The “discovery” of Mexico, as we all know, had nothing whatsoever to do with the Spaniards. The true discoverers of Mexico crossed the land bridge from Asia tens of thousands of years ago, and made their way down through the Americas to what is now Mexico; those bold explorers were the ancestors of the indigenous North Americans who inhabited Mexico when Hernando Cortés and his expeditionary force arrived there in 1519. But the Spaniards certainly did conquer Mexico; and that story, in all its blood and fire and cruelty, comes through vividly in the memoir of Bernal Díaz del Castillo, a work that has come down to us in this English translation as The Discovery and Conquest of Mexico.
Díaz was a young and ambitious conquistador, still in his early thirties, when he followed Cortés into Mexico in 1519; by contrast, he was a much older man, well into his eighties, when he set down his memoirs under the original title of Historia verdadera de la conquista de la Nueva España (The True History of the Conquest of New Spain) in 1576. Why would this old man, five years away from death, enjoying prosperity as a colonial governor in Guatemala, want to undertake the labor of setting down his memoirs of the conquest?
Perhaps, for one thing, Díaz wanted his chance to respond to earlier writings about the conquest of Spanish America. Bartolomé de las Casas had raised many colonial hackles decades earlier, in 1552, when he published his Brevíssima relación de la destrucción de las Indias (A Short Account of the Destruction of the Indies). The compassionate Las Casas, appalled by the cruelty with which the Spaniards exploited indigenous people for slave labor, had done much to make many Spaniards question their nation’s colonial policy, and Díaz may simply have wanted to get in a good word for his own side while he was still living. There is also the possibility that Díaz wanted to make sure that his own view of Cortés would be preserved for the historical record, as Díaz’s view of Cortés is complex, multilayered, and often quite critical.
Díaz has a gift for the telling anecdote that contributes to an epic story, as when he writes of how Cortés responded to a prospective mutiny by subordinates and rivals who felt that Cortés had exceeded his mandate in coming to Mexico: “[T]his matter of destroying the ships which we suggested to Cortés during our conversation, had already been decided on by him, but he wished it to appear as though it came from us, so that if any one should ask him to pay for the ships, he could say that he had acted on our advice and we would all be concerned in their payment. Then he sent Juan de Escalante to Villa Rica with orders to bring on shore all the anchors, cables, sails, and everything else on board which might prove useful, and then to destroy the ships and preserve nothing but the boats…” (p. 109)
Burning the ships – since that time, it has been a classically-inflected motif for cutting oneself off from the possibility of retreat, committing oneself to victory or death. And yet at the same time, one sees in the anecdote a hint of Díaz’s critical attitude toward Cortés. Note how assiduously Cortés, who fully intends to stay in Mexico and conquer the country, maintains plausible deniability -- ensuring that something he wants to do can be blamed, at least in part, on his subordinates, in case things go awry. Niccolò Machiavelli had written The Prince in 1513, just six years before Cortés’ voyage to Mexico, and yet Cortés’ machinations seem like the actions of someone who has read The Prince and knows it well.
Throughout The Discovery and Conquest of Mexico, Cortés also seems like someone who would fit right in amidst the scheming and machination of contemporary politics. Cortés always gets paid – indeed, Díaz often complains that Cortés gets more than his share of everything the Spanish conquistadors want, from gold to gems to enslaved indigenous women – and Cortés always gets to look noble and make fine speeches, leaving to others the tasks of torture, assassination, and mass destruction that constitute the dirty work of building an empire.
Another of those central historical moments that Díaz shares with us comes when Cortés’ forces have arrived in Tenochtitlan, the capital of the Aztec nation that Cortés must subjugate if he is to become the master of Mexico. Received as a “guest” by the Aztec king Montezuma, who nonetheless fears and distrusts the Spanish visitors, Cortés takes advantage of an unguarded moment to take Montezuma into house arrest, citing attempts by Montezuma to have the Spaniards killed and adding, “I do not wish to begin a war on this account nor to destroy this city, I am willing to forgive it all, if silently and without raising any disturbance you will come with us to our quarters, where you will be as well served and attended to as though you were in your own house, but if you cry out or make any disturbance you will immediately be killed by these my Captains, whom I brought solely for this purpose” (p. 229).
Checkmate. From that moment, with Montezuma a de facto prisoner, the Spaniards are in a position of advantage that they will never fully surrender, even as the momentum in the fighting goes back and forth between the Spaniards and their Native American allies on the one hand, and the Aztecs on the other.
The death of Montezuma is treated in a comparably dramatic fashion, in “The Flight From Mexico,” the section of the book dealing with the time when the Spaniards were temporarily driven away from Tenochtitlan. As Díaz tells it, the hostage-king Montezuma pleads with his people to let the besieged Spaniards leave the city; but “suddenly such a shower of stones and darts were discharged that…he was hit by three stones, one on the head, another on the arm and another on the leg, and although they begged him to have the wounds dressed and to take food, and spoke kind words to him about it, he would not. Indeed, when we least expected it, they came to say that he was dead” (p. 310).
Particularly striking is Díaz’s account of the grief that the Spaniards felt at the death of Montezuma: “Cortés wept for him, and all of us Captains and soldiers, and there was no man among us who knew him and was intimate with him, who did not bemoan him as though he were our father, and it is not to be wondered at, considering how good he was” (p. 310). While the picture of Montezuma that emerges from history is of a mercurial and indecisive ruler, the Spaniards, for whatever reason, seem to have missed him when he was gone. And Montezuma, who had descended so quickly from god-emperor to prisoner, seems to have welcomed death, once his time had come.
Readers in search of battle action will find plenty of it in The Discovery and Conquest of Mexico. Díaz seems always to have been in the thick of the fighting, as when, describing one of the campaigns by which the Spaniards returned to Tenochtitlan and finally conquered the city, he writes of how “many Indians had already laid hold of me, but I managed to get my arm free, and our Lord Jesus Christ gave me strength so that by some good sword thrusts that I gave them I saved myself, but I was badly wounded in one arm, and when I found myself out of that water in safety, I became insensible and without power to stand on my feet and altogether breathless, and this was caused by the great strain that I exerted in getting away from that rabble and from the quantity of blood I had lost” (p. 421).
Bernal Díaz de Castillo paints on an epic-sized canvas in The Discovery and Conquest of Mexico; the reader sees the clash of two major civilizations, and the destruction of one of them. If only the courage and determination that Díaz demonstrated throughout Cortés’s campaigns in Mexico had been exerted in a better cause.