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Florentine Codex: Book 12: Book 12: The Conquest of Mexico (Volume 12)
Two of the world’s leading scholars of the Aztec language and culture have translated Sahagún’s monumental and encyclopedic study of native life in Mexico at the time of the Spanish Conquest. This immense undertaking is the first complete translation into any language of Sahagún’s Nahuatl text, and represents one of the most distinguished contributions in the fields of anthropology, ethnography, and linguistics.
Written between 1540 and 1585, the Florentine Codex (so named because the manuscript has been part of the Laurentian Library’s collections since at least 1791) is the most authoritative statement we have of the Aztecs’ lifeways and traditions—a rich and intimate yet panoramic view of a doomed people.
The Florentine Codex is divided by subject area into twelve books and includes over 2,000 illustrations drawn by Nahua artists in the sixteenth century.
Book Twelve contains a meticulous retelling of the Spanish conquest of Mexico, from the days leading up to the first arrival of Cortes to the eventual submission of the Tlatilulcans, the Tenochtitlans, and their rulers to the Spaniards.
Written between 1540 and 1585, the Florentine Codex (so named because the manuscript has been part of the Laurentian Library’s collections since at least 1791) is the most authoritative statement we have of the Aztecs’ lifeways and traditions—a rich and intimate yet panoramic view of a doomed people.
The Florentine Codex is divided by subject area into twelve books and includes over 2,000 illustrations drawn by Nahua artists in the sixteenth century.
Book Twelve contains a meticulous retelling of the Spanish conquest of Mexico, from the days leading up to the first arrival of Cortes to the eventual submission of the Tlatilulcans, the Tenochtitlans, and their rulers to the Spaniards.
146 pages, Paperback
First published March 8, 1965
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July 16, 2025
If I ever visit Mexico City, I’ll want to take a walking tour of the remains of Tenochtitlan. This probably involves more imagineering than some other historic sites. Most of the old place has vanished, including the inland lake that formed the Aztec capital’s most formidable defense. So substantial was the lake that Cortés compared Tenochtitlan to Venice and built a fleet of brigantines to conquer it.
All of that is gone, and Mexico City is a water importer slowly sinking into a dry lakebed. The written word stands virtually alone in memory of a conquest with few tactile remains. This raises the age-old question: how far can we trust our authors given their deeply-vested interests in all that happened?
That question is sharp in the twelfth and final book of “General History of the Things of New Spain” as preserved in the Florentine Codex. The author, Franciscan Father Bernardino de Sahagún, worked with native Nahuatl speakers to document their former lifeways. In the eleven preceding books, Sahagún labors to preserve an accurate record, even when he finds a subject (e.g., polytheism) distasteful. When it comes to the Mexican account of their own defeat and subjugation, the view is murkier.
For one thing, this narrative is shorter than other eyewitness memorials of the fall of the Aztecs. Compared to richly detailed works such as that of conquistador Bernal Díaz del Castillo, the view from Tenochtitlan moves fast and ends quickly. We simply have fewer details to cross-check.
For another, much of the tale is confusion and panic in private, high-level conferences between Moctezuma, his nobles, and his network of ambassadors and informants. I do actually find it plausible that Sahagún’s literary collaborators could’ve learned these things after the conquest, especially since the first generation of Spaniard overlords engaged in a lot of intermarriage with Indian royalty.
Still, without modern standards of sourcing and citation, it’s open to debate whether these conferences represent factual oral history or an imperial-friendly reconstruction. After all, Moctezuma comes off as a quaking leaf who suffered a psychological collapse on the basis of signs, omens, prophecies, and the mere sight of overwhelming force. This sort of spin could do double duty, both stroking Spanish egos and reinforcing a superstitious confidence for the conquerors that the conquest was no accident.
On the other hand, Sahagún’s informants often give evidence of straight shooting, even in such small turns of phrase as the “barbarous tongue” (i.e., Spanish) the Mexicans heard when Cortés first addressed Moctezuma. To Mesoamericans, these bearded white exotics with their thundering weapons of smoke and fire, mounted “deer” (horses), and slavering war dogs were scary barbarians. The Spanish language was just one of the many barbarous wonders soon to be visited upon them.
I must also say that Spaniards don’t come off well in the Nauhatl telling. The looting of Moctezuma’s treasure house is told with smoldering resentment, especially toward Cortés’s Tlaxcallan allies who, as Tenochtitlan’s long-time foes, could never have robbed their betters without Spanish protection. The massacre at the feast of Uitzilopochtli is one of the goriest stories I’ve read in any primary source, even if Cortés himself is tacitly cleared of blame (“But this did not come to pass in the presence of the Captain”). The Indian memory is one of severed heads, strewn entrails, slashed backs, and survivors playing dead among the corpses in an orgy of unprovoked murder. Sahagún lets this all into the record with no attempt to soften Spanish infamy or put a pious gloss on it.
Ultimately, we can’t know how much represents true Indian feeling and how much is the dance of the defeated for the victor. On the whole, much of the account rings true to me. But the best illustration of the complexities involved is, in the words of Sherlock Holmes, the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.
Even at the time, the question of who killed Moctezuma was a hot one. Conquistadors such as Díaz insisted that the furious Mexicans themselves mortally wounded their king when he tried to calm the mob. Some accused the conquistadors of assassinating Moctezuma before evacuating the city. All Sahagún’s Indian sources have to say is this: “And four days after they had been hurled from the temple, they came to cast away Moctezuma and Itzquauhtzin, who had died.”
That’s it. No indictments of Spanish perfidy, no defense of Spanish interests. The “official” Mexican line is that Moctezuma died, and that’s all we have to say about that. You could understand this in more than one way. For example, perhaps no one wanted to press a question so provoking to a conqueror, but neither would anyone say what he didn’t believe. Perhaps the memory was too painful or disgust with Moctezuma too fresh. Any of these sincere motivations might explain the absence of explanation and bolster our judgment of the book’s credibility.
However, post-Conquest politics were vicious. Cortés spent decades fighting lawsuits with enemies and factions of the Spanish court. You could understand a refusal to take sides on Moctezuma’s death as a joint decision of Sahagún and the Mexicans: the priest to prevent one faction or the other from sinking his project, the Indians to stay out of white politics that could only harm them further.
Let us return, then, to Sherlock Holmes. When it comes to the Florentine Codex and the problem of reliability, Moctezuma’s death is the dog that did nothing in the night-time. Unlike in a Holmes story, though, this mystery is a curious incident that remains stubbornly obscure. When it comes to historiography, silence can be loud and still leave us unsure what it’s saying.
All of that is gone, and Mexico City is a water importer slowly sinking into a dry lakebed. The written word stands virtually alone in memory of a conquest with few tactile remains. This raises the age-old question: how far can we trust our authors given their deeply-vested interests in all that happened?
That question is sharp in the twelfth and final book of “General History of the Things of New Spain” as preserved in the Florentine Codex. The author, Franciscan Father Bernardino de Sahagún, worked with native Nahuatl speakers to document their former lifeways. In the eleven preceding books, Sahagún labors to preserve an accurate record, even when he finds a subject (e.g., polytheism) distasteful. When it comes to the Mexican account of their own defeat and subjugation, the view is murkier.
For one thing, this narrative is shorter than other eyewitness memorials of the fall of the Aztecs. Compared to richly detailed works such as that of conquistador Bernal Díaz del Castillo, the view from Tenochtitlan moves fast and ends quickly. We simply have fewer details to cross-check.
For another, much of the tale is confusion and panic in private, high-level conferences between Moctezuma, his nobles, and his network of ambassadors and informants. I do actually find it plausible that Sahagún’s literary collaborators could’ve learned these things after the conquest, especially since the first generation of Spaniard overlords engaged in a lot of intermarriage with Indian royalty.
Still, without modern standards of sourcing and citation, it’s open to debate whether these conferences represent factual oral history or an imperial-friendly reconstruction. After all, Moctezuma comes off as a quaking leaf who suffered a psychological collapse on the basis of signs, omens, prophecies, and the mere sight of overwhelming force. This sort of spin could do double duty, both stroking Spanish egos and reinforcing a superstitious confidence for the conquerors that the conquest was no accident.
On the other hand, Sahagún’s informants often give evidence of straight shooting, even in such small turns of phrase as the “barbarous tongue” (i.e., Spanish) the Mexicans heard when Cortés first addressed Moctezuma. To Mesoamericans, these bearded white exotics with their thundering weapons of smoke and fire, mounted “deer” (horses), and slavering war dogs were scary barbarians. The Spanish language was just one of the many barbarous wonders soon to be visited upon them.
I must also say that Spaniards don’t come off well in the Nauhatl telling. The looting of Moctezuma’s treasure house is told with smoldering resentment, especially toward Cortés’s Tlaxcallan allies who, as Tenochtitlan’s long-time foes, could never have robbed their betters without Spanish protection. The massacre at the feast of Uitzilopochtli is one of the goriest stories I’ve read in any primary source, even if Cortés himself is tacitly cleared of blame (“But this did not come to pass in the presence of the Captain”). The Indian memory is one of severed heads, strewn entrails, slashed backs, and survivors playing dead among the corpses in an orgy of unprovoked murder. Sahagún lets this all into the record with no attempt to soften Spanish infamy or put a pious gloss on it.
Ultimately, we can’t know how much represents true Indian feeling and how much is the dance of the defeated for the victor. On the whole, much of the account rings true to me. But the best illustration of the complexities involved is, in the words of Sherlock Holmes, the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.
Even at the time, the question of who killed Moctezuma was a hot one. Conquistadors such as Díaz insisted that the furious Mexicans themselves mortally wounded their king when he tried to calm the mob. Some accused the conquistadors of assassinating Moctezuma before evacuating the city. All Sahagún’s Indian sources have to say is this: “And four days after they had been hurled from the temple, they came to cast away Moctezuma and Itzquauhtzin, who had died.”
That’s it. No indictments of Spanish perfidy, no defense of Spanish interests. The “official” Mexican line is that Moctezuma died, and that’s all we have to say about that. You could understand this in more than one way. For example, perhaps no one wanted to press a question so provoking to a conqueror, but neither would anyone say what he didn’t believe. Perhaps the memory was too painful or disgust with Moctezuma too fresh. Any of these sincere motivations might explain the absence of explanation and bolster our judgment of the book’s credibility.
However, post-Conquest politics were vicious. Cortés spent decades fighting lawsuits with enemies and factions of the Spanish court. You could understand a refusal to take sides on Moctezuma’s death as a joint decision of Sahagún and the Mexicans: the priest to prevent one faction or the other from sinking his project, the Indians to stay out of white politics that could only harm them further.
Let us return, then, to Sherlock Holmes. When it comes to the Florentine Codex and the problem of reliability, Moctezuma’s death is the dog that did nothing in the night-time. Unlike in a Holmes story, though, this mystery is a curious incident that remains stubbornly obscure. When it comes to historiography, silence can be loud and still leave us unsure what it’s saying.
April 29, 2026
The more I read about the Pre-Colombian cultures of Mexico, the more I am confronted with the basic questions of historiography. Though there are many excellent sources of information—ruins, artwork, living ancestors, Spanish eyewitness accounts, pre-contact documents, indigenous stories, and later historical accounts—all of these carry with them strong limitations and biases, giving our knowledge a kind of multicolored, mosaic quality.
This book is an excellent example of this. Written by a Spanish friar using native informants, this is a kind of hybrid insider/outsider document. The knowledge collected by Sahagún was authentic and valuable, and yet it was collected as a part of a missionary effort—not just to conserve, but also to convert. Further, Sahagún wrote his enormous treatise on Aztec culture many decades after initial contact, at a time when the Mexica empire was shattered, its people subjugated, and its culture already heavily influenced by the Spaniards. While enormously valuable, then, this document cannot be read as a clear window into the past.
The strongest example of this is the beginning of the document. Here, it mentions the several ominous omens—a flame in the sky, a boiling lake—that supposedly appeared before the arrival of the Spanish, giving the conquest an almost Biblical aspect. The codex also claims that the Aztec emperor initially mistook the Spaniards for gods, thus leading to several strategic errors.
But this information is dubious for several reasons. For one, anything so highly flattering to the Christian missionaries (as if God is intervening on their behalf) should be suspect in itself. What’s more, these stories were collected from people living a generation or more after the conquest, not direct witnesses; and one can see how these stories serve a kind of defensive purpose. After all, if the heavens intervened to topple their culture, it somewhat absolves the fallible humans who were defeated. It is no wonder that modern historians have largely discarded these stories as myths.
Does that make this document valueless? Absolutely not. Apart from the specific information contained therein—much of it indeed reliable—it also preserves a sense of huge cultural disruption that the Spanish caused when they arrived. So much of the book consists of confused and desperate battles, which escalate in scope and intensity until the book has a nearly apocalyptic tone. Even now, one can feel the sense of cultural dislocation and loss in these pages. Particularly evocative, I found, was the section on the introduction of smallpox:
This book is also worth reading precisely because of the issue that I highlighted above. As lay readers, we are rarely confronted with the realities of actually doing history—the difficult work of piecing together coherent narratives from a variety of fragmentary and sometimes contradictory sources. Yet when a historian does this work in the background, and presents us with a neat story, we are given a false perception of how easy it is to draw conclusions about the past. In the case of the Spanish conquest of Mexico, it just so happens that our sources are particularly fraught. This period in time, then, shows in exaggerated form the problems that exist in any historical work, and is thus an education in itself.
This book is an excellent example of this. Written by a Spanish friar using native informants, this is a kind of hybrid insider/outsider document. The knowledge collected by Sahagún was authentic and valuable, and yet it was collected as a part of a missionary effort—not just to conserve, but also to convert. Further, Sahagún wrote his enormous treatise on Aztec culture many decades after initial contact, at a time when the Mexica empire was shattered, its people subjugated, and its culture already heavily influenced by the Spaniards. While enormously valuable, then, this document cannot be read as a clear window into the past.
The strongest example of this is the beginning of the document. Here, it mentions the several ominous omens—a flame in the sky, a boiling lake—that supposedly appeared before the arrival of the Spanish, giving the conquest an almost Biblical aspect. The codex also claims that the Aztec emperor initially mistook the Spaniards for gods, thus leading to several strategic errors.
But this information is dubious for several reasons. For one, anything so highly flattering to the Christian missionaries (as if God is intervening on their behalf) should be suspect in itself. What’s more, these stories were collected from people living a generation or more after the conquest, not direct witnesses; and one can see how these stories serve a kind of defensive purpose. After all, if the heavens intervened to topple their culture, it somewhat absolves the fallible humans who were defeated. It is no wonder that modern historians have largely discarded these stories as myths.
Does that make this document valueless? Absolutely not. Apart from the specific information contained therein—much of it indeed reliable—it also preserves a sense of huge cultural disruption that the Spanish caused when they arrived. So much of the book consists of confused and desperate battles, which escalate in scope and intensity until the book has a nearly apocalyptic tone. Even now, one can feel the sense of cultural dislocation and loss in these pages. Particularly evocative, I found, was the section on the introduction of smallpox:
But before the Spaniards had risen against us, first there came to be prevalent a great sickness, a plague. It was in Tepeilhuitl that it originated, that there spread over the people a great destruction of men. Some it indeed covered [with pustles]; they were spread everywhere, on one’s face, on one’s head, on one’s breast, etc. There was indeed perishing; many died of it.
This book is also worth reading precisely because of the issue that I highlighted above. As lay readers, we are rarely confronted with the realities of actually doing history—the difficult work of piecing together coherent narratives from a variety of fragmentary and sometimes contradictory sources. Yet when a historian does this work in the background, and presents us with a neat story, we are given a false perception of how easy it is to draw conclusions about the past. In the case of the Spanish conquest of Mexico, it just so happens that our sources are particularly fraught. This period in time, then, shows in exaggerated form the problems that exist in any historical work, and is thus an education in itself.
March 27, 2023
It seems easy enough these days to take the side of the colonized, those who have their own way of life and want to keep it that way against the colonizers. But with this account of the brutal Spanish conquest of Mexico, it’s hard to be sympathetic. The Aztecs conducted their own brutalities, using warfare to capture prisoners for sacrifice, as their gods demanded.*
Seeing the Spaniards, Moctezuma’s followers told him, “We are not their equals; we are as nothing,” whereupon Moctezuma told his followers “to see to, to care for everything [the Spaniards might need].” Prompted by fear, appeasement didn’t work, and the rest - the Spanish conquest of Mexico - is history.
Boiled down, a Darwinian principle was at work in this Aztec confrontation with the Spaniards: The strong prevail. For many, including Darwin, this was just the law of nature. It still seems to be very much operative in international relations, despite arguments to the contrary.
*In addition, there was this view of their disposed ruler: As Moctezuma’s body burned, “no longer with much of the people’s good will, some chid him; they said: ‘This blockhead! He terrorized the world; there was dread in the world, there was terror before him in the world, there was astonishment. This man! If anyone offended him only a little, he at once disposed of him. Many he punished for the imagined [faults] which were not real, but were only a fabrication of words.’”
Seeing the Spaniards, Moctezuma’s followers told him, “We are not their equals; we are as nothing,” whereupon Moctezuma told his followers “to see to, to care for everything [the Spaniards might need].” Prompted by fear, appeasement didn’t work, and the rest - the Spanish conquest of Mexico - is history.
Boiled down, a Darwinian principle was at work in this Aztec confrontation with the Spaniards: The strong prevail. For many, including Darwin, this was just the law of nature. It still seems to be very much operative in international relations, despite arguments to the contrary.
*In addition, there was this view of their disposed ruler: As Moctezuma’s body burned, “no longer with much of the people’s good will, some chid him; they said: ‘This blockhead! He terrorized the world; there was dread in the world, there was terror before him in the world, there was astonishment. This man! If anyone offended him only a little, he at once disposed of him. Many he punished for the imagined [faults] which were not real, but were only a fabrication of words.’”
March 6, 2023
A short (~50 page) account of the Spanish conquest of Mexico, sort of told from the perspective of the Aztecs. The author apparently spoke to first-hand witnesses of the events of
The Conquest of New Spain
and wrote them down in their original, Nahuatl.
I felt I could read a lot of Spanish influence here. As some examples, the sources describe how Montezuma's corpse stunk (which is something that Christians liked to point out about their enemies), and the Spanish entrance into some cities is described from the Spanish perspective ("the Spanish didn't find anyone there") rather than from the Aztec perspective ("we hid from them and waited until they were gone").
Still, this is a nice read, faster than Bernal Diaz's book, and with lots of detail about Aztec costumes, food, religious ceremonies, etc. It is an amazing story about a place that really no longer exists since Lake Texcoco is basically gone, with Mexico City built on top of it. If you are new to this story, expect to supplement this reading with another source (Wikipedia should be fine). If you've already read The Conquest of New Spain, this is a nice way to reread it.
I felt I could read a lot of Spanish influence here. As some examples, the sources describe how Montezuma's corpse stunk (which is something that Christians liked to point out about their enemies), and the Spanish entrance into some cities is described from the Spanish perspective ("the Spanish didn't find anyone there") rather than from the Aztec perspective ("we hid from them and waited until they were gone").
Still, this is a nice read, faster than Bernal Diaz's book, and with lots of detail about Aztec costumes, food, religious ceremonies, etc. It is an amazing story about a place that really no longer exists since Lake Texcoco is basically gone, with Mexico City built on top of it. If you are new to this story, expect to supplement this reading with another source (Wikipedia should be fine). If you've already read The Conquest of New Spain, this is a nice way to reread it.
December 31, 2023
I'm so glad we have this account and I'm even more glad that Sahagun worked so diligently on this.
January 23, 2024
The Florentine Codex is a 16th century account of the Mexica (Aztec) people and culture, and the conquest of their Empire.
To me, this was an absolutely remarkable piece of history to read. Usually, especially in all things related to pre-columbian America, we have to rely on the 'conqueror's perspective', and only now, hundreds of years later tediously sift through the biases to find the truths about those cultures.
Sahagun's study, especially for this time feels very objective and is written from the perspective of the Mexica and sources itself from eye witnesses. Moreover, it has a huge number of illustrations, and was originally written in the native language of the Mexica, Nahuatl.
Every part of the Florentine codex is a nice treat for every history nerd.
To me, this was an absolutely remarkable piece of history to read. Usually, especially in all things related to pre-columbian America, we have to rely on the 'conqueror's perspective', and only now, hundreds of years later tediously sift through the biases to find the truths about those cultures.
Sahagun's study, especially for this time feels very objective and is written from the perspective of the Mexica and sources itself from eye witnesses. Moreover, it has a huge number of illustrations, and was originally written in the native language of the Mexica, Nahuatl.
Every part of the Florentine codex is a nice treat for every history nerd.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews