting. For example, she keeps a distance from the sick man, and she places her right hand on his left arm, and her left arm on the man’s legs. Her posture and the speech scroll in front of her face suggest that she is verbally comforting him, or perhaps diagnosing the man’s illness.

The woman is not crying, which suggests she did not have any emotional connection to the man who might soon expire. I would argue that this woman was a tiçitl, and the man was a patient.

Titiçih were ritual specialists that focused on healing, and women’s roles in tiçiyotl were much more expansive than previously realized. Like this image shows, female and male titiçih would have responded to outbreaks and epidemics. Although the Spanish and Nahuatl text state that 56

there was no one to take care of people, at least in the early stages titiçih probably responded,

and they likely faced the same fate as their patients— illness and death.

Francisco Hernández, the first protomédico of the indies, wrote about his first-hand

encounter with cocoliztli during the 1576 epidemic, and he placed blame on indigenous people for their plight. He reported that the epidemic began in June 1576 and it mostly affected the young. Those that were old and contracted disease survived. Hernández, like other Spaniards, implied that indigenous people exacerbated their conditions. Native peoples were “in love with wine,” and they indiscriminately ate peppers and corn which caused excess bile and blood.

Therefore, few indigenous people that had swelling in their abdomen survived. He noted that the cold areas within a 400-mile radius of Mexico City bore the brunt of the epidemic, while warm regions were relatively better off. The zones with indigenous people were affected first, followed by those occupied by indigenous and black people. Then illness moved to the areas with indigenous and European people. Areas predominately composed of African populations were struck by disease second-to-last, and the final areas to feel the strains of illnesses were those inhabited predominantly by Europeans.54 According to Hernández, Indigenous populations

seemed to be the most vulnerable.

Hernández suggested treatments indicates that a variety of illnesses affected the

populations at the same time. One of the most prevalent conditions affecting people was the

expulsion of great amounts of blood from their bodies. For this, Hernández recommended casia

fistulari (a plant known as Casia fistula originally from South Asia used for its purgative

properties), 55 and diacatholicon (a European all-purpose remedy with purgative properties). If

54 Germán Somolinos d'Ardois, "Hallazgo del manuscrito sobre el cocoliztli, original del Dr. Francisco Hernández," Prensa Médica Mexicana 21, no. 7-10 (1956): 120. 55 Amitabye Luximon-Ramma et al., "Antioxidant Activities of Phenolic, Proanthocyanidin, and Flavonoid Components in Extracts of Cassia fistula," Journal of Agricultural and Food Chemistry 50, no. 18 (2002): 5042. 57

these items were not available, then he recommended indigenous materials, save one option.

These included totoicxitl, cacamotic (good for urinary problems), coanenepilli (a plant that

defended against spells and had properties that helped with intestinal problems),56 and theriaca

magna (an ancient European universal remedy and antidote).57 If the illness continued, then

Hernández recommended the use of unclogging unguents, which should be rubbed all over the

sick person’s midsection. Moreover, the sick person should consume a cooked barley drink made

with a combination of celery root, coanenepilli root, and fennel seeds. From time to time it was

also necessary to employ cococtlacotl chipahuac and atochietl.58 If the sick person had tumors

behind the ears, a hot piece of metal was used to poke them and the pus that flowed from the

pustules was wiped clean with cotton and pink honey. If the infirm person contracted dysentery

then they could be treated with sour pomegranate juice, rose water, plantain spray, pink honey,

and Egyptian unguent. All these items were mixed in a fire and introduced via a clyster to the

patient for ten days.59 There is no mention of who supplied the salubrious materials, nor who

applied them to the ill.

Two of the indigenous plants that Hernández recommended Sahagún and his informants mention a cacamotic poxahuac60 that was used for neaxixtzaqualiztli, which the Spanish text

translates as “enfermedad de la vejiga” (illness of the bladder). The Nahuatl and Spanish text

agree that this was the first line of defense for urinary problems. According to the Nahuatl text,

56 Francisco Hernández, "Index Medicamentorum," in The Mexican Treasury: The Writings of Dr Francisco Hernández, ed. Simon Varey and Rafael Chabrán, (Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 81-82. 57 Theriaca magna was essentially used and prescribed for all ailments, particularly those involving poison. (Karamanou and Androutsos, ppg. 35-42) 58 Molina lists atochietl as “poleo, yerva conocida” (Pennyroyal, a known herb). (Molina 2, f 9r) Which is a direct copy from Antonio de Nebrija’s 1516 dictionary. Nebrija translated poleo as pulegium, which is probably Mentha pulegium. (Nebrija, pg. 119) Now, whether the poleo that Hernández referred to was of European or Mesoamerican origin is unknown. For instances of Molina’s imposition of European terms on Nahua knowledge see Chapter 4. 59 Somolinos d'Ardois, "Hallazgo del manuscrito sobre el cocoliztli, original del Dr. Francisco Hernández," 117-20. 60 Cacamoctic translates as a soft or tender thing, while poxahuac is a fluffy or spongy thing. 58

cacamotic was also good for “ixpampa huetzi” (what fell in front).61 This is a metaphor that

Alfredo López Austin has argued means a liquid that was produced by both men and women to

reproduce.62 Thus, we can infer that this substance was good for urinary and reproductive issues.

In other works, Hernández elaborated by stating the cacamotic tlanoquilonicould be used as a purgative.63 He recommended that individuals take two ounces at bedtime to remove bilious,

and other, humors from the body.64

The same is true for the plant known as coanenepilli. In Book Ten, Sahagún and his

assistants recommend a concoction of coanenepilli, yolquahuitl, and tlaquacuitlapilli as a cure

for neaxixtzaqualiztli.65 Book Eleven of the Historia general described the coanenepilli in more

detail. It was a plant with a white root that boasted a thick skin. It was a cure for mixnamictia

cihuacocolli (congested menstruation, or hematometra) and issues with toquichio (semen).

Coanenepilli was infused with iztac quahuitl and served as a drink. The patient would eat a small

amount of the root and drink the infusion. According to Sahagún et al., the leaves did not have

any medicinal properties.66

Conversely, the Nahua titiçih that informed Sahagún and his assistants provided different suggestions than Hernández’s. To cure nanahuatl (pustules)67 the all-male group offered the consumption of tletlemaitl (a shrub whose root was said to cure syphilis and help with skin issues68), and a bath in it as well. Though the text uses the passive voice, the supplier and applier of pahtli was probably a tiçitl because accompanying images shows a woman holding a bowl and

61 Sahagún, "Libro Decimo," f 108v - 09r. 62 Alfredo López Austin, Cuerpo humano e ideologiía: Las concepciones de los antiguos Nahuas. vol. 2, (Ciudad de México: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 2012), 190. 63 Tlanoquiloni was a term used to describe a substance with purgative properties. 64 Hernández, "Quatro Libros de la Nautraleza," 154. 65Sahagún, "Libro Decimo," f 108v - 09r. 66 Sahagún, "Libro Undecimo," f 143v - 44r. 67 Though Molina translated nanahuatl as “bubas,” which would equate to syphilis or “French Pox.” (2, 63r) 68 Hernández, "Juan Eusebio Nieremberg," 181. 59

dabbing a substance on a man’s pustule-covered back. Based on the text, the substance the

woman is applying in the image is probably powdered tlalquequetzal (a plant whose leaves

provoked urine, evacuated menses, and helped urinary and intestinal problems), or metal filings

(likely copper).69 Both the Nahuatl and Castilian text note that a distinction between two types of

pustules, tlacazolnanahuatl (filthy pustules) and tecpilnanahuatl (small pustules or pustules of

the nobles) or pochonanahuatl (ceiba pustules). The Historia general notes that pustules were painful and paralyzing and caused individuals to have twisted feet and hands. Those afflicted by the pustules should take quauhtlepahtli (a plant that Hernández found indigenous people had confirmed was effective for topical use to treat syphilis, cachexia, dropsy, leprosy, alopecia, and rashes70) four to five times daily, and bath in it as well. If an individual suffered from twisted

hands or feet, then he or she should ingest tlatlapanaltic (the text compares it to caxtlatlapan

which is a morning glory) and be bled with an obsidian blade.71 When the pustules burst, the

person should ingest a fish-amaranth atolli (gruel).72 This would imply that Nahua people had a

system in place to take care of their ill, and that it was different to, and thus predated, European

approaches.

Yet, Hernández’s letter paints a picture where indigenous populations were left

unattended by their healers. He reported that those affected by illness were desperate due to the

lack of food, remedies, and physicians. Though there are hints that the ill received care. Some

used cooked atochietl, or quauhayoachtlli. Sick people were also bathed with cold water and had

69 Tlalquequetzal is described in Hernández, "Seven English Authors," 241. In terms of metal filings, the Nahuatl text uses the term tepoztlallli which means “metal filings,” but the Castilian text uses the phrase “las limaduras del cobre,” which means “copper filings.” (“Libro Decimo,” f 109v.) 70 Hernández, "Quatro Libros de la Nautraleza," 123. 71 Bernardino de Sahagún, General History of The Things of New Spain: Book 11, Earthly Things, ed. Charles E. Dibble and Arthur J. O. Anderson, The School of American Research, Santa Fe, N M Monographs (Santa Fe, N.M.: The School of American Research and The University of Utah, 1963), 157. 72 Sahagún, "Libro Decimo," f 109v. 60 their foreheads sprayed with coatli (a plant that was a kidney and bladder cleanser and reduced fevers) juice and they were given iztacpatli (the skin of this plant’s root was said to purge all humors and clear buboes when ground) juice to drink.73 Like most of Hernández’s writings, discussed in more detail in Chapter 2, this letter used the passive voice and it is thus unclear who treated the sick by applying the indigenous materials he mentioned.

Though it is uncertain what Hernández meant when he noted a shortage of physicians, he probably meant Spanish physicians, not Mesoamerican healers. Perhaps like in the first two major epidemics, high mortality rates left indigenous populations without any caretakers, and thus the mortality rates soared. We can logically assume that titiçih, and other ritual specialists, performed the cures that Hernández described in his brief report. Though in the emergencies that epidemics created, observant community members surely applied salubrious materials to themselves and others. It is likely that these ad hoc practices lacked the ritual components that accompanied them normally. Yet, Hernández’s letter suggests that indigenous people actively dealt with disease out of their own volition.

The parish priest and judge against indigenous idolatry, Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón provides some detail on how indigenous populations foresaw disaster. He persecuted, and documented, the healing and ritual practices of Nahua people in seventeenth-century southeastern Guerrero.74 Yet, his discussion of epidemics is scant. Ruiz de Alarcón mostly elaborated on how Nahua people foresaw disaster, not how they addressed it.

73 For coatli see Hernández, "Rerum Medicarum Novae Hispaniae Thesaurus," 201. For iztacpatli see ibid., 200. Lastly, for usage of iztacpatli as a beverage see Somolinos d'Ardois, "Hallazgo del manuscrito sobre el cocoliztli, original del Dr. Francisco Hernández," 120-21. 74 I explore Ruiz de Alarcón’s activities in Chapter 6. 61

In his Tratado Ruiz de Alarcón explained that the Nahua people had certain tetzahuih

(omens) that indicated that something bad was going to happen.75 He noted that Nahuas

regarded “extraordinary animals” as omens. These animals included lions, eagles, tigers, bears,

wolves, coyotes, snakes, and skunks. More importantly, Nahuas in the region of Guerrero feared

coming across a snake named celcoatl or metlapilcoatl. According to Ruiz de Alarcón this snake

was thick and never exceeded sixty-six inches (168 cm). The metlalpilcoatl would coil itself on

its tail and jump fourteen feet (427 cm) in the air. Nahuas believed that the snake was a nahualli

(a ritual specialist that manipulates his or her surroundings to shapeshift, and sometimes cause physical harm), not a regular animal. They feared the snake, fled from it upon sight, and believed it was an omen of great evil, death, famine, and plague.76

Ruiz de Alarcón made another cursory mention of illness among his parishioners in a

letter to the Holy Office of the Inquisition on October 8, 1625, which predated his Tratado. He

noted that the indigenous people in his district were very sick and dispersed. He added that if any

individual needed a confession he had to walk at least a day to get to them.77 He did not provide

details regarding the nature of the illness, its symptoms, or how the local population was

handling the situation. This is likely because Ruiz de Alarcón was primarily using the illness as a

rhetorical tool to justify why it had taken him so long to contact the Holy Office with matters of

orthodoxy.

75 Ruiz de Alarcón uses the term tetzahuitl and translates it as “agueros” (auguries) in Spanish; however, he added that it could also be an omen, prognostication, or a prodigy. (Ruiz de Alarcón, 53) The word tetzahuitl would be a singular noun, in the text I have pluralized the word by using an “h” at the end. Furthermore, Molina translated marvel, omen, great punishment, or feat as tetzahuitl. (Molina 1, f 82r; f 6r; f 93 v; f 68 v.) From the Nahuatl to Spanish, Molina translated tetzahuitl as “a scandalous or frightening thing, or a thing of augury.” (Molina 2, f 111r) This suggests that Nahua people used the term tetzahuitl for events or items that indicated something in the future, usually a bad thing that caused fear, and perhaps scandalized observers. Ruiz de Alarcón gave examples as solar and lunar eclipses. (p. 53) 76 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 54-55. 77 AGN, Indiferente Virrienal, Caja 5172, Exp. 39. Mexico City: 1624-25. f 3r. 62

These types of colonial sources provide glimpses of how indigenous people cared for their ill when epidemics struck, showing that men and women were not passive victims that simply waited for certain death. On the contrary, based on the information that we can piece together it seems that indigenous healers probably responded to the first reports of disease, and like the millions of indigenous people that died, they too fell to the waves of sickness.

Furthermore, once healers had perished, individuals took it upon themselves to heal each other with the plants they knew were effective for certain diseases. Nevertheless, many sixteenth- century sources fail to clearly establish and explore the role of indigenous healers in their communities. This changed in the seventeenth century, when Spaniards identified titiçih as malevolent.

Titiçih as aggravating factors to Spanish Health Efforts

By the 1630s as indigenous populations began to recover epidemics continued to strike in

New Spain. Spaniards continued to cite drunkenness and other issues as contributing to their perceived susceptibility to epidemic disease, a way to blame native peoples themselves for succumbing to disease. One key difference, however, is that by the 1630s Spaniards began to identify titiçih as another important aggravating factors to indigenous mortality related to disease.

On August 3, 1636 Dr. Jacinto de la Serna, visitador general y examindor sinodal

(general inspector and synodal examiner) of the Archdiocese of Mexico penned a report to the

Dean of the Cathedral in Mexico City. This report was prompted by a letter sent from the viceroy of New Spain to the dean regarding the dilapidated state of indigenous peoples in New Spain.

The Dean believed that the best way to approach was to send seasoned priests with experience in indigenous cultures to go out and report on how to convert them, and to prevent and cure their 63

illnesses. Serna recognized the importance of the task that the dean wished to undertake, yet he

asked to be excused because he believed that others were better suited for the job. He praised the

Dean for attempting to philosophize and anatomize the illnesses that affected his vassals, because he believed that medicine consisted of good philosophy. This was especially important with

Indians because he believed that they needed help seeking good and avoiding evil since they

were pequeñuelos (little ones, i.e., neophytes) to spiritual guidance and had few ministers among

them. He noted that since so many other medicines and treatments had not worked, it was

necessary for physicians to anatomize and philosophize about the Indian’s plight and bring its

cause to light.78

Despite asking to be excused from the Dean’s task, Serna postulated as to why

indigenous people were so ill, and like Hernández, he largely placed the blame on them.

According to Serna, once the Indians became sick they exacerbated their situation. Some gave up

and died to free themselves of their countless labors. A second factor was a “perturbation”

committed by certain swindler “médicos” that were pervasive in all regions and towns.

According to his investigations they had and an implicit or explicit pact with the devil, or they at

least cured with superstition. Serna argued that these médicos mislead their patients by claiming

that their illnesses were super natural. They contended that hexes or acts of enemies caused

illnesses. Médicos faked removing stones, furs, wools and shells from areas in the body afflicted

with pain.79 They persuaded their communities to believe that Spanish medicine would not help them. The sick would only recover if the person that caused the hex did not wish it. This, stated

Serna, made the Indigenous people die miserably. There were infinite amounts of these

physicians among the Indians, and they sickened the souls of their countrymen and disrupted the

78 BNAH, Colección Antigua, Vol. 336, Numero 23. Mexico City: 1636. f 99r. 79 For an example see the case of Ana de Xochimilco in Chapter 3. 64

medicine in their patients’ bodies. The third issue, he noted, was the shortage of medicine, and

knowledge of its proper application. Lastly, many of the Indians slept on the floor with rocks as

headboards near each other, in illness or health. This, he argued, spread disease among them

rapidly.80 A description that fits the Historia’s image discussed above, perfectly.

Serna also acknowledged that Spanish endeavors had placed indigenous people in a

precarious position, though he was only critical of lay projects. Like Motolinía, Serna used

biblical Egypt as a metaphor for the condition of Nahua people. While Motolinía compared

indigenous people to the Egyptians (i.e., the oppressors), whom suffered plagues at the hand of

God, Serna compared indigenous people to the Jews (i.e., the victims) held captive by Egyptians.

Serna stated that the treatment Indians received in New Spain was worse than the Jews in Egypt.

For instance, he argued that Spaniards forced Indians to work, physically abused them, stole their

property, and forcefully relocated them for labor purposes. This left indigenous lands unworked,

thus, they starved. If men fled these conditions Spaniards would capture women and held them

as hostages until the men returned. According to Serna this left the Indians naked, hungry, and

thirsty.81

Serna argued that indigenous ignorance, and native beliefs made matters worse. When

Indians could go home, they engaged in the “Devil’s vice” of drunkenness which was pervasive

among them. He reported that indigenous people said they purposely got drunk because their

jobs were so harsh that they would rather numb their troubles. They also ate poorly, cavorted with women, slept unclothed in the open air, and they got colds that they passed to each other. If they were bled, they could not handle the blood loss because they were so weak. If they were not bled their tabardillo (Murine typhus) increased. Mothers could only provide low-quality milk for

80 BNAH, "Colección Antigua, Vol. 336, Numero 23," f 100r - 00v. 81 Ibid., f 99v - 100r. 65

their children. As some got sick, it spread and went from house to house and barrio to barrio until

illness engulfed the entire town.82 This is a model that fits nearly seamlessly with Motolinía’s

and Sahagún’s descriptions of the 1520 epidemic, save the consumption of alcohol.

Drunkenness and vice were common tropes that Church officials used to explain the

condition of indigenous people since the late sixteenth century. For example, in 1582 Phillip II

unofficially named the Archbishop of Mexico, don Pedro Moya de Contreras, the protector of the

Indians after he received reports of egregious abuse of indigenous people. Don Pedro held Native people in low regards and viewed their condition as bleak. He believed that indigenous people could improve their general condition if they could curb their idolatry and drunkenness by applying themselves to manual labor and stopped being lazy.83

In his letter, Serna also gave four solutions to improve the health of the indigenous

people. The first was to relieve Indians from their personal service obligations (i.e., slavery and

repartimientos), and only compel them to take part in public service (i.e., Church and Crown

projects). The second was to try and cure their drunkenness, and though he believed it was a tall

order, he provided some potential remedies. Serna thought that the usage of white pulque among

Indians should be allowed because it was harmless and medicinal. Tepache and other forms of

liquor made with aguamiel (maguey sap), or sugarcane should be banned, and the items

necessary to make these liquors should also be made illegal. Thirdly, Serna proposed that, the

Church should expose “médicos indios, o embusteros” throughout New Spain at the same time, and they should be made aware that they were cheats. He believed that it was necessary to reform and standardize the way in which these médicos were treated because they were

82 Ibid., f 100r. 83 Stafford Poole, Pedro Moya de Contreras: Catholic Reform and Royal Power in New Spain, 1571-1591, Vol. 2nd (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2011), 65-67. 66

persecuted in some towns and not in others, and they needed to universally be terrorized and

made aware that their actions were bad.84

Serna then suggested that indigenous people should take their ill to parish priests for care and to receive the sacrament of anointing of the sick. He proposed that regular and secular priests should nurse the ill back to health at no cost. He favored minstros de doctrina (priests in charge of recently converted indigenous parishes) because they had a better handle on the nature of indigenous illnesses due to their experience with them. He stated that although Tarascan Indians in the diocese of Michoacán used hospitals, most other “nations” did not let the sick leave their

homes. Serna suggested that priests should stock a house, or a section of a church, with beds or petates (mats; a Spanish loan word for the Nahuatl petatl). The space should also have “general

medicines,” which I discuss in more depth in Chapter Three. The unit should be equipped with instruments such as lancets and cupping therapy cups. Most importantly, according to Serna, the

Archbishop should provide each parish with a copy of Doctor Farfan’s book.85 He also

recommended salubrious and appetizing food available for sick indigenous people. Two or four

pious indios ladinos (hispanized indigenous people) should help distribute the food in the proto-

hospital. The food should be warm, and on schedule.86 Serna essentially projected a space that

would provide the sick, and probably also the destitute, a place to absorb European notions of

healing and devotion.

Serna recommended that the Church take a more prominent role in the lives of the sick

and dislodge indios médicos (indigenous physicians), which he called “tizitl” in later works, from

84 BNAH, "Colección Antigua, Vol. 336, Numero 23," f 100r. 85 Though Serna did not specify the title of the book nor the full name of the author, he was surely referring to Augustin Farfan’s Tratado breve de medicina, y de todas las enfermedades, que á cada paso se ofrecen, published in 1592 in Mexico City. 86 BNAH, "Colección Antigua, Vol. 336, Numero 23," f 101v. 67

their prominent position in Nahua society. The sacrament of anointing the sick was more about

providing spiritual comfort and ensuring that a person close to death was on good terms with the

Church and God, than it was about healing the sick. This is illustrated in Serna’s Iberian-born contemporary Doctor Diego Julián García de Bayona’s 1633 manual titled De la veneracion del

Santisimo Sacaramento de la Extremauncion.87

Garcia de Bayona wrote his manual, in Castilian, for priests to easily understand the

importance of the sacrament of anointing the sick. Garcia de Bayona believed that among the

seven Holy Sacraments, the sacrament of anointing the sick did not enjoy the respect it deserved.

He provided the reader with three main reasons why priests should practice the sacrament of

Anointing of the Sick more fervently. First, it was one of the seven sacraments that Christians

had practiced since the time of the apostles. Moreover, the custom of anointing the sick

venerated Jesus Christ.88 Secondly, García de Bayona cited various authorities that believed that

the Virgen Mary requested the Sacrament of Anointment in her final hours. Therefore, this

Sacrament removed all individuals from sin, even if like the Virgen Mary, they were sinless.89

Lastly, Garcia de Bayona noted that this sacrament was charged with meaning and implications

for those that received it. Oil, he remarked, was a symbol of joy and happiness. Through the

sacrament of anointment God gave Christians spiritual and physical health, and added days to

their lives.90 He pointed to the Apostle James’ writings for further evidence regarding the

sacrament, quoting, “If one of you is sick, call the church’s priests so they beg God on his behalf,

and they will give the sick person the anointing of Holy oil, and the prayer of faith will save the

87 This title translates as Regarding the Veneration of the Anointing of the Sick. 88 Diego Julián Garcia de Bayona, De la veneracion del Smo. Sacramento de la Extremauncion: doctrina para conocer las tentaciones del demonio en la hora de la muerte, y vencerlas para morir en la gracia de Dios: dividida en dos tratados, (Madrid: por Francisco Martinez, 1633), 12. 89 Ibid., 12-23. 90 Ibid., 24. 68

sick person, and God will give him relief; and if he was in sin, God would forgive him.”91 This

illustrates the contest that Serna saw between indigenous ritual specialists that responded to heal

the sick, and his and other priests’ duty to heal and save the sick.

Although there is no evidence that Serna read García de Bayona’s work, the treatise

provides a window into seventeenth-century Catholic thought regarding said sacrament. Garcia

de Bayona, like Serna in Mexico, proposed that priests take a more central role in healing the

sick, and bolster the position of the Church. García de Bayona’s manual also suggests a new

thrust within the Church to increase the popularity of the sacrament of anointing the sick among

the faithful, who seemed less drawn to it relative to other sacraments. In Mexico, Serna sought

the help of Hispanized Indigenous people to turn the tide in favor of the priests.

Serna urged that minstros de doctrina and indios ladinos should assist indigenous populations in their transition into Spanish healing cultures. Clerics in charge of a parish should make a plot of land, or some other fund-generating endeavor, available to pay for the required medicines and materials for a “hospital.” Priests should also be sure that clothing from the sick did not make its way to healthy people. Indios ladinos would oversee the distribution and administration of medicine, and cup and bleed the ill at appropriate times.92 Serna did not

envision hospitals staffed by trained medical practitioners, but rather people with strong Catholic

connections. Serna would go on to refine his views and approaches on ridding indigenous healers

from Native populations in his manual, discussed in more detail in Chapter Five.

91 Ibid., 28. The original Castilian reads, “Si alguno de vosotros estuviere enfermo, llame los Sacerdotes de la Iglesia que rueguen por él a Dios, y le den la Uncion del olio Santo, y la oracion de la Fé le Salvará al enfermo, y le dará Dios alivio; y si estuviere en pecados, se los perdonará.” 92 BNAH, "Colección Antigua, Vol. 336, Numero 23," f 102r. 69

The Province of Teotlalco and Forced Labor

One of the final factors in destabilizing the indigenous communities of Central Mexico

was the movement of people largely due to flight, forced migration, and corvée. Spanish

authorities, both religious and civil, often argued for the resettlement of Indian populations in the

Central Plateau to keep them within reach. Concentrated populations emulated Iberian views of

civilization but also made it easier for priests to indoctrinate larger numbers of people and for

civil authorities to extract tribute and labor. In the sixteenth century Bernardino de Sahagún and

his trilingual assistants, among many others, were active in the Central Valley. In the seventeenth

century, Pedro Ponce de León extirpated and wrote on Zumpahuacán.93 Hernando Ruiz de

Alarcón terrorized the region of Atenango del Río in eastern Guerrero.94 Jacinto de la Serna

served in Tenancingo before returning to Mexico City and becoming a higher-ranking official in

the Catholic Church.95 Lastly, two important cases took place in the region of Teotlalco in the

1580s. Although this study encompasses a large part of Central Mexico, this section will only

focus on the region of Teotlalco in southwestern Puebla, since it has received little attention from

historians.

According to Peter Gerhard, Spanish forces likely conquered Teotlalco in the early

1520s.96 Nevertheless, the presence of Spaniards was scant. Nicolas López de Palacios was the

first Spaniard to claim the province of Teotlalco. He received his grant from Hernán Cortés.97 In

93 For more on Zumpahuacán see, Leobrado Casanova García, Zumpahuacán: monografía municipal, Instituto Mexiquense de Cultura Asociación Mexiquense de Cronistas Municipales (Toluca, Mexico: Gobierno del Estado de México, 1999). 94 For more on Guerrero see, Elizabeth Jiménez García, Historia general de Guerrero, 1. ed., (México, D.F.: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, 1998). 95 For more information on the history of Tenancingo see Juan López Medina, Tenancingo monografía municipal, Instituto Mexiquense de Cultura. Gobierno del Estado de México. Toluca. Estado de México (Toluca, Mexico: Gobierno de Estado de México, 1997). 96 Peter Gerhard, A guide to the historical geography of New Spain, (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1993), 310. 97 Ibid. 70

1528, the Crown granted half of Teotlalco and Centeupa to Ruy González, a conquistador that fought alongside Cortés, and the second half belonged to Gonzalo Ruiz. After a dispute over tribute the crown allowed Ruiz to trade his half of Teotlalco and Centeupa for a portion of Cutzio

(in the modern western state of Michoacán) that González owned.98 When González died in

1559, his mestiza daughter claimed his portion; however, shortly after the encomienda reverted to the Crown.99

In 1546, Francisco Tello de Sandoval, an apostolic inquisitor, tried don Juan, an indio

governador (indigenous ruler) from Teotlalco for worshiping “idols” to provoke rain during a

drought. Colonial authorities extradited the indigenous leader to Mexico City, where they held

him for a year while they tried him.100 To exonerate himself don Juan argued that his enemies

had fabricated the charges, and he denied the accusations. Moreover, he could recite various

Catholic prayers to prove he was Christian.101 Beyond don Juan’s case, Spanish colonial

authorities were inactive in Teotlalco.

It was not until the 1560s that the town reappeared in the colonial records. On July 30,

1560 the Viceroy of New Spain approved a sementera (farming-plot) for the cabecera (chief

town) of Teotlalco so that indigenous population could pay their tribute, and keep any surplus.102

Still in the 1560s Spanish presence was sparse, and apart from tribute, it appears that the region

continued with business as usual, in 1568 Teotlalco had a sizeable population of 4,359.103

98 Hans Roskamp, Los Códices de Cutzio y Huetamo: encomienda y tributo en la tierra caliente de Michoacán, siglo XVI, (Zinacantpec, Estado de México; Zamora, Michoacán: Colegio de Michoacán, 2003), 83-84. 99 Gerhard, A guide to the historical geography of New Spain, 310. 100 AGN, Inquisición, vol. 37, exp. 12. Mexico City: 1546. 101 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 51. 102 AGN, Mercedes, vol. 5, exp. 82. Mexico City: 1560. f 74 v - 75r. 103 Sherburne F. Cook and Woodrow W. Borah, Essays in population history: Mexico and California. 3 vol, (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1979), 26. 71

In the 1570s Spanish colonial presence began to pick up in the region. On February 24,

1573, don Luis wrote local functionaries in Teotlalco regarding grievances he had received from

indigenous leaders and commoners in the towns of Cuitlatenamic and Cuechapa.104 These

individuals had made complaints that an indigenous governador had tasked them with

occasionally providing and transporting food for a priest residing in Teotlalco, without pay.

Community members asked don Luis to put an end to this injustice. The viceroy instructed

crown functionaries in Teotlalco to not compel any indigenous people to take food outside of

their towns without receiving fair pay. Don Luis also reminded local functionaries that priests

received a salary and that he would punish any one that did not follow this command.105

The region of Teotlalco piqued the interest of Spaniards when miners discovered silver

ore in Tlaucingo. An announcement made by don Martín Enríquez (viceroy of New Spain 1568-

1580) illustrates the far-reaching impact of the mine. The document, dated January 20, 1575,

announced the discovery of high-quality silver and requested 200 indigenous laborers to

construct casas y ingenios (houses and refineries) for the new mines in Tlaucingo. Miners were

to pay indigenous laborers half a real per day, and as customary Indians were not allowed to

excavate or extract minerals from the mines. Later documents demonstrate that Spaniards

violated these stipulations.106 For example, on February 8, 1576, don Martín instructed the

alcalde mayor (magistrate and head of a district within a province) of Teotlalco to use Indians

from the nearby town of Aguacayuca exclusively for the building of homes and processing

104 The document refers to Cuitlatenamic as Cuiltenamiqui, which is probably a hispanized version of the correct spelling. 105 AGN, Mercedes V. 84 1ra parte. Mexico City: 1573. f 96r - 96v. 106 AGN, Minieria Caja 5959, Exp. 19. Mexico City: 1575. f 2r. 72

plants, not for mining. Don Martín noted that he had received complaints that miners had used

Indian laborers to dig, extract metals from the earth, and grind the metals.107

Complaints consistently streamed in to Mexico City. On June 14, 1576, don Martín wrote

the alcalde mayor of the Provincia y Minas de Teotlalco reminding him that miners were to use

the 200 Indians provided via repartimiento (post 1542 conscription labor where indigenous

communities provided 4% of their male population for short periods) for the mines in Tlaucingo

only to build homes and processing plants. Don Martín explained that Indians had reported that

digging and extracting silver had made them ill because of la tierra calida (the warm land) and

asked that the viceroy put a stop to these practices. The Viceroy ordered the alcalde mayor to

remind the miners the purpose of the repartimiento, and if they violated its stipulations once more he would revoke their access to indigenous labor.108 Nahuas from Teotlalco, like

indigenous people from other parts of Spanish America, used the legal system to their advantage.

They demanded the protection of the crown in exchange for their loyalty, which Rachel O’Toole

has dubbed the discourse of “natural vassals.”109

Some communities complained that they did not belong to the repartimiento that

provided service to the mines in Teotlalco. On May 8, 1576 don Martín wrote to the alcalde mayor of Teotlalco informing him that Indians from Calmecatitlan had expressed discontent with miners from Teotlalco. The indigenous residents claimed that the miners were bothering them and forcing them to leave their homes and work in the mines, even though their town was not part of the repartimiento that served the mines. Don Martín proclaimed that the miners should not take a single Indian from the town of Calmecatitlan to work in the mines of Teotlalco. They

107 AGN, General de Parte, Vol. 1, Exp. 628. Mexico City: 1576. f 129r. 108 AGN, General de Parte, Vol. 1, Exp. 1070. Mexico City: 1576. f 203r. 109 Rachel Sarah O'Toole, Bound Lives: Africans, Indians, and the Making of Race in Colonial Peru, (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2012), 86. 73 should not labor as tamemes (porters or carriers), extracting or processing metals, or in any other role.110

Much like Motolinía noted about Mexico City, the disruption caused by mining and forced labor contributed to population decline either by death or flight. On May 23, 1576, don

Martín wrote to the corregidores and alcaldes mayores of Huaxtepec, Acapistla, Tepoztlán, and

Ayoguezapa instructing them to ensure that Indians from the region of Teotlalco paid their tribute. The viceroy claimed that forty-one tributaries had left Teotlalco and started living in the above-mentioned towns (outside of the jurisdiction of Teotlalco), and they still owed their tribute to Teotlalco. Don Martín made it clear that the Indians could reside wherever they wanted so long as they paid their assigned tribute for the previous year in Teotlalco.111

Spaniards were not the only beneficiaries of the colonial project; elite indigenous people also profited. For example, on July 26, 1576, Viceroy don Martín Enríquez granted principales

(indigenous leaders) from Aguacayuca (in the province of Teotlalco) indigenous laborers from elsewhere in the district. Five principales, don Miguel de Aguilar, don Hernando Cortes, don

Domingo de Mendoza, don Diego Maldonado, and don Guzman, claimed that they had to harvest copal for their sustenance, but they lacked the required man power. Don Martín agreed to provide each principal two indigenous workers to help them harvest the copal in exchange for pay and food. The viceroy assigned the principales ten laborers for three months.112 At the expense of indigenous peasants, elite Indians advanced.

Documents from the 1580s show a growing Spanish population in the region, a more prominent presence of the Church, and suggests dwindling silver yields. On January 29, 1583,

110 AGN, General de Parte, vol. 1, exp. 940. Mexico City: 1576. f 174r - 74v. 111 AGN, General de Parte, vol. 1, exp. 1001. Mexico City: 1576. f 186r. 112 AGN, General de Parte, Vol. 1, Exp. 1146. Mexico City: 1576. f 217r. 74

don Lorenzo Suárez de Mendoza (Viceroy 1580-1583) removed a cleric from the Teotlalco. This

decision came after payment disputes between miners and the priest reached the viceroy’s desk.

According to the document, roughly around 1580 don Diego Romano, the bishop of Tlaxcala,

appointed a cleric in the region without the consent or will of the miners. Don Lorenzo noted that

the miners extracted little silver of value, and were unable to pay the priest. The viceroy ordered

the miners to pay what they owed the cleric, and to mitigate further issues he removed the priest

from the area. Don Lorenzo would only allow approved vicars to teach Catholic doctrine and

perform sacraments in Teotlalco.113 The mines either ran out of quality ore in five years, or the

miners misrepresented their yields.

Documents from the mines of Tlaucingo further illustrate the hardships and abuse

indigenous people faced, and how they negotiated their position in the new colonial scheme. For

instance, on November 20, 1589 five subject towns of Chiautla (a province neighboring

Teotlalco), named Toltecamila, Ichcamilpa, Tepoztlán, Cuauhyocatem, and Chiquihuitepeque,

requested to have their corveé burden reduced. Representatives from the five towns complained

that they provided labor to the mines in Tlaucingo. The problem was that some of the towns were

up to fifty-two miles away. Moreover, they claimed that the trip was treacherous because they had to go through a mountainous region, cross a river with boats or canoes, and many of the men drowned. There were other dangers as well. The temperature in Tlaucingo was different than

where they were from; the trip to get there took about a week; and they often ran out of food.

The indigenous leaders asked that only subject towns on one side of Chiautla continue to serve

the mines in Tlaucingo at the required 4%. They asked that the viceroy relieve the towns on the

other side of Chiautla. The viceroy agreed that only the subject towns that fell between Chiautla

113 AGN, Indios, vol. 2, exp. 427. Mexico City: 1583. f 102r - 02v. 75

and Tlaucingo had to provide 4% of their male population to serve in the mines. Conversely,

towns that were located on the other side of Chiautla should not be forced to serve in the

mines.114

On November 29, 1589 don Álvaro Manrique de Zúñiga declared that the indigenous

population of Chiautla and its sujetos had reported that officials had recounted their population

the previous year at 1,929 tributaries. Don Álvaro noted that the indigenous people from Chiautla

and its subjects provided labor in the mines in Tlautzinco and the salt pits in Ocotitlan. With the

new calculations, 4% would be 77 individuals. Don Álvaro demanded that no one should take

more than seventy-seven individuals at any given time to work. The viceroy reminded the miners

and the repartidor (Spanish functionary charged with assigning laborers) that widows and single

women did not count towards the population of tributaries.115

Nevertheless, the story did not end there. On July 7, 1590 Viceroy don Luis de Velasco

wrote the corregidor in Teotlalco regarding the abuse of indigenous people in the town of

Chiautla, and a dispute they had with the corregidor in Teotlalco. The corregidor demanded that

Chiautla provide eighty workers for the mines in Tlaucingo. The indigenous leaders argued that

they had reached an agreement with don Álvaro Manrique de Zúñiga (the document cited

above), the previous viceroy, that their labor requirement for the repartimiento in the mines was

only twenty-eight men. 116 The native leaders noted that this agreement was reached because

some of the estancias in Chiautla were too far from the mines in Tlaucingo. The men went to

show the corregidor a letter from viceroy Manrique de Zúñiga that expressed this agreement.

114 AGN, Indios, Vol. 4, Exp 89. Mexico City: 1589. f 26v - 26r. 115 AGN, Indios, Vol. 4, Exp. 113. Mexico City: 1589. Indios. f 34v. 116 The document states that the Corregidor demanded 4% of the 2,006 tributaries, which equals 80.24. Don Luis clarified that only 700 tributaries were allocated to the mines. Therefore, 4% of 700 is 28. 76

Don Luis reprimanded the corregidor because he not only disobeyed the orders in the letter, he

took the document, and arrested the governador and principales who presented the evidence.

Don Luis demanded that the corregidor send him all documents pertaining to the indigenous people from Chiautla. Moreover, don Luis ordered the corregidor to free the indigenous leaders he had detained, and not charge them any fines. The corregidor had two weeks to complete his requests.117 On September 7, 1590, don Luis wrote to the local

functionaries in Teotlalco confirming the agreement that the five estancias of Chiautla had struck

with viceroy Manrique de Zúñiga on November 20, 1589.118 Don Luis revisited the matter once

more on September 11, 1590 when he reiterated don Álvaro’s proclamation from 1589 that

Chiautla’s five subject towns had to provide service in the mines in Tlautzinco as part of their

repartimiento, with a certain amount of them being reserved (likely to serve in the salt pits in

Ocotitlan).119 The original decree cited above from 1589 bears a note in the marginalia stating

that don Luis had reviewed and verified the document.120

Just a few days later, on September 13, 1590, don Luis wrote the corregidor of Teotlalco

y las minas de Tlautzinco to adjust how the Indians from repartimiento in Chiautla worked.

According to the viceroy, the Indians from Chiautla had complained that they were working day

and night in the mines and Tlautzinco and thus they were perishing, becoming ill, and fleeing to

avoid the hardship. Don Luis ordered that the Indians were not to be used inside of the mines and they were only to work during the day, “…de sol a sol....” (from sunup to sundown). Anyone that violated his orders would not receive more indigenous laborers in the future without his

117 AGN, Indios v. 4, Exp. 786. Mexico City. f 297v – 98r. 118 AGN, Indios, Vol. 3, Exp 9. Mexico City. f 4r. 119 AGN, Indios, Vol. 3, Exp. 9. Mexico City: 1590. f 4r. 120 AGN, "Indios, Vol. 4, Exp 89," f 26v. 77

expressed consent.121 These letters show leaders from Chiautla attempting to assuage the situation their male population faced by seeking relief from the viceroy. This resonates with

Nancy Farris’ findings in colonial Yucatan where indigenous populations drifted “randomly” to other settlements.122 However, this data suggests that perhaps movement was not random but a

strategic attempt to find more favorable settings.

On July 3, 1590 viceroy don Luis de Velasco wrote the corregidor of the Pueblo of

Teotlalco stating that the indigenous population of Teotlalco and its subjects had reported that

miners in Tlaucingo forcing them to work day and night. According to viceroy don Luis, miners

were also making Indians carry charcoal, metal, firewood, and other objects for two leagues

(roughly five miles). Furthermore, the indigenous people requested that the viceroy move them

to the nearby repartimiento of Cuautla, where they believed Indians were treated well. The

viceroy commanded that the corregidor inform and remind the repartidor of the limitations of the

repartimiento. Don Luis stated that if miners violated stipulations once more the transgressors

would be punished, and their repartimiento stripped. The viceroy noted that miners would need

his expressed license to renew revoked repartimientos. Don Luis ended his letter stating that the

corregidor should ensure that miners treated the indigenous people well.123 Nevertheless, the viceroy did not explicitly approve the movement of indigenous people in Teotlalco’s repartimiento to Cuautla’s labor conscription.

Probably due to population decline from disease and over working, Teotlalco’s repartimiento drafted men from farther away every year. On February 16, 1591 don Luis granted the town of Axochiapan (Morelos) (roughly ten miles from Tlaucingo), a subject of Jonacatepec,

121 AGN, Indios, vol. 3, exp. 19. Mexico City: 1590. f 5v. 122 Nancy M Farriss, "Nucleation versus dispersal: The dynamics of population movement in colonial Yucatan," The Hispanic American Historical Review 58, no. 2 (1978): 206. 123AGN, Indios, vol. 4, exp. 896. Mexico City: 1590. f 241r. 78

a two-week break from their labor in the mines of Tlaucingo. The order came after the

indigenous community complained that due to their location near the camino real (royal

highway) soldiers on their way to the Philippine Islands via Acapulco bothered the town. Don

Luis demanded that the Indians report back to the mines after the two-week hiatus.124 Further

evidence of Axochiapan’s presence in Tlauncingo comes from March 12, 1591. On this day don

Luis adjusted the number of indigenous people from Axochiapan that had to provide labor in the

mines in Tlaucingo.125 According to the latest population assessment, there were only ninety-two

tributaries in Axochiapan, meaning that they should only have to provide three laborers.126

Oddly enough, the indigenous group requested to serve in the mines of Tlaucingo.127

Laborers were at such a premium that sometimes Spaniards took them from each other.

On April 3, 1591 viceroy don Luis de Velasco contacted the local repartidor in las minas de

Tlaucingo regarding issues with indigenous laborers. A man named doctor Dionisio de Rivera

Flores, the canon of the Cathedral in Mexico City, had contacted don Luis notifying him that

previous viceroys had granted him twenty-five indigenous laborers to work his holdings in a

hacienda in the mines in Tlaucingo. Rivera Flores complained that he often only received eighteen to twenty laborers, and more recently about ten or twelve. This had caused his holdings to yield less earnings. The canon protested that the judge in charge of labor distribution was loaning out indigenous laborers to other miners. The Carrillos, for example, took twenty indigenous laborers from the town of Cuitlatenamic and borrowed two from Rivera Flores’

124 AGN, Indios vol. 3, Exp. 414. Mexico City: 1591. f 95r. 125 The document refers to the town as Sochiapa, a town that does not exist in the region. However, it seems that this is a hispanized way of saying Axochiapan, a town that is near Jonacatepec, and still exists to this day in Morelos. 126 The document gives two figures for the number of individuals that should attend the mines. First, it states “thirteen” laborers which is much too high for a total population of 92 that had to provide 4%. The second figure mentioned towards the bottom of the document is “three,” which is more in line with the 3.6 that is 4% of 92. Suggesting that the thirteen was probably a typo or a mistake. 127 AGN, Indios, vol. 5, Exp. 283. Mexico City: 1591. Indios. f 76v. 79 repartimiento. The cleric asked the viceroy to command those in charge of distributing labor to ensure that his mining ventures received all the allotted laborers, and that judges did not loan them to other miners.128 Similarly, on April 2, 1599 Gaspar de Zúñiga Acevedo y Fonseca responded to complaints made by a miner named Luis Botello. The miner complained that he was not receiving five of his allocated indigenous laborers that his repartimiento granted. The viceroy ordered local functionaries to ensure that this was no longer an issue.129

Sources from sixteenth-century Mexico show that Nahuas in southwestern Puebla reacted to the constraints of forced labor in different ways. One option was for leaders to request new population counts, and labor requirement reductions that reflected lower populations. Indigenous leaders also attempted to find more favorable repartimientos in neighboring job sites.

Nevertheless, individuals, and their families, sometimes made their own decision to flee to other towns. This movement of people caused strains on indigenous communities as land went untended and women faced an increase in duties to fill in for the men that were no longer present. With dwindling population numbers in the late sixteenth century, Spaniards in Central

Mexico decided to concentrate native populations.

Congregaciones

The final destabilizing factor that affected indigenous people in southwestern Puebla, and

Central Mexico at large, is the congregacion (towns where Spaniards concentrated several less- populated surrounding settlements into one). Nahuas that survived epidemics, and harsh labor conditions, also had to contend with forced removal at the hands of lay and religious authorities.

This section fucoses on the history of Cuitlatenamic, a town in the district of Teotlalco, that went

128 AGN, General de Parte, vol. 4, exp. 389. Mexico City. f 112r-12v. 129 AGN, General de Parte, vol. 5, exp 91. Mexico City. 80

through a congregacion process at the turn of the sixteenth century and became the town of

Jolalpan. This town is important to my study because it was the hometown of Magdalena Papalo,

a tiçitl that was tried in Tlaucingo in 1584, and will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 4.

According to John Sullivan, Spaniards started putting indigenous people into congregaciones (pl. congregación) during their early ventures in the Caribbean. This method later spread to other areas that Spaniards colonized. Congregaciones provided a much more concentrated area for Spaniards to manage and control. There were two main campaigns for congregaciones in the early colonial period, in the 1560s, and in the early seventeenth century.

Sullivan pointed out that the Nahua populations in the Central Mexican area were already located in concentrated urban centers, and the congregaciones that did take place in the area were due to epidemics, wars, and migration. Spaniards preferred to amass indigenous populations by moving existing small towns into larger towns. They tended to shy away from creating new towns.130

More importantly, Sullivan argued, congregaciones functioned as a way for the Spanish crown to

establish itself in the life of its indigenous subjects. Congregaciones created new local governments and leadership for indigenous populations.131 It also allowed clerics to be more

involved in the lives of their parishioners so that they could monitor their religious progress and

wellbeing.132

Moving various small altepemeh (water mountains) to a larger Spanish constructed

congregacion created new political infrastructures.133 Altepemeh were identified by their tlatoani

(ruler), market, and patron deity. An even number then divided each altepetl (sing. altepemeh)

130 John Sullivan, "La congregación como tecnología disciplinaria en el siglo XVI," Estudios de Historia Novohispana 16 (1996): 34-35. 131 Ibid., 36. 132 Ibid., 41. 133 The literal translation of the term is water-mountain, where atl is water, and tepetl is mountain. Alonso de Molina translated altepetl as Pueblo (village, or populace). (Molina, 1 79 r.) Following Lockhart, Sullivan noted that the altepetl was most comparable to early Mediterranean city-states. (Sullivan, p. 34) 81

typically in four, six, or eight units. Each subdivision, known as a calpolli (or calpulli) had its

own leader, nobility, and ethnic identity. All the subdivisions provided the tlatoani with tribute or

labor in a rotation system that avoided over taxing populations. Conversely, Spaniards organized

their towns in a hierarchal fashion. At the top was the cabecera (chief town, or capital) which

contained government buildings, and functionaries. All organization started in the cabecera and

radiated outward towards subjetos (subject towns). Sullivan argued that all divisions within the

altepetl were equal and worked in an equilibrium. Conversely, the Spanish system was set up

upon a hierarchy with strict elements of subordination. The cabecera was were affluent Nahuas

lived, while macehualtin (commoners) lived in subject towns.134 Though Sullivan used Tlaxcala as his main case study, his findings hold true for other parts of Central Mexico as well.

In theory Spanish towns provided protections for indigenous people, from vetting elected officials to the protection of property. On January 11, 1612 Viceroy don Luis de Velasco (el joven) released a decree that addressed a variety of points geared towards the protection of indigenous people. The thirteenth point prohibited non-indigenous judges and magistrates from purchasing homes or land in their own jurisdictions, because this could be harmful to indigenous people. They should ensure that indigenous people elected to positions in the república de indios

(indigenous government) as governors and other officials, were not drunks or lazy. Spanish officials had to confirm elected indigenous officials before they could receive their varas (staffs of office). Bullet forty instructed Spanish officials that only beneficed priests that had received a license from the viceroy could practice under said position for more than two months.135 The crown enacted these protections to shield indigenous people, loyal vassals after all, from

134 Sullivan, "La congregación como tecnología disciplinaria en el siglo XVI," 51-52. 135 AHCMM, Caja 4, Exp. 1. 1642. f 1r - 3v. 82 avaricious people of Spanish, African, and mixed descent. With that said, subsequent vice regal decrees suggest that these protections were not always enforced or honored.

On August 23, 1642 Juan de Palafox, serving as viceroy, issued a decree reforming

Native leadership in the Spanish bureaucratic system. First, Palafox forbade priests and justicias

(judges or magistrates) from intervening in local indigenous elections. He noted that indigenous people should vote for the most capable and useful person for their republics. Palafox added that indigenous rulers should submit results to justicias for approval, and to ensure that the elected officials did not have any previous crimes or questionable records. Palafox prohibited all

Spaniards, mestizos, mulatos, and all other individuals whose father and mother were not indigenous to serve as governadores, alcaldes, and officials of the república de indios. According to Palafox’s decree, Spaniards, mulatos, and people from nación mezclada (a mixed-race background) were being elected to serve as officials in indigenous communities. This had negative results on indigenous communities because non-indigenous people established haciendas (a landed estate) and farms that had no benefit for native residents. Spanish officials were instructed to verify that only indigenous leaders were elected to serve in indigenous communities.136

Cuitlatenamic to Jolalpan

Upon discovering the 1584 case of Magdalena Papalo, a curious student of Mexican history might be tempted to look for the town of Cuitlatenamic on a modern map. They would be disappointed to find that their search would not yield any results. Where did the town go?

Cuitlatenamic, in fact, never moved. Instead, southwestern Puebla underwent a series of changes

136 AHCMM, Caja 3, Exp. 6. 1735. f 1r. 83

throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that renamed the town Jolalpan. Although

Cuitlatenamic no longer exists under its pre-Columbian name, other towns in the region have

maintained their designations and help locate it. Such as, Teotlalco, Tlaucingo, Chiautla, and

Mitepec. This section argues that the prominent town of Cuitlatenamic, became the town of

Jolalpan in the late seventeenth century.

Cuitlatenamic existed before Europeans arrived in Central Mexico in 1519, and the town

had connections to Aztec empire. Historical geographic Peter Gerhard mistakenly asserted that

Cuitlatenamic and Centeopan were the same place. Thus, Gerhard was unable to locate

Cuitlatenamic among Aztec tributaries.137 It is more likely that Cuitlatenamic was actually

known as Cuitlatenanco in the Central Valley.138 The earliest extant reference of Cuitlatenanco is

1481, when representatives of this town attended the Aztec hueyi tlatoani (supreme ruler)

Tizoc’s inauguration ceremony.139 It appears that Cuitlatenamic was sizeable enough to send a

representative, probably with tribute, but Spanish records rarely referred to it at this time.

In 1569 the bishop of Tlaxcala, señor Don Fernando de Villagomez, commissioned Pedro

Beltrán to write a report on the partido (district) of Cuitlatenamic, part of the Province of

Teotlalco. Beltrán reported that the entire partido of Cuitlatenamic contained 972 married and

tribute paying Indians, and they all spoke Nahuatl as their native tongue. Cuitlatenamic itself had

137 Gerhard, A guide to the historical geography of New Spain, 310-11. 138 The toponym Cuitlatenamic is obscure. The word is divided into three parts, Cuitla(tl)-tenami(tl)-c. Cuitlatl can be the filth or feces, and Cuitla is sometimes used as “rear.” Tenamitl is a rampart or a wall. C, is a prepositional location like co, signifying in, at, or among. Thus, the most logical interpretation is the construction “in the feces rampart.” Though it could also be the “in the rear rampart.” Now, what makes this particularly odd is that most Nahua toponyms that are “in the rampart of n,” typically end in -tenanco, not -tenamic. This can be observed in Tenanco and Atenanco, more commonly known by their Hispanized versions Tenango and Atenango respectively. The latter is, “in the rampart,” and the former, “in the water Rampart.” The town of Atenango del Río, where Ruiz de Alarcón was the beneficed priest, is situated in a river’s bend that surrounds the city in a “u,” thus, creating a natural barrier made of water. The -tenanco construction comes from consonant mutation that occurs on the end of the word when tenami loses the I to obtain the -co and becomes -tenanco. Thus Atenanco would be, “in the water rampart.” 139 Diego de Durán, Historia de las Indias de Nueva España y islas de Tierra Firme, (1867), 316. 84

318 married and tribute paying Indians, and thirteen estancias (subordinate settlements), all

within one league (2.6 miles). Cuitlatenamic also boasted eight subject towns – Tamazula,

Cuachapa, Utla, Zumpango, Iztapancingo, Chachalacametla, Cuapa, and Metepeque (Mitepec).

Tamazula was about four miles away, and Mitepec was about eight miles away. Using a modern

highway, Jolalpan is about fourteen-and-a-half miles away from Mitepec, however, a straight line from Jolalpan to Mitepec is roughly eight miles.140 I argue that Tamazula was moved and incorporated into Cuitlatenamic in the early seventeenth century. The estancias of Cuapazco,

Tlalnexeuacan, Texcalcinco, and Huachinantla (listed as Cuachinantla) were subjects of

Teotlalco but due to their remoteness they had been ordered to attend mass in Cuitlatenamic.

Moreover, Beltrán noted that Huachinantla was about eight miles away from Cuitlatenamic. In accordance with Beltrán’s report, a straight line from the modern town of Huachinanatla to

Jolalpan is about eight miles. 141

This document is important for two reasons. First, the fact that Teotlalco sent its parishioners to attend mass in Cuitlatenamic suggests that in the early years of the colonial period Cuitlatenamic was an important town for the Church’s efforts, and contained a sizeable

Nahua population. Secondly, this document establishes that Cuitlatenamic was about the same distance from certain identifiable colonial towns, as Jolalpan is to their modern counterparts.

This makes it logical to assume that Jolalpan was once Cuitlatenamic.

A 1572 dispute over a parcel of land and two homes in Necaltitlan, one of the indigenous

barrios of Mexico City, further illustrates the regional importance of Cuitlatenamic in pre-

Columbian times and the early sixteenth century. A priest named Juan de Lujan, the vicar (an

agent that exercises authority on behalf of a bishop or archbishop) of Teotlalco, purchased the

140 Paso y Troncoso, Papeles de Nueva España, vol. V, 202-03. 141 Ibid. 85

property from a group of indigenous male leaders from Cuitlatenamic (Appendix C) in the

province of Teotlalco. These indigenous men claimed that Cuitlatenamic had collectively owned

the land since time immemorial, prior to the arrival of Spaniards. Leaders from the community

would use these homes when they went to deal with authorities in Mexico City. The would-be-

sellers claimed that Cuitlatenamic no longer had a need for these homes and they thus wished to

sale them to help purchase a cape and a censer for their town’s church.142 In later testimonies

they added that they would use proceeds to purchase a chalice for their church.143

Two women named Catalina Xoco and Juana Hernández (residents of Mexico City) opposed the sale. They contended that they lived in the home, and Hernández had inherited it

from her parents.144 An investigation revealed that though the homes belonged to the town of

Cuitlatenamic, the sale was not lawful because they needed the entire town to support its sale.145

After six years of dispute, the ordeal was finalized on November 10, 1578. Juan de Lujan

purchased the home and the court declared him the owner of the property.146 This document

establishes the community as a Nahuatl-speaking settlement, with pre-Columbian ties the Central

Valley of Mexico.

Further evidence of Cuitlatenamic’s sixteenth-century prominence, and Jolalpan’s

relative unimportance, comes from a list of all the cabeceras in don Diego de Romano’s (1578-

1606) see, the dioceses of Tlaxcala. Though the document does not bear a date, it is logical to

assume that the list was probably created sometime in the 1580s or 1590s, when Romano was

settling into his position. The most pertinent fact for this study is that the document mentions

142 AGN, Tierras Vol. 34, Exp. 4. Mexico City. f 217r - 17v. 143 Ibid., f 218v. 144 Ibid., f 223v. 145 Ibid., f 315r. 146 Ibid., f 322r. 86

Cuitlatenamic along with Teotlalco, yet, there is no mention of Jolalpan or Xolalpan.147 This

suggests that Jolalpan was not yet a prominent town, a fact that would change in the seventeenth

century as we shall see below. Furthermore, this suggests that Cuitlatenamic continued to enjoy

importance in its region.

A letter from Viceroy don Lorenzo Suarez de Mendoza, dated July 17, 1582, underscores

Cuitlatenamic’s role as a chief town. Suarez de Mendoza asked local judges to assign salaries for

ten singers that served in Cuitlatenamic’s Church.148 The individuals would receive two pesos of

oro cumun every year, which the cantors would obtain in thirds.149 The document made no

mention of Jolalpan, or any suggestion that Cuitlatenamic was a ward of a larger town.

A sixteenth century document does mention Jolalpan, a town on the rise in the

neighboring province of Chietla. On January 28, 1583 don Lorenzo wrote Chietla’s corregidor

regarding disputes over a chief town. Chietla’s governador and alcaldes mayores stated that from

time immemorial a barrio called Ayapango Xolalpan had given service to Chietla. Ayapango

Xolalpan was now refusing to recognize Chietla as its cabezera. Cheitla’s leaders reported that

an indigenous man named don Francisco Maldonado was encouraging his fellow residents not to

acknowledge Chietla as the cabezera and withhold service. Don Lorenzo ordered Chietla’s

corregidor to enforce the tradition that Chietla was the cabezera of Ayapango Jolalpan. The

corregidor should also impede Maldonado, or any other person, from preventing this custom

from being observed.150 The nature of these services was elucidated the following week.

147 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 4425, Exp. 62. Mexico City: 1578-1606. f 1v. 148 The summary in the marginalia refers to the town as Cuitlatenamiqui, but the main text refers to it as Cuitlatenamic. 149 AGN, Indios Vol. 1, Exp 329. Mexico City. f 147r - 47v. 150 AGN, Indios, Vol. 2, Exp. 416. Mexico City: 1583. f 99r. 87

On February 5, 1583 don Lorenzo wrote the corregidor in Chietla regarding abuse towards indigenous people that had recently come to his attention. The viceroy claimed that indigenous people from the town of San Agustin Xolalpan had been forced to provide services, beyond the customary tribute, for Chietla’s principales. Individuals from Xolalpan were forced to serve in agricultural plots, the jail, and mesones (inns) in Chietla. The viceroy asked the corregidor to ensure that said abuse stopped.151 Presently there is no town of San Agustin or

Jolalpan within a day’s walk from Chietla. The modern pueblo of Jolalpan is about 22 miles away from the modern pueblo of Chietla, which is more in line with where Cuitlatenamic would have been.

On March 22, 1593 Viceroy don Luis de Velasco ordered the congregation and rearrangement of the towns and subject towns of Tlalcocautitlan, Teotlalco, and Cuitlatenamic.

Don Luis ordered local officials to move natives that were in remote areas where it was difficult to provide administrative or religious services. Local authorities should consult with beneficed clerics to see which towns to move, and where to relocate them. The goal of this move was to keep the indigenous people within reach so that Spanish authorities, both lay and religious, could control them more easily. Don Luis warned authorities that it was in the best interest of indigenous people to keep them together whenever possible. The viceroy also instructed the priests to make maps depicting the distance between each town and the cabecera including hills and bodies of water that would be useful for indigenous communities. To this end, Spaniards should have indigenous leaders, such as the governors and alcaldes mayores of their respective communities, accompany them to their new towns. The viceroy further instructed officials to make it clear to leaders and all natives that it would be beneficial for them to move voluntarily.

151 AGN, Indios, Vol. 2, Exp. 463. Mexico City: 1583. f 109v - 10r. 88

Officials should establish indigenous leaders in the new settlements and use the help of priests and suavés (softness, i.e., tact) to overcome any difficulties or issues that indigenous people might bring up.152

It is logical to assume that because Cuitlatenamic was one of the principal towns in the region, it was probably also one of the most developed. Thus, Spaniards might have elected to move smaller, neighboring communities, such as Tamazula and Jolalpan to Cuitlatenamic. As noted above, Spaniards preferred to concentrate populations in preexisting towns, not start from scratch. This, is where the toponym Jolalpan emerges in the region of Teotlalco. I would argue that that Jolalpan slowly emerged as the preferred name for the newly concentrated town that

Spaniards congregated in what was once known as Cuitlatenamic. As we shall see, this new town included Tamazula, which was once four miles away, and Jolalpan which was closer to Chietla.

On July 13, 1598 don Luis sent a letter to Bartolomé Balades, Chietla’s corregidor. The viceroy ordered Balades to ensure that the governors, alcaldes, principales, alguaciles (bailiffs), mayordomos (manager or overseer), tequitatos (indigenous constables), and other individuals that held a position of power to take residence in the cabecera Cuitlatenamic and other estancias in the province. This would ensure that Spaniards could maintain order, and local judges could hand out justice for grievances, robberies, and improper usage of tribute. Don Luis instructed

Balades to ascertain how the indigenous leaders were using their offices. Balades should use a town crier announcing that all leaders had thirty days to take up residence in the town where their office was held. Additionally, don Luis wanted Balades to investigate all indigenous leaders for tribute improprieties. Don Luis gave Balades the right to suspend varas (staffs of office) and positions. Moving forward collected tribute should stay in the cabecera and the natives in the

152 AGN, Indios Vol. 6 Parte 1. Mexico City. f 125r. 89

pueblo of Cuitlatenamic should not be taxed the customary two tomines (one-eighth of a peso) because of the inconvenience this caused.153 This letter suggests that even after the concentration

of indigenous populations Cuitlatenamic remained one of the principal towns in the region.

Moreover, it shows that some of the other towns, particularly their leaders, resisted the forced

move.

In the sixteenth century, the name Jolalpan began to slowly overtake Cuitlatenamic. For

example, on February 7, 1611 Fray Alonso de la Mota y Escobar (1546-1625) arrived in

Mitepec, a Nahuatl speaking town with warm weather, where he confirmed 342 people. The beneficiado in the region was father N. Mansilla who was also in charge of Jolalpan. Mota y

Escobar arrived in Jolalpan on February 9 to continue inspecting Mansilla. According to Mota y

Escobar, Jolalpan was a Nahuatl speaking community and he confirmed 371 children. He

described Jolalpan as a place that was less warm with tierra pobre (impoverished land)

containing fruit typical of warm lands, birds, and copal.154 Mitepec’s close proximity to Jolalpan,

like it once enjoyed with Cuitlatenamic, will be an important factor moving forward. Moreover,

Mota y Escobar’s investigation further confirm that Mitepec like Jolalpan were Nahuatl speaking

towns.

153 AGN, Mercedes, Vol. 84, Exp. 152. Mexico City: 1598. f 57v - 58v. 154 BNE, Aquí se halla en este libro luz y razón de todas las cosas que e hecho en la administración de mi obispado de Tlaxcala desde que en él entré y asimismo se hallarán aclaraciones de muchas contrataciones que aquí e hecho con muchas personas en materia de hacienda y también lo que de nuestra Santa Iglesia hemos reçeuido por Mota y Escobar, Alonso de. Madrid, Spain: 1615. Fondo Antiguo. 1002012104 f 63v - 64r. 90

Map 2 – The Region of Teotlalco Towns that were once associated with Cuitlatenamic began to appear in relation to

Jolalpan. On May 4, 1616, don Diego Fernández de Córdoba wrote the corregidor in Teotlalco regarding some complaints he had received from indigenous people in the district of Teotlalco.

Natives from the towns of Jolalpan, Huachinantla, Mitepec, and Tamazula had reported that the priest of Atlixco’s laborers were leading herds of cows on their land. This was destroying sementeras, and orchards. The destruction was preventing indigenous people from farming and harvesting their lands. Leaders from Jolalpan, Huahchinantla, and Mitepec asked the viceroy to remove the herds from their land and not allow them back. Don Diego commanded the corregidor from Teotlalco, who had jurisdiction over said towns, to ensure that the laborers removed the bovines, and that the owners of the livestock paid for the damages they caused. If the herds reentered the lands of said towns, their owners were warned that the viceroy had given 91 land owners permission to shoot (with arrows) the livestock.155 The town of Cuitlatenamic is not mentioned in this document, suggesting that a shift to the name Jolalpan was already underway.

Also, Jolalpan which was once near Chietla, was now appearing closer to Teotlalco.

An investigation of indigenous abuse launched in the province of Teotlalco on June 15,

1626 corroborates that in the first half of the seventeenth century Cuitlatenamic became a barrio of Jolalpan. The dossier for this investigation contains a letter from Fray Juan de Herrera

(received on June 15, 1626) from the convent of Nuestra Señora de la Merced. Herrera wrote the viceroy stating that the Alcalde Mayor of Tlaucingo had revoked a repartimiento of indigenous people granted to his convent. This occurred because there had been allegations that a foreman had abused some of the indigenous people. There are two pertinent facts from this dossier to our discussion. The first is that the town of Jolalpan was roughly five miles away from the mines in

Tlaucingo.156 The modern town of Tlaucingo is about 4.5 linear miles from Jolalpan. The second, is that this document illustrates many of the hardships that indigenous individuals engaged when they dealt with colonial ventures. These hardships were those that compounded with disease to intensify the effects of epidemics.

The dossier also contains records from an investigation launched by Don Pedro Ladro de

Guevara y Toledo, the alcalde mayor and juez repartidor (administrator charged with distributing corvée) of Tlaucingo. He started his probe, based on an order from the viceroy, on

May 23, 1626 regarding allegations by indigenous people from Cuitlatenamic Jolalpan.157 The indigenous leaders reported that a man named Manuel Portugués had beaten seventeen Nahua

155 AGN, Indios, Vol. 7, Exp. 30. Mexico City: 1616. f 14r. 156 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 6499, Exp. 11. Mexico City: 1616. 157 The document used “Cuitlatenamitl Xolalpa.” Ibid., f 6r. 92

men. The Nahuatl report written by community members often stated, oquimictique (he

killed/beat him), when explaining their abuse.158

On May 23, 1626 Toledo summoned and questioned Pedro Francisco. The man was from

Jolalpan and lived in the barrio of Cuitaltenamic. Francisco stated that the indigenous people of

Jolalpan served in the repartimiento in the mines of Tlaucingo. Like the other Native men that

testified, Francisco claimed that a man named Manuel Portugués forced them to work long

hours, and often even at night. He frequently beat and abused Indians, such as Domingo Melchor

who suffered a broken arm at the hands of Manuel. Furthermore, Manuel flogged a man named

Agustin Morales, from the barrio of Cuitlatenamic in Jolalpan, and placed him in irons so he

could not flee. Manuel forced Morales to work in the hacienda and after some time Morales fled,

and had the alcalde mayor from Jolalpan remove his irons.159 There were seventeen victims

named in the dossier, with varying degrees of abuse. (Appendix D) Natives from Jolalpan also

complained that Manuel paid them half of a bread per day.160 That same day, Toledo instructed

Manuel de los Santos, a Spaniard, to apprehend Manuel Portugués and an indigenous woman

named Maria with whom he had cohabitated. Two days later Santos reported that he was unable

to find Manuel Portugués because someone had tipped him off and he had fled.161

On August 28, 1626 don Diego de Barrientos, from the Audiencia in Mexico City,

instructed Guevara Toledo to continue searching for Manuel Portugués, and suggested that the

Mercederians should have their repartimiento reinstated. Barrientos gave clear orders that

overseers should treat the indigenous men serving in the repartimiento well, paid them the

158 Ibid., f 8r - 9r. Though the Nahuatl verb mictia is often used in the context of murder, in this document it seems to be used for beatings. 159 Ibid., f 10r. 160 Ibid., f 11r. 161 Ibid., f 16r. 93 correct amount (1.5 reales per day), and did not require them to work more than a week at a time.162 Authorities never caught Portugués, nor brought him to justice for his crimes.

Nevertheless, this case offers motives, such as those noted above, as to why indigenous men in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries might have wanted to flee their towns and relocate to other regions. Moreover, this case establishes that by 1620s, Cuitlatenamic was considered a barrio of Jolalpan.

In the mid seventeenth century, Spanish documents used Cuitlatenamic and Jolalpan interchangeably, and sometimes both. For instance, on February 20, 1641 Viceroy Diego Roque

López Pacheco Cabrera y Bobadilla wrote to the Spanish authorities in Cuitlatenamic Jolalpan

Regarding the grievances of indigenous people in the area. It came to Bobadilla’s attention that a

Spaniard named Juan Ponce was selling mules under market value to indigenous people, and then taking them back and keeping the money as well. Francisco de la Cruz, the governor of said district, was one of the victims. According to the report, Ponce had eluded punishment because he had denounced indigenous people for misbehavior. A factor that helped the credibility of the indigenous people was that natives from the neighboring district of Chiautla had requested

Ponce’s expulsion, likely for similar activity. The viceroy ordered officials to investigate the matter and if they found Ponce guilty, he should pay the indigenous people back what he owed them.163 Most important to our discussion, this record shows that in the seventeenth century documents addressed the town that is now Jolalpan, as Cuitlatenamic Jolalpan.

Nevertheless, well into the seventeenth century, Cuitlatenamic intermittingly continued to appear as the main name. Again, nearby settlements help locate and identify this Cuitlatenamic as the one that existed in sixteenth-century Teotlalco. For example, in 1652, the viceroy of New

162 Ibid., f 18v. 163 AGN, Indios Vol. 13, Exp. 161. Mexico City. f 175r - 75v. 94

Spain authorized the alcalde mayor of Teotlalco to charge the Indians in his district for work on the Cathedral in the city of Puebla. This included Teotlalco with 651 tributaries, Cuitlatenamic

with a lingering 150 tributaries, Ostutla with seventeen tributaries, and Aguacayuca with

fourteen tributaries.164 There is no mention of Jolalpan. This document illustrates that despite the

early seventeenth-century congregacion, Cuitaltenamic’s population was substantially smaller

than in the sixteenth century. The reader will recall that in 1569 Cuitlatenamic boasted 318

tributaries within its town limits, and 972 with all its tributaries accounted for.

By the late seventeenth century, the name Cuitlatenamic began to fall out of favor all

together. On February 21, 1688 Viceroy don Melchor Portocarrero y Lasso de la Vega wrote to

the closest justicia to the district of Jolalpan regarding an issue between an alcalde mayor and the

governador. The alcalde mayor of Jolalpan had taken Juan de Santiago’s (Jolalpan’s indigenous

governador) staff. The viceroy referred to Jolalpan as the cabecera of Nuestra Señora de la

Concepcion. Don Melchor ordered that the nearest justicia should make the alcalde mayor return

the vara to Santiago.165 Though this document does not use the name Cuitlatenamic, I argue that

Nuestra Señora de la Concepcion was the late seventeenth-century name of that very same location. This becomes clearer in the following case.

On November 12, 1720, various alcaldes from the barrio of Cuitlatenamic in Jolalpan asked the Real Audiencia to settle a land dispute between barrios in the town of Jolalpan.

According to the document, by the late seventeenth-century Jolalpan had two barrios—Santa

Ana Tamazula and Nuestra Señora de la Concepcion Cuitlatenamic. Tension had grown between

the two barrios and various plietos (disputes) had occurred over land disputes. Indigenous leaders

164 AGN, Reales Cedulas (duplicados) Vol. 25, Exp. 68. Mexico City. f 24r - 24v. 165 AGN, Indios Vol. 30, Exp. 178. Mexico City. f 168r - 68v. 95

continued to contest a plieto that started in 1697.166 The most relevant portion of this dossier to

the present chapter, is that by the early eighteenth century Cuitlatenamic was a barrio of

Jolalpan, known as the barrio of Nuestra Señora de la Concepcion Cuitlatenamic.167 This sheds light on the above mentioned 1688 document that referred to Nuestra Señora de la Concepcion, a name that the modern town of Jolalpan still bears.

On August 22, 1727, viceroy Juan de Acuña gave an order regarding the usage of indigenous miners from the jurisdiction of Jolalpan. Acuña reported that the governor and indigenous residents of San Juan Teotlalco, in the Jurisdiction of Jolalpan, had reported that a miner named don Pedro Carvelas had demanded four percent of the male population to work in a mine in Cuautla. At the same time, don Juan de Araneta made a similar claim for his mine in

Isquintlan, named “El Santisimo Sacramento.” Isquintlan also fell under the jurisdiction of

Jolalpan. The community of Teotlalco argued that since they were already working in mines that fell within the same jurisdiction (that of Jolalpan), they should be exempt from working in

Cuautla. Acuña agreed and ordered that the indigenous men of Teotlalco should not be forced to

work in Cuautla.168 This decree illustrates that the town of Teotlalco, a powerful region of

Spanish bureaucratic power in the sixteenth century, had become a subject town of Jolalpan by

the eighteenth century. Also, mines and the distribution of indigenous labor continued to be an

important aspect of Spanish efforts in southwestern Puebla.

By 1792 Chiautla was the cabecera of the region holding Teotlalco and other notable

towns as subordinates. For example, Santiago Mitepeque, which was listed as twenty-nine leagues from Puebla, and twenty-six from Mexico City. Jolalpan appeared under two names, La

166 AGN, Tierras 3501, Exp. 10. Mexico City: 1793. f 2r - 3r. 167 Ibid., f 7v. 168 AGN, Indios, vol. 51, exp. 187. Mexico City: 1727. f 200v - 01r. 96

Concepcion Xolalpa, and Santa Ana Xolalpa. This source lists both Xolalpas as sixty-seven miles from Puebla and seventy-five miles from Mexico City.169 I argue that La Concepcion

Xolalpa, was formerly the barrio of Nuestra Señora de la Concepcion Cuitlatenamic, and Santa

Ana, was once Santa Ana Tamazula. The latter bearing the name of a town that the reader will

recall as Tamazula, four miles away from Cuitlatenamic in the late sixteenth century.

Conclusion

The catastrophes that afflicted Nahua society also created opportunities for social change.

Joan Scott has reminded us that massive political upheavals that disrupt the old guard, and usher

in new order, can revise the terms and organization of gender as those in power search for

legitimization.170 That is precisely what occurred in Central Mexico during the late sixteenth and

seventeenth centuries, as Spaniards created new avenues of power, young Nahua men sought

ways to carve their own space, often at women’s expense. I will further explore these tensions in

subsequent chapters.

Nahua populations, along with other indigenous groups engaged drastic changes in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Europeans and Africans exposed Native peoples to diseases that they had never contended with before. Drought and famine added another layer of trouble and increased the mortality rate for illnesses that in Europe typically only affected children and killed few. Those that were lucky enough to survive were presented with the

unpleasant changes that Spanish colonial ventures introduced. Labor in the repartimiento, after

1542, and the encomienda before that, destabilized Nahua communities and claimed many lives.

Some Nahuas chose to flee in search of more favorable conditions, while those that had the

169 AGN, Historia Vol. 73, Exp. 4. Mexico City: 1792. f 111r - 11v. 170 Joan W. Scott, "Gender: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis," The American Historical Review 91, no. 5 (1986): 1073. 97 means negotiated with colonial authorities. To deal with the depopulated towns that were left in the wake, Spaniards amassed disperse settlements into more centralized locations to have better control over their “vassals.”

The province of Teotlalco served as a case study for this chapter for a number of reasons.

The first is that Teotlalco has not been closely studied before. Second, this area’s history was not so different from other rural parts of Central Mexico. It suffered large population decline, it saw incursion by Europeans due to mining ventures, and Spaniards congregated the area in the early seventeenth century and altered the local demographic layout. The story of Cuitlatenamic, illustrates how the survivors of epidemics negotiated their position within the Spanish colonial system.

Nahua societies, especially early on, responded with their own ritual practices and approaches. They employed teopixqueh to appease deities, and titiçih to treat the ill. Though archival evidence shows that Nahua people responded to epidemics, and unfortunately their healing practices sometimes facilitated the spread of disease. This included ritual specialists visiting the sick and investigating the origin of the illness by casting corn, ingesting substances, and applying salubrious materials topically or internally. Because indigenous populations did not have any previous exposure to European illnesses, and they did not quarantine the sick, adults and children became ill at alarming rates. Ultimately, there came a point when no one could tend to the sick. As sources showed, fields went unfarmed, and food supplies became strained.

Nevertheless, what becomes clear is that indigenous people did have expansive knowledge of the human body, and how to use minerals, plants, and animal parts to cure it. For the Caribbean, historian Londa Schiebinger has found that despite the obliteration of Tainos and Caribs, the few 98

survivors retained information that they disclosed to European physicians.171 How Spaniards

extracted this knowledge from Nahuas in Central Mexico and removed it of its ritual context is

the topic of the following chapter.

171 Londa L. Schiebinger, Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World, (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004), 76.

Chapter 2: Discovering Nahua Medicine, and Losing Titiçih “…Nos envían nuestras indias occidentales, muchos árboles, plantas, yerbas, raíces, zumos, gomas, frutos, simientes, licores, piedras que tienen grandes virtudes medicinales, en las cuales se han hallado y hallan muy grandes efectos que exceden mucho en valor y precio, a todo lo suso dicho, tanto cuanto es más excelente y necesaria, la salud corporal, que los bienes temporales, de las cuales cosas, todo el mundo carecía…y otras muchas cosas, hay en diversas partes del mundo que no han sido conocidas hasta nuestros tiempos….”

“…Our West Indies send us many trees, plants, herbs, roots, juices, pastes, fruits, seeds, liquors, and stones that have great medicinal virtues, in which there have been found and we can find great effects that exceed in value and price of all the aforementioned so long as bodily health is more necessary than temporary goods, of which the entire world lacked… and other many things, are in diverse parts of the world that have not been known until our time….”

Nicolas Bautista de Monardes Dos Libros (1565) f. 5r–6r

Introduction

In Book Eleven of the Historia general, Sahagún and his informants describe xaltomatl

(sand tomato, Jaltomata procumbens) as a plant with sweet, edible, bunches of fruit. Its roots

should be ground with corn to treat those afflicted with diarrhea. The Historia general noted that

the xaltomatl grew everywhere.1 In the 1570s Francisco Hernández, the scientific explorer and

Protomédico de las Indias (medical inspector of the Spanish West Indies) also noticed and

remarked on the medicinal properties of the sandy tomato's roots. When ingested in quantities of

about an ounce, the plant cured gas and evacuated sediment from the intestines. Furthermore, the

roots, which he compared to a sweet potato with small leaves, cured bloating, and dysentery.

Hernández corroborated Sahagún, stating that one could find xaltomatl in any climate or soil.2

Both sources state that the plant was pervasive, they both use the passive voice, and make no

1 Sahagún, "Libro Undecimo," f 147v. 2 Francisco Hernandez, Opera [De historia plantarum Novae Hispaniae]: volumen segundam, ed. Casimiro Gómez de Ortega, (ex typographia Ibarrae heredum, 1790), 9. 100

mention of a tiçitl or any other form of practitioner. This, I argue, was damaging to how subsequent readers have understood and understood the paramount role of women and indigenous healers among Nahua people. Did the wide availability of this plant mean anyone could use its power?

Similarly, the ixnexto herb, also easily obtained, highlights the lack of indigenous agency

that Spaniards attributed to native practitioners in their descriptions of indigenous healing

knowledge and use of plants, minerals, and animals for healing purposes. According to Book

Eleven of the Historia general, the roots of the ixnexto plant were ground with corn kernels and

given to women that had recently given birth before being bathed in a temazcalli (steam bath).3

Neither did this refer to the Nahua actor that manipulated and applied the substances. Yet, as we

saw in Chapter 1, female titiçih bathed parturients, and women that had recently given birth in

the temazcalli. Logically, we can assume that these same women also applied the ixnexto herb to

their patients.

Because xaltomatl and ixnexto were widely available, it is plausible that most people, not

just titiçih, might have known that these plants had salubrious properties. Perhaps people used

them to cure themselves without the help of titiçih. Or did these sources overlook an important

element of how Nahua people processed these and other plants into pahtli (prepared materials with healing properties)?

Even though epidemics, famine, starvation, forced labor and relocation devastated indigenous communities, Nahua healing knowledge and its practitioners persevered. The sixteenth-century Relaciones geográficas, for example, highlight Nahua healing specialists. On

December 1, 1579, Cristobal de Salazar, a corregidor from Coatepec, and Francisco de

3 Sahagún, "Libro Undecimo," f 147v. 101

Villacastin, a scribe and interpreter, asked the elders of Chimalhuacan (in the Valley of Mexico)

to answer the fifty questions provided in the Relaciones geográficas. The report claims that since

the time of their “infidelity” there were many medicinal herbs and roots that they used to cure

themselves, and contemporarily herbalist indias and indios (male and female Indians) that knew

about curing and medications, were familiar with their use.4 These men and women were the

keepers and practitioners of tiçiyotl (healing knowledge). Why then, were contemporary medical

sources silent on the specialists that handled healing materials?

By and large, Francisco Hernández’s and Sahagún’s works, like most of their sixteenth

century contemporaries, ignored the ritual specialists that used the materials they described, and

the rituals in which they used these materials. In fact, Book Eleven of the Historia general which

focused on the medicinal plants, minerals, and animals among Nahua people, does not use the

terms titiçih or tiçitl once. Sahagún and his informants knew about these specialists, since they

wrote about them at length in Book Six and Book Ten. Similarly, an herbal manuscript titled the

Libellus de medicinalibus indorum herbis (1552; hereinafter Libellus) eschews the term titiçih

and uses the Latin term “medico” (physician) sparsely. As far as we know scientists rarely

consulted women in these matters, and without their active voice, the extent of women’s

participation in the creation of chronicles and treatises becomes even more obscure. By extension

this has concealed the degree of women’s participation in Nahua tiçiyotl (healing knowledge).

Scholarship has noted the discrepancies in the presentation of indigenous healing materials from what historian Londa Schiebinger has dubbed “biocontact zones” (the spaces where European scientists and clerics met Indigenous and African healers) to European

4 Francisco del Paso y Troncoso, Papeles de Nueva España, vol. VI, (Madrid: Est. tipografico "Sucesores de Rivadeneyra," 1905), 93. 102

markets.5 Guenter B. Risse has argued that preconceived Galenic traditions limited Europeans

from incorporating indigenous plants and herbs. Physicians often saw salubrious materials from

the Western Hemisphere as alternatives to already known remedies.6 This led to a low adoption

rate of indigenous plants, and an undervalued view of indigenous knowledge. Similarly,

physician, and historian, J. Worth Estes has noted that Europeans placed the information they

received from native healers into their own preexisting Western paradigms, without

understanding its local context. Scientists often disagreed with each other, and indigenous

people, on whether they should classify certain plants as hot or cold.7 European physicians

disregarded the categorization and of indigenous plants within their own realm.

Sometimes the reason that plants, or properties they were known for in the Indies, did not

make their way to Europe due to moral and social discourses and constructions. For example,

Schiebinger has shown that in early eighteenth century indigenous and African women in the

Dutch colony of Surinam used the peacock flower (Caesalpinia pulcherrima) as an abortifacient.

Schiebinger argued that the knowledge of the peacock flower’s abortifacient properties did not circulate freely between Surinam and the European continent, even though the plant itself did.

This was largely due to the gendered dynamics that existed in Europe which hoped to discourage and prevent abortions. To undertake this endeavor, Schiebinger ascribed this lack of knowledge circulation to “agnotology” – the study of what we do not know, and why it remains unknown.

She argues, “Ignorance is often not merely the absence of knowledge but an outcome of cultural and political struggle.”8 She did not just focus on the creation of ethnobotanical knowledge, but

5 Schiebinger, Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World, 83. 6 Guenter B Risse, "Transcending Cultural Barriers: The European Reception of Medicinal Plants from the Americas," Veroffentlichungen der Internationalen Gesellschaft fur Geschichte der Pharmazie e. 53 (1984): 32-40. 7 J. Worth Estes, "The European Reception of the First Drugs from the New World," Pharmacy in History 37, no. 1 (1995): 12. 8 Londa Schiebinger, "Feminist History of Colonial Science," Hypatia 19, no. 1 (2004): 237. 103

how Europeans mediated this knowledge as they presented it to European academic and

economic markets and kept knowledge from the Western Hemisphere from infiltrating Western

Europe. Schiebinger has also noted that there was a shift in the sixteenth and seventeenth

centuries when Europeans turned away from simply verifying the efficacy of plants that ancient

thinkers had established, and instead they launched their own empirical investigations on the

materials that indigenous informants suggested.9

This chapter explores how physicians took information from Nahua tiçiyotl and titiçih in biocontact zones and colonized it for European cultures and uses. During this process of

colonization, European men obscured the names, voices, and actions of indigenous ritual

specialists. When the Church attempted to destroy Nahua ritual knowledge, and supplant it with

Christianity, some priests wrote at length about titiçih because they targeted their activities as a

threat to Spanish conversion efforts. Conversely, sixteenth and seventeenth century Spanish

physicians and scientists, who were more concerned with materia medica than the ritual practices of indigenous peoples, left titiçih out of their studies on New Spain. Médicos only mentioned titiçih when criticizing the effectiveness of Nahua healing practices. More often, they eschewed rituals and sterilized the presentation of plants, animals, and minerals, thus, introducing

European readers to materia medica devoid of its cultural context.

Like the “New World,” this indigenous medicine was not new. Spaniards were not collecting unexplored materia medica; they were compiling knowledge from Nahua people, namely titiçih, on how they could adjust the plants, animals, and minerals from New Spain to a

European context. With a careful reading, the descriptions for plants, such as xaltomatl and ixnexto, offer traces of titiçih working with salubrious materials.

9 Schiebinger, Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World, 76. 104

Nahua Informants and Collaborators

Nahua people shared information with Spaniards in different ways and different contexts.

Some served as informants to Spaniards, such as those that Sahagún and his assistants interviewed to create the Historia general and its precursors. Others participated in the collection, organization, and expression of data. An example of this would be the tri-lingual men

who assisted Sahagún not as informants but as compilers in his efforts to understand Nahua

culture.10 Many primary sources do not credit the crucial role these men, and sometimes women,

played in the creation of these invaluable sources. But for the information these individuals

provided, these sources would not exist.

On other occasions individuals participated serendipitously. Francisco Hernández, for

example, haphazardly incorporated drawings of plants created by Nahua men. His original intent

was to use European artists. To accelerate Hernández’s progress, Phillip II acquiesced to viceroy

Martin Enriquez’s decision to provide Hernández with indigenous artists instead of the Spanish

painter he was originally assigned.11 The Hapsburg king seemed to have little interest in who

drew the images, so long as Hernández completed the document. Ultimately, the inclusion of

images created by Nahua artists provided indigenous men another opportunity to express

Mesoamerican ideas from their perspective. Hernández’s work has other layers of indigenous

collaboration and information.12

10 For a discussion of the diversity of expressions in colonial texts, and what Kevin Terraciano has called “graphic pluralism,” see Kevin Terraciano, "Three Texts in One: Book XII of the Florentine Codex," Ethnohistory 57, no. 1 (2010). 11 AGI, Audiencia de Mexico, 1090 L. 7. Sevilla, España: 1572-1575. f 59v. It is unclear who originally assigned Hernández artists, though it was probably the Audiencia. 12 For more information on Hernández’s work see, Germán Somolinos d'Ardois, "Tras la huella de Francisco Hernández: la ciencia novohispana del siglo XVIII," Historia Mexicana 4, no. 2 (1954); Germán Somolinos d'Ardois and José Miranda, Vida y obra de Francisco Hernández: Precedida de España y Nueva España en la época de Felipe II, 1. ed., (México D.F.: Universidad Nacional de México, 1960); Simon Varey and Rafael Chabrán, Searching for the Secrets of Nature: The Life and Works of Dr. Francisco Hernández, (Stanford 105

Indigenous men also informed and instructed Hernández about the plants he wrote about.

On May 18, 1572 Phillip II instructed viceroy don Martin to pay indigenous men for the herbs,

and the knowledge on their usage, they provided Hernández. The king instructed the viceroy to

use reason when paying the “indios” (indians) who dealt herbs, and the “indios médicos”

(indigenous physicians) who explained the herbs’ properties.13 Hernández’s work does not acknowledge any of these men by name, rarely even in an abstract fashion.

Book Eleven of the Historia general contains a list of all the “médicos” that informed

Sahagún. Unfortunately, Sahagún and his informants only recorded this information in the

Castilian portion of the text, therefore, we are unable to see how Nahua people would have described these men and their activities in Nahuatl. The Historia general states, “The above account regarding medicinal herbs and regarding other medicinal things contained above, was given by médicos from Tlatelolco Santiago. They are old and very experimented in things related to medicine, and they all cure publicly…”14 The passage states that the men were unable to write

and therefore they begged the scribe to write their names. The list of men includes:

Table 1 - Titiçih that Assisted Sahagún Gaspar Matias, Resident of la Concepcion Pedro de Santiago, Resident of San Ines Francisco Simon, Resident of Santo Toribio Miguel Damian, Resident of Santo Toribio Felipe Hernández, Resident of Santa Ana Pedro de Raquena, Resident of la Concepcion Miguel Garcia, Resident of Santo Toribio Miguel Motolinia, Resident of Santa Ines15

University Press, 2000); Francisco Hernández, The Mexican Treasury: The Writings of Dr Francisco Hernández, ed. Simon Varey and Rafael Chabrán, (Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press, 2001). 13 AGI, "Audiencia de Mexico, 1090 L. 7," f 60r. 14 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 180v. 15 Ibid., f 180v-81r. I kept the order and format that the Historia general used. It is unclear if there is any reason for the order. The list is not in alphabetic order by name or town. Nevertheless, I preserve the order out of respect to the Nahua men that participated in this project, in case this order did have a meaning to them. 106

This list does not include a single woman. This is particularly troubling considering that

Book Six and Book Ten of the Historia general explicitly mention that women also practiced

tiçiyotl and were knowledgeable of plants and other healing materials.16 Furthermore, Book

Eleven of the Historia general tackles many healing materials that deal with women’s bodies. A topic that would have surely been within the jurisdiction of female titiçih. Especially regarding plants and materials that dealt with female reproduction.

Two archival cases from the seventeenth century express the reverence and authority that indigenous herbalists enjoyed in Spanish society. On November 9, 1652, a fifty-year-old Nahua man named Juan Sebastián, a native of Tepoztlan (in what is today the state of Morelos) and resident of the barrio Acuaco in the pueblo of San Martin (a suburb of Mexico City), went before the Holy Office. The man was de oficio herbolario que vende medicamentos por las casas (by occupation an herbalist that sold medication door-to-door). The Inquisition used the help of

Diego Pérez Rivera and Diego Mordano, two Nahuatl interpreters, to interview Sebastián. He said that about three weeks prior to his testimony he had gone to Mexico City to sell herbs and roots so that he could obtain some things for his children. A Spanish woman called him over and asked if he had any medicine for almorranas (hemorrhoids) and las partes bajas (genitals). She then recruited the indigenous man to help her perform a burla (prank) on a cajonero (retailer) in the Plaza Cachupin. Though the plan was more of a swindle than a joke.17

The woman had been plotting her burla for some time and looking for an herb that would

help her execute her plan. She had had told her victim that a special herb she could provide

would allow him to travel to Spain in one night. She knew that he had recently won money

gambling, and she charged him ten pesos for the herb. She offered to split her earnings from the

16 See Chapter 1 for more information on this issue. 17 AGN, Inquisición, Vol. 1602, Exp. 1 (Diversos). Mexico City: 1654. f 103v-04r. 107

burla with the indigenous man. Once the indigenous herbalist agreed, she took him to a cajón

(retail stand) that belonged to a “well-built” man vestido de pardo (dressed like a mixed-race person). The woman and the man spoke in Spanish; thus, the herbalist did not understand the conversation. After the meeting, the woman scheduled to meet the herbalist on a specific day at

10 in the morning, and she promised to give the cajonero an herb in exchange for money. When they met the woman spoke to the man, and presumably gave him the herb. Soon after Juan

Sebastián left with the woman and showed her his home in San Martin. The cajonero accompanied them until the Santo Domingo convent, and he gave them seven-and-a-half pesos and returned to his cajón. The herbalist then showed the woman his home, and she left.18

A few days later the woman arrived at his home to execute the final phase of the plan.

They went to the man’s cajón and the indigenous herbalist gave the woman a yellow root with

red hairs known as ahuapatli, which according to the case record, was good for urinary issues.

The woman gave it to the man and instructed him to keep it in a box. When he wanted to go to

Spain, he should take the herb and he would arrive in one night. Probably to add mystique and

legitimacy to the herb, the woman claimed Sebastián had obtained it from Guautla (present day

Cuautla, Morelos). In truth, Juan Sebastián had obtained it from Mount Guadalupe specifically

for the burla. The woman also told the man that Juan Sebastián would give him some incense to

hasten his trip to Castile. The man then paid Juan Sebastián three reales. The day prior to his

confession before the Inquisition, Juan Sebastián went to say goodbye to the cajonero. The man

told the herbalist that he had a friend that wanted to go with him to Spain and that he would pay

him ten pesos if he followed him. The man then took Juan Sebastián to the Holy Office.19

18 Ibid., f 104v-05r. 19 Ibid., f105r-05v. 108

After his testimony, Inquisitors rebuked Juan Sebastián. Through Nahuatl language

interpreters, the Inquisitors instructed the herbalist not to provide herbs or get involved in plans

with malicious intent. They also told him not to see the cajonero, nor the woman, any more.20

The woman not only used indigenous materials to defraud the cajonero, she used the indigenous

man himself as a prop to further convince the man of the herb’s potency. She also claimed that

the herb came from Guatula, a place that colonial society esteemed for its potent plants and

herbs.21 This suggests that Spaniards viewed both indigenous materials, and indigenous

specialists, as mysterious and powerful entities.

Two years later, a young woman in Mexico City also tried to use indigenous botanical knowledge for her benefit. On May 9, 1654, doña Maria de Santelises, a twenty-four-year-old resident and native of Mexico City, went before the Inquisitors to clear her conscience. She confessed that she sought the help of indios herbolarios (indigenous herbalists) in Mexico City’s plaza, to ensure that a man she had been romantically involved with did not leave her for another woman. With help from a housemate, named Maria Nuñes, Santelises acquired a plant named quiomate from indigenous merchants. Nuñes instructed her to grind the plant and infuse it in her love interest’s chocolate. Santelises also sewed two quiomate plants into the folds of her petticoat so that the man would fall in love with her. She wore this every day for three or four

20 Ibid., f 105v. 21 In the postclassic period, Cuautla fell under the jurisdiction of the Mexica controlled Huaxtepec (now Oaxtepec, Morelos). When Spaniards haphazardly discovered mines in the late sixteenth near Cuautla, the crown detached the zone from Huaxtepec, a part of Hernán Cortés’ encomienda in the Marquesado. For more information on this, and the rich Nahua herbal tradition in this area see Gerardo Gómez Mureddu, Topializtli Anenecuilcayotl: lo que nos compete preservar de las tradiciones y costumbres de Anenecuilco: Plantas medicinales y medicina tradicional de Anenecuilco, Morelos, (Consejo del Patrimonio Histórico de Anenecuilco A.C., 2005), 45 and throughout. Furthermore, Huaxtepec itself, boasts a well-known “botanical garden” established in the post-classic period by Moctezuma the elder. See Patrizia Granziera, "Huaxtepec: the Sacred Garden of an Aztec Emperor," Landscape Research 30, no. 1 (2005): 81. Lastly, Francisco Hernández and Gregorio López both visited and observed native remedies at the Hospital de Santa Cruz in Oaxtepec. See Guenter B Risse, "Shelter and Care for Natives and Colonists. Hospitals in Sixteenth-Century New Spain," in Searching for the Secrets of Nature: The Life and Works of Dr. Francisco Hernández, ed. Simon Varey and Rafael Chabrán, (2000), 76. 109

months. Under Nuñes’ direction, the young woman also incensed herself from the waist down

with doradilla (unknown scientific name). Though she expressed trepidation, Santelises confessed that she eventually gave the man ground quiomate in his chocolate. She noted that

none of these procedures proved to be effective.22

Santelises had another encounter with indigenous herb sales and love magic. She claimed that an indigenous man knocked on her door and asked if she was married, and if she was

“receiving proper love from her husband.” Since she was unwed, he promised to return with an herb that she could boil in water and use to prepare hot chocolate for her love interest. The indigenous man charged Santelises a real, which she paid. He gave her a stick and an herb, without disclosing its name. She proceeded to make her love interest hot chocolate that very night.23

When Santelises prepared the chocolate for her love interest, the man became suspicious

of the beverage and slapped her. Two weeks later the indigenous man returned and upon hearing

the news, he gave her another stick and some herbs rolled into a ball. He instructed her to grind

the herb and boil it with the stick in water. Santelises should then use the water to prepare hot

chocolate for her love interest. The indigenous man also advised her to wear a little herb ball

somewhere on her body. She decided to wear the ball on her breast and affirmed that her

attempts were ineffective.24 Though it seems that these two cases ended in an unfavorable result

for the individuals purchasing the herbs, they nevertheless establish the esteem that indigenous

people held in New Spanish society. Lay people were willing to pay substantial amounts to

acquire native products. They also took risks by using these plants, and the knowledge from

22 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 1602, Exp. 1 (Diversos)," f 199v- 200r. 23 Ibid., f 200r- 00v. 24 Ibid. 110

specialists, to negotiate their position in society. This presented potential economic and scientific

growth that some Spaniards wished to transfer to Europe.

Materia Medica in New Spain

Spanish medicine’s absorption of Nahua healing traditions and knowledge of medicinal

plants occurred in a piecemeal fashion, an endeavor spearheaded by Phillip II’s curiosities and

desires to catalog and understand New Spain’s natural resources in the late sixteenth-century.

Though Spanish authorities disdained indigenous practices, the crown’s citizens engaged Nahua

knowledge much less reluctantly. Poor-Spaniards, Africans, and mixed-race people, especially

women, absorbed Nahua ritual practices and materials much more freely than their male,

educated, elite counterparts.25

David Goodman has argued that Phillip II had a personal interest in medicine, and he

wanted to keep his vassals healthy. As a reference point, Charles V (1516-1556), relative to

Phillip II, invested meagerly in royal doctors. From 1530-55, Charles V retained 15-20 royal

doctors per year. Phillip II’s medical roster quickly jumped to 24 in 1559 and swelled throughout

his reign reaching 47 in 1582. Goodman attributed this trend to Phillip’s sickly physique and fits

of gout, and to his son Carlos’ chronic illness. Though, Goodman noted that the trend did not

directly correlate to the royal family’s health, because when don Carlos died in 1568, the number

of physicians went up, and when Phillip’s health was at its worse from 1589-98, the number of

25 For examples on the ritual melting pot that existed in New Spain consult Solange Alberro, Inquisición y Sociedad en Mexico: 1571-1700, (Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1988).; Laura A. Lewis, Hall of Mirrors : Power, Witchcraft, and Caste in Colonial Mexico, (Durham: Duke University Press, 2003).; Noemí Quezada, Amor y magia amorosa entre los aztecas : supervivencia en el México colonial, 2a ed., Serie antropológica / Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas (México: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Antropológicas, 1984).; and Noemí Quezada, "The Inquisition's Repression of Curanderos," in Cultural Encounters: The Impact of the Inquisition in Spain and the New World, ed. Mary Elizabeth Perry and Anne J. Cruz, (University of California Press, 1991). 111

doctors whittled down to 20 and eventually 10. The latter decrease was likely due to economic

factors.26

Phillip II also encouraged and started the broad collection of materia medica in his realm.

In 1565 Phillip commissioned Luis de León to travel throughout Castile finding and gathering

medicinal herbs. León, with the help of donkeys provided by local justices, transported his

collection of plants to Madrid. Furthermore, during his reign, Phillip II created botanical gardens

at the pharmacy in Madrid and the Escorial.27 Perhaps the most ambitious and expansive

endeavor undertaken by Spain was Francisco Hernández’s expedition to the New World, which

overlapped with another challenging endeavor, the Relaciones geográficas (geographical

reports).

Starting in 1569, Phillip II ramped up his efforts to understand the treasurers his

American empire held. That year, Phillip II appointed Juan de Ovando y Godoy as the visitador

(inspector) of the Council of the Indies. The king charged Ovando y Godoy with making the

Council function more efficiently. He in turn commissioned Hernández’s investigative trip to the

Indies in 1570. On the other hand, Juan López de Velasco, author of the Geografía y descripción

universal de las Indias (1571-1574), served as the first Cronista-Cosmógrafo (Cosmographer-

Chronicler) from 1571-1591. Ovando y Godoy and López de Velasco created the position of

Cosmographer-Chronicler and tasked that individual with creating histories and geographies of

the Indies. On May 25, 1577, the duo completed the 50-question survey now dubbed the

Relaciones geographicas. Shortly thereafter the questionnaire was sent to the two viceroys in the

Indies. Once in Lima and Mexico City, viceroys disseminated copies of the questionnaire to

26 David C. Goodman, Power and Penury: Government, Technology, and Science in Philip II's Spain, (Cambridge;New York;: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 230-31. 27 Ibid., 233-34. 112

lower-ranking officials throughout the viceroyalties.28 Events in the Western Hemisphere fueled

the growing interest for plants and knowledge in Iberia. A book created by Nahua men, under the

auspices of Franciscan friars, in 1552 in Tlatelolco (Mexico City)—the Libellus de medicinalibus

indorum herbis— tipped off Phillip II and his advisers about the indigenous plants from

America.29

The Libellus and the Colegio de la Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco

Classifying the Libellus is difficult because of its provenance, and content. At least two

Nahua men created the Libellus under the auspices of Franciscan friars. We could thus classify

this source with materials created by clerics. Yet, the Libellus is interested in scientific matters.

Although the title of the book suggests that it is about Indigenous medicinal herbs, it has a

nosological approach, that is, the Libellus focuses on illnesses and how to cure them with

mixtures, potions, poultices, and other concoctions. Thus, the “little book” is not about herbs, it’s

about illnesses. European diseases are the Libellus’ organizational nuclei, and the indigenous

plants that can cure them radiate outward.

Like other medically inclined works the Libellus seldom mentions who applied the

plants, animals, and materials they discussed, or any rituals associated with healing. The Libellus

lacks the quasi ethnographic elements of the Historia general, Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón’s

Tratado, and other sources like it. Thus, I have opted to include this source in the discussion of

European extraction of indigenous knowledge from the Spanish-Nahua biocontact zone, and its

transformation into materia medica.

28 Howard F. Cline, "The Relaciónes Geográficas of the Spanish Indies, 1577-1648," in The Handbook of Middle American Indians vol. 12, (University of Texas Press, 1972), 189-90. 29 The title translates as The Little Book of Medicinal Indian Herbs. 113

Nonetheless, the Libellus’ creation is deeply rooted in New Spain’s early Catholic

culture, particularly the Colegio Imperial de la Santa Cruz.30 On January 6, 1536 friars Juan de

Zumárraga (the bishop of Mexico), Bernardino de Sahagún, Sebastián Ramírez de Fuenleal,

García de Cisneros, Arnaldo de Basacio, and the Viceroy of New Spain Antonio de Mendoza,

went to mass at the Church of San Francisco in Mexico City. Upon the conclusion of mass, the

group of men made their way to Tlatelolco. Friars Alonso de Herrera and Pedro de Rivera said a

few words before viceroy Mendoza officially inaugurated the Colegio Imperial de Santa Cruz. A

1535 royal decree by Charles V granted the creation of the school. The Crown stated that the

Franciscans should select 80-100 of the most promising sons of caciques (indigenous leaders)

aged ten to twelve for their new school. 31

Eventually, Franciscans accepted students as young as eight years of age, as a prophylactic measure against indigenous idolatry, most notably the veneration of Tezcatlipoca.

Usually students stayed at the college for three years before returning to their homes. Students’ departure back home was a constant source of anxiety for Franciscans since they could easily

revert to their pre-schooling ways. Historian SilverMoon has given a conservative estimate of

about 1,200 students completing their studies in the first seventy years of its existence.32 Among these alumni was Juan Badiano, who translated the Libellus into Latin for Franciscans and other

Europeans with various interests.

30 The name of this institution translates as, the Imperial College of the Holy Cross. 31 Miguel Mathes, Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco: la primera biblioteca académica de las Américas, (Mexico City: Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores, 1982), 21. 32 SilverMoon, "The Imperial College of Tlatelolco and the Emergence of a New Nahua Intellectual Elite in New Spain, 1500-1760" (PhD Diss., Duke University, 2007), 76-80. 114

El Colegio de la Santa Cruz, and Cultural Conversion

Zumárraga, and other Franciscans, saw the Colegio as a tool for conversion, particularly

for women. For example, in a letter dated December 20, 1537 from Juan de Zumárraga to

Charles V of Spain. The prelate proposed a two-pronged approach to curb the problem with indigenous heterodoxy, particularly among principales holgazanes (dawdling leaders). He asked

the king to fund the construction of a college and a monastery in each of the three dioceses

(Michoacán, Tlaxcala, and Mexico) where indigenous boys could learn grammar, and clerics

could indoctrinate and instruct native girls starting at the age of six in the latter. The bishop also

noted that indigenous students should learn Latin so that the priests could better communicate

with them. Zumárraga called for a large monastery that could accommodate 600 indigenous

girls, and a college that would serve 300 boys. He identified young girls as untapped resources

for conversion. He complained that subordinate natives gifted their young daughters to

indigenous leaders, which they sequestered (along with adult women); thus, preventing women

from hearing mass or getting baptized. Zumárraga also proposed that once the girls reach the age

of twelve they should marry male students in the school. This would help prevent—

unspecified— heinous acts from occurring.33 Zumárraga’s proposal would create new schools

with nearly triple the student body of the Colegio de la Santa Cruz, and would have accessed an

untapped source, Nahua women.

On February 26, 1538, the Council of the Indies wrote to Viceroy Mendoza asking him to

report on the performance and results of the indigenous boys at the college in the Church of

Santiago in Mexico City. The letter noted that Zumárraga used the Indians’ ability to learn

sciences and other subjects, as a motive for the King to establish a university that offered all

33 AHN, Diversos Colecciones, 22, N.23 Madrid, Spain: 1537. f 2r- 3r. 115

subjects typically taught in other universities, particularly arts and theology.34 The letter suggests

that Bishop Zumárraga believed the King should grant indigenous men access to universities, at

the very least to receive training to become priests. Though Zumárraga’s attempts never bore any

fruit, his letter to the Crown illustrates how he envisioned religious schools as spaces for

conversion.

The Libellus’s Makers

Little is known about the creation of the Libellus, which is sometimes referred to as the

Codex Badianus. Some scholars believe Martín de la Cruz originally penned the Libellus in

Nahuatl.35 Then, Franciscan Fray Jacobo de Grado commissioned its translation to Latin.36 Other

friars, or perhaps Grado himself, at the Colegio de la Santa Cruz probably commissioned the

Nahuatl version. At some point in the sixteenth century the Libellus made its way to Spain.37 Its history is obscure until Charles Upton Clark discovered it in the Vatican’s Barberini collection in

1919 and brought it to the public’s attention in 1942 in volume 108 of the Smithsonian’s

Miscellaneous Collection.38 The backgrounds of the Libellus’ authors remain equally obscure.

Martín de la Cruz, the credited author of the Libellus, was an “indio medico,” and thus

presumably a tiçitl from a Nahua perspective. Some historians have claimed that de la Cruz was

an Indian noble and physician at the Colegio de Santa Cruz.39 This notion started with Carlos

34 AGI, Mexico, 1088, L.3. Seville, Spain: 1538. f 3v. 35 Martín de la Cruz and Juan Badiano, Libellus de medicinalibus Indorum herbis: manuscrito azteca de 1552, Vol. 1 (México: Fondo de Cultura Económica, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. Barb, Lat, 1991), 6. 36 Martín de la Cruz and Juan Badiano, Libellus de medicinalibus Indorum herbis: manuscrito azteca de 1552, v.2, (México: Fondo de Cultura Económica, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. Barb, Lat, 1991), f 63r. 37 Cruz and Badiano, Libellus de medicinalibus Indorum herbis: manuscrito azteca de 1552, 1, 3. 38 Antonio Vázquez de Espinosa, "Compendium and Description of the West Indies. Translated by Charles Opson Clark.," Smithsonian Miscellaneous Collection 102 (1942): IV. 39 David Goodman, "Science, Medicine, and Technology in Colonial Spanish America: New interpretations, New Approaches," in Science in the Spanish and Portuguese Empires, 1500-1800, ed. Daniela Bleichmar, et al., (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009), 28. 116

Viesca Treviño who has argued that in 1550 viceroy Antonio de Mendoza granted a man named

Martín de la Cruz the right to carry an axel, a right normally reserved for Spaniards that

authorities gradually extended to indigenous nobility. Using other sixteenth-century documents,

Treviño established that Martín de la Cruz, was from Tlatelolco.40 However, the archival sources

that Viesca Treviño cited do not contain any information that support that the man Viceroy

Mendoza licensed to carry a weapon was the same man that orchestrated the Nahuatl version of

the Libellus. There is no clear link between the medically inclined Cruz, and other individuals

with the same name.

For example, the Anales de Juan Bautista mention that the new indigenous alcaldes,

regidores (local rulers), and fiscales (low-ranking Indian official) took office on Friday, January

1, 1565. This included the following regidores, Torivio Huitzilquiyauh, Martín Cano Chachal,

don Martín Momauhti (from the barrio of San Sebastián near Xochimilco), Melchor Díaz

Xochipepena, Gaspar de Aquino Atehuan, and Pedro Atecpanecatl. The Osuna codex (1565)

suggests that Martín Momauhti used the Spanish surname “de la Cruz” in certain spaces. On

folio 13, the Osuna notes that don Martín de la Cruz (instead of Momauhti), Martín Cano

(missing Chachal), Francisco Martín, Gaspar de Aquino (missing Atehuan), Torivio de la Cruz

(having his surname swapped from Huitzilquiyauh), and Tomás de San Pablo and Pedro

Atecpanetlac (a slight variation in spelling), among others, presented a painting to the visitador

general (general inspector) of New Spain Jerónimo de Valderrama.41 The various names that coincide in both documents propose that this is the same group of men from the Anales de Juan

Bautista.

40 Jesús Kumate and ME Pineda, "Estudios actuales sobre el Libellus de medicinalibus indorum herbis," México, Secretaría de Salud (1992): 52. 41 Pintura del gobernador, alcaldes y regidores de México : "Códice Osuna", ed. Vicenta Cortés Alonso, (Madrid: Servicio de Publicaciones del Ministerio de Educación y Ciencia, 1973), f 13v. 117

On August 9, 1565 the Osuna mentions that Martín de la Cruz and Anton Jimenez were

the regidores from the barrio of Mexico who presented a painting to the viceroy and the

Audiencia of Mexico City.42 Furthermore, a 1565 case brought before Mexico City’s Audiencia,

a Martín de la Cruz (possibly the same man that went before the Audiencia above), noted that he

was from the barrio of San Juan, and 40 years old .43 This would have made this Martín de la

Cruz probably too young to have been the creative mind behind the Nahuatl version of the

Libellus, being in his early twenties, if not younger, when the Nahuatl version was created.

Barring any unmentioned virtuoso characteristics, it is unlikely that a 20-year-old man had

gained the respect and acclaim Franciscans likely would have sought for the creator of this

important document. It is more plausible that this Cruz was the same man that the viceroy

licensed to carry a sword above.

There is, however, more information about the man who wrote the Libellus. On May 27,

1551 Viceroy Luis de Velasco granted a man named Martín de la Cruz, along with Anton

Hernando (an alumni of the Colegio of the Santa Cruz), the right to cure among the Indians of

Mexico City, Santiago de Tlatelolco, and other indigenous areas.44 The text did not use the reverential “don” for this Cruz, who clearly had a background in healing. The lack of “don” disassociates this Cruz from the politically connected Cruz from Xochimilco. Furthermore, it seems unlikely that neither the Osuna codex, the Anales de Juan Bautista, and other archival records all ignored Cruz’s medical endeavors. In short, there is no conclusive evidence that suggests that the Cruz that created the Libellus was a noble, or a regidor. Though it seems possible that he was originally from Tlaltelolco.

42 Ibid., f 14r. 43 AGN, Civil, Volumen 664, Ex. 1,. Mexico City: 1565. f 65r. 44 Silvio Arturo Zavala and Luis de Velasco, Libros de asientos de la gobernación de la Nueva España: periodo del virrey Don Luis de Velasco, 1550-1552, Vol. 3 (Archivo General de la Nación, 1982), 231. 118

Most of what we know about Cruz, comes from the Libellus itself. The title page, penned by Juan Badiano, states, “Little book of medicinal Indian herbs, which a certain Indian from the

College of the Holy Cross collected, he was not trained in methods [i.e., formally], but he was only informed through experimentation [empiricism].”45 Badiano probably meant that Cruz was

not trained in a Western style. Given that Franciscan friars entrusted Cruz with the compilation

of Nahua herbal knowledge, I argue that the “indio medico” was well trained – and respected –

in a non-Western context. As noted above, viceroy don Luis de Velasco seemed to have faith in

Cruz’s skills, since he granted him a license to practice medicine in various neighborhoods in

Mexico City. The fact that Cruz wrote the precursor to the Libellus in Nahuatl, suggests that he

was Nahua.46

It is unclear if Cruz wrote the Nahuatl version of the Libellus himself or dictated it to a

scribe. While perhaps seemingly trivial, knowing who penned the Nahuatl predecessor to the

Libellus could reveal if Cruz received a formal Spanish education. If someone else committed

Cruz’s herbal knowledge to paper, probably a student at the Colegio de la Santa Cruz de

Tlatelolco, it would suggest that Cruz did not receive formal or extensive training in a Western

tradition. Unfortunately, sources remain silent on this matter.

Even if Cruz had attended the Colegio de la Santa Cruz, there is no evidence that students

at the college learned healing techniques of any kind. Nevertheless, records suggest that the

college did have healing personal on hand, which might have been Cruz’s role at the college. For

example, in 1537 Zumárraga petitioned the king to build a religious school and a monastery for

indigenous boys and girls respectively (what became the Colegio de la Santa Cruz). Among his

45 Cruz and Badiano, Libellus de medicinalibus Indorum herbis: manuscrito azteca de 1552, v.2, f 1r. The original text reads, “Libellus de medicinalibus Indorum herbis, quem quidam Indus Collegi Sancte Crucis medicus composuit, nullis rationibus doctus, sed solis experimentis edoctus.” 46 Cruz and Badiano, Libellus de medicinalibus Indorum herbis: manuscrito azteca de 1552, 1, 6. 119

priorities was the construction of three homes and ensuring funds for a physician and medical

supplies.47 There is no documentation that Cruz was a student at the Colegio de la Santa Cruz.

Martín de la Cruz, the author of the Libellus’ precursor, was probably a well-respected

older tiçitl that served at the Colegio de la Santa Cruz healing students, and perhaps faculty and

staff as well, in the 1540s. Since an epidemic ravaged New Spain in 1545, he might have

informally taught others how to cure. In the mid or late 1540s, Cruz dictated his knowledge of

xihuitl and pahtli to at least one student – possibly under the direction of a friar – from the

Colegio de la Santa Cruz. Scholars have no idea how Cruz organized the original Nahuatl version. For that matter, the original version could have been notes, or a verbatim Nahuatl version of the Libellus. Towards the end of the 1540s, or early 1550s under the auspices of friar

Jacobo de Grado, Juan Badiano started translating the Nahuatl text into Latin, finishing in 1552.

Unlike Cruz, we do no more about Juan Badiano. He did train at the Colegio de la Santa

Cruz in Tlatelolco.48 Like his colleagues, he was well-versed in Nahuatl, Castilian, and Latin writing systems.49 The Libellus’s conclusion states that Badiano, “Is from the Indian race, whose

native city is Xochimilco. He is a lecturer at the same college [Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco].”50

Though some scholars have argued that Badiano was also an indio medico, there is no evidence

to support this.51 What can be stated with certainty is that Badiano was a lecturer, though the

subject that he taught, and his specialization are unknown.

47 AHN, "Diversos Colecciones, 22, N.23 " f 3v. 48 SilverMoon, "The Imperial College of Tlatelolco and the Emergence of a New Nahua Intellectual Elite in New Spain, 1500-1760," 212-13. 49 Ibid., 239-41. 50 Cruz and Badiano, Libellus de medicinalibus Indorum herbis: manuscrito azteca de 1552, v.2, f 83v. The original texts reads, “…natione Indus patria Xuchimilcanus euisdem colegii praelector.” 51 Antonio Barrera-Osorio, "Knowledge and Empiricism in the Sixteenth-Century Spanish Atlantic World," in Science in the Spanish and Portuguese Empires, 1500-1800, ed. Daniela Bleichmar, et al., (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009), 228. 120

The Libellus

The Libellus’ detailed plant imagery along with their Nahuatl names, leads viewers to

believe it is purely indigenous document, however, that is not the case. One of the most easily

identifiable European interventions is the Latin alphabet used by the Juan Badiano. There are

more important ideological European interpositions in the text. Efrén C. del Pozo has noted that

there are “European contaminations” in the Libellus. Pozo believed that the Libellus’ nosological

format was among the most noticeable European infiltrations in the text. He also highlighted

certain diseases that Cruz, Badiano, or the revising pen of another, characterized in a European

fashion, such as, glaucoma, scrofula (lymphatic swelling), struma (an enlarged thyroid gland),

mentagra (hair follicle infection), condyloma (genital warts), podagra (foot gout pain), and

leprosy. Hot and cold dynamics ostensibly like European humoral medicine that appear to be

pre-contact notions.52 I argue that the Libellus is an early manifestation of European men

converting Mesoamerican plants, and Nahua knowledge, for their purposes.

There is no indication that Cruz or Badiano consulted female titiçih, or any women at all,

during the creation of the Libellus, despite having extensive content on the female human body.

For example, the Libellus’ eleventh chapter, “Remedies for birth, menstruation, purging the

womb, breast tumors, medicine to induce lactation” headlines three plants, using their Nahuatl

named, quauhalahuc, cihuapahtli, and quetzalahuexotl, that are remedies for parturient

women.53 This chapter states that a woman should drink a potion made from quauhalahuac bark, and an herb called cihuapahtli (literally, woman’s medicine), ground in water, with a rock named eztetl (blood rock) and the tale of a tlacuatzin (possum). In addition, the parturient woman should

52 Cruz and Badiano, Libellus de medicinalibus Indorum herbis: manuscrito azteca de 1552, 1, 197-98. 53The original Latin title is, “Caput undecimum. De remediis recentis partus, menstruorum, lotion ventris, puerperae, uberum tuberculo, medicina lac alliciente.” 121 hold an herb called tlanextia in her hand.54 The Libellus does not mention any ritual or medical specialists. Much less that women were prominent figures in childbirth, and its rituals. Moreover, the Libellus’ description of cihuapahtli, possum tails, and other plants beneficial to women have been sterilized of ritual language and actions.

On the other hand, eztetl, a mineral used by Nahuas, demonstrates the Libellus’ silence on women. The Spanish text in Book Eleven of the Historia general explains that eztetl efficiently stops nose hemorrhaging, like those experienced by many in the epidemics of 1576.

Eztetl shortens and mitigates ezhuitomiliztli (blood flow, i.e., menstruation) and it also tlaellecehuia (calms), tlacehuia (relieves), tlatzacua (shuts), tlapahtia (cures) hemorrhaging from a blow.55 Based on the rock’s properties, it is easy to see why it was given to women (probably by female titiçih), during difficult menstruations or pregnancies, like the Libellus attested above.

Yet Cruz and Badiano did not mention women in the text.

The passive voice in the Libellus conceals women as active agents, however, other sources illustrate women’s prominence in Nahua tiçiyotl using the very same plants. For instance, the Historia general noted that female titiçih assisted women in birth. If necessary female titiçih used various plant and animal parts to facilitate labor.56 Once childbirth was approaching “niman quinotza in tiçitl in temixihuitiani” (then she [the pregnant woman] called the tiçitl, she that causes people to give birth). When quimati in iiti (the parturient became aware of her abdomen, i.e., she had labor pains), the tiçitl quickly went to bath her, and she gave her xihuitl named cihuapahtli, which is a tlacxotlani (expellant) and tlatopehuani (ejectant).57 If the

54 Cruz and Badiano, Libellus de medicinalibus Indorum herbis: manuscrito azteca de 1552, 1, 80. According to Molina tlanextia is a verb meaning to shine or glitter. Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 1, f 79r 55 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 209v. 56Ibid., f 130r-40r. 57 The Historia general states contentihuetzi, he/she/it quickly took her to bath. I assume that the “he/she/it” is the tiçitl, since she had just been called into action. Moreover, later in this chapter (28), the tiçitl battles with the 122

woman’s pain was grave, the tiçitl made her drink two knuckles of possum tail. This would make

the woman give birth quickly, because it was a tlacxotlani, tlatopehuani and tlaquixtiani (a

remover).58 Lastly, if the parturient had an arduous and prolonged labor, the tiçitl “…called and

pleaded Cihuacoatl, Quilaztli,59 then the tiçitl called for Yoalticitl….” 60 Unlike the Libellus,

Book Six of the Historia general highlights the active role that female titiçih had in ritually applying cihuapahtli to their patients, a plant with proven oxytocic properties. Cihuapahtli, botanically known as Montanoa tomentosa, is a part of the daisy family. Unlike other daisies, cihuapahtli has oxytocic properties that induce labor and abortion.61 Contemporarily oxytocic pharmaceutical drugs use M. tomentosa as an active ingredient, and the plant is now commonly known as zoapatle in Central Mexico, among Nahuas and others.62

The Historia general’s entry for cihuapahtli, illustrates the different approaches in the

more scientifically inclined Book Eleven, and the more culturally motivated Book Six.63 Book

Eleven describes cihuapahtli as a bush with tall shoots, many branches, ash-colored leaves, and

yellow or white flowers. According to Sahagún and his informants, an infused beverage created

by boiling cihuapahtli leaves in water helped women give birth. Once the woman had ingested

the beverage, she would begin to bleed, a sign that she would soon give birth. The woman was

then given a second dose and she would soon give birth. The root of the cihuapatli could be

position of the infant and the parturient woman’s difficult birth. (Historia general v. 2 F. 137 – 138 v.) Dibble and Anderson translated the third person singular as third person plural, writing “they quickly bathed her in the sweat bath,” and “They gave her as much as two fingers of opossum tail.” (Florentine Codex Book Six pg. 159) 58 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 137v. 59 The corresponding Spanish text states, “… quilaztli (que dezimos ser Eva)” Quilaztli, who we say is Eve. 60 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 138v. The Nahuatl texts reads, “…quinotza quitlatlauhtia in cihuacoatl in quilaztli: niman quitzatzilia in yoalticil….” 61 Gallegos Alfredo J, "The zoapatle I — A traditional remedy from Mexico emerges to modern times," Contraception 27, no. 3 (1983): 217. 62 Michael Heinrich et al., "Ethnopharmacology of Mexican Asteraceae (Compositae)," Annual Review of Pharmacology and Toxicology 38, no. 1 (1998): 557-58. 63 Book Six and Ten of the Historia general included more robust discussions on Nahua cultural practices. Book Eleven shares more similarities with the Libellus, Hernández’s writings, and other sixteenth century medical works. 123

ground and “cooked with tepid water,” to help those with camaras de sangre (dysentery). Like

xaltomatl and ixnexto, cihuapahtli grew in many places, in fields and mountains, and between

homes.64 Similar to the Libellus, Book Eleven makes no mentions of an active agent in this

entry. Without cross referencing other sources, it would be uncertain if family members, friends,

male titiçih, or female titiçih administered cihuapahtli to parturient women. Yet, as noted above,

Book Six detailed that female titiçih harnessed cihuapahtli’s power.

A corresponding image in Book Eleven’s cihuapahtli entry corroborates Book Six

regarding who prepared and administered beverages for soon-to-be-mothers. The image shows two kneeling women sitting in front of a blazing three-stone hearth with a pot filled with leaves.

The woman closer to the hearth is feeding the fire as she holds a bowl of brewed cihuapahtli. The woman farthest from the fire, appears to have an enlarged belly and a tear streaking down her cheek, suggesting that she is in pain and perhaps struggling to give birth. (Figure 3) I argue that the woman preparing the remedy in this image is a tiçitl, and her patient is a pregnant woman having trouble giving birth. Though the text used passive voice, its corresponding image portrays women as an active agent.

Figure 3 A female Tiçitl offers a suffering parturient brewed Cihuapahtli. Sahagún, Bernardino de. "Libro Undecimo." In Códice Florentino, edición facsimilar del

64 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 170r-70v. 124

manuscrito. Mexico City: Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Archivo General de la Nación, 1979. f 170r

Cihuapahtli, literally woman’s medicine, has a male analog – oquichpatli (man medicine). According to the Historia general, the roots of this plant were good for men and women that had not completely expelled his or her seed out of fear, or some other reason, and had become “broken.” The individuals body would slowly become black and he or she could remain this way for years. After two or three days of drinking oquichpatli, the person would

urinate a cocolli (the Castilian portion translates it as a “corrupt humor”) as a white malodorous

substance from their genitals.65 The text describes a second oquichpatli, but looks different from

the first, in this case bearing bell-shaped yellow or white flowers and vines that resemble a

gourd, which its alias ayoxochquiltic (green gourd flower) highlighted. Nevertheless, like the

first oquichpatli, the second was “Itechmonequi in aquin omitlaco” (necessary for he or she who

had been corrupted.) The Castilian portion states “para los que tienen el mimbro estragado” (for those that have a broken or spoiled member), suggesting oquichpatli, like the name implies, had a strong relation to men.66 Oquichpatli, mixed with the root of an herb called xoxocoyoltic (green bells) also helped women that could not conceive because of a crooked vaginal canal, the beverage “occeppa huel mopilhuatia” (allowed her to have children again).67 While cihuapahtli

helped women give birth, and in certain instances could be used for abortions, oquichpatli helped

men and women with fertility issues. It was as if the oquichpatli began the process of making a

child, and cihuapahtli brought the child to the earth, hence completing the process in a gendered

complimentary fashion.

65 Ibid., f 172v. 66 Ibid., f 175r. 67 Ibid. 125

The entry after cihuapathli in the Historia general, the nopalli (various members of the

Opuntia genus that are known as nopal or prickly pear cactus) followed the theme of assuaging birth and obscuring the remedy maker. An undisclosed actor (though probably a tiçitl) applied

cactus paddles, skinned, ground, and mixed with water, to parturient women to help them give

birth more easily. Titiçih administered the beverage to women that were struggling with delivery, or if their child was in a traverse lie position (i.e., sideways). According to the Historia general, this was common among women who did not abstain from sexual relations with their husbands before birth.68 Hernández focused on the nochtli, the fruit, and did not discuss the paddle.

Though he did identify seven different types of medicinal purposes, but none related to birth.69

Figure 4, is a line drawing of the accompanying image to the text on the nopalli, which illustrates

a woman (likely a tiçitl) offering a bowl of the beverage described in the text. The nopalli plant

is the left portion of the image.

Figure 4 - A female tiçitl offers a parturient a beverage made with Opuntia Paddles. Sahagún, Bernardino de. "Libro Undecimo." In Códice Florentino, edición facsimilar del

68 Ibid., f 170v-71r. 69 Hernández, The Mexican Treasury: The Writings of Dr Francisco Hernández, 189-90. 126

manuscrito. Mexico City: Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Archivo General de la Nación, 197

Book Eleven offered a last line of defense for difficult labor. According to Sahagún and

his informants, it was widely known that ground chia seed mixed with half a finger’s length of

tlacuatzin tail and water was the most effective way to induce labor.70 There are two corresponding images for the chia (Salvia hispanica) and tlacuatzin (common opossum,

Didelphis marsupialis) beverage.71 The first, on folio 171r, shows two women inside of a room.

One of the women grinds chia seeds while the other holds a bowl up. Neither of them appears to

be pregnant, and I argue they are both titiçih. The second image, on folio 171 verso, depicts a

pregnant woman kneeling outside of a structure, next to a chia plant, raising a bowl, of what is

probably a tlacuatzin and chia infusion, to her lips. (Figure 5)

Figure 5 - A parturient drinks a beverage made with tlacuatzin tail and chia seed, as she kneels next to a chia plant.

70 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 171r. 71 Tlacuatzin can be broken down into three parts: Tla-Cua-Tzin. Tla is a nonspecific, nonhuman prefix which means “something.” Cua, is a verb, which means “to eat.” Finally, tzin is a modifying suffix typically meaning “small” or “precious.” Therefore, Tlacuatzin translates as “precious or little eater of things.” 127

The tlacuatzin had properties that titiçih used to facilitate labor and delivery. Book

Eleven of the Historia general described the tlacuatzin as a cat sized animal with brown and gray

fur, and long white hair. According to the Historia general, the flesh of the tlacuatzin was not

only edible, it was delicious. Although tlacuatzin meat was edible, their bones and tail caused

anyone that ingested them to expel “all of their insides.”72 The Historia general tells of a dog that was seen eating tlacuatzin bones, and soon after it was struck with such terrible diarrhea that its intestines were hanging out of its backside.73 Female titiçih provided parturient women with

beverages containing possum tails if they were having a difficult labor, in order to expedite

delivery.74

Other concoctions and practices listed in the Libellus further illustrate that lack of active

agents in its discussion, and more importantly, a European influence on the document. Another

remedy for arduous labor called for burned: monkey hair and bones, an eagle’s wing, a piece of

quetzalhuexotl tree, deer skin, a rooster’s gallbladder, a rabbit’s gallbladder, and sundried onions.

Then nochtli, octli (pulque), and salt, should be added to the mix. Everything should be heated

together, and the woman should be anointed with the succo (potion). Feeding the woman fox

meat and binding an intensely green precious stone and a green pearl to her shoulder was another

option. Alternatively, a woman, “could also drink crushed kite [bird-of-prey] and goose feces…”

mixed with a piece of tlacuatzin tail in “our sweet wine” (i.e., pulque).75 The vulva could be bathed with fluid made of xaltomatl stems, tlacuatzin tail, and leaves from the cihuapahtli.76

72 Bernardino de Sahagún and C.M. Bustamante, Historia General de las Cosas de Nueva España, (Cambridge University Press, 2011), 159. 73 Ibid., 160. 74 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 130v-40r. 75 Cruz and Badiano, Libellus de medicinalibus Indorum herbis: manuscrito azteca de 1552, 1, 80. The original text reads, “Potest etiam bibere milui triti fimi et anseris…” 76 Ibid. 128

The Libellus call for ground feces of the “milui,” (the bird kite), though this animal did

not exist in America. The Latin word milui literally means kite, and its ancient Greek cognate is

iktinos. According to Hellenist W. Geoffrey Amott, milui appears in European and

Mediterranean mythology since antiquity. Ancient societies used the term miluus (sing. for

milui), or iktinos, indiscriminately for the red kite (Miluus miluus) or the black kite (M.

migrans). A trend that has continued into the modern era since both birds are similar in size and

temperament.77 I would argue that using kite feces must have been a popular Mediterranean

remedy that made its way in the text.

Why select such a specific bird? Badiano did not shy away from using Nahuatl words

when Latin locutions did not suffice. Ángel María Garibay translated the Latin term milui as

“halcon” (falcon).78 William Gates chose the word “kite” for milui.79 He could have used the

Nahuatl hueyi tlotli (falcon).80 Badiano could have also used the Latin term aquila (eagle), which

he did use for aquilae ala (Eagle’s Wing) in the same remedy. Lastly, a more general Latin term

“immusulus” (falcon) exists.

But for the Libellus, there are no other instances of Nahua people curing with feces from animals or humans. The only documented indigenous fecal remedy from New Spain comes late

in the colonial period, and it does not have a clear Nahua origin. In 1788, don Juan Manual

Venegas published the Compiendo de la medicina: ó medicina practica which included a remedy

for women whose child had died in utero. A caregiver, or midwife, should open a chicken at the

spine and place it on a parturient’s stomach. The birth attendant should also position a sudadero

77 W. Geoffrey Arnott, Birds in the Ancient World from A to Z, (Taylor & Francis, 2007), 76-78. 78 Cruz and Badiano, Libellus de medicinalibus Indorum herbis: manuscrito azteca de 1552, 1, 81. 79 Martín de la Cruz and Juan Badiano, An Aztec Herbal: The Classic Codex of 1552, ed. William Gates, (Mineola, N.Y.: Dover Publications, 2000), 106. 80 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 1, f 68r. 129

de bestias (livestock blanket), cooked in urine, on the woman’s thighs. Lastly, the delivering

mother should also receive an enema infused with gramineae (a Poaceae grass family member),

orchid leaves, horse manure broken up in wine, and embryonic fluid.81 This remedy calls for

horse feces, not bird droppings, and there is no clear relation to Nahua people.

The poultice in the Libellus seems to be more in line with medieval European traditions,

particularly those found in the Trotula of Salerno. Scholars believe that Trotula might have been

a woman that practiced medicine in Salerno, Italy sometime between the mid-eleventh and early-

thirteenth centuries.82 Chapter XVI titled, “On the regulations for the woman about to give birth,” notes that drinks made with the white substance in eagle excrement is beneficial for women about to give birth. This was also true for the excrement of baby swallow birds.83

Though this Mediterranean drink is not exactly the same as the remedy in the Libelllus, it bears

more resemblance to it than anything rotted in Mesoamerica.

The Libellus demonstrates one of the first European efforts to create a book length

resource on indigenous healing knowledge, in a fashion that is relatable to a European audience.

Once out of the biocontact zone, the Libellus offers virtually no clues regarding who applied the

remedies it contains. Moreover, ritual practices are nonexistent in the Libellus’ pages. More

importantly, but for the brief and vague discussion of Martín de la Cruz and Juan Badiano in the

introduction and conclusion, indigenous people in general are invisible in the Libellus.

Still, the Libellus indicates European interest in indigenous plants. The book is dedicated

to Francisco de Mendoza, the son of the first viceroy of New Spain, Antonio de Mendoza, and

81 Juan Manuel Venegas, Compendio de la medicina: ó Medicina practica, en que se declara laconicamente lo mas util de ella, que el autor tiene observado en estas regiones de Nueva España, para casi todas las enfermedades que acometen al cuerpo humano: dispuesto en forma alfabetica, (Mexico: Felipe de Zúñiga y Ontiveros, 1788), 157. 82 Emilie Amt, Women's lives in medieval Europe: a sourcebook, (New York: Routledge, 1993), 98. 83 Trotula, The Diseases of Women, ed. Elizabeth Pearl Mason Hohl, (Los Angeles, CA: The Ward Ritchie Press, 1940), 22. 130

implies that Mendoza requested the creation of the book, Badiano wrote, “I suspect no other

cause for your request of this little book of indigenous herbs and remedies than to commend the

Indians before the Sacred Imperial Catholic Royal Majesty [a moniker used by Charles V],

although underserving.”84 It is possible that the Libellus, along with other documents emerging

from New Spain, sparked Phillip II’s aggressive project to collect information on plants in the

Indies.

Francisco de Mendoza, was one of those driving forces. He was interested in monetizing

plants that were exotic in Europe. A letter written by Mendoza on January 30, 1557 illustrates his

desire to make a profit from plants discovered in colonial contexts and gain a monopoly to grow and harvest pepper, cloves, cinnamon, sandalwood (Santalum album), china root (Smilax china) and ginger in New Spain or Spain. Mendoza proposed to bear the cost of planting these spices. In exchange, Phillip II was to provide the land, livestock, and labor that was necessary to plant and harvest the spices. He also wanted the necessary provisions to have indigenous people come and work on the property and harvest the crops. Mendoza wanted no one else to be able to grow, trade, ship, or contract the spices in Spain, New Spain or any other part of the Spanish empire without his or the King’s expressed consent. Phillip II would keep two-thirds of the profits from the spices, and Mendoza the remaining third. Mendoza requested that Phillip II grant him the authority to appoint administrators for his proposed spice estate.85 Lastly, he wanted an

exemption from paying the tithe. An exemption, Mendoza argued, Phillip II could make.86

84 Cruz and Badiano, Libellus de medicinalibus Indorum herbis: manuscrito azteca de 1552, 1, 12. The Latin reads, “Non enim alia de causa ut ego quidem suspicor hunc libellum herbarium et medicamentarium tantopere efflagitas quam ut Indos apud Sacram Caesarem Catholicam Regiam Maiestatem etsi immeritos commendes.” 85 AGS, Diversos de Castilla, 46, 23. Simancas, Spain: 1558. f 203r-03v. 86 Ibid., f 2r. 131

Phillip II granted Mendoza the monopoly, but there are no records of his imports.87 In

1565, Physician Nicolas Bautista de Monardes (1493-1588) mentioned that Francisco de

Mendoza, upon his return from New Spain and Peru, showed him samples of the china root and

ginger that he wished to grow. He was excited that Mendoza would soon be importing large

amounts of said roots to Spain, due to the contract he had made with Phillip II. He noted that

Mendoza had already started planting the ginger and china root for export.88 Mendoza was

interested indigenous medicinal plants, not because of their properties, but their lucrative

potential. Including the Libellus, this served as Mendoza’s second documented involvement with

plants in New Spain. The third, was his interactions with Monardes.

Nicolas Bautista de Monardes

Another text that turned Phillip II’s attention to his possessions in New Spain was

Monardes’ Historia medicinal de las cosas que se traen de nuestras Indias Occidentales (first

published in 1565 and republished in 1580).89 Monardes, a renowned Sevillian physician, with a

fascination for the Indies, and one of the first Spaniards to highlight the importance of New

Spain’s materia medica in Spain. Monardes received his doctorate in medicine at the Universidad

de Alcalá de Henares in the early 1530s and returned to Seville to practice medicine. Though he

never visited New Spain or Peru, Monardes often acquired materials in Seville from vessels

carrying cargo from the New World. He also invested in transoceanic trade. In collaboration with

Juan Núñez de Herrera, Monardes sold merchandize, and enslaved people in the Indies.90 In

87AGI, Patronato, 193, R. 20. Seville: 1565. f 253r. 88 Nicolás Monardes, Dos libros. El uno trata de todas las cosas que traen de nuestras Indias Occidentales, que sirven al uso de medicina ... El otro libro, trata de dos medicines maravillosas que son contra todo veneno, la piedra bezaar, y la yerva escuerconera, (Sevilla: Sebastian Trugillo, 1565), f d VIII–e IIII. 89 The title of this work translates as, Medicinal History of the Things that our West Indies Bring. 90 Alexandra Parma Cook, Noble David Cook, and Inc ebrary, The Plague Files: Crisis Management in Sixteenth- Century Seville, (Baton Rouge, LA: Louisiana State University Press, 2009), 39. 132

1561, Monardes received two licenses allowing him to transport up to 500 enslaved Africans, a

third of whom could be women.91 Moreover, he collected information regarding medicinal

plants, and attempted to grow many of the plants and seeds he acquired from the Indies (Spanish

possessions and otherwise) in his own garden.92 These interests in American flora and fauna led

to creation of his Historia medicinal.

In the Historia medicinal, Monardes noted the wealth Spain received from its overseas

possessions. The renowned physician claimed that the Indies provided an abundance of

prosperity such as gold, silver, pearls, emeralds, turquoise, precious stones, skins, lions, cotton,

sugar, copper, and other animate as well as inanimate goods from the New World. Yet, he

believed that the New World’s trees, plants, herbs, roots, juices, glues, fruits, seeds, liquors, and

stones with medicinal properties exceeded the value of the above noted precious items. He

argued that corporal health was more important than earthly goods.93 Monardes placed high value on the salubrious materials from Spanish America.

Monardes maintained that the New World provided Spain with goods that it, and the rest of Europe, once lacked. Different regions of the world, the plant collector argued, offered specific goods, such as the Island of Saba (in the lower Antilles) which had incense, Chios (a

Greek Island) had the mastic tree (Pistacia lentiscus), and the Maluku Islands (in Indonesia) provided cinnamon, cloves, pepper and other spices. Monardes added that there were many more things in diverse parts of the world that Europeans had yet to discover. The ancients lacked many

91 AGI, Indiferente,425,L.24. Seville, Spain: 1561. F 36v- 37v and f 58r-59r. 92 Cook, Cook, and ebrary, The Plague Files: Crisis Management in Sixteenth-Century Seville, 39. 93 Monardes, Dos libros. El uno trata de todas las cosas que traen de nuestras Indias Occidentales, que sirven al uso de medicina ... El otro libro, trata de dos medicines maravillosas que son contra todo veneno, la piedra bezaar, y la yerva escuerconera, f 4v. 133

of these plants and spices, but Spaniards had developed access to them. A welcome discovery,

according to Monardes, because Spaniards gravely needed these plants.94

Some of the plants that Mendoza planted for export appeared in Monardes’ writings with a confirmation of their salubrious capabilities. For example, pepper was not only a seasoning, it was also beneficial for gas, the chest, it warmed, and helped with complexion issues.95 China

root was also medicinal, and people in Asia used the China root to cure fevers, mal de bubas

(syphilis), ulcers, headaches, and stomach pains. Monardes acknowledged that Portuguese merchants had been importing the root for over thirty years, and it had developed an impressive reputation as a cure for syphilis.96 Other Europeans were already monetizing these products, now

Mendoza and other Spaniards proposed to do the same for Spain. A plan that Monardes fully

supported.

Monardes’ text is important to the study of Spanish ventures in the extraction of

indigenous knowledge in New Spain. Having never been in a biocontact zone, Monardes framed

exotic and foreign plants as objects that Europeans (specifically Spaniards) needed to acquire

and collect. At the same time, he made no mention of local healers or knowledge of materials.

He believed that like the “New World,” this new materia medica had yet to be truly discovered,

by Europeans, and put to proper use. Thus, benefiting from indigenous knowledge, but not

giving it any credit. Secondly, by dedicating his book to Fernando de Valdés y Salas, the

Archbishop of Seville and Grand Inquisitor, and Phillip II, it is possible that Monardes further

inspired the Hapsburg King’s already curious mind. Francisco de Mendoza, the curious traveler and entrepreneur, appears once more as a catalyst of European interest in New Spain’s flora and

94 Ibid., f 5r- 5v. 95 Ibid., f 6v-7v. 96 Ibid., f d VIII–e IIII. 134

fauna. This agrees with Schiebinger’s assertion that many of the men and women that went to the

West Indies did not go there simply to find a new place to live. Many went to accumulate wealth,

and still others went in hopes of making Europe self-sufficient when it came to highly-coveted

plants, herbs, and spices.97 It was this growing interest in wealth, plants, and herbs that led

Phillip II to send Francisco Hernández to investigate the Indies and create an extensive first-hand

account of American plants.

Doctor Francisco Hernández

Francisco Hernández was a physician born in 1515 in La Puebla de Montalbán.98

Hernández probably began his studies at the University of Alcalá de Henares (UAH) at the age

of thirteen in 1528. On Monday, May 22,1536 Hernández graduated as a “bachiller en medicina”

from the School of Medicine at UAH.99 It was at the UAH, one of the most important Spanish

centers of learning in the sixteenth century, that Hernández was exposed to grammar, philology,

and the latest currents in anatomy and medicine.100 Cardinal, and the first Grand Inquisitor,

Francisco Jiménez de Cisneros created the UAH in 1508, though Cisneros started the project as

early as 1492.101 Hernández spent eleven years translating and writing a commentary on Pliny

the elder’s (23-79 CE) work – Naturalis Historia. This had such a large impact on Hernández

that friends and colleagues nicknamed him the “Third Pliny,” and this probably led to

Hernández’s interests in fusing natural and moral history to record and preserve knowledge.102

97 Schiebinger, Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World, 73-74. 98 Dora B. Weiner, "The World of Dr. Francisco Hernández," in Searching for the Secrets of Nature: the Life and Works of Dr. Francisco Hernández, ed. Simon Varey and Rafael Chabrán, (Stanford University Press, 2000), 3. Simon Varey, "Francisco Hernández, Renaissance Man," ibid., 34. 99 Rafael Chabrán, "The Classical Tradition in Renaissance Spain and New Trends in Philology, Medicine, and Materia Medica," ibid., 22. 100 Ibid., 24-29. 101 Ibid., 24. 102 Ibid., 22. 135

On January 11, 1570, at the behest of Phillip II, Hernández became the protomédico

general (physician inspector) in the Indias, Islas y Tierra firme del mar océano (i.e., Spain’s

possessions in the Western Hemisphere).103 This included the Vice Royalties of New Spain and

Peru. Nevertheless, the sweeping title with ostensibly far-reaching range came with strict limitations. These restrictions suggest that Phillip II’s main objective for Hernández was the creation of a document that contained a detailed list of all the plants that grew in New Spain. In

other words, the King of Spain sent Hernández on a mission of recognizance and knowledge

extraction, not to regulate or establish Spanish medical practices in the Indies.

Before continuing with Hernández’s time as protomédico general, I will elaborate on the

term and briefly explain its history in Spain and New Spain. By the time Phillip II appointed

Hernández as the Protomédico of the Indies, Spain had a longstanding system of regulating its

medical practitioners— El Real Tribunal del Protomedicato (the Royal Tribunal of the

Protomedicato, or the protomedicato for short). The protomedicato was the governing body that

over-saw medical education, inspected apothecaries, suppressed quackery, prevented false or

dangerous publications, tried medical cases, and examined and licensed medical practitioners.104

The first version of the Royal Protomedicato came into existence during the reign of Alfonso the

Learned (1252-84).105 In 1477 Ferdinand and Isabella revamped the Royal Protomedicato into a

tribunal empowered to examine and prosecute physicians, surgeons, midwives, bonesetters,

apothecaries, aromatic drug dealers, and any other person who partook in vocations related to

treating people’s bodies.106 Subsequent Royal Protomedicatos were typically composed of three

103 AHN, Diversos Colecciones, 25, N. 7. 1570. f 1r. 104 Lanning and TePaske, The Royal Protomedicato: The Regulation of the Medical Professions in the Spanish Empire, 11. 105 Ibid., 15. 106 Fields, Pestilence and Headcolds : Encountering Illness in Colonial Mexico, 52. 136

physicians, with the chair of the tribunal being referred to as the primer (first) protomédico, or

simply the protomédico.

The Royal Protomedicato insured that médicos trained formally in a university for four

years. During those four years medical students learned Latin, and Hippocratic and Galenic

theories. It was the Royal Protomedicato’s duty to ensure that all medical graduates completed a

two-year apprenticeship with a qualified physician and completed an oral examination. Only

individuals who had completed all the requirements could legally practice medicine, and the

Crown entrusted the Royal Protomedicato with finding and fining individuals that were not.107

The Royal Protomedicato mandated that practitioners be male (except midwives), old Christians

(not a recent convert), legitimate children, and have a clean name (a record free of run-ins with the Inquisition).108 These requirements slowly transferred to New Spain, along with the Tribunal

of the Protomedicato.

In 1527, Mexico City’s cabildo (city council) appointed Pedro López as Mexico City’s

first protomédico. The cabildo empowered López to fine and banish illegitimate practitioners

from New Spain.109 It was not until 1647 that the Council of the Indies established a three-

member Tribunal of the Protomedicato in New Spain.110 Yet, Hernández would be the first

royally appointed protomédico in New Spain, despite the lack of a tribunal. Though as we shall

see, Phillip II and his advisers did not plan his sojourn in New Spain for medical regulation.

Phillip II specifically instructed Hernández to visit New Spain first. The king asserted

that reports from New Spain suggested that the region had more known medicinal plants, herbs,

107 Lanning and TePaske, The Royal Protomedicato: The Regulation of the Medical Professions in the Spanish Empire, 15. 108 Ibid. 109 Ibid., 23. 110 AGI, México 780. Seville, Spain: 1644. f 1r- 1v. 137 and seeds than any other part of the Indies. I argue that the reports Phillip II mentioned, were probably those made by Mendoza regarding New Spain’s botanical diversity, verbal reports of the Libellus, and further encouragement by Monardes’ book. Upon the completion of his work in

New Spain, Phillip II permitted Hernández to visit the provinces of Peru to continue his work on the Historia natural.111

The King of Spain intended to create new and robust biocontact zones. He instructed

Hernández to report on the “…physicians, surgeons, herbalists, and Indians and any other curious persons in this science that might understand or know something, and take a general account of all of the medicinal herbs, trees, and plants that their province contains.”112 Phillip II was also interested in understanding the local knowledge, use, and quantity of medicinal plants.

The conditions in which medicinal plants grew, where they grew, and their different species.

Phillip II wanted his protomédico general to experiment with as many of the plants as possible.

When examination was not an option, Hernández should seek reliable information from local specialists and record the plants’ uses, abilities, and temperaments; and send “notable” seeds, plants, and herbs that did not exist in Europe.113 Phillip II trusted Hernández’s judgment and training and thus gave him the freedom to write his Historia as he wished and saw convenient.114

Hernández’s main task was to create biocontact zones and obtain information about the Indies’ plants, not to regulate medical practitioners.

Although Hernández was the protomédico general of all of Spanish America, his appointment included limitations. The first, specified that he was to reside in a town with an

111 AHN, "Diversos Colecciones, 25, N. 7," f1r-1v. 112 Ibid., f 1r. 113 Ibid., f 1r-1v. 114 Ibid., f 1v. 138

Audiencia y Chancilleria (royal court).115 This would have reduced Hernández’s choices to the following locations in New Spain: Santo Domingo (1526), Mexico City (1527), Guatemala

(1543), and Guadalajara (1549). Had Hernández decided to depart to an Audiencia outside of

New Spain, the Viceroyalty of Peru offered Lima (1542), Nueva Granada (1549), Charcas (1559) and Quito (1563) as viable options.116 There is evidence that Phillip II wanted Hernández to make his way to Peru. The King explained that the protomédico of the Viceroyalty of Peru, Dr.

Sanchez de Renedo, would lose jurisdiction over the audiencia where Hernández decided to live.

Nevertheless, Sanchez de Renedo would retain jurisdiction over all other parts of Peru.

Phillip II granted Hernández a narrow purview. The Second limitation, confined his investigative gaze within the town limits. Phillip II stated that Hernández could only exercise his power as protomédico within five leagues (20.95 KM or thirteen Miles) of the town he selected.117 Hernández could, however, license anyone that willingly came to him. Thirdly,

Phillip II detailed that the protomédico could not examine, remove, or impede anyone that had already received a license to practice medicine.118 Hernández has a very a small jurisdictional zone, and he could not reexamine or inspect any previously licensed practitioners.

Phillip II restricted Hernández’s investigative autonomy with a fourth limitation. Upon arriving in a new town, Hernández had to present the King’s letter to officials in the local

Audiencia. The president and oidores (magistrates) of the Audiencia would assess Hernández’s rights to examine and license in their town.119 Moreover, Hernández could not prosecute nor

115 Ibid. 116 Lillian Estelle Fisher, Viceregal Administration in the Spanish-American Colonies, (1926), 134. 117 AHN, "Diversos Colecciones, 25, N. 7," f 1v. 118 Ibid. 119 Ibid., f 2r. 139

sentence anyone without the approval of an Audiencia appointed oidor. Every time Hernández

moved to another Audiencia, he would have to go through this process again.120

These limitations put Hernández under the control of the audiencia, but more importantly

they guided Hernández towards researching for, and writing, on materia medica in the Indies.

Without the distractions of licensing and investigating medical practitioners throughout New

Spain and Peru, Hernández could focus on the acquisition of indigenous knowledge. Although

Hernández attempted to execute his role as protomédico, he failed.121 Based on Phillip II’s

investigative limitations, it seems that he strategically planned for Hernández’s failure in this

regard. It is likely that Phillip II granted Hernández the title of protomédico general to access

high ranking officials and enable him to more easily acquire information for his real mission, the

creation of a natural history. Not to police medical practitioners.

Just as Phillip II planned, documents suggest that Mexico City’s audiencia did not make

Hernández’s job as a protomédico easy. On March 1, 1571 Hernández appeared before the audiencia in Mexico City.122 On May 15, 1571 Hernández wrote Phillip II informing him that the

audiencia had been appealing and contesting the recommendations that he and his audiencia-

appointed oidor had made.123 In effect, the Audiencia disrupted and blocked Hernández’s

authority.

Historian, John Tate Lanning has argued that the Cabildo treaded lightly during

Hernández sojourn in Mexico City by naming medical inspectors visitadores médicos, not

protomédicos.124 Documents suggested that the cabildo used the two terms interchangeably, and

120 Ibid., f 2v. 121 Somolinos d'Ardois and Miranda, Vida y obra de Francisco Hernández: Precedida de España y Nueva España en la época de Felipe II, 169. 122 Ibid., 161. 123 Ibid., 165. 124 Lanning and TePaske, The Royal Protomedicato: The Regulation of the Medical Professions in the Spanish Empire, 27. 140 there are no official appointments of visitadores médicos or protomédicos during Hernández’s tenure. Evidence shows that the cabildo used the label protomédico as early as 1527 when Pedro

López falsely claimed to have authority from the King to exercise said title.

There is a shift in the usage of titles in the late 1550s. On May 17, 1557, Dr. Alcaraz became the Cabildo’s protomédico.125 By October 23, 1559 when the cabildo named doctor

Torres and licentiate Toco (probably Toro) as visitadores of apothecaries and sellers of drugs and medicines, it seems that the term protomédico had fallen out of favor.126 This change occurred before Hernández arrived in Mexico City. On January 29, 1563, the cabildo decided that there should always be physicians (médicos) named as inspectors, like in Spain, to oversee those that practice as physicians, surgeons, barbers, apothecaries, comadres, parteras (midwives) and spice sellers. The cabildo’s minutes state that the cabildo had been appointing such men since the conquest of Mexico City. Nevertheless, the records do not mention the term protomédico. In

1560 the Cabildo named doctor Torres, doctor Pedro López, and licentiate Toro as visitadores.

The cabildo agreed that from 1563 forward, they would appoint two medical inspectors to visit and inspect apothecaries and spice shops. These inspectors should conduct all investigations and punishments before the cabildo.127

On January 23, 1570, a year before Hernández arrived in Mexico City, the cabildo unanimously voted to grant doctor de la Fuente and doctor Torres the “oficio de visitar”

(occupation of inspecting) apothecaries.128 Just four days later, on January 27, the two doctors took an oath before Mexico City’s ayuntamiento (City Council), as inspectors of apothecaries

125 Actas de Cabildo de la Ciudad de México. vol. 6, (Mexico City: Ignacio Bejarano, 1889), 285. 126 Actas de Cabildo de la Ciudad de México. vol. 7, (Mexico City: Ignacio Bejarano, 1889), 371. 127 Ibid., 103. 128 Ibid., 467-68. 141

and “lo demas a ello ajeno” (all matters that pertained to said job).129 On February 28, 1572,

almost a year after Hernández arrived in Mexico, Mexico City’s ayuntamiento noted that they

had not yet appointed médicos visitadores (inspecting physicians). They renamed doctor Fuentes

and doctor Torres as physician inspectors, to undertake their role, as all other doctors appointed

by the city had done before. There is no evidence that the doctors took their customary oaths.

Suggesting they never served as inspectors while Hernández was in residence.130

The Cabildo’s minutes do not mention any further appointments until April 15, 1577,

when the ayuntamiento selected doctor Fuentes and doctor Toro as visitadores “inspectors” of

barbers, surgeons, apothecaries, “y lo demás a ello ajeno” (and things of the like). The cabildo cited the departure of Francisco Hernández to Spain, as the reason for this appointment.131 On

March 3, 1578 Baltazar Mejía noted that doctor Toro and doctor de la Fuente had served over a

year as protomédicos, and there should be a vote regarding the continuation of their service.132

From that point forth, the cabildo often referred to the inspectors as protomédicos, at least in the

minutes. Thus, records do not indicate that other local medical inspectors practiced said office

during Hernández’s stay in Mexico City.

The fact remains that Hernández dedicated most of his time in New Spain to his research

and writing projects, not inspecting and regulating medical practitioners like his title implied.

This could have also been due to pressure from the King himself. As early as May 18, 1572

(fourteen months after Hernández first appeared before the audiencia in Mexico City) Phillip II

wrote to Hernández instructing him to continue and complete the Historia natural as soon as

129 Ibid., 468. 130 Actas de Cabildo de la Ciudad de México. vol. 8, (Mexico City: Ignacio Bejarano, 1889), 20. 131 Ibid., 282. 132 Ibid., 328. 142 possible, and to secretly send completed portions to Spain. Phillip II was interested in the potential good that could come out of Hernández’s work, and wanted it as quickly as possible.133

Phillip II also wrote viceroy don Enríquez with similar instructions, expressing the

King’s desire for Hernández’s work. He asked viceroy Enríquez to help Hernández with anything he might need to complete his “Historia de las cosas naturales de essa tierra.”134 The

Hapsburg monarch noted that Hernández’s work contained discoveries that had not been previously discussed (by Europeans). These new discoveries would be useful for the general good and knowledge of the empire. He also instructed don Martín to order Hernández to complete his work and send finished pieces to Spain in secret.135 At every turn, Phillip II reminded Hernández of his true mission in New Spain.

Hernández’s disassociation from medical inspection, and persistent royal pressure to advance his work, resulted in prolific writing during his stay in New Spain. When Hernández left

Seville for the Indies in 1570, he had already started a translation, along with a commentary, of

Pliny the Elder’s Naturae historia in to Castilian. In 1577, when he departed New Spain for old

Spain, he had created his very own Historia natural on the plants, animals, and minerals he had encountered. Additionally, he completed De antiquitatibus novae hispaniae, a poem on Christian doctrine, an index on plants from New Spain, and several other books on plants, which were lost or destroyed. 136 Hernández wrote most of his works in the Latin language. Though he left abundant writings, this study will only discuss De antiquitatibus novae hispaniae and what became known as Hernández’s Opera. He created these two documents with information he extracted from biocontact zones on Nahua healing knowledge, and titiçih.

133 AGI, "Audiencia de Mexico, 1090 L. 7," f 63v. 134 Which translates as “History of the natural things of that land.” 135 AGI, "Audiencia de Mexico, 1090 L. 7," f 63r. 136 Hernández, The Mexican Treasury: The Writings of Dr Francisco Hernández, xi. 143

Hernández’s works

Hernández, as the title suggests, penned the De antiquitatibus Novae Hispaniae in Latin,

which Joaquin Garcia Pimentel translated into Spanish as Antigüedades de la Nueva España in

1945.137 Rafael Chabrán, Cynthia L. Chamberlin, and Simon Varey translated De antiquitatibus

into English in 2000, as part of The Mexican Treasury: The Writings of Dr. Francisco

Hernández. De antiquitatibus has received little analysis, perhaps largely based on the fact that

Hernández borrowed a large amount of the contents, sometimes verbatim, from his

contemporaries. As Simon Varey noted, Hernández “exploited” the works of López de Gómara

and Bernardino de Sahagún and added some of his own observations.138 De antiquitatibus

reveals some of the issues with gender in the Historia general, and Hernández also included

some information on indigenous healing that is not present in other sources.

De antiquitatibus is divided in two books and includes three chapters that discuss Nahua

healing ritual specialists. The first sections pertaining to this topic are chapters two and three

respectively titled, “About how Mexican Women Give Birth, and the Double Cleansing for

Newborns”139 and “With Regard to the Cleansing of Girls.”140 Chapters twenty-six through thirty-two of Book Six of the Historia general, which discuss titiçih as birth attendants, bear a striking resemblance to Hernández’s two chapters. While the Nahuatl portion of the Historia general uses the terms tiçitl or titiçih, the corresponding Castilian text uses the term partera. A shortcoming that Hernández replicated, with the term obstetrice (midwife), as he summarized

137 These titles translate to English as, The Antiquities of New Spain. 138 Varey, "Francisco Hernández, Renaissance Man," 38. 139 Francisco Hernández, De antiquitatibus Novae Hispaniae: Edicion Facsimilar, (México: Talleres Gráficos del Museo Nacional de Arqueología, Historia y Etnología, 1926), f 6r. The original Latin title is, “De enixu Mexicanarum Mulierum et Infantum Duplici lotione” 140 Ibid., f 8r. The original Latin title is, “De Lotione Puellarum.” 144

six of Sahagún’s chapters into two of his own.141 Including the acquisition of a “midwife” when a woman reached the seventh month of pregnancy,142 use of the temazcal for parturient

women,143 how women that died in labor became a goddesses in heaven (i.e., cihuateto),144 the

bathing of children four days after they were born along with the invocation of Ome Cihuatl,

Ome Tecuhtli, and Chalchihuitlicue,145 and the distinctions in ritual language used for boy and

girl bathing ceremonies.146 These chapters on birth suggest that Hernández only had access to, or

only followed the Spanish portions of the Historia general. Therefore, Hernández represented

women in De antiquitatibus as midwives or parteras, but not titiçih.

As Phillip II had requested, Hernández reported on the local healing practices in the

biocontact zones he created, and others had reported on. He continued his discussion of ritual

specialists in the second chapter in book two of the De antiquitatibus, titled, “The Physicians

called Titici.”147 Unlike the two chapters on ritual specialists in Book 1 of De antiquitatibus, this

chapter does not recapitulate the work of others, instead Hernández opined on the effectiveness

of Nahua healing practices. He reported that, “Faciunt inter indos promiscue medicnam viri

atque mulieres, quos titici vocant.”148 “Among Indians, men and women, called titici,

indiscriminately practice medicine.” The protomédico added that these men and women did not

study medicine nor understand the causes of illnesses, and they simply prescribed medicinal

herbs, minerals, and animal parts that they learned to use from their ancestors. Hernández

141 Hernández, The Mexican Treasury: The Writings of Dr Francisco Hernández. 142 Bernardino de Sahagún, Florentine Codex: General History of the Things of New Spain: Book 6; Rhetoric and Moral Philosophy ed. Charles E. Dibble and Arthur J. O. Anderson, (Santa Fe, N.M.: School of American Research and University of Utah, 1969), 149. 143 Ibid., 159. 144 Ibid., 161. 145 Ibid., 175. 146 Ibid., 171-72. 147 Hernández, De antiquitatibus Novae Hispaniae: Edicion Facsimilar, f 53r. This chapter translates as, “De Medicis quos titici vocant.” 148 Ibid. 145

critiqued titiçih for lacking surgeons and apothecaries among their ranks. He asserted that,

“…non est reperire chirurgos aut pharmacopaeos, sed medicos solos qui omnem prorsus faciut

medicinam” (they do not produce apothecaries or surgeons, only [male] physicians practice all

forms of medicine.)149

Hernández language includes contradictions regarding gender. Although the title of the

chapter translates as, “The Physicians that are called Titici,” the chapter does not explicitly state

that women were physicians, only that they practiced medicine alongside men. Farther in the

chapter, Hernández stated that only “medicos” (plural accusative masculine case) practiced

medicine, because titiçih did not have apothecaries or surgeons. Hernández could have used

“medica,” the neuter plural accusative case, thus clearly including women in his discussion of

titiçih, or the term “medicis” which can be male, female, or neuter. More inclusive language

would have highlighted the prominent role women had in their socities.

Irrespective of gender, titiçih’s inability to properly treat and understand humoral concepts perturbed Hernández. For example, he claimed that titiçih asked women that had recently delivered to take a steam bath, followed by an ice bath. Furthermore, titiçih permitted new mothers to use cold and astringent medications to “supposedly” revitalize the kidneys. This not only illustrates that Hernández doubted titiçih’s knowledge, it also linked them to the

“midwives,” and by extension women, he described in his second chapter. The protomédico believed that indigenous people did not know how to properly prepare complex medicines and apply them correctly, often attempting to fight hot illnesses with hot medicines. Thus, even though they had a large quantity of salubrious plants, they did not know how to properly use

149 Ibid. 146

them.150 Hernández casted doubt on indigenous knowledge, both its handle on salubrious

materials, and practices.

Hernández was aware that Nahua women were heavily involved with the application of

indigenous salubrious materials, yet, there is no evidence that he consulted female titiçih to get

their perspective. Perhaps this had to do with the gendered politics of medicine in Europe which

viewed obstetrics and birth in low regard. Moreover, European gender norms barred women

from attending universities and legitimately obtaining or creating medical knowledge. It is

perhaps for this reason that Hernández did not acknowledge female titiçih as active agents when

describing plants. A shortcoming that subsequent scholars have replicated. When Hernández did

mention native ritual specialists, he questioned and invalidated their knowledge.

A compilation of his writings known as the Opera, further depicts Hernández’s gendered

inconsistencies regarding indigenous healing specialists his mistrust towards them. In 1790

Casimiro Gómez Ortega edited and published various manuscripts that Hernández left behind in

Madrid in the Latin language under the title, Opera. Gómez Ortega was an influential member of

Charles III’s court. The king named him the boticaro mayor (chief apothecary; 1784), médico

honorario de cámara (honorary physician of chamber; 1798), and the first medical examiner of

the Royal Protomedicato (1796).151 According to Varey et al., Gómez Ortega stayed true to

Hernández’s vision and organization, thus producing something that was likely close to what

Hernández had envisioned when he compiled his manuscripts.152 Among the hundreds of entries

of New Spain’s flora and fauna, Hernández captured rare glimpses of information on titiçih,

150 Varey, "Francisco Hernández, Renaissance Man," 78. 151 Francisco Javier Puerto Sarmiento, Ciencia de cámara: Casimiro Gómez Ortega, 1741-1818: el científico cortesano, Vol. 17 (Madrid, Spain: Editorial Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas-CSIC Press, 1992), 141-42. 152 Hernández, The Mexican Treasury: The Writings of Dr Francisco Hernández, 249. 147

particularly clues regarding the prevalent role of women. Though when he did mention women

for his potential European audiences, he was critical of their knowledge and practices.

For example, for the plant atzoyatl, Hernández noted that the leaves of the atzoyatl plant

were hot and dry. Nevertheless, “…Nahua women, even those who are called titici [sic], used the

herb to treat hot eruptions on children’s heads….”153 Hernández speculated that this might have

been because atzoyatl has cool parts, or perhaps the plant caused the removal of hot humors and

felt refreshing.154 In Book Eleven, Sahagún and his informants labeled the atzoyatl or atzomiatl in the arbustos (bushes) section, not medicinal plants, and described it as a malodorous, painful, flowery, leafy, and cooling plant, and noted no ritual practices.155 Though, the Historia general’s inclusion of cooling elements were more in line with Nahua concepts than Hernández’s. Once more, Hernández made a cursory reference of Nahua ritual specialists, and he doubted their abilities.

According to the Opera, titiçih, though he only mentioned males, were explicitly associated with the zozoyatic (çoçoyatic) herb. Its description states, “As a result, the Indians’

Physicians, whom are called ‘titici’ [sic] use it to find an indication if their patients are to die, or

if the patient would eventually be restored to health.”156 Like in the Antiquitatibus, Hernández

used the masculine nominative plural noun “medici,” denoting that the titiçih that used

zozoyatic, and perhaps all titiçih, were male. Lastly, this cursory mention of zozoyatic’s

153 Francisco Hernández, Opera[De historia plantarum Novae Hispaniae]: volumen primum, ed. Casimiro Gómez de Ortega, (ex typographia Ibarrae heredum, 1790), 125. “…tamen Mexicanae mulieres, etiam eae, quas Titici vocant, eadem herba utuntur adversus calidas capitis puerorum eruptions….” 154 Ibid. 155 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 202r. 156 Hernandez, Opera [De historia plantarum Novae Hispaniae]: volumen segundam, 111. The original Latin text states, “Quo fit, ut ea Indi Medici, quos vocant Titici, veluti certissimo quodam indicio perclitentur, qui nam ex aegris, qui curandi fibi contigere, fint morituri, aut qui sanitati tandem restituentur.” 148

divinatory properties are reminiscent of ololiuhqui, however, other sources do not corroborate

this attribute.

Book Eleven of the Historia general also acknowledges a specific association between

zozoyatic and “médicos.” The Spanish portion of the text states that, “…physicians use this when

they begin to cure…when they start to cure a sick person, they grind this herb together with its

roots and seeds….”157 The ritual specialists would rub a small amount of the smashed plant on

the nose of the patient. If the specialist used a large amount on the nose, the patient would

bleed.158 The lack of pronouns in the Castilian sentences, more than likely by Sahagún himself,

makes it difficult to ascertain if male or female titiçih executed this procedure. By default, usage

of the male pronoun médico leads the reader to believe that the “physicians” were male. Though

this is a rare instance in which Book Eleven acknowledged an active agent in the application of

salubrious materials.

If the above conflicts in gender were not enough, one more piece of evidence remains from the Opera. Its index contains an entry for “titici,” which reads, “Mulieres Mexicanae

Medicinam facientes” (Mexican women that practice medicine).159 The index does not use the

feminine noun medica (female physician) or its plural form medicae. Nor does it state that titiçih

were female physicians, it only notes that Nahua women practiced medicine. This might lead

readers to believe that that all titiçih were women.

By the time Francisco Hernández left New Spain, in 1577, his health was failing, and he

never made it to Peru. Though the six years he worked in New Spain, yielded invaluable

157 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 143r. The original Castilian reads, “…desta usan los médicos, en principio de su cura…cuando comiencen a curar algún enfermo, muelen esta yerba juntamente con su raíz y su semillas….” 158 Ibid. 159 Francisco Hernández, Opera [De historia plantarum Novae Hispaniae]: volumen tertium, ed. Casimiro Gómez de Ortega, (ex typographia Ibarrae heredum, 1790), 570. 149

information on New Spain’s flora and fauna. One thing remains clear, like his more scientifically

oriented counterparts, he was more concerned with indigenous materia medica, than native

practitioners. He built much of what he knew about them, from his contemporaries though he did

chime in with his own opinions sparingly.

Conclusion

As we saw, many of the plants described in the notable sixteenth-century scientific

sources were pervasive and easy to find. This is something that will appear again in other chapters of this dissertation, it is important because on the Nahua side, outside of the biocontact zone, titiçih needed to activate the plant’s healing properties for them to work. The fact that a large variety of plants were widely available, and Nahua people still sought the help of titiçih illustrates the reverence community members had for their healers’s knowledge and ability, particularly women. Once these plants entered the biocontact zone, they emerged on the

European side as sterilized materials devoid of the cultural context in which they existed.

This chapter has attempted to show that sixteenth century European men of science

excluded information about female titiçih’s knowledge and practices. By contextualizing these

sources, we can cross reference the different European-created biocontact zones, which revels

that women played a much more important role in tiçiyotl than medical sources let on.

Ultimately, sources with medical proclivities that described Nahua materia medica were more

interested in monetizing these materials, or expanding European scientific knowledge, not

understanding Nahua rituals.

It is also true that many of the sources created by scientists, or men with scientific

inclinations, had limited visibility when they were written. Cruz, Sahagún, and Hernández’s

work went unread until the nineteenth century. Monardes’ work, however, did circulate widely 150

and despite all of Monardes’ attempts to motivate Spaniards and other Europeans to see the value of plants in the Western Hemisphere, European scientific and economic markets were generally uninterested. According to J. Worth Estes, only guiaica, sarsaparilla, sassafras, and tobacco enjoyed profitable commercial growth during the early modern period. By 1875 only 12.4 “plant drugs” available in England came from the Western Hemisphere.160

Still, as we saw above, Book Eleven of the Historia general, the Libellus, Dos libros, and

Hernández’s work limited the discussion of women’s participation with plants, but more broadly

within the roles they played in rituals associated with the plants. Without access to the probably

no longer existent notes that Spanish scientists created it is impossible to know if they invited

ritual knowledge into the biocontact zones they created with sixteenth century Nahua people, or

Nahua people did not bring it in themselves. What we do know is that few traces of ritual

knowledge made its way from the biocontact zone, to the documents that appeared in Europe.

This general lack of presence of female titiçih in scientific books, compounded with the

Church’s attack and misrepresentation of female titiçih, led to the colonization of their knowledge, via Nahua men as intermediaries, and their erasure from active participants of tiçiyotl in history. The Church’s more negative interpretation of Nahual healing knowledge and its practitioners is the subject of the following chapter.

160 Estes, "The European Reception of the First Drugs from the New World," 19. 151

Chapter 3: Titiçih and Tiçiyotl “Nomatca nehuatl nitlamacazqui, nitlamatini, nimimatca tiçitl” “I in person am an offeror, I am a wise person, I am a virtuous tiçitl”

Ritual language recorded by Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón in his Tratado de las supersticiones y costumbres gentilicias que hoy viven entre los indios naturales de esta Nueva España (1629) Introduction

Book Ten of the Historia general, which Bernardino de Sahagún and his assistants created based on information from the Central Valley of Mexico, is one of the few sources that recounts the establishment and creation of tiçiyotl (Nahua healing ritual knowledge). It states,

“They discovered tiçiyotl. The elders, Oxomoco, Cipactonal, Tlatetecui, and Xochicahuaca, were masters. They were the wise ones that showed and taught healing. They invented tiçiyotl.”

1 Of these founders, Oxomoco was a woman, while the other three were men. Oxomoco and

Cipactonal were the primordial couple; together, they instructed Nahua people about the tools and knowledge of tiçiyotl.2 The fact that both a male and female entity practiced, created, and disseminated tiçiyotl is telling of how this knowledge functioned among humans (i.e., Nahuas) in sixteenth century Central Mexico. Like the primordial couple, human male and female titiçih disseminated knowledge, and practiced tiçiyotl among their communities.

Yet, despite the clear prominence of women in tiçiyotl, scholarship has portrayed tiçiyotl and titiçih as an incomplete version of institutional Western medicine using European gender norms. Francisco de Asís Flores y Troncoso’s Historia de la Medicina en México (1888, published 1934), was arguably the first academic study of Nahua healing practices, and it set the tone for interpretations of tiçiyotl as male dominated, empirical medical culture, and a cognate to

1 Sahagún, "Libro Decimo," f 118v. The original Nahuatl text reads, “Ca yehuatl quinextique in tiçiotl. Ca tolteca catac in huehuetque in oxomoco, in çipactonal, in tlaltetecui, in xochicahuaca, in tlamatini catca in quiztiaque, in quiximattiaque patli. In quipehualtitiaque ticiotl.” 2 Elizabeth Hill Boone, Cycles of Time and Meaning in the Mexican Books of Fate, (University of Texas Press, 2007), 23-26. 152

Western medicine.3 Flores y Troncoso divided practitioners of tiçiyotl into various male

categories (surgeons, bonesetters, bloodletters etc.), and lumped women healers into the

monolith category of temixihuitianime (midwives).4 The academic study of Nahua healing

cultures and practices remained largely untouched until Gonzalo Aguirre Beltran’s Medicina y

magia (1963) continued the gendered division of titiçih found in Flores y Troncoso, using female

pronouns only when discussing the temixihuitiani (sing. temixihuitianime).5 Other studies continued this trend, such as Fernando Martínez Cortés in Las ideas en la medicina náhuatl

(1965), where he described Nahua healing practices as a non-scientific, magical, and religious system that relied on empirical knowledge in which male titiçih used religion and personified substances to cure, while the female tiçitl served as a partera (midwife).6 In “Aztec Medicine”

(1965) Francisco Guerra conceptualized Aztec medicine as an amalgamated system that drew

upon various Mesoamerican cultures and achieved respect among neighboring civilizations.

Nevertheless, he argued, Mexica society associated physicians with witch doctors and fortune

tellers; and women only served in “obstetrics.”7

Using sixteenth- and seventeenth-century sources from Central Mexico, this chapter provides a comprehensive description of what tiçiyotl was in the early colonial period, and the roles of male and female titiçih. Here I analyze the intricacies and nuances of tiçiyotl that made it different from its early modern European medical cultures. Scholars who have framed tiçiyotl within the paradigm of Western medicine, or indigenous medicine, have caused a misconception

3 Francisco de Asís Flores y Troncoso, Historia de la medicina en México desde la época de los indios hasta la presente, ed. Víctor M. Ruiz Naufal, Arturo Gálvez Medrano, and Carlos Viesca, (México: Instituto Mexicano del Seguro Social, 1982), 107. 4 Ibid., 112. 5 Gonzalo Aguirre Beltrán, Medicina y magia: el proceso de aculturación en la estructura colonial, Colección SEP- INI (México: Instituto Nacional Indigenista, 1963), 39-40. 6 Fernando Martínez Cortés, Las ideas en la medicina náhuatl, (Mexico City: La Prensa Médica Mexicana, 1965), 49. 7 Francisco Guerra, "Aztec Medicine," Medical History 10, no. 4 (1966): 320-21. 153

of the practices that titiçih engaged. The term medicine, while useful for a cursory study of

Nahua healing practices, limits an in-depth analysis of indigenous knowledge because it contains

it in a Western framework. Although terms like “physician,” “midwife,” and “medicine” are

useful to understand titiçih and tiçiyotl in an abstract sense, they fall short because Nahua

communities did not categorize their healers in rigid divisions of specialization and hierarchy

like those found in Western institutional medicine. Titiçih did not attend universities and

complete exams. Moreover, Western terms do not connote the healing and religious realms that

titiçih traversed in their practice of tiçiyotl. By moving away from Western terms and views

about Nahua tiçiyotl, we can discuss this complex knowledge in its own context without

corrupting its meaning with comparisons.

First, this chapter explores the colonial ideas of health (pactinemiliztli) and illness

(cocoliztli) among early colonial Nahua people of Central Mexico. After establishing why individuals sought the help of titiçih. I shall than move into an in-depth exploration of the terms that sixteenth- and seventeenth-century sources captured to engage the vocabulary that Nahua people used. These terms illustrate how Spanish, and more importantly, Nahua people viewed

Nahua healing ritual specialists, and the functions that they performed. Then I move into a more concrete discussion of the ways in which titiçih intervened in people’s lives to restore or ensure pactinemiliztli.

Cocoliztli and Pactinemiliztli

Bernard Ortiz de Montellano categorized the causes for illness in three groups: supernatural (religious), magical, and natural (physical). Deities, divine assistants, messengers, and spirits living in a variety of landscapes, caused illness through supernatural means. These forces caused disease either by retribution, or a seemingly purposeless desire to absorb life 154

essence. Typically, incurable and contagious diseases were attributed to gods.8 Illnesses caused

by human beings using sorcery in “Aztec medicine” were considered magical illnesses.9

Illnesses classified as having natural causes included broken bones, dislocated joints, snake bites, and swelling. Healers treated these illnesses directly on the affected area, using botanical and other medical remedies and approaches.10 On the one hand, Ortiz de Montellano argued that

natural etiology focused on the immediate cause of the illness and how the illness functioned in

the human body. On the other hand, supernatural and magical healing presents certain symptoms,

and curing thus also focused on why an illness attacks a specific person.11 In other words, was a

person sick because their foot was swollen? Or was a person’s foot swollen because Tlaloc

willed it? Or because a ritual specialist cast a spell?

There are two problems with Ortiz de Montellano’s analysis of Nahua disease. First, he

admitted that, “…we must continually keep in mind that this is not the way the Aztecs regarded

illness. Their view was holistic….”12 He noted that Alfredo López Austin divided illness in two

main categories: natural, and super-human/non-human intervention. The former were illnesses

caused by excess, contagion, sudden temperature change and accidents. Deities or ritual

specialists caused the latter. Yet, it might function as a complex with multiple factors where a

person could become sick at a spring because of a force living there, and because of

overexposure to cold water.13 Secondly, Ortiz de Montellano made little distinction between

practices among Nahua people in time and space. For example, the “Aztec medicine” described

8 He also lumped individuals that were “marked” from early age for sacrifice in the category of those that died by supernatural causation. Bernard Ortiz de Montellano, Aztec Medicine, Health, and Nutrition, (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1990), 130-32. 9 Ibid., 140-43. 10 Ibid., 149-53. 11 Ibid., 130. 12 Ibid. 13 Lopez Austin 216-217 155

in the Historia general reflected mid-sixteenth-century practices in the Central Valley captured

by Franciscans, and then used that as the standard, rather than seeing Central Mexican medicine

as a series of distinct yet overlapping Nahua medical cultures.

It is crucial to this discussion to define concepts of wellness and illness from a sixteenth-

and seventeenth-century Nahua perspective because this will help contextualize tiçiyotl and

titiçih’s roles in historically and culturally specific contexts. Sixteenth-century Nahua

communities did not view wellness as a trait limited to the human body. On the contrary,

wellness extended to a person’s general existence. This included physical possessions and

relationships. Two important, and complex, words for this discussion are pactinemiliztli

(wellness) and cocoliztli (sickness) because they set this conversation of illness and health in

early colonial Nahua terms.

To understand these concepts from sixteenth century Nahua perspectives, Franciscan

Friar Alonso de Molina’s Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana y mexicana y castellana

(1571) provides helpful clues.14 Pactinemiliztli stems from the verb pactinemi, which Molina

translated as, “to have health, or to go about happy and content.”15 In the Spanish section of his

dictionary, he included three definitions for the Nahuatl word pactinemi; “radiant, or dashing,”

“peaceful, that which is in peace,” and “strong not sick.” 16 Pactinemi, then serves as the core

verb for the nominalized noun pactinemiliztli. Various other entries are related to this word. In

14This source contains two sections, the first translates Castilian (Spanish) words into Mexican (Nahuatl), and the second section translates Nahuatl to Spanish. In all, Molina’s dictionary has about 23,600 entries. The entries include everyday words, and complex expressions that provide nuanced distinctions in Nahuatl language. This included words dealing with Nahua concepts and practices of health. Frances E. Karttunen, An analytical dictionary of Nahuatl, (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1992), xv. 15 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 2, f 79r. 16 For “radiant or dashing,” the original text reads, “loçano o gallardo.” (ibid., 1, f 78v.) For “peaceful, that which is in peace,” the original text reads, “pacifico, que esta en paz.” (ibid., 1. f 91v.) Lastly, for “strong not sick,” the original text reads, “rezio no doliente.” (ibid., 1, f 105r.) 156

the Nahuatl section he translated pactinemiliztli as “happiness.”17 While in the Spanish portion

of his work, Molina translated pactinemiliztli as health, radiance, and strength.18

An example of pactinemiliztli in use in the sixteenth century provides further evidence on how Nahuas used the term. Book Six of the Historia general recounted how warriors that died in battle went to the sun’s home to live with him. Once there, the warriors would suck nectar from abundant and delicious flowers like humming birds, and, “In huelic inic pactinemi, inic auixtinemi in tiacahua,” or in English, “With this delight, the brave went living in health and happiness.”19 This reveals a connection of general wellbeing with pactinemiliztli.

I argue that Pactinemiliztli’s opposing term is cocoliztli. Similarly, cocoliztli stems from the verb cocoa. Cocoa can have two meanings, one as a noun and the second as a verb. As a noun, cocoa is a duplicative plural meaning snakes or twins.20 As a verb, cocoa translates as “to

be sick,”21 or “to hurt or damage.”22 The nominalized noun cocolizltli would thus literally mean

illness or injury. Molina includes a translation that corroborates my analysis. He also noted that

one of the other definitions of cocoliztli was pestilence.23 Lastly, another important word related

to cocoa, is cocoxqui, which Molina translated as “sick person, or a withered thing.”24

The definitions and interpretation of these two words draw our attention to the ways that

metaphors from ritual language used in Central Mexico to depict health and disease related to

complex expressions for well-being in Nahua cultures. For instance, Molina reported that in

17 Ibid., 2, 79r. 18 The original text reads, “salud,” (1, f 107r) “loçania assi,” (1, f 78v) and “reziura desta manera.” (1, f 105r) Vocabulario en Lengua castellana y mexicana y mexicana y castellana. 19 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 10r. 20 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 2, f 23v. The original text reads, “culebras, o mellizos.” 21 Ibid. The original text reads, “Estar enfermo.” 22 Ibid., 1, f 78v. 23 Ibid., 1, f 23v. 24 Ibid., 2, f 24r. 157

temoxtli, in ehecatl was a metaphor for illness or pestilence.25 Similarly, the Historia general uses the phrase “in temoxtli, in ehecatl,” various times in the context of disease. In Book Four

Sahagún and his assistants provide the “fortune” for those born in the trecena One Rabbit, a precarious trecena. During this period many feared various calamities, including being overcome with “…in temoxtli, ehecatl, in temamauhti cocoliztli….” That is, “…illness and pestilence, and fearful disease….”26 Harm-causing external force were concern for Nahuas in the Central

Valley. The Historia general’s Book Six captured further use of in temoxtli, in ehecatl in diverse

forms of ritual language. In one instance teopixqueh spoke to Tezcatlipoca and implored him not

to inflict disease upon earth.27 Sahagún et al., also included the term with another metaphor for

castigation, “in cuahuitl, in tetl” (the wood, the rock).28 The metaphor also appears among the

warnings that community members gave pregnant women regarding miscarriages. If a pregnant

woman was too cocky during her pregnancy, Tezcatlipoca might bring, in temoxtli, in ehecatl

upon her.29 This illustrates the fact that external forces, often non-human, could inflict illness as punishment.

Disease could serve as a metaphor for a burden or an inconvenience. There are two

instances in the Historia general where future grooms and brides told their families that they

would cast illness upon them and visit them with temoxtli, ehecatl. Yet, the corresponding

Spanish text expresses a sentiment of gratitude for what their respective families had done for

them.30 Similar verbiage comes from the celebration of a woman’s first pregnancy. As the

25 Ibid., 2, f 98r. Ehecatl itself means wind, or gust, however, temoxtli does not appear as its own entry. 26 Bernardino de Sahagún, "Libro Cuarto," in Códice Florentino, edición facsimilar del manuscrito Vol. 1, (Mexico City: Bibiloteca Medicea Laurenziana, Archivo General de la Nación, 1979), f 171r. 27 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 1 v. 28 Ibid., f 19v. 29 Ibid., f 120v. 30 The text reads, “cocoliztli namechnocuitiliz, temoxtli, ehecatl namechnecahuiltiliz.” Which translates as, “I will cast sickness upon you, I will exacerbate the illness or pestilence.” Ibid. f. 106v-107r; f 111r 158

family gathered, two elders recited ritual language in a sort of “call and response.” One of the

phrases expressed that they did not want to cause temoxtli, ehecatl on anyone.31 In the Nahuatl

text the parents of the mother-to-be stated that they hoped that they inflicted temoxtli, ehecatl on

those that had come to see and warn the pregnant woman. The Spanish section, however,

translates the text as, “God willing that this work, that what you undertake for us, does not cause

you illness or a bad disposition.”32 The phrase appears again in the discourse that was customary

when elite Nahuas congregated to pay their respects when a woman had recently given birth.

According to the Nahuatl text, a person in attendance would inform the mother that the child’s

fate was in the hands of Tezcatlipoca and he would bring temoxtli, ehecatl upon her. Once more,

the Spanish text presents a different connotation, “I believe lady, that I give you fatigue, and I

give you cause for grief, I did not want to cause you a bad disposition or an accident or pain or

burden, since you are still sick.”33 Other communities also sent titlanti (messengers) to pay their

respects to the new child.

In a related statement the titlan (sing. for titlanti) states that he will cause the community

head and stomachaches and he would expose them to cocoliztli, temoxtli, and ehecatl. The

Spanish text once more elucidates a different connotation for these statements. It notes that the

messenger stated the following words because he was ashamed about his previous terseness,

stating, “I believe that I will embarrass you, that I was a cause of your headache and

stomachache, or that I caused an accident or some bad disposition….”34 These attestations

suggest that the when sixteenth century Nahuatl sources stated that they would cause, cast, or

31 Ibid., f 116v. 32 Ibid., f 124r. The Spanish test reads, “plega a dios que este trabajo, que por nosotros avíes tomado ahora, no os sea causa de enfermedad, o de alguna mala disposición.” 33 Ibid., f 157r. The Spanish text reads, “pienso señora que os doy fatiga, y os soy causa de pesadumbre, no querria seros causa de alguna mala disposcion o algun accidente o dolor o trabajo, como aun estais enferma.” 34 Ibid., f 163r. 159

take someone to in temoxtli, in ehecatl, they did not mean they would cause them illness. On the

contrary, it meant that they did not want to cause someone a burden or inconvenience. This helps

decode a phrase used by a tiçitl named Magdalena Papalo in Cuitlatenamic, located in what is

today southwestern Puebla. Before conducting a ritual bath on children, Papalo spoke to

Tlaltecuhtli (the Lord of the Earth) and assured her that she would unite the child with in

temoxtli, in ehecatl.35 It might seem as if Papalo stated that she would take the newborn infant to

meet with disease and pestilence, but I argue that she in fact was stating that she did not want to

cause the child an inconvenience or burden.

There is further evidence in the Historia general that cocoliztli and pactinemiliztli were

opposed. Book Eleven discusses an herb called tonacaxochitl, which Nahus used to relieve

fevers and cleanse urine. Moreover, the herb had a pleasant scent and it could be taken alone, or

with a mixture of tlachichinoa xihuitl and cacao. The Nahuatl text clarified that, “In manel amo

cocoxqui, in zan pactinemi, coni.” “Even though he/she is not sick, but healthy, he/she drinks

it.”36 This signified that both the healthy and sick could consume the herb, which the

corresponding Spanish text clarified. The relevant part to our discussion here is that the term

pactinemi and cocoxqui, and by extension other inflections of said words, were related and

opposed each other.

Before I discuss how titiçih resestablished, or established, pactinemiliztli, I would like to introduce how the shift from one to the other occurred. Multiple factors that could cause disequilibrium among people, including gender, age, social status, animistic changes,

35 AGN, Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11. Mexico City: 1584. f 4v. 36 Sahagún, "Libro Undecimo," f 166v. 160

temperament, cravings, and other physical changes.37 These fluctuations could radiate from the

affected individuals and negatively affect people around them, animals, plants, and objects.

Individuals that were particularly susceptible were menstruating women, pregnant women,

parturient women, puerperae, and the elderly. These individuals could harm children, and in the

case of pregnant women, their husbands. Much of this was because these individuals had some

sort of internal temperature disruption that made them hot. Fatigue could also lead to an internal

temperature change that warmed the tonalli (the sources of an individual’s life force, found in the

hair and skull) and cooled the feet and torso. Sexual transgressions could also lead to

disequilibrium and cause a variety of issues including difficult labor.

Treating an illness among early colonial Nahua people involved on ascertaining the

source of the illness and regaining equilibrium with the help of a titiçih. Within the Nahua

cosmovision, all illnesses stemmed from an external force imposing its will on a victim. If the

assailant was human, the victims, or the titiçih at the behest of the victim, had to confront him or

her. If the cause was a deity, victims and the titiçih that treated them had to appease and assuage

the divine force. This practice can be seen in 1538 in Xochimilco, when a healer named Ana (no

surname given) reported that Tezcatlipoca had made an indigenous woman sick by placing thick

pieces of paper in her body cavity, which Ana removed.38 Ana must have also appeased

Tezcatlipoca during and after the paper removal, though the source does not describe how. Other

sources, including Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón's seventeenth century Tratado de las

supersticiones y costumbres gentílicas found that in southeastern Guerrero tiçiyotl Nahua people

37 The information in this paragraph comes from Alfredo López Austin, Cuerpo humano e ideologiía: Las concepciones de los antiguos Nahuas. vol. 1, 1a edición. ed., (Ciudad de México: Universidad Nacional Autonoma de México, 2012), 286-300. 38 "Proceso del Santo Oficio Contra Una India," in Boletín del Archivo General de la Nación, ed. Eduardo O'Gorman Vol. XII, (México: Archivo General de la Nación, 1942), 212. 161

believed that saints and other deities that manifested as clouds, hills, rivers, air, and fire could

cause illnesses. Sick persons treated these infirmities by making offerings of incense, candles, flowers, clothes, food and drink to the respective deity. Healers made these offerings at the site where a person became ill; if a person became ill by a mountainside, she/he would make the offering there.39 In instances where the sick person or their family member consulted a tiçitl, the

healer orchestrated the offering to help a person back to pactinemiliztli. López Austin also noted

that individuals sought equilibrium to ensure that external forces did not harm them, and their

loved ones, physically or socially (i.e., lost and object or had a relationship turn sour). To this

end, individuals would seek equilibrium with deities, their communities, families, and within

their very own organism.40 These rituals were conducted by titiçih.

Defining Titiçih, Médicos, Amanteca, and Parteras

A discussion of the terms used by Nahua people in the early colonial period, and used by

Spaniards to describe healers, is useful in understanding their social role. Ethnohistorian James

Axtel wrote, “Most of the words we use in history and everyday speech are like mental depth-

charges. When heard or read they quickly sink into our consciousness and explode, sending off

cognitive shrapnel in all directions.”41 Connotation and word choice becomes even more

important when exploring the history of Nahuas and titiçih in this politically and culturally

charged colonial context. Both groups had very specific terms for their practitioners that carried

strong gendered and social connotation. Spaniards, as the cultural and military victors, recorded

and conceptualized tiçiyotl and titiçih with their own preconceived notions of what healers were.

39 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 124. 40 López Austin, Cuerpo humano e ideologiía: Las concepciones de los antiguos Nahuas. vol. 1, 301. 41 James Axtell, "Forked Tongues: Moral Judgements in Indian History," in After Columbus: Essays in the Ethnohistory of Colonial North America, ed. James Axtell, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 35. 162

In this section I will explore the terms Spaniards used for their healers, and how they

conceptualized Nahua specialists. I use dictionaries along with printed and archival primary

sources to sift out the roles of men and women in tiçiyotl. Nahua people referred to their healing

specialists using the term tiçitl, and sometimes amatenca.

Early modern Spanish language terms for healers reveal inherent gendered distinctions in

Spanish culture. Sebastián de Covarrubias’s Tesoro de la lengua castellana o española (1611)

explained that médico, from the Latin medicus, was synonymous with male physicist and male

doctor. Covarrubias’s definition of medicina (medicine) is “the science that the médico practices

and the remedies that he applies to a sick person.”42 Covarrubias exclusively used male nouns.

The feminine noun médica did not appear in a dictionary until 1787 when Esteban de Terreros y

Pando defined it as “the wife of the doctor, related to the Latin medici uxor [doctor’s wife], and

the Italian term medichessa [midwife].”43 In 1855 the Real Academia Española fully

disassociated médica from legitimate medical knowledge by stating that the term meant “a

woman who feigns knowledge in medicine; a woman that is married to a physician.”44 Women

were, however, recognized as birth attendants. For example, Covarrubias stated that a comadre

and partera were synonymous terms referring to “a woman who helped give birth, and cured the

mother and child.”45

42 Sebastián de Covarrubias Orozco, Tesoro de la lengua castellana, o española, (Madrid: por Luis Sanchez, 1611), 1087. 43 Esteban de Terreros y Pando, Diccionario castellano con las voces de ciencias y artes y sus correspondientes en las tres lenguas francesa, latina e italiana, Vol. Tomo Segundo, (Madrid: Viuda de Ibarra, Reproducido a partir del ejemplar de la Biblioteca de la Real Academia Española, 1786), 553. 44 Nemesio Fernández Cuesta, Diccionario enciclopédico de la lengua española: con todas las vozes, frases, refranes y locuciones usadas en España y las Américas españolas, Vol. (G-Z) (Imprenta de Gaspár y Roig, 1855), 8. The Spanish reads, “La mujer que afecta conocimientos en medicina; la que está casada con un médico.” 45 Covarrubias Orozco, Tesoro de la lengua castellana, o española, 450-51. 163

Castilian definitions of medical practitioners suggest that when early modern Spanish

authors used the masculine noun médico they meant men. Conversely, médica likely implied illegitimate or inadequate knowledge of medicine, and represented an idea (i.e., a female physician) that did not exist in Spanish society. While it is true that the Spanish language uses the masculine plural for groups containing at least one male, such as médicos (male physicians or mixed gender physicians), when early modern authors used singular nouns it is telling of broader intentions in their language selection. Castilian dictionaries imply that early modern Spanish women were only active in “legitimate” medicine as birth attendants. That marked a stark contrast to the expansive roles of female titiçih in sixteenth-century tiçiyotl, though Molina’s definitions reflected Spanish notions.

Antonio de Nebrija’s Vocabulario de romance en Latín (published first in 1495 and then in a second edition in 1516) influenced the medical terms in Molina included in his Vocabulario.

For example, Nebrija translated médico físico (physician) as medicus; médico de orejas (ear physician) as medicus auricularius; médico de ojos (eye physician) as medicus ocutarius;46 and

partería oficio desto (midwifery as a profession) as obstreticatus.47 Molina followed Nebrija by

translating the Castilian médico o físico as tiçitl, tepati, tepatiani, tlama; médico de ojos as

teixpati, teixtelolopati; and medico dorejas [sic] as tenacazpati, tenacazpatiani.48 In the Nahuatl

section, Molina registered tiçitl as “médico, or soothsayer and diviner.”49 He translated tepati as

“a médico that cures.”50 Although he did not translate tepatiani from Nahuatl to Castilian, its

46 Antonio de Nebrija, Vocabulario de romance en latín hecho por el doctíssimo maestro Antonio de Nebrissa nuevamente corregido y augmentado más de diez mill vocablos de los que antes solía tener, (Juan Varela de Salamanca, Sevilla, 1516), 99. 47 Ibid. 48 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 1, f 83r. 49 Ibid., 2, f 113v. The original Spanish text reads, “medico, o agorero y echador de suertes.” 50 Ibid. Molina’s Castilian reads, “médico que cura.” (1, f 102v). A more literal translation is “he or she cures others.” Molina also translated enfermero (male nurse) as “tepati.” (1, f 53r). 164

literal translation illustrates Nahuatl’s lack of grammatical gender: “he or she is a healer of

others.” Molina interpreted tlama as “médico o físico”51 and “male nurse.”52 The cirujano (male surgeon) was a texoxotla tiçitl.53 Lastly, he included medicina as the substance—pahtli,

nepatiloni—not the practice.54 Like Covarrubias, Nebrija, and other grammarians, Molina did

not include an entry for médica.

An anonymous trilingual dictionary known as the Vocabulario trilingue created in the

first half of the sixteenth century and located in the collections of the Newberry Library in

Chicago, connects Nebrija’s and Molina’s work. Mary L. Clayton has argued that an indigenous

man created the trilingual dictionary based on Nebrija’s 1516 dictionary. She asserts that the

trilingual dictionary is a literal manuscript copy with 72% of the entries containing an addition of

Nahuatl. Moreover, Clayton argues that the author created the dictionary for a Nahuatl-speaking

audience based on his concern with explanatory equivalents of Spanish words, rather than their

“translatability.”55

While I agree that a Native Nahuatl speaker probably made the dictionary, it seems more

plausible that Spanish missionaries created the dictionary to facilitate Nahuatl acquisition among

clerics. Granted, Nebrija’s dictionary was a template for the Trilingual Dictionary. Yet, it would

be of little use for a Nahuatl speaker to have the words for the language he wished to learn

(Spanish or Latin) as the main entry. A Nahuatl speaker wishing to know how to say médico or

medicus would already have to know the words in Castilian or Latin. Otherwise it would be

impractical to scan and search for a Nahuatl entry through all the dictionary’s pages.

51 Ibid., 1, f 83r. 52 Ibid., 1, f 53r. 53 Ibid., 1, f 35r. 54 Ibid., 1, f 83r. 55 Mary L. Clayton, "Evidence for a Native-Speaking Nahuatl Author in the Ayer Vocabulario Trilingue," International Journal of Lexicography 16, no. 2 (2003): 99-102. 165

Both Molina’s Vocabulario and the Trilingual Dictionary include translations that

suggest that the authors created entries for European concepts that did not exist in Mesoamerica.

Both texts fit Nahuatl compound words into Latin and Spanish concepts. Some of the following

entries illustrate this point.

Table 2 - A comparison of translations for Nahuatl Healing Practitioners Latin Spanish Nahuatl (Trilingual Nahuatl (Nebrija and (Molina and Dictionary) (Molina) Trilingual Trilingual Dictionary) Dictionary) Medicus56 Médico, físico Tiçitl, Tiçitl, Tlama, xiuhiximatqui, Tepati paiximatqui57 58 59 Medicus Médico de ojos teixpatiani teixtelolopati ocularius 60 Medicus Médico de tenacazpatiani tenacazpatiani auricularius orejas 61 Medicinalis Medicinal cosa Tepahtiloni Pahtli Obstretix62 Partera que None Tiçitl, ayuda a parir temixihuitiani, tlamatqui63

Molina and his assistants, along with the minds behind the Trilingual Dictionary, tried to

describe Nahua concepts that matched with Spanish ideas. The anonymous author translated a

“medicinal thing” as tepahtiloni. Molina translated pahtiloni as “curable thing that can heal.”64

56 Nebrija, Vocabulario de romance en latín hecho por el doctíssimo maestro Antonio de Nebrissa nuevamente corregido y augmentado más de diez mill vocablos de los que antes solía tener, 99. 57 Antonio Nebrija, Dictionarium ex Hisniensi in Latinum sermonem. Mexico: ca. 1540. Ayer. MS 1478. f 111v. 58 Ibid. The original text states texipatliani, the added “l” makes little sense and is probably an error, possibly added after the fact since the “l” is darker than the rest of the text. 59 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 1, 83r. 60 Nebrija, "Dictionarium ex Hisniensi in Latinum sermonem," f 111v. 61 Ibid. 62 Nebrija, Vocabulario de romance en latín hecho por el doctíssimo maestro Antonio de Nebrissa nuevamente corregido y augmentado más de diez mill vocablos de los que antes solía tener, 114. 63 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 1, 92v. 64 Ibid., 1, f 80r. 166

With the addition of the non-specific personal object suffix te-, tepahtiloni becomes “it is a

healer of people.” Which is different from the more commonly used pahtli. Moreover, the

Trilingual Dictionary’s inclusion of xiuhiximatqui (knower of herbs) and paiximatqui as

translations for médico are interesting because Molina defines these terms quite differently. He

translated herbalist as both xiuhiximatqui and paiximatqui.65 Covarrubias mentioned that an

herbalist was, “he who has news of herbs and their virtues, and he who cures with them.”66

Meaning that in the Spanish context, herbalists also healed. This suggests that at least one of the

minds behind the Trilingual Dictionary was aware of the subtleties in Spanish curing habits in

the sixteenth century. Sources such as the Historia general and others, do not suggest that

healing ritual specialists were known as xiuhiximatqui. For example, the Historia general

described the “good tiçitl” as a xiuhximatqui, among other things.67 Instead of a title, this seems

to be more of a descriptor. The discrepancy in the entries for eye doctor are more easily

explained. The literal translation for Molina’s teixtelolopati is “he or she is a healer of people’s

eyes.” Teixpatiani, from the Trilingual Dictionary, literally translates as “he or she cures eyes.”

Molina also included teixpatiani and teixpati as, “a physician that cures the eyes.”68 Again, based

on the Historia general, this seems more like a descriptor rather than a title. Sahagún et al., note

that the good tiçitl was a teixpatia, “eye healer.” 69

Following Western traditions, the Vocabulario limited women to midwifery with abstract, albeit camouflaged, connections to tiçiyotl. Molina again drew from Nebrija and translated Parterio oficio desta as temixihuitiliztli (birth attendance), tiçiyotl, tlamatcayotl

65 Ibid., 1, f 56v. The original Castilian reads, “(h)erbolario.” 66 Covarrubias Orozco, Tesoro de la lengua castellana, o española, 718. 67Sahagún, "Libro Decimo," f 20r. 68 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 2, f 96r. 69Sahagún, "Libro Decimo," f 20r. 167

(prudence).70 Molina defined tlamatqui (the practitioner of tlamatcayotl) as “a midwife who helps give birth”71 and an embaucador (a cheat).72 Midwife appears as temixihuitiani (she who

causes people to give birth), ticitl tlamatqui.73 Emulating Iberian customs, Molina implicitly

excluded women from Nahua healing knowledge by using male nouns, verbs, and pronouns

when discussing tiçiyotl. He made only oblique references to women as healers in definitions

related to deceit and midwifery, that is, the perceived Western realm of women.

Molina’s general description of Nahua healing, and his usage of male pronouns, mirrored

Nebrija’s Western scheme. Nahua people did not divide the tasks of their healing specialists by

European lines of social demarcation. The Nahuatl translations of eye doctor, surgeon, and ear

doctor were constructions made to fit Spanish medical specializations. Similarly, temixihuiani

likely described one aspect of the many roles women could have in tiçiyotl, not the only position

they held.

Molina also likened tiçiyotl to Western medicine. He translated the Nahuatl word pahtli

as “medicine [the substance]; generally, poultice, ointment, etc.”74 Tiçiyotl appears as “1) The art

of medicine, the things of physicians, or divination by soothsaying. 2) Soothsaying by casting of

lots.”75 Molina's dictionary thus included preconceived notions that tiçiyotl was like Western

medicine, but with elements of divination that in this colonial context was frequently associated

with witchcraft and sorcery.

70 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 1, f 92v. 71 Ibid. 72 Ibid., 1, f 49v. 73 Ibid., 1, f 92v. 74 Ibid., 2, f 80r. 75 Ibid., 2, f 113r. Although Molina spells tiçiyotl without a “y” (ticiotl), typically only words ending in “l” or “z” receive an “otl”; it is more common to use “yotl.” 168

Molina also missed the fundamental elements of tiçiyotl that differed from Spanish

medicine. He interpreted tlapohualiztli as “the act of numbering, or counting something; or the

act of sortilege by el hechicero [the male sorcerer] who casts lots.”76 The healing nature of these

acts emerges with further probing, however. The Castilian sorteamiento así (sortilege) appears as

tlapohualiztli, mecatlapohualiztli (counting of cords); tlaolchayahualiztli (hurling of corn); atlan

teittaliztli (gazing near the water); tiçiyotl.77 Molina did not mention women in the ritual aspects

of tiçiyotl.

Another, even if less common, term that Nahua people used for healing ritual

specialists—amanteca (pl. of amentecaitl). The first extant mention of this term comes from the

Mendoza Codex (created in the first half of the sixteenth century).78 The Mendoza Codex notes

that during nuptial rituals an amanteca que es médica (an amanteca that was a female physician) carried the bride to the groom’s home on her back, and performed the ceremony.79 The Historia

general has a similar description, but the Nahuatl text notes that the woman who conducted the

ritual were titiçih, confirming that women that healed also married couples. The Spanish text

translated the term as “las casamenteras” (matchmakers).80 I will further explore titiçih and

their role in matrimonial rituals in more detail below. The pressing matter now is the term

amanteca and its relation to healing.

76 Ibid., 2, f 132r. 77 Ibid., 1, f 110v. 78 For more information on the Codex Mendoza see Frances Berdan and Patricia Rieff Anawalt, The Essential Codex Mendoza, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997). 79 The Codex Mendoza v. 3, ed. Frances F. Berdan and Patricia Rieff Anawalt, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), 128. 80 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 122r. Anderson and Dibble follow Sahagún’s Castilian and translate titiçih as “elderly matchmakers.” Bernardino de Sahagún, General History of the things of New Spain: Book VI Rhetoric and Moral Philosophy, ed. Charles E. Dibble and Arthur J. O. Anderson, (Santa Fe, New Mexico: The School of American Research and The University of Utah, 1970), 131. 169

There are attestations of amanteca in areas outside of the Central Valley. On January 1,

1581 Pedro de Ledesma, the alcalde mayor of Taxco and Tenango, reported that most of his

region spoke Nahuatl, though his jurisdiction did include some small pockets of Chontal,

Mazatec, and Purépecha.81 Ledesma noted that the area was relatively healthy and that in ancient

times the local indigenous people cured themselves by simply pricking themselves in the head

with sharp razors or snake fangs. At the time he wrote his report, indigenous men and women

called “amantecas” did the curing. They used drinks made from herbs and roots and they bled their patients’s arms.82 The same was true in Jalapa, where in October 20, 1580, the primary

language was Nahuatl. According to Constantino Bravo, Jalapa’s alcalde mayor, smallpox had

recently afflicted the area. The indigenous people had various ways to treat smallpox and other

ailments, all of which their healers named amantecas knew.83

Amanteca is a demonym for people from Amantla. López Austin has noted that in pre-

Columbian Nahua altepemeh each calpolmeh tended to have a deity and a profession associated

with them. Amantla (now San Miguel Amantla in Azcapotalco, in the northern part of Mexico

City) was known for its feather working artisans, and in engaging in toltecayotl. 84 According to

Molina, toltecayotl was the mastery of mechanical arts.85 The Historia general described those competent in toltecayotl as craftsmen that were well-versed in their art, including metallurgy, stonework, and feather work.86 Nevertheless, many of these calpolmeh probably had various

professions associated with them. For instance, López Austin has argued that Amantla was also

81 Paso y Troncoso, Papeles de Nueva Españ, vol. IV, IV, 265. 82 Ibid., 279. 83 Paso y Troncoso, Papeles de Nueva España, vol. V, 103. 84 Alfredo López Austin, Hombre-dios: religión y política en el mundo náhuatl, (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, Instituto de Investigaciones Históricas, 1998), 66-67. 85 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 2, f 148v. 86 Bernardino de Sahagún, "Libro Tercero," in Códice Florentino, edición facsimilar del manuscrito Vol. 1, (Mexico City: Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Archivo General de la Nación, 1979), f 9r. 170 known for its practitioners of medicine (medicina).87 There is no direct mention in any source to any calpolli in the Central Valley or elsewhere that was associated with titiçih. Perhaps Nahuas simply referred to gifted healers as amanteca, irrespective of their birthplace or residence.

Alternatively, it is tempting to assume that the Codex Mendoza referenced titiçih that were from

Amatlan. Perhaps that is the case, but as we saw above, sources suggest that amanteca was a less common synonym for titiçih among Nahuas, even outside of the Central Valley.

Lastly, there are two rare documentations for the term cihuatitiçih in Book Two and

Book Six of the Historia general. In the description of the eleventh month, Ochpaniztli, Sahagún and his assistants, noted that women engaged in a ritual “mock battle.” Among these women were the cihuatitiçih, which the Spanish text called “médicas.”88 On this occasion, Anderson and

Dibble translated cihuatitiçih as “women physicians.”89 The rest of the chapter on Ochpaniztli refers to these women simply as titiçih.90 Sahagún’s Nahua assistants might have used this rare inflection of the term tiçitl to make it clear that female titiçih were involved in the ceremonies of

Ochpaniztli, and not their male counterparts. In Book Six, cihuatitiçih appear as “matchmakers” in nuptial ceremonies.91 Examples of cihua(tl) as modifiers for female are cihuateopixqui (nun or female priest),92 cihuaichcatl (female sheep),93 cihuacahuallo (mare),94 and cihuatlatoani

(female ruler).95 As a reference, there is no attestation of oquichtitiçih, which would be “male titiçih.”

87 López Austin, Hombre-dios: religión y política en el mundo náhuatl, 66-67. 88 Sahagún, "Segundo Libro," f 67r. 89 Book 2 page 118 90 Sahagún, "Segundo Libro," f 66r-f72v. 91 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 112v. 92 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 2, f 22v. 93 Ibid. 94 Ibid., 1, f 74r. 95 Ibid., 1, f 108v. 171

Becoming a Tiçitl

How did titiçih find their profession, or rather, how did the profession find them?

Colonial sources suggest that a Nahua man or woman became a healing ritual specialist by

inheriting the position from a family member or ancestor, as the result of a life changing or

threatening event. Beings from outside of the living realm informed titiçih about their abilities.

and taught them how to cure.

Sources from Central Mexico provide further attestations regarding how titiçih gained

their skills and training. Late sixteenth-century physician and medical inspector Francisco

Hernández, reported that male and female practitioners learned their skills empirically from their

parents.96 Magdalena Papalo was one such ritual healer; she described in legal testimony that she

recited the prayer that her mother taught her when she assisted a woman giving birth.97 Papalo

added that she learned from her mother and ancestors how to cure children stricken with

melancholy.98 Colonial sources of Nahua ritual specialists rarely contain information about how

the man or woman learned the trade, and so it is interesting here to see Papalo refer to this aspect

of her practice directly.

Another example comes from Tlachco (possibly a spelling varation of the modern town

Taxco), a small pueblo in the province of Teotlalco in the dioceses of Tlaxcala (Puebla).99 On

October 19, 1584 while on a visita (inspection) to the town, the beneficed cleric of Teotlalco,

Father Mateo de Zepeda, discovered that a Nahua man named Joseph Chicon was an hechizero, a

96 Hernández, De antiquitatibus Novae Hispaniae: Edicion Facsimilar, f 53 r. 97 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," f 4r. See Chapter 2 for a detailed discussion of Hernández. 98 Ibid., f 4v. 99 The modern town of Taxco, and its antecedent, Taxco el Viejo are both in the Archdiocese of Mexico. Nonetheless, there might have been another Taxco or Tlachco around Teotlalco that no longer exists today. Contemporarily, the city of Teotlalco is in southwestern Puebla, near border of Morelos and Guerrero. 172

sorcerer. 100 Zepeda investigated the matter: he apprehended Chicon and interrogated him, along

with two other individuals who had knowledge about his practices.

Under questioning, Priest Mateo Zepeda asked Chicon how long he had been engaging in

“sorcery” and mal vivir (“a worthless lifestyle”). Chicon disclosed that he had been using

temecatl, probably ololiuhqui, to heal for about thirteen years, but he had learned how to use the

substance five years before that when he became ill and expelled blood from his mouth.101

Chicon's brother-in-law, Juan Gaspar, instructed him to take a potion made from temecatl,

because it would help his illness. Gaspar had seen indigenous peoples from Mexico City use the

potion as medicina (medicine) when they were sick. Since it was effective for him, Chicon

started using temecatl three or four years later. The record states, perhaps to appease Zepeda, or

due to an intervention by the priest, that the Devil had deceived Chicon to give credit to the

vanidades (illusions) that appeared before him.102 Though Chicon did not mention any

interactions with deceased family members, or non-human forces, his story still falls in line with

a watershed event that brought on healing talents and knowledge, and because he learned this

healing method from his brother-in-law.

Turbina corymbosa, commonly known as morning glory or ololiuhqui among Nahua

people, is a plant whose seeds have psychotropic properties when ingested at non-toxic levels. I

argue that ololiuhqui was not just a substance, it was a tool that titiçih, and eventually others,

used to investigate the cause of an illness, and its outcome.

100 There is no information about Zepeda or his inspection, since only the three pages for this document exist. In a 1581 report made by Don Diego Romano y Gobea, the bishop of Tlaxcala, shows that Andres Pérez Paramas was the beneficed cleric of the district of Tlachco. AGI. Patronato V 183, Exp. N1, F 80. 1581 101 The record itself says that he had used temecatl for three years, however, that does not fit with the rest of the timeline that he describes. Thus, I believe this was a typographic error in the record that should have read trece instead of tres. 102 AGN, Inquisición, Vol. 1587, Exp. 10. Mexico City: 1584. f 1r. 173

Sources from the early seventeenth century show that both inherited knowledge and

significant illness events continued to lead ritual-medical specialists to their careers in the

healing arts. In the course of an arrest of the ritual specialist named Mariana (no surname given)

Ruiz de Alarcón described her as “a seer, a liar, a healer of the type they called tiçitl.” Mariana

claimed that she learned her trade-- what Ruiz de Alarcón termed “fraud” – from her unnamed

sister. Her sister, in turn, had learned her skills from a “youthful angel.” Mariana’s sister claimed that under the influence of ololiuhqui she treated a woman’s wound by blowing on it so that it

cured immediately. At that same moment, in a puff of smoke, a youth appeared which the ritual

specialist believed to be an angel. The youth told the woman not to be frightened because God

had chosen to give her a gift due to her poverty and misery. This gift granted her the necessary

powers to be a ritual healer to cure wounds, rashes, and smallpox pustules by licking them.103

According to López Austin postclassic and colonial healers among Nahuas used their breath to cure, and harm others. This power flowed from the person’s ihiyotl (a life force in the liver).104

Therapeutic licking, on the other hand, does not count with any other attestations in

Mesoamerica.

The angelic youth warned Mariana’s sister that if she did not answer the call to become a

ritual specialist, she would perish. After Mariana’s sister agreed, the youth presented the woman

with a cross, and crucified her by driving nails through her hands and feet. Once Mariana’s sister

was crucified, the youth taught her how to heal, using seven different sets of ritual language.105

Mariana claimed that for fifteen days there was continuous light where the wounded person

recovered, probably because of the veneration of the cure and the omen.106 In this case we see

103 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 52. 104 López Austin, Cuerpo humano e ideologiía: Las concepciones de los antiguos Nahuas. vol. 1, 260. 105 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 52. Ruiz de Alarcón referred to the ritual language as, “…exorcisms and invocations.” 106 Ibid. 174

sisters working together, and a miraculous healing event that triggered the apparition of a

supernatural being—the angelic youth— an event that brought Mariana's sister to her calling.

During Ruiz de Alarcón's questioning of a blind, “swindling” indigenous curandero in

the town of Tlatizapan, the man (unnamed) revealed how he learned to heal.107 One day as the

man neared death, he fell asleep and descended to hell. There he saw a multi-ethnic crowd of people, including God and other supernatural beings, what Ruiz de Alarcón considered to be

“lunacies.”108 The people and divinities told the healer to return to earth and heal with two balls composed of medicinal herbs. They taught the man how used these materials for healing purposes. After he awoke from sleep (and presumably healed), the man convinced others from his community that he knew about the heavens and the knowledge of ritual healing. It was for this reason that his community summoned him to investigate the death of father Luis Lorenzo, a local priest, to ascertain if someone had hexed and murdered him.109 Here we see another

example of an individual gaining extraordinary power after being in a precarious and vulnerable

situation. Moreover, this case shows the prestige and authority that well-respected healers could achieve. This unnamed healer’s community entrusted him with the murder investigation of a

Catholic priest.

In 1636 Jacinto de la Serna, the dean of the Cathedral in Mexico City reported similar phenomena. Serna noted that when he asked “physicians” in Tenancingo (in what is now the state of Mexico) were they learned their trade, they said they inherited it. They also believed that they had been dead for a period, and their dead family members or saints taught them how to

107 The text states “…otro embustero ciego curandero….” (another swindling blind curandero). I believe that Ruiz de Alarcón meant that the man was metaphorically blind to the ways of God, not that his vision was impaired. Ibid., 160. 108 Ibid. 109 Ibid. 175

cure. Their ancestors also taught them how to use herbs for medicinal purposes. He provided an

example of an unnamed woman that died at a young age, and in “another life” (i.e., the afterlife)

they gave her the ability to cure.110 This attests to the common practice among Nahua people throughout Central Mexico, well into the seventeenth century.

Serna went on to write the Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpación de ellas (1656), a manual for priests of indigenous people, were he also provided a more detailed example pertaining to one of his indigenous servants, named Augustina

(no surname given).111 She had become very ill and she vomited a piece of wool. After

Augustina recuperated, the piece of wool led many community members to believe that sorcery

was involved. Augustina, and others, suspected the perpetrator was an Indian woman from

Tenancingo named Leonor María. Serna got to work on understanding the meaning behind the

bound wool. Multiple people told Serna that a gran médica (a great female physician) named

Francisca (no surname given) could help. Despite believing that she engaged in a malicious

occupation he sought her help because he had heard that she was easy going and good-

natured.112 Like the unnamed healer in Ruiz de Alarcón’s treatise above, this woman’s renowned

abilities gained her respect among community members and even Serna asked for her help.

When Serna met with her, he immediately told her that he knew about her profession and

that he did not mean her any harm, he just wanted to know how she became a healer, and how

she healed.113 Francisca divulged information that corroborates with other sources regarding a

hereditary nature of healing ritual specialists, and an intervention from beings outside of the

110 BNAH, "Colección Antigua, Vol. 336, Numero 23," f 100v. 111 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 302. 112 Ibid. 113 Jacinto de la Serna, "Idolatrías, supersticiones, dioses, ritos, hechicerías y otras costumbres gentílicas de las razas aborígenes," México, Imprenta del Museo Nacional (1892): 302. 176

living human realm. She stated that she derived her occupation from her parents, because they

were “curanderos.” Francisca added that as a child she died and spent three days underwater next

to a “sabino horse” in a nook of the town.114 There she saw her family members and they gave

her the “gift of curing,” and they gave her the tools she needed to cure. She received a needle to

prick afflicted parts, and a jícara (cup) made from a gourd cut in half to divine and prognosticate

illnesses and her patients’ fate.115 Francisca told Serna that she then came back to life, and she had cured ever since. Serna added that he asked Francisca to bring the gourd and show it to him, which she agreed to do, but never did.116

Serna asked Francisca what she thought had happened to Augustina, his servant, and the

ritual specialist stated that it had been an act of sorcery committed by an Indian woman who was

upset with Augustina and wished to exact vengeance on her. According to Francisca, this same

woman had also put a spell on a woman named Doña Ursula who died of dysentery. The

different symptoms in these two ritual attacks perplexed Serna. He asked Francisca why one died

of dysentery (which cause rectal evacuations) and the other vomited blood. Francisca stated that

the two different spells had set in different areas, and thus the ejections were from different

places. She added that if Augustina had not vomited the wool, she too would have died.117 Serna

also stated that he found about twenty other individuals with the same profession (i.e., healers)

that all claimed to have died and in the other life (i.e., death) supernatural entities had given them

114 Sabino is a term used for horses with irregular white patterns on their belly and face. 115 A jícara is an archaic Iberian term for a cup that Europeans tended to use for chocolate. Contemporary Spanish speakers do not commonly use the term jícara. Xicara remains in use today in the Portuguese language as a cup. In the context here, I prefer to use the term gourd, because it keeps the term closer in line to its usage by Nahua peoples. 116 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 302. 117 Serna, "Idolatrías, supersticiones, dioses, ritos, hechicerías y otras costumbres gentílicas de las razas aborígenes," 302-03. 177

the grace of healing along with the required tools: lancets, herbs and medicines they should apply

like peyote (Lophophora williamsii), ololiuhqui, estafiate (sagewort) and others.118

I will mention one final example here, which comes from Serna’s manual. In 1646 in

Zacualpan in what is today the State of Mexico, Señor Doctor Juan de Mañozca investigated a

médico named Juan de la Cruz.119 Serna claimed that he punished the indigenous man in the

mines of the Real de Tetzicapan (also in the modern State of Mexico).120 According to Serna,

Cruz was born in an hacienda in the Real, he was forty years old and he claimed to blood let like

the Spaniards. He said that about fifteen years earlier (c. 1631) he and his mother had become ill

and while nearing death the Angel Saint Gabriel and the Angel Saint Michael appeared before

him. According to Serna, Cruz saw the angels descend from heaven, bearing a lancet that they

gave him. Cruz told Serna that the angels instructed him by saying , “my son, Juan de la Cruz, on

behalf of God our Lord, we have come to teach you how you are supposed to blood let, so you

can serve God, and you can get up and blood let your mother and all, and God orders that for

every bloodletting on every arm, you should be given two reales for your labor.”121 According to

Serna, Cruz claimed that three days later he got up, healthy, and he began bloodletting all of the

ill, including his own mother who healed after the bloodletting. Four to five years he became very ill again. During that illness he saw the Holy Virgin in the form of a pilgrim dressed in green and red, with a naked baby Jesus in her arms. The Virgin had a golden banner above her with following herbs: coanenepilli, tlatlanquaio, xoxotlatzin, quapopoltzin.122 Once the Virgin

had come before Cruz, he noticed that a red-faced Indian woman with long hair, and a blue

118 Ibid., 303. 119 As of May 2016, no official records on such a process exist in the Archivo General de la Nación in Mexico City. 120 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 305. 121 Ibid. 122 It is unclear if the Cruz saw images of the herbs, or the names of the herbs in the banner. 178

huipil (a traditional blouse) represented the fever and chills (tabardillo) that afflicted him. The

Virgin approached the woman and told her to leave him alone, because Cruz was doing good by

healing and serving her son Jesus Christ. After the Virgin left, he healed. She left behind some

herbs that she ordered him to heal people whenever they became ill.123 This is a powerful

account of colonial healing. Because here an indigenous healer used Iberian notions of religion to not only legitimize his power, but also the materials that he used.

The blend of Christianity and indigenous materials (e.g., ololiuhqui) illustrates the

syncretism that was occurring throughout Central Mexico in early seventeenth century.

Spaniards had exposed Nahua groups to Christianity by this time. Nevertheless, it is unclear if

the Nahua men and women under the spotlight mentioned elements of Christianity in their

testimonies or confessions to appease priests by seeming more Christianized, or if Nahua peoples

had truly incorporated Christian components into their beliefs. One theme that does overlap

throughout the central Mexican region is the intervention of a non-human “supernatural” force

that gave the individual in question an extraordinary gift, such as knowledge and the tools of

tiçiyotl. According to Osvaldo F. Pardo, Ruiz de Alarcón saw these accounts as tales of demons

straying Indians away from Catholicism. Pardo also noted that these accounts contain core

concepts of how healers took their profession.124

Deities and the Titiçih

Sources from throughout Central Mexico point to the deities that titiçih venerated to

restore and maintain equilibrium during health crises. The Historia general, for instance, states

that the cihuateotl (female deity) known as Teteo Innan (she is the mother of the deities), as

123 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 307-08. 124 Osvaldo F. Pardo, "Angels, Demons and Plants in Colonial Mexico," in Spiritual Encounters, ed. Fernando Cervantes and Nicholas Griffiths, (Birmingham: University of Birmingham Press, 1999), 176. 179

Tlalli Iyollo (She is the earth’s heart), and as Toci (she is our grandmother), was closely associated with healing practitioners. The titiçih (those that bled, cured hemorrhoids, purged people, and cured eye ailments) worshipped Teteo Innan. The text implied a gendered division of labor noting that in cihuah (the women) also worshiped this deity, such as temixihuitique (those who cause people to give birth, i.e., midwives) who sedated at childbirth, caused abortions, divined with water, casted corn , and cords, removed from the body objects (such as blades and other materials that caused illness) from the body, and removed worms from the teeth and eyes.125 This implied distinction and a gendered division of labor in the treatment of illnesses.

Lastly, temazcal owners prayed to Teteo Innan, who they referred to as “Temazcalteci”

(Grandmother of the temazcal), and placed her image on the front of the temazcal.126

Tlapohualiztli – Titiçih as Investigators

Tlapohualiztli was a fundamental aspect of tiçiyotl that titiçih engaged. There were

various specific forms of tlapohualiztli that could include divination, guessing, or something

else. This word is a nominalized noun formed by tlapohua and the nominalizing suffix -liztli.

Though Molina includes actual translations for tlapohualiztli, deconstructing the word sheds light

on its more nuanced meaning as a method of investigation for Nahua ritual specialists.

The Nahuatl word tlapohua has a general underlying meaning for the revelation of information. Molina used tlapohua, as the translation for “to reveal the hidden, to uncover.”127

Similarly, he used tlapohua for, “to uncover he who is covered.”128 Relatedly, Molina translated

“uncover something,” as tlapohua.129 He noted that it could mean, “to read a letter or book,” and

125 Sahagún, "Libro Primero," f 3r-4r. 126 Ibid., f 3v. 127 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 1, f 40r. The original text states, “Descubrir lo que esta cubierto, desatapar” 128 Ibid., 1, f 40r. The original Spanish phrase is, “Descubrir al que esta cubierto.” 129 Ibid., 1, f 38v. The Spanish text reads, “Desatapar algo.” 180

“to count/tell something.”130 Molina added that “to open,” was also a translation for tlapohua.131

There is a one final translation that had a different connotation from the rest, “to break, or to break a door with violence.”132 Notwithstanding the last translation, the general sense of

tlapohua is to reveal something, whether a secret or news.

Molina translated the complete term tlapohualiztli with a different meaning than what

one might expect. He included ten entries. They are as follows:

Table 3 - Molina's translations for Tlapohualiztli 1. Adivinación así Divination 4v 2. Contaduría Accounting 29v 3. Cuenta Count/Account 32v 4. Cuenta, el acto de Account, the act of 32v contar algo counting something 5. Cuento de cuenta Account 32v 6. Información Information 75r 7. Lección que da el A lesson given by a 77r discípulo disciple 8. Razón o cuenta Ration or count 101v 9. Sorteamiento así Sortilege 110v 10. Suerte Fortune 111r133

So then, what tlapohualiztli was associated with titiçih and tiçiyotl? In a sense all of

them. The bulk of Molina’s entries dealt with accounting, or counting, as entries 2,3,4,5, and 8 in

the chart above illustrate. 1, 9 and 10 have inclinations to fortune telling and things of the like. 6

and 7 are linked to information and its expression. Titiçih counted items such as corn, beans, and

130 Ibid., 1, f 2r. The text states, “abrir carta o libro.” Though it literally translates as to open a letter or book, it seems to have more of a connotation of expounding what is in the letter. The second translation is also complex, the text reads “contar algo.” Ibid., 1, 29v. This could mean, “to count something,” or “to read something.” 131 Ibid., 1, f 2r. 132 Ibid., 1, f 100v. The original text reads, “Quebrar, o quebrantar puertas con ímpetu.” 133 All entries are from section one of Molina’s Vocabulario. 181

their own hands, to gain information about a person’s condition, and then expressed this

information to patients. Titiçih did not always count to discover information, sometimes they

ingested entheogenic substances, which I argue relates to the “discovery” aspect of tlapohualiztli.

Keeping in mind that uncovering had a strong connection with tlapohua, we can logically assume

that “uncovering and discovering things” was another meaning of tlapohualiztli.

Titiçih engaging in tlapohualiztli

In 1538 in the Central Basin, a woman named Ana from Xochimilco (no surname given) admitted to casting corn to discern whether children would recover or die from their illnesses.134

Another healer from southwestern Puebla, Magdalena Papalo, engaged in rituals of hand-

counting and ololiuhqui usage to diagnose and cure children.135

Joseph Chicon’s 1584 report in Tlahco stated that a seed called temecatl disclosed what

was making his patients sick, if the illness was curable, and if so, how. The tiçitl emphasized that

it truly seemed like the seed spoke to him. He added that when he asked, the seed very accurately

instructed him on what “medicines” to use for an illness.136 The seed was likely ololiuhqui,

which we will explore in more depth below.

Ruiz de Alarcón, working in the region of Atenango del Río in southeastern Guerrero

provides a good starting point to explore the gendered labor of ritual divination further. During

the 1620s he targeted indigenous people in this region, prosecuting them for acts of divination

and by his calculations he had tried more women than men.137 I argue that these acts were in fact

tlapohualiztli through the ingestion of ololiuhqui.

134 "Proceso del Santo Oficio Contra Una India," 212. 135 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," f 2v-4v. 136 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 1587, Exp. 10," F. 1. 137 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 124. 182

Jacinto de la Serna’s interview with Francisca, introduced above, yielded more

information on tlapohualiztli. Serna asked the healer how she divined illnesses. She responded

that she placed her special gourd above a sick person’s head, and she placed water in it, if it

turned yellow it was an illness that God had afflicted on the individual. If the water moved in a

circular fashion, it meant that the person did not have a remedy and the patient would die. She

also noted that if the water turned blood red it was a sign of sorcery and that someone had

maliciously cast a spell on the patient.138

Ololiuhqui

Building on Ruiz de Alarcón’s work, Serna reported that Nahua people, and other

indigenous groups, believed that plants had rational spirits, thus, they interacted with them

accordingly.139 Among the four most important plants were huauhtli (Amaranthus), ololiuhqui

(the seeds of the morning glory), peyote, and picietl (Nicotiana rustica).140 In this section, I will

explore one of the most controversial forms of early colonial tlapohualiztli among Spaniards, and

perhaps the most powerful among Nahuas – the consumption of ololiuhqui.

Davíd Tavárez has found that Nahua people attributed entities to entheogenic plants with

their own names and characteristics in the natural world. Central Mexican Nahuas, and other

indigenous groups, viewed ololiuhqui consumption as a designed event that brought about the

presence within the seed. In other words, ingesting ololiuhqui allowed the consumer to interact

with the divine force within the ololiuhqui seed. Ritual specialists sometimes even incorporated

Christian religious elements into their rituals.141 These similar notions made their way to non-

138 Serna, "Idolatrías, supersticiones, dioses, ritos, hechicerías y otras costumbres gentílicas de las razas aborígenes," 302. 139 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 383. 140 Serna refers to the plants as huatli, ololiuhqui, peyote, and pisiete. 141 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 96. 183

indigenous people, and perhaps that is why the Inquisition targeted them. Angélica Morales

Sarabia’s study of seventeenth-century entheogenic substance use among non-indigenous women

in Central Mexico argues that the consumption of ololiuhqui and peyote blurred the lines

between physical and emotional disorders. People used them to regain lost lovers, or to find

stolen items. She noted that entheogenic herbs are commonly found in Inquisitorial records in

medical and sorcerous contexts.142 The usage of the ololiuhqui seed demonstrates the expansive

realm of pactinemiliztli beyond physical health.

The Nahuatl portion of the Historia general’s Book Eleven discusses an herb called

“coatl xoxouhqui, or ololiuhqui.”143 This herb had leaves that were slender, cord-like, and small.

The text ambiguously states, “it is called ololiuhqui.”144 The Spanish section of the Historia

general provides a more robust and concrete explanation regarding the same plant. This portion

of the text clarified that the plant called coatl xoxouhqui had seeds called ololiuhqui. 145

The Historia general also noted that ololiuhqui had mind altering properties. According

to the Nahuatl text, the plant caused an individual who ingested it to become drunk and see

visions of “terrifying things,” such as a poisonous serpent. The Nahuatl portion warns that those

who loathed people would give this throat-burning and sour-smelling plant to victims in water or

food.146 The Spanish text clarifies that ololiuhqui’s ability to make people “drunk” and “crazy”

resided solely in its seeds. Echoing the Nahuatl text, the Spanish segment explains that sorcerers

and those that hated people gave the seed in drinks or food to people they wished to harm.147

142 Angélica Morales Sarabia, "The Culture of Peyote: Between Divination and Disease in Early Modern New Spain," in Medical Cultures of the Early Modern Spanish Empire, ed. John Slater, María Luz López Terrada, and José Pardo Tomás, (Burlington, Vermont; Surrey, England: Ashgate, 2014), 22. 143 The original Nahuatl reads, “coatl xoxouhqui anozo ololiuhqui.” 144 After describing the leaves of the plant, the Nahuatl text simply states, “itoca ololiuhqui” (it is called ololiuhqui). (“Libro Undecimo,” f 129v.) 145 Sahagún, "Libro Undecimo," f 129v. 146 Ibid. 147 Ibid. 184

People might have given unsuspecting victims a morsel or drink infused with ololiuhqui, surely

causing confusion and disarray.

Ololiuhqui did have salubrious qualities. Its seeds, when applied topically, could treat

gout.148 Neither the Spanish or Nahuatl entries mention any benefits to the ingestion of the seed, whether it be for diagnostic purposes or otherwise. In general, the Historia general framed coatl xoxouhqui, and its seed, as malevolent.

Physician Francisco Hernández, probed deeper into ololiuhqui’s salubrious properties. He reported that ololiuhqui was known as “the plant with round leaves.” Though it was also identified as coaxihuitl, or “serpent herb.” Ololiuhqui had green, heart-shaped leaves, and stems with a matching color. Hernández compared the ololiuhqui seeds to coriander (i.e., round), and noted that this served as the source of the plants name. 149 Contradicting his original assertion

that the plant was known for having round leaves.

Unlike Sahagún and his assistants, Hernández indicated that ololiuhqui had entheogenic

properties – though he doubted their authenticity – not just mind-altering effects that caused

drunkenness and lunacy. He wrote, “When Indian priests wanted to simulate conversations with

the gods, and when they wished to receive answers from them, they would eat this plant to

induce delirium, and thus see a thousand phantasms and figures of death.”150 Hernández

compared ololiuhqui’s effects to solanum manicum, and pointed to Dioscorides’ discussion of

said plant.151 Like ololiuhqui, consumption might be lethal or simply cause hallucinations,

depending on the quantity of Solanum manicum an individual consumed.152

148 Ibid. 149 Hernández, The Mexican Treasury: The Writings of Dr Francisco Hernández, 203. 150 Ibid. 151 Ibid. 152 Alexander Irvine, The Phytologist: A Botanical Journal, (William Pamplin, 1859), 159. 185

Given his medical background, Hernández probed ololiuhqui’s healing properties. He

reported that ololiuhqui was hot to the fourth degree. It cured the French disease, and alleviated

pains from exposure to cold. It dispelled flatulence, resolved tumors, and cured eye diseases.

Ololiuhqui was also an aphrodisiac, and when mixed with resin the seed was good for broken

bones. Like its entheogenic properties, ololiuhqui’s medicinal properties were limited to the

seed. They were ground and rubbed into a patient’s head, and forehead with milk and chili.153 In

agreement with the Historia general, it becomes clear that the ground ololiuhqui had medicinal

benefits when applied topically.

José de Acosta, a Jesuit priest that visited Mexico City in 1587 noted that indigenous

people used ololiuhqui for important ritual purposes. He described how priests made an ointment

that they rubbed on their bodies so they could speak to the devil. The ingredients for this

ointment were: tobacco, ololiuhqui, scorpions, spiders, centipedes, and black worms with

poisonous hair. The items were all burnt and ground in a brazier in front of a temple. Acosta

noted that the indigenous people consumed ololiuhqui as a beverage to deprive their judgment.154

It is highly unlikely that he observed individuals burning these items and creating ointments in

front of temples. Nevertheless, his writings are an attestation to the power and use of ololiuhqui.

Like Sahagún and Hernández, Acosta did not explicitly express who processed, ingested, or

applied ololiuhqui. All three authors often use the passive voice, which shields readers from the

active agents that harnessed the complex power of ololiuhqui.

Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón made it his job to figure out who used ololiuhqui for ritual

purposes among Nahua people. Both Ruiz de Alarcón and Serna described ololiuhqui as a seed

153 Hernández, The Mexican Treasury: The Writings of Dr Francisco Hernández, 203. 154 José de Acosta, Historia natural y moral de las Indias: En qúe se tratan las cosas notables del Cielo, elementos, metales, plantas, y animales dellas; yu los ritos y ceremonias, leyes y goverino y guerras de los indios, (Madrid: R. Anglés, impr., 1894), 105. 186

that looked like lentils, while peyote looked like a root.155 In southwestern Guerrero when people

became ill they often believed the cause was a hex, and they sought the help of a “médico

embustero” (swindling physicians) to dispel all doubt.156 As Ruiz de Alarcón noted elsewhere in

his treatise, these “swindling physicians” were known as titiçih in Nahuatl.157 Titiçih that

ingested ololiuhqui or peyote to ascertain the nature of an illness and the location of lost or stolen

items were known as payni, Serna echoed this view.158 Ruiz de Alarcón stated that indigenous people had a lot of faith in the ololiuhqui seed. Once ingested, they consulted it like an oracle.159

In Atenango del Río titiçih that consulted ololiuhqui or peyote locked themselves in a room

where no one could interrupt them.160 This procedure perhaps prevented interruptions in communication, which we shall see further bellow. Lastly, Serna noted that beyond entheogenic properties ololiuhqui had cool attributes that made it beneficial for individuals suffering from fevers.161

Mateo de Zepeda’s 1584 investigation of Joseph Chicon illustrates a real healer using

ololiuhqui substance to investigate and heal. Using an interpreter, Zepeda asked Chicon to

disclose the nature of his “sorcery.” At first, Chicon denied any such activity. Zepeda then

showed the ritual specialist a petaquilla (a woven basket) filled with seeds.162 This evidence

seemed to jog Chicon’s memory and he proceeded to divulge information regarding his ritual

155 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 385.; Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 53. 156 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 43. 157 Ibid., 133-34. 158 Ibid., 43.; Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 385. It is unclear if Serna actually found specialists named payni in areas outside of Atenango del Río, or if he simply copied Ruiz de Alarcón’s work verbatim. 159Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 43. 160 Ibid. 161 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 419. 162 Petaquilla would translate as a small basket or chest. Petaca is a Nahuatl loan word in Spanish stemming from petlacalli meaning a container made of petate (woven straw). In modern Mexican Spanish a petaca is a bag or piece of luggage made out of straw, leather, or steel. 187

practices with a seed he called temecatl. He confessed that he asked the seed what medicines to

use, which the seed showed him. This information allowed Chicon to fully restore the sick’s

health. The brebaje (potion [made with ololiuhqui]) also told Chicon if the sick person was

bound to die, at which point Chicon would stop curing the individual because the illness did not

have a remedy.163

On October 23, 1584 Zepeda called Lorenzo Tlilancatl to testify against his estranged

brother-in-law, Joseph Chicon. Tlilancatl alleged that he had never seen Chicon’s “sorcery,” but

he knew that Chicon was regarded as a sorcerer because he was summoned to help divine and

prognosticate with temecatl in many places. He added that during Chicon’s omens, the temecatl

was called coaxoxohuic.164 Chicon’s case once more shows the fame that healers could enjoy

within communities, and entire regions. It also portrays the interactions that Nahua healers had

with entheogenic substances. They instructed the healer how to approach cocoliztli, and what its

outcome would be.

Ruiz de Alarcón’s Tratado confirms that Nahua people in the district of Atenango del Rio

(thirty-three miles away from Teotlalco), also kept ololiuhqui in baskets. Like Zepeda, Ruiz de

Alarcón used a pressure tactic to get confessions from persons of interest. For example, Ruiz de

Alarcón found that a woman in the town of Huitzoco (in what is now the state of Guerrero), had

a “petaquilla or cestoncillo” with ololiuhqui.165 The woman denied any ritual activity with ololiuhqui until Ruiz de Alarcón found the petaquilla hidden in an altar. Like Zepeda, once Ruiz de Alarcón confronted the woman with her petaquilla, she confessed. Similarly, in the town of

Cuetlaxxochitla Ruiz de Alarcón discovered that an indigenous woman had a cestoncillo with

163 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 1587, Exp. 10," f 1r. 164 Ibid., f 1v. 165 A cesto is Spanish for basket, therefore, a cestoncillo would be a small basket. 188

ololiuhqui and a piece of cloth (used to make offerings) in it.166 Looking after baskets filled with

ololiuhqui was an important task. David Tavárez has described a hereditary position among

Nahuas in Guerrero called an itlapial (keepers), whose duty was to keep and honor baskets full

of ololiuhqui.167

Ruiz de Alarcón’s also provided more information regarding the interactions between titiçih and ololiuhqui. In 1624 Ruiz de Alarcón wrote to the Holy Office of the Inquisition, stating that the Indians in southeastern Guerrero believed that ololiuhqui was an old man that

appeared to them.168 In his Tratado, the zealous priest expressed that he believed that ritual

specialists spoke to the Devil through ololiuhqui, however, he warned that ritual specialists

concealed this by claiming that they reached their answers through divination.169 Ruiz de

Alarcón did not seem to doubt that the indigenous people communicated with something when

they consumed the ololiuhqui. He believed the power behind the experience was the Devil, while

indigenous people likely viewed the entity as Mesoamerican in nature.

Chicon’s temecatl must have been ololiuhqui, because Central Mexican sources do not

ascribe any entheogenic properties to temecatl. For instance, Francisco Hernández has three

entries for temecatl, but one matches best – temecatl de Yyauhtepec. According to Hernández the

plant had hot properties, and a bitter taste, thus gaining the moniker chichicpatli (bitter

medicine). When crushed, the leaves were good for sores, indigestion, pain in the belly, or ill that

came from the “French disease” (i.e., syphilis). Hernández claimed that temecatl helped alleviate

166 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 43-44. 167 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 95. 168 AGN, Inquisición, Vol. 303, Exp. 19. Mexico City: 1624. 79 r. 169 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 124. 189

flatulence and provoke urine.170 This does not make sense with Chicon’s description, because he

used the temecatl seeds for curing purposes. Chicon’s temecatl sounds a lot like ololiuhqui.

There are four potential reasons for this name inconsistency. It is possible that Hernández

was not aware of temecatl’s mind altering properties, or its seed’s salubrious qualities. Another

option is that Chicon, and others, used the name temecatl for a plant Hernández did not record.

Perhaps Chicon used temecatl for a plant that others might have called ololiuhqui. A final

possibility is that the seeds used by Chicon are neither what Hernández and Sahagún called

ololiuhqui, or what Hernández called temecatl. The third option is the most sensible. It is logical

to assume that Chicon was not referring to what Hernández’ temecatl. Instead, Chicon’s temecatl

was ololiuhqui. Noemí Quezada has argued that the names of substances such as ololiuhqui

might have changed by region.171 Tavárez also points to a connection between ololiuhqui and

coatl xoxouhqui.172 It seems reasonable then, that similar substances might have had different

names in their respective communities, here temecatl is a regional variant for ololiuhqui.

Dissecting the word temecatl further links the Chicon’s entheogenic substance to

ololiuhqui. The word is composed of two nouns tetl (rock) and mecatl (cord or rope).173 Literally temecatl would be rock-cord, that is, a cord made of rocks. Tetl can also mean a gem, ornament, or a solid discrete object.174 It is possible that Chicon referred to the Turbina corymbosa as “gem

cord.” The Vocabulario mexicano de Tetelcingo, Morelos offers another option that is similar in

170 Hernández, The Mexican Treasury: The Writings of Dr Francisco Hernández, 141. 171 Noemí Quezada, Enfermedad y maléficio: El curandero en el México colonial, 1a ed., (México: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1989), 47. 172 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 304, n 34. 173 Mecatl can also be mistress or friend, but, since -mecatl preserves its absolutive stem -tl, it is logical to assume that the compound temecatl is not stating someone’s mistress, which should be temecauh. 174 Karttunen, An analytical dictionary of Nahuatl, 237. 190

nature. It defines temecatl as, “a vine or a shoot.”175 Both translations would make sense as

descriptors for ololiuhqui since Turbina corymbosa is a climbing vine.

Zepeda’s report provides more depth to the healing and ritual powers of ololiuhqui.

Chicon claimed that typically only he consumed the potion, unless the temecatl instructed him to

bleed the sick individual. If he bled a patient, he would put temecatl powder on the person’s

wounds which reduced the pain, or completely cured the sick person.176 According to Pedro

Ihuitl, Chicon bled him on two occasions. When he visited Chicon the specialist ingested

temecatl and started to hit his own hands and feet, and shout as if he was drunk or crazy. This

lasted the better part of an hour. Once sober, Chicon bled Ihuitl and poured powdered temecatl on his wounds. The healer stated that the seed told him said procedure would heal him. Ihuitl added that he initially felt better, however, he eventually relapsed and Chicon refused to treat him a third time, which Ihuitl interpreted as malicious behavior.177 Chicon’s case illustrates

ololiuhqui instructing a healer how to proceed with an illness. While Chicon appeared to be

drunk and out of control, he was conversing with the force within the seed. Lastly, this case

shows that titiçih could employ bloodletting as a technique to cure their patients.

Tavárez has argued that Chicon’s bleeding ritual was indicative of his knowledge of

Western healing traditions.178 While this is a possibility, I propose that these bleeding rituals

might have been Mesoamerican in origin, either as sacrificial offerings or for direct healing

purposes. Evidence of pre-Columbian bloodletting exists in various part of Central Mexico. For

example, when describing Teteo Innan the Códices Matritenses states, “…they attributed all of

175 Forrest Brewer and Jean G. Brewer, Vocabulario mexicano de Tetelcingo, Morelos, (México, D.F.: Instituto Lingüístico de Verano, 1962), 224. 176 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 1587, Exp. 10," f 1r. 177 Ibid., f 2r. 178 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 70. 191

the medicines to her, and all sorcery, and for this reason all physicians, blood letters, midwives,

sorcerers, and diviners held her as a goddess….”179 The Historia general also states that among

the many that worshipped Teteo Innan were titiçih and teitzminque (bleeders of people).180 Book

Ten of the Historia general offers a cure for Tzonteconcocolli (headaches) which involved the

inhalation of dried zozoyatic. If the plant was not effective, then an obsidian blade was used to

bleed the head.181 Both the Spanish and Nahuatl texts use passive voice and do not clearly state

who bled the patient, though it was likely a tiçitl. Ruiz de Alarcón also mentions ritual language

used for bloodletting that was so old and convoluted (i.e., complex) that it was difficult to fully

understand as an outsider.182 These sources suggest that bloodletting rituals existed among

Nahuas well before the arrival of Europeans.

Reports from the Relaciones geográficas also mention bloodletting and Nahua healers.

In Tlaxcala, Spanish officials noted that tiger or lion (likely a jaguar or another large feline)

bones were used (presumably by titiçih) to bleed individuals that suffered from pain, particularly

in their abdomen.183 In Chicoaloapa (Chicoloapan de Juárez, now in the State of Mexico), the

indigenous people in that area did not blood let from the arms, only from the head.184 In 1581

Taxco’s alcalde mayor noted that there were indigenous men and women named amantecas that cured others by using drinks made from herbs and roots and bloodletting arms with sharp razors

179 Bernardino de Sahagún, Códices matritenses de la Historia general de las cosas de la nueva España de Fr. Bernardino de Sahagún, ed. Manuel Ballesteros Gaibrois, Vol. no. 20.;no. 19. (Madrid, Spain: Ediciones José Porrua Turanzas, 1964), 17. The Castilian text reads, “…a esta atribuian todas las medicinas y tambien todas las hechizerias, y por esto todos los medicos, sangradores, parteras, hechizeros, agoreros, sortilegos la tenian por particular diosa….” 180 Anderson and Dibble translate teitzminque as “leech,” which makes little sense in this context since it is unlikely that a leech would worship any entity. Te-itzmin(a)-que, would literally translate as he or she is a people bleeder, something like a blood-letter in a Western context. 181 Sahagún, "Libro Decimo," f 98r. 182 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 153-55. 183 Paso y Troncoso, Papeles de Nueva España, vol. V, 33. 184 Ibid., 85. 192

or snake fangs. Bloodletting, the alcalde mayor alleged, was an ancient practice.185 Though it is

unclear how Joseph Chicon blood let, the simple fact that he did, does not imply that his healing

techniques were European in nature.

Chicon explained how he ritually ingested ololiuhqui. He would drink the potion, become intoxicated, and yell. He was then able to answer anything his patients asked regarding illnesses,

or lost items. Though Chicon clarified that he rarely ascertained the whereabouts of lost items.186

Zepeda recorded the following ritual language in Chicon’s investigation:

Coaxoxohuic azo Coaxoxohuic, perhaps titechmopalehuiliz. Ohualaque you will help us. They came, mouhictzinco Izcate. towards you, they are present. Azo titechpalehuiliz Perhaps you will help us. Auh tlacamo quennel If not, what is to be done? ca otinentlamatque Because we are anguished.

This illustrates a ritual conversation that Chicon initiated with ololiuhqui after he consumed it.187 The temecatl was clearly not a passive item used by a tiçitl to heal; it was an active agent in the process of healing. The entity instructed and advised the astute tiçitl.

Moreover, this reveals why Nahua communities revered titiçih. Their power did not reside in their ability to pick, grind, and apply substances to the human body. Titiçih’s power derived from their ability to communicate with, appease, and placate the necessary forces to heal an individual.

As Chicon alluded, titiçih could also help individuals return to pactinemiliztli by helping them find lost items. Ruiz de Alarcón’s findings suggest that in southwestern Guerrero Nahuas

185 Ibid., 279. 186 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 1587, Exp. 10," f 1v. 187 Aside from the clear link to temecatl, Coaxoxohuic was likely a metaphor that is difficult to translate without further knowledge. It literally translates as serpent green. Green serpent would be “Xoxohuic Coatl” or perhaps “Xoxoctic Coatl.” For example, Sahagún et al. mentioned a xoxohuic copalxicalli, which they translated to Castilian as “una xicara grande tejida de verde llena de copal.” (Sahagún, Historia general de las cosas de nueva España vol. 2, 324 r.) Ruiz de Alarcón included various examples of the color green, one example is xoxohuic cihuatl which he translated as verde mujer. (Tratado p. 71). 193

called those that helped find lost objects, and missing loved ones, tlachixqui (he or she is a seer)

which he translated as prophets or diviners.188 A seventeenth-century denunciation from Mexico

City, provides an example of similar practices in the Central Valley. On April 12, 1622, doña

Maria de Castro reported questionable acts committed by her friend Juana Baptista. According to

doña Maria, one day Juana’s daughter went missing. After praying to Saint Anthony and other

saints, Juana enlisted the help of an Indian man – or woman, she claimed to not remember the

gender – to help her find her daughter. The specialist ingested ololiuhqui and reported that due to

a large amount of noise he or she was not able to gain all the information he had asked.

Nonetheless he knew where Juana’s daughter was located. Doña Maria held that with the

information the man gave Juana, she located and returned her daughter to her home, where she

remained until the witness testified.189 Doña Maria’s testimony illustrates non-indigenous people seeking the ritual services of indigenous people once other avenues had been exhausted. In this case, Catholic saints were unable to help Juana find her daughter, but an indigenous healer armed with ololiuhqui achieved success.

Magdalena Papalo’s 1584-case demonstrates ololiuhqui’s oral healing properties by expelling hexes. Papalo reported that after her son (Jeronimo) became ill he developed the suspicion that the indigenous people of Chachalacametla (about seven miles away from

Cuitlatenamic) had given him contaminated pulque.190 Jeronimo became ill after various items

had gone missing in Chachalacametla’s church, and the community presumably blamed him.

According to Papalo, to ascertain if the community caused his illness out of vengeance, Jeronimo

188 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 50. Molina translated tlachixqui as a “sentinel,” or “he that is standing watch.” (1, f 16r) 189 AGI, Inquisición, Vol. 342, Exp. 15. 1622. f 1r. 190 According to a 1569 report, the town of Chachalacametla was a tributary of Cuitlatenamic, and was about seven miles away from its cabezera. Paso y Troncoso, Papeles de Nueva España, vol. V, 203. 194

drank ololiuhqui. Jeronimo’s wife, Maria Teicuih, informed Papalo that after drinking

ololiuhqui, Jeronimo orally expelled a piece of straw called coyomizacatl (fox-arrow grass).191 A

week later, Maria Teicuih made “a certain stew” (probably out of chicken or turkey) and tamales,

and offered them to a granary outside of their home. She also made an offering on the western

interior side of their home, where an image of Saint John hung. Papalo admitted that she ate from

the offerings alongside her son and daughter-in-law, even though she knew it was wrong.192

Tavárez has interpreted this event as an example of “commoners with a basic knowledge of

propitiatory techniques...” partaking in the use of ololiuhqui.193

It could also be that Maria Teicuih was in fact a tiçitl herself. She made offerings, which

makes it reasonable to assume that she had also conducted rituals for Jeronimo. She might have

also instructed Jeronimo to ingest the ololiuhqui for salubrious reasons. Much like Chicon did in

certain circumstances. I would argue that the piece of grass that Jeronimo vomited was the “hex”

caused by Chachalacametla community members. This makes sense in the context of hexes

manifested as foreign objects lodged in a victim’s body described by other sources above.

Furthermore, it seems reasonably unlikely that someone would haphazardly experiment with

highly revered and potent substances, when their own mother was a specialist in their use. That is

of course, unless Jeronimo was not experimenting and his wife was also a specialist.

191 A species of grass that Hernández briefly described as having no medicinal properties. One of the witnesses against Papalo is named Maria Teicuih, who noted that she was married to Papalo’s son, named Jeronimo Anton. (f 2r) It is unlikely that Papalo had two sons named Jeronimo, thus, it can reasonably be deduced that Maria Tecuih was Maria Paula. 192 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," f 5r. 193 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 96. 195

Offerings

Like other healers, Chicon and Teicuih appeased a supernatural entity, in this instance

entheogenic, with food and beverages. Chicon’s case shows that titiçih’s offerings were not

merely symbolic; they served to appease forces that would assist in the diagnosis and prognosis

of illnesses. By offering food and drink to temecatl/ololiuhqui seeds, Chicon, and other titiçih,

insured that the seed would be cooperative when he asked for its help. Papalo herself made

offerings to Tlaltecuhtli and Nahui Acatl (a moniker for a divinity associated with fire).194

Ololiuhqui helped titiçih, and they venerated the seed. Ruiz de Alarcón reported that

patrons handsomely rewarded individuals that consumed ololiuhqui to consult its knowledge,

with food and drink.195 I argue that this was not merely a reward for the healer, it was used to

appease and venerate ololiuhqui. Chicon’s case illustrates this point. Zepeda asked Chicon if he

ever used the seed or any other form of hechicería (sorcery) to make offerings to the devil.

Chicon revealed that individuals that sought his help offered him food, which he ate after the

ritual was complete.196 However, Tlilancatl’s testimony conflicted with Chicon’s descriptions of

his offerings. He testified that individuals that entrusted themselves to Chicon, took offerings. If

sick people provided Chicon pulque, after presenting it to the ololiuhqui, Chicon would

reverentially drink it as if it was something offered to his dios (god).197 On October 23, 1584,

Pedro Ihuitl from Palla, another witness against Chicon, corroborated Tlilancatl’s testimony. He

194 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," f 4v. Titiçih in the Central Valley also made offerings during the trecena One House (Ce Calli) when the Cihuateteo descended on the earth. The Historia general states, “the titiçih, more than anyone, honored them, and each made offerings in their homes.” 195 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 43. 196 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 1587, Exp. 10," f 1r. 197 Ibid., f 1v. 196

claimed that Chicon made offerings to the powerful seed.198 This, Ihuitl added, was to keep the

ololiuhqui content so that it would answer whatever Chicon asked of it. 199 Similarly, in

southwestern Puebla in the 1580s a witness claimed she saw tiçitl Magdalena Papalo make an

offering with pulque, tamales, and chicken stew to a granary, shortly after she had used

ololiuhqui to cure children.200 Though ritual specialists were given payments in kind, they

offered the food to the ololiuhqui first, then they consumed it. For if the ololiuhqui became

displeased with the healer, it might not cooperate, or even worse become hostile towards him or

her.

The Codex Tudela exemplifies the commitment that titiçih made to venerate deities

associated with healing. The text that accompanies the images in the Codex Tudela snidely states

that when indigenous people became ill, they had many gods they could appease, if one was not

favorable, they moved on to another deity until they found one that was helpful. If the sick

person coincidently regained health around the time they prayed to a “demon,” they credited the

entity for having restored his or her health. The healer, which I argued was a tiçitl, would ensure

that sacrifices were made throughout the year to assuage the deity.201 Nahuas in the Central

Valley of Mexico paid their respects to deities by bleeding their tongues, ears, biceps, and

genitals. Specialists collected and splashed blood on the image of a deity, and they positioned

incense and paper in a fire before the image.202

198 The record spells Pedro’s last name as hiuitl. This is likely a Spanish orthographic variation for Ihuitl (feather), since h’s are silent in the Spanish language and the late medieval and early early-modern Spanish v’s or u’s hold the value of modern hu. 199 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 1587, Exp. 10," f 2r. 200 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," f 2v. 201 The text reads, “y tenia cuidado de le sacrificar entre año” (and he or she was careful that they sacrificed throughout the year). I believe that based on the image of a vieja hechicera on the previous folio, and the fact that titiçih are the active agents in speaking to and appeasing deities, the “he or she” is referring to titiçih. 202 José Tudela, Códice Tudela, Vol. 1. (Madrid: Ediciones Cultura Hispanica, 1980), f 50r - 50v. 197

The Codex Tudela’s images show the active role healers, in this case women, had in

directing offerings and sacrifice. Folio 50 recto of the Codex Tudela depicts auto sacrificial acts

of bloodletting and offerings made to a deity, considering the information in the text, probably

after a successful healing ritual. The top portion of the folio illustrates a man holding a paper and

copal offering with a burning brazier before a pyramid. At the top of the blood covered structure,

there is a skull with the traditional calendric symbol of miquitztli (death).203 Below these images

are four figures. There are two men performing auto sacrificial acts, one perforating his ear with

a sharpened bone, and the other holding a bloody sharpened bone in front of his mouth

insinuating that he recently perforated his tongue. The two men face a third man with speech

scrolls emerging from his mouth. The gloss under two of the men reads, “sacrifican se orejas y

lenguas,” “ears and tongues are sacrificed”. To their right is a woman kneeling on a woven mat extending a burlap, decorated with images of skulls and bones, behind her. Speech scrolls are

flowing before her face, implying that she is speaking, and the gloss above her head reads, “vieja

hechicera.”204 I contend that this woman was a tiçitl, and she is also the mastermind behind the

sacrifices displayed on the page. Though the tiçitl and the men in the Codex Tudela are not

venerating ololiuhqui seeds, the images suggest that healers throughout Central Mexico worked

closely with deities to ensure their cooperation during healing rituals.

Ololiuhqui was a fundamental aspect of tiçiyotl, that both men and women used to heal,

and venerated after and before rituals. Women known as itlapialmeh looked after baskets full of

ololiuhqui, much like texopixqueh in the Central Valley venerated deities. Men and women that

harnessed ololiuhqui’s potentially terrifying power gained fame and respect among the

communities and notoriety among priests. Ololiuhqui usage serves as a powerful tool for

203 Ibid., f 50r. 204 Ibid. 198

analyses that illustrates that female titiçih, like their male counterparts, used all facets of tiçiyotl

to heal their patients. Now I shall discuss when titiçih worked.

Yohualli and Tlapoyahua (The night, and early night)

A commonality among all rituals conducted by titiçih is that they occurred at night.

Accounts from diverse parts of the Central Mexican region attest to this phenomenon. The nocturnal scene presented a powerful period that was the most suitable for ritual activity.

Mercedes de la Garza has noted that “shamans” and other specialists that were active after dark were “children of the night,” closely associated with nocturnal birds because of their ability to see in the darkness.205

The Codex Tudela, and its derivative the Codex Magliabechiano, illustrate the nocturnal

nature of rituals. The Magliabechiano group of codices, which includes its namesake, is based on

the Codex Tudela.206 The Tudela was created around 1540 and glossed in Spanish from 1553-

54.207 The Magliabechiano was created around 1562-1601.208 Both codices include images

created by indigenous artists, and descriptive supplementary text penned by Spanish men. The

pages that pertain to this study, on healing and healers, share common themes but distinct

information, especially in the Spanish text. The text in the Tudela is much more critical and

contemptuous of Nahua beliefs and practices. The text in the Magliabechiano is less inclusive of

205 Mercedes de la Garza, Sueño y alucinación en el mundo nahuatl y maya, (Instituto de Investigaciones Filológicas, Centro de Estudios Mayas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1990), 45. 206 Donald Robertson, Mexican Manuscript Painting of the Early Colonial Period: The Metropolitan Schools, (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1994), 130. 207 Juan José Batalla Rosado, "El Libro Escrito Europeo del Códice Tudela o Códice del Museo de America, Madrid," Itinerarios 9 (2009): 85. 208 Robertson, Mexican Manuscript Painting of the Early Colonial Period: The Metropolitan Schools, 128. 199

the acts of women. Though the images in both codices contradict, and the text in the Tudela,

contradict the latter.

Both the Codex Tudela and the Codex Magliabechiano clearly depict a symbol of “the

starry night” on their respective folios that illustrate titiçih conducing healing rituals. The starry

night symbol includes seven round figures that are reminiscent of eyes, and one more inside of a

dark area, similarly the Codex Magliabechiano has five round figures (with one more inside a

dark area) that represent stars and the night.209 A visual cue that the acts of tlapohualiztli

depicted in both codices occurred at night, a fact that textual sources confirm.

Textual sources confirm that titiçih tended to perform their rituals at night. Joseph Chicon

noted that he usually conducted his investigative healing rituals, involving ololiuhqui, at night

with the patient present.210 In Cuitlatenamic also in 1584, a woman named Francisca, reported

that she saw Magdalena Papalo make food and pulque offerings to a granary sometime between midnight and dawn.211 In early Seventeenth Century in Zumpahuacán (State of Mexico) priest

Pedro Ponce de León noted that rituals carried out by médicos and parteras (i.e., titiçih) were

celebrated after midnight or at dawn.212

Rituals and ceremonies that titiçih executed in the Central Valley occurred at night, which linked this activity to Teteo Innan.213 Molly H. Bassett has argued that Yoalticitl (night

tiçitl) had overlapping characteristics with Teteo Innan.214 This explains why female titiçih

209 Elizabeth Hill Boone, The Codex Magliabechiano and the Lost Prototype of the Magliabechiano group, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), f 78r. ; Tudela, Códice Tudela, 1., f 49r. 210 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 1587, Exp. 10," f 1r. 211 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," f 3r. 212 Pedro Ponce de León, "Breve Relación de los dioses y ritos de la gentilidad por don Pedro Ponce, Beneficiado que fue del partido de Zumpahuacán," in Hechicerías e idolatrías del México antiguo, ed. Pilar Máynez, (Mexico City: Consejo Nacional Para La Cultura y las Artes, 2008), 29. 213 Sahagún, "Libro Primero," f 3r-4r. 214 Molly H. Bassett, The Fate of Earthly Things: Aztec Gods and God-Bodies, (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 2015), 97. 200

offered infants’s umbilical cords to Yoalticitl when they cut it.215 During the trecena Ce Calli

(One House), the “goddesses” called cihuateteo descended on the earth. The Nahuatl text noted

that all titiçih devoted themselves to this trecena and they made sacrificial offerings to the

cihuateteo in their homes.216 The description for Ce Quauhtli (One Eagle), another trecena that

observed the descent of cihuateteo notes that the sacrificial offerings made during this trecena

began at midnight, and ended the following day at noon.217 Again linking ritual activity

conducted by titiçih to the night and the early hours of the morning. Darkness was an important

period for rituals for pre-Columbian Nahuas, and their colonial descendants.

Titiçih and the Temazcalli

The temazcalli (steam house) was a crucial structure, and space, for titiçih. The steam

house like many other tools used by titiçih, provided ritual and therapeutic resources by

traversing the human realm. According to José Alcina Franch, the temazcal had four main

functions: hygiene, social relations, healing, and birth.218 He has also noted that, “médicos o

médicas, comadronas, parteras etc.” operated the latter two items.219 These two topics will be

the focus of the discussion to follow.

Folio 62 recto of the Tudela and folio 77 recto of the Magliabechiano contain very

similar scenes of women working in a temazcalli. Each codex illustrates a woman maintaining a

temazcalli’s fire by feeding it more fuel. Smoke emerges from the top of the building. In the

Codex Tudela, the smoke resembles speech scrolls. Perhaps to denote that the bath house

215 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 146v. 216 Sahagún, "Libro Cuarto," f 53r. 217 Ibid., f 61v. 218 I have elected to use the term temazcalli because it seems to be the original term used by Nahua people for the steam bath. 219 José Alcina Franch, Temazcalli: higiene, terapéutica, obstetricia y ritual en el Nuevo Mundo, (Sevilla: Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos de Sevilla, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 2000), 29. 201

embodied a teotl (divinity) that interacted with its human occupants. The wrinkles on the woman

depicted tending the fire by the Codex Magliabechiano, suggests she is of advanced age. (Figure

6) Conversely, the woman in the Codex Tudela does not have demarcations of advanced age. I

would argue that the women depicted in both codices are titiçih, preparing a temazcal.

Figure 6 - Elderly titiçih tending a temazcalli’s fire in the Codex Magliabechiano The Codex Magliabechiano’s text explains that at the door of the temazcal Nahuas placed

the image of an “indio,” (male Indian) who was an advocate of illnesses. When a sick person

went to the steam bath, they incensed it with copal, and painted the body of the image black in

honor of Tezcatlipoca.220 In both codices the bust on the temazcalli’s façade, however, resembles

Toci, not Tezcatlipoca. The image’s face has a hole in each cheek, and a black ring around its

mouth. Much like the description of Toci (our grandmother) also known as Teteo Innan (mother

of the gods).221

The Spanish gloss above the temazcalli in the Codex Tudela expresses anxiety over the

acts Nahuas committed in temzcalli. When a person was ill, they went to bath in the structure, however, the bath house was an oven where indigenous people committed great offenses against

God as well.222 According to the Codex Tudella, the issue with temazcalli was that men and

220 Boone, The Codex Magliabechiano and the Lost Prototype of the Magliabechiano group, f 76v. 221 Sahagún, "Libro Primero," f 10v. 222 Tudela, Códice Tudela, 1., f 62r. 202 women, and women and women, and men and men entered the temazcal and committed illicit acts.223 In a similar fashion, the Codex Magliabechiano asserted that large amounts of nude indigenous men and women entered the bathhouses to sin, and commit acts of sodomy.224

Franch believes that some Mesoamerican communities might have used the steam bath as a sacred site of procreation. Other communities, however, were modest and abstained from public nudity in any fashion.225 It is thus hard to know if Nahua people in the Central Valley

(described in the Magliabechiano Group), or in other parts of Central Mexico, used the temazcalli as a nucleus for sexual activity. Due to the fact that sources using Nahua informants do not mention any sexual activity, it is more likely that they were not used for said purposes.

Instead, priests were probably scandalized by groups of nude indigenous people.

The Historia general provides more information regarding the usage of the temazcalli.

Sahagún et al., gave three main therapeutic uses for the steam bath. The first was for parturient women in the finals hours before birth. A temixihuitiani (she who causes people to give birth) took parturient women in the steam bath and massaged the unborn baby into a favorable position for birth. After giving birth, women were taken, likely by titiçih, to the temazcalli to recover, and encourage milk flow. 226

The two other therapeutic uses for the temazcalli were related to injuries. According to

Sahagún and his assistants, individuals that had suffered from falls, or some sort of nerve rattling event, were also treated in a temazcalli, by an unnamed agent. In the temazcalli, injured individuals relaxed and recuperated, and they were given pahtli. Lastly, individuals that had skin conditions (e.g., sores or scabs) were taken to a temazcalli and bathed in order to remove their

223 Ibid., f 62 r. 224 Boone, The Codex Magliabechiano and the Lost Prototype of the Magliabechiano group, f 76v. 225 Alcina Franch, Temazcalli: higiene, terapéutica, obstetricia y ritual en el Nuevo Mundo, 136. 226 Sahagún, "Libro Undecimo," f 180r-80v. 203

illness causing humor. Once the chiahuiztli (humor) left the person’s body, they were treated

with pahtli.227 Again, there is no mention of who the active agent was in this description, but we can logically assume, that like the acts related to birth, titiçih oversaw these events.

The temazcalli was an important entity in healing rituals for Nahuas in the sixteenth and seventeenth century. Like the ololiuhqui, and other plants with entheogenic properties, the temazcalli served as an embodiment of non-human forces that assisted humans maintain and achieve pactinemiliztli. It was highly sexualized by Spaniards, though there is no real evidence that Central Mexican Nahuas in the early colonial period used the temazcalli for sexual purposes.

Atonement

Another important activity that titiçih undertook, that was also at odds with Catholic practices, was a ritual of atonement. Book Six of la Historia general tells of a ritual of atonement that titiçih, or other ritual specialists, conducted during the times of tlateotoca (often translated as

“idolatry”), that is, before Europeans arrived in Mexico. Sahagún compared this once-in-a- lifetime Nahua ritual to the Catholic Sacrament of Confession. The text notes that all momexicaitoa (those that call themselves Mexica) worshipped Talzolteotl in similar acts of atonement.228 The text does not describe the actual ritual conducted by the Mexica, but it expands on a ritual conducted by Mixtecos that was very similar. Much like Spaniards used

Castilian terms to describe Nahua notions, Sahagún’s informants used Nahuatl terms to describe

Nuù Savi concepts.

According to Historia general among the pre-contact Mixteco people, and Nahuas, dying

individuals summoned a tlapouhqui (Nahuatl for “a counter of things, diviner”), or a tiçitl. This

227 Ibid. 228 Miller and Taube describe Tlazolteotl as a Central Mexican deity of purification. Tlazol deriving from Tlazolli in Nahuatl, meaning “vice or disease.” (Pg. 168) 204

individual, would command that the dying person recount all their “good” and “bad” deeds and

repay their debts and wrongs.229 There is no mention of gender in the Nahuatl text, but

Sahagún’s Castilian used “médico” (male physician) and Anderson and Dibble chose

“physician” when translating tiçitl. Suggesting that perhaps the ritual specialists that performed

these practices were male. Based on evidence from other Central Mexican sources, we can

assume that women also were a part of this, and similar, rituals. Though perhaps some rituals

that required atonement or confession could occur more than once in a lifetime.

The text of the Codex Tudela illustrates birth related atonement rituals. If a woman was

having a difficult birth, a tiçitl – which the text called “vieja” – would tell the woman that she would not give birth without divulging how many men, excluding her husband, she had been with. The parturient knew she had to be transparent, because if she withheld, she would not give birth and die. If by chance, a woman or the child died during birth, Nahuas in the Central Valley believed that it was because the parturient had not been honest about everything she had done.

Furthermore, if a child was born red or with a rash, it was due to the mother’s human flesh or dog meat cravings during pregnancy. According to the Codex Tudela, these superstitions

continued to exist among indigenous people well into the 1540s.230 Similarly, during difficult

labors a self-proclaimed tiçitl named Magdalena Papalo asked the parturient to divulge all the

men she had committed sexual transgressions with. This along with other rituals (see Chapter 4)

would ensure that the parturient gave birth speedily and safely.231

The historiography has ignored the rituals of atonement executed by healing ritual

specialists. This is perhaps because sixteenth- and seventeenth-century priests did not notice this

229 Sahagún, "Libro Cuarto," f 27r - f 27 v. 230 Tudela, Códice Tudela, 1., f 49r - f 50v. 231 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," f 4r. 205

relatively subtle act that was less visible than the usage of the temazcalli, ololiuhqui

consumption, and bathing rituals for children. This practice directly conflicts with the Holy

Sacrament of Anointing of the Sick, conducted by a priest, and the Sacrament of Penance.

Perhaps unexpectedly, the Sacrament of Marriage also conflicted with Nahua practices conducted by titiçih.

The Nuptial Ceremony and Titiçih

Titiçih, it seems exclusively women, conducted nuptial rituals for their communities in the Central Valley. The Historia general and the Codex Mendoza describe a ritual that took place in various spaces and connected two individuals and their families. Sources outside of the

Central Valley do not discuss nuptial rituals conducted by Nahua healing ritual specialists. It is unclear if this practice did not exist outside of the Central Plateau, or Spaniards and others did not record it.

Book Six of the Historia general suggests that wealthy Nahuas in the Central Valley arranged the marriages of their sons and daughters. The Spanish text notes that the matronas

(matrons) – often described as elderly and respected women – that were also matchmakers were a critical part of the process. We will see further below that these women were titiçih. The groom-to-be’s family implored and asked the elderly matchmaker to assist their male relative with arranging a marriage with a young woman they had selected. The matchmakers would then go and serve as a liaison with the selected woman’s family. The Nahuatl text also refers to these elderly women as cihuatlanque, a word that Molina translated as “matchmaker.”232 Once the

woman’s family had agreed to marry the woman to the man in question, the man’s family went

232 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 108r. Molina translates cihuatlanque as casamenteros. Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 1, f 25r. 206

to visit the huehuetque (old men) that knew about the days (these men were presumably

tonalpouhqui). These individuals believed that the days signs Reed, Monkey, Crocodile, Eagle,

and House were all good for weddings.233

The wedding day was another ritual in and of itself. Women brought gifts in the forms of

capes, and the poor took corn. These items were placed before a hearth or fireplace.234 During

the day of the nuptial ceremony there was a celebration in the bride’s family’s home, where the

most respected guests ceremoniously informed the bride that she was now a woman, and that she

needed to seize all child-like behavior. At the end of the day a in cihuatl, in yechicahuac (an

elderly woman) would place a tlilquemitl (black blanket) on the floor, and the bride would knell

on it.235 The elderly woman would then carry the bride to the groom’s family’s home, with the

rest of the party following them with torches. The elderly woman placed the bride before the

hearth inside the home. The man kneeled to her right. After the groom’s mother and the bride’s

mother had presented them with the gifts (a shift and a skirt for the woman and a breech and

cape for the man) the titiçih tied the man’s cape and the woman’s shift together.236 The Spanish

text referred to the elderly women as casamenteras while the Nahuatl text used the term titiçih.

Anderson and Dibble followed the Spanish segment and used “elderly matchmakers.”237

233 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 109r. 234 The Spanish portion of the text emphasizes that the items were placed before the fire. Ibid., f 109v. 235 Anderson and Dibble transcribed this phrase as “in cihuatl, in ye chicahuac,” and they reached the translation of “…a woman whose task it was, one already strong, was to bear her upon her back.” Sahagún, Florentine Codex: General History of the Things of New Spain: Book 6; Rhetoric and Moral Philosophy 131. Based on the Spanish text which notes that the woman is a matrona, i.e., a respected elderly woman, it makes logical sense to assume that the construction should be yechicahuac (elderly) and not ye chicahuac (already strong). The wrinkled and elderly depiction of the woman carrying the bride on her back in the Codex Mendoza also corroborate this. Though, the woman was also probably strong. 236 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 111r - f12r. 237 Sahagún, Florentine Codex: General History of the Things of New Spain: Book 6; Rhetoric and Moral Philosophy 131. 207

Titiçih guided the couple to the last stage of the ceremony, and the beginning of their new

life together. After a tiçitl had tied the couple together they were presented with food from their

families and the bride ceremoniously ate four bites, and she fed her husband four bites. Then the

cihuatitiçih (female titiçih) guided the couple to a room, placed them on a bed, and shut them in

the room. The titiçih stood guard at the door until sunrise. The Spanish text explained that the

women that were matchmakers, were called titiçih, and they were like ministers of marriage.238

Once more, Anderson and Dibble followed the Spanish and translated cihuatitiçih and titiçih as

“elderly matchmakers.”239

The Codex Mendoza recounted that female healing ritual specialists also facilitated a

nuptial ritual like the one described in the Historia general. Shortly after nightfall, an amanteca

(who the text clarified was a médica) would carry the bride from her family’s home to the

groom’s family’s home. As we saw above, this amanteca seems to have been synonymous with

titiçih in some areas of Central Mexico. Four other women with lit fatwood torches followed the

tiçitl and the bride. The groom’s family waited for the bride at the door and escorted her to the

groom. The couple sat before a fire and someone (probably a tiçitl) tied their clothing. Shortly

after two old men and two old women gave the couple advice on how to have a long and fruitful

marriage.240

According to Frances Berdan and Patricia Anawalt women married about the age of

fifteen.241 That would mean that fifteen years after a tiçitl ritually bathed an infant girl, facilitated

her naming, and imbued her with her tonalli, she visited a tiçitl once more to wed. The same was

238 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 112v. 239 Sahagún, Florentine Codex: General History of the Things of New Spain: Book 6; Rhetoric and Moral Philosophy 132. 240 The Codex Mendoza v. 3, f 60v-61r. 241 Berdan and Anawalt, The Essential Codex Mendoza, 167. 208

true for males, who married at the age of twenty.242 It is reasonable to assume that when

individuals became sick, especially severely, they met with titiçih. The nuptial ritual is special

because irrespective of physical condition and health, titiçih assisted two young Nahuas. As we

shall see in Chapter 4, this was also true for newborn children when they encountered titiçih

during birth and ablution ceremonies.

To be clear, titiçih that helped women and men complete their nuptial rituals was not a

tetlanochili, which was something akin to a madam or female procurer. Molina translated the

word simply as alcahuete o alcahueta (male or female sex broker).243 Sahagún et al., describes the tetlanochili as a woman that worked for the devil and seemed to have a way with words to

cause confusion and perversion.244

Historian Lisa Sousa has noted that Nahua nuptial ceremonies came under attack by

Spanish Christianization efforts in the sixteenth century. Nahua marriage ceremonies were filled

with sexual metaphors that assured fertility and sexual union. It was for this reason that the

“midwife” (i.e., female titiçih) was involved in the process. When the tiçitl tied the groom and

the bride together, she implied the union that she more explicitly suggested when she herded the

couple to their chamber and guarded their door.245 Spanish priests attempted to instill in their

parishioners marriage practices that would create participants that were subordinate to Spanish

priests. Sousa argued that Spaniards placed colonial authority in the hands of Christian men, not

the elderly men and women described in the Mendoza and Historia general.246

242 Ibid., 170, n 23. 243 Molina, Vocabulario en lengua castellana y mexicana, y mexicana y castellana, 2, f 109r. 244 Sahagún, "Libro Decimo," f 40v. 245 Lisa Sousa, "Tying the Knot: Nahua Nuptials in Coloinal Central Mexico," in Religion in New Spain, ed. Susan Schroeder and Stafford Poole, (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico, 2007), 37. 246 Ibid., 43. 209

Conclusion

Tiçiyotl was a system of combatting cocoliztli and achieving and maintaining

pactinemiliztli. As we have seen, the Devil, as understood by Christianity did not exist among

the early colonial Nahuas of Central Mexico before they encountered Europeans. Thus, it was

Spanish priests that functioned as the Devil’s midwives. Introducing Satan and other Christian

notions to Nahua people.

All cocoliztli stemmed from an external force, causing disequilibrium in a person’s body,

or life. Titiçih enjoyed great reverence in their communities because they mastered the tools,

spaces, and language necessary to negotiate with non-human forces, and confront harmful ritual specialists. Nahua society relied on women to perform rituals that were crucial to individuals, and the community. A task women did not shy away from. This placed female titiçih at odds with priests in three of the seven Holy Sacraments: Marriage, Baptism, and Atonement.

In his Treatise, Ruiz de Alarcón remarked that like in all other nations, among the Indians birth was the realm of women. He asserted that they were understood as titiçih, or they could also be called tepalehuiani, which he translated as “helper.” Though, Ruiz de Alarcón noted that temixihuiani (he or she causes people to birth) was a more appropriate translation for the Spanish term partera. Yet, temixihuiani was rarely used, and the title was shrouded in mystery.247 The

importance of women in tiçiyotl, and their pervasive role as titiçih, is the subject of the following

chapter.

247 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 373.

Chapter 4: Female Titiçih, or Parteras? “Macho en cada especie. Oquichtli.” “Male in every species. Oquichtli.”

“Hembra en cualquier genero. Cihuatl” “Female in any kind. Cihuatl”

Alonso de Molina, Vocabulario en lengua Castellana y Mexicana y Mexicana y Castellana, 1571

Introduction

On November 25, 1624 Fray Diego Muñoz, a comisario (local functionary) of the Holy

Office of the Inquisition in Acahuato (Michoacán), wrote to Mexico City’s tribunal requesting to apprehend an unnamed indigenous man. The man spoke Nahuatl, and was married to an india médica bozal (an indigenous female physician that could not speak Spanish) named Mariehe.1 It

was said that she, “suele curar de hechizos.” This phrase is vague and can either mean that she

cured via sorcery, or that she cured from sorcery, or perhaps she did both. The comisario, likely

in a preemptive move, wanted to see the husband, possibly to pressure him to divulge incriminating evidence about his wife. 2

Although Muñoz was probably searching for information regarding non-indigenous clients that might have used Mariehe as a healer, this document raises questions about the role women had as médicas in their communities. As we saw in the previous chapter, women were active in tiçiyotl to an extensive degree. Nevertheless, the historiography has argued that women’s role as titiçih was concentrated in midwifery. This chapter will show that this was not

1 Possibly a Nahuatlized form of Maria. For an exploration of the term bozal see Chaudenson, Robert, et al. Creolization of Language and Culture (p. 88) Though documents often used this term in a slave context, for enslaved individuals that were not acculturated to Iberian traditions and language, this presents broader use of the term. In Mariehe’s case, I believe Muñoz was expressing that the indigenous healer did not speak the Spanish language or engage in other aspects of Spanish culture. 2 AGN, Inquisición, Caja 1580, Exp. 55. Mexico City: 1624. Inquisition. Caja 1580. Exp. 55. 211

the case for Central Mexican Nahuas in the sixteenth and seventeenth century. Instead, archival

sources show that Nahua women were active participants of tiçiyotl both before and after the

conquest period.

This chapter centers on two sixteenth-century ecclesiastical proceedings against two

titiçih, Ana de Xochimilco (1538), and Magdalena Papalo y Coaxochi (1584). Though Spanish

men penned and mediated these cases, filtered through ecclesiastical legal proceedings and

practices of recording testimony, nevertheless these records provide a window into the

underexplored world of titiçih described by Nahuas themselves. Though the extant records for

titiçih that tried by Spanish courts (lay or ecclesiastical) are scant, these two cases provide rich

data that contemporaneous chronicles and treatises in sixteenth-century New Spain corroborate.

To further illuminate tiçiyotl, I add to this evidence an analysis of the images of women engaging in acts of tiçiyotl created by indigenous artists, and in texts by Spanish men, contained in the Codex Tudela (1540-54), and its derivative the Codex Magliabechiano (1562-1601).

Franciscan fray Bernardino de Sahagún and a team of trilingual Nahua men’s Historia general

(1575), Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón’s Tratado de las supersticiones y costumbres gentílicas que

hoy viven entre los indios naturales de esta Nueva España (1627), and other sources provide

context and attestations from various parts of the Nahuatl-speaking Central Mexican region.

Together these sources provide evidence of the pervasive and important role women played in tiçiyotl.

Carlos Viesca Treviño’s “El Médico Mexica” (1984) was the first study that solely concentrated on Nahua healing specialists in the postclassic and early colonial period. He translated tiçitl as médico. Regarding women, Viesca Treviño wrote, “…The midwife was also given the title and dignity of the tícitl [sic], and as such, she was not disparaged or viewed 212

differently from the male physician since birth was the realm of women, and it was treated by the

médica (female physician).”3 Viesca Treviño continued the discussion of Nahua healers in

Western terms and pigeonholed female titiçih to midwifery, though he added curing eye illnesses

to the “realm of women.” Mónica Guadalupe Andalón González’s “El Tícitl en la cultura náhuatl

del Posclásico” (2016) relied heavily on the work of Treviño Viesca and reiterated that the term

tiçitl applied to both women and men.4 Though she eschewed the term midwife, she continued to isolate women’s roles to the temixihuitiani, which she defined as a médica (feminine of médico) that participated in the birth of new beings, and curing eye-related illnesses. Tiçiyotl and its

practitioners remained compartmentalized in a Western framework.

In The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico

(2013) historian Davíd Tavárez included women in his discussion of titiçih in sixteenth and

seventeenth-century Central Mexico. Tavárez disassociated birth attendance and acts of

tlapohualiztli from the roles of the tiçitl, and he concluded that women’s prominent role in

seventeenth-century Nahua ritual practices was due to sixteenth-century population decline.

Even though female specialists outnumbered their male counterparts in Ruiz de Alarcón’s

Tratado, Serna’s Manual, and Chicon and Papalo’s 1584 cases, by and large women did not

personify deities like men.5 He presents two explanations for this gendered discrepancy,

…either female specialists embraced ritual avocations, such as that of ticitl, that rarely called for the personification of deities, or many of the female specialists who entered the profession as a result of increased demand had differential access to the specialized linguistic knowledge recorded in the nahualtocaitl genre. In other words, they had a limited knowledge of the full

3 Carlos Viesca Treviño, "El Médico Mexica," in Historia general de la medicina en México, ed. Alfredo López Austin and Carlos Viesca Treviño, (Mexico City, Mexico: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 1984), 227. 4 Mónica Guadalupe Andalón González, "El tícitl en la cultura náhuatl del Posclásico," Cuicuilco. Revista de Ciencias Antropológicas 23, no. 67 (2016): 183-92. 5 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 87-89. 213

range of Nahual Names an experienced specialist deployed during verbal personification.6

Tavárez also noted that in the Tratado most of the female ritual specialists that Ruiz de

Alarcón discussed were titiçih, and they did not embody deities.7 On the other hand, the small

percentage of female specialists that did personify divinities were not just titiçih, for example,

“Magdalena Papalo was not only a tiçitl: she also represented Ohxomoco- Cipactonal as a midwife, and performed acts of divination resembling the activities of a matlapouhqui: or forearm measurer. Francisca Juana was a tetonaltiqui, or a finder of errant day signs who stood for Xolotl…María Magdalena and Magdalena Juana used fire and maize grains to make auguries, and both embodied…Ohxomoco-Cipactonal.”8

I argue that the above activities were all different facets of tiçiyotl that female titiçih

could use to assist their patients. This chapter shows that women were a vital component of

tiçiyotl since the post-classic period. Female titiçih had complex understanding of ritual practices

and materials with healing characteristics. The roles of male and female titiçih were expansive

and went beyond what Western medicine would consider healing.9 Titiçih counted arms, hurled

corn, delivered babies, ritually bathed newborns, performed nuptial ceremonies, and ingested and

applied entheogenic and salubrious materials.

Ethnohistorical scholarship has overlooked the broad roles of female titiçih because

scholars have used Western notions, encoded with gendered distinctions and hierarchies, to

describe tiçiyotl. Stuart Hall has argued that the concept of the West has allowed “us” to classify

and categorize societies, condense the intricate characteristics of the “other” into a simplified

expression; create a model of comparison that explains difference, and develop criteria of

6 Ibid., 89. 7 Ibid., 87. 8 Ibid. 9 See Chapter 3 for a discussion of the complex elements of tiçiyotl, and the diverse role female and male titiçih played in Nahua healing knowledge. 214

evaluation used to rank other societies.10 Linda Tuhiwai Smith suggested that Hall’s observation

explains how the Western system of knowledge has coded indigenous peoples and their beliefs.11

She also noted that it is impossible to translate or interpret indigenous societies without using

Western languages’ deeply-encoded gender distinctions and hierarchies. The European en-

gendered description and representation of indigenous women has left a legacy of

marginalization in Western and indigenous communities.12 To better understand sixteenth-

century Nahua women, and the impact Spanish colonization had on their social standing, we

must decolonize their history. This is a process Smith has defined as centering indigenous

concerns and perspectives for indigenous purposes; not the outright rejection of Western theory,

research, or knowledge.13

When Early Modern men described female titiçih using European terms, European

women were increasingly at odds with the emerging medical establishment. In late-medieval and

early modern Europe, men delegitimized and marginalized women in medicine as they

encroached on women’s expertise with “formal” male-knowledge developed by anatomists in

universities.14 European midwives went from being perceived as occasionally incompetent, to ignorant and dangerous.15 In fourteenth-century Spain, male physicians degraded the position

and reputation of female healers as misogynistic intellectual traditions took hold in Iberia. This

was inextricably related to the construction of Iberian terms for female medical practitioners

(e.g., madrina, comadre, dona, and muller) that linked to womanhood, motherhood, and other

10 Stuart Hall and Bram Gieben, Formations of Modernity, (Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 1992), 277. 11 Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples, 2nd ed., (New York;London: Zed Books, 2012), 93. 12 Ibid., 98. 13 Ibid., 89. 14 Katharine Park, Secrets of Women: Gender, Generation, and the Origins of Human Dissection, (New York: Zone Books, 2006), 92. 15 Monica H. Green, Making Women's Medicine Masculine: The Rise of Male Authority in Pre-Modern Gynaecology, (Oxford ; New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), 306. 215

feminine life-stages, which late medieval Iberians understood as the “realm of women.”16 It was not until the second half of the nineteenth century that the Mexican medical establishment formally accepted women, largely as midwives.17 Conceptualizing female titiçih as parteras has

encoded them with cultural meanings and limitations that did not exist in Nahua society.

Using Nahuatl terms to discuss Nahua concepts reveals complexities that Western terms have concealed. For example, “tlapohualiztli” (ritual counting of objects to ascertain an outcome) legitimizes ritual practices that chroniclers and scholars have translated and discussed as divination, sorcery, soothsaying, and superstition. Similarly, “titiçih” encourages a more objective study of the men and women that scholarship has viewed as magicians, sorcerers, charlatans, cheats, physicians, curanderos, and midwives. Lastly, “tiçiyotl” will help the reader conceptualize an intricate Nahua system of healing knowledge that was neither superior nor inferior to Western medicine.

Midwives or Titiçih?

There are a few distinctions in the way Sahagún and his assistants interpreted, translated, and categorized titiçih that could lead modern readers to have confusion regarding the gendered division of labor among titiçih. One concerns the discussion of men and women in terms of the gendered division of labor. In Book 1 of the Historia general, Sahagún and his assistants made a subtle, but clear distinction between male, médicos, and midwives and other female practitioners.

The Nahuatl text starts by stating that titiçih worshipped Teteo Innan and it followed this by adding the following descriptors:

16 Montserrat Cabré, "Women or Healers?: Household Practices and the Categories of Health Care in Late Medieval Iberia," Bulletin of the History of Medicine 82, no. 1 (2008): 31-40. 17 Lee M. Penyak, "Obstetrics and the Emergence of Women in Mexico's Medical Establishment," The Americas 60, no. 1 (2003): 82. 216

Table 4 - Male Healing Ritual Specialists that Worshiped Teteo Innan Historia General Historia General Anderson and Dibble My Translation Nahuatl Castilian Titiçih Médicos Physicians Titiçih Teitzminque sangradores leeches They who bleed people Tetzinanque n/a Those who cured They who probe or hemorrhoids give people suppositories tetlanoquilique n/a Those who purged They who purge people people teixpatique n/a Those who cured eye The same as ailments Anderson and Dibble

The Nahuatl text implies a very clear gendered distinction. It states that cihuah (women) also worshipped Teteo Innan and gave the following details regarding the women that tended to worship this divinity:

Historia General Historia General Anderson and Dibble My Translation Nahuatl Castilian Temixiuitique parteras midwives They who cause people to birth Tepillalilique n/a Those who They who armed administered sedatives people at childbirth Tetlatlaxilique Las que dan yerbas Those who brought They who para abortar about abortions aborted people Tlapouhque Adivinos que dicen la Who read the future They who are Buena ventura o mala investigators of the unknown, counter of things Atlan Teittani Los que auguran Who cast auguries by They who mirando el agua en su looking upon water discover things escudilla in water tlaolchaiauhque Los que echan suerte Who cast auguries by They who cast con granos de maíz casting grains of corn [to discover maize things] mecatlapouhque Los que echan suertes Who read fortunes by They who count con unas cordezuelas use of knotted cords cords [to que atan, unas con discover things] otras 217

tetlacuicuilique Los que sacan Who removed objects They who take pedrezuelas de otras from the body things from partes del cuerpo people [to heal] tetlanocuilanque Los que sacan Who removed worms Same as gusanillos de la boca from the teeth Anderson and Dibble teixocuilanque Los que sacan Who removed worms Same as gusanillos de los ojos from the eyes Anderson and Dibble

It is striking that the Nahuatl text alludes that women executed an entire subset of ritual

practices. Yet the Castilian text uses male pronouns for most of the specialists and at no point

clarifies that both men and women could participate in these activities. In short, the Nahuatl text

would have the reader believe that only women removed rocks – or other objects – from the

body. While those that read the Castilian text, probably most intended readers, would think

women only served as midwives and participated in supplying women with abortifacient herbs.

As we shall see below, this is not true.

The introductory synopsis of chapter twenty-six reveals a problem in the general

presentation of the tiçitl as a partera or midwife, recognizable actors in the Western medical

system. The first portion of the summary explains that when a parturient was in her seventh or

eighth month of pregnancy, the future grandparents organized a get together for the family in

which they ate and drank. The final clause reads, “Auh zatepan mononotzaya, inic ce aca

motemoz, motlatauhtiz tiçitl, inic quitemaz, ihuan in quimixihuitiz in imichpoch”18 This translates

as, “After, they discussed for someone to find and petition a tiçitl, to bathe their daughter in a

temazcalli, and be her birth attendant.”19 Sahagún’s original Castilian reads, “lo qual acabado,

18 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 127v.The text in Historia general reads, “Auh çatepan mononotzaia, injc ce aca motemoz, motlatauhtiz ticitl, injc qujtemaz, ioan in qujmjxivitiz in jmjhchpuch.” Anderson and Dibble have an orthographic error omitting the final i in qujmjxivitiz, there paleography reads qujmjxivitz. Sahagún, Florentine Codex: General History of the Things of New Spain: Book 6; Rhetoric and Moral Philosophy 149. 19 Quimixihuitiz is broken down into (-)qui-mixihuiti-z, (-) is a third person subjective prefix, qui- is an object prefix, mixihuiti is a verb meaning partera ser o exrcitar su oficio, partear according to Molina. Though more 218

un viejo de la parte del marido, hazia un parlamento, para que se buscase una partera bien

instructa en su officio, paa q partease a la preñada.” Sahagún added some extra

knowledge that the seekers of the tiçitl came from the future father’s family, something not

mentioned in the Nahuatl text. Sahagún also placed the tiçitl into Iberian gender and medical

norms by calling her a partera (midwife). Anderson and Dibble had more fidelity to the Nahuatl

in some respects but fell into a preconceived gender trap as well, writing, “And thereafter there

was consultation as to some midwife to be sought out, to be supplicated to bathe their maiden in

the sweat bath and to serve as midwife.”20 Anderson and Dibble’s almost redundant translation

exposes the problem with the understanding of titiçih as midwives. They translated titiçih and

quimixihuitiz as midwife.

A final example I will provide here comes from the machiyotlatolli (metaphors) section

of the Historia general which again, highlights the problems of using Western terms for complex

Nahua ritual practices. Sahagún and his assistants found that Nahua people used the phrase

ontlaxamani, ontlapoztec (he/she breaks it, he/she snapped it) when a child died under the care of

a chichihua (wetnurse) or tiçitl. Sahagún omitted a translation for the term chichihua and used

médico for tiçitl.21 On the other hand, Anderson and Dibble used the term “nursemaid” for chichihua and “midwife” for tiçitl.22 Perhaps the term chichihua, strongly related to suckling and

breasts, set the tone for their translation of tiçitl as midwife. Sahagún’s usage of the male noun

médico conceals the role of women in this passage. Yet, Anderson and Dibble chose to center

literally it means to cause birth the –z is a suffix indicating the future. Thus, literally meaning he/she/it will cause it to birth him/her/it. 20 Sahagún, General History of the things of New Spain: Book VI Rhetoric and Moral Philosophy, 149. 21 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 206r - f 06v. 22 Sahagún, General History of the things of New Spain: Book VI Rhetoric and Moral Philosophy, 249. 219

this metaphor around women, particularly in the realm of birth and child rearing. The original

Nahuatl text has no such confines.

Women as Ritual Specialists

As the previous chapter showed, the Magliabechiano Group offers strong evidence that

female titiçih were prevalent in the early sixteenth century. Andrés de Olmos’s Tratados de

hechicerias y sortilegios (1553) which includes a section titled “Why more Women than Men are

the Devil’s Priests,” corroborates this notion.23 Olmos arrived in New Spain in 1528 as an

assistant to Juan de Zumárraga, the first bishop of Mexico, just seven years after Tenochtitlan

had fallen to Hernán Cortés and his indigenous allies.24

Olmos gave five reasons, steeped in Christian belief, that he believed explained the

abundance of female ritual specialists among indigenous people. First, many women lived

removed from Jesus Christ in the Holy Sacraments as tricksters (embaucadoras), instead, they

devoted themselves to exsecramentum.25 Second, Olmos wrote, the devil misled women much

more easily than men, like in the story of Adam and Eve. Third, women did not have the

patience to learn from books so they learned at the Devil’s side. Fourthly, women talked much

more than men. According to Olmos, it was difficult for women to keep a secret and they quickly

and easily spread secrets among each other. Therefore, so many women became aware of secret

and wicked words, something that was not an issue among men. Olmos’ fifth reason was that women had a much harder time controlling their emotions. When women became upset, they sought the devil’s help to get even. Olmos added that old women were more likely to be nahuales because men were not attracted to old women. Thus, Satan took hold of old women and

23 The text reads, “Porque destos ministros del demonio ay mas mugeres que hombres.” 24 Georges Baudot, "Apariciones diabólicas en un texto náhuatl de fray Andrés de Olmos," Estudios de cultura náhuatl, no. 10 (1972): 350. 25 These were the antithesis to holy sacraments. The word was also a play on words, since it resembles excrement. 220

had them do his biddings. The friar claimed that when these old women were young they lived a

life of delight. The devil tricked them and promised them a life of licentious pleasure.26 Olmos

must have noticed a pattern that more women, than men, were active as ritual specialists among

Nahua people. Because he believed pre-Columbian Mesoamerican ritual activities to be in line

with the Devil, he asserted that the general mental and emotional weakness had, made them more

susceptible to the Devil’s work.

Although Olmos did not use the term tiçitl for the women he characterized as “witches,”

“tricksters,” and “ministers,” he did leave a clue behind regarding the nature of their ritual

work—the term nahuales. Sahagún and his informants suggested that the bad female tiçitl, i.e.,

those that did not conform to Western ideals, were nahuales among other things.27 Roberto

Martínez González has clarified that the terms ixiptla (skin or surface covering) and nahualli are

closely related. He noted in all circumstances a nahualli is an animate object that represents

another item that Nahuas also consider to be living but of a different nature. He added that the

link the term nahualli created between the two objects was always metaphorical, while the term

ixiptla was metaphorical or metonymic. Martínez González affirmed that a nahualli was always a

type of ixiptla.28

I argue that the women Olmos identified as tricksters of the Devil were probably titiçih.

Meaning that women were well-represented among the ranks of practitioners of tiçiyotl in their

communities since the beginning of the colonial period. If epidemics did cause a demographic

shift among titiçih, it must have been since the first epidemic in 1520. Images from the Historia

general depict women responding to sick individuals at the onset of the very first epidemic that

26 Georges Baudot, Tratado de hechicerías y sortilegios de Fray Andrés de Olmos, (Editorial Libros de México, 1979), 47-49. 27 Sahagún, "Libro Decimo," f 38r-38v. 28 Roberto Martínez González, El nahualismo, (México: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, 2011). 221

struck Mexico after the arrival of Europeans.29 Furthermore, as we shall see below a tiçitl from

Southwestern Puebla named Magdalena Papalo claimed that she learned her techniques and ritual knowledge from her mother and other ancestors. None of the witnesses in that case, or any other, mention a demographic shift in any area of Central Mexico. Women as titiçih were an important component of tiçiyotl.

Women as Titiçih

This section draws from two ecclesiastical proceedings to contextualize the abstract information found in colonial dictionaries to demonstrate the level of engagement women had in tiçiyotl.30 The first case is from 1538 and pertains to acts of tiçiyotl in Xochimilco, roughly

thirteen miles south of the Metropolitan Cathedral in Mexico City. The second records an

investigation launched in 1584 by authorities from the diocese of Tlaxcala (Puebla) in a town

called Tlaucingo, roughly seventy-six miles south of Mexico City. Both cases show women as

active titiçih performing tasks that went beyond birth attendance, and the ears.

Ana de Xochimilco

On April 2, 1538, Elvira de Herrera went before the Inquisition and revealed that an

“india curanteca,” named Ana, had entered her home to heal an enslaved india.31 Ana incensed

the sick woman, sprinkled her with water, and pinched her body. Each pinch removed a piece of

paper as thick as a thumb. According to de Herrera, Ana claimed that the “Devil” Tezcatlipoca

had placed the paper in the sick woman’s body and caused her illness.32

29 Sahagún, "El Dozeno Libro," f 53v. See Chapter 1 for a discussion of this issue. 30 For a history of the Inquisition’s jurisdiction over indigenous people in Mexico see Richard E. Greenleaf, "The Inquisition and the Indians of New Spain: A Study in Jurisdictional Confusion," The Americas 22, no. 2 (1965). 31 Curanteca is probably an inflection of the Castilian “curandera” using a pejorative diminutive suffix -teca, as in “the little (insignificant) healer.” The Archivo General de la Nación once housed Ana’s record, now missing, until at least 1942, when Edmundo O’Gormon published its transcription in the Boletín del Archivo General de la Nación. 32 According to Miller and Taube, Tezcatlipoca was the omnipotent god of rulers, sorcerers and warriors. (p. 164) 222

Inquisitors used a Nahuatl interpreter to question Ana when she appeared before them ten

days later. Ana claimed to be from the barrio of Santa Maria in Xochimilco. She admitted that on

two occasions she had hurled corn to ascertain if children would survive or die from their

respective illnesses. She had also administered incense to a sick indigenous woman. Ana

confirmed that, “…she took pieces of paper in her fist and she pinched the ill woman, and she

said that she removed those pieces of paper, when in reality she did not remove them, she had

them in her fist….”33 Possibly sensing the Inquisitor’s disdain for Nahua practices, and perhaps

in hopes of mitigating her castigation, Ana confessed that the Devil misled her into claiming that

Tezcatlipoca had put the paper inside of her patient’s body.34 Inquisitors placed Ana’s activities

in a Christian framework in which her actions were seen as diabolical and erroneous. Although

the record does not use the term, when placed in a broader Nahua context, Ana’s actions suggest

she was a tiçitl.

Doctor Jacinto de la Serna’s third chapter in his Manual de Ministros de Indios provides

rich examples, in what is now the modern State of Mexico, that adds more context on illness-

causing foreign objects in the body.35 On July 22, 1626, when Serna was a beneficiado

(beneficed priest) in Tenancingo, his servant Augustina became ill when she went to do laundry

at a nearby river. Augustina had strong stomach pains and ejected blood orally. When the cleric

went to see Augustina, she was unconscious. A few hours later, Augustina regained

consciousness and she was again in agonizing pain. She opted to confess, since she appeared to

be near death. The servant lived through the night and the next day. According to Serna, about twenty-four hours after her initial episode, Augustina began to agonize and expel blood, and

33 "Proceso del Santo Oficio Contra Una India," 212. 34 Ibid. 35 The third chapter is titled: “En Que Se Prosigue La Misma Materia Con Successos, y Casos Succedidos Á El Author En Que Se Verifica Aver Oy Idolatrias Entre Los Indios.” 223

again appeared to be dying. Seeing no other remedy, Serna admitted that he gave the woman a

drink made with a pulverized piece of one of the Venerable Gregorio López’s bones.36 While

Augustina drank, Serna urged her to submit herself to Gregorio López. The potion appeared to

relieve the women’s anxiety and nausea, that a strong poison seemed to cause. Augustina seemed

fine throughout the night, and the next morning, but at around 11 the pains returned. She became

nauseated and she regurgitated a bloody bound piece of wool containing coal, burned egg shells,

and hair. After she vomited the foreign objects, she felt better.37 Serna himself witnessed the

young woman expel the sources of her illness.

An indio ladino (an Indian that had learned Spanish) that worked at a church instructed

Serna to seek the help of a médica (i.e., tiçitl) that knew about these types of cases. When Serna

met with the woman, named Francisca, she confirmed that the illness Augustina had suffered

was indeed the cause of a harmful ritual initiated by a woman. According to Francisca, the

hostile ritual specialist had killed another woman she had targeted. More importantly, Francisca

noted that had Agustina not vomited the wool and the other objects, she too would have died.38

In a letter dated August 3, 1636, Serna further argued that indigenous people exacerbated their

illnesses by consulting indios médicos embusteros (lying Indigenous physicians), that had an

implicit or explicit pact with the Devil. These indigenous médicos claimed that Spanish medicine

was ineffective, and feigned the removal of stones, furs, wool, and shells from their patients.39

The Historia general linked bad female titiçih to ritual work that departed from Western healing traditions, and it included some of the practices that made them bad in a Christian

36 Gregorio Lopez completed the Tesoro de medicinas para diversas enfermedades in 1589, and it was first published in 1672. 37 Serna, "Idolatrías, supersticiones, dioses, ritos, hechicerías y otras costumbres gentílicas de las razas aborígenes," 301-02. 38 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 302-03. 39 Biblioteca Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Mexico City (hereinafter, BNAH), Colección Antigua 336, Numero 23, 100 r – 00 v. 224

context. The “bad tiçitl” was a nahualli, a tlacatecolotl (aggressive ritual specialist that harmed

others). She also poisoned, deceived, ridiculed, seduced people. Additionally, bad titiçih also

hexed people to have sexual relations with them. The depraved Nahua healer hexed and blew

hexes on people, and perhaps like Mariehe, in this chapter’s introduction, sucked hexes out of

people. She also divined with water, casted fates with cords, divined with corn kernels,40 and

removed tooth worms, i.e., toothaches. She also removed amatl (paper), tecpatl (flint), iztli

(obsidian), and ocuilin (worms), from her patients. The bad tiçitl was someone that, misled

people, changed people’s minds and made people believe, i.e., misguided people.41

Distinction between the qualifications of a “good” and “wicked” tiçitl were infused with

Christian morality and orthodoxy, and followed Western medical and gender norms. Gonzalo

Aguirre Beltrán noted in Medicina y magia that the result of both the good and bad tiçitl were

similar, the only difference was the means.42 For example, compressing bones and giving potions

was good, while hexing and casting with cords was bad. It is unclear if the terms were mutually

exclusive, or if good titiçih could do bad things and vice versa. More importantly, it is hard to

tell if Sahagún’s elderly informants perceived these distinctions, or if Sahagún and his young

trilingual Nahua assistants framed their questions in a Western context.

Rebecca Overmyer-Velasquez has noted that Book Ten of the Historia general is based

on a good-evil dualism. The text first presents categories of people or vocations in their “good”

form, and then in their “bad” iteration. She argued that, this book represented two male views of

the late sixteenth century, Nahua and Franciscan. Though sometimes in conflict, these Christian- framed categories denied Nahua women their traditional power and authority. Overmyer-

40 This would literally translate as to “disperse loose corn kernels.” 41 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," F. 38 V. 42 Aguirre Beltrán, Medicina y magia: el proceso de aculturación en la estructura colonial, 41. 225

Velasquez maintained that the Spanish invasion introduced an ideology that was antagonistic to

the religious and social status of indigenous women in the New World. She pointed out that

although the text portrayed both men and women in a good/bad matrix, there were stark

contrasts, and that the authors consistently described women as sexually “dangerous and disruptive.”43

Ana’s admission of performing tlaolchayahualiztli (tlapohualiztli with corn) and

removing objects from her patient’s body links female titiçih to broader aspects of tiçiyotl.

Unfortunately, Ana’s case record did not give any specific details regarding the rituals of corn

hurling and paper removal, nor how she interacted with Tezcatlipoca. Codices from the

Magliabechiano group, however, do offer more information on tlaolchayahualiztli.44 Folio 49

recto of the Tudela depicts a woman sitting on a woven mat, hurling corn and beans in front of

an image of Quetzalcoatl. A Spanish gloss above the woman’s head reads “sortílega”

(soothsayer). Below and to the right of the image of Quetzalcoatl, a man sits with his hands

crossed, crying, with speech scrolls before his face. The Spanish gloss below the images explains

that if a person became ill, the family would visit una vieja sortílega (an old soothsayer woman) that used a tablilla (hornbook or little board) to caste corn and beans and invoked a “demon” to

interpret them and ascertain the nature of the sickness.45

43 Rebecca Overmyer-Velázquez, "Christian Morality Revealed in New Spain: The Inimical Nahua Woman in Book Ten of the Florentine Codex," Journal of Women's History 10, no. 2 (1998): 10-11. 44For information on the Codex Tudela and Codex Magliabechiano see Robertson, Mexican Manuscript Painting of the Early Colonial Period: The Metropolitan Schools, 128-30. and Batalla Rosado, "El Libro Escrito Europeo del Códice Tudela o Códice del Museo de America, Madrid," 85. 45 Tudela, Códice Tudela, 1., 49 r. 226

Figure 7- Folio 78 r of the Codex Magliabechiano. A tiçitl performing tlaolchayahualiztli before a weeping man. Ruiz de Alarcón’s Tratado and the Magliabechiano illustrate the variation among Nahua people regarding the ritual of divining with corn kernels. According to the Magliabechiano, when a person was ill, they would call a médico (which could be a man or a woman) that would place an image of Quetzalcoatl before the ill person.46 The physician would then place a cotton

burlap over a woven mat, and caste twenty corn kernels with her hand.47 Ruiz de Alarcón also

mentioned that ritual specialists would place a “lienzo” before them and cast corn on it, making

their divinations based on how far or close the corn fell.48 The “diviner” (likely a tiçitl) selected

between nineteen and twenty-five kernels from a corncob, selecting among the most beautiful

and highest kernels. Once the tiçitl had selected the kernels, he or she bit the tips of the kernels,

and spread out a cloth so that it did not have any wrinkles. The tiçitl then arranged the kernels on the cloth depending on the selected quantity and kept a few in her hand and cast them on the cloth. The tiçitl would engage in ritual language that she directed at the corn and her fingers, as if they were deities.49

46 The text uses the term “idolo” (idol) when referring to the image of Quetzalcoatl. I prefer to use the term image because it does not imply that the representation of Quetzalcoatl was wrong or at odds with Christianity. 47 Though the text states corn kernels, like the Tudela, the Magliabechiano depicts corn kernels and black beans. 48 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 118. 49 Ibid., 130-31. 227

The Magliabechiano, Tudela, and Tratado provide more detail on ritual corn hurling.

According to the Tudela, if a corn kernel fell on top of another, the illness stemmed from being

the passive partner in male-male sex.50 The Magliabechiano explains that the images on folio 77

verso were examples of the “diabolic medicine” that indios médicos had. It corroborated that if

one kernel fell on top of another it was said that the illness came from passive male-male sex.51

If the kernels fell with a hole or void in the middle, it meant that the patient would not survive the illness. The image in the Magliabechiano shows a woman casting corn before a weeping man, like the Tudela, the Magliabechiano depicts a small void in the center of the corn and beans, suggesting that perhaps that woman had informed the man that he would perish, thus causing his tears. (Figure 8) If the kernels separated with a group on each side, so that a line could be drawn between the two groups without touching a kernel, the sick person would recover.52 In seventeenth-century southeastern Guerrero, generally, if the corn fell facing up, the

response was favorable, the person would heal, or the missing person or item would be found.

The contrary was true if the kernels landed facing down.53

The second scene depicts a woman holding a bowl of water in her left hand as a man

sitting before her cries. Speech scrolls emerge from the woman’s mouth, suggesting that she is

interpreting the cause and outcome of the man’s illness. The text does not discuss the actions of

the woman, but they appear to be the actions of the atlan teitta. (Figure 9) Both the

Magliabechiano and the Tudela depict a third man, weeping with speech scrolls emerging from

his face. His depiction in the Magliabechiano suggests that he is a part of the temazcal scene,

50 Tudela, Códice Tudela, 1., F. 49 r. The text reads, “…y si caya un grano de mahiz uno sobre otro dezia qde de[sic] sometico era su mal.” Covarrubias stated that sometico was the same as paticus (p. 1268). Pathicus is a person that submitted to anal sex. 51 The Codex Magliabechiano reads, “le avia venido por sometico.” 52 Boone, The Codex Magliabechiano and the Lost Prototype of the Magliabechiano group, F. 77 v. 53 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 131. 228

and he appears to be petitioning the bath, likely a deity, on behalf of himself or a loved one.

Although the images contained in both codices are similar, the Spanish text differs starkly.

Figure 8 - A female tiçitl performing an act of atlan teitta with a male patient. (Codex Magliabechiano, f 77r.) Though the text does not use the term “tiçitl,” the actions of the women match those of the amo cualli tiçitl in the Historia general, particularly those of the tlaolli quichayahua (he or she disperses loose corn kernels).54 Ruiz de Alarcón reported that in the communities he visited,

those that divined with corn were known as Tlaolxiniani (someone that tumbles corn).55

Ana’s case also demonstrates how Catholic authorities used punishment as a tool to deter

and warn indigenous people from engaging in non-Christian ritual activities. Bishop and

Apostolic Inquisitor Juan de Zumárraga ordered Ana to proceed as a penitent from her jail cell,

wearing a coroza55 and holding a lit candle, to the cathedral to listen to mass, requiring that she

stand until the consecration. After mass, the public shaming continued. Ana was placed on a

donkey with her hands and feet bound and paraded through the streets and tianguis (indigenous

markets) of Mexico City with a town crier declaring her crimes. Finally, Ana was given one

54 Sahagún, "Libro Cuarto," F. 38 v. 55 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 30. 229

hundred lashes on her bare back.56 Zumárraga reasoned that “for her it will be a punishment, and

for those that saw and heard, an example.”57 This was an approach that Zumárraga took with high-profile indigenous people who undermined Catholic evangelization efforts.58

These sources contextualize Ana’s ritual activities and suggests that, like other female

titiçih, she engaged in tiçiyotl that went beyond midwifery. She admitted to curing by reaching

into the body of an individual and to remove paper for healing purposes at least once. Ana also

hurled corn to discover the cause and outcome of children’s illnesses. The record never described

Ana as a partera. The next proceeding provides another concrete example of a woman

performing acts of tiçiyotl.

Magdalena Papalo y Coaxochi

On November 16, 1584, about a month after Zepeda investigated Joseph Chicon,

Francisco León Carvajal, a judge against idolaters, investigated a sixty-year-old woman named

Magdalena Papalo y Coaxochi for “heathen superstitions” in the Mines of Tlaucingo in the

region of Teotlalco.56 Although Mateo Zepeda, the man that investigated Chicon, was the

beneficed priest of Teotlalco, the record does not mention him.57 Little information remains

about León Carvajal except that in 1572 he was the vicar of Tlalcozauhtitlan, Oztutla,

Quixmixtlan and Papalotla. About 65 miles west of Teotlalco.58 Sometime in 1584 Bishop Don

Diego Román appointed León Carvajal as a judge against idolaters in the province of Teotlalco.

Although Papalo y Coaxochi’s case was conducted ex officio (i.e., no one accused the defendant)

there were three witnesses that testified against her.

56 Chicon is also discussed in detail in Chapter 3. 57 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 1587, Exp. 10," F. 1 v. 58 Luis García Pimentel, Relacion de los obispados de Tlaxcala, Michoacan, Oaxaca y otros lugares en el siglo XVI, manuscrito de la coleccion del señor don Joaquin García Icazbalceta, (Méjico: En casa del editor, 1904), 24. 230

It had come to León Carvajal’s attention that a superstitious, widowed india vieja (elderly

indigenous woman) had conducted rituals for the Devil in conformity with her ancient heathen

ancestors in the pueblo of Cuitlatenamic. According to León Carvajal, under the pretext of being

a médica, Papalo made offerings to a troj (a corn granary, or cuezcomatl in Nahuatl) and

ceremoniously poured pulque, an indigenous alcoholic beverage made from fermented maguey

sap, in areas where children frequently became sick. León Carvajal believed that these actions

were against the instructions of the Catholic Church and, thus, were an offense to God. Like

Zumárraga, León Carvajal framed the labors of female titiçih as superstitious and punishable acts

that were a bad example to the other naturales (native peoples).60

León Carvajal questioned three women in his investigation: Maria Paula Teicuih on

November 16, Francisca Magdalena (hereinafter Francisca) on November 20, 1584 and

Magdalena Papalo y Coaxochi on February 8, 1585. Teicuih, a resident of Cuitlatenamic,

appeared to be twenty-five years old, and held a two-year-old child (presumably her daughter) on her lap during her testimony.59 Teicuih was married to Papalo’s son Jerónimo Antón, and had

lived with Papalo for eleven years.60 The second witness, Francisca, was an eighteen-year-old indigenous woman from Ahamatla, a town in the neighboring province of Chautla. Francisca claimed that she met Papalo five months prior, when she became ill and lived in the tiçitl’s home for several months, while Papalo nursed her back to health with atole (corn chowder). She marked the course of her stay to the progress of the corn crop: beginning at the time the corn was planted lasting until it was en jilote (silking). Francisca decided to leave Papalo’s after she

59 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," 2 v. 60 Ibid., 2 r. During her testimony Papalo y Coaxochi referred to her son as Jerónimo, without the Antón. Unless Papalo y Coaxochi had two sons named Jerónimo, and two daughters-in-law named María, it is very likely that this was the same man. I have thus chosen to standardize his name. Moreover, Papalo y Coaxochi claimed that she went to visit Jerónimo Antón in his home, where a series of rituals occurred (discussed in Chapter 3). (Ibid., f 5v.) This statement differed with Teicuih’s, who claimed that she had lived in the same home with Papalo y Coaxochi and Jerónimo since they got married eleven years prior. (Ibid., f 2r.) 231

witnessed the tiçitl perform an “idolatrous ceremony” that she had never seen before and that

frightened her. Papalo performed the ritual on the day of nuestra señora de agosto (probably the

feast of the assumption celebrated August 15).61 Lastly, Papalo seemed to be approximately sixty

years old and was a native of Cuitlatenamic.62 She admitted that she was a médica of sick children, though she only cured certain illnesses.63 Here, we encounter a translation problem

regarding Papalo’s word choice and the interpreter’s translation.

Papalo probably used the term tiçitl, which the interpreter translated as médica. The same

occurred when Teicuih stated that “her mother-in-law is a médica whom they call a tiçitl.” 66

Even though the activities Papalo described were dissimilar to those that a Spanish physician

would perform, the interpreter opted to use médica, the term for healers in a Western context.

Moreover, when Papalo disclosed her colleagues’ beliefs regarding difficult birth, Papalo

probably yet again used the Nahuatl term titiçih. Notwithstanding this, the scribe employed the

term parteras, because the tasks Papalo described fit within the duties of a European midwife.67

The Tudela’s text noted that the soothsaying old women who cured (called “médicas” in the

Magliabechiano), were also midwives,68 thus traversing European notions of medical and

religious specialization. There is no evidence that women who were birth attendants

(temixihuitiani) could not perform other acts of tiçiyotl. Papalo’s activities, discussed below,

show that female titiçih carried out a wide range of rituals.

The first rite surfaced when León Carvajal asked Teicuih if she knew if Papalo led an evil

lifestyle or if she did anything that did not conform to Christianity. The record states, “…she

knows that her mother-in-law is a médica who they call a tiçitl, and for the last two years she has

61 Ibid., 3 r. 62 Ibid., 5 r. 63 Ibid., 4 v. 232 seen her commit many food and copal incense offerings to a troje.” 64 This excerpt demonstrates how the interpreter confounded the term tiçitl which Nahuas used, with the gendered term médica familiar to Spaniards. According to Teicuih, Papalo “superstitiously” performed a set of rituals eight days after she cured a small child with ololiuhqui (entheogenic seeds often associated with Turbina corymbosa).65 In preparation for the ceremony, Papalo cooked tamales and a chicken. The ceremony began either shortly after midnight or before dawn. Francisca recounted that she saw the tiçitl take a chicuhuite (a woven-wicker or reed basket) filled with tamales, a jícara with chicken, and a tecomate (gourd bowl) with pulque, and placed it before a granary outside of her home. Papalo then used a small jícara to pour the fermented beverage around the granary.66

In her testimony, Papalo mitigated her culpability by claiming that she only performed this ritual once, when she thanked maguey plants before extracting their aguamiel (maguey sap).

Her account also removed explicit connections to healing, and the granary. Papalo said she used the aguamiel to make pulque that she drizzled in her patio (yard) as an offering and a sacrifice.

She offered the first batch of libation to Tlaltecuhtli, the lord of the earth, who had power over child rearing and was the guardian of maguey plants.72 It is reasonable to assume that Papalo had indeed performed the ritual more than once, and, as Teicuih claimed, the ritual was geared toward children’s health.

According to the Historia general after cutting a male infant’s umbilical cord, the tiçitl would inform explained to the boy that she had taken his umbilical cord, and given it to

Tlaltecuhtli, and Tonatiuh, for it belonged to them.67 Nahuas believed that Tlaltecuhtli was the

64 Ibid., 2 r. 65 Ibid., 2 v. 66 Ibid., 3 r. 67 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 147r. 233

goddess that embodied chaos, whom Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca dismembered. Half of

Tlaltecuhtli’s body made up the earth, and although Tlaltecuhtli was dismembered she remained

alive and required human sacrifice.68

Ruiz de Alarcón’s Tratado illuminates Papalo’s offerings. He found that a man named

Miguel de Bernardino from Tetelpan kept images of pre-Columbian deities inside his cuezcomatl to augment agricultural yields. Ruiz de Alarcón also noted that Nahuas used tecomates for rituals associated with pulque, often spilling a maguey plant’s first batch of pulque with a tecomate before a fire or the image of a deity.73 Perhaps Papalo’s troje contained images of deities or

represented a deity itself. Her actions once more suggest that Papalo, and other female titiçih,

engaged in ritual activities that went beyond birth attendance.

A second ritual mentioned in the record involved Papalo removing illnesses from

children with small tufts of cotton. The tiçitl soaked the tufts in water and rubbed them on the

child’s palms, arm joints, soles, knees, chest, head, and back, and ended on the child’s mouth.

Papalo then had all the men and women in attendance spit on the cotton. She placed the cotton in

a bowl (made of gourd or clay), which she offered at a crossroad. According to Teicuih, Papalo

claimed this ritual removed sadness or melancholy from her patients.69 Papalo noted that while

those in attendance spat on the cotton, she said:

Tle aico? Tle quichihuaco What has it come to do? What has it Itlaca. In iellel ma quiza come to make of its subject? May his [the ma huiyaquix nican.70 Inemian patient’s] agony emerge, hopefully it left Cuitlapan Tlazolipan here. inemian. Ma quitoca inan Its [the illness’s] dwelling is in the ohtli patlahuac ohtli maxalihuic midden, in the filth. May it follow its mother,

68 Mary Ellen Miller and Karl A. Taube, The Gods and Symbols of Ancient Mexico and the Maya: an illustrated dictionary of Mesoamerican religion, (New York: Thames and Hudson, 1993), 167. 69 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," f 2v. 70 The original document reads, “ quichihuaco ytlaca y [sic] yellielli [sic]. ” This is likely an orthographic error by the scribe, who was a Spaniard and not a native speaker of Nahuatl. 234

tla noconcahuati. the wide road, the crossroad, may it be that I will go discard it. 71

Papalo transferred the illness from her patient’s body, to the cotton. According to Aguirre

Beltran, ritual specialists could transfer an illness or evil from a sick person to any object, such

as a doll, the healer herself, or another person.72 Moreover, Louise Burkhart has pointed out that in the Valley of Mexico, crossroads were not only dangerous places where one could become ill, but also spaces where one could ritually leave illness-causing tlatlacolli (misdeeds) behind at a shrine for cihuateteo or ixcuiname.73 Ruiz de Alarcón found that Nahuas made offerings to

images shaped like faces at crossroads, rock piles, or portillos (a hill pass or an opening in a

wall). Among those who made offerings were the sick, under the directive of their “sortílegos

médicos.”74

On Monday August 6, 1618 Franciscan friar Ambrosio Carrillo, the dean of the Santa

Ana Convent (Pizandaro, Michoacán), wrote to the Inquisition’s comisario in Acahuato. He

reported that, on August 4, he overheard a woman named doña Leonor de Chavez, a Spanish

woman, recount how an indigenous man cured her nephew. She stated that doña Marianna de

Rivera and her husband Gaspar de Solis, the boy’s parents, sought the help of an indigenous man

to cure their sick child. Doña Leonor claimed that there were other Spaniards there watching

when the Indian man treated the boy. The indigenous man instructed those in attendance that he

needed to cure the boy alone, without anyone else in the room. This, however, did not occur.

Many stayed in the room. The first thing the man did was to burn incense that he brought with

71 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," 4 v. 72 Aguirre Beltrán, Medicina y magia: el proceso de aculturación en la estructura colonial, 249. 73 Louise M. Burkhart, The Slippery Earth: Nahua-Christian Moral Dialogue in Sixteenth-Century Mexico, (Tucson, AZ: University of Arizona Press, 1989), 63. 74 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 30. 235

him. The man then took tufts of cotton and burned them near the boy’s stomach for a short

period. Next, he threw the tufts up, and when they fell he blew them away from the boy. He did a

similar procedure near the boy’s head and grimaced while he did this. These acts caused those in

attendance to become afraid because they perceived this behavior to be superstitious. Some of

those present tried to stop the man, but the mother, doña Marianna, told them to let the Indian

man cure the child and work freely.75 The comisario was none other than the man mentioned in this chapter’s introduction, Fray Diego Muñoz. After receiving the letter, he wrote to the Holy

Office of Inquisition on September 3, 1618.76 Though it is unclear if the indigenous man was

Nahua, these letters add some context to Papalo y Coaxochi’s healing ritual with cotton. It shows

ritual specialists used objects to remove forces that had caused disequilibrium in the human

body. Like Papalo y Coaxochi, the man mentioned in the letters probably used ritual language

along with the burning of incense and cotton.

A third ritual centered on healing children in Papalo y Coaxochi’s case reveals the degree

of specialization that women could possess. Teicuih witnessed Papalo use her hands to measure a

child’s arm from his elbow to his fingers. Papalo admitted that she performed hand-counting

rituals to determine whether a child would survive or perish and which “medicine” she should

apply to cure the illness that plagued her patient.77 Ruiz de Alarcón reported that in southeastern

Guerrero, that Nahuas called those who measured with their hands matlapouhqui (he or she is a

hand counter).78 Hand-counting was an act of tlapohualiztli conducted by diviners, i.e., titiçih.

According to Ruiz de Alarcón, the patient disclosed all the information and context regarding her

maladies to the tiçitl. Then the tiçitl would rub piçiete (tobacco) or tenexiete (green tobacco with

75 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, caja 5486, exp. 16. Mexico City: 1618. f 1r. 76 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 5486, exp. 14. Mexico City: 1618. f 1r. 77 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," f 2r-2v. 78 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 30. 236 added calcium hydroxide) in her hands and begin reciting ritual language while measuring the patient’s arms with her palms from the elbow to the tip of the patient’s fingers. If the final palm ended evenly with the measuring fingers, the person would die soon. If the last palm exceeded the measured arm by a significant amount, then the illness would continue for a longer period.

Titiçih would also use arm measurements to ascertain remedies and determine whether the illness was from natural causes, sorcery, or irreverence toward saints.79 Unfortunately, Papalo did not explain her process, though she did provide the following ritual language:

Ma xihualhuian Macuiltonaleque, Come here Macuiltonaleque, xiconehcocan in xochicuahuitl. go and arrive at the flower tree (Tamoanchan).80

Papalo admitted that she said other words pleading for the child’s health before applying medicine and herbs that she knew were beneficial.81 Again, these are acts that scholarship has attributed only to men. The ritual language invoked the power of healing from the flower-tree in the Valley of Mexico, Xochicuahuitl, a moniker for the celestial paradise Tamoanchan.82 The

Mexica believed that in ancient times the “men” of knowledge left their people in Tamoanchan, and only four stayed behind— Oxomoco, Cipactonal, Tlaltetecui, and Xochicauaca.83 Elizabeth

Hill Boone has clarified that Oxomoco was a woman, who along with her partner Cipactonal, created divinatory conventions and calendric systems. The gods gave Oxomoco corn kernels to divine and cure, a power that she passed on to female humans. Codices and archeological remains often depict the couple divining with corn kernels and cords, or other paraphernalia

79 Ibid., 118-22. 80 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," 4 v. 81 Ibid. 82 Alfredo López Austin, Tamoanchan y Tlalocan, 1. ed., (México: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1994), 72. 83 Boone, Cycles of Time and Meaning in the Mexican Books of Fate, 23-24. 237

related to divination,84 acts of tlapohualiztli and tiçiyotl that women throughout Central Mexico

such as Ana and Papalo inherited and performed. Papalo’s testimony illustrates that she directly

invoked and channeled the knowledge and power of Cipactonal and Oxomoco.

A libation and naming ritual for newborn children was the fourth act of tiçiyotl

mentioned in the record. Five to six days after the birth of a child, Papalo would offer tamales

and a gallina guisada85 to two fires. One fire was set in the yard where Papalo would bathe the

child the next day, and the other was set inside of the home on its eastern side. The day of the

ritual, Papalo bathed the child in front of lit fatwood. 86 Before she bathed the child, she would

say:

Nican noconhuica in tlacamacehualli. From here I accompany the human subject. In tehuatl, titlaltecuhtli tezcatl ixayac You Tlaltecuhtli whose mirror face is popocatimanic. smoking and extending everywhere. Tahqueztimanic. Niyauh oncan You are supine. I go there, I will go to make nicnamictiti him unite with mortality.87 In temoxtli, in ehecatl

This complex set of ritual language demonstrates the continued veneration of Tlaltecuhtli

in Southwestern Puebla up until the 1580s. Ruiz de Alarcón captured similar language in the

1620s in which ritual specialists referred to Tlaltecuhtli as being supine, such as during the

planting of squash seeds.88 During the measurement of arms to diagnose and prognosticate illnesses, the tiçitl would mention a supine rabbit and a smoking mirror.89 This led Andrews et

al. to argue that Tlaltecuhtli was a ritual name for the earth. They also noted that in “classical

84 Ibid., 24-26. 85 A guisado is an amorphous term that could be translated as stew or something of the sort. I believe that in this case it was likely a chicken mole, probably similar to the turkey mole described in the Codex Mendoza (Vol. 2, Pg. 69) 86 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," F. 2 v. 87 Ibid., 4 v. According to Molina, in temoxtli, in ehecatl is a defrasismo for “illness or pestilence” (Part 1, F. 53). 88 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 105. 89 Ibid., 120. 238

times” Tlaltecuhtli was an earth god.90 Papalo’s case suggests that Tlaltecuhtli, however, was more than just a ritual name for the earth, late-sixteenth-century Nahua people in Southwestern

Puebla still worshipped Tlaltecuhtli as a bona fide force, albeit strongly associated with the earth.

Papalo performed the ritual for her granddaughter (Teicuih’s daughter).91 This rite,

Papalo explained, ensured that children would not develop strabismus.92 This partial admission was probably an attempt to lessen her transgression before the Catholic Church, because, as will become clear, this practice probably imbued newborns with their tonalli (one of three fundamental human essences).93 After Papalo ritually bathed a child and poured pulque in front of the fire, she used ritual language that acknowledged the fire for making the newborn infant a member of the community. The parents named the child in accordance to “ancient traditions” after Papalo recited the following language:

In tinahuiacatl, timilintica, You Four Reed, you are flaring, teteoinnan, teointa. the mother of the gods, the father of the Tle ticmati94 otitechmomaqui in gods.95 Tlacamacehualli. Listen, you gave us the human subject96

Sahagún’s Historia general and the Primeros memoriales provide more context for the

imbuing and naming ceremony performed by Papalo y Coaxochi and other titiçih. If the child

was born on a fortuitous day, a tiçitl would imbue and name the child immediately. If not, they

90 Ibid., 238. 91 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," 2 v. 92 Ibid., 4 r. 93 For a detailed discussion of the tonalli see, López Austin, Cuerpo humano e ideologiía: Las concepciones de los antiguos Nahuas. vol. 1, 221-62. 94 Tle ticmati, literally means “what do you know?” Molina provides context with, “cenca tle ticmati” which he translated as “mira mucho y ten gran cuidado de esto que te encomiendo etc.” (2, 17 r.) 95 Jacinto de la Serna reported that fire was started with four pieces of wood, and that was the source of the name “Nahui Acatl” (four reed) for fire. Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 367. In the Valley of Mexico, the fire god had names that included Xiuhtecuhtli, Ixoçauhqui, and Ceuçaltzin. Sahagún, "Libro Primero," 26. 96 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," 4 r. 239

might wait until the third day of the trecena. 97 For example, during the trecena of atl (water),

which Nahuas from the Valley of Mexico considered to be an inauspicious trecena, “they”

sought a fortuitous time to try and make the child’s birth good. Otherwise the child would be

bad, like the trecena he or she was born in.98 Similarly, during the trecena quiahuitl (rain), the

third day was preferred because it was more advantageous than the rest. After all, this was one of

the trecenas when the cihuateteo descended on the earth. Moreover, it was said that some of the

individuals born in this trecena could become nahualtin (pl. nahualli).99 However, class might play a factor in the ritual’s scheduling. If the parents were poor and had little means to prepare a feast, they bathed the child as soon as possible. Conversely, if the parents were wealthy they elected to have the child bathed on a more fortuitous day within the same trecena. The family of the newborn had food, drinks, and flowers, along with a gathering of the “old men and women.”

100

Once all the tehuayolque (relatives), huehuetque (old men) ilamatque (old women), and

the mahuiztililoni (honorable) were present, the ritual commenced. The Historia general states,

“then they called the expert, the one in charge of birth attendance, the tiçitl.”101 It was dark when

everyone got together, and at sunrise, the tiçitl requested a new bowl of water, and after placing

all the offerings in the middle of the courtyard. With a piece of burning fatwood, the tiçitl faced

west and bathed the child. She gave him or her a little bit of water to taste, placed water on his or

her chest, poured water on his or her crown, and bathed him or her all over. She raised the child

four times, each time with different ritual language. The tiçitl then dressed the infant and gave

97 Sahagún, "Libro Cuarto," 63v - 65r. 98 Ibid., f 57r. 99 Ibid., f 27r-28v. 100 Ibid., 63v - 65r. 101Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 171r. The original Nahuatl states, “Niman connotza in toltecatl, in imac tlacatihuani in tiçitl.” 240

him or her the instruments of his or her gender, the tools of war and hunting for male infants, and

homemaking for female infants. Children in attendance took the boy’s umbilical cord; they ran

with it and ate it as they yelled the infant’s name.102 The Historia general makes no mention of the female infant’s umbilical cord.

In the Valley of Mexico, ritual specialists determined favorability by consulting the tonalpohualli (260-day ritual calendar) and assessing the deities that ruled a corresponding trecena, and days. The parents of the newborn would sometimes consult a tonalpouhqui (he/she who tells or counts things).103 The ablution ritual had to be performed within the trecena of the

child’s birth. If the child was born on the first day of a trecena, the child had thirteen options, if the child was born on the twelfth day, the child only had two options.104 The reference to the

tonalamatl seems to be the only aspect of the ablution ritual that sometimes the female tiçitl did

not perform. However, there seems to be variation on this because only the Florentine codex

mentions the use of a tonalpouhqui. Moreover, some sources like Papalo’s case suggests that the she child always bathed children on the fifth day, while others on the fourth, irrespective of the day’s favorability.

In Zumpahuacán, Ponce de León found that “midwives” (presumably titiçih) performed an ablution ritual called itleuh quiçaz in piltzintli (the infant’s fire will emerge) which he likened to the “sacred baptism.”105 Families sequestered infants until one day before the ritual, when the

102 Ibid., f 171r-73v. 103 Berdan and Anawalt, The Essential Codex Mendoza, 146. 104 Alfredo López Austin, The human body and ideology : concepts of the ancient Nahuas, (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1988), 212. 105 Pedro Ponce de León, Pedro Sánchez de Aguilar, and Gonzalo de Balsalobre, Hechicerías e idolatrías del México antiguo, 1. ed., Cien de México (México, D.F.: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, 2008), 30. The Historia general refers to the ritual in Spanish as, “las ceremonias que hacían cuando bautizaban la criatura” (The ceremony they did when they baptized the child), and in Nahuatl “In tlein mochihuaya inicuac quimaltia impilhuan”(What was done when they bathed their children). The Spanish text often used “baptize” and the Nahuatl, “bath.” Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 306v. Zumpahuacán is in the modern state of Mexico near the border with Guerrero. The town of Zumpahuacán is located about 65 miles northwest of the town of Teotlalco. 241

tiçitl visited the new mother’s home. The tiçitl would ensure that pulque, tamales, seasoned fowl,

and a lit fire were ready for the next day. The tiçitl would also invite all the neighbors. Ponce de

León reported that on the day of the “baptism” the “midwife” offered the fowl, pulque, and

tamales to the fire. The ritual specialist then moved the child to the patio along with water and

fire. Using a xicara the tiçitl extinguished the fire while bathing the child. The tiçitl then asked

the crowd for the child’s name, and they would respond with a name from their “gentilidad”

(heathenness) or a namesake from their parents, such as: Ehecatl (wind) or coatl (serpent). In the

Toluca Valley Nahuas named girls things like Xico or Xoco. Other names derived from tlaloques

and tlamacazques, which Nahuas believed were angels. The tiçitl would then return the child to

the mother and wrapped a cloth around her head. The tiçitl took fire and passed it around the

mother’s head. After this, the midwife returned to the large fire and she poured a xicara of

pulque before it. She then distributed pulque and offerings among the guests.106 Ruiz de Alarcón

found that four days after birth, children were “baptized” with water and fire, and named. During

that time, parents also made a pact with the Devil.107

The Primeros memoriales includes a section that Sahagún did not included in the

Historia general, which mentions, “inin tocaitl iquac in tlacati piltontli iquac caltia quimaca in

itoca in tiçitl ihuan ipilhuaque iyahuiltoca ipipiltoca.” (These are the names when small children

are born. When he or she is bathed, he or she is given his name by the tiçitl and his or her

parents, his yahuiltoca, his noble name.).108 Sahagún’s, and his assistants’, list includes Coatl for

men, and Xoco for women, confirming Ponce de León’s findings and extending them to the

Valley of Mexico.

106 Ponce de León, Sánchez de Aguilar, and Balsalobre, Hechicerías e idolatrías del México antiguo, 30. 107 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 24. 108 Bernardino de Sahagún, Thelma D. Sullivan, and H. B. Nicholson, Primeros memoriales, The civilization of the American Indian series (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997), 254. 242

Socioeconomic factors played a role in the ritual bath for children. In the Central Valley

were class stratification was starker, children from different status groups received distinct items.

For example, poor families gave their male infants a bow, four arrows, a little shield, and perhaps

tamales and toasted corn kernels. While their wealthy counterparts could count on a shield, a

bow, four arrows, an amaranth-dough shield with arrows, mole, bean soup, toasted corn kernels,

a small loincloth, and a small cape. Neither the Castilian nor Nahuatl texts mention a distinction

between poor and wealthy female infants, though surely differences existed.109

Gender also dictated the course of the ritual. The Historia general mentions that families

gave infant girls cihuatlatqui (women’s goods), such as a spindle, a batten, a palm leaf basket, a

spinning bowl, yarn, a weaving warp, a little skirt, and a small huipil.110 Similarly, Ponce de

León found that in the Valley of Toluca it was customary to send newborns to a hill, if the child

was a boy they offered a sickle, if the child was a girl they offered a spindle and cotton.111

The Historia general sheds more light on the importance of the fire to the substance of

infants until their ritual bath. According to Sahagún et al., family members tended a fire in the

new mother’s home until the child was ritually bathed, typically four days after birth. No one

took embers from the fire (to start their own) because this would take some of the child’s

power.112 The Historia general goes on to state that when a child was born, relatives visited him

or her. When they entered the chamber where the child was located, they took ashes (it is unclear

from where) and put it all over their bodies, and their children. All individuals, irrespective of

their age or marital status had ashes rubbed on them, or rubbed it on themselves. Though they

109 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 174v. 110 Ibid. 111 Ponce de León, Sánchez de Aguilar, and Balsalobre, Hechicerías e idolatrías del México antiguo, 30. 112 The Nahuatl text uses the phrase, “amo quimaca, inic amo quitleyocuilizque piltontli, in otlacat.” I translate this as, “they did not take it, because they did not want to take the child’s power, he or she that had been born.” Sahagún, "Libro Cuarto," f 53r. 243

smeared all areas of the body, they particularly targeted the knees. This, Nahua people in the

Central Valley believed, would prevent mobility and gait issues.113

Scholarship has established that a tiçitl or tonalpouhqui identified a favorable day to

bathe the child. 114 Papalo y Coaxochi’s case along with Ponce de León’s observations suggest

that among Nahua groups outside of the Valley of Mexico other practices existed, in which men

were not involved. With a holistic view of all of the above sources, it becomes clear that the

amount of days from birth until the naming and imbuing ritual, varied among groups. For some it

was four, others five, and still others it was more fluid and titiçih changed the day depending on

favorability. What is clear is that all sources clearly note that female titiçih conducted a

fundamental ritual that affected all community members, the ablution of newborn infants. This

ritual provided a child with their name, gave them their tonalli, and tied him or her to the local

religious economy. 115 This conflicted with Spanish practices which had men (Catholic priests)

perform a very similar ceremony to the sacrament of baptism, where the child encountered water

and was named in the presence of parents and family members.

The fifth ritual captured in Papalo y Coaxochi’s record dealt with birth attendance. She

stated that if a child was not born easily it was her belief, and that of her colleagues, that the

struggling woman had “sinned” in extramarital affairs. The second option was that the woman

had been parsimonious and avaricious. To remedy these vices, Papalo tied corn and salt on the

parturient woman’s huipil, which ended the mother-to-be’s greed. Papalo demanded that

113 Ibid. 114 Michael Ernest Smith, The Aztecs, 2nd ed., The peoples of America (Malden, MA: Blackwell Pub., 2003), 246. 115 For a detailed discussion of the tonalli see, López Austin, Cuerpo humano e ideologiía: Las concepciones de los antiguos Nahuas. vol. 1, 221-62. 244 adulterous, struggling parturients confess their partners’ identities and the number of transgressions that had occurred. This admission would allow the women to give birth.116

Sources from throughout Central Mexico suggest that Nahuas linked difficult birth to women’s sexual behavior. In the Valley of Mexico, the Codex Tudela explained that the diving women, described above, “eran parteras o comad[res].” (were midwives).117 These ritual specialists could remedy difficult births caused by promiscuity by having the parturient woman confess all her sexual partners to a tiçitl.118 The author of the Spanish text in the Codex Tudela, noted that these “superstitions” still existed among the Indigenous people in the second half of the sixteenth century.119 The Historia general reported that female titiçih instructed women to engage in sexual relations with their husbands in the first three months, because that would help the child develop. Once the child had developed (presumably the second trimester) the mother should no longer have sexual intercourse with her husband. If she did, it was shameful, and it would be obvious at birth because the child would be born in filth, bathed in yolatolli (raw corn atole). Additionally, the woman would have a painful and long labor, because accepting “seed” at an improper time caused ocotztol (pine resin) to form in her womb.120 Lastly, Ruiz de Alarcón noted that in the region of Atenango del Río indigenous people attributed difficult birth to various things, but the most common was adultery. The remedy that he found was giving the woman a clyster with her own saliva. This indicated, to him, the indigenous people’s lack of decency and healing knowledge.121

116 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," 4 r. 117 Tudela, Códice Tudela, 1., F. 49 r. 118 Ibid., 49 r - 50 v. 119 Ibid., f. 49 r. - f. 50 v. 120 Sahagún, "Libro Cuarto," F. 130 v. - F.40 r. 121 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado. 245

Atonement and ritual cures were not the only line of defense that titiçih had. Various

scholars have shown the healing qualities of cihuapahtli (literally woman medicine).122 They

have also mentioned the wide usage of tlacuatzin (possum tails) among Nahua people.123 One

important detail has been missing from this discussion, how it was prepared. On January 1, 1580

Gaspar de Covarrubias, the alcalde mayor of Temazcaltepec, reported that his jurisdiction had

primarily Nahuatl speakers, with Matlaltzinca speakers mixed in as well.124 Covarrubias noted

that there was an animal called the tlaquaçint (tlacuatzin, or opossum in English) that meant

“eater.” This animal’s desiccated tail was medicinal particularly for mal de madre (mother’s illness).125

The final ritual captured in the investigation also pertained to birth. This practice required

profound knowledge of tiçiyotl to harness the abilities and power of the primordial couple to

guide the child out of the woman’s womb. She placed her hands on the parturient and said the

following words:

Nehuatl nixomoco, nicipactonal. I am Oxomoco, I am Cipactonal. Tla xihualhuian Please come macuiltonaleque. In anmamacuiltonaleque. May he be expelled, go and pursue Ma tlazal cuaitl126 the tip [of the head] here. xichualtocati.

122 Ortiz de Montellano, Aztec Medicine, Health, and Nutrition, 185.; Alfredo López Austin, Los mitos del tlacuache: Caminos de la mitología Mesoamericana, 1. ed., (México, D.F.: Alianza Editorial Mexicana, 1990), 463-64. 123Ortiz de Montellano, Aztec Medicine, Health, and Nutrition, 191. ; López Austin, Los mitos del tlacuache: Caminos de la mitología Mesoamericana, 463-65. 124 Covarrubias goes on to note that all of the people present in the area came after 1555 when gold and silver mines were discovered in the region. Francisco del Paso y Troncoso, Papeles de Nueva España, vol. III, (Madrid: Est. tipografico "Sucesores de Rivadeneyra," 1905), 17-18. 125 Ibid., 25-26. 126 Although the original text uses the phrase “ma tlasal cuaytl,” Irma Guadalupe Cruz Soto, in her BA thesis in the field of history, interpreted it as “Matlalcueye.” Cruz Soto correctly noted that Matlalcueye was the Tlaxcalteca term for Chalchiuhtlicue (“Magdalena Papalo y Joseph Chicon,” 136). Tlaxcala, roughly ninety-five miles away from Teotlalco, has the only attestations for “Matlalcueye.” Ruiz de Alarcón who worked thirty-five miles away from Teotlalco, makes no mention of a “Matlalcueye,” but does use “Chalchiuhtlicue” various times in his treatise. Therefore, I propose that ma tlasal cuaitl is ma tlazal cuaitl. Cuaitl means either “head” or “the tip of something.” 246

Ma iciuhca, ma huallauh in teotl, Come quickly divine being [the imacehualtzin itlachihualtzin infant], his/her subject, his/her creation.127

Papalo would then give the parturient piçiete to drink, which guided the unborn child to the vaginal opening. The quantity of tobacco that the woman consumed is unclear, though it was probably a small amount. While the parturient drank the piçiete Papalo would say:

Ye ompa mohuica Already he/she goes over to Chicomoztoc. the vaginal opening128 Quimochialiticate in The Macuiltonaleque are mamacuiltonaleque. waiting for him/her129

Papalo then alerted a fire, near the parturient woman, that the child would soon arrive and

he would need to provide him or her sustenance. Alfredo López Austin has found that newborn

children did not yet have their own tonalli, thus a fire had to sustain them until they were offered

(by titiçih) to the water, (i.e., ritually bathed).130 Papalo’s record demonstrates that female titiçih interacted with the force in the fire. She said the following to the fire:

Tle ticmati, in Pay attention, you the elder tinahuiacatli huehuetzin Nahui Acatal [the fire],131 ticmochielitica tlacamacehualli. you are waiting for the human subject.132

Papalo’s interaction with the macuiltonaleque (“five-tonal-owners”) is telling of the importance of hands and entheogenic substances for titiçih. Macuiltonaleque was a ritual name

127 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," f 4r. 128 Andrews et al. have pointed out that in some cases Chicomoztoc was a metaphor for the human orifices (Treatise on the Heathen Superstitions, 223). Humans typically have seven orifices: the ears, the nostrils, the mouth, the urethra/vagina, and the anus. 129 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," 4r. 130 López Austin, Cuerpo humano e ideologiía: Las concepciones de los antiguos Nahuas. vol. 1, 230-31. 131According to Jacinto de la Serna, Nahui Acatl was the ritual name for fire. See, Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 367. 132 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," 4 r. 247

for the hands,133 and it was also the name of five beings often depicted with a white palm painted

over their mouths and chins, and linked to acts committed with the hand, such as gaming, crafts,

and theft.134 The most prominent was Macuilxochitl (five-flower), also known as Xochipilli

(flower-child).135 R. Gordon Wasson has argued that Xochipilli had strong ties to entheogenic

substances. For example, a statute of Xochipilli, now housed in Mexico City’s Museo Nacional

de Antropología, bears the emblems of entheogenic plants, which include tobacco and morning

glory (whose seeds are ololiuhqui).136 These are two substances that Papalo used in her rituals.

Like the white hand painted on the faces of the Macuiltonaleque, Papalo’s and Ana’s records

illustrate that the hands were important tools for titiçih, as they hurled corn, held bowls, touched

patients, measured arms, cleansed infants, applied pahtli, and ingested entheogens to heal the

sick.

To conclude his investigation, León Carvajal asked Papalo to whom she dedicated her

ritual language and what its meaning was. The tiçitl stated that she learned these words from her

mother and her ancestors, and that her only intention was to do as they had done. Probably to

reduce her punishment, Papalo confessed that her activities had been in error and that they were

a mockery that she would no longer engage in.137 The record does not indicate the investigation’s

outcome.

Both cases depict women performing acts of tiçiyotl, with more personal details then

contemporary sources provide. Ana and Papalo interacted with their patients using the tools and

methods they learned from their ancestors. Papalo’s case is particularly important because it

133 Ruiz de Alarcón, Treatise on the Heathen Superstitions That Today Live among the Indians Native to this New Spain, 1629, 230. 134 Boone, Cycles of Time and Meaning in the Mexican Books of Fate, 233. 135 Ibid., 42. 136 R. Gordon Wasson, The Wondrous Mushroom: Mycolatry in Mesoamerica, (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1980), 59-67. 137 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11," 3 v. 248

connects the region of Southwestern Puebla, a less studied area, to the more well-known parts of

Central Mexico. Though there are differences between Papalo’s practices, and those noted in

chronicles and treatises throughout Central Mexico, the similarities are striking. Nevertheless,

there is one practice that female titiçih practiced in the Central Valley of Mexico, that sources do

not mention in other parts of Central Mexico— defending the body of a woman that died during

delivery.

Protecting the Recently Deceased Body of a Woman that Died in Labor

The Historia general describes a practice and belief in the Central Valley that other parts

of Central Mexico partially corroborate. According to Sahagún et al., when women died they

became mocihuaquetzque.138 Anthropologist Louise M. Burkhart translated mocihuaquetzque as,

“they who arise as women.139 The Historia general describes that once it became nighttime

grieving husbands buried women that died in labor before images of the, “cihuapipiltin, ilhuica

cihuapipiltin.” 140 Anderson and Dibble translated this as “cihuapipiltin, celestial princesses.”141

The term cihuapipiltin translates as “girls,” or “female nobles.” Thus, I would argue that the phrase “noblewomen, sky noblewomen” is a more suitable translation.

Scholars have argued that there is a relation, of sorts, between cihuapipiltin, the mocihuaquetzque, and cihuateteo. For example, Elizabeth Hill Boone has argued that the tzitzimime (which she defined as “Celestial Monsters,” cihuapipiltin, and cihuateteo related to one another because they were all beings who could descend from the sky to harm people.142

138 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 139r. 139 Louise M. Burkhart, "Mexica Women on the Home Front: Housework and Religion in Aztec Mexico," in Indian women of Early Mexico, ed. Susan Schroeder, Stephanie Gail Wood, and Robert Stephen Haskett, (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997), 49. 140 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 139v. 141 Sahagún, General History of the things of New Spain: Book VI Rhetoric and Moral Philosophy, 161. 142 Elizabeth H. Boone, "The “Coatlicues” at the Templo Mayor," Ancient Mesoamerica 10, no. 2 (1999): 199. 249

Cecelia Klein has argued that cihuacoatl, the cihuateteo, the cihuapipiltin, and the

mocihuaquetzque were all associated closely. She noted that, “the Cihuateteo were shades of

women who had died in childbirth.”143 In contrast, Molly Bassett argues that although these deity

groups were related, Nahuatl scribes for the Historia general kept clear semantic differences.

This suggests that the groupings were complex and there are probably some gaps in our

knowledge of these women.144 Though there is a link between the Mocihuaquetzque and the

cihuateteo, who as we saw in Chapter 3 titiçih revered, the most pertinent aspect of this

information is the role titiçih played in the processing of women’s bodies as they became

mocihuaquetzque.

Not all women that died in childbirth became mocihuaquetzque. It appears that one of the

requirements for this too occur was that the unborn child had to remain inside of the mother’s

womb. The Historia general explains that if the parents of the deceased woman did not allow the

titiçih, serving as a birth attendant, to remove the unborn infant from the body the tiçitl would

enclose woman’s body. An accompanying image from the Historia general shows a woman with

an engorged abdomen, as if she is bearing a child, with her eyes closed inside of a small

structure. A woman, presumably a tiçitl, is closing the door to the structure. Then, the tiçitl

bathed the mocihuaquetzqui (sing. of mocihuaquetzque) and washed her hair.145 This prepared

the woman for the trip she would take to her final resting place.

The woman’s body was so important that the tiçitl received support from other women to

escort the body. Titiçih ilamatzitzin (old female titiçih) gathered to accompany the

mocihuaquetzqui to her final resting place. These women were clad in shields. The

143 Cecelia F Klein, "The Devil and the Skirt: An Iconographic Inquiry into the Pre-Hispanic Nature of the Tzitzimime," ibid.11, no. 1 (2000): 26. 144 Bassett, The Fate of Earthly Things: Aztec Gods and God-Bodies, 96. 145 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 139r. 250

mocihuaquetzqui’s husband carried her on his back while the elderly titiçih howled and emitted

war cries as her armed escorts. The elderly female titiçih customarily would clashed with young

warriors (telpopochtin).146 These young men, along with temamacpalitotique wanted to seize the

body of mocihuaquetzque for their own gains. Warriors believed that the middle fingers and hair

of the deceased woman would augment their bravery. Warriors also believed that

mocihuaquetzqui body parts would also give them the ability to overpower their foes on the

battlefield.147 López Austin has translated temamacpalitotique as, “they who make people dance in the palm of their hand.”148 According to the Historia general these harmful ritual specialists

sought mocihuaquetzque’s left forearms in order to paralyze people when they robbed homes.149

The woman was then buried before the images of the cihuapipiltin and her husband and others guarded for four nights, to prevent the warriors and ritual specialists from stealing the woman’s body.150

Though there are no other attestations in Central Mexico for this practice, Ruiz de

Alarcón did capture ritual language that specialists used to prevent “enchantment during sleep.”

The zealous priest originally apprehended a man named Martin de Luna (probably a tiçitl) for his usage of ritual language to cure illness. Ruiz de Alarcón later discovered that Luna used ritual language that he believed would prevent harm during sleep, and it would also avoid having

“sleep cast” upon him. In the first sets of ritual language he warned his jaguar bed that tecamocacayahua (he or she who misleads people) would soon be approaching. In the second group of ritual language Luna called his jaguar seat’s attention, and remarked that it was thirsty

146 The text both in Nahuatl and Spanish clearly notes that the clashes were real, and not ceremonial battles. 147 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 139v. 148 Alfredo López Austin, "Los temacpalitotique: Brujos, profanadores, ladrones y violadores," Estudios de la cultura náhuatl VI (1966): 101. 149 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 140r. 150 Ibid., f 139v. 251

and hungry, presumably on the lookout for hostile specialists.151 Luna’s third set of ritual

language asked his Jaguar bed if someone had visited him to lift his clothing while he slept.

Perhaps to ascertain if any specialists with malevolent intentions had been in the man’s room.

This, according to Luna, would prevent wizards, enemies, and sorcerers from visiting his bedside

and harming him.152 Ruiz de Alarcón did not mention any usage of severed arms or fingers, or

the protection of the women’s bodies that died in labor.

The fact that sources outside of the Central Valley do not mention cihuateteo or the

protection of women’s body that died in labor, suggests that these deities and practices did not

exist in other Nahua regions. It is possible that deities like the cihuateteo and mocihuaquetzque

existed outside of the Valley of Mexico with different names. It is also plausible that Nahuas in

other parts of Central Mexico believed that the finger or forearm of a recently deceased woman

caused paralysis, but extant sources did not record these believes. Though because it seems that

human sacrifice and war was less prevalent in communities outside of the Valley of Mexico, it

seems less likely that a system of beliefs geared towards paralyzing captives existed.

Conclusion

Early modern Spanish society encoded its notions of medicine with gendered distinctions

and hierarchies that Spaniards imposed on Nahua tiçiyotl. This constraint of limiting female

titiçih’s activities to Western concepts of midwifery has led to a misunderstanding and an

oversimplification of their roles. Female titiçih engaged tiçiyotl not only in temixihuitiliztli (birth

151 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 64-65. Ruiz de Alarcón wrote down nooceloicpale and translated it as almohada que eres como un tigre “you pillow, that are like a tiger.” Icpalli is a seat, and thus ocelelotl would make this word to signify jaguar (or large feline) seat. This might have been a cushion, which perhaps led Ruiz de Alarcón to translate this word as pillow. Paso y Troncoso believed that Luna referred to his reed mat and “pillow” as a tiger because it was made from reed, and thus the stripes resembled those of a tiger. (Tratado, 64 n. 6) However, since tigers were not native to the Americas, this makes little sense. 152 Ibid., 65. 252 attendance) but also in tlaolchayahualiztli (corn hurling), matlapohualiztli (hand counting) and other forms of tlapohualiztli. Female titiçih used entheogenic substances and ritual language to interact with supernatural entities to help their community members regain or establish pactinemiliztli (wellness). These are roles and activities that have remained largely unexplored by scholars over the centuries. Colonial sources do not explicitly exclude women from tiçiyotl, though they downplay their involvement. There is no reason why birth attendance and ocular health should confine female titiçih.

The Historia general’s book 6 describes the advice titiçih gave mothers-to-be after agreeing to serve as their temixihuitiani. Titiçih acknowledged that they could not control the outcome of birth or prevent death. They could only hope for a successful delivery stating, “A iz nica in mitoa niticitl: za nel no ic niticitl.” The corresponding Castilian text interpreted the

Nahuatl as “Aquí estoy yo, que me llamo médica: y para esto soy médica.”153 Charles E. Dibble and Arthur J. O. Anderson’s translate this into English as, “Here am I, I who am called a midwife. Verily also for this reason am I a midwife.”154 My translation is “I am here, she who is called a tiçitl. I am just a tiçitl.” This is an important distinction because it highlights and important question, where titiçih médicas, parteras, or something else?

By decolonizing Nahua knowledge, we too can begin to study female titiçih as “just titiçih”—practitioners of tiçiyotl, a Nahua system of knowledge unlike anything that existed in early modern Europe, with its own nuances and intricacies that merit further exploration. Short of writing in indigenous languages, it is impossible to discuss native concepts without using

Western terms and notions. Nevertheless, it is crucial that we begin to problematize our

153 Sahagún, "Libro Sesto," f 136v. 154 Sahagún, General History of the things of New Spain: Book VI Rhetoric and Moral Philosophy, 158. 253 understanding of Indigenous practices and use as many native terms, views, and ideas as possible to study native knowledge. Avoiding Indo-European terms (e.g., medicina, médico, and partera) when they do not appropriately express indigenous ideas or words (e.g., tiçiyotl and tiçitl) will foster a more complex discussion and understanding of history.

Chapter 5: Titiçih as a Threat to Spanish Colonial Efforts

“The religious men and I have tried to separate them [indigenous people] from their nefandas (heinous) customs, however, they are conserved, although not as publicly as they used to be. Because of this the bishops, my colleagues, and I, having discussed the matter with said religious men that are experienced in the things of the natives, and hear their confessions. We cannot find another option but to ask your majesty to make enclosed homes with good walls and guards…”

Juan de Zumárraga (bishop of Mexico) to King Charles V December 20, 1537 Archivo Historico Nacional, Diversos-Colecciones,22, N.23, f 2r

Introduction

In 1636, Jacinto de la Serna wrote a letter to the dean of the Cathedral in Mexico City. In

his missive, Serna accused indigenous people, particularly médicos in the archdiocese of

Mexico, of evading persecution by fleeing parishes with strict ministers and seeking refuge in

lands with lax priests. He exonerated clerics for their inability to prosecute these idolaters, since

sick people and other community members hid the médicos, and it was difficult to identify them.

Serna proposed to counter the influence that these indigenous ritual specialists had in local

communities. He wanted all clerics, in a concerted effort, to single out all the indigenous healers

in their communities. According to the prelate, if priests exposed ritual specialists at the same

time throughout New Spain, they would be atemorizados (terrorized).1 This letter represents an early seventeenth-century shift in the Church’s views towards indigenous people. How did titiçih get in the crosshairs of Serna, and other clerics, in the seventeenth century?

In the sixteenth century Spaniards did not embrace titiçih, but they were not hostile towards them either. As we saw in previous chapters, Sahagún, generally at ease with Nahua rituals, saw some good in the acts of male and female titiçih. Though he did label certain duties

1 BNAH, "Colección Antigua, Vol. 336, Numero 23," f 101r. 255

performed by male, and most notably female, titiçih as malevolent. Sahagún, and some of his

colleagues, saw viewed sixteenth-century evangelization efforts in Central Mexico as a failure.2

Yet, he did not conceptualize indigenous healers and ritual specialists as obstacles to a Christian

Indian society.

Other sixteenth-century men that touched on Nahua culture and healing viewed titiçih as

minor annoyances. Molina expressed some mistrust towards female titiçih, referring to them as

“cheats.” Francisco Hernández, Juan Badiano, Martin de la Cruz, the various officials that

penned the Relaciones geográficas, and the authors of the Magliabechaino and Tudela codices all described indigenous “physicians and midwives” anywhere from innocuous and ineffective, to obnoxious and potentially malicious. This trend changed in the seventeenth century when clerics declared Indigenous healers, and their practices, enemies of the Church.

Three priests repositioned Nahua ritual specialists and identified them as the reason for failed Christianization efforts. In the seventeenth century, parish priest Pedro Ponce de León took a more aggressive and belligerent stance than his predecessors regarding Nahua healing practices. Ponce de León penned the Breve relación de los dioses y ritos de la gentilidad sometime between 1610 and 1626 based on his observations in Zumpahuacán (in the modern state of Mexico), which is about fifty-one miles southwest of Mexico City. 3 It was in this rural

area away from the Cathedral in Mexico City, that Ponce de León witnessed Nahua people

openly engage in Mesoamerican ritual practices. The Breve relación identified titiçih, and other ritual specialists among Nahua people, as obstacles for Christianization. Parish priest Hernando

Ruiz de Alarcón was Ponce de León’s contemporary, and evidence suggests they were in

2 Bernardino de Sahagún, Arthur JO Anderson, and Charles E Dibble, Florentine Codex: General History of the Things of New Spain. Introductions and Indices, (Santa Fe, NM: The Scholol of American Research and the University of Utah, 1982), 35. 3 This title translates as, “Brief report on the Heathen Gods and Rituals.” 256

communication. It is very likely that Ponce de León inspired Ruiz de Alarcón’s zeal against

indigenous ritual practices in what is now the Mexican state of Guerrero.4

In 1629 Ruiz de Alarcón completed his Tratado de las supersticiones y constumbres

gentílicas que hoy viven entre los indios naturales de esta Nueva España, an unrivaled

condemnation and exploration of Nahua healing practices. Ruiz de Alarcón wrote his now well-

known treatise with information from his investigations in Atenango del Río (about sixty miles

south-east of Zumpahuacán, in the modern state of Guerrero). Historians have framed Ruiz de

Alarcón as a zealous and confused priest. In this chapter I will show that he in fact was a cunning

individual that attempted to manipulate Church authorities. His goal was to gain access to a wide

array of information that would be useful in his extirpation campaign against Nahua ritual

practices. A campaign that Serna would extend, at least intellectually.

Finally, Serna, a man who gained a higher rank and prestige within the Catholic Church than the two men above, penned his Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpación de ellas in 1656, though it was not formally published until 1892.5 The

Manual was largely based on Ruiz de Alarcón’s Tratado, and informed by Ponce de León’s

Breve relacion as well. Furthermore, Serna obtained firsthand information for his manual during

his tenure as the beneficed priest of Tenancingo (in the state of Mexico) in the 1610s and 1620s.

Historian Davíd Tavárez has argued that one of the most notable differences between

Zumárraga’s sixteenth-century campaign and the seventeenth-century extirpators (Ruiz de

Alarcón, Ponce de León, and Serna) was that between 1536 and 1547, a small majority of the

4 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 419. 5 The title translates as, “Manual for ministers of Indians for the Recognition of their Idolatries and their Extirpation.” 257

Nahua Specialists tried were elite office holders.6 Conversely, most of the specialists

investigated by Ruiz de Alarcón and Serna, and all others from 1571-1660 for that matter, were

part of what he dubbed the “elective sphere,” which he attributed to the decimation of local

lineages due to demographic change. 7

The elective sphere – collective sphere paradigm stems from Nancy Farris’ tri-tiered

model based on her studies on the Yucatec Maya. Farris’ model included a universal tier

(monotheistic Christian devotion), parochial tier (patron deities and saints), and private tier

(“magic” used to control personal welfare).8 With evidence from a Zapotec context, Tavárez collapsed Farris’s universal and parochial tier into the collective sphere. To Tavárez, individuals and families participated in the elective sphere, on an elective basis without any compulsion to participate. Moreover, this dichotomy is an effort to go beyond the public-private domains.9

Nahua ritual specialists in the elective sphere incorporated European ritual customs while their

communities were reformulated through congregaciones and other demographic changes. The

result, according to Tavárez, was a high demand for ritual specialists by indigenous people and

individuals from all ethnic backgrounds.10

The elective – selective model perhaps works best for the Zapotec context, or for Nahua

people working with non-indigenous people. Although it is true that there is no evidence that

seventeenth-century Nahua officials used force to compel their counterparts to participate in

Mesoamerican rituals, like Spanish missionaries, there were other factors that did create

6 For more information on Juan de Zumárraga’s inquisitorial campaign see, Maria Elvira Buelna Serrano, Indígenas en la inquisición apostólica de fray Juan de Zumárraga, (Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana, 2009); Richard E. Greenleaf, Zumárraga and the Mexican Inquisition, 1536-1543, Vol. 4 (Washington Academy of American Franciscan History, 1961). 7 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 97. 8 Nancy M. Farriss, Maya Society Under Colonial Rule : The Collective Enterprise of Survival, (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1984), 295-98. 9 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 10. 10 Ibid., 97. 258

compulsion. Perhaps the most identifiable is the belief in ololiuhqui. As we saw in Chapter

Three, the force within the seed had the ability to provide the identity of salubrious materials,

and of any foul play from hostile ritual specialists. More importantly, ololiuhqui had the ability

to seek retribution over those that disrespected it and ignore sick people and ritual specialists that

did not revere it. Much like Farris’s findings in Yucatán, which led her to conclude, “Hence the

dilemma of external conversion: to worship their deities provoked punishment from the

Spaniards; not to worship them courted perhaps less immediate but more terrifying

consequences.”11 I argue that belief in the ololiuhqui seed, compelled Nahuas continue to participate in Mesoamerican rituals well into the seventeenth century.

Here I argue that in the first decade of the seventeenth century the Spanish church began to target indigenous ritual specialists, particularly those that healed. This movement gained

momentum through efforts of priests at the local level, such as Ponce de León and Ruiz de

Alarcón. These men identified the importance of titiçih in their communities and tried disrupting and halting their activities. Ponce de León and Ruiz de Alarcón shaped how the Church saw indigenous healers in the seventeenth century.

In this chapter, I first establish how the Holy Office of the Inquisition traditionally policed Catholic devotion in Spanish society. I proceed to discuss how the Church ramped up its persecution of indigenous people in the seventeenth century due to the usage of entheogenic substances by non-indigenous subjects of the Spanish Crown. I then explore how Ponce de León

spearheaded a movement within the Church that targeted titiçih and other ritual specialists.

Ultimately, Ruiz de Alarcón and Serna advanced these ideas and set the Church’s sites on

indigenous ritual specialists.

11 Farriss, Maya Society Under Colonial Rule : The Collective Enterprise of Survival, 290. 259

Policing Devotions in New Spain

The Spanish Inquisition has its roots in the Catholic Church’s medieval thrusts to

establish itself as the supreme and true holder of religion. According to Edward Peters, as Canon

law developed in the twelfth century prelates defined heresy as an opinion that came from

voluntary human choice (not diabolical influence) based on an erroneous understanding of Holy

texts, that perpetrators expressed publicly, and did not rectify, even after proper instruction and

intervention. In the twelfth century the primary heretical concerns for the Latin Church, when the

Inquisition was founded, were Waldensianism and Catharism.12 In 1199 Pope Innocent III issued

the Vergentis in senium which established a formal stance on the persecution of heretics. This

decree stated heresy was treason according to Roman Law. The Church could seize heretics’

goods, and the Inquisition could deprive children of their heretical parent’s property.13 In 1215,

Innocent III summoned the Fourth Lateran Council, and one of the most notable outcomes for inquisitorial power was the newly mandatory annual confession. Secular priests were subsequently specially trained to hear confessions.14 In 1231, Pope Gregory IX officially turned

to the Order of Preachers (more commonly known as the Dominicans, founded in 1220) to

counteract heresy.15 Inquisitors could be officials appointed by a bishop to use the bishop’s

original jurisdiction within a diocese, or an individual (often a member of a mendicant order) that

was appointed as a papal judge delegate by a Minister-General or a Provincial of the Order. For

this reason, Peter argues that there was no “Medieval Inquisition,” but instead “Medieval

Inquisitors.”16 This changed as the early modern era approached.

12 Edward Peters, Inquisition, (New York; London: Free Press, 1988), 42-43. 13 Ibid., 48. 14 Ibid., 50. 15 Ibid., 55. 16 Ibid., 67-68. 260

On November 1, 1478, Pope Sixtus IV approved the naming of two or three priests over

the age of forty to serve as inquisitors in Spain. Papal authority granted Ferdinand and Isabel,

and subsequent Spanish monarchs, the right to select and remove inquisitors.17 Though the Holy

Office of the Inquisition, more commonly known as the “Spanish Inquisition,” was mostly

concerned with heresy, the tribunal was steeped in anti-Semitic ideologies in fifteenth-century

Iberia. Historian Henry Kamen has argued that social conflict in the central and southern parts of

Spain, the most recently conquered from moors, and the area where most Jews lived, was at the

core of the creation of the Inquisition. Old Christians (individuals lacking Jewish and Muslim

ancestry) were at odds with conversos (New Christians of Jewish descent).18 Christian society

expressed anxieties that conversos had infiltrated Old Christian families, the Church, and most

facets of Spanish life. For example, in June 1449 Pedro Sarimiento proposed the Sentencia-

Estatuto to Toledo’s city hall, this measure barred people of Jewish descent from holding office

or benefice in Toledo. On August 13, 1451, Juan II of Castile approved the Sentencia-Estatuto.

On June 16, 1468, a year after the Toledo riots of 1467, King Henry IV confirmed in office posts that had previously belonged to conversos. Though Old Christians accused conversos of heresy, the claim, Kamen argued, was unsubstantiated. Jews, after all, saw conversos as meshumadim

(real and voluntary converts), not crypto-Jews. Therefore, Kamen maintained that the Crown established the Inquisition based on political events and motives, not actual converso heresy.19

When Europeans arrived in the area now known as Mexico in 1519, and toppled

Tenochtitlan in 1521, no tribunal of the Inquisition had jurisdiction over the region. On May 10,

1522, Pope Adrian VI issued the Exponi nobis – or Omímoda – which extended episcopal

17 Henry Kamen, The Spanish Inquisition: An Historical Revision, (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1997), 44. 18 Covarrubias defined a Cristiano Viejo as, “A clean man that does not have Moorish, nor Jewish, race. Conversely, a new Christian.” (p. 496) 19 Kamen, The Spanish Inquisition: An Historical Revision, 35-39. 261

powers to mendicant orders, apart from ordination, in areas that had no bishop or where he was

more than two days distant. From 1522 to 1571, bishops and monastic prelates acted as

ordinaries (i.e., they exercised original jurisdiction) over cases of orthodoxy for people from all

ethnic backgrounds. As historian Richard Greenleaf pointed out, despite the commissions that

Juan de Zumárraga (1528-1548) and Inspector General Francisco Tello de Sandoval (1544-1547)

received as Apostolic Inquisitors, the title had no bearing on their activities as ordinaries.20

Indigenous people initially fell under the authority of the Apostolic Inquisition. In fact, in

1522 the first case the Mexican Inquisition tried was that of an Indian by the name of Marcos

Acolhuacán.21 Perhaps the most infamous Indian proceso (trial) is that of Cacique don Carlos of

Texcoco whom the Inquisition executed by fire in 1539 for preaching against Catholic doctrine

and encouraging Indians to return to pre-Columbian religions.22 The geographic purview of the

Holy Office grew with the Spanish Empire. Phillip II commissioned the creation of a tribunal of

the Holy Office in Mexico City on January 2, 1569.23 After the Mexican Tribunal was

established in 1571, control over indigenous heterodoxy was reverted to bishops and

archbishops.24

Though some saw the jurisdictional divide between ecclesiastical functionaries and the

Holy Office as temporary, Don Pedro Moya de Contreras was one such man. Don Pedro served

as the inquisitor of New Spain (1571-74), archbishop of Mexico (1573-91), and eventually as

viceroy of New Spain (1584-85).25 On March 30, 1578 Archbishop don Pedro wrote the Council

20 Greenleaf, "The Inquisition and the Indians of New Spain: A Study in Jurisdictional Confusion," 138. 21 Ibid., 139. 22 Ibid. 23 Martin Austin Nesvig, Ideology and Inquisition: The World of the Censors in Early Mexico, (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 135. 24 Greenleaf, "The Inquisition and the Indians of New Spain: A Study in Jurisdictional Confusion," 141. 25 Poole, Pedro Moya de Contreras: Catholic Reform and Royal Power in New Spain, 1571-1591, 2nd, 145-53. Nesvig, Ideology and Inquisition: The World of the Censors in Early Mexico, 274. 262 of the Indies regarding Bernardino de Sahagún’s Historia general, praising its thoroughness.

Don Pedro noted that knowledge of “ancient” indigenous practices was becoming scant and

Sahagún’s work would prove to be useful for the Inquisition once it gained jurisdiction over indigenous people.26 Stafford Poole has described don Pedro as a Counter-Reformation cleric and a man of the law that was interested in procedure. Don Pedro saw heresy as a horrific threat to society.27 His disillusioned view of indigenous people, mentioned above, and a desire to establish stability in New Spain, led don Pedro to see Sahagún’s work as a promising resource to persecute indigenous heterodoxy in order to create a Christian New Spain.

The Rise of Extirpation in the Seventeenth Century

In the Seventeenth Century Church officials took a new approach towards indigenous extirpation and conversion in Central Mexico as rural communities came under the microscope.

On October 20, 1610, in a letter to the Phillip III, Viceroy Luis de Velasco el Joven reported that in 1609 three trials against idolatrous indios y indias had occurred in the dioceses of Tlaxcala

(Puebla) and the archdioceses of Mexico. According to the viceroy, the archbishop and bishop, respectively, carefully appointed clerics that were well informed on Indian culture and languages to investigate and “clean” the matter. Don Luis noted that both the archbishop of Mexico and the bishop of Tlaxcala would submit a report to the king, and thus he would not include any details about the proceedings. Though he did state that he would fully support the Church in any way necessary to undertake such a task. The viceroy added that he saw the indigenous people as spiritually flacos (weak) and susceptible to Satan’s influence. Don Luis expressed frustration with indigenous people because they easily showed resent and did whatever the Church asked of

26 AGI, Patronato, vol. 15, R.5. Seville: 1578. f 4v. 27 Poole, Pedro Moya de Contreras: Catholic Reform and Royal Power in New Spain, 1571-1591, 2nd, 45. 263

them. Don Luis also mentioned that he had warned regular priests (those that belonged to

religious orders) that had indigenous parishioners, to visit their parishes more often and apply

any necessary remedies to alleviate the problem.28 No record of the cases that don Luis

mentioned exists, and others like them are rare as well. Nevertheless, his letter shows that a

perceived Indian proclivity to diabolical acts troubled Spanish authorities. Don Luis, like other

seventeenth-century officials, called for a new approach to resolve endemic indigenous

heterodoxy.

In the first decade of the seventeenth century, two changes occurred that affected the way

the church interacted with indigenous people. First, the Church turned its attention to rural areas.

In 1610, archbishop fray García Guerra gave Pedro Ponce de León the position of judge against idolatry.29 A few years later, Juan Pérez de la Serna, the Archbishop of Mexico (1613-1627)

commissioned Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón as a judge against indigenous idolatry sometime

between 1614 and 1617.30 Ponce de Leon’s and Ruiz de Alarcón’s treatises show an increasing

disdain for indigenous practices, especially those related to healing. Second, the Holy Office set

its gaze on the usage of entheogenic substances among all ethnic groups. This change prompted

local confessors and functionaries to investigate and report the use of entheogenic substances in

Mexico City, and the rest Central Mexico. As previous chapters have illustrated, entheogenic

substances were a fundamental part of tiçiyotl, and thus titiçih, as ololiuqhui’s keepers and users,

came under the Church’s microscope.

28 AGI, Carta de Don Luis Velasco el Joven al Rey. 1610. Mexico 28. N 7. Img. 10-11. 29 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 288. 30 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 58. 264

Ololiuhqui and Indians

Gonzalo Aguirre Beltran argued that a special “médico” called a payni (drinker) was one of the interpreters of the ololiuhqui. Aguirre Beltran’s language implied that the payni was a male practitioner, not making any mention of women, nor using feminine nouns. Nahuas used the plant for four main purposes: 1) to diagnose the cause of the illness; 2) to ascertain the identity of the individual that might have caused the illness through foul play; 3) to find lost people; and 4) to see the future.31 Osvaldo F. Pardo pointed out that ololiuhqui was at the center

of Ruiz de Alarcón’s Tratado. According to Pardo, Nahuas used the seed for its salubrious

properties, and to determine the nature of illnesses through divination. Ololiuhqui was at the core

of titiçih’s power to communicate with superior beings and forces.32 Tavárez has argued that

ritual specialists of both genders used ololiuhqui for “pragmatic” purposes.33 Nahuas used

ololiuhqui to find lost objects, and women were heavily involved in its use. Building on this

knowledge, I argue that ololiuhqui was one of the epicenters of conflict between seventeenth

century Nahua communities and the Catholic Church. The Church saw ololiuhqui and its

practitioners as an obstacle to an indigenous orthodox Christian society. On the other hand,

Nahua belief in ololiuhqui and its far reaching salubrious and entheogenic properties created a

conundrum for Nahua parishioners. They had to choose between peace with the Church, and

amity with ololiuhqui.

In the seventeenth century, the Inquisition announced that it would attack the

consumption of entheogenic substances from the Western hemisphere. On March 8, 1616, the

Holy Office released an edict which included a section on people, particularly women, that were

31 Aguirre Beltrán, Medicina y magia: el proceso de aculturación en la estructura colonial, 135. 32 Pardo, "Angels, Demons and Plants in Colonial Mexico," 175-77. 33 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 96. 265

susceptible to superstition and worshiped the Devil to obtain their desires. According to the edict,

some women summon the Devil by making sacrifices in his honor with incense and candles, and

they put ointment on their bodies. Then, the women waited for answers. Sometimes they saw

images and representations of what they were seeking. They conducted these acts in fields during

the day, or at night. According to the edict, these women also ingested beverages made of herbs

and roots that made them become inebriated. The women framed their “illusions” as revelations,

or precognitions of future events.34 Though this edict focused on women that were Mestizas,

Spanish, or of African descent, it showed the Inquisition’s growing concern with the

consumption of entheogenic substances of indigenous origin.

Four years later, inquisitors extended their damnation of entheogenic usage to all ethnic

groups, and this time they included men. On June 19, 1620 the Holy Office of the Inquisition

released an edict regarding the usage of peyote, and other plants or herbs with similar results, in

New Spain. Inquisitors declared that usage of these substances – in a fashion which had recently become a trend – to locate stolen items, divine, and precognition, were superstitious acts that failed to comply with the purity of the Catholic faith. The Holy Office denied that peyote or any

other herb could bare the natural properties to cause the visions, phantoms, and representations

with which the said divinations were based on. The edict further claimed that the Devil

influenced and created these acts and he capitalized on the indigenous people’s natural

inclination for idolatry, which then seeped to other people whose fear of God was weak. Thus,

implying that the source of these items power was unnatural and probably stemmed from the

Devil. The Inquisition would not allow, “ninguna persona de cualquier grado, y condición” (any

person, irrespective of class or ethnicity), from using peyote or other similar “herbs” that had

34 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 3076, Exp. 8. Mexico City: 1616. f 2v. 266

comparable results, or for other related outcomes. The Holy Office also outlawed the solicitation

of indigenous people, or other types of people, to take said herbs on their behalf. The ban would

take effect from that day forward. The Holy Office permitted all confessors to absolve

individuals that had been involved with said activities so long as they had occurred before the

publication of the edict, and the acts did not spill over into other crimes of superstition or

sorcery.35 As the edict explicitly noted, indigenous people – because of their moral weakness –

succumbed to the Devil’s influence and were at the core of the entheogenic substance problem in

New Spanish society.

Correspondence from Inquisition functionaries suggests that the edict was far reaching,

and that many clearly understood the Holy Office’s jurisdictional boundaries. For example, on

January 3, 1621 comisario fray Diego Muñoz wrote to inquisitors in Mexico City with some

updates. Based out of Acahuato (Michoacán) Muñoz noted that he was encouraging indigenous

people to denounce any soliciting priests they had encountered. More importantly for this present

study, after the recent edict regarding peyote, Muñoz was rallying Indians to denounce men and

women of Spanish, mestizo, black, and mulato (a person mixed African ancestry) descent that

asked them to ingest peyote to find lost objects, or for other purposes.36 Muñoz noted that even

though the Holy Office did not prosecute Indians, they could use indigenous people as witness in

investigations against all other people. Thus, it was their obligation to denounce anything they

had seen, under penalty of excommunication.37

35 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 1314, Exp 20. Mexico City. f 1r. 36 Historian Robert C. Schwaller has shown that colonial documents from New Spain commonly used the term mulato to describe people of mixed African descent. Although the term was most commonly used for individuals of mixed African and European descent, it was also used for individuals of mixed African and indigenous descent. Robert C. Schwaller, Géneros de Gente in Early Colonial Mexico: Defining Racial Difference, (University of Oklahoma Press, 2016), 46. 37 AGN, Indifferente Virreinal, Caja 6155, Exp. 92. Mexico City: 1621. f 1r. 267

The new ban on ololiuhqui and peyote presented an interpretive problem for priests and

comisarios as they attempted to understand how this prohibition affected the medicinal use of

plants with entheogenic properties. For example, on March 16, 1621 Fray Martin de Vergara

wrote to the Holy Office asking to see if people that were not superstitious or wicked could use

peyote for medicinal purposes. He disclosed that an indigenous man (probably Purépecha) from

Cuisio (Michoacán) named Juan Xanacua ingested peyote while sick. As soon as Xanacua healed

he went and confessed with Vergara. The priest added that he would withhold absolution until he

heard back from the Holy Office. He expressed that he was aware of Holy Office’s ban on all

uses of peyote, however, he was conflicted because many Indians had inquired about its

medicinal use in certain circumstances.38 Presumably, Xanacua used peyote topically for its

salubrious properties, not orally for its entheogenic characteristics. Unfortunately, the

inquisition’s response, if any, was not persevered in the record.

As surely intended, the edict affected Mexico City as well. On April 6, 1622 doña Maria

de Castro went before Cristobal Angel, a comisario of the Holy Office, to disclose some

information she heard from her friend Juana Bautista. According to doña Maria, Bautista told her

that she had gone to see and Indian man or woman (she did not recall the gender) to help her find

her missing daughter. The indigenous person took ololiuhqui and claimed that although it was

noisy and he or she was unable to hear everything the seed said, he or she knew where to locate

the woman. Bautista found her daughter where the indigenous person had told her to look, and

doña Maria confirmed that she had recently seen the missing daughter back at home.39 Though doña Maria expressed uncertainty regarding the gender of the indigenous ritual specialist, the record used the male pronoun indio. This record suggests that non-indigenous people used

38 AGN, Inquisición, Vol. 486, 2a Parte, Exp. 77. Mexico City: 1621. f 417r. 39 AGN, Inquisición, Vol. 342, Exp. 15. Mexico City: 1622. f 356r. 268

indigenous people’s services for their ritual knowledge, perhaps to avoid culpability with the

Holy Office. Since ingesting the plant or having others ingest it, were both punishable acts it

made little sense to involve others in the crime, unless the practitioner was known to be a

successful specialist with the right materials.

Some cases also indicate a lack of indigenous ritual knowledge, despite the use of

indigenous substances and the presence of indigenous people. For example, on December 8,

1622 three men imprisoned in Mexico City, and sentenced to death, divulged information

regarding entheogenic substances to a functionary of the Holy Office. Miguel Rodriguez (a

native of Puebla), don Pedro de Mendoza (from Tauza de la Costa), and Gabriel (from Medina-

Sidonia) provided information on four other inmates. The men engaged in questionable acts were

a Spaniard named Pedro de Silva, a mulato named Francisco Ramirez (nicknamed el zambillo), an indigenous man named Joaquin, and Jorge Cardoso a mestizo.40 Juan de la Paraya visited the

prison to obtain confessions from the men before they were executed the next day.41 While in the

prison’s dungeon, they all witnessed a mestizo gordo (an overweight mestizo) from Queretaro

named Jorge Cardoso take peyote to see when and how he and other prisoners would be released.

Mendoza heard an intoxicated Cardoso entrust himself to God and the Virgin Mary while

hugging an image of an ecce homo. After consulting ololiuhqui, Cardoso claimed that they

would not die in prison. He also announced that his sister would bring a book for him (which

never arrived) that would allow him to open the prison’s doors. An act another inmate claimed

he had seen Cardoso do before, and he believed it was surely the result of a pact with the Devil.

Cardoso remarked that when he took ololiuhqui, a figure of a little old man or a bird appeared to

40 Zambo is a colonial Spanish term used to denote individuals of mixed indigenous and African descent. In this case, the word has a diminutive suffix and thus would be, “a little Zambo.” In this context, the suffix was probably pejorative and expressed disdain for the man. 41 AGN, Inquisición, Vol. 341, 1a parte, Exp. 4. Mexico City: 1620. f 314r. 269

him. He added that one day he took ololiuhqui on a sierra in hopes of finding a mine. An old man

appeared to him and told him where to dig and look for the mines. Nevertheless, he was unable

to hit any pay dirt.42 As we shall see below, according Ruiz de Alarcón, Nahuas in southeastern

Guerrero believed the ololiuhqui was an old man that appeared to people.43 The witnesses also noted that a mulato named Francisco Ramirez had consumed a beverage called “el banque” which allowed him to speak to the Devil and see the future. He too maintained that they would be freed.44 One night, Ramirez was in a stupor and said mil disparates (nonsense), and the men

in the dungeon would come up to Ramirez to ask him their fate.45 Juan Paraya’s report does not

include any information regarding further investigations of the three denounced men, probably

because they had already left the prison. Nevertheless, this case shows the syncretic phenomena

of non-indigenous people using Mesoamerican entheogenic substances, alongside Christian

elements. To Noemí Quezada, the incorporation of peyote for Christian purposes was the

epitome of syncretism in New Spain.46

Non-indigenous people also sought the help of ololiuhqui, and indigenous knowledge, to

recover lost objects. On March 22, 1634 twenty-six-year-old Augustina de la Vega went before the Inquisition. She confessed that while in the home of Antonia de Velasco she lost a plate and another woman staying there told her to pay an Indian two pesos to ingest peyote on her behalf and find the plate. Vega paid the man two tostones, though she claimed that his advice did not help her find the plate. She also disclosed that one day while some people were planting a tree the workers pulled out some worms that another individual claimed could be powdered and

42 Ibid., f 317 r- 18v. 43 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 303, Exp. 19," f 79r. 44 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 341, 1a parte, Exp. 4," f 315r - 16r. 45 Ibid., f 320r- 20v. 46 Quezada, Amor y magia amorosa entre los aztecas : supervivencia en el México colonial, 89-90. 270 helped “pacify and conquer men’s hearts.” The Inquisition was more concerned with the latter since the comisario summoned two enslaved women of African descent that were present when the worms were unearthed. The comisario seemed less troubled by the indigenous man that ingested the peyote on Vega’s behalf.47 Perhaps because he was indigenous, and procedurally he had a stronger case against the people of African descent.

Similarly, on June 2, 1635, Maria de Cardenas visited father Phillip de Vergara, a comisario of the Holy Office of the Inquisition in Huatzindeo (Guanajuato). She admitted that she had asked an india named Beatriz, wife of Andres Labrador, to consume peyote on her behalf to find calzones (linen socks) that someone stole from her. According to Maria, the calzones were not in the home where Beatriz told her to look. Maria further admitted that she ingested “olulic” (likely a colonial variant of ololiuhqui) three times to see if she could rekindle a friendship with a man she had dated in the past. She also consumed another herb named doradilla (Asplenium ceterach), twice. Lastly, she asked an indigenous man named Pedro

Chuchundique to drop three kernels of corn in water with the name of the man she was interested in, the name of the woman he was seeing, and Maria’s name. The goal of this procedure was to see who would end up with the man. According to Maria, the superstitious act was ineffective.48

A similar situation occurred in Valladolid (present day Morelia, Michoacán) on February 9, 1637

Augustinian father Nicolas Guerrero appeared before doctor Andres de Ortego Baldavia on behalf of Sebastiana Mestiza. Guerrero claimed that Sebastiana had confessed to having an

Indian woman ingest peyote to help her better understand certain personal matters. The comisario asked the Inquisition instructions on what to do and how to proceed.49 Though there is

47 AGN, Matrimonios, Vol. 267, Exp. 1. Mexico City. f 1r- 2v. 48 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 5172, Exp. 57. Mexico City: 1635. f 1r. 49 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 5023, Exp. 36. Mexico City. f 1r. 271

no indication that the Holy Office prosecuted either case, they illustrate how non-indigenous people embraced indigenous plants, rituals, and knowledge for their own goals.

These cases contextualize the world in which Ponce de León, Ruiz de Alarcón, and Serna operated. Thanks to the details that these men left, in conjunction with other cases, we can see that seventeenth century Nahua healing rituals traversed what Spaniards would have conceptualized as medicine, religion, and sorcery. Though Nahua people did not persecute each other for not worshipping or appeasing deities, ololiuhqui often took the matters into its own hand. Moreover, records from the Inquisition’s investigations on activities that stemmed from indigenous practices that had infiltrated Spanish society, reveal the spread of multiethnic networks.

The Church Against Indigenous Use of Ololiuhqui, and Titiçih

Ponce de León was among the first priests to establish that titiçih were a threat to Spanish

evangelization efforts. Ruiz de Alarcón was either influenced or validated by this notion and

made it his life work to persecute and understand the inner workings of ololiuhqui and titiçih. A

much younger and more connected Serna took the work of these two men and created a manual

for priests that worked with indigenous people. What follows is a brief biographical discussion

of each man.

Like Serna and Ruiz de Alarcón, Pedro Ponce de León had an obscure life. Some

scholars have posited that Ponce de León was of indigenous descent.50 According to Ángel

María Garibay, Ponce de León was born in 1540 and served as the beneficed priest of

50 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 71.; J. Benedict Warren, "An Introductory Survey of Secular Writings in the European Tradition on Colonial Middle America, 1503- 1818," in Handbook of Middle American Indians: Guide to Ethnohistorial Sources Part 2, ed. Howard F. Cline Vol. 13, (University of Texas Press, 1973), 83. 272

Zumpahuacán from 1569-1628. He also asserted that Ponce de León was born near Mexico City,

and that he was probably the son of Lucas Ponce de León, and the grandson of Cuatlatlapaltzin

of Tlaxcala.51 Yet there is no concrete evidence that Ponce de León was of noble heritage, or that

he was of Nahua descent.

Map 3 - Base sites for Seventeenth-Century Extirpators

Jacinto de la Serna provided one of the most robust accounts of Ponce de León’s life.

According to Serna, Ponce de León was well versed in theology and the Nahuatl language. He

was also a great preacher and instructor of Christianity. Furthermore, in 1610 the archbishop of

Mexico commissioned Ponce de León to investigate widespread idolatry in Teutenango del

51 Angel María Garibay K, "Introduccion," in Teogonía e historia de los mexicanos: tres opúsculos del siglo xvi, ed. Angel María Garibay K, (México: Editorial Porrúa, 1965), 17-18. 273

Valle, San Mateo Texcaliacac, Xalaltlaco, and Calimaya.52 Serna made no mention of Ponce de

León’s ancestral background, and it no way insinuated that he was indigenous. It is unlikely that

Serna would have overlooked Ponce de León’s indigenous background.

Though we do not know much about his life, a seventeenth century letter from Mexico

City sheds some light on Ponce de León’s relationship with his parishioners. On September 25,

1614 doctor Pedro Martinez, the procurador (prosecutor) for Mexico’s audiencia, wrote to local authorities in Zumpahuacán. He stated that Pedro Ponce de León, the beneficed cleric of the district of Zumpahuacán, had written to him complaining about Spanish abuses towards indigenous people. Ponce de León claimed that many of the indigenous people in his district had moved to haciendas about one league away (roughly 2.6 miles). The cleric asserted that the local governor and alcaldes convinced the indigenous people to go to their respective towns and provide a pension of wheat or corn to sustain the local priest. Ponce de León rebuked these activities because the indigenous people were registered in Zumpahuacán, where they were natives, and paid tribute. He pled Spanish authorities to allow the indigenous people to return to their hometown for mass and other religious services. Martínez asked the local justicia to investigate, and if the indigenous people were indeed paying tribute they should be relieved from the burden placed on them.53 This document presents a priest that wished to protect his

parishioners from financial overburden. Though this might have been an attempt to keep his

flock within his reach.

Like Ponce de León, not much is known about the life of Ruiz de Alarcón, and he is

probably best known for his treatise. Michael D. Coe and Gordon Whittaker believe that Ruiz de

Alarcón was born in the mining town of Taxco, southwest of Mexico City, or Mexico City itself

52 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 288. 53 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 5713, Exp. 68. Mexico City. f 1r -1v. 274

in 1587.54 There is no clear evidence that concisely settles the matter. Records show that Ruiz de

Alarcón began his studies in canon law at the University of Mexico on May 4, 1597 and

graduated in 1606.55 Thus, according to Coe and Whittaker’s birthday for Ruiz de Alarcón, he

would have been roughly ten-years old when he enrolled at the university, and about nineteen

when he graduated. It seems more probable that Ruiz de Alarcón was born in 1580, making him

seventeen when he enrolled at the University of Mexico, and twenty-four when he completed his

studies.

Scholars have argued that Hernando was the younger brother of two influential

seventeenth-century men— Juan and Pedro Ruiz de Alarcón y Mendoza.56 The information from

these two men’s lives illuminates Hernando’s. Juan Ruiz de Alarcón was a famous siglo de oro

playwright, and Pedro Ruiz de Alarcón was a seventeenth-century prelate in the archdiocese of

Mexico. In Juan Ruiz de Alarcón y su tiempo (1939), Julio Jimenez Rueda posited three reasons

that suggest that Juan and Pedro Ruiz de Alarcón had three younger brothers named Hernando,

Gaspar, and García. First, he noted that Pedro and Juan alluded to other brothers that lived with

their mother around 1608. Second, Hernando, Gaspar, and García studied at the University of

Mexico shortly after Juan and Pedro. Lastly, Hernando bears the first name of Juan and Pedro’s

grandfather (Hernando Hernández de Casalla) and García bore their maternal grandfather’s name

54 Michael D. Coe and Gordon Whittaker, "Introduction," in Aztec Sorcerers in Seventeenth Century Mexico : The Treatise on Superstitions by Hernando Ruiz De Alarcón, (Albany, N.Y.: Institute for Mesoamerican Studies, State University of New York at Albany, 1982), 13. 55 Ibid. 56 Ibid., 11-13.; J. Richard Andrews and Ross Hassig, "Editors' Introduction," in Treatise on the Heathen Superstitions that Today Live Among the Indians Native to this New Spain, 1629, (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1984), 3. Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 73- 74. Francisco del Paso y Troncoso, "Como Introduccion," in Tratado de las supersticiones y costumbres gentílicas que hoy viven entre los indios naturales de esta Nueva España; notas, comentarios y un estudio de Francisco del Paso y Troncoso, (México: Fuente Cultural de la Librería Navarro, 1953). 275

(García Ruiz de Alarcón).57 These arguments are convincing, yet the fact remains that there is no

conclusive evidence that Hernando was related to the other Ruiz de Alarcón men.

Documents provide ample evidence that Juan and Pedro were brothers. Pedro became the

beneficed cleric of Tenango on September 1, 1611.58 On February 13, 1613 Pedro, seeking a promotion in the archdioceses, started a probanza de méritos (certified testimonies of one’s ancestral and personal achievements) in which don Juan Ruiz de Alarcón served as his lawyer.

The record explicitly identified don Juan as Pedro’s brother.59 In the record, Pedro claimed that

his parents were Pedro Ruiz de Alarcón and Leonor de Mendoza. Pedro maintained that his

maternal grandparents were Hernando Hernández de Casalla and Maria de Mendoza.60 There is

little doubt that Pedro and Juan were brothers, but still, no evidence exists that Hernando was

related to them.

Hernando’s advanced skills in the Nahuatl language raise an issue regarding his relation

to Pedro and Juan. It is unknown how Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón learned the Nahuatl language.

There is no sign that Juan or Pedro mastered Nahuatl to any degree that resembled Hernando’s.

If anything, we know that Pedro’s Nahuatl skills were weak. In 1613, Archdiocese officials gave

Pedro a year to learn the Nahuatl language or he would lose his position as the beneficed cleric

of Tenango. The document explicitly noted how crucial it was for Pedro to pray, preach, and

hear confessions in the local language.61 Similarly, there is no proof that Juan spoke Nahuatl.

Hernando must have had a very different childhood than Pedro and Juan, a real knack for

languages, or both.

57 Julio Jimenez Rueda, Juan Ruiz de Alarcón y su tiempo, (México: Jose Porrua e Hijos, 1939), 13-14. 58 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 4889, Exp. 59. Mexico City: 1612. f 1r. 59AGI, México, 231, N. 11. Seville, Spain: 1613. Img. 57. 60 Ibid., Img. 53. 61 Ibid., Img. 11. 276

There are, however, a few pieces of evidence that link Hernando to the mining Ruiz de

Alarcón family in Taxco. Around the time of his graduation, archival sources show that

Hernando tried his luck in mining. On January 19, 1606 a man named Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón

wrote to the viceroy of New Spain regarding his invention of a technique to drain flooded and

inoperable mines. He wanted a merced (royal grant) yielding him the right to exclusively use his

invention and charge miners for his service or receive a percentage of the revenue generated

from mines that used his technology without his consent. He also wanted permission to use

indigenous labor from surrounding areas to obtain timber and use it in mines that required

draining.62 The audiencia did not grant Hernando the merced but they did grant a similar merced to Pedro Ruiz and Gaspar Ruiz de Alarcón in 1620.63 The latter was possibly Hernando’s

younger brother, further linking him to Pedro and Juan Ruiz de Alarcón. It is possible that the

unfavorable response Hernando received regarding his grant, led him to a lifelong career in the

Church. Although it is likely that Hernando was related to Pedro and Juan, as Dorothy Schons concluded, it is difficult to ascertain the identities of Pedro and Juan’s siblings with any certainty.64

What we do know is that by 1613, Hernando was the beneficed priest of Atenango del

Río, though I argue he received said position in 1611. A document from January 10, 1612

confirming that Pedro Ruiz de Alarcón was the beneficed cleric of Tenango, had the name

“Hernando” struck out and “Pedro” written in its stead.65 Perhaps the author, doctor Juan de

Salamanca, mistook Hernando for Pedro since the former was in Atenango, and the latter was in

62 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 6697, exp. 68. Mexico City: 1606. Indiferente Virreinal. f 1r. 63 AGN, Reales Cedulas Duplicadas, v. 16, exp 224. Mexico City: 1626. 64 Dorothy Schons, "Apuntes y documentos nuevos para la biografia de Juan Ruiz de Alarcón y Mendoza" (The University of Chicago, 1929), 41. 65 AGN, "Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 4889, Exp. 59," f 1r. 277

Tenango. This would suggest that by late 1611 Hernando was already the beneficed priest of

Atenango. Nevertheless, one of the first extant records of him exercising said post is from May

9, 1613, when, as we shall see in more detail below, Hernando conducted autos de fe against

indigenous people.66

Though it is unclear how long Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón (hereinafter Ruiz de Alarcón)

served as the beneficed priest of Atenango, we do know how much the crown paid him for his

services. Documents requesting the liquidation of back pay for Ruiz de Alarcón for the years

1627 and 1628 indicate that he earned 248 pesos, one tomin, and three granos of oro comun for

his services as the beneficiado of Atenango and Zacango. This was in accordance with the royal

provision he was given when he was appointed.67 Suggesting that he earned this annual sum

since he first took his post sometime in the early seventeenth century.

Like his birth, mystery shrouds Ruiz de Alarcón’s death. Coe and Whittaker have argued

that the cleric was dead by 1646.68 The last extant record of Ruiz de Alarcón as the beneficiado

of Atenango is dated May 8, 1634.69 By 1639, Juan Hidalgo de Barrios was the beneficed cleric

of Atenango.70 Because Ruiz de Alarcón mentioned he suffered from illness various times in his

life (see Chapter 6), and the fact that beneficed positions were perpetual, it is likely that Ruiz de

Alarcón perished between 1634 and 1638. He would have been in his mid-fifties.

The next milestone in Ruiz de Alarcón’s career was when he received a position as

investigator of indigenous heterodoxy. As mentioned above, there is no clear evidence as to how

or when the archbishop of Mexico gave Ruiz de Alarcón said position, nor what it fully entailed.

66 AGN, Congregaciones, Vol. 1, Exp. 271. Mexico City: 1613. 67 Records from 1627 are in AGN, Reales Cedulas, Duplicados, Vol. 9, Exp. 9. Mexico City: 1628. f 194r. Data from 1628 can be found in AGN, Reales Cedulas Duplicadas, Vol. 9, Exp. 603. Mexico City: 1629. f 372r. 68 Coe and Whittaker, "Introduction," 16. 69 AGN, Inquisición, Vol. 1569, Exp. 78. Mexico City: 1634. 70 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 5980, Exp 48. Mexico City: 1639. 278

In his treatise on Nahua practices Ruiz de Alarcón mentions that in 1617 he was out on a

pesquisa (search or inquiry) under orders given to him by Archbishop of Mexico Juan Pérez de

la Serna (not to be confused with Jacinto de la Serna).71 In a letter to the Holy Office in 1624, the

zealous priest mentioned that the Archbishop had given him a juzgado de inquisidor ordinario de

los indios and Inquisitors verified and inspected his written license to practice said position.72

Scholars have framed Ruiz de Alarcón’s role as an investigator of idolatry as a reward for his

autos in 1613, or at the very least as a result of his profound knowledge of Nahuatl and zeal for

the Christian faith.73 There is no evidence to support such claims and its plausible that Ruiz de

Alarcón solicited the position himself sometime between 1614 and 1617.

Ruiz de Alarcón completed his Tratado in 1629.74 In the Tratado’s prologue, the zealous

prelate claimed that the Archbishop had given him the task of reporting on the endemic

heathenness, idolatrous, and implicit and explicit pacts (with the Devil) that the indigenous

people held. He also noted that Archbishop commissioned him as ordinario to better assess the

situation and execute an adequate remedy. Ruiz de Alarcón claimed that completing this process

took him the better part of five years, therefore, it is logical to assume that he started writing his

treatise sometime in 1624.75 He created his treatise to alert other priests of the dangerous and

treacherous Nahua idolatrous practices. The zealous priest believed that Nahua people were liars

that hid their knowledge about healers, and their practices from clerics.76 He also listed the

71 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 52. 72 Ruiz de Alarcón mentioned the full title of his position in AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 303, Exp. 19," f 78r.; and the Inquisition noted that they had inspected his license in AGN, "Indiferente Virrienal, Caja 5172, Exp. 39," f 2v. 73 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 75. 74 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 21. 75 Ibid., 17-18. 76 Ibid., 19. 279

tenacity and perseverance that clerics needed to display to effectively combat indigenous

idolatry.77 Jacinto de la Serna took this idea and expanded it.

Jacinto de la Serna

It is widely believed that Jacinto de la Serna was born in 1600 and died in 1681.78 His

father was Hernando de la Serna.79 On April 9, 1614, Serna’s uncle Rodrigo de Vargas founded

a capellanía (a private endowment to fund a priest) with 5,800 pesos de oro comun under the

care of Carlos de Herrera, Vargas’ brother.80 The capellanía would become Serna’s once he completed his studies and became a priest, where he would receive full wages from the endowment. Until then, Alonso Verdugo would serve as the priest and he would give half of his earnings to Serna to pay for his food and tuition.81 This suggests that Serna was probably

finishing his studies around April 1614.

Unfortunately for Serna, Herrera died before he could execute the capellanía under

Vargas’ behalf, which led to a long legal battle.82 On August 30, 1624, when Ruiz de Alarcón

was compiling information for his Tratado, and actively extirpating indigenous heterodoxy,

Serna was still fighting for his capellanía.83 During the for his capellanía, Serna became the

beneficed priest of Tenancingo. The first mention of Serna holding said position is on October

16, 1614.84

77 Ibid., 30-31. 78 Ortiz de Montellano, Aztec Medicine, Health, and Nutrition, 25. Warren, "An Introductory Survey of Secular Writings in the European Tradition on Colonial Middle America, 1503-1818," 85. 79 AGN, Bienes Nacionales, Legajo 885, Exp. 2. Mexico City. f 4r. Hernando de la Serna was one of the witnesses that signed Rodrigo de Vargas will, which created a capellanía for Jacinto de la Serna. Most of the men that signed were identified as brothers or other family members, thus it is logical to assume that Hernando was Jacinto’s father. 80 Ibid., f 2v. 81 Ibid., f 4r. 82 Ibid., f 2v. 83 Ibid., f 2r. 84 Ibid., f 7r. 280

Evidence suggests that Serna was affluent, and a slave holder. On January 21, 1630

Serna, referring to himself as the beneficed priest of Tenancingo, wrote to the archbishop in

Mexico City complaining that an unknown person had purchased several calves, mules, mares,

corn, and wheat (which Serna valued at 500 pesos) from Serna’s slaves and overseers without his

consent.85 It is unclear if Serna recuperated his life stock. Still, this letter in conjunction with the

dossier for Serna’s capellanía suggest that he came from a family with wealth. On October 28,

1632, Serna obtained an honorary doctorate from the University of Mexico.86 Where he later served three times as rector.87Relative to the previous two men, Serna had a higher status which

likely helped him obtain a higher-profile position within the Church. He had a hefty capellanía,

though it was greatly depleted by the time he obtained the money, and he was a slave-holder. As

a rector of the University of Mexico, he had the potential of having farther-reaching impact

within the archdiocese of Mexico, relative to Ponce de León and Ruiz de Alarcón. As we shall

see, evidence suggests that the two above mentioned men did much of the ground work that

ended up in Serna’s manual.

Setting the Sights on Titiçih

The first systematic shift from conceptualizing titiçih and other ritual specialists as threats

to Spanish endeavors began with Ponce de León. After a series of investigations among Nahua

people in what is now the State of Mexico, Ponce de León wrote a brief report on the ritual

specialists, and their practices, that he encountered. Following a Western framework, he

separated male and female practitioners into medical categories. He placed women in the

85 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 5873, Exp. 62. Mexico City. f 1r. 86 AGI, Mexico, 31, N.11. Seville, Spain: 1632. f 1r. 87 Ortiz de Montellano, Aztec Medicine, Health, and Nutrition, 25. Warren, "An Introductory Survey of Secular Writings in the European Tradition on Colonial Middle America, 1503-1818," 85. 281

category “parteras,” while he used the term “médicos” for men. Perhaps because of his lack of

access to women’s rituals, many of which where women conducted in private settings, Ponce de

León only discussed female titiçih’s role in the ritual of itleuh quizaz in piltzintli (the infant’s fire

will emerge). This was a cleansing and tonalli-imbuing ritual (discussed in Chapter Four)

performed around four days after the birth of a child.88 He made no other mentions of women as

practitioners of tiçiyotl.

Ponce de León identified Nahua ritual specialists as a threat to Catholic doctrine. He

viewed the men and women that executed rituals as “dogmatizadores” (dogmatizers). The priest

noted that there were many gods among the Nahua people, and that they had easily incorporated

Christ into their pantheon. Even paintings that illustrated how to conduct postclassic rituals

incorporated images of the cross with nails and Catholic priests conducting mass. According to

Ponce de León, Indigenous dogmatizadores used these paintings to conduct sacrifices in their

ancient ways.89

By using the term dogmatizadores Ponce de León was accusing indigenous ritual

specialists of having an incorrect belief system that opposed Catholicism. According to the 1780-

edition of the Diccionario de la lengua castellana, there were two types of dogmas, Catholic

dogma, and false dogma. Catholic dogma was truth the Church held as undeniable and proved

the Church’s infallibility. The Church used these dogmas to combat heresy. Conversely, a false

dogma was an erroneousness or supposed principle proposed by heretics to legitimize their sects.

Building on this notion, the Diccionario de la lenga castellana stated that a dogmatizador was a

person dedicated to dogmas, particularly those that were heretical. Similarly, A dogmatista was

88 Ponce de León, "Breve Relación de los dioses y ritos de la gentilidad por don Pedro Ponce, Beneficiado que fue del partido de Zumpahuacán," 29-30. 89 Ibid., 28. 282

someone who introduced new ideas or dogmas, perverting the Catholic religion.90 As we shall

see below, Serna built on this notion to call for the removal of titiçih.

Ponce de León argued that indigenous “médicos” (i.e., titiçih) were superstitious and misled their indigenous communities. He reported that Nahuas in the region attributed illnesses to saints or fire. When a sick person sought the help of a ritual specialist, Ponce de León discovered, they would first tell him their symptoms and the details of their illness. The sick person would go home and return the next day. The ritual specialist would secure a chicken for sacrificial purposes, along with pulque, roses, poquietes (shoot beans), and tamales. Sometimes the ritual specialist would slit the chicken’s throat himself, alternatively others would do it. The

chicken’s blood was offered to the fire. The tiçitl would then split the food and offerings in two

and offer one portion to the fire. The other half was placed before an image, or in a church where

a candle was lit. The ritual specialist supplicated the fire, and then spilled some pulque before the fire stating, “moteniahuaz in huehuentzin” (the Oldman will wet his lips). The ritual specialist and those nearby would then eat the fowl and drink the food and the ill person would hope they regained their health.91

Ponce de León, a priest serving at absolute local level, clearly conceptualized Nahua

ritual specialists as the cause for Nahua apostasy and idolatry. After all, he believed they were

dogmatizers. Ruiz de Alarcón extended this campaign to southeastern Guerrero and left behind

much more robust information on the rituals that he attacked. He too, saw titiçih as a barrier to a

complete infiltration of Nahua communities and their full conversion to Catholicism.

90Diccionario de la lengua castellana compuesto por la real academia española, reducido á un tomo para sumas fácil uso, (Impresa de Joaquin Ibarra, 1780), 374. 91 Ponce de León, "Breve Relación de los dioses y ritos de la gentilidad por don Pedro Ponce, Beneficiado que fue del partido de Zumpahuacán." 283

Unfortunately, there is no record in existence that clearly states when the Archbishop of

Mexico appointed Ruiz de Alarcón as a judge of indigenous heterodoxy. In his Tratado, Ruiz de

Alarcón claimed to use the post as early as 1617.92 Furthermore, in 1624 he employed the title of

inquisitor of the court against indigenous idolatry when corresponding with the Holy Office.93

Similarly, we have no clear sum of the indigenous men and women that fell victim to Ruiz de

Alarcón and his campaign to establish Catholic orthodoxy in southeastern Guerrero.

In his treatise he claimed that divination was pervasive throughout the provinces because

communities took care of, and highly esteemed, their diviners (i.e., titiçih).94 As mentioned in

Chapter Four, by 1629 when he wrote his Tratado, he believed that he had tried more woman

than men. The majority of titiçih that Ruiz de Alarcón investigated were involved in some form

of tlapohualiztli, and as we have already seen, Nahuas commonly used ololiuhqui in these

practices.

Like Ponce de León and Ruiz de Alarcón, who extirpated and wrote before him, Serna

believed that ritual specialists were one of the biggest obstacles keeping Spanish customs and

religion from taking hold among indigenous people. There is no evidence that he tried

indigenous people himself during his time as a parish priest, though later in life he wrote about

his observations and enriched his findings with Ponce de León’s and Ruiz de Alarcón’s work.

The first extant example of Serna targeting indigenous healers was in the letter cited in

this chapter’s introduction. He divided his letter into four main points. The causes and

antecedents to indigenous illnesses; the beliefs that precluded treating the illnesses; and the

possible remedy for antecedent and associated causes for illnesses. He placed responsibility for

92 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 52. 93See AGN, "Indiferente Virrienal, Caja 5172, Exp. 39." 94 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 124. 284

indigenous illness and mortality on Spanish colonial ventures, and native practices. More

importantly, he proposed that the Church should set titiçih as an objective for change to help

Christianization efforts, and indigenous health. According to Serna, the presence of indigenous

healers among Native communities exacerbated their infirmity. “Cheating médicos” that

disturbed indigenous people, seemed to have a pact with the devil and they were present in all

towns.95 Serna viewed Nahua ritual specialists not only as a threat to Christianization, he also

framed them as public enemies to Nahua people themselves.

In 1656 Serna completed his Manual de ministros, and explicitly listed titiçih as the main

threat to Spanish efforts to Christianize and save indigenous populations. Due to Serna’s position

in the Church, his manual could have had a wider reaching impact in the diocese of Mexico than

Ruiz de Alarcón’s, and Ponce de León’s work. Serna’s manual was largely based on Ruiz de

Alarcón’s work and influenced by Ponce de León. According to Andrews and Hassig there were

two copies of Ruiz de Alarcón’s manuscript in the seventeenth century, and the original has been

lost. Serna encountered Ruiz de Alarcón’s work twice. Once when he visited Atenango del Río

in 1646, and later when “loose sheets” came into his possession. Serna did not cite Ruiz de

Alarcón’s work in his text, and thus it can sometimes be difficult to fully understand what

information his own, and what material came from Atenango’s beneficiado. As Andrews and

Hassig pointed out, the Manual’s readers may walk away believing that the work and

translations contained inside belonged to Serna, when in fact they were exactly in the style of

Ruiz de Alarcón’s Tratado.96

His Manual expressed refined ideas on the dangers of healing ritual specialists among

Nahua people, comparing them to wolves and dogmatists that worked for Satan. In his

95 BNAH, "Colección Antigua, Vol. 336, Numero 23," f 100v. 96 Andrews and Hassig, "Editors' Introduction," xvii. 285

dedicatory section, Serna supplicated the archbishop of Mexico to focus his attention on the

indigenous people, not Spaniards. The archbishop should ensure that the Church trained

ministers to defend the Indians – as members of his flock – from the wolves that were attempting

to dismember them. Serna believed that these wolves were particularly interested in indigenous

people because they were neophytes and spiritually weak. 97 In the main text Serna argued that

there was no better analogy for a “médico tiçitl,” or lying indigenous dogmatista, than that of a

wolf. Because the wolf was dirty, with frightening hair, had erratic movements, and it was

disgusting and vile. When left to its own devices it, the wolf was insolent. On the other hand,

when threatened wolves were timid and suspicious.98 “The enemy” (i.e., Satan) was always

searching for prey. The only remedy was to resist through faith, but Serna added that faith was

exactly what the wolves targeted with their lies. The main vehicle for these lies were “un cierto

genero de médicos” (a certain type of physician) that prevent the uprooting of indigenous

superstition and remnants of idolatry. This was not only in the archdiocese, but in all the dioceses

of New Spain. Lastly, Serna believed that these wolves (indios médicos) were ministers of Satan,

enemies of the Church’s mandates, destroyers of the Holy Sacraments, dogmatistas of their

heterodox ideas, and the médicos sparked indigenous heathenness.99 Serna viewed indigenous populations as particularly vulnerable to attacks from the Devil. He saw titiçih as the devil’s henchmen, and like Ponce de León he believed that Nahua ritual specialists were proponents of false beliefs that threatened Catholic doctrine.

The twenty years that elapsed between his letter and his manual also gave Serna the ability to refine his knowledge of Nahua culture. Unlike his letter, Serna’s training manual used

97 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 267. 98 Ibid., 454. 99 Ibid., 267. 286

the term “titzilt,” a misspelling of tiçitl. To Serna, a tiçitl was the equivalent of the Castilian

“médico.” Probably based on Ruiz de Alarcón’s work, Serna added that the term had more

meanings, such as diviner, sage, and sorcerer, and someone who had a pact with the Devil. Serna

claimed that when a tiçitl lived among Indians, the local community believed that he was a médico of any illness.100 Again, Serna branded healing ritual specialists as individuals that had a

pact with the Devil and misled their communities with illicit powers.

Serna outlined four reasons why the Church should target indigenous médicos. Many of

these ideas elaborated on the beliefs he expressed in his letter two decades before. The first was

that titiçih acted out of malice. If priests persecuted healers in one town, they left to another

where they could act without impediments. The second, was the lack of uniformity in districts

regarding the persecution of médicos and idolatry. Serna believed that only the indigenous

people in towns that had idolatry punished recognized that their acts were bad. The third reason

was that these médicos hated ministers that persecuted their actions, and they believed that

neighboring ministers were better if they had been unable to punish said crimes (which Serna

hoped was not an omission), and the Indians would move to more favorable districts. The fourth

reason was that countless complaints existed against ministers on behalf of Indian communities

that did not view persecution, punishment, and medication as a part of a priest’s job, instead they

saw it as an attack against indigenous people. Serna claimed that Indians accused ministers of working against royal tribute because Indians fled, and thus population numbers went down. For numbers to stay up, and thus continue using indigenous services lay Spaniards protected Indians.

Serna chastised this short-sighted behavior stating that Spaniards preferred the temporary usefulness of indigenous labor over the spiritual benefit that Indians lost because they went

100 Ibid., 304. 287 unpunished. Like his letter, the zealous priest called for a widespread and uniform persecution of

Indian médicos y falsos dogmatistas so that all towns saw it as a problem, and they would not flee to other districts.101 Serna outlined many of the tactics that indigenous people used to assuage unfavorable positions in colonial society. He notes that ritual specialists specifically sought advantageous parishes were priests were less hostile. This made it difficult to extirpate ritual practices and punish their practitioners.

The reader will recall that above, Ponce de León referred to indigenous ritual specialists as dogmatizadores, while Serna believed they were dogmatistas. As noted above, dogmatizadores were dedicated consumers of heretical dogma. Conversely, dogmatistas were creators, and teachers of heretical thought. Serna elevated the threat that titiçih represented from misguided, to misguiding. Which is reminiscent of Sahagún’s description of bad female titiçih – discussed in Chapter Four – who misguided and misled people. When viewed in the context of dogmatists, Sahagún description makes more sense.

Perhaps Serna was referring to events like those that Fray Nicholas de Castro reported on

November 25, 1640 in Ometepec. Castro wrote a letter to the Inquisition’s comisario regarding the actions of five indigenous men.102 He complained that Spaniards had failed to correct indigenous activities and thus they had reached extreme levels of damnation and separation from

Christianity. He further noted that what the indigenous people were doing was “formal idolatry,” not superstition like others might ignorantly state. Castro accused Juan Rubio, Juan Chuvuteco,

Melchor de Salazar, Fabian González, and Juan Pérez of committing enumerable ceremonias y embustes (ceremonies and fraud). According to the priest, these men had constructed “iglesias”

(churches) where they sought and talked to the Devil. The men said Satan appeared to them in

101 Ibid., 464-65. 102 Ometepec continues to exist under its Nahuatl name in the Mexican state of Guerrero. 288

these structures in various forms, and they incensed him and sought his help with their

necesidades (necessities) and enfermedades (illnesses). The five men took “excessive care” and

cleaned the area so much that they had even planted escobas de castilla (possibly Scoparia

dulcis L.) near the structures to sweep for the Devil. The structures also enjoyed a small

agricultural plot where the men had planted cassava and other food items. Castro claimed to have

seen the activities with his own eyes and he also burned two structures from which the

principales fled and hid “idols.” Other Spaniards, that could corroborate his accounts,

accompanied Castro. Furthermore, he pleaded with the unnamed comisario to act, or notify the

tribunal of the Holy Office so they could punish the named men and others as they saw fit.103

This does present an interesting case of jurisdictional confusion, unless some of the men

involved were non-indigenous. Nevertheless, this case shows distress regarding indigenous

practices in various parts of Central Mexico. Like Ponce de Leon and Ruiz de Alarcón, Castro

reacted with fury and destruction, as he attempted to crush persevering indigenous practices.

Comisario fray Cristobal de San Jacinto reported another similar occurrence. In April

1650 Lorenzo de Aguilar, Juana de la Cruz (Aguilar’s wife), and Isabel Reyes appeared before

fray San Jacinto from the convent of Chimalhuacan-Chalco (in the now State of Mexico).

Aguilar and his wife Juana de la Cruz, and indigenous woman, were both residents of

Chimalhuacan-Chalco, and Reyes was from Achichipico. They denounced two principales, a

mestiza named doña Maria de Luna, and her husband don Marcos, along with an indigenous

woman whose name they could not recall. Aguilar and his wife had seen doña Maria take

ololiuhqui, which they had heard should be ingested in secret, to know the identities of those that

had caused her harm, and to know what would occur in the future.104 Moreover, Reyes, a

103 AGN, Inquisicón, Caja 2429, Exp. 48. Mexico City: 1640. f 1r-2r. 104 AGN, Inquisición, Vol. 435, 1a. Parte, Exp. 6. Mexico City: 1650. f 12r 289

midwife, helped her daughter-in-law give birth at doña Maria’s home. The midwife told the

family to breastfeed the child. Doña Maria stated that they should wait until the next day and

when they checked on the baby he was dead. Reyes tried to recover her grandchild’s body to

shroud him for burial, but doña Maria told her to wait until she had been able to consult a mirror

to interpret the ololiuhqui. Once she could shroud the baby, she noticed that the baby’s body had

bruising.105 In Reyes’s case, it seems that doña Maria’s reliance on the seed and a mirror, which harkens back to Mesoamerican rituals with similar objects, cost the child its life and it is possible that the she subjected the child’s body to abuse.

Serna reverberated the discussion of dogmatista-titiçih within the main text of the manual, and more explicitly argued for their removal. He followed Ponce de León, and framed titiçih as “teachers.” He noted that despite Pedro Ponce de León’s preaching and teaching efforts among Nahua people, he was unable to reduce the numbers of the “teachers” among them. These individuals were médicos that cured and teachers of idolatry. Other indigenous people from the

Marquesado infected Indians in the area with their ideas, due to its proximity.106 Serna believed

the Church should target and remove these teachers because they taught other indigenous people

in secrecy using numerous metaphors which further piqued the Indians’ interest. According to

Serna, dogmatistas were a fire that lit the heads of others, a cancer that grew without delay and

acted on the healthy after acting on the rotten. He argued that those that feared fire would not

allow a flame near tinder; nor would a physician treat cancer with mild medications, instead he

would use powerful medicines and strong measures to remove the cancerous tissue from the

healthy and assure the survival of the whole. 107 At the core, titiçih and other ritual specialists

105 Ibid., f 13r. 106 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 288. 107 Ibid., 463. 290

were a problem because they not only practiced erroneous beliefs linked to the Devil. They

taught idolatry to their communities and spread heretical notions easily among an already

vulnerable indigenous population.

Serna also believed that the Church should punish titiçih, so that the collective learned a

lesson.108 The cleric added that the punishment of the Indians should be noisy, not ritualistic, to

frighten them and correct them with rigor. He likened this punishment to a loud bell, which after

being rung can still be heard in the ears of the listener. He wanted to prohibit, via an edict,

“titzitles, o médicos,” and other swindlers, sortileges, sorcerers, nahuales, and midwives from

practicing, consulting, or seeking others to practice the subjects he described in his manual.109

Serna proposed that the simple act of being a ritual specialist, irrespective of the act committed,

would be a punishable crime in the eyes of the Church. This marked the full shift that the church

took in the seventeenth century. In sixteenth-century priests viewed Nahua ritual specialists as

benign and innocuous, by the mid seventeenth century clerics were framing specialists as a

proverbial fire.

Conclusion

The Church’s perception of titiçih went from innocuous and largely ineffective healers in

the sixteenth century, to cunning, and dangerous dogmatizers in the seventeenth century. Surely

the behavior of some of the men and women in rural communities changed when they noticed

that priests suddenly started targeting and prosecuting healers. Nahua communities began hiding

the identities of their ritual specialists, and some titiçih fled to more favorable parishes.

Nevertheless, in general terms indigenous practices did not spontaneously become diabolical.

108 Serna, "Idolatrías, supersticiones, dioses, ritos, hechicerías y otras costumbres gentílicas de las razas aborígenes," 463. 109 Ibid., 464. 291

The change in the perception of Nahua healers was that clerics, such as Ponce de León, noticed

that titiçih were the pillars of Mesoamerican rituals in their societies. Seventeenth-century healing rituals, along with others, increasingly incorporated Catholic elements, which bordered on heresy and proved to be another source of anxiety for parish priests. By the 1650s, Serna identified titiçih as a metaphorical tumor that needed priests needed to surgically remove to preserve the rest of the body, i.e., indigenous communities.

Another driving force behind indigenous rituals was the Church’s seventeenth-century concern with ololiuhqui use among indigenous and non-indigenous people. Two edicts from the early seventeenth century sparked denunciations and questions from clerics through Central

Mexico. This, compounded with the belief that indigenous people were weak and susceptible to the Devil’s attacks, led the Church to reassess its role in rural areas. Ruiz de Alarcón’s battle with ololiuhqui, and his campaign to destroy indigenous ritual practices in rural Atenango del

Río, is the topic of the next chapter.

Chapter 6: Ololiuhqui and Ruiz de Alarcón’s Battle with Illness Fue preguntada que significa y a quien dedica la oraciones y palabras que a dicho y declarado que intención tiene cuando las dice. Dijo que ella las aprendió de los que dicho tiene y que no sabe decir más de que su intención asido hacer lo que sus antepasados hacían.

She was asked what they mean, and who she dedicates her prayers and words that she has said to, and what intentions she had when she said them. She said that she learned them from the said individuals [her mother and others], and that she does not know what else to say besides that her intention was to do what her ancestors did.

Magdalena Papalo y Coaxochi’s testimony before a judge against idolaters in Las Minas de Tlauncingo February 8, 1585 Archivo General de la Nación, Inquisición, Caja 1587, Exp. 11. f 4v.

Introduction

Shortly after Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón took control of his benefice in Atenango del Río, sometime in 1611 or 1612, he discovered the importance of ololiuhqui amongst indigenous people in his parish. One of the first encounters with the seed came when he discovered that an unnamed indigenous woman in the village of Cuetlaxxochitlan had a cestoncillo (small basket) full of ololiuhqui. An unnamed family member denounced the woman after they got in an argument. Ruiz de Alarcón instructed the denouncer to return home and see if the basket was still there, but it was not. He then summoned the woman who owned the basket, and put guards at her sister’s home, presumably so that no one would remove or hide it. He confronted the woman with specific details about the appearance of the basket, in hopes that she would admit her crimes. She acknowledged that the basket existed, but she claimed that it did not contain ololiuhqui, and that no one had moved it. She told Ruiz de Alarcón where he could find the basket. The priest seized it, but it did not have the cloth or quantity of ololiuhqui that the accuser had recounted. He then arrested the woman’s sister and spent an entire day interrogating her and confronting her with specific information that he had received from the denouncing woman. Ruiz 293 de Alarcón eventually deduced that while he summoned the owner of the basket, and placed a guard by her sister’s house, the sister returned the basket to its owner’s house and hid small piles of ololiuhqui throughout the building.1 This elaborate game of cat and mouse, reveals that

Nahuas knew that some priests objected to ololiuhqui possession and use.

Ruiz de Alarcón also discovered that indigenous people were afraid of retribution from ololiuhqui. He asked the woman why she had perversely lied about the seed, she responded with a common answer, “oninomauhtiaya.” Ruiz de Alarcón stated that this meant, “de miedo no me atreví” (“I did not dare because of fear”). Though a more appropriate translation might be, “I was struck with great fear.”2 He clarified that her, and other Nahua people’s, fear was not towards priests and their punishments. On the contrary, they feared the ololiuhqui or the deity that they believed resided inside the seed. It was for this reason that Nahua people did not confess their ololiuhqui related “sins.” They would often say, aço nechtlahueliz “no sea que se aire y se enoje contra mi” (“may he/she/it not become enraged and angered at me”).3 This demonstrates the hold that ololiuhqui had on Nahua people in Central Mexico. As the zealous priest found out, ololiuhqui functioned as a force that compelled Nahua people to partake in Mesoamerican rituals, despite increasing Catholic activity in the region, by unleashing its wrath on irreverent people.

This chapter argues that Ruiz de Alarcón’s seventeenth-century campaign against Nahua ritual practices was driven by his disdain for ololiuhqui, and the ritual specialists – often women

– that wielded its power. In 1617 he gained authority from the archbishop of Mexico to persecute indigenous idolatry, with said license came the authority to use violence towards indigenous

1 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 44-45. 2 According to Molina (part 1, folio 112r), mauhtia is a reflix verb that means, “temblar o estremecerse todo el cuerpo de miedo, o tomando me grima.” Which means, “for the body to shake or shudder with fear, or to grimace.” 3 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 45. 294 people during investigations and incarcerate and punish them when necessary. Women were disproportionately represented among the victims of Ruiz de Alarcón’s offensive against Nahua ritual practices. I contend that starting in 1624 Ruiz de Alarcón desired and attempted to extend his investigative authority to non-indigenous people. To increase his purview, Ruiz de Alarcón wished to become a member of the Holy Office, a goal he was never able to achieve. Though some historians have interpreted Ruiz de Alarcón’s attempts to extend his authority as jurisdictional confusion, in this chapter I will show otherwise.

Historian Richard E. Greenleaf has argued that confusion blurred the jurisdictional line between the Inquisition and Ecclesiastical commissions. Greenleaf wrote, “Clergy as well as indigenes did not understand the nature of the two jurisdictions of Inquisition and Provisorato.”

He further maintained that the ordinarios (local judges) and inquisitors did not help in matters of clarification.4 Among the examples that Greenleaf included, was Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón and his run-in with the Inquisition for performing autos de fe (literally “acts of faith”) on indigenous people. After completing his investigation, the Inquisition’s comisario (local functionary) reported that Ruiz de Alarcón acted out of ignorance of the law, not malice. According to

Greenleaf, Ruiz de Alarcón went on to receive jurisdictional training and became a “valuable asset” in fact-finding for the Inquisition up until at least 1624.5 Like the Inquisiton, Greenleaf believed that Ruiz de Alarcón actions stemmed from confusion, not zeal or ulterior motives. As for the Indians, Ruiz de Alarcón implied that indigenous people were aware of jurisdictional matters. He asserted that the indigenous people venerated a deity that emerged from the

4 Greenleaf, "The Inquisition and the Indians of New Spain: A Study in Jurisdictional Confusion," 165-66. 5 Ibid., 146-47. 295

ololiuhqui, and they hid these actions from clerics, especially if they were judges and could

punish indigenous heterodoxy.6

Aguirre Beltrán argued that Ruiz de Alarcón was an important factor in the persecution of banned plant use in the seventeenth century by the Holy Office.7 He cited a letter written by the priest, as evidence that he was an informant for the Inquisition.8 Andrews and Hassig maintained that the creation of Ruiz de Alarcón’s treatise was due to the conflicting jurisdictional disputes among religious factions.9 They also noted that his religious zeal got him named as an

ecclesiastical judge in 1617, and he also began informing the Inquisition on heterodoxy in his

region, which eventually lead to the creation of his Tratado.10 I argue that Ruiz de Alarcón never

became an informant for the Inquisition, in fact, the Holy Office declined information sent by the

zealous priest.

Davíd Tavárez continued the notion that Ruiz de Alarcón was misinformed and confused about his, and the Inquisition’s, role in the persecution of heterodoxy. Tavárez argued that a 1624 letter to the Archbishop of Mexico demonstrated the parish priest’s lack of understanding of jurisdiction. According to Tavárez, two facts pointed to Ruiz de Alarcón’s confusion. First, only the Holy Office could use title of “Inquisition.” Yet, in a letter to the Archbishop, Ruiz de

Alarcón claimed he was an “ordinary inquisition of the Indians.” Secondly, in the same letter,

Ruiz de Alarcón mentioned the case of a mulato who hired a Nahua man to ingest ololiuhqui,

and inquired if he could prosecute Spaniards and mulatos; ethnic groups outside of the guise of

the archbishop’s purview.11 I interpret this same letter, which Ruiz de Alarcón actually wrote to

6 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 44. 7 Aguirre Beltrán, Medicina y magia: el proceso de aculturación en la estructura colonial, 134. 8 Aguirre Beltran cited AGN, Inquisición Vol. 303, Exp. 19. 9 Andrews and Hassig, "Editors' Introduction," 3. 10 Ibid., 7. 11 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 76. 296

the Holy Office, as an attempt by the parish priest to become a local functionary for the

Inquisition. I contend that Ruiz de Alarcón was not confused, that is, disoriented or perplexed

regarding the nature of his jurisdiction, or the Holy Office’s.

This chapter first explores Ruiz de Alarcón’s understudied struggles with his physical

health, which Nahuas perceived as an attack by ololiuhqui. I will then turn to the Holy Office’s

investigation of Ruiz de Alarcón for punishing seven indigenous “idolaters.” This investigation

provides a window into the gendered dynamics of Ruiz de Alarcón’s extirpation campaigns and

suggests that he publicly punished ritual specialists to deter Mesoamerican practices. Lastly, this

chapter analyzes five letters written by Ruiz de Alarcón to the Holy Office of the Inquisition in

Mexico City. I show that his goal was to become an inquisitorial functionary to have

investigative authority over non-indigenous people. With the information Ruiz de Alarcón hoped

to obtain from Spanish, black, and mixed-race people, he planned to incriminate Nahua ritual

specialists and produce more arrests and punishments.

Ruiz de Alarcón’s Battle with Ololiuhqui

Not long after Ruiz de Alarcón became acquainted with the importance of ololiuhqui

among Nahuas in southeastern Guerrero, he clashed with the seed. He believed that the

ololiuhqui misguided indigenous people. He tried to save them, by immediately destroying the

plants that bore the ololiuhqui seeds. He wrote,

I attempted to uproot their prejudiced superstition from their heart, instantly preaching against it [ololiuhqui] and removing from their oratorios [places of worship] large quantities and tossing them in the fire in presence of their owners and many others, and I ordered the cutting of many of the shrubs that bear large amounts of ololiuhqui, and there are many of them on the edge of the river.12

12 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 45-46. The original Castilian reads, “…comencé a hacer instancia en desarraigar de sus coraçones su prejudicial superstición, predicando instantemente contra ella y sacándoles de sus oratorios mucha cantidad, y echándolo en el fuego en presencia de sus dueños y de otros muchos, y mandando rozar, mucha cantidad de matas que dan dicho fruto y hay de ellas en abundancias a orillas del rio.” 297

Nahua people feared the force inside of the ololiuhqui so much, that these events surely caused great anxiety and dismay for Ruiz de Alarcón’s parishioners.13 Ruiz de

Alarcón made various mentions in his treatise, and in correspondence with the Holy

Office, regarding his failing health. The first time he mentioned any infirmity was shortly after he destroyed the ololiuhqui plants. Although he did not describe his symptoms, he attributed his condition to acclimatization to warm lands.14 Conversely, the “blindly superstitious” indigenous people told him his irreverence had angered the ololiuhqui and thus it had caused his illness. Ruiz de Alarcón eventually overcame his ailments, at least temporarily. He attributed his cure to God, and he returned to his post.15

Nevertheless, his troubles with ololiuhqui continued. Shortly after his return to service he was informed that the usage of the seed persisted. On a feast day he ordered the construction of a large fire, and in front of all members of his benefice he burned a fanega (about eight gallons or a bushel) of the seed. Furthermore, he ordered the cutting and burning of all ololiuhqui bushes that could be found.16 It seems that his goal was to prove Catholic supremacy over the seed, but more importantly, his physical resilience and ability to overcome the seed’s wrath. Osvaldo F. Prado has compared Ruiz de

Alarcón’s recovery and destruction of ololiuhqui to Martin of Tours sixth-century destruction of pagan temples in Gaul. Ruiz de Alarcón conveyed a message that

Christianity was stronger than Nahua practices, and that he as a priest could outlast

13 See Chapter 5 for more details on this issue. 14 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 46. 15 Ibid. 16 Ibid. 298

titiçih. Prado believed that Ruiz de Alarcón was probably more effective in conveying the

latter than the former.17 Though this is not entirely true.

Lamentably for Ruiz de Alarcón, health issues haunted him for the rest of his life.

In a letter received by the Holy Office on September 13, 1624 Ruiz de Alarcón signed off

by saying that he would go and see the Inquisition in Mexico City if his illness

permitted.18 His vague description did not offer any clues to his ailment. Though it

appears that his illnesses cleared up in the next few months. On December 1, 1624 the

cleric stated that he had the health to serve the Holy Office.19 On October 8, 1625 Ruiz

de Alarcón finally revealed his illness. He thanked God for his health and noted that he

had not had any recent spells of the disease that had put his life in danger – la gota coral

(epilepsy). 20

Perhaps modern physicians would diagnose Ruiz de Alarcón with epilepsy. This

would explain why Atenango’s warm climates triggered his condition. As noted above,

Ruiz de Alarcón believed he had what doctors would now diagnose as a heatstroke.

Modern scientists define this life-threatening ailment as a central nervous system

disfunction caused by a person’s core body temperature exceeding 104 degrees. A

heatstroke will result in delirium, convulsions, or a coma.21 Though he did not describe

his symptoms, it is very likely that Ruiz de Alarcón suffered from convulsions which he

initially attributed to a heat stroke, and later concluded he suffered from epilepsy. It is

17 Osvaldo F. Prado, "Angels, Demons, and Plants in Colonial Mexico," in Spiritual Encounters: Interactions Between Christianity and Native Religions in Colonial America, ed. Nicholas Griffiths and Fernando Cervantes, (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1999), 176-77. 18 "Inquisición, Vol. 303, Exp. 19," f 80r. 19 AGN, "Indiferente Virrienal, Caja 5172, Exp. 39," f 1r. 20 Ibid., f 3r. 21 Abderrezak Bouchama and James P. Knochel "Heat Stroke," New England Journal of Medicine 346, no. 25 (2002): 1978. 299

probable that the convulsions, he had when he first arrived in Atenango del Río were his

first.

There are many causes and provocations for epilepsy, including over exposure to high

temperatures.22 Recent scientific research suggests that hot climates, or fevers, can spark

episodes of epilepsy.23 From a medical perspective it is logical to assume that the ambient heat

caused Ruiz de Alarcón’s “acclimatization illness,” as he suspected. Unless he suffered from

continuous fits of dehydration or hyperthermia, he probably suffered from a chronic disorder

such as epilepsy, and southeastern Guerrero’s hot climate simply triggered a seizure. Ruiz de

Alarcón believed that God’s intervention caused his recovery, while Nahuas in Atenango

believed ololiuhqui generated his illness. These two theories did not conflict entirely.

Ruiz de Alarcón seems to have been a pious priest, yet, there is evidence that he, and

other parish priests, seemed to accept some of the indigenous beliefs that they encountered. For

example, in his treatise he mentioned that lightning constantly struck a cross in Meztitlan, and

Augustinian priests were alerted that an “idol” was inside of it. The priests had the cross

dismembered and they found the idol in its interior, and they claimed that since that day

lightning had not hit the area in over twelve years.24 Ruiz de Alarcón also gave the example of

“penitents” that would go to rivers and jump on the back of alligators and spin. Unharmed they

would go underwater and ride the current back to their home, without suffering any discomforts.

He noted that the Devil made such activities possible to gain another soul.25 Though he accepted

22 Devender Bhalla et al., "Etiologies of epilepsy: a comprehensive review," Expert Review of Neurotherapeutics 11 (2011). 23 Simon D. Shorvon, Frederick Andermann, and Renzo Guerrini, The Causes of Epilepsy: Common and Uncommon Causes in Adults and Children, (Cambridge University Press, 2011), 631-33. 24 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 47. 25 Ibid., 41. 300

that a nonhuman force was behind Nahua ritual acts, he attributed their power to the Devil, not

Mesoamerican teotl.

Concerning the effectiveness of magical practices, anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss

wrote,

But at the same time, we see that the efficacy of magic implies a belief in magic. The latter has three complementary aspects: first, the sorcerer’s belief in the effectiveness of his techniques; second, the patient’s or victim’s belief in the sorcerer’s power; and, finally, the faith and expectations of the group, which constantly act as a sort of gravitational field within which the relationship between sorcerer and bewitched is located and defined.26

Though there is no evidence to suggest that ritual specialists used ololiuhqui to harm

others, there are persuasive indications that Nahuas believed that ololiuhqui itself could attack

individuals. Ruiz de Alarcón discredited the indigenous ritual specialists’ abilities, but he

substantiated the power of ololiuhqui. He reported that Nahuas used ololiuhqui or peyote when

they were not real médicos, or if médicos did not want to go through the hassle of figuring out

the problem with their patient. These men and women would take an entheogenic substance and

once its effect had waned, they would expound thousands of deceits, and the Devil would pepper

in some truths. In order, Ruiz de Alarcón reckoned, to fool and misguide indigenous people.27

Ultimately, it was the Devil that exerted power over Nahuas, and indigenous people erroneously

believed it was ololiuhqui.

I would argue that Ruiz de Alarcón’s early bouts with illness, and ololiuhqui’s hold on

his parishioners, shaped Ruiz de Alarcón’s interest in Nahua ritual practice and the consumption

of entheogenic substances. Prado has noted that Ruiz de Alarcón had identified the dominion that

26 Claude Lévi-Strauss, "The Sorcerer and His Magic," in Magic, Witchcraft, and Curing, ed. John Middleton, (Garden City, New York: The Natural History Press, 1967), 24. 27 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 43. 301

“local doctors” had over their communities, and their authority came from knowledge, spiritual,

and physical strength that they used to communicate with beings and forces.28

Ruiz de Alarcón’s disdain for ololiuhqui and ritual specialists led him down a

road of destruction and didactic terror. As we saw above, he destroyed large quantities of

ololiuhqui before his parishioners. He also attacked and punished men and women. In fact, his

zeal was so great, and his methods procedurally questionable, that the Holy Office of the

Inquisition closely examined his early campaigns.

The Holy Office Investigates Ruiz de Alarcón

The Holy Office became aware of Ruiz de Alarcón’s Inquisition-like actions by happenchance when a man appeared before the Holy Office in Mexico City to clear his conscience. On February 5, 1614 Juan Ponce Zambrano testified that while riding near the town of Atenango on Palm Sunday (March 31) 1613 he encountered a distraught Spaniard. According to Zambrano, the man claimed that he became discombobulated after witnessing the beneficiado of Atenango, Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón, procession a few Indians (male and female) because they had committed sorcery. Some of the penitents had candles in their hands, and nooses on their necks, while others had corozas (penitential conical hats) on their heads. An act the man mirrored those of the Holy Office. When Zambrano arrived in Atenango a man named Lorenzo

Verongo confirmed what the Spaniard on the road had witnessed. Zambrano claimed that other

Spaniards had been present during the acts as well. Lastly, days later, Zambrano himself witnessed Ruiz de Alarcón reprimand an indigenous woman that he released from jail.29

28 Prado, "Angels, Demons, and Plants in Colonial Mexico," 177. 29 AGN, Inquisición, Vol. 304, Exp. 39. Mexico City: 1614. f 259v. 302

On June 9, 1614, the Holy Office commissioned Friar Bernardino de Rojas, their

comisario in the Marquesado del Valle, to investigate Ruiz de Alarcón’s actions, which sounded

like an infringement of the Holy Office’s jurisdiction. The Holy Office granted Rojas permission

to question Indians via Friar Álvaro Dávila, a Nahuatl interpreter, and instructed Rojas to obtain

information from any Spaniards that had witnessed the events.30 Inquisitors in Mexico City

instructed Rojas to immediately respond to the matter in Atenango because Ruiz de Alarcón had

held a procession of indias e indios and declared their crimes, “…in the form of an auto

customary of the Holy Office, something he should not have done.”31 The modern reader might

be shocked to see that the Holy Office was more concerned with the appropriation of their

authority, than the wellbeing of the indigenous survivors who were out of the Holy Office’s

jurisdiction to begin with.

On July 9, 1614 Rojas began his investigation. By July 10, 1614 Rojas had interviewed

four Nahua men with ties to the Spanish bureaucratic system. The governor Toribio de la Cruz,

church fiscal Diego Diaz, alcalde Juan Bautista, and alguacil mayor (chief constable) Juan

Bautista.32 Although their testimonies had trivial differences regarding small facts, their stories

all corroborated with Zambrano’s, and each other’s.

Table 5 - Indigenous Witnesses Interviewed by Rojas Name Position in Spanish Bureaucracy Toribio de la Cruz Governador Diego Diaz Fiscal (prosecutor) Juan Bautista Alcalde (municipal officer) Juan Bautista Alguacil Mayor (chief constable)

30 Ibid., f 264r-64v. 31 Ibid., f 262r. 32 Ibid., f 265r-76r. 303

The four indigenous men agreed that Ruiz de Alarcón punished one Nahua man, and six

Nahua women. The cleric conducted three pseudo autos de fe in 1613. The first on Palm Sunday

(March 31) against María Magdalena and María Martínez, widows and residents of Atenango.

The second occurred on April 14 and included three women from the subject town of Comala, one of them was the wife of don Juan Matheo. 33 The final auto occurred on a Sunday, two months after April 14 (possibly June 13), and punished Don Diego Ortiz, his wife, and another unnamed woman, all residents of a nearby subject town named Zacango. 34 It is not surprising,

then, that this piqued the interest of the Holy Office in Mexico City. Without proper

authorization from the Archbishop to try indigenous people, Ruiz de Alarcón should have

reported the actions of the indigenous residents to a local ordinario.

On their respective occasions, Ruiz de Alarcón forced all seven penitents in a procession

from the jail in Atenango to the church. Alguaciles mayores (chief constables) Francisco Juarez

and Martín José along with alcalde Juan Agustín escorted the penitents. During the procession, each penitent wore a coroza with an image of Satan and flames and held a lit candle. They also had a noose around their necks, their hands bound with rope, and their backs exposed. All the while an alguacil whipped them and Ruiz de Alarcón waited for the penitents at the church’s door. He received them wearing a golden cape, holding a high cross, and a small baton. The beneficiado stood on a chair and declared in the Nahuatl language that he that he was punishing the penitents for hechicería (sorcery). He professed that if anyone else committed similar crimes

33 Years later Ruiz de Alarcón went on to interrogate don Juan Matheo for using ritual language that ensured successful woodcutting and fishing endeavors, he included information from this investigation in his Tratado. Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 60; 66. 34 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 304, Exp. 39," f 265r-80r. 304

he would punish them as well. Despite this, none of the witnesses remembered the exact details or nature of the “crimes” committed by the penitents.35

Inquisition autos de fe intended to deter heterodoxy with public humiliation and

punishment, reabsorb those that strayed and showed contrition, and expressed Catholic

supremacy. Ruiz de Alarcón’s autos were no exception. During his autos, he put his hands on the

penitents and declared that he absolved them, so they could enter the church. According to the

testimonies, he then led the penitents inside the church to the main altar where they stood

holding lit candles as the cleric held mass. After the service, Ruiz de Alarcón reminded his

parishioners that he was punishing the penitents for sorcery, a crime that would not go

unpunished.36 The alguaciles and alcalde escorted the penitents back to the jail with all their

penitential garbs minus the candles. The following morning witnesses heard trumpets and

Francisco Juarez yelling the penitents’s crimes as he whipped them throughout the streets before

Ruiz de Alarcón released them.37 Here Ruiz de Alarcón reconciled indigenous people that had strayed from his teachings. He also made a public metaphorical statement that he, and the

Church, were the absolute devotional authority in Atenango.

Ruiz de Alarcón closely emulated the Holy Office’s autso de fe. According to David

Graizbord, inquisitorial tribunals typically decided to hold autos de fe when enough cases had

accumulated. Church officials held autos on Sundays in front of large crowds. Officials would

read the crimes of the accused, the Holy Office’s verdict, Inquisitors absolved contrite

“criminals,” and relaxed (i.e., released) prisoners to lay authorities to have their sentences carried

35 Ibid. 36 Ibid. 37 Ibid. 305

out.38 Ruiz de Alarcon’s sentencing bears a striking resemblance to Zumárraga’s judgement in

Ana de Xochimilco’s case (see Chapter Four). Perhaps during his studies at the University of

Mexico, Ruiz de Alarcón saw the Inquisition conduct autos, read about them, heard about them,

or a combination of the three.

Table 6 - Ruiz de Alarcón's Autos de Fe First Auto de Fe Name: Date of Auto de Fe: Residence: Maria Magdalena (widow) March 31, 1613 Atenango del Rio Maria Martinez (widow) March 31, 1613 Atenango del Rio Second Auto de Fe Cihuatl Ce (Wife of Don Juan Matheo) April 14, 1613 Comala Cihuatl Ome April 14, 1613 Comala Cihuatl Eyi April 14, 1613 Comala Third Auto de Fe Don Diego Ortiz June 13, 1613 Zacango Cihuatl Nahui (Wife of Don Diego Ortiz) June 13, 1613 Zacango Cihuatl Macuilli June 13, 1613 Zacango

Ruiz de Alarcón’s autos were his localized versions of the grandiose rituals held by the

Holy Office of the Inquisition against individuals that had acted against the Church and its

teachings. Ruiz de Alarcón served as the Inquisitor, and the Nahua officials that had tapped into

Spanish power served as familiares (lay functionaries) for Ruiz de Alarcón’s Inquisition. Nahua

men, apprehended and punished their community members (overwhelmingly women) under the

orders of the zealous priest. Tavárez has pointed out that just like inquisitors relied on secular

authorities to hand out justice, Ruiz de Alarcón used native officials to deal out punishment.39 He

punished the seven individuals noted above, to warn other parishioners that he would not tolerate

heterodoxy. This set the tone for the rest of his tenure in Atenango de Río, and displayed his

power over indigenous practices and its practitioners.

38 David Graizbord, "Inquisitorial Ideology at Work in an Auto De Fe, 1680: Religion in the Context of Proto- Racism," Journal of Early Modern History 10, no. 4 (2006): 335. 39 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 75. 306

The notion that parishioners liked Ruiz de Alarcón, and a belief that he was confused,

influenced inquisitors to drop the case. For example, the third witness in Rojas investigation,

Juan Bautista, claimed that the community had not been upset by the Ruiz de Alarcón’s justicias

(acts of justice) because he seemed to do his job well.40 Witness four, also named Juan Bautista, said that the Indians had not become scandalized because they thought Ruiz de Alarcón was a good minister.41 In a report to the Holy Office, written on July 12, 1614, Rojas wrote that the

community seemed to love Ruiz de Alarcón because he was a good minister and a saint. Rojas

added that he believed Ruiz de Alarcón acted more out of ignorance than malice.42 Based on

Rojas findings – and perhaps the fact that Ruiz de Alarcón tried Nahua people and did not

infringe on the Inquisition’s jurisdiction – the Holy Office decided not to proceed with Ruiz de

Alarcón’s case. This might also explain why there is no evidence that the Inquisition reported

Ruiz de Alarcón to the Archbishop of Mexico for punishing indigenous heterodoxy without

expressed permission. This is the opposite of what we saw in Chapter Five, where Serna

complained that many indigenous communities denounced their priests because they did not

believe harassing heresy and idolatry was a part of their job.

Though the perspective that Rojas received, was from indigenous males, and thus

probably skewed. Six out of seven of Ruiz de Alarcón’s victims were women. Yet, Rojas did not

interview any of the victims, or other women in the town. Although Inquisitors instructed Rojas

to question Spaniards that had witnessed the events, he only questioned Nahua men with

positions in the Spanish colonial system. It is logical to assume that the female victims, two of

whom were widowed, did not have positions within the Spanish religious or lay bureaucratic

40 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 304, Exp. 39," f 274r. 41 Ibid., f 276r. 42 Ibid., f 261r. 307

systems. One can infer, that like the indigenous men that assisted Ruiz de Alarcón during the

autos de fe, the witnesses Rojas interviewed supported the priest’s efforts to combat indigenous-

heterodox ritual practices. Had Rojas interviewed Spaniards, and lay Indians (particularly

women), perhaps his report would have been different.

Although he did not lose his benefice or receive other reprimands, Ruiz de Alarcón’s

actions did not go without consequences. Evidence suggests that some of his parishioners began

to flee, and Ruiz de Alarcón lost control over sectors of his district, probably due to his heavy- handed acts of persecution. On May 9, 1613 viceroy don Diego Fernández de Córdoba wrote the justicias (local administrative officers) from Atenango del Río and Huitzuco. Don Diego informed them that Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón had reported that indigenous people in his district and outskirts of the cabezera of Huitzuco lived so far away that it was difficult for clerics to visit frequently. According to the viceroy, Ruiz de Alarcón complained that if he or the beneficiado

from Huitzuco attempted to visit the people in the outskirts they would get their children and

leave to the despoblados (deserted towns) known as Coahuilotlan, Izpuchapan, and other remote

towns to be far from the clerics’ reach. In order to properly indoctrinate and administer the

indigenous people, Ruiz de Alarcón asked don Diego to remove the indigenous people from their

puestos antiguos (ancient places), destroy any homes that they might have there, and force them

to live in their congregacion (concentrated center).43 Although the original letters penned by

Ruiz de Alarcón do not exist, don Diego’s response implies that the priest wanted to destroy indigenous people’s ancestral homes, and use the Crown violence to force them back within reach. Although none of the known victims from Ruiz de Alarcón’s autos de fe were from the

43 AGN, "Congregaciones, Vol. 1, Exp. 271," f 130r-31v. 308 towns named by the viceroy, it is reasonable to assume that these people fled because they heard about, or experienced, Ruiz de Alarcón’s autos or campaigns against ololiuhqui.

Map 4 - Ruiz de Alarcon's Relation to Central Mexico Don Diego, with advice from regidor Gaspar de Valdes, ordered justicias from Atenango and Huitzuco to compel Indians to return to their congregacion. The viceroy added that authorities should not allow indigenous people, without express permission from him, to live in despoblados. The viceroy instructed the justices to punish the rebeldes (rebels), and if necessary obtain help from the local priests, gobernadores, and alcaldes.44 Ruiz de Alarcón gained muscle from the secular arm in New Spain’s colonial system to force his parishioners back within reach.

44 Ibid., f 130v-31r. 309

That same day don Diego sent another decree to the functionaries overseeing Atenango.

This directive informed local authorities that Ruiz de Alarcón was having trouble with indigenous people from Acaquila and Tetlauco that had been congregated in Atenango. The priest complained that even though this communities had well-built homes and agricultural plots and fisheries by the large river that ran through Atenango (the Amacuzac river), some of them were becoming restless and wished to return to their puestos antiguos (ancient places). Ruiz de

Alarcón argued that this behavior agitated the other Indians, which could result in grave harm to their conscience. Among the difficulties that their return would create for the priest, was the distance that would hinder Ruiz de Alarcón from comfortably administering the indigenous people. Ruiz de Alarcón asked the Viceroy to silence indigenous ideas about moving away, hand out grave punishment to the leaders, and force the indigenous people that had left to return.45 I would argue that proximity, and walking distance, was not the only thing that concerned Ruiz de

Alarcón. In his Tratado, he objected that indigenous people had been congregated much too late.

He argued in favor of congregaciones, claiming that they exposed native vices, and allowed priests to be constantly present in the lives of indigenous people.46 He wanted to have indigenous people nearby, so he could monitor them and their devotional activities. Furthermore, I will remind the reader that the edge of the river was one of the sites that Ruiz de Alarcón attacked when he first campaigned against ololiuhqui. The fervent priest’s early attacks on the bushes that grew along the water’s edge surely affected these communities that lived near the river.

Don Diego, once more with the advice of Gaspar de Valdés, ordered local functionaries to compel the Natives from Acaquila and Tetlauco to return and remain in Atenango. The viceroy also maintained that he would not allow indigenous people were to visit their ancient

45 AGN, Congregaciones, Vol. 1, Exp. 272. Mexico City: 1613. f131v-32r. 46 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 19-20. 310 dwellings without his expressed consent. Don Diego stated that local authorities should not allow

Indians to move or desert their new residences, neither under conspiracy or individual actions.

Justices should prosecute any caudillos (leaders) and Indians that were the cause of said movements with the fullest extent of the law and punish them accordingly. The viceroy once more called on indigenous leaders, i.e., gobernadores and alcaldes, to tranquilize the indigenous people. Lastly, if necessary, the local beneficiado should help conserve and tranquilize the

Indians.47 Ruiz de Alarcón was able to present himself as a friend of the Nahuas, and therefore, the viceroy viewed him as a possible ally in “pacifying them,” not as the cause of their flight.

In conjunction with Ruiz de Alarcón’s autos in 1613, and his statements in the Tratado regarding the destruction of ololiuhqui bushes on the river’s edge, these decrees provide an alternative motive for indigenous people’s desire to leave. Surely the newly-transferred Native people in Atenango del Río fled because of the stresses created by forced relocation, but the beneficiado’s open hostilities must have exacerbated the situation. Don Diego’s decrees hint at an outright contestation of power between the beneficed priest and a sector of his district. These decrees suggest that Ruiz de Alarcón needed help from lay authorities to reestablish dominance over his benefice. He used all resources available to him to control the indigenous “rebels” and

“leaders” under his purview.

Rojas’ investigation was a missed oppourtunity to probe into Ruiz de Alarcón’s ideologies and his biographical background. Surely Rojas interviewed, or at least chatted with,

Ruiz de Alarcón. Unfortunately, there is no record of such event and thus we do not have Ruiz de

Alarcón’s perspective on the autos, his views on indigenous people and their practices, nor more insights on his personal life. Perhaps he maintained his innocence due to ignorance of

47 AGN, "Congregaciones, Vol. 1, Exp. 272," f 132r. 311 ecclesiastical procedure, though the elaborate nature of his autos and his letters to the viceroy indicate that he was quite familiar with the Spanish bureaucratic system, both lay and ecclesiastical. I would argue that he knew that he did not have the authority to engage in these autos de fe. As I will show further below, there is overwhelming evidence of his bureaucratic and jurisdictional savviness.

Inquisitor of the Court Against Indigenous Idolatry

In this section, I demonstrate that Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón understood jurisdictional claims regarding heterodoxy. It was his keen understanding of the limitations he held as an investigator of indigenous idolatry that led him to write to the inquisition to increase his purview.

I argue that he attempted to increase his power, so that he could detain and interrogate people from all ethnic groups regarding indigenous practices, as he began the creation of his famous

Tratado. The Tratado contains instances of him exerting his authority on indigenous people, he probably sought to do the same with non-indigenous people.

The priest’s flurry of letters to the Inquisition, starting in 1624, was an effort to obtain more information for his treatise. Largely based on his belief that indigenous people were misleading and naturally malevolent, he sought the ability to interrogate non-indigenous people to cross reference his findings. A trope that Ruiz de Alarcón clearly expressed in his magnus opus, writing,

Because those [indigenous people] that wish it [to help] do not have sufficient information on this topic, and those that do are delinquents in it, and/or they do not want to divulge it, or when they are in custody they deny everything; and what is written on this topic, is expressed in difficult language, and almost unintelligible….48

48 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 19. 312

Before moving into a discussion of the series of letters Ruiz de Alarcón sent to the

Inquisition, I will establish the level of violence and terror that he was able to exact on

indigenous people. Though many examples exist in his treatise, I will present three that

emblematic anecdotes of his practices. One day, it came to his attention that a woman, in the

barrio of Tlalapan in Atenango del Río, had four small tecomates (gourds) in side of a chicuhuite

(basket) that she had inherited from her ancestors. He had seen her tecomates, but when he

questioned her she did not confess. He went to her home with a notary, constable, and other

witnesses. He made her confess a fuerza de brazos (with laborious effort), and she finally

revealed where she kept the basket and the tecomates. Though she refused to touch them or

remove anything from the basket. He noted the diligence and discernment that a judge

(presumably against indigenous heterodoxy) had to have to punish and extirpate these crimes. 49

This case further shows the reverence that Nahuas showed ololiuhqui. The woman did not dare touch the ololiuhqui, because she did not want to disrespect it. This anecdote also illustrates the level of violence that Ruiz de Alarcón used against indigenous people.

A second example of Ruiz de Alarcón’s forceful and invasive investigations of Indians comes from a case in Cuetlaxxochitlan, where an indigenous woman had a few cestoncillos

(small baskets) with ololiuhqui. One day in church he confronted her and attempted to get her to confess her sins, which she denied. He grabbed her by the hand and went to her home in search of the basket. He stated that once she knew why he was investigating her, he did not release her, so she could not hide the objects for which he searched. When he searched her home, he found

an altar with “idols” (i.e., images), and a basket with ololiuhqui, which the woman did not dare

touch with her hand.50 Lastly, in Tlalticapan Ruiz de Alarcón incarcerated a 110-year-old

49 Ibid., 30-31. 50 Ibid., 31-32. 313

indigenous man, named Martín de Luna, for reciting ritual language that would protect him and

others from attacks. The priest of Xiuhtepec (who oversaw the region) came to the old man’s

defense, but Ruiz de Alarcón did not budge.51 Again, this case shows the respect indigenous

people had for ololiuhqui, and the physical force Ruiz de Alarcón used to investigate Nahuas.

Additionally, Despite Luna’s advanced age, and a priest’s intervention, Ruiz de Alarcón left the

man incarcerated, a level of authority he did not enjoy with non-indigenous people. I argue that

Ruiz de Alarcón sought this level of authority with non-indigenous people by attempting to

become a member of the Holy Office.

From 1624 to 1634 Ruiz de Alarcón wrote six extant letters to the Holy Office, in hopes

of becoming an inquisitorial functionary. Though some historians have interpreted his

correspondence as an indication that he was an informant to the Holy Office, I will show

otherwise.52 He crafted his letters to the Holy Office formulaically and expressed his abilities as an investigator, and his intent to serve the Inquisition and provide them with information that

pertained to their cause. The cleric also attempted to entice inquisitors with stories relating to

people of European or African descent and promised that a position with the Holy Office would

yield more useful information. Ruiz de Alarcón wanted inquisitors to grant him jurisdiction over

non-indigenous people, or to provide him with information regarding the activities of non-

indigenous people. A close read reveals his profound interest in Nahuas and their practices,

particularly those related to ololiuhqui and tlapohualiztli.

Table 7 - Letters from Ruiz de Alarcón to the Inquisition Date Sent to Inquisition Response Sent to HRA 9/13/1624 No record

51 Ibid., 66. 52 Greenleaf, "The Inquisition and the Indians of New Spain: A Study in Jurisdictional Confusion," 147. 314

12/1/1624 12/12/1624 4/26/1625 In Person 10/8/1625 10/30/1625 Received 5/8/1634 5/17/1634

The first surviving letter inquisitors received from Ruiz de Alarcón is from September 13,

1624. He opened the letter writing, “During the last few days while in the rural areas of

Tlaquiltenango in prosecution of what his illustrious honor has tasked me with (that which

pertains to the inquisitorial court over Indians)….” 53 This phrase has led some scholars to believe that this letter was written to the archbishop.54 The key to figuring out who this letter was

written to lies in the title “su señoria ilustrisima” (in bold above), which is often used when

referring to bishops and archbishops. The title translates as your illustrious honor, or his/her

illustrious honor. In this case, I believe Ruiz de Alarcón intended to use the latter.

Evidence in the letter suggests that in the passage above Ruiz de Alarcón was referring to

the position granted to him by the archbishop of Mexico, in the third person. There are four clues

that suggest that he wrote and sent this letter to the Holy Office. First, in the same letter, farther

in the text, Ruiz de Alarcón addressed the intended reader, i.e., inquisitors, using “vuestra

señoría” (your honor).55 Furthermore, on the final page Ruiz de Alarcón noted that he had

attempted to acquire as much information as possible to report it to “your honor,” because he

wanted to help “that Holy Office.”56 This suggests that Ruiz de Alarcón’s initial usage of su in

“su señoria illustrisima” was the third person, not the second person. Second, which is linked to

the first, Ruiz de Alarcón stated that he wanted to consult with “your honor” regarding

53 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 303, Exp. 19," f 78r. The original Spanish text reads, “Andando los días pasados por las amilpas de Tlaquiltenango en prosecución de lo que su señoría ilustrísima me tiene cometido (que es lo perteneciente al juzgado inquisidor ordinario de los indios).” (Emphasis is mine) 54 Tavárez, The Invisible War: Indigenous Devotions, Discipline, and Dissent in Colonial Mexico, 76. 55 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 303, Exp. 19," f 79r-79v. 56 Ibid., f 80r. 315

Spaniards. This is in accordance with the intended recipient being the Holy Office, since it did

have jurisdiction over Spaniards.57 The third piece of evidence, comes from a letter clearly

addressed to the Holy Office’s newly appointed fiscal (prosecutor) on December 1624.58 This

letter provides another example of Ruiz de Alarcón referring to the Archbishop in the third

person. He mentioned that while exercising the position that su señoría ilustrísima – the

Archbishop of Mexico –had given him, he came across some cases that might be of interest to

the Holy Office.59 Lastly, in a letter dated April 26, 1625 that Ruiz de Alarcón penned, and read

to inquisitors in person, he mentioned the case of a man named Agustin and noted that he had

already notified the Holy Office via a letter regarding the case.60 The only other extant letter in

which Ruiz de Alarcón mentioned this case is the one in question, dated September 13, 1624.

Therefore, there should be little doubt that Ruiz de Alarcón wrote this letter to the Holy Office.

This means that the contents of his letter do no suggest that he was confused about jurisdictional

claims between the Holy Office and the archdiocese.

Ruiz de Alarcón’s began this letter with an anecdote of a Spaniard engaging in acts of

“heterodoxy,” a topic that fell under the Holy Office’s jurisdiction. He stated that in

Tlaquiltenango on April 6, 1622 Rodrigo García, a Spaniard, appeared before Ruiz de Alarcón and told him about his dealings with a female ritual specialist. When García lost a few expensive horses, an indio principal (indigenous leader) advised him to seek the services of a woman that could help him find his steeds. García claimed that he did not consider whether his actions were licit or prohibited, his goal was to find his expensive animals.61

57 Ibid. 58 In this context a fiscal is a prosecutor, not be confused with a low-ranking functionary by the same title in an indigenous context. 59 AGN, "Indiferente Virrienal, Caja 5172, Exp. 39," f 1r-1v. 60 Ibid., f 5v. 61 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 303, Exp. 19," f 78r. 316

The woman charged García a tostón to perform a ritual that would reveal the location of his horses. The ritual involved maize and unintelligible words that she muttered under her breath.

He went home without fully understanding the “nonsense” the woman had told him, and

apparently never found his horses. García divulged this information to Ruiz de Alarcón because

he knew that the priest was investigating these types of activities among the Indians. Ruiz de

Alarcón added that he had not notified the Holy Office about García sooner because he felt that

the issue was not serious and that his advice to García, along with García’s confessor’s

punishment, was sufficient. Nevertheless, recent events lead him to include the case in the

letter.62 The woman in this case appears to have engaged in acts of tlapohualiztli to investigate

the whereabouts of García’s animals. This intercultural exchange of ritual practices is what Ruiz

de Alarcón tried to focus on to hook the Inquisition into being interested in his information, and

investigative abilities. I would argue that Ruiz de Alarcón waited more than two years to report

the incident because it finally became beneficial to his personal gains to report them the Holy

Office. With an expanded purview, Ruiz de Alarcón would more effectively persecute

indigenous ritual practices and write his treatise.

The next section of the letter reveals Ruiz de Alarcón’s intentions of crossing

jurisdictional boundaries to persecute indigenous practices. He reported that in the town of

Tepecuacuilco in the jurisdiction of Iguala, on July 11, 1624 he came across another case of

divination to prognosticate an illness. He originally went to Tepecuacuilco in search of an Indian

man that had been ingesting ololiuhqui. This man, named Juan Capitán, had detected that

someone had hexed a mulato named Agustin Alvarado. Ruiz de Alarcón interviewed Alvarado

and discovered that Juan Capitán blamed don Nicolas for the hex. Capitán stated that since don

62 Ibid., f 78v. 317

Nicolas caused the hex, only he could remove it. Alvarado sent his wife (a black woman) for don

Nicolas, an indigenous man and alcalde of Mayanala. She took don Nicolas to Tepecuacuilco to

lift his hex Alvarado based on Capitán’s prognostication. Ruiz de Alarcón speculated that part of

the plan was to kill don Nicolas, because he was injured during his roundtrip from Tepecuacuilco

to Mayanala.63

When Ruiz de Alarcón and his scribe were about to leave, Alvarado said there was more

to the story. Alvarado confessed that he himself had also taken ololiuhqui three or four times and

that an old man appeared to him. The man asked Alvarado what he wanted and why he had

summoned him. The old man confirmed Alvarado’s suspicions, and Capitán’s prognostication;

don Nicolas had indeed caused his illness. Based on this information, Alvarado then sent for don

Nicolas to cure him. The plan was botched when the teniente (officer in charge) of the jurisdiction became aware that Alvarado had sent for don Nicolas in his, and the beneficiado’s, name. The teniente nearly arrested Alvarado and sent don Nicolas back to his town, roughly twenty miles away. Leaving Alvarado hexed and without relief from don Nicolas. Ruiz de

Alarcón told Alvarado to turn himself in to the Holy Office, and that he would accuse him as well.64 This case reveals a wide web of ethnic cultural exchange and engagement. Alvarado, a

man of African and European descent, sought the help of indigenous ritual specialist to cure his

illness. Don Nicolas, an indigenous leader, was implicated in this event and it is reasonable to

assume that he must have been Alvarado’s rival in some respect. Lastly, though Ruiz de Alarcón

threatened to report Alvardo to the Holy Office, it seems that he waited a few months to finally

notify the Inquisition.

63 Ibid., f 278v. 64 Ibid., f 79r. 318

This letter illustrates that when he investigated non-indigenous people, things became

more complicated for the zealous priest. Bartolome de Cervantes, the mayordomo (foreman or

overseer) of Agustin Aguero’s jobsite, told the priest not to proceed with this matter because

Alvarado, a laborer of Aguero’s jobsite, had taken the ololiuhqui for medicinal purposes, not for

witchcraft or something of the sort. On August 15, 1624 during the celebration of the assumption

of the virgin, Ruiz de Alarcón apprehended Cervantes and Alvarado for attempting to excuse

their guilt in matters pertinent to the Holy Office. He reminded Alvarado about what he had

already confessed, and instructed him to avoid providing any excuses since God had already

restored his health. He instructed Alvarado to go and confess to the Holy Office in person.

Something he claimed to have already done since that was his obligation.65 Ruiz de Alarcón’s

letter suggests that he briefly detained Cervantes and Alvarado in the name of the Holy Office,

and authority he did not have. Unlike the indigenous Martín de Luna, discussed above, who Ruiz

de Alarcón detained for an extended period of time despite his advanced age, and his priest’s

intervention.

According to the cleric, at first Alvarado maintained Cervantes’s claim that he had only

ingested ololiuhqui for medicinal purposes. Alvarado eventually succumbed to Ruiz de

Alarcón’s “reason” and he promised to go to Mexico City and speak with the Holy Office about

his slip-up. Cervantes stated that he would await Aguero’s orders.66 Given that the Holy Office was interested in matters pertaining to ololiuhqui since 1621 it seems odd that Ruiz de Alarcon waited two months to report the case to the Holy Office. Unless, it became more beneficial for him to report it once he was writing his treatise. Furthermore, it seems like his threats to report

Alvarado to the Holy Office were empty.

65 Ibid., f 79v-80r. 66 Ibid., f 79v- 80r. 319

The concluding portion of Ruiz de Alarcón’s letter further reveals his desire to access non-indigenous people to maximize his efforts against indigenous people. The priest conveyed his willingness to help the Inquisition with matters pertaining to Indians, because there were many cases of indigenous heterodoxy, and a lot of ignorance among the Indians. He particularly noted that the Indians commonly believed that they could turn into a variety of species of animals. He was specifically interested in consulting with the Holy Office via writing or in person, if his illness and the Inquisition permitted, to know more about shape shifting among

Spaniards, so that he could proceed in his investigations against Indians (i.e., Nahuas).67

Unlike subsequent letters, this missive does not include any notes in the marginalia summarizing a response from the Holy Office. Perhaps because Ruiz de Alarcón wrote again a few months later, the Holy Office did not have enough time to respond. It is more likely that inquisitors had little interest in what Ruiz de Alarcón had to offer. Nevertheless, this letter establishes Ruiz de Alarcón’s extreme desire to be useful to inquisitors, and a passion to investigate and rectify the actions of Nahua peoples in southeastern Guerrero, especially those that pertained to ololiuhqui. Ruiz de Alarcón wanted access to a diverse group of witnesses.

Because he was a firm believer that evidence and testimonies from many people could make reluctant ritual specialists admit their actions.

On December 1, 1624 Ruiz de Alarcón sent another letter to the Holy Office in Mexico

City. He opened by congratulating Dr. don Bartolomé González Soltero for his recent promotion.

Based on the verbiage in the letter it seems that Ruiz de Alarcón and González Soltero knew each other rather well. Ruiz de Alarcón recalled that while he lived in Mexico City the fiscal had been a friend.68 According to records, González Soltero was born in Mexico in 1585 and

67 Ibid., f 80r. 68 AGN, "Indiferente Virrienal, Caja 5172, Exp. 39," f 1r. 320

attended the University of Mexico, perhaps overlapping with the beneficiado.69 He was

appointed fiscal of the Holy Office in 1624, a position he took in November of that year.70 Ruiz

de Alarcón stated that it would be his pleasure to help the Holy Office by providing information.

This, I argue, implies that Ruiz de Alarcón was not a bona fide informant or member of

inquisitorial networks. Ruiz de Alarcón probably saw the appointment of a friend, or

acquaintance, as an opportunity to become involved with the Inquisition since his first letter had

failed.

Ruiz de Alarcón claimed that while practicing the position given to him by the

Archbishop of Mexico; he had come across some activity that might interest the Holy Office.

The cleric claimed that individuals mixed with black and indigenous people were aindiados

(Indianized) and engaged in the same sortilege, swindling, infidelities, and superstitions as the

Indians.71 The cleric noted that since the topic dealt with a type of people that did not belong to

him (i.e., non-indigenous people), he often fell short and was not able to get information worth

sending to the Holy Office. This was largely due to the ease with which Indians gave false testimony and incriminated others, just like he had experienced eight days prior in Taxco.72 Ruiz de Alarcón attempted to create a link between the Nahua activities and those under the purview of the Inquisition, and he explicitly demonstrated that he was aware of jurisdictional boundaries.

69 Gil González Dávila, Teatro eclesiastico de la primitiva iglesia de las Indias occidentales ... el maestro Gil Gonzalez Davila, (Diego Diaz de la Carrera, 1649), 167. 70 José Toribio Medina, Historia del tribunal del Santo Oficio de la Inquisición en México, (Imprenta Elzeviriana, 1903), 170. Refers to González Soltero by the first name of Juan, though all other biographical facts correspond to Bartolmé. Furthermore, Medina notes that González Soltero took the position of fiscal in November 1624. Nesvig, Ideology and Inquisition: The World of the Censors in Early Mexico, 275. Corroborates that González Soltero took the office of fiscal in 1624, though an exact date is not provided. Lastly, Alberro, Inquisición y Sociedad en Mexico: 1571-1700, 83. states that González Soltero was a criollo and took the position of fiscal in 1624. 71AGN, "Indiferente Virrienal, Caja 5172, Exp. 39," f1r-1v. 72 Ibid., f 1v. 321

Ruiz de Alarcón reverted to his interests with Indigenous people, and ritual practices. He

stated that sometimes he had to encartar (publicly charge) Indians.73 He believed that, “generally

among them [Nahuas], they intrinsically incorporated sortilege or invocation, conjuring,

insulfation, or things of the like, which induced a pact with the Devil.”74 Ruiz de Alarcón

remarked that as an outsider it was difficult to identify this ritual language without knowing what

to look for because Indians (i.e., Nahuas) used a very secretive language that even eye-witnesses denied hearing. Notwithstanding Nahua clandestine behavior, experiences had taught him that

specialists accompanied ritual acts with ritual language.75

The zealous priest then made a bold request of his old friend. Ruiz de Alarcón mentioned

that he did not want to withhold from the Holy Office, nor inform on something that did not

require more information. Therefore, he was passing this letter along to González Soltero so that

he could relay the message if necessary. If the fiscal agreed, he could grant Ruiz de Alarcón the

right or permission to investigate. Ruiz de Alarcón noted that he had the zeal to honor God, and

he requested permission to interview non-indigenous people so that he could notify the Holy

Office of potential cases with full information. He believed that indigenous testimonies alone

were not trustworthy. Ruiz de Alarcón explained that he could elaborate more on the occurrences

in the region in person, and if the Holy Office wished he could get a substitute minister to

oversee his duties in Atenango while he was in Mexico City.76 Ruiz de Alarcón’s belief that he

needed to cross reference indigenous testimonies with those from people that were more

trustworthy was at the core of his desire to become a member of the Inquisition’s network.

73 This term comes from the noun carta (letter) and latterly translates as “to letter someone.” It means that prosecuting authorities had placed a letter in public spaces to make a crime publicly known and prevent community members from assisting and protecting the accused. 74 The Castilian text reads, “…generalmente entre ellos tienen como cosa intrínseca incorporado el sortilegio, o invocación, o conjuro, o insuflación, o cosa semejante, que induce pacto con el demonio.” 75 AGN, "Indiferente Virrienal, Caja 5172, Exp. 39," f 1v. 76 Ibid., f 2r. 322

He ended his letter with a sensational nugget from the day before. Ruiz de Alarcón claimed that on November 30, 1624, he found a Satan-shaped “idol” in a granary. He explained that it was necessary to climb up to the mouth of the granary to find the image, where it was hanging from branches.77 This story did not pertain in any way to non-indigenous people, thus it did not involve the Inquisition. Perhaps he hoped that it would arouse the Inquisition’s interest.

It seems that by writing his friend González Soltero, Ruiz de Alarcón finally got the

Inquisition’s ear, at least for a meeting. The back of the December 1 letter has a summary of the response the Inquisition sent to the zealous priest. The notes state that inquisitors asked Ruiz de

Alarcón to send a copy of the appointment the Archbishop of Mexico had granted him, and to go to Mexico City if he was able to do so, assuring that the Holy Office grant an audience. There is a second note stating that on April 26, 1625 Ruiz de Alarcón appeared in Mexico City and inquisitors Dr. don Francisco Bazán de Albornoz and licentiate Gonzalo Mesía Lobo saw him.

On that same day, Ruiz de Alarcón read his appointment by the archbishop of Mexico to the inquisitors, confirming the licit nature of his investigations among indigenous people.78

Unfortunately, they did not make a note or reference regarding the dates of his appointment nor any other pertinent facts. We have no record of what he discussed with the inquisitors on April

26, however, the notes states that Ruiz de Alarcón read Inquisitors a letter he had written beforehand.79 In this letter he once more asked to become a member of the Holy Office’s network.

The letter bears the date of April 26, 1625, suggesting Ruiz de Alarcón wrote it in

Mexico City. The letter contained four main topics: A priest that had discussed, in graphic detail,

77 Ibid. 78 Ibid., f 2v. 79 Ibid., f 5r. 323

how a saint and the Devil engaged in sodomy; A merchant that told a community about the vices

of adultery; follow-up information on Agustin de Alvarado; and the difficulties he was having

with obtaining information because he lacked jurisdiction over non-indigenous people.80 Only the latter two pertain to this study.

Ruiz de Alarcón returned to the case of Agustín Alvarado, which he mentioned in his first letter to inquisitors. According to Ruiz de Alarcón, after he mailed the first letter, Alvarado changed his story. His new statement was that only he had ingested ololiuhqui, and he removed all fault and blame from his indigenous accomplice Juan Capitán. The priest said that he once more ordered him to go and personally tell the Holy Office in Mexico City.81 Perhaps Alvarado

protected Capitán, who was indigenous, because he fell under Ruiz de Alarcón’s jurisdictional

scope. Whatever the case may be, Alvarado’s case now jurisdictionally belonged to the Holy

Office.

The final subject of Ruiz de Alarcón’s letter illustrates his firm understanding of

jurisdictional boundaries and his desire to obtain jurisdiction over all ethnic groups. He began

this section by stating that he received information, presumably about Alvarado, from other

individuals, but it was so confusing that he would not be able to give the Holy Office any

updates until he could make sense of things. Although many had stepped forward to testify

against Capitán and Alvarado, he could not investigate because some of the leads pertained to

people outside of his jurisdiction and he lacked a license from the Holy Office. He added that he

would wait to hear from the Holy Office on what to do, and that he would not err so that he could

give the inquisitors reliable information.82 This letter explicitly notes that as of April 1625 Ruiz

80 Ibid., f 5v. 81 Ibid., f 5r. 82 Ibid., f 5v. 324

de Alarcón was not an informant, or member, of the Holy Office’s instigative network. It also

shows that Ruiz de Alarcón was well aware of his jurisdictional boundaries as investigator

against indigenous idolatry.

The summary of the inquisitors’ response on the front of the letter was not a favorable

response for Ruiz de Alarcón. It states that they ordered the priest to instruct the men that

overheard the first and second topics in his letter to go and speak to Holy Office officials

themselves. Regarding Alvarado, inquisitors ordered Ruiz de Alarcón to secretly apprehend the

man, warn him that if he used ololiuhqui again he would be punished, and to give him a “healthy

penance.”83

This resulted in a draw of sorts. The Holy Office seemed to have little interest in the

information that Ruiz de Alarcón gave them. Often their response asked the beneficiado to

instruct the individuals he had written about, to visit inquisitorial authorities. The Inquisition did

not give Ruiz de Alarcón permission to further investigate any cases, or question individuals.

Even in the case of Alvarado, the Holy Office only gave Ruiz de Alarcón enough authority to

hand Alvarado a penance. Nevertheless, Ruiz de Alarcón misrepresented Alvarado’s case in his

treatise.

In his Tratado, Ruiz de Alarcon believed that the use of ololiuhqui could lead to

bickering not only within communities, but also in neighboring towns, and it could even cross

ethnic lines. He used Alvarado as a cautionary tale. Ruiz de Alarcón reported that Alvarado

resorted to “superstition” because he believed that an Indio alcalde (Indian functionary) from

Mayanala had hexed him. With all the commotion, the alcalde sought help from a local justicia and the Holy Office prosecuted Alvarado.84 In the version Ruiz de Alarcón presented the

83 Ibid., f 5r. 84 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 49. 325

Archbishop of Mexico, and by extension the reader of his treatise, the Inquisition tried Alvarado.

Ruiz de Alarcón also removed himself from any of the proceedings. To be clear, there is no

extant case against Alvarado in the Inquisition’s records.

Ruiz de Alarcón received the same treatment given to priests who were reporting on matters that did not pertain to the Holy Office. For example, on November 6, 1628 priest Diego de Céspedes wrote the Holy Office regarding and indigenous woman named Angelina and her suspicious activity in the Mines of Zamapan (in the modern state of Hidalgo). Céspedes claimed that the local beneficiado had already punished Angelina, yet she had recently returned to her

“guilt” along with a mestiza named Ana López. Someone informed him that López would shape shift at night to go and see a man that she had been involved with for many years. Sometimes she would take the form of a rooster and on other occasions she would turn into a dog. The two women would lock themselves in a room. They placed a cajete (large bowl) with water and, together, they recited certain words and made hand gestures and spoke to the walls in unison.

One day while the two women were doing this López’s slave, Catalina, came looking for López, and when Catalina attempted to speak to López, she appeared to be dead. The enslaved woman called for López and shook her violently. Nevertheless, López did not wake up. Later that night

Catalina saw a dog and a few other animals enter the room where López and Angelica were conducting their ritual. López finally awoke and the animals were nowhere to be found.

According to Catalina, other witnesses could corroborate her story. Céspedes stated that he was informing the Inquisition, so they could decide how to proceed. The marginalia on the letter shows that inquisitors Bazan and Valdespina wrote back with instructions on November 7. They 326 instructed Cespedes to seek the help of an ordinario that knows about the cases that pertain to indigenous people.85

A similar case comes from Puebla regarding an elusive indigenous man. On September 7,

1630 Captain Aguado wrote the Holy Office from Tepexi de la Seda (in Southern Puebla). He stated that he had heard that a juez ordinario from the city of Puebla was prosecuting an indigenous man. Jailers were keeping the man shackled in a cell. One night, without leaving any doors or windows open, he escaped. According to Aguado, it was hard to imagine or understand how this occurred. If the Inquisition was interested, he offered to recapture the man and have him sent to the Holy Office in Mexico City. Inquisitors responded that they did not “know” about indigenous people, and that he should notify the juez ordinario so that he could punish them.86

Like Ruiz de Alarcón, these men were all instructed to seek the help local functionaries that were experts on jurisdictional matters. Though, unlike Ruiz de Alarcón, none of these men were charged with investigating and prosecuting indigenous idolatry.

On October 8, 1625 Ruiz de Alarcón sent another letter to the Holy Office. This letter continued the trend of arguing for the ability to interview non-indigenous people to get information about Nahua practices. Ruiz de Alarcón reported that on May 9, 1625 in the town of

Guaxtepec he had interviewed a woman named Catalina de Mesa, who the priest believed to be

Spanish, regarding a fortune telling Indian woman. Mesa reported that Maria Magdalena had sought the help of the Indian woman to find clothing that someone stole from Mesa, in Maria

Magdalena’s home. The information that Maria Magdalena relayed from the Indian woman proved to be inaccurate. Ruiz de Alarcón told Mesa that he was going to report her to the Holy

85 AGN, Indiferente Virreinal, Caja 2284, Exp. 20. Mexico City. f 1r-1v. 86 AGN, Indiferent Virreinal, Caja 5259, Exp. 95. Mexico City: 1630. f 1r-1v. 327

Office, since it was their jurisdiction.87 This is another instance where Ruiz de Alarcón attempted to bait inquisitors with information that pertained to inquisitorial matters.

Ruiz de Alarcón then turned to the problem of Indigenous customs and their diffusion among non-indigenous peoples that lived with, or near them. He once more noted that non-

Indians that lived among Indians quickly adopted their ways and believed in their ignorance. To

Ruiz de Alarcón, it seemed as if these people believed that the sortílegas (indigenous female soothsayers) had some sort of superior science or, that their sortilege was licit behavior. More importantly, he noted, non-indigenous people seemed unaware that these actions were against the

Holy Faith and thus they did not confess nor doubt their actions. In fact, Ruiz de Alarcón complained, non-Indigenous people seemed surprised that he was so interested in their Nahua influenced ritual practices.88 Perhaps the most frustrating part for Ruiz de Alarcón was that although the identities of the male and female fortune tellers were publicly known, no one would disclose their identities. Many denied and concealed their activities so that others would not find out. He claimed that it was necessary to threaten people with incarceration for them to confess.89

Ruiz de Alarcón’s frustration stemmed from the fact that he was unable to easily investigate indigenous heterodoxy because communities did not cooperate with his inquiries. Furthermore, the specialists that Ruiz de Alarcón labeled “fortune tellers” were in fact titiçih. This suggests that in seventeenth century southeastern Guerrero, non-indigenous people – including Spaniards

– sought titicih’s help. Lastly, this letter reveals that Ruiz de Alarcón’s method of bombarding suspects with large amounts of information to make them confess did not work if he could not obtain substantial amounts of detail through investigation.

87 AGN, "Indiferente Virrienal, Caja 5172, Exp. 39," f 3r. 88 Ibid. 89 Ibid., f 3v. 328

The case of the indigenous female ritual specialist that found lost property, mentioned

above, is a primary example of Ruiz de Alarcón overwhelming a suspect. He boasted that he

gathered all the witnesses that had made statements against her, and he threatened to incarcerate

her if she did not confess. Once he confronted the woman with the specific details of the rituals

and ceremonies that she had performed, she finally confessed. He did this often because he

believed that indigenous people did not think it was beneficial for them to confess their “crimes.”

Ruiz de Alarcón emphasized that to achieve these confessions it was essential to go into their

towns and investigate. He complained that it was a bothersome task because these crimes

implicated so many, and few of them listened.90 Though as he notes in his letters, getting

cooperative indigenous witnesses could be a challenge.

Ruiz de Alarcón concluded in the body of his letter with an ominous note. He wrote that

there were a few things that had happened to him that he wanted to share with the inquisitors, but

he dared not write them and preferred to impart his knowledge facie ad faciem (face to face). 91

This was likely another attempt to entice inquisitors so that they would grant him another official

audience, and perhaps membership among the inquisitorial staff.

In the post script Ruiz de Alarcón finally explicitly and openly asked the Holy Office for

a position in its roster. He boldly requested, “I understand that it would be convenient and

helpful to be able to roam with liberty in my missions if, with your honor’s favor, it was possible

to be a member of that Holy Office… Your honor will order what is believed to be best.”92 Well into late October 1625 Ruiz de Alarcón was still not a formal member of the Inquisition’s

90 Ibid. 91 Ibid. 92 The Spanish translation is, “Entiendo que me fuera conveniente y provechoso para poder andar con libertad en mis comisiones si fuese posible con tal favor de vuestra merced ser del número de los de ese Santo tribunal… Vuestra Merced ordene lo que mejor le pareciere que se pueda hacer.” Ibid. 329

networks. He argued that a commission with the inquisition would increase his investigation’s

productivity, though his primary interest with indigenous people was transparent.

In the October 1625 letter Ruiz de Alarcón attempted to build his credibility, trust, and

utility with the Holy Office. As promised in earlier letters, Ruiz de Alarcón sent information

regarding non-indigenous heterodoxy that might be useful to the Holy Office. Nonetheless, his

main concern remained indigenous people and the extension of his authority over non-

indigenous people. It did not appear that he wanted to punish non-Indians, he simply wanted to

obtain whatever information he could that pertained to his investigations on Nahuas.

The front left margin of the letter includes a summary of the Holy Office’s response sent

on October 30, 1625. According to the note, inquisitor Bazán ordered that Ruiz de Alarcón

apprehend Catalina de Mesa during confession and give her a “healthy penance.” The inquisitor stated that Ruiz de Alarcón should referrer issues on indigenous people to the local ordinarios

(ecclesiastical judges).93 Inquisitor Bazán de Albornoz skirted a few issues brought up in Ruiz de

Alarcón’s letters. The inquisitor did not invite the priest back to Mexico City, and he did not

address the priest’s request to joins the ranks of the Holy Office.

There are no further records of correspondence between Ruiz de Alarcón and the Holy

Office until almost nine years later, on May 8, 1634. Roughly five years after he had submitted

his Tratado to the Archbishop of Mexico. This letter addressed three main topics: an indio

supersticioso curandero (superstitious indigenous empirical healer) that used ololiuhqui and had

instructed a negro (black man) to ingest the seed; the second topic was regarding a black man

that had been tried by the Inquisition and relapsed into once more misleading indigenous people;

and the final order of business, which he rhetorically wove into the first two topics, regarded

93 Ibid., f 3r. 330

getting permission to serve the Holy Office by questioning suspicious individuals and reporting

back to inquisitors.

Ruiz de Alarcón mentioned that he had prosecuted cases against some superstitious

Indians that were curanderos. One of these curanderos had given ololiuhqui to Pascual, an

enslaved black man, from Pololtzinco. Pascual belonged to licenciado (licenciate) Agustin

Agüero and worked on his estancia in Pololtzinco.94 Ruiz de Alarcón explained that the purpose

of the ololiuhqui was to cause visions that would reveal if a sorcerer or an illness had made

Pascual sick. The ritual specialist who instructed Pascual to drink the seed infusion, told Ruiz de

Alarcón that the Virgen Mary was among the things Pascual saw. Ruiz de Alarcón stated that the

investigation he was doing on the “author” (i.e., the “curandero”) made it necessary to get a

statement from Pascual. Ruiz de Alarcón asserted that he was alerting the Inquisition about this

case because when he last saw inquisitor Dr. Francisco Bazán, whose 1633-death he noted in the

letter, the prelate had requested that he notify the Holy Office of anything that pertained to

them.95 Perhaps Bazán’s death seemed like another opportunity for Ruiz de Alarcón to become a

member of the Holy Office’s network. He might be able to confuse new members of the Holy

Office regarding the extent of his communication with the Bazán, since his statement was open

ended and it was unclear if he had seen him after his 1625 visit to Mexico City.

Ruiz de Alarcón went on to highlight the endemic usage of ololiuhqui by Nahua people

and other ethnic groups as well. He noted that the use of ololiuhqui was very popular with the

Indians and that he had been unable to extinguish its use. To make matters worse, claimed Ruiz

de Alarcón, people of African descent that lived among the Indians were also partaking in the

94 This is the same Agustin Agüero that owned the land where Ruiz de Alarcón investigated Agustin de Alvarado ten years earlier, mentioned above. 95 AGN, Inquisición, Caja 1569, Exp 78. Mexico City: 1634. f 1v. Bazán de Albornoz served as inquisitor from 1614 to 1633. Nesvig, Ideology and Inquisition: The World of the Censors in Early Mexico, 275. 331 practice of ololiuhqui ingestion. Black men marrying Indian women, Ruiz de Alarcón argued, exacerbated this situation. According to Ruiz de Alarcón, black people did not realize that rituals related to ololiuhqui were against the Holy Catholic faith.96 Per usual, the beneficed priest of

Atenango attempted to invite interest in his region by superficially mentioning instances of interethnic and non-indigenous heterodoxy.

The second matter in the letter regards a black man from Taxco that the Holy Office had previously punished. Ruiz de Alarcón reported that the man continued to be a trickster among

Indians. He claimed to have jurisdiction over the man because the black man had punished two indigenous men for sorcery, a fact that the cleric had not yet been able to verify. Nevertheless,

Ruiz de Alarcón recognized that the black man’s acts “belonged” to the Holy Office’s jurisdiction and thus he would not proceed against him until he heard back from inquisitors. He pleaded with the Holy Office, stating, “I supplicate you to see that my wishes are that our Lord is served and glorified and as such I will wait for you to proceed….”97 Ruiz de Alarcón probably wanted to speak to the unnamed black man to find out more about the two indigenous men he had punished. It is rather odd that Ruiz de Alarcón did not include crucial details like the black man’s name. One can speculate that he did this to further entice the Holy Office.

Two things become clear, Ruiz de Alarcón continued his interests in the persecution of

Nahua healers and users of ololiuhqui late into his life, and he once more attempted to use the authority of the Holy Office in said pursuit. Both topics mentioned in his 1634 letter had indigenous “sorcery” at their core. Ruiz de Alarcón needed the Inquisition’s permission to interview the two black men that he mentioned, as he admitted in his letter, to get information

96 AGN, "Inquisición, Vol. 1569, Exp. 78," f 1r-1v. 97 Ibid., f 1v. 332

about indigenous practices. The marginalia on the front of the letter suggests that inquisitor

González Soltero once more denied Ruiz de Alarcón membership in the Holy Office’s networks.

González Soltero scribbled in the marginalia (typically a summary of the response letter)

that Indigenous matters did not pertain to the Holy Office. He added that ordinarios were well

versed in cases that were mixti fori (i.e., from contested or diverse jurisdictions) such as cases

dealing with double marriage, blasphemy, and sorcery. Regarding the black men, the inquisitor

jotted instructions in the margin that Ruiz de Alarcón was to interview the first man that drank

the ololiuhqui and if the matter was grave, he should report it to the Inquisition. In respect to the

second black man, inquisitors asked Ruiz de Alarcón to figure out the man’s name, what he

looked like, his profession, and how people knew that the Holy Office had punished him.

Inquisitors ordered Ruiz de Alarcón to report on the second man, so that the Holy Office could

decide what steps to take.98 Though this was an ostensible win for Ruiz de Alarcón, the 1634 letter does not indicate that the Holy Office granted the zealous priest the right to freely investigate issues of heterodoxy among non-indigenous people. A reasonable conjecture can be made that in the first case Ruiz de Alarcón used the Holy Office’s letter as a license to investigate Pascual and obtain leads about the “indio supersticioso curandero.” As for the second case, there is no evidence that Ruiz de Alarcón wrote back with more information about the black man.

There is no further correspondence or information regarding Ruiz de Alarcón. Perhaps he finally resigned to obtaining a license to investigate heterodoxy on behalf of the Holy Office.

Whatever the case may be, Ruiz de Alarcón left behind a cache of data and information regarding indigenous ritual practices that Serna, and possibly other clerics, benefited from. Ruiz

98 AGN, "Inquisición, Caja 1569, Exp 78," f 1r. 333 de Alarcón established a clear connection between titiçih, ololiuhqui, and resistance to

Christianity and a hispanized lifestyle. Moreover, Ruiz de Alarcón’s letters suggest that people of European descent were absorbing indigenous culture and partaking in diabolical activities; just like the 1622 edict against ololiuhqui warned.

Conclusion

Ruiz de Alarcón was not a functionary or informant of the Holy Office. More importantly, he was not ignorant of the jurisdictional demarcations that existed among the

Inquisition and the ecclesiastical forces in the Archdiocese of Mexico regarding indigenous people and non-indigenous people. Ruiz de Alarcón attempted, numerous times, to become a member of the Inquisition’s roster, but failed. His main interest in becoming a member of the

Inquisition was to obtain information from Spaniards, people of African descent, mestizos, and other castas, with an end goal of persecuting indigenous ritual specialists to extirpate their practices. Ruiz de Alarcón was a hardnosed investigator that used information to incriminate and corner suspects. The more information he had, from diverse angles, the better results he believed he would yield.

Ruiz de Alarcón fought a continuous battle with seizures, which his Nahua parishioners understood as punishment for his profane behavior towards ololiuhqui. He also noted that Nahua people showed grave fear towards angering or disrespecting ololiuhqui. This, he believed, prevented them from confessing their sins and seizing their immoral behavior. The elective and selective spheres become blurred when the prominence of ololiuhqui is considered. Ruiz de

Alarcón’s letters and Tratado revel that ololiuqui was a powerful force of attraction or compulsion that exerted its strength on Nahua people. 334

This chapter has also demonstrated that women were keepers of ololiuhqui seeds, they ingested them, and they helped their communities and people from other ethnic groups regain balance in their lives. The centipedal force that ololiuhqui, and the specialists that harnessed its power, had caused anxiety among Ruiz de Alarcón and other Spanish authorities. Though indigenous people were not more susceptible to the Devil’s temptations more than any other ethnic group, Nahua people – along with other indigenous groups – were in fact the epicenter of ololiuhqui usage in colonial society. After all, it was titiçih via Oxomoco and Cipactonal who had created, mastered, and preserved tiçiyotl. Titiçih, ololiuhqui, and tlapohualiztli were fundamental aspects of tiçiyotl that Ruiz de Alarcón, Ponce de León, Serna, and others, interpreted as heretical, idolatrous, superstitious, and diabolical. As we saw elsewhere in this dissertation, this could not have been farther from the truth.

Conclusion

Es tanta la ignorancia o simplicidad de casi todos los indios, y no digo de todos, porque no he corrido toda la tierra, pero poca diferencia debe de haber, que según se entiende todos son facilísimos en persuadirse lo que les quisieren dar a creer.

So great is the ignorance or simplicity of almost all Indians—I do not say all because I have not traveled all the land, but there is probably little difference—that it is understood that they are all very easily persuaded in whatever they are given to believe.

Father Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón Tratado de las supersticiones y costumbres gentilicias que hoy viven entre los indios naturales de esta Nueva España (1629)

This study concludes in 1656, with Jacinto de la Serna’s call to arms against titiçih and other ritual specialists living among Nahua people. Moving forward in New Spain’s history, attestations of the words tiçitl and titiçih are scant, to date found only in one document. In 1759,

Jesuit friar Ignacio de Paredes wrote his Promptuario manual mexicano in the Nahuatl language.

Paredes adapted Jesuit priest Geronimo de Ripalda’s early-eighteenth century Texto de la doctrina Cristiana to New Spain’s colonial context and used Nahuatl idioms and complex synonyms that he believed would help missionaries perfect their language skills, and better express Catholic doctrine. When discussing contrition, he used a metaphor involving ce cocoxqui

(a sick person) and ce tlama tepatiani tiçitl (a prudent healing tiçitl). The tiçitl would only be able to heal the sick person if she helped herself and appreciated the medicine the tiçitl gave her by applying it. So long as sick sinners took titiçih gave them, In teoyotica tiçitl (the spiritual tiçitl), in Inteotepaticatzin Dios (the divine healer) would receive them rejoicefully.1 Paredes’

1 Ignacio de Paredes, Promptuario manual mexicano, (México: Imprenta de la Bibliotheca Mexicana, 1759), CLXXVI. 336

use of tiçitl seems to mirror a direct and literal translation of physician, which perhaps he found

in Alonso de Molina’s sixteenth-century dictionary.

Though this study focuses on Central Mexico, it has relevance with scholarly works throughout the globe. For example, Sabine McCormack Religion in the Andes: Vision and

Imagination in Early Colonial Peru findings in the colonial Andes has found that those that knew about the Devil, such as priests, saw him everywhere. Spaniards often believed that huacas

(images of deities) were powered by the Devil, yet, McCormack showed that by sifting out

European preconceived notions of the Andean reality, it was possible to see how huacas worked

in their own context.2 This has striking similarities to the experience Nahua people had with ololiuhqui and other ritual artifacts and materials. Furthermore, like Nahuas and other indigenous groups of Mesoamerica, Spaniards described Indians from the Andes as particularly vulnerable to the Devil.3 As we saw in Chapter Five and Chapter six of this study, Spaniards feared that the belief that entheogenic substances were effective, came from the Devil which in turn invaded indigenous populations and eventually made its way to multiethnic people. Moreover, like

Mesoamerica, McCormack found that often male historians did not learn much about rituals

executed or overseen by women, such as the Andean cult of the moon.4

This dissertation also connects with studies exploring indigenous healing practices in

colonial contexts. For example, Paul Kelton’s Cherokee Medicine, Colonial Germs: An

Indigenous Nation’s Fight against Smallpox, 1518–1824 probes indigenous healing practices in

southern Appalachia in contact with Spanish, English, and American empires. Kelton found that

European explorers put Cherokee healing specialists into preconceived category of “conjurers.”

2 Sabine MacCormack, Religion In the Andes : Vision and Imagination In Early Colonial Peru, (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1991), 7-8. 3 Ibid., 43. 4 Ibid., 115. 337

Moreover, though often ignored and understated, women were conjurers as well. As one might

expect, Cherokee women played a very different role in their communities relative to European

women.5

Similarly, the multi-ethnic interest in Nahua tlapohualiztli (investigation via rituals)

resonates with Liesbeth Hesselink’s Healers on the Colonial Market: Native Doctors and

Midwives in the Dutch East Indies. Hesselink found that in the Dutch East Indies, colonial subjects were consumers sought the help of indigenous healers in a void in the medical market that was unfilled by “regular” medical practitioners.6 Lastly, Sokhieng Au’s Mixed Medicines:

Health and Culture in French Colonial Cambodia offers global perspective on Nahua and

Spanish conflicts over health and illness. Au framed the differences between French and Khmer

(an indigenous group of Cambodia) contact as culturally insoluble, due to the different epistemic

views both groups involving medicine and disease. This conflict was hinged on different theories

between French and Khmer practitioners on what caused illness, and how it should be treated.7

In Central Mexico, Spaniards and Nahuas disagreed on the causes of cocoliztli or illness, and

what rituals and salubrious materials to use in order to reach pactinemiliztli or health.

Despite colonial conflict, and Spanish attempts to stamp out Nahua practices, ritual specialists have persisted among Nahua people, though their social position and titles have changed. The term tiçitl fell out of general use after Paredes’s manual, except for Francisco

Morales’s ethnographic work in 1980s Milpa Alta (southeastern Mexico City), that recorded a female ritual specialist using “tiçitl” synonymously with “curandera.”8 By and large, titiçih

5 Paul Kelton, Cherokee Medicine, Colonial Germs: An Indigenous Nation's Fight Against Smallpox, 1518-1824, Vol. 11 (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2015), 66. 6 Liesbeth Hesselink, Healers on the Colonial Market Native Doctors and Midwives in the Dutch East Indies, (Brill, 2011), 3-5. 7 Sokhieng Au, Mixed Medicines: Health and Culture in French Colonial Cambodia, (University of Chicago Press, 2012), 157. 8 Morales, "Xilotzin ihuan in ticitl." 338

became parteras (midwives), curanderos (empirical folk healer), and curanderas (feminine of

inflection of curandero). Even though Nahuas no longer use the term “tiçitl,” evidence from

twentieth century ethnographies suggests that Spanish efforts to extirpate Mesoamerican

traditions of healing and religious practices failed. With that said, like all aspects of culture

which rarely remain stagnant, the position of women has changed. Female ritual specialists no

longer enjoy the same prestige as their sixteenth- and seventeenth-century ancestors.

Some ethnographic research suggests that Nahua communities now use Spanish terms for their ritual specialists. William Madsen conducted a sixteen-month ethnographic study in a

Nahua village named San Francisco Tecospan (just outside of Milpa Alta) in 1952. Madsen recorded diverse information regarding local beliefs about gestation and birth. He only used the

English word “midwife,” and he did not mention titiçih or any other Nahuatl terms for ritual specialists. According to a woman he interviewed named doña Manuela, pregnant women in

Tecospan started seeing midwives in their third or fourth month of pregnancy. The midwife would then visit the pregnant woman every twenty days. Midwives advised expectant mothers to use the temazcal (a hispanization of temazcalli, steam bath) once a week. The mother-to-be purchased products for her midwife to apply during labor. One of the most notable ingredients being cihuapahtli (woman medicine), a plant used extensively for its oxytocic properties in the postclassic and colonial periods. Doña Manuela confirmed that the practice of keeping a fire in the birth chamber was still alive and well, though the fire was no longer a representation of a

Mesoamerican deity as we saw in Chapter four— it was the host of a battle between God and the

Devil for the child’s soul and fate. Like sixteenth century Nahuas, midwives in Tecospan buried umbilical cords in gender specific locations. Women that had trouble conceiving, or had sick children, had to seek the help of ritual specialists in the nearby towns of Xochimilco or Milpa 339

Alta since Tecospan did not count with any.9 This suggests that midwives no longer executed the same ritual practices that the colonial Church targeted. Midwives in Tecospan, tended to focus on delivery and birth attendance.

According to Hugo G. Nutini and Bary L. Isaac’s research in Zacapoaxtla-Cuetzalan

(Puebla’s Sierra Norte) in the 1960s, it seems that birth attendants did not practice ritual activities like those of colonial titiçih. In this region older women served as birth assistants, though they were not midwives by vocation, and they received a generous payment in food that ensured the baby grew up with good fortune.10 Similarly, in another region of the Sierra Norte, in the Villa Jurárez Xicotepec in Zacatlan-Huachinango, four days after giving birth, comadronas

(midwives) bathed new mothers in the temazcal and purified them with leaves from the tequepas tree.11 This was also true in San Francisco Xaltepuxtla in Zacatlan-Huachinango, where a comadrona and another woman bathed the new mother in a temazcal with a straw broom. For ten days after giving birth, the partera took the mother to a waterfall to bath, where they also left an offering.12 The occurrences in both towns suggest that women that assisted other women give birth, make offerings, and perhaps perform rituals that ensured a healthy and fruitful life for the infant, did not hold any specialized ritual knowledge. Conceivably this was because Nutini and

Isaac were not interested in these roles, women never held these roles in the area, or they fell out of practice by the twentieth century.

Though other areas of Central Mexico do suggest that some Nahua communities in

Central Mexico preserved Nahuatl terms, and many practices from centuries past. According to

9 William Madsen, The Virgin's Children; Life in an Aztec Village Today, (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1960), 72-84. 10 Hugo G. Nutini and Barry L. Isaac, Los pueblos de habla náhuatl de la región de Tlaxcala y Puebla, 1. ed., Vol. no. 27.;no. 27; (México: Instituto Nacional Indigenista, 1974), 176-77. 11 Ibid., 230. 12 Ibid., 238. 340

Alberto Rodríguez Márquez and J.B. Larios, Nahua ritual specialists in Hidalgo in the 1970s that

assisted women in birth were known as “parteras” and tetlachicueniquetl (she washes people’s

clothes) or temaquixtiquetl (she is a savior of people).13 Márquez and Larios also reported

accounts of Nahua “parteras” engaging in ritual language to ensure a safe and uneventful

childbirth. These women made tobacco, liquor, and raw egg offerings to apantename (river

ancestors). The apantaname were also known as “Santos Parteras” and their names included

various female saints such as Tonanna María Guadalupe. Unlike Tecospan, anywhere from two

to three weeks after the child was born, the family called on the partera to prepare the herbs she

would use to bath the child. First, the partera led an offering made at a nearby river to thank the

apantename, and the midwife then guided the mother and the child to their home, where the

partera ritually bathed, and named the child. Like their early colonial counterparts, during ritual

baths Nahuas in the town of Tecacahuaco gave infants gifts, and established social expectations

based on their gender.14 Despite not going by “titiçih,” mid twentieth-century midwives in

Hidalgo led rituals and seemed to have more advance knowledge of plants, were to acquire them, and apply them.

In nearby Atlahco, parteras in the 1970s also had extensive roles in delivery and related rituals. They used candles to cleanse parturient women and ask for God’s help during childbirth.

After the birth was complete, the partera took the new mother’s clothing and the newborn’s diapers to wash them. She also took tobacco, liquor, and an egg to offer at the site where she would be washing.15 In Atlahco, Huejutla, and Iztacuayo parteras bathed children seven days

13 José Barón Larios and Consejo Estatal para la Cultura y las Artes de Hidalgo., Tradiciones, cuentos, ritos y creencias Nahuas, Biblioteca hidalguense Arturo Herrera Cabañas Serie Narrativa (Pachuca de Soto, Hgo.: Gobierno del Estado, Consejo Estatal para la Cultura y las Artes de Hidalgo, 1994), 23-24. 14 Ibid., 17-18. 15 Ibid., 19. 341

after birth. Gendered distinctions existed in the three communities. In Atlahco, parteras

sacrificed a rooster for boys, and a hen for girls.16 In Huejutla, during the ritual bath, parteras

gave children their names and gender specific items.17

Anthropologist Alan Sandstorm’s ethnographic fieldwork during the 1970s and 1980s in

Amatlán (a 600-person village in the Huasteca Veracruzana), discovered a vibrant ritual world.

Sandstorm found that a tetejquetl (a term he translated as midwife) performed a brief cleansing

ritual for infants at birth. Four days later, either the tetejquetl or an axochiteonaj (water-flower

godmother) completed a ritual bath for the child using water infused with herbs.18 Though this

information proposes that women had complex ritual knowledge, Sandstrom noted that women

engaged in the occupation of tetejquetl or texixitojquetl (bonesetter) as a secondary job to earn

extra income.19 Female ritual specialists were no longer able to sustain themselves with their ritual labor and agricultural yields.

Brad R. Huber and Alan R. Sandstrom, reported that in the 1990s in Hueyapan (Morelos) as well as other Nahua communities, female ritual specialists were active in a wide range of practices related to birth and health. Postpartum rituals were more common and tended to have a temazcal, a midwife, a curer, and a non-specialist. In Hueyapan midwives used a mixed approach to birth and women’s health, it was empirical with supernatural explanations.20 Some midwives in Hueyapan had secular “callings” to their profession, though some also had a “sacred route.”

For the latter, like their colonial counterparts, children, elders, and other supernatural entities

16 Ibid., 20-21. 17 Ibid., 22. 18 Alan R. Sandstrom, Corn is our blood: culture and ethnic identity in a contemporary Aztec Indian village, 1st ed., Vol. 206.;v. 206; (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991), 296. 19 Ibid., 139. 20 Brad R. Huber and Alan R. Sandstrom, "Recruitment, Training, and Practice of Indigenous Midwives from the Mexico-United States Border to the Isthmus of Tehuantepec," in Mesoamerican Healers, ed. Brad R. Huber and Alan R. Sandstrom, (Austin, Texas: University of Texas Press, 2001), 157. 342

would appear before them and guide them towards midwifery.21 In Hueyapan, like other Nahua

communities, midwives’ financial standing varied. Some were very poor, others were better off,

but in general terms none of them were wealthy by local standards. This might be related to the

fact that many of midwives came from humble, single-parent homes.22 Like other ethnographers,

Huber’s and Sandstorm’s findings show that female Nahua ritual specialists, in this case known

as midwives, are no longer high-ranking individuals in their communities.

Nevertheless, these sources indicate that in the face of extirpation efforts, Nahua women

and men were resilient, and they maintained a healthy dose of their Mesoamerican practices. The

above ethnographic records also suggest that Christianity seeped deeper and deeper into

Mesoamerican practices as the colonial period unfolded and Mexico emerged as a nation. Yet,

when compared to colonial sources, twentieth century ethnographies hint that ritual vocations

surrounding birth became less prestigious. No longer were ritual specialists considered powerful

individuals that garnered political and economic respect.

Sources from the sixteenth and seventeenth century indicate that titiçih had strong local

followings in their communities. Hernando Ruiz de Alarcón referred to titiçih as satraps twice in

his treatise. First, he noted that anytime Nahuas conducted a ritual it was under the command of

their satraps, that is, their doctors, seers, or sorcerers.23 He argued that Nahua satraps, which they called tiçitl, or tlachixqui interpreted omens and ordered communities to make sacrifices as they saw fit.24 Jacinto de la Serna too, referred to ritual specialists as satraps. He used this term for

individuals that could stun animals with ritual language, and then kill them.25 According to

21 Ibid., 158-59. 22 Ibid., 166-67. 23 Preamble to treatise 24 Ruiz de Alarcón, Tratado, 55. 25 Serna, Manual de ministros de indios para el conocimiento de sus idolatrías y extirpacio de ellas, 433. 343

Sebastián de Covarrubias, the term satrapa (satrap) was of Persian origin and was used to denote the governor of a province. He added that business savvy individuals were also known as satraps.26 Therefore, according to Ruiz de Alarcón and Serna, Nahua ritual specialists had political clout in their areas that competed with some aspects of Spanish power. Naturally, these two men might have embellished their observations to intensify the threat that titiçih and other ritual specialists presented. Still, as we saw in this dissertation, other sources corroborate that ritual specialists commanded respect, received payments in kind, and enjoyed the protection of their communities.

The history of how Nahua ritual specialists arrived at their current position in Nahua communities is complex and lengthy. This present study is important because it unearths and analyzes the history of tiçiyotl in Central Mexico from 1535 to 1656. As I showed, these were the years in which Spanish clerics and scientists classified and processed Nahua healing knowledge, its practitioners, and the materials they used. More importantly, these were also the years in which the Catholic Church in New Spain identified Nahua ritual healers as a threat to their Christianization and Hispanization efforts.

This dissertation has used a wide array of sources to demonstrate that Spanish men attempted to control and change the way in which Nahua people prayed, and healed their bodies in the sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries. Previously understudied sources along with better- known sources show a more complex understanding of Nahua ritual healers, once known as titiçih, now communities recognize them by the Spanish term curanderos.

Although in the postclassic and colonial periods women had prominent roles in tiçiyotl,

(Nahua healing knowledge) they are now seemingly pigeon holed to the role of midwife. As the

26 Covarrubias Orozco, Tesoro de la lengua castellana, o española, 1251. 344

local religious economy changed hands to men, women continued to serve in roles as healers, but

their position in the religious economy fell. As James W. Dow has distinguished, there is a

difference between what he calls, curandero shamans and traditional shamans. The former

group includes midwives, herbalists, bonesetters, singers, and massagers, that undertake most of

the curing in their communities. Unlike traditional shamans, curandero shamans do not count

with prestige or rank as religious authorities within their communities.27

By understanding how tiçiyotl and titiçih functioned in the sixteenth century, we get a

glimpse at the postclassic period. We understand how indigenous healers functioned within their

communities before the introduction of Western notions of healing, religion, and gender norms.

Similarly, the seventeenth century history of tiçiyotl explains how the church targeted and

attacked tiçiyotl and titiçih. Analyzing this period help us understand that a change has occurred,

and to a large degree, why and how it occurred. Without any historical context it is impossible to

fathom the difference between the experiences of sixteenth century women in the highly

stratified Mexica empire, Nahua women in the early colonial period, and their modern

counterparts.

Some of the areas that were once strongholds of Nahuatl and Nahua people, no longer

enjoy such a distinction. Such as Magdalena Papalo y Coaxochi’s hometown of Cuitlatenamic,

now known as Jolalpan (southwestern Puebla). In 2015 I visited Jolalpan, Teotlalco, and

Tlaucingo. On this short trip, I was unable to find or identify any Nahuatl speakers, and as expected, any memory of a vibrant Nahua healing tradition. Even more interred in the depths of the forgotten is Papalo y Coaxochi, and her ancestors and descendants that were also titiçih.

27 James W. Dow, "Central and North Mexican Shamans," in Mesoamerican Healers, ed. Brad R. Huber and Alan R. Sandstrom, (Austin, Texas: University of Texas Press, 2001), 69.

Appendices

Appendix A: Epidemics in New Spain1 1520-21

1531

1532

1538

1545-48

1550

1559-60

1563-64

1576-80

1587

1595

1604-27

1 Hanns J. Prem, "Diease Outbreaks in Central Mexico During the Sixteenth Century," in Secret Judgments of God: Old World Disease in Colonial Spanish America, ed. Noble David Cook and W. George Lovell, (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1991), 24-43. Most scholars focus on the epidemics in bold for the sixteenth century and typically date them 1545-56, and 1576-77. 346

Appendix B: Droughts in Central Mexico2 897-922 CE

1149-1167 CE

1378-1404 CE

1454 CE

1514-1539 CE

2 All data from Stahle et al., "Major Mesoamerican Droughts of the Past Millennium." 347

Appendix C: Indigenous leaders of Cuitlatenamic in 1572

Name Title

Luis Nunez Mercado Corregidor

Antonio Vazquez Governador de Cuitlatenamic

Joan de Sanct Pedro Alcalde de Cuitlatenamic

Augustin Huey Tecutle Alcalde de Cuitlatenamic

Vicente Constantino Regidor de Cuitlatenamic

Alonso Pérez Alguacil Mayor de Cuitlatenamic

Miguell Tlacohuyealcate Tequitato (an indigenous constable)

Pedro Tlacateca Tequitato

Gabriel Tlacatecutle Tequitato

Gabriel Ximenez Tequitato

Damian Lazaro Tequitato

Francisco Tezcacoacat Tequitato

348

Appendix D: Nahua men attacked by Manuel Portugués in the Mines of Tlaucingo (1626)

Name Complaint

1. Francisco Lázaro Beaten by Manuel Portugués

2. Domingo Melchor Beaten by Manuel

3. Juan Baltazar Beaten by Manuel

4. Juan Pedro Wounded by Manuel

5. Agustín Morales Beaten by Manuel

6. Francisco Morales Manuel bound him to a water wheel, and battered him

7. Juan Gabriel Beaten and killed by Manuel

8. Francisco de la Cruz Manuel beat him until he fainted, and he bleed profusely

9. Miguel Lázaro Suffered a broken leg

10. Ambrosio Agustín Only listed as victim

11. Andrés García Manuel beat him with a stick, and he died from his injuries

12. Miguel Lázaro Manuel had a mule step on his feet

13. Juan Damián Manuel flogged him over a box

14. Pedro Francisco Flogged

15. Juan Agustín Manuel flogged him and beat his hands

16. Miguel Juan Manuel beat him with a closed fist, and he lost hearing in one of his ears

17. Juan Esteban Manuel pushed him into a mule, ultimately injuring his face

349

Glossary of Terms Term Meaning Alcalde Mayor A functionary appointed by a governador who served as a magistrate and head over a district within a province. Also known as corregidor. Alguacil Bailiff Altepetl A Nahuatl term used for settlements ranging from towns to cities (Altepetzin, or Hueyi Altepetl) Beneficiado A priest paid by the Crown to serve local communities providing religious services Cabezera Capital or Chief Town (see related term subjetos) Calpolli This is an organizational subdivision within an altepetl. Typically, the divisions were made in numbers divisible by four. Sometimes spelled calpulli. (Calpolmeh pl.) Cihuacocolli Menstruation Cihuatitiçih A rare inflection of tiçitl, found in Book Two and Book Six of the Historia general Cocoliztli Illness, disease, or pestilence Comisario An officer of the Holy Office of the Inquisition charged with investigating and reporting local acts of heterodoxy or heresy Congregacion A town that held a population of indigenous people that was concentrated by Spanish officials with communities from surrounding sparsely populated settlements. Corregidor A Spanish official in charge of a partido Corregidor See Alcalde Mayor Cuezcomatl A storehouse for corn, similar to a granary; See troj Estancia A small settlement subject to a Pueblo Governador The head of a province or region who answered to the viceroy Hechicería Sorcery Jícara See xicalli Justicia Local Judge or Magistrate Macehualli Early on this term meant "slave or subject," and as the colonial period unfolded it became a catchall term for indigenous peasants Mestizo/Mestiza A person of mixed indigenous and European descent Nahua A group of indigenous peoples in Mexico and El Salvador Nahualli A ritual specialist that manipulates his or her surroundings to shapeshift into animals, and sometimes causes physical harm Nahuatl The language spoken by Nahua people Octli See pulque Ololiuhqui The seed of the Morning Glory plant, with entheogenic properties Pactinemiliztli The state of being healthy Pahtli A poultice, substance, or plant with curing properties Partido A district within a province Petlatl A reed mat often used as a bed, a Hispanized loan word is petate Principal Indigenous leaders of a town 350

Pulque An indigenous alcoholic beverage made from fermented maguey sap, the Nahuatl term is octli Subjeto In the context of towns, this was a settlement that was subject to a cabezera Temazcalli A steam bath used by sick or healthy individuals or groups Temazcalli The steam bath used by women and men for healing, birthing, and social purposes. Temixihuitiliztli Birth attendance, literally "causing people to birth" Teoatl Postclassic Nahua term for "Ocean." Teopixqueh Divinity keepers, often translated as "priests." Tequitato An indigenous constable or towncryer (hispanized word) Tetzahuitl An omen, or a frightening event, object, or thing Tiçitl A female or male ritual specialist in healing Tiçiyotl The Nahua system of healing knowledge. Tlanoquiloni A term used to describe a substance with purgative properties Tlapohualiztli The interpretation of objects to diagnose an illness, find an object, or tell the future (the counting of things) Tlateotoca Idolatry, heathenness, or sometimes used by Spaniards to mean pre-Columbian times. Tlatoani A pre-Columbian term used for Ruler (speaker) Trecena one of twenty, thirteen-day periods in Nahua, and other Mesoamerican groups, ritual calendric system Troj A storehouse for grains or fruits; See cuezcomatl Vara A staff of office presented to indigenous individuals by Spanish authorities legitimizing their authority Xicalli a gourd cup; see jícara Xihuitl A general term for an herb, often used in medicinal contexts Zahuatl Smallpox, large rash, or skin condition

351

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