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FIU Electronic Theses and Dissertations University Graduate School

11-6-2014

Hispanic Orientalism: The Literary Development

of a Cultural Paradigm, from Medieval Spain to
Modern Latin America
Svetlana V. Tyutina
Florida International University, svetatyutina@[Link]

DOI: 10.25148/etd.FI14110717
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Tyutina, Svetlana V., "Hispanic Orientalism: The Literary Development of a Cultural Paradigm, from Medieval Spain to Modern Latin
America" (2014). FIU Electronic Theses and Dissertations. 1592.
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 FLORIDA INTERNATIONAL UNIVERSITY

Miami, Florida

HISPANIC ORIENTALISM: THE LITERARY DEVELOPMENT OF A CULTURAL

PARADIGM, FROM MEDIEVAL SPAIN TO MODERN LATIN AMERICA

A dissertation submitted in partial fulfillment of

the requirements for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

in

SPANISH

by

Svetlana Tyutina

2014
To: Interim Dean Michael R. Heithaus
College of Arts and Sciences

This dissertation, written by Svetlana Tyutina, and entitled Hispanic Orientalism: The
Literary Development of a Cultural Paradigm, from Medieval Spain to Modern Latin
America, having been approved in respect to style and intellectual content, is referred to
you for judgment.

We have read this dissertation and recommend that it be approved.

_______________________________________
Maida Watson

_______________________________________
Joan Torres-Pou

_______________________________________
Maya Boutaghou

_______________________________________
Jean Rahier

_______________________________________
Erik Camayd-Freixas, Major Professor

Date of Defense: November 6, 2014

The dissertation of Svetlana Tyutina is approved.

_______________________________________
Interim Dean Michael R. Heithaus
College of Arts and Sciences

_______________________________________
Dean Lakshmi N. Reddi
University Graduate School

Florida International University, 2014

ii
 © Copyright 2014 by Svetlana Tyutina

All rights reserved.

“Cantar de mio Cid: Creation of the Founding Paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism” is

published with the permission of Cambridge Scholar Publishing.

iii
 DEDICATION

In loving memory of Ekaterina and Boris Venediktov. You have left this world

too early, but you will be always in my heart.

iv
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my family and friends for their supports, patience, and

understanding during this long journey. Their help and positive attitude allowed me to

stay focused on my final goals at all times. I am especially grateful for the support of my

father and husband who encouraged me to pursue my dreams and helped me to draw a

road map to get there.

I also wish to thank the members of my dissertation committee for their

invaluable advice and assistance during my doctoral studies. Their guidance helped me to

succeed in my studies, as well as take advantage of leadership opportunities in the field of

modern languages and higher education administration. I would give thanks to Dr. Maida

Watson in particular for her constant support and encouragement of my endeavors and

her active involvement with Modern Languages Graduate Student Organization that I

founded and chaired since 2007. I am thankful to Dr. Ignacio López-Calvo and

Dr. Cristián Ricci from University of California at Merced for introducing me to the

exiting international community of Orientalists.

Finally, I would like to thank my major professor, Dr. Erik Camayd-Freixas, who

from the beginning had confidence in my abilities to not only to successfully carry out

my research, but also to become a professional in my field. Without his understanding,

support and timely advice I would not be able to achieve everything I did during my

doctoral studies.

In conclusion, I would like to thank Florida International University Graduate

School for their financial support of my research and studies through Teacher

Assistantship, Dissertation Evidence Acquisition Fellowships, and Dissertation Year

v
Fellowship. I am also thankful to the Morris and Anita Broad Foundation and the Center

for International Business Education and Research for awarding me research fellowships

to collect data for my project in the United States and abroad.

vi
 ABSTRACT OF THE DISSERTATION

HISPANIC ORIENTALISM: THE LITERARY DEVELOPMENT OF A CULTURAL

PARADIGM, FROM MEDIEVAL SPAIN TO MODERN LATIN AMERICA

by

Svetlana Tyutina

Florida International University, 2014

Miami, Florida

Professor Erik Camayd-Freixas, Major Professor

This dissertation offers a novel approach to Hispanic Orientalism, developing a

dynamic paradigm from its origins in medieval and Renaissance Iberia during the process

of the Christian Reconquest, to its transatlantic migration and establishment in the early

years of the Colony, from where it changed in late colonial and post-Independence Latin

America, and onto modernity.

The study argues that Hispanic Orientalism does not necessarily imply a negative

depiction of the Other, a quality associated with the traditional critique of Saidian

Orientalism. Neither, does it entirely comply with the positivist approach suggested in the

theoretical research of Said’s opponents, like Julia Kushigian. This dissertation also

argues that sociopolitical changes and the shift in the discourse of powers, from imperial

to non-imperial, had a significant impact of the development of Hispanic Orientalism,

shaping the relationship with the Other.

The methodology involves close reading of representative texts depicting the

interactions of the dominant and dominated societies from each of the four historic

periods that coincided with significant sociopolitical transformations in Hispanic society.

vii
Through an intercultural approach to literary studies, social history, and religious studies,

this project develops an original paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism, derived from the

image of the reinvented Semitic Other portrayed in the literary works depicting the

relationship between the hegemonic and the subaltern cultures during the Reconquest

period in Spain. Then, it traces the turn of the original paradigm towards reinterpretation

during its transatlantic migration to Latin America through the analysis of the chronicles

and travelogs of the first colonizers and explorers. During the transitional late colonial

and early Independence periods Latin America sees a significant change in the discourse

of powers, and Hispanic Orientalism reflects this oscillation between the past and the

present therough the works of the Latin American authors from the seventeenth to the

nineteenth centuries. Finally, once the non-imperial discourse of power established itself

in the former Colony, a new modern stage in the development of Hispanic Orientalist

paradigm takes place. It is marked by the desire to differentiate itself from the O(o)thers,

as manifested in the works of the representatives of Modernism and the Boom.

viii
 TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

INTRODUCTION .............................................................................................................. 1

CHAPTER 1. The Reinvention: The Establishment of the Hispanic Orientalist

Paradigm in Reconquest and Post-Reconquest Iberia ............................................... 18
§ 1. Introduction ................................................................................................................ 18
§ 2. The Reconquest: The Invisible or Overlooked Other ................................................ 28
§ 3. The Renaissance: The Sentimental Moor Caught in the Shift of Power ................... 42
§ 4. The Spanish Kingdom: A Search for Unity and the Europeanization of the
Other .......................................................................................................................... 51
§ 5. Conclusion ................................................................................................................. 70

CHAPTER 2. The Appropriation: The Early Colonial Migration of Hispanic

Orientalist Paradigm .................................................................................................. 83
§ 1. Introduction ................................................................................................................ 83
§ 2. The Colonizers ........................................................................................................... 93
§ 3. The Official and the Unofficial Chroniclers ............................................................ 116
§ 4. The Evangelists and the Ethnographers ................................................................... 145
§ 5. Conclusion ............................................................................................................... 155

CHAPTER 3. The Transition: Hispanic Orientalism before and after Latin American
Independence ........................................................................................................... 176
§ 1. Introduction .............................................................................................................. 176
§ 2. Orientalization through Self-Reinterpretation in the Late Colonial Period:
“Mundo iluminado” by Sor Juana Inés de La Cruz................................................. 183
§ 3. Orientalization through Segregation in the Castas Paintings of the Eighteenth
Century .................................................................................................................... 199
§ 4. Differentiation through Reinterpretation: The Gaucho and the Oriental in
Sarmiento’s Narrative.............................................................................................. 217
§ 5. Conclusion ............................................................................................................... 233

CHAPTER 4. The Differentiation: Hispanic Orientalism in Modern Latin America .... 251
§ 1. Introduction .............................................................................................................. 251
§ 2. Differentiation through Reinterpretation: The Traditional and the
Non-Traditional Other ............................................................................................. 258
§ 3. The Search for Latin American Identity in the Oriental Mirror: The Forking
Orientalism of Jorge Luis Borges ............................................................................ 282
§ 4. Differentiation through Self-Orientalization: Revalorization of the Traditional
Colonial Other ......................................................................................................... 297
§ 5. Conclusion ............................................................................................................... 310

CONCLUSION ............................................................................................................... 317

ix
BIBLIOGRAPHY ........................................................................................................... 326

VITA ............................................................................................................................... 343

x
 INTRODUCTION

Political and economic challenges since the early twentieth century, rooted in the

cultural and ideological clash of Western and Eastern civilizations throughout the

Modern World, resulted in the popularization of Orientalist studies. The much debated

topic of Orientalism originated in Edward Said’s seminal work Orientalism (1978), but

started to evolve and diversify, depending on the area to which it was applied.

Nevertheless, it would be wrong to claim that the study of Orientalism began with Said,

as historical circumstances play an important role in the development of the Orientalist

relationships. For instance, already Aristotle in his work The Politics tried to lay a

scientific ground for an opposition between the East and the West. Referring to Orientals,

he declared that “the peoples of Asia, by contrast [with the Nordic European races], are

warm: therefore they were intelligent and skillful. Unfortunately, the heat also sapped

their strength” (1327).

Later in history, the Aristotelian opposition was not forgotten. The posterior

descriptions of Asians are often built either to contradict or to reassure this model.

Beginning with the Roman Empire and up to sixteenth-seventeenth centuries, Asians are

portrayed as experts of war, whose skills are often equal to the ones of their counterparts.

This comparison arises from the constant battle encounters of the East and the West in

the Iberian Peninsula, the Crusades and the Eastern hegemony in the Mediterranean Sea,

the rise and fall of the Eastern Roman Empire, the Byzantium, and Constantinople under

the Ottoman siege (1453). As David Blanks and Michael Frassetto state, “these varied

perceptions remind us not just that the East has always held a certain fascination for

1
westerners; more importantly, the European view of the “other,” like the European view

of the “self,” has since classical times revolved around an ever-changing set of historical

circumstances” (1,3).

As can be seen, the awareness of the existence of such an opposition as East-West

existed long before the first Orientalist studies appeared. At the beginning, the perception

of the foreign Other was constructed from subjective conclusions, but the more contact

the Europeans had with the Oriental world, the more prominent were the differences

between “us” and “them,” the self and its antagonist. The Other, therefore, began to serve

as a mirror, from which European civilization shaped itself.1 However, this mirror has an

interesting new dimension. As Rana Kabbani states, “it is a common place of Orientalism

that the West knows more about the East than the East knows about itself; this implies a

predetermined discourse” (10). As a result, the West claims the absolute knowledge of

the essence of the East, which compromises it as an objective observer and, therefore,

raises the question of the legitimacy of the Western observation of the East.

María Rosa Menocal notes that the West converted the writing of history into a

myth-making process, pretending to forget “that history is written by the victors and

serves to ratify and glorify their ascendancy” (1). In her analysis of the raisons d’être of

Orientalism, Silvia Nagy-Zekmi focuses on its role in the establishment of the identity of

the colonizer, a crucial process in the history of both Spain and Latin America. She

suggests that Orientalism “no sólo ‘produce’ (discursivamente) el Oriente (conquistador y

oprimido), sino también el Occidente ‘imperial’, promoviendo discursos de auto-

conocimiento, porque cada cultura requiere un ‘alter-ego’ diferente, ya que esta misma

diferencia sirve de base para la autodefinición” (“‘produces’ (in discourse) not only the

2
Orient (conquered and opressed), but also the ‘Imperial’ Occident, promoting the

discourse of self-knowledge, because every culture requires a different ‘alter ego,’ and

this very same difference serves as a basis for self-definition”; 13). Thus, Orientalism in

the Hispanic World becomes a defensive mechanism that allows European to address the

threat of the Other, as well as identify the self to create a favorable version of history.

Said’s Orientalism theorized the modern process of interaction between colonial

and colonized societies. Nevertheless, it is important to remember that Said’s analysis

follows from the nineteenth-century British and French colonial policy in India and the

Middle East. Therefore, its direct application to the Hispanic world is problematic, which

he himself points out in the Spanish edition of his book. While Said’s followers praised

his intent to define the intricate relationship between the East and the West, his critics

pointed out the limitations of his theory. Some of them claimed the existence of different

versions of Orientalisms, which varied in space and time according to the specific

cultural environment and political background, Said’s Orientalism being one of these

variants.

Such was the fate of Hispanic Orientalism. There were several attempts to

characterize and include this phenomenon within Said’s original paradigm of Orientalism

as a hegemonic discourse of domination. Appraisal of Hispanic Orientalism has been

polarized by the desire to either validate or refute Said. The predominant tendency

follows the idealized perspective of Hispanic Orientalism proposed by Julia Kushigian,

who argued for a marked veneration of the Orient in Spanish and Latin American

literature (Orientalism in the Hispanic Literary Tradition, 1991). However, she focused

on the twentieth-century Orientalist practices in Latin America where the dominant non-

3
imperial discourse of powers marked the evolution of the notion of the self and the Other.

As a result of these studies, the complexity of Hispanic cultural encounters with the Other

has been simplified and the dynamics of Orientalism in Hispanic literature remain ill-

defined.

Cultural interaction played a crucial role in the history of the Spanish speaking

world, as early as the Medieval Reconquest of Spain and the Conquest of America during

the Renaissance. Such contacts, first between Spaniards and Moors, then between

Spaniards and Amerindians, were copiously reflected in literature. They scrupulously

depicted the complex nature of the relationship with the unknown Other and the reactions

of the dominant culture to it. Today, these encounters are labeled Orientalist. The present

research proposes a new dynamic model for Hispanic Orientalism. It addresses a more

nuanced and complex nature of Orientalist relationships across space and time. Unlike

previous studies, it is derived from the analysis of the development of the original

Medieval Spanish-Arabic paradigm and its reflection in the New World and transition

onto modernity. Therefore, it takes into consideration the most important encounters with

the Other: Medieval Moorish and Jewish, Amerindian and the later encounters of post-

Independence Latin America with Europe and the traditional Orient. This bidimensional

approach takes into consideration the changes in Hispanic Orientalism across both space

and time. The proposed dynamic paradigm can explain the numerous peculiarities of

Latin American depictions of Orientalist encounters in later centuries, while at the same

time serving as a new tool for researchers and readers.

The primary purpose of the present study is to establish the original paradigm of

Hispanic Orientalism and trace its development from its inception and onto Latin

4
American modernity. It analyzes the phenomenon during four distinct time periods

marked by significant social and historical changes: in key works of Medieval and

Renaissance Spanish literature depicting the Semitic Other; then during its migration to

the New World and the encounter with the new Amerindian Other; the transitional period

of late Colony and early post-Independence when the roles of the self and the Other

underwent a significant revision; and, finally, its development onto a period of modernity

that embarks on the revisionist process of the colonial Orientalized past. Unlike previous

studies, it takes into consideration both positive and negative aspects of the changing

nature of Hispanic Orientalism, as well as the continuity of Orientalist tradition as the

original paradigm is tested across space and time. The resulting dynamic paradigm

contributes to the analysis of a wide range of texts depicting “Otherness” in Latin

American symbolic production throughout its history.

Such a wide geographical and temporal span requires a solid literary corpus to be

analyzed in order to establish and trace the changes in Hispanic Orientalism. The

preference of literary works over other sources is defined by the fact that “writers have a

marvelous tool at their disposal, imagination, which allows them to make believe. They

can attribute to fictional characters things they themselves feel and think” (Memmi

Decolonization 36). In other words, literary works have a wider audience and, as a result,

a more powerful impact on popular imagery. At the same time, their influence is subtle

and often the the public is not aware of its depth. Such stereotypes and connotations

become more persistent in the popular imagery, since they are not regarded as imposed

on oneself. However, the present research also refers to other non-literary types of

representation of the Other, like eighteenth-century castas paintings. The main criterion

5
for the inclusion of such production is its significant and wide-spread impact both in the

Colony and the metropolis.

In order to establish the original paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism it is essential

to refer to Medieval Spanish history. It was a period when the formation of the Spanish

nation as a single cultural entity took place. Parallel to this process was the almost eight-

century Moorish presence in the Iberian Peninsula (711-1492).2 Thus, the Arab world

became the first significant foreign Other, against which the nascent Spanish society was

tested. It is during this period that the Spaniards defined their identity and distanced

themselves from the invaders. The aftermath of this first massive clash is the creation of

the stereotypical images of the European self and the Oriental Other. Rana Kabbani notes

that the two dominant themes in the European narration of the East are “the first . . . the

insistent claim that the East was a place of lascivious sensuality, and the second that it

was a realm characterized by inherent violence” (6). Similarly, the original paradigm of

Hispanic Orientalism was an unstable structure that relied heavily on the hegemonic

discourse of power. As the latter changed, so did Hispanic Orientalism.

Edward Said was one of the first to study the influence of the discourse of power

on the relationship with the Other.3 He analyzed Orientalism from the point of view of an

evolving discourse, taken from the correlation of various simultaneous realities. In the

Hispanic world, the first such change occurred towards the end of the Reconquest. As the

Christians advanced in their liberation process, Moorish influence, both cultural and

political, was diminishing. As a consequence, there was a shift in the role of the dominant

and the subaltern cultures. At the beginning of the Reconquest, Spanish society was

dominated by the Arabic invader, while later it was the Moors who became the subaltern.

6
The shift is copiously reflected in the literature of the period, where the image of the

Moor changed from a menacing threat to a romantic hero, almost equal to the Christian

hero.

Peninsular Hispanic Orientalism plays a crucial role in the ultramarine campaign

of the metropolis. Hernán Taboada points out that the new type of relationship formed

between the Spaniards and the Moors served as a future reference to all the encounters

with the Other. He insists on historical and cultural links between the Reconquest and the

discovery of America and its further conquest. Taboada observes this process as a

continuation of the Christian Crusades in search of an expansion of Catholicism and the

European hegemony in the West (45). The first travel logs and chronicles of the period

reveal the eradicable link between the Reconquest and the Conquest in the mentality of

the people during that time. In this light, the analysis of the transatlantic migration of

Hispanic Orientalism is crucial. In the Colony, the subaltern Other, the Amerindians,

were compared and contrasted with the traditional Other. However, while the conquest of

the New World was perceived as a continuation of the Reconquest and the Crusades, the

relocation of the paradigm, the new geopolitical situation in Spain and in the Colony, and

the dominance of the imperial discourse of powers caused several changes in the original

paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism.

The fact that Hispanic Orientalism is not static, but rather changing in nature,

raises the first question of the present research: how does the paradigm of Hispanic

Orientalism change across time and space? And if it does change, which factors have the

most considerable impact on this unfolding process? As the research showed it is the

historical progress and the relocation from Spain to Latin America that had the most

7
significant impact on Hispanic Orientalism. In this process of development, the mimicry

of the discourse of power, implied in Said’s concept, plays a crucial role.4 It is the inner

impetus of the adjustment of the relationship between the hegemonic and subaltern

cultures that defines the dynamic nature of Hispanic Orientalism. However, this

particular quality is commonly overlooked in Orientalist studies of both Peninsular and

Latin American literature. According to Said, a fundamental role in the formation of the

Orientalist mimicry is education, which is “threatened by nationalist and religious

orthodoxies” (xxvi). His work addresses modern history; however, these words can be

equally applied to Inquisition dominated Medieval Spain or the racially segregated Latin

America of the sixteenth-nineteenth centuries.

The criticism of the Hispanic Orientalist approach during the Colonial period is a

recurrent topic for the researchers in the field. As such, Julia Kushigian, despite her

explicit opposition to Said’s view, also claims the semi-mythical nature of Hispanic

Orientalism, whose “categories are our own, it is as we want it to be” (Orientalism 23).

Therefore, she admits to doubt the sincerity of the praise of the Other by the

representatives of the hegemonic culture in the early colonial literature. On the other

hand, in her study, Kushigian discloses the heteroglot nature of Orientalism in Latin

America, as a result of the close coexistence of the two diverse cultures both in Medieval

Spain and in conquered Latin America (Orientalism 53). The geographic proximity of

Arabic-Andalusian and Castilian cultures resulted in mutual literary influence that can be

found in popular lyric poetry (Sánchez-Albornoz 63). The same factor, the historical

clash of Europe and the Ottoman Empire, led to the contamination of the chronicles of

the conquest of the New World by elements pertaining to the Islamic culture (Taboada

8
32-33). Hispanic Orientalism indeed is more heteroglot than the Anglo-French version.

The reason behind this arises from the role that the East played in the process of

interaction with the West. In the Hispanic world it is the conqueror that is gradually

reduced to the position of the conquered. As a consequence of the shift, the relationship

between the hegemonic and the subaltern cultures appears to be more complex and

multifaceted that in the cases of the European domination in the Middle East.

Once established in the New World, the paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism did not

remain static. In the late Colonial and early post-Independence periods it was the

nineteenth-century political and the economic crises in the metropolis and the desire for

self-assurance of the emerging nations that propelled the changes. The former Colony,

once independent, tried to shake off its inferiority complex, imposed, on one hand, by the

Orientalist prejudice of the colonizer, and on the other, by the underdeveloped economic

and political processes, as well as the constant desire to Europeanize the Latin American

self. The traditional “discourse of empire,” suggested by Said, is dismissed and is

gradually substituted by a non-imperial discourse by 1898 when Spain loses its most

valuable colonies at the moment, Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines. The change in

discourse indicates that not all the relationships between dominant and dominated

cultures followed Said’s approach.5

However, the transition between the two periods and discourses did not happen

immediately after (or before) the independence of the Colony. Already during its later

years, there is a noticeable desire of differentiation on the part of the authors of the period

systematically suppressed by the metropolis. Hence, the end of the Colonial period and

the early Independence constitute a type of buffer zone between the major changes in the

9
approach to the Other for Hispanic Orientalism. Once the nascent Latin American nations

are established, and the non-imperial discourse becomes dominant, the modern era of

Hispanic Orientalism begins. It is important to note that, unlike the discourse of empire,

the non-imperial discourse depends on juxtaposition, and not on hierarchy; it is an

interaction of adjacent powers, each of them trying to exercise influence on each other

culturally, politically, or economically. The relationship between the rival cultures in this

case is not as hierarchical as in the first case. Consequently, it lessens the possibility of

direct impact on the Other. The vector of this relationship is also different. It indicates

interaction rather than more passive action and reaction, creating a greater resistance and,

as a result, diminishes the mutual influence. These characteristics lead to a more

superficial reciprocal influence between the two rival cultures. In the Hispanic world,

such was the situation in post-imperial Spain and Latin America, which leads to the next

research question of this study: how different is Hispanic Orientalism from the imperial

and non-imperial discourse?

According to the premises above, our hypothesis is that the model of Hispanic

Orientalism, sensitive to the sociopolitical changes in society, undergoes a significant

alteration closely related to the shift in dominant discourse. The premises for this

supposition can be found in the general studies of Hispanic Orientalism. Unlike Said’s

negative view of the Orientalist imperial encounters, Julia Kushigian creates a positive

image of Hispanic Orientalism in post-Colonial Latin America. Kushigian analyses this

phenomenon in the twentieth-century works of Jorge Luis Borges, Octavio Paz, and

Severo Sarduy. Her thesis examines the veneration of the Orient in the New World,

therefore, she determines as eradicable the distinction between the positive Hispanic

10
perception of the East and the Anglo-French concept of Orientalism described by Said.

She alleges that “whereas in France and in England the Orient was never allowed to

permeate European culture successfully, it has been a viable presence and cultural source

in the Hispanic world since the Muslim invasion . . . and it remains so” (Orientalism

101). It is this mutual influence between the Orient and the local culture that allows her to

refute Said’s negativity. Nevertheless, both Said and Kushigian agree that the historical

circumstances find their reflection in the dominant discourse, as well as Orientalist

practices of the hegemonic society.

In her analysis of the modern period in Hispanic Orientalist relationships

characterized by the non-imperial discourse of power, Julia Kushigian adopts a positive

approach, claiming that “Hispanic Orientalism opens the space to an infinite blending of

the oppositions” (Orientalism 3). According to her, the blending never occurs in

traditional Orientalism. However, the case of Hispanic Orientalism is different: it allows

for “the interanimation of oriental images” and “provides a renovating link that promotes

an open dialogue between Spain and Hispanic America” (Orientalism 6). Kushigian

insists that the Hispanic World offers the juxtapositional and non-hierarchical structure of

the relationship with the Other. Therefore, a distinctive aspect of Hispanic Orientalism is

its openendedness and polyglot nature. It maintains a constant dialogue with the Other

that depends on the veneration of the Other’s self (14). According to Kushigian, unlike

Said’s Orientalism, Hispanic Orientalism lacks imperial aspiration, which is what makes

it able to comprehend and appreciate its Other:

Hispanic Orientalism distinguishes itself in a momentary blending of

opposites and interanimation of images grounded in a respect for diversity.

11
 This Orientalism reflects not so much a political posture towards the

Orient . . . but is, rather, a more thoughtful approach that values the

dialogue of a discourses, reflecting an antithetical denial of and openness

to the Other . . . providing an enriching discourse that does not seek to

exercise social or political control over the Orient. (Orientalism 10-11)

Nevertheless, it is true only for the non-imperial discourse. The imperial discourse

has a different approach to the nature of relationship of the dominant power with the

Other. It is why the dynamic nature of the paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism proposed in

the present study constitutes a new approach to this question. The specific characteristics

of the paradigm at each stage can be determined by the analysis of its static

representation during the determined periods. The clear division of Spanish history into

imperial and post-imperial periods is crucial for the analysis of Hispanic Orientalism,

since the latter is characterized by coexistence of the dominant and subaltern culture,

while the former has a hierarchical structure.

In summation, the present study addresses the dynamic nature of Hispanic

Orientalism across space and time. The paradigm established in the course of the research

is tested against literary and art works that represent four main periods: the Conquest and

the Reconquest of Spain, the early Colonial period in Latin America, the late Colonial

and early post-Independence, and twentieth-century Latin America. The temporal

division allows reviewing in detail the existing differences between the imperial and non-

imperial discourse in Hispanic Orientalism, as well as defining the characteristics of each

of them. It provides an answer to the question about the role of Hispanic Orientalism and

its differentiation from the traditional Saidian Orientalism. There are four phases of

12
textual analysis in the present research. First, the original paradigm for Orientalism is

established on the basis of the study of Spanish Medieval and Renaissance literary

production. The works selected will target the period of the Reconquest of Spain, since

this is the time when Castilian culture experiences one of the first and most challenging

encounters with the Other. The analysis of this period is derived from the study of Cantar

de mio Cid (1140), El Abencerraje y la hermosa Jarifa (1565), and Guerras civiles de

Granada (1595, 1604).

Second, the implementation of the original paradigm in the New World is

reviewed in the first chronicles and travel logs depicting the ultramarine campaign. Three

major groups of authors who projected their vision of the Other during the early Colonial

period are addressed here: the first colonizers and explorers, Christopher Columbus and

Hernán Cortés; official and unofficial chroniclers, like Bernal Díaz de Castillo and

Francisco López de Gómara; and, finally, religious men, like Fray Toribio Benavente

(Motolinía). The broad literary corpus contributes to the validation of the paradigm

obtained.

Third, after the revised Hispanic Orientalism has established itself in the Colony,

towards the late Colonial years it enters a brief period of stagnation that we refer to as

transitional period. It coincides with the independentista movement and marks the shift in

the discourse of power. This is the period when the most significant change of in

Hispanic Orientalism is germinated; however, it is marked by the oscillation of the

authors between the traditionalist Orientalism and the newer approach to the Other. The

works analyzed in this section are selected poetry by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, the so-

called castas paintings, the pictorial depictions of conservative Orientalism, and one of

13
the fundamental Latin American novels, Facundo: civilización y barbarie, by Domingo

Faustino Sarmiento.

Finally, the modern period of Hispanic Orientalism begins at the end of the

nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries, when the independent Latin

American nations start entering the world political arena, and the former colonized was

eager to revise its historical past in order to validate its present. In the process, it

reviewed its approach to the traditional Orient, as in the modernista essays by Enrique

Gómez Carrillo and Jorge Luis Borges in order to define the self, but most importantly, it

revalidated the Orientalized past, giving voice to the former Other, the Amerindian, as in

Elena Garro’s short stories. Her revision of the image of La Malinche is of special

interest, as its perception by the authors throughout the history is indicative of their

position in regards to the Orientalized image of Latin America.

The criterion for the selection of literary works was their impact on society and

their representation of the Other from the hegemonic point of view. The latter was

selected to ensure the consistency of the Orientalist paradigm. At the moment of their

creation most of them acted as a source of perpetuation of the history of the conquerors,

paraphrasing Miguel León Portilla’s words. However, each period contains literary works

depicting the nuances in the relationship with the Other. The Orientalist “vision of the

vanquished” represents a different point of view, not less valuable; however, it is not

analyzed in the present research.

Since we regard Hispanic Orientalist paradigm as dynamic, under the term

Orientalism here we understand multiple forms of interaction with the Oriental Other

rather than a static orthodox Orientalism. In her contraposition of the terms Orientalism

14
and orientalism(s), Christina Civantos points out that Orientalism (with the capital letter)

still “signals that “the Orient” refers to a construct . . . Ultimately “the Orient” is a

geographic location, but one of unclear, and Eurocentric definition” (viii). Therefore, for

our analysis, the term with the capital latter is used. However, it still comprises the idea

of a multifaceted and changing nature of Hispanic Orientalism.

Finally, it is necessary to admit certain limitations imposed to the research by its

goals. Those are unavoidable because of the ambitious geographical and temporal span of

the works analyzed. The purpose of this study is to propose a framework, which can be

further developed and enriched by the analysis of the Hispanic Orientalist encounters of

different nature or from a different perspective (the view of the subaltern, for example).

The literary and art works analyzed provide a generic paradigm described during each of

its four major stages. Yet each of them can be further elaborated and reviewed for a

particular author or cultural Other.

NOTES

1
David Blanks and Michael Frassetto refer to this process of initial differentiation
between “us” and “them” as defining of the self-image of the Europeans. The numerous
encounters of the East and West, as they indicate:
. . . created an image of the Saracen, Moor, or Turk that was wholly alien
and wholly evil. In both popular and learned literature Muslims were
portrayed as cowardly, duplicitous, lustful, self-indulgent pagans who
worshipped idols and trinity of false gods. On the other hand, the creation
of such a blatantly false stereotype enables Western Christians to define
themselves. Indeed, the Muslim became, in a sense, a photographic
negative of the self-perception of an ideal Christian self-image, one that
portrayed Europeans as brave, virtuous believers in the one true God and
the one true faith. By debasing the image of their rivals, Western
Christians were enhancing their own self-images and trying to build self-

15
 confidence in the face of a more powerful and more culturally
sophisticated enemy. (3)
Therefore, the Orientalization of the Other played crucial role in the process of formation
of Christian states in Europe. It allowed them to draw and to retain a specific picture of
the self and the nation in people’s imagery, a picture pre-selected to fit Christian values
and, hence, reassure Christian dominance in Europe.
2
The reason why this is the first Orientalist encounter is that it is the first time in
history that we can talk about the Spanish nation as a whole. The marriage of the Catholic
Monarchs, King Ferdinand II of Aragon (1452-1516) and Queen Isabella I of Castile
(1451-1504), and their successors allowed for the apparition of a new unified kingdom
instead of the small segregated kingdoms which had existed in the Iberian Peninsula
during the first centuries of the Moorish Invasion. The new political force seeking self-
identification used the process of Reconquest of the Peninsula from the foreign invader to
test itself, since the process of self recognition can be successful only when there is a
counterforce. Hence, the Orientalist relationship in Medieval Spain not only served as a
basis for the future interactions with the Other, but also contributed to the consolidation
of the Spanish nation as a whole.
3
Therefore, the discourse of power is highly important for the nature of Hispanic
Orientalism. Edward Said’s theory in this is close to the theory of Miguel de Unamuno,
offered in Niebla and called by Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe “the theory of desistence”
(Typography: Mimesis, Philosophy, Policy, 1989). It disintegrates the essence of a
subject in three hypostasis: the real subject, the ideal subject and the subject as perceived
by the Other. Such process of analysis rescues the multifaceted structure of reality. Its
multilayered essence is nowadays diminished and simplified by the imperial discourse of
power.
4
In the process of definition of Hispanic Orientalism one cannot disregard the
predetermination of the events by past history and its intimate connections to historical
and political changes and. It is vital to admit that “the essential aspects of modern
Orientalist theory and praxis . . . can be understood, not as sudden access of objective
knowledge about the Orient, but as a set of structures inherited from the past, secularized,
disposed, and re-formed” (Said 122). As such, a reliable paradigm of Hispanic
Orientalism can only be traced in its development. Such approach also reveals the
continuity and the rupture in the process of formation of Orientalist-type relationships
between the dominant and dominated cultures.
5
The imperial domination implies a very specific hierarchical structure for the
interaction between the center and the periphery. It is based on the process of direct or
tacit forcing of the suppressed or conquered Other into the hegemonic self, as it happened
in the Roman, Russian and Ottoman Empires. Such was the case of the Spanish

16
domination in Latin America and the Spanish Reconquest. In the latter, two different
periods can be distinguished: the Moorish dominance in the process of the conquest of
Spain and the Christian or Spanish dominance during the later centuries of the
Reconquest.

17
 CHAPTER 1.

The Reinvention: The Establishment of the Hispanic Orientalist Paradigm in

Reconquest and Post-Reconquest Iberia

§ 1. Introduction

Orientalist relations as a type of interaction between dominant and dominated

cultural selves appeared well before the British and French colonialism described by

Edward Said. In the course of its history, the Iberian Peninsula was a natural place of

encounter of different civilizations and cultures: Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, and

Visigoths, among others. Cultural layers began to set the ground for the later

development of a national character. But it is the Moorish invasion that stands out among

these encounters because of its enormous impact on the Peninsula as a whole. Therefore,

in order to trace the development of the paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism, it is crucial to

examine Spanish Medieval history and analyze the most impacting encounter of the

nascent Spanish nation with the Other, that is the Moorish conquest and the ensuing

Christian Reconquest of Iberia. The Middle Ages and their religious controversy were at

the center of what was known as “the Islamic problem.” The development of the

stereotype of the Muslim Oriental went through the three stages: rise, zenith and fall

between the years 650 and 1570, leaving deep traces on the European mentality

(Southern 13). Nevertheless, the impact of the encounter with the Oriental Other in

Medieval Iberia has been considerably underestimated, if not neglected, for a long period

of time in the accounts of both Peninsular and European history.

18
 The voluntary or involuntary forgetfulness and the negation of the role of the

Orient in European development have influenced scientific minds up to the modern era.

María Rosa Menocal gives an example of the century-long search for the etymology of

the word trobador, singer of love poetry, an occupation that along with juglar, singer of

narrative poetry, defines the literary processes of Medieval Europe. She points out that it

was in 1928 that a renowned Spanish Arabist Julián Ribera proposed that trobador

originates in the Arabic verb ṭaraba.6 Its meaning is very close to the Spanish derivate,

which also means “the singing of poetry.” Nevertheless, this proposal “was not only not

favorably received, but worse, it was not even deemed worthy of . . . discussion” (qtd. in

Menocal ix-xii, 78). It seems that the Arabic etymon along with Arabic influence as a

whole was purposefully overlooked, as if its recognition would go against the image of

the Oriental Other fabricated in Europe at the time, as well the European self-image

based on a myth of cultural and racial purity Nevertheless, there is abundant linguistic

evidence of Arabic influence in almost every aspect of Medieval Iberia: from the

numerous traces of Arabic in Castilian and other Iberian languages, the toponymy of the

Peninsula, political and military institutions, its arts and sciences, to such things as flora

and fauna. It is the Orient that introduced in Europe a great number of objects that

became attributes of luxurious life: animals and insects like the peacocks, the Angora cat

and goat, the silkworm; flowers and plants like tulips, daffodils, Persian lilac, jasmine,

dates, pistachios, cider, and coffee among others (González Palencia 11-12).

Another aspect of the Medieval clash of Iberia with the oriental Other, usually

overlooked in the process, is the so-called “Visigoth myth.” The Visigoth kingship at the

time of their presence in the Peninsula was not hereditary. When Rodrigo was elected to

19
lead the Visigoths, the supporters of his rival essentially hired a mercenary force to strike

against him. The Moors, thus, invited to engage in the hereditary was in the Peninsula,

soon took control of the region. Some argue, however, that the Visigoths retreating to the

North and starting the Reconquest from there, is a historical myths, as the Asturias

needed to establish its right to the territory, and claimed their Visigoth origins in order to

do so.

The common tendency in depicting the Oriental Other in European narratives of

this period was, as Kabbani suggests, “a deliberate stress on those qualities that made the

East different from the West, exiled into an irretrievable state of ‘otherness’” (5-6). The

interaction between the Christian East and the Muslim West begins with nascent Islam.

Norman Daniel traces an interesting parallel between the development and expansion of

Islamic thought and the Christian outreach to the North (the conversion of England). He

states that “the two processes are in no way comparable in their importance to the history

of the world” (The Arabs 10). It is true that the West was, in a way, fascinated by the

East, as if unwillingly accepting the fact that “Europe was also the product of internal

colonization and cultural assimilation” (Blanks, and Frassetto 2). Therefore, the

encounter of the two selves, European Christendom and the Muslim Other, shaped the

image of the East in the West and vice versa.

The Crusades played an important role in defining the nature of this interaction. In

a sense, the Crusades were for Christians as jihād was for the Muslims, both physically

and spiritually (Daniel, Islam 125). The conversion of the Saracens or any Orientals, in

general, was never set as a goal for the first Crusaders: in 1095, during the First Crusade,

it is not even mentioned; in 1147, during the Second Crusade, conversion is alluded to as

20
a merely hypothetical possibility. However, the interest grows exponentially, and by the

time of the Fifth Crusade (1217-1221), conversion becomes a primary goal on the very

battlefield (Kedar 58-60, 71-72). Gradually, the Crusades revealed the abysmal difference

between the goal of the campaign and its reality. The purpose of the crusaders was to free

the Christian Orient and the Christians in those lands invaded by the enemies of the

Church, but the encounter with the Greek, Coptic, and Syriac co-religionists resulted in

xenophobia (Daniel, The Arabs 114, 261). For instance, the policies of Pope Innocent III

included discriminatory legislation both for the Moors and the Jews. Among the orders

they had to comply with was to wear distinctive clothing in order not to be mistaken with

Christians. But even Oriental and Greek Orthodox Christians were treated differently

from European Christians (Tolan 196-97). Europe felt surrounded and threatened by the

Other: the Muslim Other and the (Oriental) Christian Other at the same time. The spirit of

the Crusades remained alive long after the end of the Holy War, and even continued into

the modern era. It is not surprising then that on July 22, 1920, when the French army

entered Damascus, the head of the army, General Gouraud, proceeded to the tomb of the

legendary defeater of the Christians during the Third Crusade, Yusuf ben Ayub (Saladin),

who reconquered Jerusalem in 1187, where he triumphantly proclaimed: “Nous revoilà,

Saladin!” (“We are back, Saladin!”; Kabbani 5).

The tendencies in the relationship with the Other had economic repercussions as

well. Benjamin Kedar notes that while the policy of conversion was being popularized by

papal bulls and the Order of Santiago, economic interests presented a militant opposition

to conversion. When a Muslim slave became Christian, his “economic impact” was lost

in this transformation, as he could no longer be treated as a non-Christian. There were

21
numerous reported cases of masters trying to prevent the conversion of their slaves

merely for economic reason. Some of the Christian and Jewish slave owners in Barcelona

even demanded that the Church compensate them for their losses caused by the baptism

of their slaves (Kedar 48). The controversy surrounding the problem of conversion

affected, therefore, not only the culture and the politics, but also the economics of the

kingdom.

In the Iberian Peninsula, the encounter with the Oriental Other was

overwhelmingly sudden, as the territory was very rapidly annexed to the great Caliphate

of Damascus as a result of the military campaigns of Tariq ibn Ziyad (689-720) in 711

and Muza (640-716) in 712-14. The celerity of the invasion could be attributed not only

to the high level of development of the Muslim kingdom, but was also caused by the

decline of the weakening Visigothic rule in the Peninsula. Already by 756, the

independent Emirate of Cordoba was established by ‘Abd al-Rahman I (731-788) with

the ruling Umayyad family. In its process of development, the peninsular Islamic state

evolved from an Emirate to the Caliphate of Cordoba in 929, during the rule of ‘Abd al-

Rahman III (891-961), and later underwent a process of disintegration into taifa

kingdoms (from the Arabic ṭā‘ifa, “sect”), as a result of the policies of Almanzor I (938-

1002) (Tuñón de Lara 74-79). Sánchez Albornoz points out that especially during the

Emirate period there was a significant influx of Arabs to the Peninsula both from Africa

and the Levant, especially from Syrian territories, as Damascus played a crucial role in

the development of the Muslim Empire (42-44). Most of the immigrants were soldiers,

relocated to Iberia, who later settled down in Al-Andaluz.

22
 The reaction to the Muslim invasion, the process called by Christians “the

Reconquest,” started almost immediately after the beginning of Muslim rule. Its symbolic

launch is the victory in the battle of Covadonga in the north of the Peninsula in 718. But

it is during the period of the disintegration of the Caliphate in the eleventh century that

the Christian kingdoms became the dominant military power in the Peninsula. With the

shift of power, the reinvention of the image of the Moor received a new impulse. It is also

important to take into account the cultural and ethnic diversity of the Peninsula during the

Reconquest. This diversity defined the intricate character of the relationship between

Christians and Moors. The seven-century long Reconquest provided enough time for the

gradual interpenetration of local and Moorish cultures, which resulted in the

establishment of an Orientalist relational paradigm unique to Iberia. Nevertheless, to

understand Hispanic Orientalism, it is important to accept the fact that the process of

Reconquest did not stop after 1492, as the military reconquest was followed by thea

cultural and symbolic reconquest as well. Both the military and cultural conquests had

long repercussions throughout the centuries, which resulted in the persistence of the

original paradigm of the relationship with the Oriental Other in Iberia, and later, in Latin

America.

There were numerous sociocultural and ethnic groups 7 during the Reconquest;

their importance and prestige in Spanish and Moorish societies changed, as the shift of

power occurred. During the first part of the Reconquest of Iberia, the most

distinguishable group of people who were the product of the cultural and religious

encounter of Christian and Muslim societies were the Mozarabs, Christians who lived

under Muslim rule but preserved their original religion. Despite being Christian, the

23
Mozarabs adopted some of the cultural habits of the Arabs, and hence their hybrid name.

The original Arabic name for another group, the Muladi (muladíes), denotes a higher

degree of cultural mixture. The successful pace of the Reconquest led to the formation of

another sociocultural group, opposite to the Mozarabs, the Mudehars (mudéjares). Its

Arabic meaning is “domesticated,” referring to the Muslims who continued living in

reconquered territory, adopting some of the cultural habits of Christian society.

The general objective after the victory over the Kingdom of Granada (1492) was

the creation of a homogeneous Kingdom of Spain. Therefore, the remaining Muslims

were under a constant pressure to convert, which lead to their forced conversion into

Christianity and the expulsion of those who refused (1609-1610). Those, who formally

embraced Catholicism, were denominated Moriscos, a term of Spanish origin, indicating

the Islamic heritage of a person belonging to this group. A considerable number of them

secretly practiced Islam. There was another sociocultural group, which like the Moriscos

appeared as a result of the homogenizing policy of the Catholic Monarchs Ferdinand and

Isabella: the Marranos, Jews who had converted to Christianity but practiced their

religion clandestinely. The last of the larger sociocultural groups were the Sephardic

Jews (sefardíes), a group that defined their motherland as Sepharad, or the Iberian

Peninsula. They followed Judaism and refused to convert, which resulted in their forced

exile in 1492.8

The diverse palette of interacting cultural groups created complex social dynamics

in the Peninsula, including long periods of peaceful coexistence. To begin with, during

the conquest of Iberia by Moors, Christians, though encouraged to convert to Islam, were

not forced to do so. Those who continued to practice Christianity were considered

24
dhimmi (‫)ذ ّمي‬, a non-Muslim “protected subject” who resided in the Islamic territories

ruled by shar’ia law. Dhimmi had full religious freedom as they were ahl al-kitāb,

meaning that their religion was mentioned in the Qur’an. They had the right to organize

their life and community as required by their religious obligations (Mohammed 32-33).

Dhimmi were guaranteed freedom of religion, and their lives and possessions were

protected by the Islamic government, whose sovereignty they ought to recognize. Non-

Muslims could not participate in the military, but were protected by the Muslim army.

This military protection was paid off by the poll tax, jizya9 (‫)جزية‬, which was also used

for the improvement of the community (Armstrong 200-1).

The general situation changed when the shift of power occurred during the

Reconquest. In the Christian Middle Ages, Islam was considered the result of a fusion of

several ancient heresies, but the Moors were never fully treated as heretics until the

appearance of the baptized Moriscos. It is then that the Inquisition could attack them.

While the Christian dhimmi under Moorish rule were protected by the unalterable Qur’an,

Christian law was not as explicit. The fate of Jews is often compared to that of the Moors,

since the law in the Peninsula treated them almost equally to the Moorish subjects.

However, in reality, the Jews who settled earlier in the Peninsula were welcome in

Europe more often than the Moors (Daniel, The Arabs 254-55).

Compared to the Muslim rulers during the beginning of the Reconquest, Christian

kings were less tolerant of the Muslim Other. Nevertheless, history gives us several

examples of the relatively peaceful coexistence of different sociocultural groups in the

Peninsula under Christian rule. The most prominent of them was the rule of

Alfonso VI (1040-1109), known for his support of the Muslim subjects in his kingdom.

25
He allowed the refugee princess Zaida of Seville to stay under his protection; more so,

after she gave birth to Alfonso’s only son Sancho, Zaida converted to Christianity around

1091, becoming one of the most famous converts in Medieval Iberia (Kedar 44). The

story of reconciliation between East and West became popular in the Peninsula. The lost

Cantar de la mora Zaida narrates the story of this relationship, though “the facts are very

much jumbled” and sometimes considerably far from reality (Daniel, The Arabs 88).

These alterations generally tend to favor one side, the Christians, while exposing the

vulnerability of the other side. As a result, the relationship between the Christian king and

the Moorish princess is portrayed in an Orientalist, patronizing fashion. Zaida falls in

love with Alfonso in a very courtly manner. She is ready to abandon her religion to

follow her true love. Some territories, such as Cuenca, come as a part of her dowry.

Therefore, the author conveys the idea of Christian superiority over Moorish values and

Islamic religion by playing with the historical facts and personalities.

Among Medieval literary works, there is one that most literary critics consider as

one of the most influential sources of Orientalization of the non-Christian Other. It is

Disciplina clericalis, a collection of stories translated from Sanskrit, Arabic, and Persian

into Latin in the twelfth century by a converted Sephardic Jew, Pedro Alfonso. Some of

the most famous stories in Disciplina clericalis include “Barlaam and Josaphat,” the

Arabic version of the story of Buddha, “Sendebar,” “Kalila and Dimna,” and many

others. They were translated into several languages and were referenced by more than 60

European authors during the Medieval and Renaissance periods (González Palencia 35-

37). Its influence extended into modernity. The work of the School of Translators of

Toledo under the rule of Alfonso X the Wise (1221-1284) is another example of the

26
respectful relationship with the Other. It not only rescued various Greek, Arabic, and

other manuscripts from oblivion, but had among the translators not only Spaniards, but

also Sephardic Jews and Arabs.10

As a consequence of such historical and cultural changes, the nature of the

relationship between the Iberian Christendom and the foreign Other was far from simple.

The dominant sociocultural groups were responsible for shaping the image of the Other,

which resulted in its reinvention or Orientalization. The complexity of this process is

determined by the considerable duration of the coexistence of the two opposing religious

groups in the Peninsula, as well as by the constant shifts of power along their already

porous frontier. Religion was by far the major factor for the differentiation between the

Iberian “us” and the Muslim Other. The Reconquest of the Peninsula went hand in hand

with the Crusades, both campaigns carrying a special religious significance. It is not

surprising, then, that the public perceived a parallelism between both processes,

especially after the conquest of Jerusalem by the Arabs in 1072, and Toledo by the

Christians in 1085 (González López 18). Cultural and religious ignorance, along with the

desire to create a self-assuring myth, led to the Orientalization of the Eastern Other by the

West. This process developed throughout the Middle Ages and into modernity, and

became part of the European heritage, passed on with the other values of Western

civilization.

In order to establish the concrete characteristics of the original paradigm of

Orientalist relationships in Iberia, three historical periods issuing from the initial

encounter, and their representative literary works, are analyzed below. These are: the

Reconquest (711-1492) and the Cantar de mio Cid (1140); the period immediately after

27
the Reconquest until the mid-sixteenth century, exemplified by El Abencerraje y la

hermosa Jarifa (1565); and the late sixteenth century and early seventeenth century,

which coincides with the publication of the two parts of Guerras civiles de Granada

(1595, 1604).

§ 2. The Reconquest: The Invisible or Overlooked Other

The Reconquest was not a homogeneous process. At the beginning, the Peninsula

was not culturally or linguistically defined: different ethnic, religious and cultural groups

coexisted, while the Castilian dialect gained dominance only between 1067 and 1140

(González López 27). During the first two centuries of the Conquest, Moorish power

dominated over the Christian kingdoms. After the tenth century, the active process of the

Reconquest and the progressive unifying impetus shifted the balance of power, giving the

Christian kings the upper hand, with the exception of some enclave kingdoms, such as the

Kingdom of Granada, which would remain a Muslim stronghold until the end of the

Reconquest.

An analysis of the representations of the Oriental Other in the documents of the

period casts light on the nature of Orientalist relationships during the Reconquest. As

religion was a fundamental factor during this period, the documents reflect the

juxtaposition between Islam and Christianity. For instance, in the 1140s, an anonymous

Mozarabic Christian priest, responding to the need for reassuring his community about

the predominance of the Christian religion, wrote a tract with abundant citations from the

Qur’an, the Torah, and the Bible. His main goal was to prove that Christianity was the

28
only true religion, as “the Jews affirm that they crucified Him, whereas you [Muslims]

deny this on your side. But for us the denial of the crucifixion is unbelief, so everyone

who denies it is an unbeliever” (Mozarabic Refutation 145). This and many other similar

documents launched the process of Orientalization of the Other by reshaping it according

to the ideals and needs of the dominant Christian culture.

The juridical documents dating from the twelfth to the fourteenth centuries are an

interesting source of information about the complexity of social relationships with the

Other. Mark Meyerson notes in his analysis of one of such documents pertaining to the

trial of Açen Muça who stabbed Abdalla Centido for killing his half-brother at a Christian

celebration:

The murder took place as Christians and Muslims were watching the

Corpus Christi procession together. The attendance of members of both

faiths at an important Christian religious festival indicates the breaching of

religious and social barriers. However, the readiness of Christians to take

up arms against Muslims after the murder had been committed points to

the fragility of the modus vivendi between Muslims and Christians. (338-

39)

This and similar documents attest to a crucial fact: despite their cultural and religious

differences, the process of mutual influence became a part of their society. Therefore,

fertile grounds were created for the growth and development of Orientalist-type

relationships between the hegemonic and subaltern cultural groups.

Different written sources depicted these intricate relationships in the Medieval

Peninsula. But perhaps the most indicative of the tendencies in Orientalizing the Oriental

29
Other is the Cantar de mio Cid (1140). Originated in the oral tradition of the bards

(juglares), each of whom reshaped the story to his way of reciting and to the taste of his

audience, the Cantar de mio Cid represents the quintessence of the Hispanic Orientalism

of the period, which is symbolically represented in the name of the protagonist, Ruy Díaz

de Vivar (1043-1099), the Cid (‫ سيد‬meaning “master” or “lord” in Arabic). The poem

narrates the adventures of this Christian hero, his multiple military campaigns, and the

capture of Valencia in 1094, which contributed to his reconciliation with Alfonso VI.

However, in the background, we can see several Oriental, Arab and Jewish characters,

whose interactions with the dominant group, the Christians, cast light upon the process of

Orientalization and its ramifications in Medieval Iberia.

These relationships become even more prominent because of the historicity of the

poem. Menéndez Pidal indicates that the Christian protagonists are “rigurosamente

históricos y fueron coetáneos del Cid” (“strictly historical and were the Cid’s

contemporaries”; En torno al poema 13). The topography of the poem also lacks invented

names and places, in contrast with the French chansons of the period. In a way, the

realism of the Cantar tacitly opposes their illusory fantasies, especially those of Chanson

de Roland (Menéndez Pidal, En torno al poema 77). The military campaigns and their

chronology also describe real historical events. Therefore, the historicity of the poem sets

it apart from later works describing the encounter or the coexistence with the Oriental

Other in the Peninsula and in Medieval Europe.

Despite all of this, it would be erroneous to affirm that the poem is strictly

historical, since it is already contaminated with preconceived constructs of the Other and

its place in the Christian world. Analyzing the times when the Cantar was created,

30
Southern notes that it was a period of “ignorance of triumphant imagination,” as the

Europeans knew very little about Islam, which they saw not as a religion, first of all, but

as a “large number of enemies threatening Christendom from every direction” (14). Even

Menéndez Pidal, analyzing the poem as a whole, cannot but note that the Medieval author

“acertó a idealizar . . . recuerdos locales, uniéndolos para siempre a la historia poética del

héroe y haciéndolos brillar en ella aún más que las hazañas que interesaban a toda

España” (“managed to idealize the local memories, linking them forever to the hero’s

poetic history and making them shine even more than the heroic deeds that interested the

whole of Spain”; En torno al poema 20).

The idealization raises a very important question for the analysis of the origins of

Hispanic Orientalism: the veracity of the assessment of the Other. While the backdrop is

historical, the characters might be manipulated as prototypes by the author’s desire to

deliver a specific message. Such reading is reinforced by the fact that Moorish characters

in the poem are either invented or impossible to identify historically. Menéndez Pidal

identifies only King Yúçef of Morocco as a real historical figure, linking him to Yúsuf

ben Texufin (1059-1116), who was the first Almoravid ruler (En torno al poema 17-18).

The image of the historical Cid, a mercenary knight who served both Moorish and

Christian sovereigns, differs considerably in the poem and in Arabic sources, where his

image is closer to the historical Cid, giving rise to the so-called cidofilia and cidofobia

among the researchers of the poem (Daniel, The Arabs 81; De Chasca 74). As a result,

the Oriental characters are prone to manipulations. Thus the poem offers a solid ground

for analyzing the formation of Orientalist relationships between Christians and Moors.

31
 Religion in the Cantar yet again becomes the litmus paper that reveals the

sociopolitical division of society. All the actions of the Cid are determined by his

religious affiliation, which is presented to the audience in a manner that contrasts with the

apparent lack of religious fervor on the part of the Other, thereby reinforcing the gap

between the dominant and the subaltern cultures. The Cid and his men are blessed with

victories and ganancias, profits,11 which does not contradict the biblical notion12 of a

good Christian.13 The religiousness of the Christian protagonisis contrasts with the lack

of religious dedication on the part of Muslims and Jews in the poem14. Both subaltern

cultures in the Cantar, the Muslims and the Jews, are constantly compared, directly or

tacitly, to the Campeador. They are defeated by Christians, morally or physically, and

even poetically: the author sometimes shows surprising negligence towards the Other.

On one hand, during the battle against King Yúçef of Morocco, one of the

Christian characters, Albar Salvadórez, imprisoned by Yúçef (v. 1681), suddenly appears

(v. 1994) combating the Moors along with the other Christian knights. On the other hand,

when it comes to rewarding the Other for his loyalty and service, this Other is somehow

“forgotten” in the poem (Menéndez Pidal, En torno al poema 51). Both times, when The

Cid promises to compensate the Jewish moneylenders, Raquel and Vidas, and the Moor

Avengalvón, who accompanied the Cid’s daughters to Valencia, the text never mentions

if the Christians actually fulfilled their word. Whether the payment or reward actually

took place remains unknown. And even if it did, apparently, this fact is completely

irrelevant for the narrator, as both Jews and Muslims occupy a secondary position in the

poem compared to the Christians. However, while these two groups share the fate of

being an Orientalized Other, they are not treated equally. They differ in the Cantar in

32
several respects: their occupation, their perception of themselves in relation to the

Christians, and their perception of the Christians. As a result, the Orientalization

mechanisms differ for these two Others, indicating a divergence in the Orientalization

path in Iberia.

The Jewish Other in the poem is represented by Raquel and Vidas, the two

moneylenders who helped the Cid financially when he was banished by King Alfonso.

The profession chosen for Raquel and Vidas in the poem is indicative of their social

status. The author deliberately reduces the interaction between Christians and Jews to a

stereotypical perception, handling money, thus reducing the importance of the other

aspects of such interactions. He follows the general tendency of ostracizing the Jews that

preceded the ostracism of the Muslims (Daniel, The Arabs 262). It is sometimes alleged

that the author gives female names to the Jewish characters to underscore their low

position in society. However, both of these names could refer to original Jewish male

names. Raquel can be a derivate of Raguel, and Vidas, which means “life” in Spanish,

could possibly be a translation of the Hebrew name Hayyim (Song of the Cid 113). Both

Jewish characters are presented as outsiders and representatives of the lowest echelon of

society. It is reflected both in their actions and in the way the Christians treat them. It is

interesting that throughout the poem, when somebody wants to say “everybody,” the

expression used is “moros e cristianos” or “non . . . moros nin a cristianos” (“Moors and

Christians”; “Not the Moors nor Christians”; Poema de mio Cid III.128-2729, I.9-107;

The Poem of The Cid 179, 11). Thus the Jewish Other is simply excluded from society.

The author portrays them as such, as a peripheral culture existing next to the Christian-

centric society.

33
 To separate them even more from the other members of society, the author makes

sure that the Campeador does not interact with the moneylenders directly, but always

through one of his vassals. When asked by one of them, Martín Antolínez, to lend money

to his banished sovereign, the moneylenders do it readily, even though the Cid’s words

are transmitted by a messenger. In the poem, Raquel and Vidas constantly worry about

their profit. “Nos huebos avemos en todo de ganar algo,” (“In any business / we must

gain something”), they say to Martín Antolínez, who comes to Raquel and Vidas on

behalf of the Cid (Poema de mio Cid I.9-123; The Poem of The Cid 11). But, as the

author indicates, because they cannot see past the profit, they are made fun of in the

Cantar as the Cid fools them, leaving two chests filled with sand instead of gold.

Even the process of lending money is under Christian control at all times. Raquel

and Vidas are under constant pressure. It seems that the Christians are certain about the

loan and its conditions (which are imposed by them on the moneylenders and not

otherwise), and do not want to waste their time on negotiations (Smith 218). Later, after

the conquest of Valencia, Raquel and Vidas follow the Cid’s men and request their

money back. But they have no bail from the Cid and they have to agree to lose their profit

in order to recover the principal. They say to another of the Cid’s men, Minaya Álvar

Fáñez: “Desfechos nos ha el Çid, sabet, si no nos val; / soltariemos la ganancia, que nos

diesse el cabdal. . . . /Si non, dexaremos Burgos, ir lo hemos buscar” (Poema de mio Cid

II.83-1431-1438). “The Cid has undone us you may know; if he will not aid us; / we shall

ignore that interest if he give back the capital. . . . / If not, we shall leave Burgos and go

to seek him in Valencia” (The Poem of The Cid 97).

34
 In the poem, despite all the negotiations, the bard never mentions whether the

moneylenders received their loan back, showing a drastically different approach from the

principle of fairness that is used towards the Christian warriors and their ganancias. A

similar approach to the Jewish Other can be found in other documents of the period.

Joseph Duggan compares the Cantar and the other chronicles of the period that describe

the Cid’s relationship with Raquel and Vidas. It is interesting that in the Crónica de

veinte reyes, the second meeting with the moneylenders is omitted altogether; therefore,

they never had a chance to ask for their money back. In the Estoria de España, they

receive back only the original loan, 600 marks, without any of the interest promised to

them by the Cid’s people (Duggan 18-19). And it is surprising that despite the trick and

the fact that the reader never sees the Cid or his people paying the moneylenders back,

we, as Francisco Acaso says, “amamos más a Rodrigo” (“love Rodrigo even more”; 85).

The Orientalization of the Other in the poem is possible only if the reader shares

the same values as the bard. The reader identifies with the Cid and stands against the

Other. While Christians and Moors present a dichotomy, the Jewish Other has no place in

this equation. It is not certain that the bard himself was an anti-Semite, but the events of

the poem surely demonstrate the general anti-Semitism present during that epoch

(Bandera Gómez 127). As portrayed in the Cantar, Raquel and Vidas seem to accept their

lower position. That is, the moneylenders accept their subordinate position as the other

vassals of the Campeador, but they do not receive the same patronage as the others.

Therefore, the nature of Orientalism in case of the Jewish Other is different. It is

not the relationship between dominated and dominant cultures, but rather dominant and

peripheral. The main characteristic of such marginalizing Orientalism is the alienation

35
from hegemonic society. Jews are separated from both Christian and Muslim characters

by their status; unlike them, they are never represented as noble. While religion plays a

crucial role in differentiating between these two groups, the religious aspect is never even

alluded to in the case of the Jews. Likewise, Raquel and Vidas are portrayed as non-

pertinent to the nobility and, therefore, reduced to outsiders in the Cid’s society. If the

Muslim Other is a substratum of the kingdom of Alfonso VI, the Jewish Other is an

adstratum. As such, they are outside the established social hierarchy.15

The Muslim characters constitute another group Orientalized by the hegemonic

culture. While they share some of the characteristics of the previous group, the Jews, the

path of Orientalization in their case differs from the marginalizing Orientalism described

above. Moors, both allies and rivals of the Cid, are also secondary to Christian warriors.

Most of them are fictitious, which already indicated the path of reimagination of the

Moorish Other chosen by the author of the Cantar. Like Raquel and Vidas, most of the

Moors, except for Avengalvón, are not given a chance to speak. The poem lacks an

expanded description of any of the Moorish characters, leaving the reader in the dark to

guess about their character. During the battles, the adjectives that constantly accompany

the Moors allude to enormous losses of goods and people, which become the Cid’s booty.

Their fear or helplessness is depicted considerably more often than their courage, as in

the battle for Alcocer: “moros e moras començaron a llorar” (“the Moors and their

women / fell to weep”; Poema de mio Cid I.46-856; The Poem of The Cid 59). Neither

the Moorish army nor their kings are as skillful, thoughtful, or successful in their attacks

as the Christians. As a result, the Moors in the Cantar become easy victims of

Christendom. Norman Daniel points out that in the poem, “the Moors are deliberately

36
terrorized . . . Most Moors are the objects of contrived terror, to be robbed, slaughtered or

sold as slaves” (The Arabs 2). This is true both for the noble Moors and for the masses

represented by soldiers and civilians.

The conversion to or from Islam, and Islam itself, are never mentioned in the

poem. But, as Theresa Sears notes, religion plays a crucial role in the identification of the

Muslim Other (43). In literary studies the Cantar is often accused of lacking the spirit of

the Reconquest or the Crusades, as it fails to portray the religious clash in Iberia (De

Chasca 74-75). However, the religious supremacy of Christianity is tacitly present in all

the elements of the poem: from the descriptions of the characters to the evaluation of the

results of military campaigns. While the Cid’s men launch their attacks in the name of

God, their adversaries never mention the name of the Supreme Being. Hence, they are

acting without God or without knowledge of Him (a version that complies with the

Medieval perception of Islam as a sum of heresies). While the Cid is treated almost like a

biblical hero, Moors, in this case, are the biblical antihero, against whom Christendom is

tested. While God protects the Cid and his men in their campaigns and rewards them with

goods and lands, Moors are seen to lack this patronage. They lose their belongings and

their lives, which for the author is a clear indication that they are in God’s disfavor. Thus,

religion becomes one of the defining criteria of the relationships between the Christians

and the Moorish Other, and therefore, one of the main characteristics of the

Orientalization of the Moors in the Cantar. As in the Crusades, the ultimate object of

Holy War was to prove that God was on their side.

Another important factor is the social position of the Moorish Other. Some of the

Moors are noble, but never as noble as the Christians. However, the “good” Moors like

37
Avengalvón are regarded by the author as nobler than the “bad” Christians like the

Carrión family. Nevertheless, the poem never dwells on their origin describing the

leaders of the Moorish army very briefly, such as Rey de Sevilla, Rey Tamin, Rey Búcar,

and “Rey de Marruecos” (“King of Morocco”), the only Muslim leader to actually have a

historical referent. Curiously, in the poem even the Cid’s Christian rivals and those who

envy him, such as Count García Ordóñez, the Count of Barcelona, the Heirs of Carrión,

and others, are all characterized in detail, and, most importantly, all are named. In

contrast, most of the Moorish characters, even the kings, are anonymous. A name is a

crucial element in most cultures: it reflects the person’s self. Its absence can indicate a

deficiency of character or a lack of importance and uniqueness.

Most of the Moors in the Cantar are portrayed as warriors, who are treated very

differently from the Jewish Other. As De Chasca observes, despite the fact that most of

them are the Cid’s enemies, the bard almost never uses any derogatory epithets when

describing them (except on one occasion when referring to the Moorish king Búcar).

Analyzing De Chasca’s observation, Bandera Gómez concludes that the Cantar was

written following an idealized ethic, not so much on Christian values and ideas, as on

monarchic loyalty and the trustworthiness of subjects (54-55). This approach leads to the

treatment of the noble Moor with as much respect as a Christian knight, a deference to

nobility that becomes part of the process of Orientalization of the Other determined by its

reimagination.

However, the distance between the hegemonic and subaltern cultures is always

present. Moorish warriors are always depicted as slightly inferior to their opponents.

They are strong, but not as strong as the Christians; they often lose the battles quickly.

38
Here a process of historical ellipsis takes place, the same strategy that the author applies

to the Cid’s biography. It consists of conscious omissions of facts, which might glorify

the Moors. One of the best examples of these omissions is the conquest of Valencia. The

Arabic sources thoroughly describe the historic events preceding and following the

conquest of this city by the Cid. This description is radically reduced in the Cantar.

A similar process can be observed in the Christian Chronicles, where the Moorish

century rule was often dramatically compressed. Such compression is an indication of the

rapid passage from history to folklore (Daniel, The Arabs 90). Therefore, the selective

memory and, as a result, the reimagination or reinvention of the real history are key

elements in the construction of the Cantar and define the Orientalization of the Moorish

Other.

It is important to note that while Moors are portrayed collectively, there is one

character that stands out. It is the Cid’s ally, alcaide Avengalvón, one of the Moorish

noblemen whose lands were under the Campeador’s protectorate. While other Moors

underwent a process of reimagination, Avengalvón is not only reimagined but also

accepted by the Christians almost as an equal. Norman Daniel points out that “Moors are

occasionally allies and may always become friends. They may be more truly noble, and

‘my Cid’ cares what they think of him . . . Treachery to an allied Moor is despicable; the

Moor ‘Avengalvón’ is the Cid’s only friend among his peers, his other friends are

followers” (The Arabs 2). The Cid calls Avengalvón “amígol . . . sin falla,” an “unfailing

friend,” which indicates the respect for the Moor (Poema de mio Cid II.84-1528; The

Poem of The Cid 103). The Cid trusts Avengalvón, as he asks him to escort his daughters

to Valencia once Alfonso VI allows them to rejoin the Cid. When the Heirs of Carrión

39
decide to return to their lands after the marriage, it is Avengalvón who senses their future

betrayal and discovers their plans of murdering him and taking his possessions. At this

moment, Avengalvón gives a speech that defines his character and his perception by the

author and, therefore, by the reader:

¿Dezidme, qué voz fiz, infantes de Carrión!

yo sirviéndovos sin art, a vos conssajastes mie muort. …

Dios lo quiera y lo mande, que de tod el mundo es señor,

D’aqueste casamiento ques grade el Campeador. (Poema de mio Cid

III.128-2675-2685)

Tell me, what harm have I done you

Heirs of Carrión!

I serve you without malice

and you plot my death. …

May God, who is Lord of the world

will and command

that the Campeador may remain

content with this marriage. (The Poem of The Cid 177)

Among Moorish characters only Avengalvón is accepted by the Christians. The

speech reveals the reasons why this Orientalized Moor differs from the others. First and

foremost, Avengalvón brings the name of the Lord to attest to his words and to the evil

deeds of the Carrión, something unusual for the Moors in the poem. Once again, this fact

40
stresses religion as a key factor in the process of building the new social hierarchy in the

Cantar and placing the Other in it. Secondly, Avegalvón presents himself as a loyal

servant of the Cid and his new family. He brings the readers’ attention to the fact that he

served the Heirs of Carrión as he served the Campeador. At the same time, he is

considered an equal among the other vassals of the Cid, as can be seen in his greeting of

Minaya, whom he hugs and kisses in the shoulder following a Moorish tradition, while a

vassal would greet his patron by kissing his hand (Poema de mio Cid II.83- 1515-1525).

Finally, Avengalvón’s speech reveals another important fact. While the idea of

revenge, both military and personal, is often found in the enemies of the Cid, both

Christian and non-Christian, Avengalvón demands only Supreme justice and mercy for

the Heirs of Carrión, restraining himself from their direct punishment. Similar humility is

one of the core values of a true Christian, who should seek only a Heavenly revenge, not

a human one. In the same way, at the end of the poem, the Cid leaves the revenge of the

Carrión family in the hands of God. It is God who guides the Campeador’s men in their

duel with the Carrión, and brings the Cid not only the victory, but a more important

reward: the marriage of his daughters into two ruling families. Therefore, Avengalvón

represents a type of Europeanized Moor, reinvented by the dominant society that is

looking into accepting him and making him a part of its hierarchical structure.

These two distinctive paths of Orientalization, the marginalization and the

reinvention of the Other, will have repercussions in later literary works and national

imagery. Won over by his admiration of the Cid’s virtue, the Moor Avengalvón has taken

a first step towards embracing the Christian civilization, and as a result he is on the other

side of the barricades, helping the Christians. His speech reveals the main characteristics

41
of the Orientalization process that will become popular soon after the end of the

Reconquest: it is the appropriation of the Other through the process of reinvention.

Avengalvón, however, despite being treated almost as an equal, is not given full

protagonism in the poem compared to his Christian counterparts. Hence, the process of

appropriation of this Orientalized character in the Cantar is at its initial stage.

Nonetheless, it is an important step in the development of Hispanic Orientalism.

§ 3. The Renaissance: The Sentimental Moor Caught in the Shift of Power

The development of the Orientalist paradigm in Iberia went hand in hand with

political changes. As the Reconquest was coming to an end and the Peninsula witnessed

dramatic changes in the distribution of power, there was a significant increase in the

number of cultural, linguistic, and social interactions. The inhabitants of Iberia felt

threatened by the Other, but the Iberian Crusade was “too steady for European fears to

focus on” (Daniel, The Arabs 80-81). Therefore, it had a lesser impact on the pan-

European imaginary. Meanwhile, the movement to unify Spain dictated the need for

further segregation into “us” and “them,” reimagining and including in the social

hierarchy those who complied with Christian ethics and roundly refusing those who did

not. This situation resulted in the expulsion of the Jews (1492) and the Moriscos (1609),

as well as further Orientalization of those who remained in the Iberian Peninsula.

The Renaissance Peninsula distinguished itself in remarkable ways from the

previous period. The evolving nature of the relationship between Spaniards and Moors

became evident then. The Oriental Other lost its connotation as the enemy and started to

42
lose its connections with historical reality. The Other began to appear more often in

literary depictions of the past, rather than in official historiography or accounts of the

present. This situation gave way to a process of romantization, a further reinvention of

the Other that led to the acceptance of such Orientalized, non-threatening Muslim in the

popular mentality of the time. The Moor became more of a fairytale character than a

historical figure.

Such preconceived image of the Oriental Other had a significant impact on both

literature and history. The literary text, however, was an easier and more reliable medium

for perpetuating the myth. Its initial subjectivity was concealed by the objectivity claims

(Menocal 3). Hence, increasingly Orientalized Muslims make their way into literary

works. Two prominent texts of the period, El Abencerraje y la hermosa Jarifa (1565) and

Guerras civiles de Granada (1595, 1604), exhibit noteworthy changes in the perception

of the Oriental Other. Both works were written after the end of the Reconquest but

recreate Iberia’s historical past from the perspective of the victorious Castilian culture.

Therefore, the shift of power and the change in people’s perceptions were reflected in the

ways that both works portray the Other and recreate its Orientalized image.

Already in the Cantar, there was a tendency to idealize the reinvented image of

the Other in order to include it in Christian society. The mechanisms and peculiarities of

such “positive” Orientalization can be found in El Abencerraje y la hermosa Jarifa, the

story depicting the period in Spanish history preceding the end of the Reconquest. Since

El Abencerraje y la hermosa Jarifa was published during the Renaissance, the time gap

between the events described in the story and the actual time of creation determined the

Orientalization path of its characters. As Claudio Guillén notes, “El Abencerraje alludes

43
to contemporary history by means of silent contradictions. It offers a vision of peace and

unity against a background of past wars between Christians and Moslems, while

connoting contemporary struggles and religious conflicts” (178). Thus, El Abencerraje

becomes one of the best examples of a reinvented and idealized Other that was turned

into a propaganda tool for Spain’s absolute monarchy. Consequently, the relationship of

Hispanic Orientalism to the discourse of power, as well as the type of relationships

between Christians and the Oriental Other (juxtaposition versus hierarchy) become

crucial elements that determine the development of the original paradigm.

The first three known versions of El Abencerraje appeared almost one century

after the end of the Reconquest in the years 1561-1565.16 The 100-year gap allowed the

author to reinvent or reimagine the story in accordance with the new historical

circumstances and demands. The temporal distance between the sixteenth-century

narrator and the fifteenth-century setting gave the storyteller an opportunity for redrawing

history, and with it, the Oriental characters. The verisimilitude of the newer version of

events resides in what Wayne Booth called “the undramatized narrator” (152). The

storyteller not only created a suitable image of the Moorish warrior Abindarráez from the

famous lineage of Abencerrajes, but in order to convince the audience of its authenticity,

he pretended to experience the same feelings as a reader. The storyteller dives into the

story along with his audience, and this has an immediate impact on the power of the text

to impress. The audience can even identify with these characters (Wright 256). Such

connection between the reader and the text could not happen in earlier literary works, like

the Cantar de mio Cid, where the reader most likely would identify with the Christian

knights. Therefore, the fact that the reader is sympathetic to the Oriental Other and

44
recognizes his own values in the Other’s, is indicative of the acceptance of the

Orientalized (but domesticated) Other by the dominant society.

The narrator wisely chooses the third person to appear neutral and credible, as the

audience is less likely to perceive the author’s manipulation of the characters (Rico 41-

42). Nevertheless, the gap between him and the narrated events is obvious. Thus some

linguistic techniques are used to make the Orientalized Other even more credible. One of

them is the creation of a special semantic entourage for each of the characters, words that

appear in association with them. Such type of “coaching” of the audience is an effective

method for creating a stable stereotypical image of the Other that henceforth will appear

in later literary works.

In the story, the author first establishes an approximation to what would be the

ideal goal of all the Orientalized characters. Such ideal is embodied by the Christian

protagonist Rodrigo de Narváez, governor of Álora. His name always appears couched in

epithets and values such as “the greatest virtue,” “gallant,” “noble,” “honor,” etc.,

emphasizing his chivalry, courage, and strength. This semantic field creates the image of

an ideal knight who is emotionally, physically, and spiritually superior to his adversaries,

both Christian and Muslim. Rodrigo de Narváez is admired by both for his invincible

moral values, as portrayed in the story of the married lady, where he preferred to guard

his friend’s honor rather than follow his own feelings: “Pudo más con él la honra del

marido que la hermosura de la mujer” (Lama, and Peral Vega 80); “The husband’s honor

influenced him more than the wife’s beauty” (López Estrada, and Esten Keller 73).

The story of forbidden love is parallel to Abencerraje’s love story. However, the

latter could not avoid the temptation, and the lovers were forced to escape. The nobility

45
and worthiness of Abencerraje are also constantly compared to those of Narváez. The

latter is a model knight fighting for his king and the wellbeing of the country, deeply

respected by both Christian and Moorish societies. While Abencerraje is also portrayed

as a skillful and noble warrior, it is Narváez who saves him in the eyes of the King of

Granada. In response to his letter asking to absolve the two lovers, Abencerraje and

Jarifa, who broke the rules by getting married without their parents’ permission, the

Moorish king answers: “Sábete que ninguna cosa me pedirá el alcalde de Álora que yo no

lo haga” (Lama, and Peral Vega 85); “And know that I refuse nothing the Governor of

Álora asks me to do” (López Estrada, and Esten Keller 83).

The image of Narváez created in accordance with the code of courtly love is

idealized. He becomes a perfect vessel to transmit the universal values of honor and

honra embedded in the notion of the perfect Christian knight, as theorized by Erasmus

and Castiglione. Such image also serves the political agenda of the author supporting the

Christian dominance in the Peninsula. The simplified structure of the image of the

Christian hero was already observed in the Cantar de mio Cid. Even though the

immediate Muslim threat diminished with the end of the Reconquest, the authors of the

period often fell into what Manuel Álvar called “maurofilia”– the idealized, romanticized

view of the vanquished Moor (58). Luce López-Baralt indicates, however, that the very

existence of “maurofilia” in the times of the Inquisition is “uno de los enigmas literarios

más importantes de la literatura peninsular” (“one of the most important literary

mysteries of Penisular literature”; 149). As a consequence, even during the Renaissance,

it was important for the author to establish the Christian dominance, as the consolidation

of the Spanish Empire was not yet complete and there was an urgent need to reiterate the

46
claims of not only Christendom, but Spaniards themselves. It was also the time, when

Catholicism faced the advance of Protestantism, a new menacing enemy of the traditional

Church. Thus, Narváez presents a very convenient standard, against which the storyteller

tests the Moorish Other and Orientalizes it to serve his own political interests. During the

early Renaissance, unlike later periods when the Spanish Kingdom consolidated its

European and American dominance, setting such standard plays a crucial role in the

process of Orientalization of the Other. It serves as a measuring scale, as the paradigm of

the relationship with the Other was not fully established yet.

As before, during the Renaissance the Orientalization process does not affect all

social strata to the same degree. The Moorish protagonists, as their Christian

counterparts, are always of noble origin, like Abindarráez, whose story occupies a

considerable part of the narrative, and Jarifa, the daughter of the King of Granada. Only

such adversaries could be compared to the ideal, created in the Spanish literary and oral

tradition. However, the tendency to reimagine these protagonists resulted in their

fabulization, the loss of connections to historical reality. The fact that the life and

adventures of Abencerraje and Jarifa were very popular themes of romances fronterizos

(frontier folk poetry), which preceded the publication of the story, only reinforced this

tendency, as historicity was not the main purpose of the romance fronterizo. Therefore,

the interpolation of real and fictitious elements was natural in this type of literature

(Wright 255-56). It facilitated the process of reinvention of the Other, which intensified

exponentially from the romance fronterizo to El Abencerraje y la hermosa Jarifa.

As the author establishes the yardstick for the Other, he re-creates Abencerraje as

a mirror image of Narváez, adding an Oriental flavor to it. The same linguistic tools are

47
used to describe this character: words of Arabic origin, as well as parallel semantic

structures, thus intensifying the contrasts and the similarities between the respective

representatives of the hegemonic culture and the Other: “Vieron venire por donde ellos

iban un gentil moro en un caballo ruano; él era grande de cuerpo u hermoso de rostro y

parescía muy bien a caballo. Traía vestida una marlota de carmesí y un albornoz de

damasco del mismo color” (Lama, and Peral Vega 52); “They saw a noble Moor on a

roan stallion advancing over the road they had been following. He was of heroic physique

and handsome countenance, and he sat his horse expertly. He wore a crimson marlota and

a damask burnoose of the same color” (López Estrada, and Esten Keller 47).

As both protagonists are noble, their personal characteristics are very similar: they

are brave, honorable, and skillful, in other words, exceptional. The narrator is amazed by

the nobility and strong values of the Christian knight Narváez, as well as those of

Abencerraje. He praises the grace and the elegance of the Moor along with the Christian

protagonists of the story. But it is the final remark by the Orientalized Other that becomes

a quintessence of the Orientalization process in El Abencerraje: “Quien pensare vencer a

Rodrigo de Narváez, de arma y cortesía, pensará mal” (Lama, and Peral Vega 88); “Who

thinks to surpass Rodrigo de Narváez in arms and courtesy, thinks erroneously” (López

Estrada, and Esten Keller 83).

The appraisal of Narváez coming from a Moorish nobleman may seem at first as a

confirmation of Christian values that became a scale by which to measure the Other.

Nevertheless, the meaning of this phrase goes beyond this superficial reading. The very

fact that it is an Oriental Other that recognizes Christian values indicates that Abencerraje

underwent a process of reinvention and, as a result, idealization by hegemonic society.

48
Therefore, his words reaffirm the traditional values of the absolutist Spanish Kingdom:

monarchy, nobility, and the so-called pureza de sangre (blood purity). 17 Those are

European values accepted and adopted by an Orientalized Moor. The real Moor,

therefore, is replaced in Spanish popular imagery by an Orientalized (domesticated)

Moor, a la Spain, whose ideals reinforce the hierarchical social structure, which was

considered a clear reflection of the celestial one, according to the prevailing Neoplatonic

attempt to still hold on to a vanishing medieval worldview. Such Moor is seen as a

possible member of courtly society, a follower of the supposedly universal code of

courtly love, thus initiating the process of appropriation of the Other.

It is interesting that Abencerraje while adopting Christian values related to the

nobility follows the so-called código caballeril (chivalric code) of the late European

Middle Ages. When describing his entrance into the scene, the narrator portrays the Moor

as a Provençal knight. His image, created by an intricate combination of colors and

shapes, reminds an experienced reader of the novelas de caballería (chivalric romances).

The pattern of the relationship between Abencerraje and Jarifa – the common childhood

memories, the forbidden love, the escape, the punishment, and the happy ending – can be

easily recognized by the reader of this type of novels. Therefore, it is clear that the figure

of the Moor in El Abencerraje y la hermosa Jarifa is reinvented, in other words,

Orientalized, and this Orientalization has a political motive. It eliminates the menacing

differences between culturally diverse entities in the Peninsula, which seeks to complete

the foundational process of creating a homogeneous nation. This would go along

perfectly with the expulsion of Moriscos and other reforms that had a similar goal.

49
 The parallelisms in the life story and character of the Christian and Moorish

protagonists gave the author the necessary basis for the reinvention of the Renaissance

Oriental Other. The new Oriental then is idealized in the same way and included in the

social hierarchy, with the Moorish Other, naturally, placed below his Christian

counterpart. According to López Estrada, this is the reason why in El Abencerraje y la

hermosa Jarifa the idealized relations between Moors and Christians are fused with the

plot of the novel (Wright 259). It provides for an image of a romanticized Moor, “a Moor

whose moral code and whose habits are essentially those of Christians” (Deferrari 12).

Deferrari also argues that Abindarráez represents the “anomaly of a gentlemanly Moor”

who becomes one of the founding images of a sentimental Moor (10). This image closely

resembled the Christian protagonists of chivalric novels, confirming the idealization path

that Hispanic Orientalism took after the end of the Reconquest, when the Moor was no

longer dangerous.

Therefore, the main characteristics of Hispanic Orientalism, which were present

since the Reconquest, namely the reinvention and idealization of the Other, intensified

and developed further during the Post-Reconquest period. The maurofilia that became

customary in Spanish literature legitimized the figure of the idealized Other in popular

imagination. It led to the gradual substitution of the real Moor by his Europeanized

version who speaks like a Christian, feels like a Christian, even reads the same books and

operates with the same imagery seen in chivalric novels. Most importantly, as it can be

seen in El Abencerraje y la hermosa Jarifa, he accepts the Christian founding values of

the absolute monarchy. This acceptance initiates the process of appropriation of the Other

by hegemonic culture, through an Orientalization mechanism that can be described as

50
intended “for the Moor, by the Moor, but without the Moor.” The figure of the

Orientalized Other becomes a puppet in the hands of canonical writers and historians. As

a result, the real nature of the relationship between dominant and subaltern cultures

remains silenced in the documents and the narrative.

§ 4. The Spanish Kingdom: A Search for Unity

and the Europeanization of the Other

The capture of the Kingdom of Granada played a crucial role in the history of

Spain, as well as affected the relationships between the Old Europe and the foreign Other.

The previously established peninsular literary paradigm of relationship with the Oriental

Other had already established itself in the popular imagery and even in official

documents and chronicles. For instance, the Moorish protagonists of Ramon Muntaner’s

Chronicle were often amazed by Christian superiority and even recognized it openly,

similar to Abindarráez in El Abencerraje y la hermosa Jarifa: “When the King of

Granada saw the marvelous deeds performed by the Lord King of Aragon and his

followers, he held himself for lost, for he had not thought at all that there was so much

strenuousness and so much valour in them” (235). There are very few documents that

present this Christian-Islamic opposition from the point of view of the Other, the Moors.

One of these documents, the Arabic chronicle Nubdhat al-‘aṣr, points out that the

surrender of Granada was a prepared act by Granada’s king Boabdil, and not a

spontaneous decision based on the current military situation. According to the author, the

king simply fooled the people by gathering all noblemen whom he consulted on this

51
matter, but many alleged that he and the military chiefs “had already made an agreement

to hand over the city to the Christians.” Such conspiracy was the reason why the Catholic

Kings “readily agreed” to Boabdil’s proposal and were “happy to grant all their requests

and stipulations” (Nubdhat al-‘aṣr 251). In fact, had the articles of the Capitulation of

Granada been carried out, the Muslims in the Iberian Peninsula would have enjoyed

similar benefits as had the dhimmis under Muslim rule. Among those benefits were the

free exercise of Islam, the preservation of the mosques, the use of Muslim law, sharī’a,

among Muslims, tax alleviation, etc. 18 (Capitulation of Granada 345-47). In reality,

many of the clauses of this agreement remained on paper only.

After the end of the Reconquest, the search for a unified Spanish kingdom became

a priority. The expulsion of the Jews (1492), the subsequent expulsion of the Moriscos

(1609-1610), and the constant obsession with purity of blood led to an increased desire in

people to affirm their lineage. Those outsiders who remained in the Peninsula were

forced to blend in. In many cases, it meant adoption of Christianity as well as the customs

and habits of the Spaniards. The literature of the period contributed to the process of

unification by juggling with the image of the Other. While previously the negative image

of the outsiders, for instance Muslims, invaded peninsular and European literature, during

the Renaissance a shift towards the “noble Saracen” is observed. Nina Dulin-Mallory,

while tracing the parallels between these two powers, points out one such example, the

Saracen Plomides, who possesses all the virtues of a great Christian knight (qtd. in

Blanks, and Frassetto 6). The image of a Muslim nobleman was being reinvented and was

merging with that of the Christian warrior. However, this was the case in narrative. In

52
reality, by contrast, despite the disappearance of the direct Islamic threat, social

segregation continued to exist.

The memoirs of the period indicate that there was a considerable gap between

Christians in Europe and the remnants of the Muslim invaders. One of the testimonies of

cultural and religious segregation in the community is Lettera V by Andrea Navagero, the

ambassador of Venice in Spain. After having visited the south of the Iberian Peninsula in

1526, he wrote:

Los moriscos hablan su antigua y nativa lengua, muy pocos quieren

aprender el español; son cristianos a la fuerza y están poco instruidos de

nuestra fe, en esto se pone poquísimo cuidado. . . . Son muy enemigos de

los españoles, que no los tratan por cierto muy bien. Las mujeres todas

visten a la morisca, que es un traje muy fantástico . . . todas se quiebran

los pechos para que crezcan y cuelguen mucho . . . usan mucho los

baños. . . . Dicen que en tiempo de los moros el rey de Granda tenía más

de cincuenta mil de a caballo; hoy no hay casi caballero, y la gente que

queda es plebeya y vil, salvo muy pocos. (317)

The Moriscos speak their old native language; very few of them want

to learn Spanish. They are forced into Christianity and know little about

our religion, and very little care is placed on their instruction. They are

very hostile towards Spaniards who, as a matter of fact, do not treat them

well. The women all dress Moresque style and their dresses are very

extravagant. They say when the Moors ruled here, the King of Granada

53
 had over 50,000 cavaliers. Now, there is hardly a nobleman here; the

people who stayed are plebeian and vile, except for very few.19

As it can be seen from the letter, cultural and religious segregation continued

beyond the Reconquest. The reality described by Navagero differs considerably from that

of El Abencerraje y la hermosa Jarifa. It reveals the hostile environment that reigned in

the reconquered Peninsula. Even assuming that Navagero’s perception is somewhat

partial, it still reveals the downfall of Moorish culture in newborn Spain and the attending

societal segregation.

Despite the reignant differences, in Spanish narrative, the memories of the

opposition between Christians and Muslims were fainting, and the process of reinvention

and appropriation of the Oriental Other went faster and faster. Illustrative of this tendency

is the work of Ginés Pérez de Hita, Guerras civiles de Granada. A predecessor of the

modern historical novel, it was published in two volumes that differ significantly in style

(1595, 1604). The first part combines both historic and fictional events, narrated in the

style of the chivalric novel. It describes the Kingdom of Granada in its last period before

the Christian conquest and its most eminent representatives, the Zegríes, the

Abencerrajes, and other lineages. The second part is less flowery in style and is closer to

the real historical events. It narrates the campaign against the Moriscos during the second

half of the sixteenth century following their revolt against Christian rule in 1568.

The first part of Guerras civiles de Granada represents a romanticized image of

life in the Kingdom of Granada before its fall in 1492, very similar to that found in

El Abencerraje. As Shasta Bryant indicates, facts and fantasy are so interpolated here that

sometimes it is impossible to see the real historic entourage in the narration vividly

54
seasoned by Pérez de Hita’s imagination. However, there is literary and historic evidence

that the events described in the novel are rooted in the chronicles of the period, such as

Crónica de los Reyes Católicos (1565) by Hernando del Pulgar and Compendio histórico

de las Crónicas de España (1571) by Esteban Garibay y Zamalloa (Bryant xiii). At the

same time, it is important to note that fantasy in Guerras civiles does not result in an

abundance of supernatural events, so typical of the chivalric novels (Zaid 316). It can be

attributed to Pérez de Hita’s desire to create a chronicle of the period, rather than another

novel of chivalry. Therefore, the author bases his descriptions on actual reality,

modifying it to his own taste and that of his audience. This important fact indicates that

the vector of Orientalization is descending, and the literary tradition shaped the image of

the Other, coaching the readership to recognize this image, thereby forming a stereotype

in its mind.

Critics strongly disagree about the historical value of Guerras civiles de Granada.

Some scholars, such as Marcelino Menéndez y Pelayo, assert that the Moors in the novel

are “galantes, románticos y caballerescos, alancedores de toros . . . son convecionales en

gran parte y no dejan de prestarse a la parodia y a la caricatura . . . de los pastores de las

églogas” (“galant, romantic and chivalric, bull fighters; they are mostly conventional and

even lend themselves to a parody and caricature of the shepherds from the eclogues”;

ccclxxxvi). For Menéndez y Pelayo they are Christians dressed up in Moorish garb.

Giorgio Valli also argues that the novel represents an imaginary, picturesque Arabic

lifestyle, which is far distanced from the truth by virtue of the author’s imagination.

Therefore, he considers Guerras civiles a chivalric novel, rather than a novela morisca, a

Moresque novel (26).

55
 Even though the presence of chivalric motifs is indisputable in the work, some

scholars oppose such categorization of the novel. Even though they recognize the

Europeanizing tendencies in Guerras civiles, they do not attribute such manifestations to

the fact that it is merely a chivalric novel lacking a real historical background. In their

opinion, the proximity of Christendom and its traditions, and the constant movement of

mercenaries, such as the Cid, led to the inflection of Arabic culture in the Peninsula with

elements of Christian culture and habits. As evidence, Paula Blanchard-Demouge points

to numerous chronicles, including Jhata by Ibn Aljatib, which she considers as one of the

most influential. They all mention, for instance, that for years Moors participated in

Christian festivities, such as Christmas and St. John’s day (Introducción, Primera parte

lxxv). Juridical documents of the period also attest to the fact that Moors often attended

important Christian festivities (Meyerson 338-39). Therefore, according to this second

point of view, Pérez de Hita did not invent most of what he described, although some

critics like Blanchard-Demouge admit that imagination played an important role in his

narrative.20

However, despite the radical difference regarding the vector of Orientalization in

these two points of view, the outcome of both processes is rather similar. Whether the

Moorish Other was reinvented and romanticized to fit into the European mores, or

whether the court of the king of Granada indeed assimilated to the lifestyle and customs

of its Christian neighbors, at the end of the sixteenth century both were likely to be

portrayed in Orientalist fashion. As Rhona Zaid states, the predominant attitude among

sixteenth-century Spaniards was “the feeling of quasi tolerance, rather than acceptance”

towards the Moorish Other, which lead to Orientalization (328). Similarly, the author

56
offers his testimony to the reader, either by Orientalizing the events or by reporting the

Orientalized image, already established in the popular imagery (or both).

The first part of Guerras civiles shows many signs of interpolation of Christian

and Islamic cultures, staring with the chivalric plot of the narrative and the courtly

lifestyle of the Moorish knights, the love triangles, and the battlefield as a way to solve

such conflicts. The protagonist, in this case a whole lineage of Abencerrajes, is passing

through the usual routine: their loyal service to the king, their betrayal by antagonists, in

this case the Zegríes and their allies, and finally the protagonists’ revenge and restitution

of their honor and status. Thus, the main stages of Guerras civiles coincide with those of

the formative novel or Bildungsroman, which later becomes one of the mechanisms of

reinvention of the Oriental Other. The Abencerraje’s relationships with their Christian

opponents in the battlefield and outside of it become a litmus test that reveals the new

facets of the Hispanic Orientalist paradigm. In this sense, the Orientalization techniques

in Guerras civiles are slightly more sophisticated than in El Abencerraje y la hermosa

Jarifa. If in the latter, the Moorish king explicitly accepts the Christian values’

dominance21 only at the end, in the first part of Guerras civiles de Granada, the Oriental

Other not only behaves like a Christian, but also thinks and speaks like one from

beginning to end. So, ultimately, as the Muslim threat diminished, Pérez de Hita can

benevolently allow himself to display, as Luce López-Baralt notes, “el propósito expreso

de dignificar la casta perseguida y promover el espíritu de reconciliación y armonía entre

la cristiandad oficial y los descendientes de los musulmanes” (“the express purpose of

dignifying the persecuted ethnic group and promoting a spirit of reconciliation and

harmony among official Christendom and the descendants of the Muslims” 150).

57
Therefore, the reinvention and Europeanization of the Oriental Other is expected, and the

process of appropriation of the Other by hegemonic society observed in El Abencerraje

appears as fait accomplit in Guerras civiles.

Clear evidence of cultural interpenetration and appropriation of the Other in the

readers’ eyes is the mixed use of images and allusions to Muslim, Christian, as well as

Ancient Greek and Roman historical figures and realities. Even though Pérez de Hita

attributed the authorship of Guerras civiles to Aben Hamin, an Arab historian whose

writings were purportedly translated by Pérez de Hita, it is important to note that these

diverse cultural images are used in the author’s remarks. They also disclose the basis for

the Orientalization process that Pérez de Hita imposes on his readers. In the descriptions

of Muslim warriors either by the author of by other Muslim and Christian characters,

typical European imagery also serves as a common reference to emphasize characteristics

of the protagonist. One of the most recurrent images is “el fiero y sangriento Marte”

(“fierce and sanguinary Mars”;22 Pérez de Hita, Primera parte 100, 163). One of the most

active Moorish characters, Reduán, is compared to “el famoso Alejandro o César,” (“the

famous Alexander or Caesar”; 97). Such mode of Europeanization is one of the strategies

of appropriation of Other by the dominant culture.

The Moors are not only compared to the legendary warriors and gods of European

tradition, but they themselves are made to employ these images, completely

understanding the nuances and showing great knowledge of European history, especially

of a period when Islam was not yet instituted as a religion. For example, the Moorish

knight Almoradí says that the civil wars of Granada are “tan crudas como aquellas tan

memorables de Silla y Mario” (“as cruel as those very memorable [civil wars] of Sila and

58
Mario”; Pérez de Hita, Primera parte 201). In other words, he finds his reference in the

events that took place in the first century BC, when the above-mentioned leaders of two

opposing groups committed several cruelties, for which they are famous. Another

recurrent Christian reality in the novel is St. John’s day. It is mentioned consistently

throughout the first hundred pages, as there is a “fiesta muy solemne, el día de San Juan”

(“a very solemn day, St. John’s day”; Pérez de Hita, Primera parte 77). It is difficult to

imagine what, other than the Christian tradition of celebrating this holiday, could possibly

lead to a Moorish celebration on that day. Even if there were such a reason, the fact

remains that in the author’s eyes this celebration occurred on a day dedicated to St. John.

Besides these obvious Europeanizing elements in Guerras civiles, there are

several metatextual connections with other texts that portray European Christian values.

These references once again confirm that the authorship could not belong to an Arab

historian, as he would use a different set of references in his work. The Orientalization

from inside allows the author to create a more convincing image of the Other, as well as

to conceal from the audience the rebranding techniques. First and probably most relevant

for Guerras civiles is the biblical influence. Several parallels can be traced between the

Bible and the novel. The author describes the lineages and enumerates the geographic

locations, mimicking the biblical descriptions not only in meaning but even in syntax.23

This parallelism and other instances of interconnectedness of the two texts

indicate the intention of the author of Guerras civiles to create an almost biblical, in other

words, an essential and exhaustive narration of life in the kingdom of Granada. The

author sought to create an encyclopedic three-dimensional world that his contemporaries

and future generations could use as a reference. The novelistic form is more entertaining

59
than a chronicle; it would be accessible to more readers, widening its influence on

society. Therefore, its images, including those of the Orientalized Other, would be more

likely to become a classic or traditional referential source.

The interactions between Muslims and Christians in their everyday life and in the

battlefield define the essence of the Orientalist paradigm for the period. There are three

main groups of characters that can be distinguished in the novel: the Christians and the

two antagonist Moorish groups, led by the Zegríes and the Abencerrajes. The image of

the Christians follows the tendency already established in the literary tradition of the

Peninsula: they are benevolent, magnanimous, and noble. Their kindness to the defeated

Moors conquers the hearts of their enemies and leads to their continuous admiration.

Christian excellence is constantly mentioned in the novel: “la bondad del Meastre” (“the

kindness of the Maestre”); one of the Moorish warriors, Alabez, tells the Christian knight

don Manuel “tu bondad me obliga” (“your kindness obliges me”) (Pérez de Hita, Primera

parte 34, 75). Almost all the military campaigns of the Christians are successful, and the

author never misses the opportunity to bring it to the readers’ attention: “quedaron los

cristianos con singular victoria” (“the Christians scored a remarkable victory”; 14). As a

result of the exacerbated praise, the image of the Christians is significantly idealized.

Like the image of the Oriental Other, it is also reinvented and polished, and thus,

simplified; however, unlike the Moors, the Christians are placed at the top of the

hierarchical structure of the society.

The other two groups, the opposing Moorish lineages of the Zegríes and the

Abencerrajes, are also widely accompanied by epithets and comparisons, particularly in

the first part of Guerras civiles. However, these two groups are defined and placed in the

60
social hierarchy according to their relationships with the Christians. Pérez de Hita does

not do it directly, but his comments on the actions of both groups reveal the author’s

preferences. While the brave Abencerrajes are always the winners of the skirmishes

either on the battlefield or during the numerous military exercises held in the court of the

king of Granada, the evil Zegríes, as well as the other less important members of the

opposition, such as the Gomeles and the Mazas, “les tenían mortal odio y envidia”

(“hated and envied them to death”; Pérez de Hita, Primera parte 56). The conclusion that

the author draws after characterizing the two rival groups is of great importance. He sees

the success and leadership of the Abencerrajes as a consequence of their allegiance to the

Christians: “eran, finalmente, amigos de los cristianos” (“were, after all, friends of

Christians”; 56).

The idea of the relationship between social position and allegiance to either of the

two parties is repeated in different ways throughout the novel, making the Abencerrajes

the legitimate successors of the Christians. The qualities that they possess are similar to

those praised in the Bible. Among them, charity is constantly referred to: “caridad a los

cristianos . . . porque los bienes el santo Alá los da para que se haga bien por su amor, sin

mirar leyes” (“charity for Christians as Allah Almighty gives to people to do good things

because of His love regardless of religion”; 135). Therefore, the hierarchy of the three

groups present in the novel is the following: the Christians, then the group led by the

Abencerrajes, and finally the Zegríes and their followers. Consequently, the Abencerrajes

are closer to the top of the social ladder in the author’s eyes as a consequence of their

proximity to Christianity and their acceptance of core Christian ideas and values. It is

also of great importance that the Moorish characters from both groups are of noble origin.

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The Moors from lower classes are never mentioned in the first part of the novel, not even

the servants of the Moorish noblemen.

The main differences between Christianity and Islam are manipulated by the

author in order to create a stereotypical, Orientalized image of a good Moor and a bad

Moor. Even though Medieval reality places these two religions in opposition, they have

one major doctrine in common: the existence of the one and only one God. Monotheism

is never questioned in the novel, whether by Moors or by Christians. Nonetheless, one of

the major reasons for the segregation of Christianity and Islam, the figure of the Prophet

Muhammad, serves as a litmus test to reveal the nature of Orientalism in Medieval Spain.

Twice in the novel, the author directly expresses the dominance of the Christian tradition.

In both cases, it is the Moor who recognizes the superiority of Christianity. It usually

happens when he is facing one of the biggest challenges of his life. For instance, when

Albyaldos is mortally wounded by Maestre, he asks the victor to baptize him:

“Albayaldos . . . dijo que quería ser cristiano. . . . Y allí Maestre le echó del agua sobre la

cabeza, en nombre de la santísima Trinidad, Padre, Hijo, Espíritu Santo, le llamó don

Juan” (“Albayaldos said he wanted to become Christian. And there, Maestre poured

water over his head and called him Don Juan in the name of the Holy Trinity, the Father,

the Son and the Holy Spirit”; Pérez de Hita, Primera parte 123).

A more obvious example of manipulation of the theological differences between

Christianity and Islam can be seen in Chapter X, where Sarrazino loses an important

tournament and with it, his faith in the Prophet. However, despite that, it never occurs to

him to reject the idea of the one and only God. Therefore, Sarrazino finds a perfect

solution: to follow Christianity, the religion where his new ideas fit perfectly:

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 ¡Oh Mahoma traidor, perro pérfido engañador, y en el tiempo que

habías de favorecer mis esperanzas me faltaste! Di, perro, falso profeta

¿yo no te había prometido hacerte de oro todo, si me dabas victoria en tal

jornada como ésta, y quemar grande cantidad de incienso en tus aras? . . .

Pues vive Alá, don falso Mahoma, que por oprobio tuyo que me tengo de

tornar cristiano. Porque es mejor su fe, que tu secta mala y llena de

engaños, y esto yo lo cumpliré como caballero, y doquira que oyere tu

nombre he de blasfemar dél. (Pérez de Hita, Primera parte 90-91)

Oh perfidious and deceitful Mahomet! at the moment you ought to

favored me most, you deserted me. Do you forget, false enemy, that I

promised to raise your statue in gold and to burn a load of incense in your

mosque, if you had this day given me victory? I find you have not the

power to assist me, as therefore, as Alla lives, I will be revenged of you by

turning christian, and following that holly religion: thus only can I save

my soul from eternal perdition! (The Civil Wars of Granada 123)24

These situations exemplify the process of reinvention and appropriation of the

other by the dominant culture. They show that the Europeanized Moors are the only

Other accepted by Christian society. They form part of the social hierarchy and are

placed one step below the Christians. The Moor who does not accept Christianity is still

included in the social hierarchy, but is placed even lower. The reason for the inclusion of

both Europeanized and non-Europeanized Moors is that they underwent a process of

alteration in order to be understood and accepted by the dominant group. These

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alterations consist, first and foremost, of the erasure of radical differences between the

opposing religions, Christianity and Islam. Even though one of the representatives of the

Zegrí linage, Albin Hamad, affirms that “o el moro, moro; o el cristiano, cristiano” (“let

the Moors be Moors and the Christians be Christians”), even the negative characters in

the novel experience a considerable influence of Christian society (Pérez de Hita,

Primera parte 135).

Throughout the novel there are numerous references to Moorish and Islamic

traditions and customs, such as the sacred month of Ramadan, the Muslim prayers,

alzalá,25 etc. (Pérez de Hita, Primera parte 55, 156). However, not all of these elements

are used properly, revealing their artificial character and decorative role in the novel,

which contribute to the process of reimagination and reinvention of the Oriental Other.

One of several examples is the use of precious metals, in particular gold. The court of the

king of Granada is constantly described as pompous, and precious metals are used

everywhere. In the case of gold, even though in the Islamic tradition this metal is not

banned, men are forbidden to wear it. Despite that, it is common in the novel to see

personal objects made of gold in possession of the Moorish knights. In the following

passage, the everyday use of the golden objects is especially obvious: “el moro . . .

sacando una sortija del dedo, de oro muy rica, que era con la que sellaba, se la dió al

Maestre” (“the Moor, taking a golden ring that he used as a seal, off his finger, gave it to

the Maestre”; Pérez de Hita, Primera parte 114).

The plot against the queen in the later chapters of the novel is one of the best

examples of the author’s manipulations of Muslim reality. As Blanchard-Demouge

indicates, there is no correspondence between the scene of the queen’s betrayal and any

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of the romanceros of the period. Hence, most likely, it is the author’s imagination,

nourished by stories about rivalry in the harem that brought to life the queen’s accusation

of adultery (Blanchard-Demouge, Introducción, Primera parte lxv). When the king of

Granada is warned by one of the Zegrí knights that he saw “la reina holgar con

Albinhamad” (“the queen consorting with Abinhamad”), he accepts the accusation with

only two witnesses, Mahandin Gomel and the accuser himself, Hamete Zegrí (Pérez de

Hita, Primera parte 171). Yet, according to the Qur’an, in order to prove such a crime,

the accuser has to produce four witnesses.26 Later, the king arranges a duel, very common

among knights in chivalric novels, to decide who is right, the queen’s accusers (the

Zegríes and their supporters) or the defenders of the queen’s honor (the Abencerrajes and

their followers). Apparently familiar with Islamic traditions, the author has four

representatives of each group fight for the queen, instead of simply witnessing the crime -

a minor inaccuracy in the eyes of his readers, but a major mistake in the eyes of a

Muslim, as it misinterprets the Qur’an. Such blend of traditions and cultures shows that

the Other underwent a process of Europeanization and is only accepted as such by the

dominant society.

The second volume of Guerras civiles de Granada differs significantly from the

first. The second book is written using contrast as a literary technique. Historical events

not only serve as a backdrop, but are a central part of the narration, as Pérez de Hita

himself was a witness and an active participant in the military campaign against the

Moriscos in 1569-1571, following their revolt in Alpujarras. The author seems to forget

about the glorious lineages copiously described in the first part. His narration is more

dynamic in comparison to the almost static first part where the reader encountered long

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descriptions of a single event. The amorous adventures are left out as well. It is half way

through the second part that the author introduces some scenes typical of the first part,

such as a Moorish knight’s veneration of his lady, a courtly balcony scene, and several

love triangles whose protagonist is the beautiful Zahara (Pérez de Hita, Segunda parte

153, 156-57, 163, 219-25). Nonetheless, these scenes only serve as a short break for the

reader between the descriptions of the military campaign. Indeed they resemble the comic

pieces inserted during the intermission of Ancient Greek tragedies to relax the tension

and prepare the spectator for the next episode. The second book shows a Pérez de Hita

who appears more familiar or more careful in his descriptions of Moresque lifestyle and

customs.27 Despite that, the process of Orientalization of the Other follows the general

tendency of reinvention and appropriation found earlier.

Some researchers, such as Paula Blanchard-Demouge, argue for a difference in

the nature of Orientalism between both volumes. She admits that the Oriental motives

and the way of treating the Moorish characters in the first part underwent a process of

alteration. She suggests that it is in the second book that a true Orientalism can be found

(Blanchard-Demouge, Introducción, Segunda parte xxxi).28 However, her definition of

the term Orientalism is limited to the representation of the true-to-life Orient. It does not

reflect the relationship between Christian and Islamic cultures, but rather centers on the

more realistic description of the Moriscos in Spain. In this sense, the second book indeed

is more accurate in depicting the Oriental Other in the Iberian Peninsula. Nevertheless,

given the understanding of the term Orientalism as proposed in this study – as a process

of interaction and interpolation of different cultural selves – the accuracy in depicting this

type of relationship in the second book of Guerras civiles is debatable.

66
 There are several parallels between the two parts of the novel, which bring them

close together despite their apparent differences. There are semantic and syntactic

parallels, including the concepts of noble lineage and purity of blood. Nobility is

manifested in both Moors and Christians, and is significantly more prominent in the

second part of Guerras civiles, which features characters from different social strata. The

conflict between plebeians and noblemen, both of Moorish and Christian origin,

underscores the fact that social hierarchy is much stronger in the second book. It seems

that the upper class is contrasted with the lower class, and in this process, it is the lower

class that always appears corrupted or lacking in morals.

Even the greater realism of the second part serves to emphasize the hierarchical

structure of society. Pérez de Hita, who himself faced the scenes that he described later in

Guerras civiles, feels obliged to report the cruelties and abuses perpetrated by the

Spaniards, for instance, during the battle of Felix when the uncontrolled Christian troops

slaughtered helpless Moorish women. Pérez de Hita unfolds a horrifying picture in front

of the readers’ eyes. He says the Moorish women:

. . . confiando en la christiana misericordia hazían cruzes de unos

pequeños palos y hincaban de rodillas, llorando y temblando

dolorosamente dezían: “¡A mí, christiana, señor; a mí, christiana!” Mas el

endiablado esquadrón, no usando de aquella misericordia que las pobres y

desventuradas Moras esperavan, las hazían mil pieças y a otras les hazían

saltar por fuerça de aquellas peñas abajo. (Segunda parte 79)

67
 . . . relying on Christian mercy, they were making crosses with little

sticks and falling on their knees. Shivering painfully and crying, they were

saying: “Me Christianize, sir, me Christianize!” But the bedeviled

squadron, not making use of the mercy that the poor unfortunate Moorish

women hoped for, would cut them into a thousand pieces, and made the

others jump off the cliff and fall on the rocks.

Pérez de Hita himself condemns such rage: “¡O crueldad terrible de los

Christianos, jamás vista en española nación! ¿Y qué furia infernal te incitava a hazer

tanta crueldad?” (“Oh, terrible cruelty of the Christians never before seen in the Spanish

nation! What kind of infernal fury was instigating you to commit such a cruelty?”;

Segunda parte 79). At the same time, despite the gravity of the crime, he is not

completely on the side of the Moorish women. Once again, purity of blood wins, as the

cause of the cruelty is explained by the weaknesses of the Christian lower class:

Palomares, a simple soldier, supposedly instigated the entire slaughter. Therefore, only

the upper class, represented by Marqués de Vélez, much venerated by Pérez de Hita,

cares about its image and about being a good Christian. Similarly, the descriptions of the

Christian knights, like Don Luys Fajardo, are very elaborate and resemble descriptions of

legendary heroes. In contrast, the Oriental Other is often referred to only by nationality as

“Turco” (Turk) or “Africano” (African).

Whereas the realism of the second part constitutes a significant departure from the

first part, Pérez de Hita’s evaluation of his contemporary society remains the same. The

“immunity” that he grants to the noble Christians only becomes more obvious in

comparison with the lower class crimes. The author also attaches typical concepts of

68
nobility, compassion, etc. to the image of a noble Christian: “el buen Francisco Zervantes

lleno de compassión (natural cosa de Christianos dolerse de aquellos que les fallece

fortuna)” (“the good Francisco Zervantes full of compassion (as it is natural for

Christians to feel for those who are unfortunate)”; (Segunda parte 24). Religiosity in the

second part is as important as in the first. God helps Christians in all instances in both

books. For example, when the Moriscos wanted to attack Granada during Christmas,

according to the author, God made it snow heavily, so that the enemy could not start his

attack.

A true noble Christian who is at the top of the hierarchy is a firm believer:

“Christianos somos y Christianos tenemos de morir, y viva el Rey nuestro Señor . . . más

queremos la paz que la guerra” (“We are Christians and we will die Christians, and long

live the King. We want peace more than war”; Pérez de Hita, Segunda parte 24). This

position is quite opposite from what the Moors say about their religion: in both parts of

the novel, several of them end up praising Christian values or even converting. Unlike

noble Christians, their nobility and, therefore, all their positive qualities are not innate.

Even the noble Moriscos are not exempt from the lower instincts, as when they betray

Reyecillo, their newly proclaimed king: “y entonces se tuvo por más perdido,

entendiendo que de sus camaradas era vendido, porque tenía aquella gente morisca por

mudable y sin fe ni ley a la verdadera amistad, como ya tenía visto por las cosas

passadas” (“and then he felt he was completely lost, as he understood that his

companions betrayed him, because he knew that these Moriscos were changing sides and

did not follow any religion or law, despising friendship, as he could deduce from things

that had happened earlier”; “Pérez de Hita, Segunda parte 24). The very title of the

69
Moorish king, Reyecillo, formed with the diminutive suffix –illo, already indicates the

relationship of dominance between the Christians and the Moriscos: there is only one

king in Iberia, and the others are “reyecillos.”

Hence, the image of the Moriscos in the second book does not differ radically

from the first book. In both parts of the novel, the Oriental Other undergoes a process of

reinvention and appropriation by Christian society. It is manipulated to fit the mainstream

hierarchical paradigm of the newly founded Spanish nation. Included as part of this

hierarchy, the reinvented Other ceases to present a menace to absolute monarchy or to

Christianity.

§ 5. Conclusion

During the Reconquest and post-Reconquest, the shifting powers in the Iberian

Peninsula allowed for the formation of a certain stereotypical perception of the non-

dominant cultural group, the Other. After the European self successfully launched the

process of Reconquest, the foreign Other started to be associated with the invaders, the

Muslims. These relationships between the dominant and the dominated sociocultural

groups are Orientalist in nature, as it is the dominant group that imposes certain criteria

on the subaltern Other. It took several centuries for the original Orientalist paradigm in

the Peninsula to be formed. The impact of cultural encounters eventually became

imprinted in both, individual and literary memory, being reflected in the Orientalist

paradigm and making its features more prominent and recognizable.

70
 Several factors played a major role in the Orientalization process, natural for an

Iberia struggling for national and mental unity. Religion was by far the principal factor in

the differentiation between the Iberian “us” and the Other. Moreover, the impact of this

factor in the perception of the Other was so strong that its remnants can be found in

twenty-first-century literature and politics. The desire for uniformity and, therefore, for a

more manageable and less complex society, is one of the crucial factors that define the

vector of Orientalization. As the process of unification of the Spanish kingdom

progressed, the mechanism of dividing society into Self and Other became more and

more defined. This dichotomy allowed the Western self not only to define its relationship

to the East, but also to define itself through self-comparison to the Other.

Oral and written literary traditions shaped the image of the Other in the Peninsula.

The Cantar de mio Cid reveals the distinctive nature of Hispanic Orientalism. In the

poem, two Others, the Jews and the Moors, occupy different positions in society, the first

by being a peripheral culture, and the second by being a part of the Christian-Muslim

dichotomy. The manners of Orientalization differ for both outgroups, as they reflect the

balance of power between dominant and subaltern groups. There are thus two methods of

Orientalization used in this case: alienation (marginalization) and reinvention.

In the other milestone work for Hispanic Orientalism, El Abencerraje y la

Hermosa Jarifa, the Orientalization mechanisms are much more defined in comparison to

the Cantar. Here, the Oriental Other finds its niche in the hierarchical structure of

Castilian Christian society. The “Otherness” of the real Moors is gradually erased by

including them into the dominant culture. This way, the subaltern culture becomes easy

to understand and relate to, while the figure of the Orientalized Other becomes a puppet

71
in the hands of official writers and historians. Therefore, the dominant society begins the

process of appropriation of the Other through its reinvention, while more realistic

manifestations of the Other found, for instance, in Arabic Chronicles are simply silenced.

While in the previous two works, the Orientalist paradigm could be referred to as

going through the formation process, it is in Guerras civiles de Granada where it reveals

its full potential. The two stylistically different parts of the novel only prove the

sustainability of the Orientalization process in post-Reconquest Iberia. The newly formed

Spanish nation appears more confident to include the Oriental Other in its social structure

by manipulating its image and reinventing it to fit the pre-established hierarchy. Only the

Muslim Other of noble origin is considered part of the Hispanic social structure.

Nevertheless, this Other can never reach the same position as a Christian, who in turn is

openly and universally admired. Thus, the main characteristics of the original paradigm

of Hispanic Orientalism include the reinvention and Europeanization of the Other, or,

more generally, reshaping the Other to fit the values of the dominant culture. This leads

to the appropriation of the Other in order to rule more effectively by creating a more

uniform society. The more the Oriental Other mirrors the values and ideas of the

dominant society, the more he is admired. The authenticity of this recreated image is not

questioned in the oral and written literary traditions as they are presented to a

contemporary audience. This way, over time, what was an artificial creation would

become tangible in the popular imagery. Consolidated through this process over several

generations, the original paradigm was now ready to be exported to the New World.

72
 NOTES

6
The transliteration of Arabic words is done according to the IJMES system
(Journal of Middle East Studies). As such, unlike other words, the proper names are not
italicized and the diacritics are not used in them, except in the use of ‘ayn and hamza (the
initial hamza is also dropped).
7
The linguistic map of Iberia during this period is also of great importance and
interest. Beside the presence of several pure romance languages and dialects, as well as
Semitic languages, there are multiple examples of mutual linguistic influence, like the
case of aljamiado, which used the Arabic alphabet to transcribe a text written in a
romance language. On the other hand, we have kharjah (jarcha) and muwashshah
(moaxaja), lyric poetry written in an Andalusian dialect of Arabic, significantly
influenced by the surrounding Romance dialects.
8
It is an interesting fact that the Sephardic Jews, banished from Christian Iberia in
1492, were officially welcomed back to Spain only in 1992. In that festive ceremony,
Prince Felipe of Asturias addressed the representatives of the Sephardic community,
inviting them to rediscover their land of origin. This symbolic act that happened five
centuries after the expulsion of the Sephardic Jews once again points out the enduring
nature of Orientalism and the intent on both sides to overcome their differences. This
process, nevertheless, is as intricate and problematic as any other. Even though the event
in 1992 was received with acclamation, a severe criticism of Spain’s passive position in
the whole process continues to be raised. For example, José Luis Abellán from
Universidad Complutense states: “En esta hora en que se impone una nueva
remodelación de la escena internacional, España podría dar un ejemplo de buena
voluntad y prestar un apoyo positivo al proceso de planetarización, incentivando sus
relaciones intelectuales con una comunidad sefardí que . . . mantiene vivas sus raíces
españolas” (“Nowadays, in the recent process of restructuring international relations,
Spain could give an example of good will, positively supporting the globalization
process, by promoting its intellectual relationship with the Sephardic community, which
still keeps its Spanish heritage alive”; Abellán).
9
Karen Armstrong uses the following transliteration: jizyah (200-01). However,
for the sake of uniformity, the spelling used in this research follows the IJMES
guidelines.
10
During the rule of Alfonso X the Wise (1221-1284) the School of interpreters
of Toledo rescued various Greek, Arabic, and other manuscripts from oblivion. Among
the translators there were not only Spaniards, but also Sephardic Jews and Arabs,
including famous ones like Jehuda ben Moses Cohen, Isaak ibn Cid, Abraham Alfaqui,
Thabit ibn Qurra, and al-Battani. It is symptomatic that while working with scientific
manuscripts, the translators used the word “Arabic” and not “Saracen” to refer to the

73
origin of the tracts. Benjamin Kedar argues that this arose from the fact that “Arab” is a
linguistic or ethnic reference, while “Saracen” points to the religion, Islam (90-91).
Therefore, the translators, valuing knowledge itself, tried to neutralize the impact of the
religious opposition and its effect on the translated works. Norman Daniel also points out
the importance of the translation of Arabic texts during this period, as they conveyed both
Arabic thought infused by the translators and the experience of reading the original
ancients Greek manuscripts. Among the translated texts were the works of such eminent
representatives of their time as al-Farabi, al-Ghazali; medical writers like Ali ibn al-
Abbas al-Majusi (Haly Abbas), Ibn Butlan; doctors and philosophers like ar-Razi and Ibn
Sina (Avicenna), and Jewish writers familiar with Arabic culture like Ibn Jabirol and
Musa ibn Maymun (Maimonides). But it is the translation of Ibn Rushd (Averroes) that
would be one of the most influential for Western civilization, as it was a vehicle for
Aristotelian thought more than “Averroism,” which Daniel considers partly a nineteenth-
century invention (The Arabs 274-77).
11
Even though at first, Daniel’s view of the legendary Cid seems exaggerated, it
is nevertheless, fairly accurate. It is hard to argue that the protagonist of the Cantar
differs from the real historical Cid, who indeed was a mercenary at the service of both
Christians and Moors and, as a consequence, led the typical life of a professional warrior,
fighting and gaining or losing his assets depending on the outcome of his campaigns. At
the same time, the theme of acquisition of money and goods as a result of military
victories is not hidden from the reader. For instance, the word “ganancia” (“profit”) is
quite recurrent in the poem, along with other words of the semantic field of trade, such as
“marcos” (“marks”), a type of currency used during the period; “oro y plata” (“gold and
silver”), etc. In fact, the Cantar distinguishes itself from other epic poems by displaying
an extraordinarily detailed financial account of the military campaigns (Duggan 19). The
Cid gains lands and goods as a result of his military actions and trades these possessions
as a good merchant. He keeps Valencia, an important city, but sells Alcocer to the Moors
for “tres mil marcos de plata,” “three thousand silver marks” (Poema de mio Cid I.44-
845; The Poem of The Cid 58). The Cid sells what will not bring him much profit or is
difficult to maintain, and manages the rest of his possessions extremely rationally:
Los moros y las moras vender non podremos,
que los descabeçemos nada non ganaremos;
cojámoslos de dentro, ca el señorío tenemos;
posaremos en sus casas e dellos nos serviremos. (Poema de mio Cid I.31-
619-622)

We cannot sell
the Moors and their women,
it would gain us nothing
to cut off their heads;
Let us take them in

74
 for we are the lords here;
we shall live in their houses
and they shall wait upon us. (The Poem of The Cid 43)
12
See: “Jehoshaphat and his people proceeded to collect the plunder and found
much among them, including goods with the bodies and precious articles. They stripped
off for themselves more than they could carry, spending three days collecting the loot; for
it was enormous” (The Holy Bible. The Berkley Version, II Chronicles 20.25; my
emphasis).
13
On the other hand, it seems that the author does not see any contradiction
between the nobility of the Cid and the loot he obtains as a result of a military exploit.
Even his nickname, El Campeador, the Champion, is associated in the poem with both
aspects of the victory: the battle itself and la ganancia, the profit. The absence of any
sharp distinction between these can be explained in various ways, but considering the
importance of religion during the period, it is impossible to overlook the similarities
between the actions of the Cid and those depicted in the Old Testament. Considering that
the Cantar omits the part of the Cid’s biography when he served the Moorish sovereigns,
all his remaining actions aim at the reconciliation with Alfonso VI and the defense of the
“true” faith. In order to stress the king’s supremacy and despite being unfairly treated by
him, the Cid sends Alfonso several valuable presents. The Campeador does it to assure
the king of his loyalty even after the king has pardoned him.
It seems sometimes that the author makes the Cid a rival to Alfonso VI,
challenging the latter, as the king is constantly falling for the rumors about the evil plans
or disobedience of the Cid. There are two remarks in the poem that paraphrase each
other, one about the Campeador and the other one about his king. The author, saddened
by the Cid’s banishment by Alfonso, exclaims: “Dios, qué buen vassallo, si óbviese buen
señore!” (Poema de mio Cid I.3-20); “God, how fine is the vassal / Were his lord but
worthy! (The Poem of The Cid 5). When the Cid makes his men rich by selling Alcocer to
the Moors and distributing the money among them, the bard notes: “Qui a buen señor
sirve, siempre bive en deliçio” (Poema de mio Cid I.45-850); “Who serves a good lord /
lives always in delight” (The Poem of The Cid 58).
As it can be seen, the conflict between Alfonso and the Cid starts at the very
beginning of the poem. These lines not only contrast the two characters, but show the
reader the dominance of the Cid, who does not passively enjoy the achievements of his
vassals, but engages in dangerous campaigns to defend his faith. At the same time in the
Cantar in contrast to the historical Cid, the Campeador never questions the hierarchical
system and the nobility of the king. These characteristics are the ones that distinguish the
Cid from the rest of the knights and the king himself, who does not trust the noble blood
of the protagonist. As Cristina González states, “aunque el Cid en ningún momento
piensa destronar al rey, en cierto modo, con la gloria que ha alcanzado, lo destrona.
El hombre más poderoso de España no es el rey de Castilla, sino el héroe castellano”

75
(“even though the Cid never wanted to dethrone the king, in a way, he did it; he
dethrones the king with all the glory he achieved. The most powerful man in Spain is not
the king of Castile, but the Castilian hero”; 178). This idea is forced upon readers when
the author calls his protagonist “mio Çid Roy Díaz el Castellano” (“Ruy Díaz, the
Castillian / My Cid”) instead of using the name of the place the Campeador is originally
from, the city of Vivar (Poema de mio Cid I.38-748; The Poem of The Cid 58).
14
As a true defender of the Christian faith, the Cid always invokes God and the
Virgin Mary to attest to his words or deeds. He launches all his campaigns “en el nombre
del Criador” (“in the name of the Creator;” Poema de mio Cid I.34-675; The Poem of The
Cid 47). As soon as he obtains his first victories and even before sending tributes to King
Alfonso, the Cid donates money to celebrate one thousand masses in the Cathedral of
Burgos, from where he parted to his exile (Poema de mio Cid I.41-820-825). After he
reconquers Valencia, one of the first things the Cid does is to confirm “buen cristiano”
Don Jerónimo (“good Christian”) as the bishop of Valencia (Poema de mio Cid II.78-
1300; The Poem of The Cid 89). The significance of this action is emphasized by the
bard: all the heads of the Cid’s army and his closest friends, like Álvar Fáñez or Minaya,
are extremely happy about this decision. The whole Christian world celebrates the
installment of a bishop to minister over the newly recovered territories: “¡Dios, qué
alegre era tod cristianismo, /Que en tierras de Valençia señor avie obispo!” (Poema de
mio Cid II.79-1305-1306); “God, how great was the rejoicing /of all those Christians, /
for in the lands of Valencia / there was a lord bishop!” (The Poem of The Cid 89).
For the protagonist, it is especially important to establish a religious authority in
the reconquered territories, considering that the caliphates were religious states, and all
influential political concepts and institutions in Medieval Iberia, even the religious ones,
were called “ley” (“law”). Therefore, a bishop consolidates the authority of the church
over the region. In this light, the protagonist’s religiosity for the author of the Cantar is
beyond doubt. The Cid is the quintessential Christian knight defending his faith and his
motherland. Clearly, this indicates that the author of the Cantar sees the Cid as a man of
God who protects Christianity and supports the institution of the monarchy and the idea
of the unification of the Peninsula under one firm rule. In the poem, the Cid regains
territories lost to the infidels, who occupied them “illegally” in order to spread their
religion. According to the “divine will,” those lands were assigned to the Christians. This
situation markedly resembles the texts of the Old Testament, where the twelve tribes of
Israel constantly fought for the Promised Land. They not only defended it from the
attacking tribes, but also fought those who stayed in their lands and spread their pagan
religions. A significant part of the description of such battles is the list of all the enemy’s
belongings, which the tribes of Israel had gained by courage and divine favor. One of
such descriptions presents the aftermath of the encounter between the Judah king
Jehoshaphat and the men of Ammon, Moab, and Mount Seir: “Jehoshaphat and his
people proceeded to collect the plunder and found much among them, including goods

76
with the bodies and precious articles. They stripped off for themselves more than they
could carry, spending three days collecting the loot; for it was enormous” (The Holy
Bible. The Berkley Version, II Chronicles 20.25; my emphasis). The word choice in the
description is of considerable interest. It openly presents the nature of the process without
hiding or disguising it. The same process can be observed in the Cantar. The booty that
the Cid acquires after one of his campaigns is as amazing and as directly described as in
the Bible (my emphasis):
Esta alberga los de mio Çid luego la an robado
de escudos e de armas e de otros averes largos;
de los moriscos, quando son llegados,
ffallarom quinientos e diez cavallos. . . .
Traen oro y plata que non saben recabdo . . . (Poema de mio Cid I.40-794-
796b, 799)

My Cid’s men have sacked the Moors’ encampment

seized shields and arms and much else of value;
when they had brought them in they found they had taken
five hundred and ten Moorish horses. . . .
They bear so much gold and silver they do not know how much there is.
(The Poem of The Cid 54-55)
15
It is stressed even more by the way Raquel and Vidas are addressed by the
Christians (mostly by their names), in contrast with the descriptive titles given to the Cid.
If the language of the characters defines them in the poem, as Malcolm Read says, the
Jewish Other is obviously silenced in the Cantar (4-5). It seems that in the poem, the
existence of such peripheral Other does not affect society in any significant way, and the
latter interacts with them only when it feels the necessity to do so.
16
One version of this legend was published in the Chrónica, another version was
inserted in the Book of Diana by Jorge Montemayor, and finally, the most elaborate
version appeared in Inventario by Antonio de Villegas.
17
Blood purity refers to the long-known ancestry of noble Christian origin.
18
According to the Capitulation of Granada, there were several benefits
guaranteed by the Catholic Monarchs to the citizens of the Kingdom of Granada. The
document mentions specifically two geographic locations, Granada and Alpujarras, the
inhabitants of which would benefit from the treaty. However, there is a slight distinction
between the rights of the inhabitants of these two places. The Capitulation of Granada
contains numerous clauses that give considerable benefits in terms of migration, religion,
taxation, etc. Some of the most important clauses are the following:

77
 Their highnesses and their successors will ever afterwards . . . allow
King Abi Abdilehi . . . and all the common people . . . to live in their own
religion, and not permit that their mosques be taken from them . . .
No Christians might enter mosques where the Muslims perform their
prayer without the permission of the alfaquíes . . .
Their highnesses would not permit Jews to have power or command
over the Moors, or to be collectors of any tax.
Law suits which arise between Moors will be judged by their law,
sharī’a . . . (Capitulation of Granada 345-47)

It is interesting that many of these clauses would be vital for the resolution of numerous
conflicts in the contemporary Middle East and the Islamic world in general.
19
The translation is mine. (S. T.).
20
For example, in Guerras civiles, there is no indication of the authorship of
Aben Hamin that Pérez de Hita claims (Introducción, Primera parte xxix, xxxvii). At the
same time, Henry Austin Deferrari traces the resemblance of many of the scenes of
feasts, tournaments, court life in Guerras civiles to the ones depicted in contemporary
chronicles. Nevertheless, he admits that the image of the Moorish Other presented to the
reader both in the chronicles of the period, as well as in the novel, contributes to the
perpetuation of an exotic and, therefore, foreign icon of the Other (Deferrari 29-30). In
other words, The Moorish Other went through the process of self-Orientalization under
the influence of the dominant Western culture. The latter Europeanized him and included
him into the familiar Western paradigm. In this case, the vector of Orientalization has the
opposite direction. Such image is not imposed on every man. It is the Oriental Other that
changes himself, and this new image is then reflected in the literature of the period.
21
See previously quoted passage: “Quien pensare vencer a Rodrigo de Narváez,
de arma y cortesía, pensará mal” (“Who thinks to surpass Rodrigo de Narváez in arms
and courtesy, thinks erroneously “; Lama, and Peral Vega 88; López Estrada, and Esten
Keller 83).
22
Hereafter, the translations of the First part of Guerras civiles de Granada (The
Civil Wars of Granada) are mine, unless otherwise indicated (S. T.). The 1803 English
version of The Civil Wars of Granada is highly imprecise. It does not always translate all
the text, omitting words in the sentences or even whole sentences. Therefore, this text
will be used only when it does not affect the meaning of the Spanish original.
23
There are several examples of such parallels, especially at the beginning of the
novel. For example, in Chapter III, the description of the origins of each of the lineages
and the constituents of each of the regions that will be discussed in the text, resemble

78
considerably the passages from the Bible (Joshua 15.20-62 and Genesis 36.9-32). See, for
instance:
Y con toda esta gente, se fue el valeroso capitán Abidbar hasta la
ciudad de Vera, donde era alcailde el bravo Alabez Malique, adonde se
acabó de juntar todo el ejército de los moros y alcaides que aquí se
nombrarán.
El general Abidbar; Abenaciz, capitán de Baza; su hermano
Abencazin, capitán de la Vega de Granada; el Malique Alabez, alcaide de
de Vélez el Blanco; Alabez, alcaide de Vélez el Rubio; Alabez, alcaide de
Almería; Alabez, alcaide de Cúllar; otro alcaide de Guéscar; Alabez,
alcaide de Orce. Alabez, alcaide de Purchena; Alabez, alcaide de Giquena;
Alabez, alcaide de Tirieza; Alabez, alcaide de Caniles. (Pérez de Hita,
Primera parte 8)

At length he came to Vera where the general rendezvous was

appointed, and where one of the noble Malique Alabeces commanded. The
army now mastered as follows:
Abidbar, the general. Abenaziz, captain of Baza. Abenaziz, his brother,
captain of the troops of the Vega de Granada. Almoradi, Alcayde de
Guadix. Malique Alabez of Vera. Alabez of Vélez el Blanco. Alabez of
Vélez el Rubio. Alabez of Almeria. Alabez of Cuellar. Alabez of Huescar.
Alabez of Orce. Alabez of Purchena. Alabez of Xiquena. Alabez of Tirieza.
Alabez of Caniles. (The Civil Wars of Granada 8)

Literal translation of the Spanish text fragment is the following:

And with all these people, went the gallant captain Abidbar to the city
of Vera, where the governor was the brave Alabez Malique, and where
just gathered all the army of the Moors and governors that will be named
here.
The general Abidbar; Abenaciz, captain of Baza; his brother
Abencazin, captain of la Vega de Granada; the Malique Alabez, governor
of Vélez el Blanco; Alabez, governor of Vélez el Rubio; Alabez, governor
of Almería; Alabez, governor of Cullar; other governor of Guéscar;
Alabez, governor of Orce. Alabez, governor of Purchena; Alabez,
governor of Giquena; Alabez, governor of Tirieza; Alabez, governor of
Caniles.

Below is one of the biblical parallels to this enumeration that can be compared to
the text, not only in meaning but also in its syntactic structure. This takes the
interconnectedness between the texts to the next level:

79
 7 These are the kings of the land on the west side of the Jordan, whom
Joshua and the Israelites defeated from Baal-gad in the valley of Lebanon
to Mount Halak, which stands opposite Seir . . .
9 the king of Jericho,
the king of Ai which is near Bethel,
10 the king of Jerusalem,
the king of Hebron,
11 the king of Jarmuth,
the king of Lachish,
12 the king of Eglon,
the king of Gezer,
13 the king of Debir,
the king of Geder,
14 the king of Hormah,
The king of Arad. (The Holy Bible. The Berkley Version, Joshua 12.7-
14)
24
The translation of the Spanish text is not completely accurate, especially in the
last part of the paragraph where the Moor expresses his intention of becoming Christian.
The literal translation of the last sentence is: “Because His faith is better than your poor
sect full of lies; and I will follow my word as a knight, and everywhere I hear your name
[Muhammad] I will curse it.” As well, Sarrazino promises to decorate the mosque with
gold rather than building a golden statue of Prophet Muhammad. The English translation,
therefore, directs the reader to the image of golden calf as a symbol of religious betrayal
and failure of this idol to assist Sarrazino. These mistakes in the translation themselves
can be an indication of the more contemporary Orientalization processes that take part at
the beginning of the nineteenth century. The translator applies the Christian model of the
veneration of God to Islam, altering the text to fit this idea.
25
The word alzalá is not currently included in the Dictionary of The Royal
Academy of the Spanish Language. The meaning of this word is “a prayer.” It comes
from the Arabic word al- ṣalā, (‫ ) الصال‬that has the same meaning.
26
The respective passages in the Qur’an are as follows: “And those who launch a
charge against chaste women, and produce not four witnesses (to support their
allegations) – flag them with eighty stripes; and reject their evidence ever after, for such
men are wicked transgressors” (The Qur’an, Surah Al Nur 24.4).

‫ك ھُ ُم‬ ْ ُ‫ﭑجلِدُوھُمۡ ثَ َم ٰـنِينَ َج ۡل َد ۟ةً َو َال ت َۡقبَل‬

َ ‫وا لَھُمۡ َشہَ ٰـ َدةً أَبَ ۟ ًد ۚا َوأُوْ لَ ٰـ ٓ ِٕٮ‬ ْ ُ‫ت ثُ ﱠم لَمۡ يَ ۡأت‬
ۡ َ‫وا بِأ َ ۡربَ َع ِة ُشہَ َد ٓا َء ف‬ َ ‫َوٱلﱠ ِذينَ يَ ۡر ُمونَ ۡٱل ُم ۡح‬
ِ ‫صنَ ٰـ‬
. َ‫ۡٱلفَ ٰـ ِسقُون‬
(The Holy Quran, Surah Al Nur 24.4)

80
 See also: “Why did they not bring four witnesses to prove it? When they have not
brought the witnesses, such men, in the sight of Allah, (stand forth) themselves as liars!”
(The Qur’an, Surah Al Nur 24.13).

. َ‫ك ِعن َد ٱ ﱠ ِ ھُ ُم ۡٱل َك ٰـ ِذبُون‬ ْ ُ‫لﱠ ۡو َال َجآ ُءو َعلَ ۡي ِه بِأ َ ۡربَ َع ِة ُشہَ َدآ َءۚ فَإ ِ ۡذ لَمۡ يَ ۡأت‬
َ ‫وا بِﭑل ﱡشہَ َد ٓا ِء فَأُوْ لَ ٰـ ٓ ِٕٮ‬
(The Holy Quran, Surah Al Nur 24.13)
27
In the second book, Pérez de Hita pays more attention to details when
describing Moorish life. In the first book, the Moorish men wear gold, something that is
against Islam. In the second book, on the contrary, it is silver that is constantly
mentioned, as it is a more typical metal for Muslim men to wear: “le pusieron encima de
la cabeça una corona de plata dorada y rica, que era de una imagen de nuestra Señora”
(“they crowned him with the silver, golden plated crown with the image of Our Lady”;
Pérez de Hita, Segunda parte 15).
As well, in the second part, realistic details are abundant in Pérez de Hita’s
narration, while they are constantly omitted in the first part. This realism is especially
obvious in the descriptions of military campaigns. The author often explains the outcome
of the battles with natural causes, as “los Christianos enfermos passaron la peor parte
porque no podían huyr ni pelear y assí morían muchos dellos” (“the Christians who were
sick, suffered the most, as they could not flee nor fight, and, therefore, a lot of them were
dying”; Pérez de Hita, Segunda parte 312).
28
Blanchard-Demouge argues that the description of the Oriental life, depicted in
the first book of Guerras civiles, is based on the real life events, described in the
chronicles that served as basis for Pérez de Hita. She asks:
¿No hay orientalismo de buena ley en Hita? . . . Analogía entre las
aventuras del héroe beduino, su devoción por su dama, su generosidad
protectora de los débiles y las costumbres de la caballería europea en la
Edad Media. . . Los cronistas españoles testifican este espíritu caballeresco
de los moros, refiriendo numerosos ejemplos que ciertamente Hita debió
conocer y que contribuirían a la idealización del enemigo que se encuentra
en su obra. (Introducción, Primera parte lxxxvii)

Is there genuine Orientalism in Hita? [There is] Analogy between the

adventures of a Bedouin hero, his devotion for his dame, his protective
generosity towards the weaker and the customs of the European
knighthood in Medieval period. The Spanish chroniclers attest this
knightly spirit in the Moor, giving numerous examples that Hita most
certainly was familiar with. It would contribute to the idealization of the
enemy that can be found in his work.

81
 At the same time, Blanchard-Demouge recognizes that while writing the first part,
Pérez de Hita was often driven more by the chivalric spirit of the period than by historical
accuracy. As a result, the content is sometimes fictitious, which contradicts the author’s
original purpose (Introducción, Primera parte lxv). Therefore, she considers the way of
depicting the Oriental lifestyle in the first part less authentic: “Si en la obra de Hita quiere
buscarse orientalismo, no es en la primera parte, sino en la segunda, donde podemos
encontrarle, siendo de un interés verdaderamente histórico, aun cuando fuese menos
apreciada y conocida que la primera” (“If one wants to look for Orientalism in Hita’s
work, it is not in the first, but in the second book that we can find it. The second part has
true historical interest, even though this volume is less acclaimed and famous than the
first”; Introducción, Segunda parte xxxi). Albeit, it is important to remember that by the
term “Orientalism” in this case, Blanchard-Demouge understands the exotic portrayal of
Moorish life itself rather than the intricate relationship between the dominant culture and
the Other as theorized by Edward Said.

82
 CHAPTER 2.

The Appropriation: The Early Colonial Migration of Hispanic Orientalist Paradigm

§ 1. Introduction

With the disappearance of the immediate Islamic threat in the Iberian Peninsula

towards the end of the Reconquest, the image of the Other became more inclusive rather

than exclusive. Under Christian lead and practices, it began to be considered as a part of

the social hierarchy. Rather soon after the end of the Reconquest, these inclusive

practices changed in nature. With the unifying impetus in the Peninsula on one hand, and

the growth and strengthening Ottoman Muslim Empire on the other, Christianity once

more felt a possible Islamic threat. This opposition resulted in “purifying” practices in

Iberia, such as the expulsion of the Jews (1492) and the expulsion of the Moriscos (1609-

1610). The so-called discovery of America occurred in the times crucial for the

construction of European identity, when “the Europeans were themselves in the process

of establishing their own myth of cultural homogeneity as the ‘West,’ defined by

exclusion of the ‘Orient,’” as well as “the Westernization of Christianity through

differentiation from its Semitic roots” (Camayd-Freixas, Controversy 1).

Hernán Taboada insists that the so-called Reconquest of Iberia was not the major

moving force behind the conquest of America. He emphasizes the Ottoman threat that

was more imminent than the Moorish one, however, “la gigantesca Guerra . . . con el

imperio otomano” if often overshadowed by the Reconquest (“a gigantic was against the

Ottoman Empire”; 32-33). He goes even further by asserting that the most direct link to

83
the Islamic world during the period of Great Discoveries are the maritime wars with the

Muslims in the Mediterrenian (Taboada 191). The New World presented one of the

greatest opportunities for Europe endangered by the Ottoman threat for the revival and

conservation of Christianity in its pure form. It explains the popularity of the Plus Ultra

campaign that became widely available to the European self and imagination after its so-

called discovery by Christopher Columbus and its exploration by him and other travelers

and conquistadors.29

However, the expansion of Christianity came second after the main reason for the

colonization of the New World, which was the common desire for upward social mobility

by taking part in the conquest and exploration of the newly discovered territories, as well

as benefiting from its wealth. The idea of the extraordinary richness of the New World,

first associated with fabulous Asia, was later augmented by the results of the campaign of

Hernán Cortés, the conqueror of the Aztec Empire (1519-1521). Despite the fact that only

one other campaign, that of Francisco Pizarro, the conquistador of the Inca Empire

(1532-1536), resulted in a similar booty, there were numerous attempts to pursue the

legendary fabulous wealth of the new lands. Even later, when gold extraction declined

giving way to silver mining, such as in the semi-mythical mines of Potosí in Peru, the

colonizers continued to venture into Latin American territories, looking for the precious

metal. The subsequent exploitation of the indigenous population, forced to work in

mines, had a detrimental effect on the demographics of the mining regions.30

The methods of conquest and exploration were another factor that undermined the

demographic stability of the indigenous population in Latin America. There are several

causes that are historically considered to have had the most impact on the local

84
population in the Colonies. Among them, there are the epidemics brought by the

Spaniards (smallpox, measles, etc.), as well as the sociological and psychological shock

from the drastic change in almost every aspect of pre-Colombian life (Aguirre Beltrán

27). These factors resulted in a weakening of the sociopolitical position of the indigenous

population in Latin America, just as had happened to the conquered Moors during the

Reconquest.

Mythmaking takes place only in fertile grounds, and the New World most

definitely offered such grounds in every sense of the word (Memmi, Decolonization 19).

On the one hand, the legendary wealth and opulence of Asia, and the unseen exuberant

reality of the New World blended together in the imagination of the explorers and

conquistadors, who often attributed magical powers to these lands and their inhabitants.31

On the other hand, Europeans came to the new continent with certain missions. First,

there was an economic goal, as The Indies were believed to be a part of sumptuous Asia.

However, the lack of immediate results led to the compensatory, religious agenda of the

conquistadors, as can be seen, among other sources, in Christopher Columbus’s

Diaries.32 As a result, mythmaking, which aimed to either legitimize one of these goals or

to explain the absence of the expected results, took place already at the very beginning of

the conquest of America. Hispanic Orientalism in its migration to the New World, thus,

found a very fertile ground that allowed it not only to survive but also to adapt to the new

reality.

One of the key factors that contributed to the smooth transition and fast

“acclimatization” of the original paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism is the expansion of

Christendom that became one of the driving forces behind the Conquest. There was a

85
gradual transition between the end of the Reconquest in Spain, the “purity of blood”

policies of its monarchs and the European arrival in the Americas. This process resulted

in what Nicolás Alemán called “the re-conceptualization of the world” (234). It shook to

the core not only the social and cultural establishment of the Old World, which resulted

in the creation of a new social hierarchy in the Americas, but also affected the existing

geographical knowledge about the world. This change became especially obvious after

1507 when the new cartographic design officially introduced the American continent to

the Old World (O’Gorman 129).

Spaniards arriving in the New World brought with them not only their traditions

and customs, but also their social and political views. Soon after the geopolitical division

of the territories was established, the newcomers started adjusting the old Peninsular

system of distribution of power to the new circumstances. For instance, the typical

Spanish administrative division into municipios (“municipalities”) in all its diverse forms

was also adopted by the new authorities. Some rural communities with a predominance of

indigenous population received a status similar to the Castilian municipio: the cacicazgo,

where a cacique represented the authority. The presence of the two sociocultural groups

often resulted in the appointment of corregidores (“mayors”) of both European and

indigenous origin (Tuñón de Lara 292-93). Despite this striking parallelism between the

two systems, already during the sixteenth century the New World was gradually

detaching itself from Spain.33 However, this process was slow enough to allow it to grow

deep roots in the social system and the mentality of Latin America.

It is of no surprise then that the social structure in the New World during the pre-

independence period mirrored, in a way, the original Iberian social structure. The

86
European-born noblemen, Peninsulares (“from the Iberian Peninsula”), were at the top of

the hierarchy, governing the others and distributing the profits of their military and

explorative enterprises. Naturally, they were Christian, and the conversion of the local

population and the salvation of their souls, according to the common belief at the time,

was one of their main duties. The other groups were very diverse in terms of ethnic

background and religion, similar to medieval Iberia. But unlike Iberia, the novelty of the

Colony arose from its new hybrid society where “almost everyone mixed with everyone

else,” a process accelerated by the fact that the Spaniards did not originally bring any

European women (Orellana 85). This created a necessity to establish a more rigid

hierarchical system defined by race (castas).

Several groups, whose role in history is significant, existed in the colony. First

among them were the criollos, Europeans born and raised in the New World. Because of

the latter, they occupied a lower position in the social hierarchy compared to those born

in Spain.34 The figure of the criollo is crucial for understanding cultural and political

processes in the New World, as they “were first at odds with the colonial Spanish

administration and then with immigrants” (Civantos, Criollo viii). At the beginning of the

nineteenth century, this dissonance resulted in the independence movement, led by the

criollos who would assume the role previously played by the Peninsular colonizers. The

mestizos, of mixed European and indigenous descent, were placed one step lower in the

social ladder. They were, as Manuel Tuñón de Lara notes “producto de la gran libertad

que reinaba en las Indias” (“a product of the great liberty that reigned in the Indies”;

293). Their European heritage and sometimes noble indigenous blood (like, for example,

Inca Garcilaso de la Vega) allowed them to hold positions of relative power in colonial

87
society. However, their relation to the indigenous population and their origin (often, out

of wedlock) conditioned their social role.

Two other major groups, present in the New World, were the indios and the

negros. The first represented the indigenous population, who practiced their religion,

often clandestinely even after converting to Christianity, as was the case in Iberia with

the converts. This situation gave rise to religious syncretism in Latin America: Christian

saints were associated by the indigenous population with local deities, one of the most

prominent examples being the Virgin Mary associated in Mexico with Tonantzin

(“Mother Earth”). By the seventeenth century, the exploitation of the indios, as well as

other factors, led to a dramatic decrease in their population, especially in certain regions

like the Caribbean.

African slaves, who constituted the second marginalized group, were brought to

the New World starting in the 1530s. By the seventeenth century their number had

increased enough to play a significant social role in the Americas. Unlike the other

groups, they were alienated from society, as their perception by other groups was derived

from the fallacy that slavery was their “natural” condition. Even the fact that the Africans

had a soul was subject to debate, and hence the dehumanization of the representatives of

the Africans. In a sense, the methods and the outcome of their Orientalization was similar

to that of the Jews in Medieval Iberia, who were similarly excluded from a society that

alienated them and used their serviced only when they were needed.

The social and ethnic diversity in the New World immensely influenced not only

the nature of the relationship among different groups, but also their economic and

political status. Los blancos (“the Whites”) atop the social ladder considered themselves

88
hidalgos, noblemen, even though back in Europe, they did not necessarily possess this

title. However, in Spanish Americas they reaffirmed their claim for nobility by avoiding

any manual work, which was attributed to lower classes; however, they also demanded

payment for their services. This self-identification was the origin of the encomienda, a

feudal-type system of servitude in which the conquistador had the right of exploiting his

subjects, the indigenous population. Despite several laws and royal decrees protecting the

latter – prohibition of slavery of the indigenous population by the Catholic Kings in the

Leyes de Burgos (1512-1513), reduction of the power of the encomenderos, the

abolishment of Indian slavery and personal service and the institution of a native tribute

by Charles V in Las leyes nuevas (1542) – the system of encomienda, officially abolished

by 1720, continued to exist in some form in the Americas until 1791 (Tuñón de Lara 293-

94; Roa-de-la-Carrera, Infamy 231; Parry 7-11). However, for Hispanic Orientalism, the

nature of this phenomenon is more important than its economic and social outcomes.

The encomienda was originally established during the period of the Reconquest of

Spain and was meant to protect the inhabitants of the lands bordering with the Moorish

kingdoms. In the Americas, this system was applied apparently to a considerably

different situation – the indigenous population was perceived as unable to defend its

rights and, therefore, in need of protection of the ruling class. However, this reasoning

only perpetrated the image of the indio as el buen salvaje (“the noble savage”) created in

the contemporary chronicles and travelogues. Hence, it reinforced not only the further

Orientalization of his image, but also served as another link between the New and the Old

World, facilitating the migration of the original paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism to the

New World.

89
 The present chapter examines the migration of the original paradigm of Hispanic

Orientalism to Latin America and its development and changes in the New World during

the Colonial period, when the Latin American continent takes its first steps towards

economic and political independence. Such geographical and temporal span requires a

solid literary corpus to be analyzed in order to trace the common changes in the original

paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism. The authors of the memoirs and chronicles of the

period represent a diverse social palette that is given special attention, as social factors

played a crucial role in the process of Orientalization of the Other in Latin America, as

they did in medieval and Renaissance Iberia. The texts analyzed in this chapter belong to

authors of different social background and status. This approach allows establishing

common aspects of Hispanic Orientalism in the early colonial period and distinguishing

this phenomenon from that of the metropolis.

The first group of authors is constituted by the conquistadors and the explorers,

whose vision of the newly discovered land is highly contaminated by the dominant

discourse of power, as well as their personal goals and missions. While there is a large

number of existing letters and travelogues left by the representatives of this group, special

attention is given to the accounts by Christopher Columbus and Hernán Cortés because of

their prominence and their impact on the popular imagery, as well as their influence on

the other conquistadors and explorers.

The second group of texts are official and non-official chronicles. They are

written from different perspectives: some from the hegemonic perspective of the

metropolis, as in the case of Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo or Francisco López de

Gómara; and others from the perspective of the Other, such as the mestizo and

90
indigenous chronicles. This work analyzes the process of Orientalization from the

hegemonic perspective, so it is the chronicles written by the representatives of the

dominant class that are in the center of the analysis. One the one hand, we look at the

texts produced by Francisco López de Gómara, who brings a different perspective of the

American Other, as he never visited the New World and did not have any first-hand

experience of the narrated events. On the other hand, there are the unofficial chroniclers,

such as Bernal Díaz del Castillo, who were very familiar with in the everyday life of the

conquistadors and who themselves took part in the process of Conquest and exploration.

His account of America differs significantly from Gómara’s, whom he severely criticized

for his idealization of the New World and the aggrandizement of the role of Hernán

Cortés in the conquest of Mexico.

The third group consists of the testimonies of religious men, like Fray Julián

Garcés, Juan de Torquemada, Diego Durán, Fray Joseph de Acosta, Diego de Landa,

Fray Toribio Benavente (Motolinía), Bartolomé de Las Cases and others. These accounts,

like that of Motolinía, whose texts are analyzed here, represent an attempt to view the

Amerindian Other from a more “moral,” Christian perspective; though they do not avoid

the temptation of Orientalizing the Other for their own aims. Motolinía, along with other

Franciscan friars, is one of the first authors to pay close attention to the moral and ethical

situation of the aboriginal culture, using this knowledge to his advantage in his religious

campaign. His ethnographic endeavor will later be followed by a more in-depth work by

other friars like Fray Bernardino de Sahagún.

It is of great importance to point out that these authors had different goals when

writing their narrations. While the conquistadors were seeking proof of their conquests

91
that would improve their socioeconomic position, the chroniclers’ were to attest to these

events. The evangelists were immersed in their own religious campaigns, perceived as a

continuation of the process of the Reconquest of Iberia and the earlier Crusades. They

attempted to create a wholesome cosmogony of the New World. While some of the

writings by their nature were to be less self-centered, they, nevertheless, exerted a mutual

influence. The analysis of such a wide variety of the depictions of the new reality in

America is crucial for the establishment of the Hispanic Orientalist paradigm in the new

continent.

While the narrative of these authors was deeply rooted in the literary tradition of

the Spanish kingdom and often transmitted a preconceived image of the Amerindian

Other or an image defined by the Peninsular Orientalist approach, their ways of viewing

and relating to the new Other were not the same. All the works analyzed here represent

the point of view of the conqueror and, consequently, are in contrast with the texts by

Mestizo chroniclers, such as Fernando de Alva Ixtlilxóchitl, Fernando Alvarado

Tezozómoc, Diego Muñoz Camargo, and Juan Bautista de Pomar, and the indigenous

chroniclers like Guaman Poma de Ayala, Tuti Cusi Yupanqui, and others. While the ways

of self-representation and self-Orientalization by the subaltern culture are of undoubted

interest, the present chapter is limited to the analysis of the dominant Orientalist

paradigm based on the perception of the Other by the colonizer. It is this paradigm that

was inherited and transported oversees with the first conquistadors and later evolved into

the modernity.

The analysis of such a wide variety of chronicles and testimonies allows

answering crucial questions that define the nature of Hispanic Orientalism in the New

92
World. First, it establishes the reflection of the original paradigm of Orientalism in the

texts created in/about Latin America; then, it reveals the differences between the original

and the colonial paradigms of Hispanic Orientalism; third, it establishes the level of

consistency of Orientalization among documentary texts created by the dominant social

strata of the early colonial period; finally, it analyses the process of transformation of the

“Oriental” into “Amerindian” and the authors’ justification of this process. The answers

to these questions contribute to the identification of Hispanic Orientalist strategies in the

New World. Some degree of change in the original paradigm was inevitable, since

Hispanic Orientalism, as demonstrated earlier, is intricately related to the discourse of

powers and reflects sociopolitical changes in society. Hence, the migration, the

establishment of a new society, and the new Latin American reality mirror themselves in

the Orientalization techniques and approaches typically employed during the early

colonial period.

§ 2. The Colonizers

During the transatlantic migration of Hispanic Orientalism to colonial Latin

America, the relationship between the hegemonic Spanish and the substrate cultures both

in the Peninsula and in the colonized New World undergoes an unavoidable process of

alteration. It is based, in part, on the essential sociocultural differences between the

subaltern Others, the Moors and the Amerindians. It arises as well as a consequence of

the newly established hierarchy and the resulting differences between the social strata of

the dominant class in Spain and the American conquistadors. The relocation of the

93
paradigm and the new geopolitical situation (as Spain became one of the largest empires

in the world at that time), combined with the Islamic threat to Europe, were the major

reasons for the changes in the original paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism.

The continuity and the relationship between the process of the Reconquest of

Iberia and the Conquest of America are of great importance here. There are numerous

historical and cultural links between these two events. Not only did they coincide

historically, one ending and the other one beginning in 1492, but also geographically, as

Columbus’s enterprise received a royal approval in the former Al-Andaluz (Cummins 2).

The new type of relationship, formed between the Spaniards and the Moors during the

Reconquest, served as a future reference for all the encounters with the Other. It is a

continuation of the Christian Crusades in search of the expansion of Catholicism and the

European hegemony in the West (Taboada 45). The first literary depictions of the

relationship between the conquistadors and discoverers and the Other, such as the

accounts by Christopher Columbus, Hernán Cortes, Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca, and

many others prove the existence of the link between the Reconquest and the Conquest in

the mentality of the people during that time. Such continuity not only casts light on the

nature of Hispanic Orientalism in the New World but also unveils the raison d'être of its

development.

Works like The Diary of Christopher Columbus (1492-1493, The First Voyage to

The Indies) are especially important for tracing the transatlantic changes in the original

Hispanic Orientalism and the understanding the process of formation of the new Latin

American identity. The very first pages of the Diary illustrate the idea of continuity

between the conquest of the so-believed Oriental lands by sea and the Christian

94
Reconquest of Iberia.35 Columbus begins his account by mentioning the siege of Granada

and the desire of the Catholic Monarchs, “amadores de la santa fe cristiana y

acrecentadores de ella” and “enemigos de la secta de Mahoma y de todas idolatrías”

(“lovers and promoters of the Holy Christian Faith” and “enemies of the false doctrine of

Mahomet and of all idolatries”), to Christianize the land of Great Khan after

“purification” of their own lands through the Reconquest and the expulsion of the Jews

(Colón 15; Columbus 19). Hernán G. H. Taboada notes in this light that Columbus’s

perception of Islam is generally hostile (93). Religious fervor, along with the later

Christian crusade in the Americas and the search for the Earthly Paradise in the Far East

facilitated the adoption of the ideology from the Spanish Reconquest to the Conquest of

the New World in the popular mind. These preoccupations of the conquistadors did not

fall too far from the goals of the Reconquest: Christianization, ganancia (“profit”) as the

heavenly reward for being good and loyal Christians, and personal ascend on the social

hierarchy.

Columbus’s Diary is one of the first documents that show the results of the

implementation of the Peninsular Orientalism after its transatlantic journey. It reveals the

gradual transformations that occurred in the ways of perceiving the Other and

rediscovering one’s own self through it. There, the first traces of the new type of

relationships with the Amerindian Other can be found. The difference in time and

location, as well as in personal expectations of Columbus, and later on, of many other

colonizers, evangelists and chroniclers are some of the factors that conditioned the

beginning of the change in the traditional European Orientalism. These changes are

95
significant, as they influenced the future interactions between the dominant social group

and the subaltern cultures in the Americas.

There is no doubt that Columbus traveled to the West with a preconceived idea of

the Other. He was significantly influenced by the readings of his predecessors about the

mythic East, as well as the idea of Christianization that he mentions in the introduction to

his Diary. During the first voyage, Columbus even had a converted Arabic-speaking

Jewish interpreter for communication with the inhabitants of the land of the Great Khan,

who presumably spoke Arabic (Cohen 12). As Flint notes, “Columbus’s medieval

readings also offered him manifold opportunities to ponder upon such associations

and . . . he seized upon these opportunities” 36 (124). Peninsular Orientalism found a

fertile ground in the imagination of Columbus and influenced his relationships and

perception of the Amerindian Other, which, as many believed, was the same adversary

Iberia and Europe had been facing for centuries. Having asserted the predominance of the

Christian self over the Moorish Other, the nascent Spanish Kingdom expected to confirm

its domain over the newly discovered America, considering her a part of the Orient.

In the Diary, the Orientalization of the Amerindian Other takes place on several

levels. Each of them contributes to the perpetuation of a certain image of the new Other,

el indio (“the Indian”), both in official historiography and in popular imagery. The first

Orientalization strategy is related to the level of authenticity of the narration. The title of

the memoirs states El primer viaje a Las Indias (The First Voyage to The Indies; Colón

15). Therefore, the text immediately suggests that Columbus is speaking for himself

about his singular experience on the way to the legendary land of the Great Khan. At the

same time, the text, as we know it, is a narration edited by Fray Bartolomé de Las

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Casas. 37 Moreover, there is a recurrent use of formulaic expressions revealing Las

Casas’s desire to assert the authenticity of the text, like “Todas son palabras del

Almrante” (“All are the Admiral’s words”; Colón 31; Columbus 69; October 11, 1492).

He even reinforces statements by personalizing the comments, such as “Yo vide

algunos…” (“I saw some”; Colón 31; Columbus 67; October 11, 1492). Such polyphony

is often confusing to the reader, who is struggling to separate both points of view and

determine to what extent Las Casas uses Columbus’s authority to advance his own

agenda as an evangelist.38

What Las Casas achieves by the use of this technique is to establish certain

credibility among his contemporaries. As a result, the type of relationship between the

Spaniards and the Indians found in the Diary becomes paradigmatic. Without

Columbus’s authority, Las Casas was unlikely to establish such memorable and

transmittable images. On the other hand, inferior to Columbus in social hierarchy,

Las Casas had to go through the process of self-Orientalization in order to pretend to

view the discovery through the eyes of his superior. This technique would become a

typical discursive strategy for colonial and, later, independent Latin America, indicative

of the desire for self-identification through opposition to the Other.

The second element that influenced the image of the Amerindian in the Diary,

contributing to its Orientalization, is its idealization, which led to the reinvention of the

New World’s reality. This process was similar to that of Renaissance Iberia, where the

Other gradually became the product of imagination rather than real history. However, the

new reality that unfolded in front of Columbus and his men needed a new approach. The

European literary tradition at the time included either chronicle-style narration or

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fairytale-like imaginary spaces that would culminate with chivalric novels, like Amadis

de Gaula (1508). As the conventional chronicle-style narration could not properly convey

the new reality, a more exciting approach was implemented: that of reinvention. It

facilitated the comprehension and appropriation of the Other by the conquistadors, whose

primary goal was to dominate the lands socially and culturally.

The appropriation of the Other through reinvention found its manifestation in

Columbus’s Diary on several levels. Most of the elements of the travel (its path, the

newly discovered land and people, etc.) are surrounded by mystery. For instance, the

existence of the path to the lands of Great Khan is an enigma, based on hearsay among

the noblemen of the country, a tactic that can be seen in novela morisca like Guerras

Civiles de Granada. 39 After the expedition reached the promised lands, the Diary

presents to the reader the fairytale-looking landscapes and the incredible fertility of the

New World, which echoed the biblical description of Paradise: “la isla mas fermosa que

yo vi . . . vino el olor tan bueno y suave de flores o árboles de la tierra, que era la cosa

más dulce del mundo” (sic) (“the island the most beautiful thing I have / seen . . . the

smell of flowers or trees that came from land / was so good and soft that it was the

sweetest thing in / the world”; Colón 41-42; Columbus 99-101; October 19, 1492).

However, the narrator would always keep in mind the mundane purpose of the

expedition, the search for precious metals. The presence of gold, however, was important

not only from the mercantile point of view. In Genesis we find: “There was also a river

flowing out of Eden to water the garden, and from there it was divided and became four

rivers. The first is named Pishon; it flows around all the land of Havilah, where there is

gold, high quality gold; aromatic gum, too, and onyx stone” (The Holy Bible. The Berkley

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Version, Genesis 2.10-12). Therefore, the abundant presence of this precious metal was

also an indication that the sailors might have reached the Earthly Paradise, which was

believed to be located in the East.

Columbus’s descriptions were also strongly influenced by the images taken from

the texts of great travelers and historians of the past, like Marco Polo and Pliny, so it is of

no surprise then that the newly discovered land was seen through the imaginative lens:

exuberant, exotic plants and fantastic creatures, like men with dog heads and sirens

supposedly inhabited this mysterious land. The reference to the dog is of significance. As

Taboada notes, it is long rooted in the contraposition of Islam and Christianity, where

canine references like “los omnipresentes ‘perros’ moros” could be the etimology of the

words like “cannibal” and “Calibán”40 (“ubiquitous doggish Moors”; 95). There images

influenced the travelers’ perception of the Other and determined their interaction with it.

The existing tradition of reinventing the Other was strong enough by the time of

Columbus’s travel to be transported overseas. Therefore, it is natural, that the Diary

follows the path of reinvention to conquer the Other, the path that previously helped

Europe to de-demonize the Moorish Other and include him in the social hierarchy of the

nascent Spanish Kingdom.

The Peninsular Orientalist tradition was characterized by the Europeanization of

the Other through portraying it as a debtor of Christian values and traditions and the

follower of European ethics. The first step in this process was creating a distance between

the two selves. Since the beginning of this encounter with the Amerindian Other,

Columbus reinforced the gap between “us” and “them,” constantly forming such

oppositions in his text. The next step was the reimagination of the Other in order to

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include it in the social and cultural paradigm of the dominant society. As such, while

describing the indigenous population of the New World, Columbus often referred to them

as very susceptible to the Iberian culture and customs. Two weeks into his discovery of

the new lands, he mentiones that “ya los entendían algo y mostraban estar contentos con

los cristianos” (the English translation reveals even more directionality: “now the Indians

understood the / Spaniards somewhat and appeared to be content with the Christians”;

Colón 49; Columbus 121; October 29, 1492). This affirmation is followed by the

description of the benevolence of Columbus who, as a good patron, prohibited ransacking

the abandoned Indian village. Here, like in the case of the Renaissance Moors, the text

portrays an Other reinvented by the dominant society. And, as in Iberia, the principles of

nobility, la pureza de sangre and el cristiano viejo (“blood purity”, “long-time

Christian”) are prominent characteristics of the hegemonic society that “discovers” and

takes the Other under its “protection.”

Not only do the traditional Iberian values find their repercussion in the ways of

interacting with the Other, Columbus himself often refers specifically to the image of the

Moor, of Andalusia, and its inhabitants and compares them to the New World. He uses

both direct comparisons, as well as loanwords from Arabic: “hechas a manera de

alfaneques” (“made in the fashion of very large Moorish campaign / tents”; Colón 49;

Columbus 121; October 29, 1492) or “como en el Andalucía por abril y mayo” (“as in

Andalusia in April and May”; Colón 48; Columbus 117; October 28, 1492). If the

parallelism between the Moors and the Indians were not clear enough to the reader, the

Diary explicitly compares the landscape of the Caribbean islands discovered by

Columbus to the panorama of an Andalusian city with its minarets and other elements

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pertinent to Muslim culture: “una de ellas tiene encima otro montecillo a manera de una

hermosa mezquita” (“one of them has / on top another little mountain like a pretty

mosque”; Colón 50; Columbus 123; October 29, 1492). In case of Medieval Iberia, the

hegemonic group was protected by God; in Columbus’s account, it is God-like, as

Amerindians “creían que éramos venidos del cielo” (“the believed that we had come /

from the heavens”; Colón 45; Columbus 109; October 22, 1492). Coming from the Other,

it is not perceived as Babel-like arrogance; on the contrary, it legitimizes the process of

Orientalization. Similar tendencies can be seen in the novel Guerras Civiles de Granada,

which emphasizes strong ties between the dominant culture and the Orientalized Other

during the Reconquest and the Conquest of America.

The third factor influencing the perception of the Other and reinforcing its

Orientalization are the goal of the expedition and the personal goals of Columbus. The

initial desire to reach the legendary, opulent Orient was driven by the acquisition of gold.

It is mentioned almost on every page of the Diary after the discovery. The Other, in this

light, becomes only a guide, the means to reach the goal. Therefore, Columbus does not

pay too much attention to the description of the nature of the interaction with the

Amerindians at the very beginning of the Diary. However, when the expedition faced the

scarcity of gold, its attention is driven back to the Indians. Under the pressure of the

economic failure of the mission, Columbus returns to the idea of Christian salvation that

was mentioned already at the beginning of his travel log. It is this moment that marks the

beginning of the manipulations of the image of the Amerindian Other.

Like the Peninsular chroniclers of the period who depicted the relation with the

Moors, Columbus selected a path of Orientalization through reinvention of the Other for

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the sake of its appropriation. Even though, it was hard for him to create a Europeanized

image of the Indians, as it was done with the Moors, he most definitely tried to fit the

Amerindians into the European Christian paradigm. The following and the similar

comments reveal his manipulations: “No le conozco secta ninguna, y creo que muy presto

se tornarían cristianos, porque ellos son de muy buen entender” (“I do not / detect in then

any religion and I believe that they / would become Christians very quickly because they

/ are of very good understanding”; Colón 38; Columbus 89; October 16, 1492). Hence,

the creation of “el mito de buen salvaje” (“the myth of the good savage”) in the Diary is

taked from the Peninsular Orientalist mechanism of reinvention of the Other through its

portrayal as a part of a familiar paradigm. Once on that path, Columbus repeatedly refers

to this technique to empasize the gentle character of the Indians, their child-like

innocence and natural curiosity. 41 Their nudity is constantly mentioned in the Diary,

asserting the right of the Spaniards to subdue Other. The latter is gradually inserted into

the paradigm of Spanish society where it soon plays an important but subsidiary role.

According to the text, the Amerindians seem to be kind and naïve, they are also

very good looking, which for Columbus means God’s approval of this nation and the

possibility of its inclusion into the dominant sociocultural paradigm. 42 Not only the

external beauty but also the color is important, as it creates a parallelism with the

Reconquest and the Moors: “ellos son de la color de los canaries, ni negros, ni blancos . .

. Ellos todos a una mano son de buena estatura de grandeza y buenos gestos, bien hechos”

(“They are of the color of the / Canarians, neither black nor white . . . All of them / alike

are of good-sized stature and carry / themselves well”; Colón 30-31; Columbus 67;

October 11, 1492).

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 Columbus goes even further by directly comparing the aboriginal population of

the land and the population of Iberian Peninsula: “son blancos más que los otros, y que

entre los otros vieron dos mujeres mozas tan blancas como podían ser en España” (“they /

are whiter than the others, and that among them they / saw two young women as white as

any in Spain”; Colón 88; Columbus 225; December 13, 1492). Such perception became

popular to the point that “entre los primeros grabados sobre la llegada de Colón a la

Española había uno, hecho en Alemania, que mostraba cómo de una galera (!) descendían

a las islas del Caribe unos marinos con tocados moriscos” (“among the first engravings

about the arrival of Columbus to Hispaniola, there was one, made in Germany, that

depicted the descent from a galera (!) to the Caribbean islands of the sailors with

Moresque-style headdresses”; Taboada 128). While the Moors of the literary text in

Iberia knew the benefits of Christendom and considered converting, as did the

protagonists of Abencerraje y la Hermosa Jarifa or Guerras Civiles de Granada, the

inhabitants of the New World seemed to have forgotten Christianity and were following

their pagan tradition. Columbus finds his proof of it in the supposed anthropophagy of the

local population. As a result of this process of reinvention, he presented to the reader a

prodigal son of the New World, ready and in need of being rescued. This Europeanized

image facilitates the placements of the Amerindian Other into the hierarchical structure of

the new Iberian society.43

Columbus’s accounts of his first travel to the West had an immediate and

profound impact on the mentality of his contemporaries not only in Iberia but in the

whole of Europe. It can be seen, for instance, in the correspondence of the period, where

the main Orientalist features of the New World are singled out. A perfect example of the

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impact of Columbus’s Orientalism on the European mind is the letter from Aníbal

Zennario to Jacobo Trotti, who later sent a copy of it to the Duque of Milan. In this letter,

Zannario mentions, in particular, the following about the voyage and its results: “En

XXXIII días arribó a una gran isla, en la que habitaban pueblos de color aceitunado y

desnudos, sin ninguna máquina de guerra y muy temerosos,” and later “con lo cual,

perdiendo ellos el miedo y siendo hombres de rápida comprensión, colmaron sus deseos,

pues por señas y otras maneras se enteraron a través de ellos que se hallaban en las islas

de la India” (“In 33 days, they arrived to a big island inhabited by the people of olive

color, naked, without any weapons and very timid”; “So they lost their fear and being

smart people, they had their wished fulfilled, as by gestures and in other ways they

understood from them that they were in the island of India”; Gil, and Varela 148; my

emphasis). It is evident that not only the mythical destination of Columbus is being

legitimized in this letter, but also the inhabitants of the land are reimagined offering

Europe the ready-to-be-used myth of the noble savage.

Zennario falls for Columbus’s Orientalism even further when he brings up the

religious aspect. As he writes, Columbus “no ha percibido que observen entre ellos

ninguna ley ni religión, sino que creen que todo proviene del cielo y que allí está el

hacedor de todas las cosas; por este motivo espera que fácilmente se convertirán a la

santa fe católica” (“did not see that they have any law or religion, but believe that

everything comes from heaven and the creator of all things is there; because of that he

thinks that they will convert easily to the Holy Catholic Faith”; Gil, and Varela 149; my

emphasis). This passage almost paraphrases the very text of the Diary, which indicates

the extent of the importance of the facts conveyed in this description. Not only is the

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Orientalized image of the Amerindians of interest for Zennario; he also transmits the

synopsis of the Admiral’s account about the fabulous-like newly discovered lands: “En

dichas islas han encontrado, según dicen, pimienta, lignáloe y minas de oro por los ríos,

esto es un río que tiene arenas con muchas arenillas de oro” (“In those islands, they found

pepper, lingaloe, and golden mines along the river, meaning that the river has sand with a

lot of golden grains”; Gil, and Varela 149; my emphasis). As a result, the image of the

Americas, reinvented and appropriated in Columbus’s writings, is immediately divulged

across Europe through private correspondence and word of mouth. This facilitates the

transmission of his Orientalist myths and their penetration into the popular mentality

already familiar with the Europe’s own Orientalist practices.

Other early chronicles and accounts about the New World were in no lesser

degree influenced by Columbus’s Diary and his Orientalization, as well as European

Orientalist tradition. Another significant narration of the conquest of America, Cartas de

relación (1519-1534) by Hernán Cortés, the conqueror of Mexico (1519-1521), echoes

these main concepts of this relationship with the Other. In the history of the conquest of

the New World there are two campaigns, the economic, the political, and the social

consequences of which are difficult to overestimate. These are the expeditions of

Francisco Pizarro, the conqueror of the Inca Empire (1532-1536) and the expedition of

Hernán Cortés in the Aztec Empire. The campaign of Cortés, one of the first big

successes of the conquistadors, in a way, sets an example for all the other explorers of the

New World.

The idea of the continuation of the Reconquest in America is given a second life

in Cartas de relación. The enterprise of Cortés was undoubtedly influenced by the

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voyages of Columbus. While the search for the mythical treasures was still a part of his

expedition, another aspect of such campaigns also played a crucial role: the Christian

quest to return the so-called “lost children” to their Christian faith (this aspect became

more evident in the later Columbus’s travel logs when his promises of attaining gold and

condiments failed). At the same time, the debate about the legitimacy of the conquest

arose at the beginning of the sixteenth century. The argument of Bartolomé de Las Casas

and Juan Ginés de Sepúlveda about the morality and legality of the conquest culminated

in the creation of the treatises by Dominican friar Matías de Paz and Juan López de

Palacios Rubios (Carman 133). Although never published, they had a significant

influence, as they established “an even more stringent guiding principle for Spanish

colonialism: the king could not seek to extend his dominions or enrich himself” (Roa-de-

la-Carrera, Ethics 180-91). Therefore, the Christian crusade in America became the only

legitimate way for colonial expansion. It was impossible to complete this process without

reimagining the aboriginal Other from the standpoint of the dominant culture. The

previous Peninsular experience of the conquistadors facilitated this process. Cummins

suggests that the Peninsular Orientalist tactics came into play “as soon as the

conquistadors met, on the one hand, serious opposition, and, on the other, the astonishing

creations of the builders and craftsmen of the mainland,” as “for the real veteran among

them, men hardened in their youth by the long campaigns of the Moorish wars, those

marches through the hostile land of Mexico . . . the curious tongues, the pagan temples

and richly worked artifacts, the constant stress on their role as the vanguard of God, must

have seemed very much an extension of the Christian Reconquest of Spain” (4).

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 Therefore, is it of no surprise that Cortés refers to Moorish imagery and

loanwords to portray the reality of the New World, much like Columbus.44 He becomes a

part of the tradition that not only established a direct connection between the

Amerindians in the New World and the Muslims in the Iberia, but insisted on this relation

even after the overseas territories began to play an important social and economic role in

the life of the metropolis. The Orientalization of the Amerindian Other though its

portrayal as a new Moor gradually became canonical in the Colony. Many other

chronicles and codices used both the images and the loanwords to trace the similarities

between these two Others. This technique was already used in Renaissance Iberia when

portraying the Moorish Other, so its transition to America was easy and predictable. One

such example is the inscriptions made by a Spanish scribe in the Codex Mendoza, a

pictorial manuscript created by aboriginal artist, use Arabic words to describe Aztec

religion, like alfaqui (“a Moorish priest”) when referring to Aztec religious leaders, or

mezquita (“mosque”) when describing their temples45 (Cummins 207-08).

Another example is Nueva crónica y buen gobierno (fl.1613) of Felipe Guamán

Poma de Ayala, where the defeat of the Inca army in the siege of Cuzco results from the

miraculous interference of Santiago de Compostela, Santiago Matamoros (St. James of

Compostela, the Moorslayer). 46 Taboada mentions a significant transformation that

happens to the image of the latter in America: “Fue Santiago, el campeón de la lucha

antimora en la Edad Media española, que llevó a cabo hazañas transmarinas igualmente

notables, apareciendo repetidas veces en los campos de batalla y auxiliando a los

cristianos con un nuevo nombre: Santiago Mataindios” (“Santiago was the champion of

the fight against the Moors in the Middle Ages, which resulted in his no less dramatic

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achievements overseas, where he appeared multiple times on the battle field helping the

Christians under a new name: Santiago Indianslayer”; 193). Cortés himself refers

constantly to the image of this saint (see letters 3 and 5, for example) when describing the

military encounters with the Indians (Cortés, Cartas 154, 253). This continuity in the

historical and literary practices in the Old and the New Worlds strengthens the thesis of

the transatlantic continuity of the Hispanic Orientalist tradition. The hegemonic culture

finds a place for the new “Moors” of America in society, but such incorporation is only

possible if the Amerindians go through the process of reimagination and appropriation.

In Cortés’s letters there are three recurrent topics that are important in relation to

the Other: gold, God, and glory or the marvelous secrecy of the lands he explores and

conquers. The three serve as a basis for his bidirectional Orientalization, that of the self

and the Other. Like the chronicles of other conquistadors and explorers, the goal of

Cartas de relación is to embellish the role of Cortés himself in the process of the

conquest of Mexico and prove the righteousness of his deeds. Cortés presents himself as

benevolent with the local population, convincing them that he will not do any harm and

that his mission is peaceful (see Cortés, Cartas 23, 34, etc.). Contrary to his opponents,

such as Diego Velázquez, he is an utmost loyal subject of the Spanish Crown, and he

convinces the locals to become its vassals, duly noting every such request of the

Amerindians (Cortés, Cartas 45, 53, 92, etc.). He is also a man of faith and has a

messianic goal of converting the Indians to Catholicism (and making them vassals of the

Spanish Crown at the same time). Throughout the Cartas, Cortés meticulously describes

his religious fervor when he gives the Indians some religious objects, even destroys they

idols in their temples in front of Moctezuma and his court, a clear comparison to biblical

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scenes. 47 Carman calls this process self-mythification, as Cortés depicts himself as a

victorious military and political leader who wins over both Indians and Spaniards (48).

This self-Orientalization is possible because of the reinterpretation of his own deeds, as

well as the Amerindian Other, both the land and its inhabitants. Unlike self-

Orientalization of the post-Independence period, it does not serve the purpose of

differentiation but rather self-embellishment.

Cortés’s descriptions of the lands are indicative of the Orientalist path that his and

the later narratives take. Unlike Columbus’s Diary that has predominantly elated

descriptions of the New World because of its novelty, Cortés’s letters show ethnographic

interest when the author engages in short but precise descriptions of local flora, fauna,

and customs. However, the enchantment of America, so prominent is Columbus’s

writings, is not completely obsolete. In the Cartas, there is a recurrent set of adjectives

and nouns describing the lands, the most prominent of which being maravilloso

(“marvelous / wonderful”) and secreto (“secret”). Often, these two words are used in the

same context. Surprisingly, they refer not only to the perception of the conquistadors, but

of the locals as well. For instance, Cortés talks about himself: “En este gran ciudad estuve

. . . sabiendo e inquiriendo muchos secretos de las tierras del señorío de este Mutezuma

como de otras que con él confinaban y él tenía noticia; que son tantas y tan maravillosas,

que son casi increíbles” (“While in this great city I was . . . finding many of the secrets of

Mutezuma’s lands and those which bordered on them and those of which he had

knowledge; and they are so many and so wonderful that they seem almost unbelievable”;

Cortés, Cartas 68-69; Cortés, Letters 112-13). The conquistador culminates his account

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pronouncing solemnly: “es otro mundo sin duda” (“it is without doubt like another

world”; Cortés, Cartas 96; Cortés, Letters 159).

The idea of the impossibility to fully comprehend the lands and their unusual life

is recurrent in the Cartas; and Cortés accepts it as a natural fact, something that can be

perceived as a part of magic realism of the New World. It becomes a motive for his

adventures. More than once the conquistador insists that he cannot stop his mission

before revealing the secrets of the lands in order to convey them to the Spanish kings.48

Cortés does not specify, what kind of secrets he is expecting to find, making it even more

mysterious and intriguing. The reader, however, can speculate about their nature:

perhaps, he refers to the mythical wealth? The word oro (“gold”) is mentioned practically

in every page of his letters. Cortés is very thorough when describing anything pertaining

to this topic: in the first letter, there is a long list of golden objects sent to the kings; later,

one of the conquistadors conveys in detail how much gold had each of the caciques he

saw and how rich in gold was the land; Cortés even organizes an expedition to see the

gold mines of the Indians.

Maybe, the secret of the lands are the religious practices of the locals and their

tacit susceptibility to Christianity, as it was already insinuated by Columbus? While he

considered himself an old Christian (“cristiano viejo”), Cortés draw a contrasting image

of the locals. However, not too contrasting, so that he is able to carry his messianic goal

of bringing Christianity to America. Along with the problem of the “gentes bárbaras” he

offers a solution: “habiendo lenguas y personas que les hiciesen entender la verdad de la

fe y el error en que están, muchos de ellos y aun todos, se apartarían muy brevemente de

aquella errónea secta que tienen, y vendrían al verdadero conocimiento, porque viven

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más política y razonablemente que ninguna de las gentes que hasta hoy en estas partes se

ha visto” (“barbarous people”; “had we interpreters and other people to explain to them

the error of their ways and the nature of the True Faith, many of them, and perhaps even

all, would soon renounce their false beliefs and come to the true knowledge of God; for

they live in a more civilized and reasonable manner than any other people we have seen

in these parts up to the present”; Cortés, Cartas 22; Cortés, Letters 36).

Such an attitude of the discoverers towards the aboriginal population is severely

criticized by Bartolomé de Las Casas in his own chronicle Historia de las Indias (1527-

1561). On the same note, Menéndez Pidal states: “Colón violó cien veces el derecho

natural . . . Cortés engaña al mundo diciendo que convirtió a los de Tabasco; ¿qué virtud

tenía él para “con diez palabras mascadas y mal pronunciadas” conseguir que los indios

rompieran sus ídolos, cesaran en sus sacrificios humanos y dieran vasallaje al Rey de

España?” (“Columbus violated hundred times the natural law. . . Cortés lies to the world

when he says that he converted those of Tabasco. What qualities did he have in order to

“with ten mumbled and mispronounced words” convince the Indians to break their idols,

stop their human sacrifices, and pledge allegiance to the King of Spain?”; La lengua 104-

05). It is interesting, though, that the mentions of God in the Cartas are not equally

distributed throughout the text, as are, for instance, the references to gold. They

agglomerate around the descriptions of battles scenes or complicated cultural and

political situations during the campaign. This reveals the true preoccupations of Cortés;

however, it does not answer the question about the marvelous secrecy of the lands that

the conquistador seeks to understand.

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 In this light, the image of the indio becomes crucial to the understanding of

America’s mystery. Like Columbus, Cortés is interested in portraying the traditional

indigenous population’s lifestyle. He is much more realistic in his descriptions of the

Amerindians and their behavior compared to his predecessors. He does not feel any

remorse when characterizing the Amerindians as mean and cunning when they attack him

instead of bringing promised food, or when calling them barbaric, their customs –

“horrible y abominable” (“horrid and abominable”), and their ornaments – “muy grandes

y feas cosas” (“very large and ugly objects”) that make them “muy deformes” (“a most

deformed appearance”; Cortés, Cartas 21-22; Cortés, Letters 30-35).49 The use of the

Indian and his culture during the colonial period, according to Stacie Widdifield, served

to the colonizer, especially in Mexico, as an almost unlimited resource “to justify, if not

reinvent, its own history and shore up structures of power and strategies of social control”

(70, my emphasis). Thus, Cortés’s Orientalism serves the purpose of legitimizing the

colonial campaign of the hegemonic society. It is carried out from a more realistic

perspective; nevertheless, it is still an artificial image.

The lifestyle and religious practices of the Indians described by the conquistador

also point out to his Orientalist approach. In the first letter, Cortés establishes a direct link

between the Moors and the Amerindians that he later exploits in his other letters. For

instance, he describes the locals as Moorish-like not only in terms of their practices, in

their estranged looks: “y los vestidos que traen es como de almaizales muy pintados . . . y

encima del cuerpo unas mantas muy delgadas y pintadas a manera de alquiceles

moriscos” (“the clothes they wear are like large, highly colored yashmaks . . . and on the

top half of their bodies wear thin mantels which are decorated in a Moorish fashion”;

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Cortés, Cartas 21; Cortés, Letters 30). Their houses also bear startling resemblance to the

Moorish houses in Southern Spain with their numerous patios inside the house and water

wells.50

But the most astounding association lies in their religious practices. The

conquistador condones brutal sacrifices by the locals, comparing them tacitly to Islamic

practices: women forbidden to go to the temple, religious men who never cut their hair,

the Moorish-like decoration of the “mosques” with “zaquizamíes,” a wood-decorated

ceiling, typical of Moorish architecture (Cortés, Cartas 64). The perception of Islam as a

sect, widespread at the time of discovery of America, also finds its echo in the writings of

Cortés, who often refers to the local religion as “secta” (Cortés, Cartas 22, 64, etc.).

Therefore, it becomes clear to Cortés’s contemporary reader that the locals must abandon

their repugnant customs and convert to Christianity for the sake of their salvation, of

course with the help and enlightenment of Cortés.

Instead of comparing the local temples to the mosques51 (“mezquitas”), Cortés

uses this word to directly reference them: “con éstos tienen sus mezquitas y adoratorios”

(“Likewhise they have their shrines and temples”; Cortés, Cartas 21; Cortés, Letters 35).

It is significant that in this contexts Cortés often does not refer to expressions, such as

“like,” which implies a comparison, but rather names the objects directly using an Arabic

loanword, as one of the most popular Orientalization techniques of the period.52 As in the

case of the land, here the conquistador also repeatedly recurs to the adjective

“maravilloso,” as when describing the Templo Mayor of Tenochtitlán.53 The comparison

to the cathedral of Seville, which several times changed hands during the Reconquest

serving at times as a mosque, is particularly characteristic of the Orientalized image of

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this battle ground for Christian conquistadors and the American “Moors,” the

Amerindians. This messianic role of Cortés is summarized at the end of the second letter:

“los españoles habían tomado por fuerza la grande ciudad de Temixtitan, en la cual

murieron más indios que en Jerusalén judíos en la destrucción que hizo Vespasiano”

(“the Spaniards had taken by storm the great city of Temixtitan, in which there had died

more Indians tan Jews in Jerusalem during the destruction of that city by Vespasian”;

Cortés, Cartas 96; Cortés, Letters 159). This comparison reveals not only the continuous

Orientalization of the New World, but also confirms the further alienation of the image of

the Jews in the Peninsula.

The secrecy of the land at which the traveler marvels, the Muslim-like customs

and religious practices of the Amerindians, whose good or bad, suspicious or friendly

appearance described in the chronicles seems to depend on their attitude towards the

conquistadors, and the self-mythification of the colonizers reveal the Orientalization path

in the Cartas de relación. While there is an ethnographic interest on the part of Cortés,

his America happens to be Orientalized as in the writing of his predecessors. Carman

questions the very notion of truth in the Cartas: while the conquistador claims to defend

it, his narrations “places the very notion of truth on slippery ground” (71). Cortés

reinterprets the new reality and connects it to the familiar subjects in order to understand

it better and for easier classification in the popular mind.

In sum, the accounts of the first conquerors of the New World have a significant

impact on the popular Orientalized perception of America and its inhabitants. Based on

the European Orientalist tradition at the time, as well as the experience of the

Reconquest, Hispanic Orientalism was transported overseas and found a fertile ground

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for reimagination of the mythical New World. The Diary of Columbus reinforces his

mission: the discovery of the new path to the legendary world of Asia and its attribution

to the Spanish Crown. As a result, the encounter with the New World and its inhabitants

undergoes a process of Orientalization, as this is the only way to claim the Spanish right

to conquer and explore these lands. Columbus follows the long established tradition of

reinvention of the Other in order to include it into the imagery of the Old World.

Even before the reader sees the very description of the Amerindians, he is already

forced to follow the path of his predecessors, the Peninsular medieval and Renaissance

audience, accustomed to the previously established Orientalist paradigm, based on

Europeanization through reinvention and appropriation of the Other. Only such Other can

be accepted by the dominant society. As a part of this social hierarchy, the new Other had

to be taken care of, in other words, it had to be “civilized” and baptized. Such Orientalist

strategy became very popular among the conquistadors of the Americas, who needed to

find a plausible justification for their endeavors. In the Cartas de relación by Hernán

Cortés similar mechanisms are used to legitimize the campaign and portray the local

lands and their inhabitants. Cortés reinvents the reality of the New World using the same

techniques of Peninsular Orientalism. While Cortés’s account is not as imaginative as

Columbus’s, he also uses reinvention and sometimes reinterpretation of the Other. It

shows a change in the original paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism that had previously

gravitated towards the mythification. The reason for this shift is not only rooted in the

transatlantic migration. As more and more information about the New World arrived in

Spain through different sources, the path of reinvention was becoming increasingly

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difficult. Hence, it gradually gave way to the reinterpretation for the same purpose of

appropriation of the Other and its inclusion into the existing social paradigm.

§ 3. The Official and the Unofficial Chroniclers

The first explorers and conquistadors of the New World composed their

travelogues and letters to the Spanish Crown in order in order to create a written record of

their achievements and “legalize” the acquisition of the conquered lands. However, the

desire to improve one’s own social and economic position often guided such writings,

thus leading to misrepresentations and often exaggerations of the conquistador’s role, as

well as the fictionalization of America’s reality. Unlike these personal writings, the

chronicles, both official and unofficial, were written supposedly to bring a more neutral

and independent account of the life and deeds of the newly acquired lands. Nevertheless,

would such unbiased account be altogether possible?

Among the chronicles of the period, there were two distinctive types. Some of the

chroniclers, like Bernal Díaz del Castillo, Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo, Bartolomé de

Las Casas, Francisco Cervantes de Salazar and others traveled to America and

participated themselves in the events they later narrated. Others, like Francisco López de

Gómara, never set foot in the new continent, heavily relying on the writings of the others.

Such recycling of existing ideas was often severely criticized because of its lack of

authenticity and inaccurate representations that closely followed the accounts of the very

conquistadors, one of the major sources for these chroniclers, or were heavily influenced

by their or the chronicler’s political agenda.

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 This section analyzes two, in a way, antagonical writings. One of them is Historia

general de las Indias, the second part of which describes the conquest of Mexico (1552)

by Francisco López de Gómara; its prohibition came several year later, possibly, because

of its polemic description of the colonization process and the colonizers (Roa-de-la-

Carrera, Gómara 42). The other chronicle is Historia verdadera de la conquista de la

Nueva España by Bernal Díaz del Castillo. Written between 1563 and 1568, almost thirty

years after the author’s participation in the campaign led by Hernán Cortés, it was long

forgotten and published only in 1632. Historia verdadera, as an unofficial account of the

conquest of Mexico, served as a counter argument to Gómara’s Historia general de las

Indias, an official account of the events. The selection of these two authors allows for

comparing the mechanisms of Orientalization that these two types of chroniclers used, as

well as comparing them to the discourse used by the conquistadors themselves, and

Hernán Cortés in particular. Like in Cortés’s Letters, the conquest of Mexico is at the

center of our analysis of the texts since its impact was so significant for the newly

established Amerindian Orientalism. It also allows for establishing parallels between the

three accounts, the two chronicles and the Letters, in order to determine the changes in

the Orientalist paradigm during the period of discovery and conquest.

The writings of the first explorers and chroniclers of the Indies aimed for a wider

audience compared to the literature of the period, for instance, the chivalric novels with

their intricate language of the “domadores de palabras” (“word tamers”); they were

characterized by a simpler language that lacked Latinizing elements and were closer to

the common spoken language, like the writings of Cabeza de Vaca or López de Gómara

(Menéndez Pidal, La lengua 74-75). It allowed this new literature an easier way into the

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popular imagery. Gómara’s Historia general de las Indias enjoyed a broad popularity to

the point that it became the base of the chronicle written by an unidentified author in the

Islamic world around 1580, the Tarih-I Hind-I garbi. Written in Turkish, translated into

Arabic and Farsi, and reprinted in 1720, this chronicle represented a rather fantastic

account of the American land and society (Taboada 111, 178).

The popularity of the work can be attributed to the fact that Francisco López de

Gómara, an official chronicler of the Spanish Crown, takes advantage of the style of the

chivalric novels and novela morisca, and also of the first chronicles and letters describing

the discovery and the conquest. On the one hand, he creates an encyclopedic overview of

the New World, its inhabitants and their customs, flora, fauna, and geography, covering

the area from Chile and Peru to New Spain and Florida. On the other hand, he takes

advantage of the familiarity with the Arab Other of his fellow citizens, often referring to

it as a comparison and using elements of chivalric-style literature in his writings to

reinforce such associations.54 His writing is educated and religious: in the first part he

extensively cites the philosophers and historians of the past, as well as uses religion to

exemplify and question the facts about the New World (López de Gómara, Primera parte

7-18). This combination allowed him to create an account that became immensely

popular, which led to its almost simultaneous translation into multiple languages,

therefore, increasing its impact on the popular minds all over Europe.

European Orientalist traditions are copiously reflected in Gómara’s relationship

with the Amerindian Other. It is not surprising, perhaps, considering the fact that the

chronicler never went to America, so his interpretation of the new reality unavoidably

had to use a familiar Spanish lens. As a result, his Orientalist approach to the New World

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heavily relies on its reinvention, the technique typical for the contemporary peninsular

literature, for instance, to novela morisca. His ethnographic interests will culminate in the

writings of his contemporary Fray Bernardino de Sahagún, whose Historia general de las

cosas de Nueva España was a quintessential work of ethnographic thought of the period

about Latin America. This curiosity, along with his religious views, though to a lesser

degree, forced Gómara to find a new more interpretative approach to the perception of

the Other than his predecessors. As a result, he relies more on the reinvention than on the

traditional reinterpretation for the appropriation of the Other.

Gómara’s Orientalism is based on several elements, whose cornerstone is religion,

much like during the Reconquest. In the narration, he himself highlights the close

connection between the Conquest of the New World and the Reconquest of Iberia, like

“comenzaron las conquistas de indios acabada la de moros” (“the conquests of Indians

began after the end of the Reconquest from the Moors”; López de Gómara, Primera parte

6). In this light, the evident nationalism of Gómara comes as no surprise. The Spaniards

are the defenders of the true faith, and, for the chronicler, they deserve his praise as the

dominant nation of Europe and the whole world.55

The chronicler reinforces this image throughout the text. It can be as obvious and

come from other Spaniards, such as Gómara himself, as in chapter “Elogio de los

españoles” (“Praise of Spaniards”; López de Gómara, Primera parte 384-85).

Researchers, like Roa-de-la-Carrera, argue that “the Historia general engages in effective

debate about the consequences of the conquest and makes no attempt to conceal its

destruction” (Ethics 173) when in this chapter Gómara complaints that “el mal que hay en

ello es haber hecho trabajar demasiado a los indios en minas, en la pesquería de perlas y

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en las cargas” (“The evil in it is to force the Indians to work too much in the mines, as

pearl fishers and load carriers”; López de Gómara, Primera parte 385). While it is partly

true, and the chronicler does reveal the consequences of the often brutal conquest, he

hides them immediately behind religious reasons, in the same way the “cristianos malos”

were the ones to blame for their cruelty towards their enemy in Guerras civiles de

Granada, as “Dios ha castigado sus gravísimos pecados por aquella vía” (“God punished

their great sins in this way”; López de Gómara, Primera parte 385). An indirect praise of

the Spaniards can be found in the descriptions of the explorers and the conquistadors; it

even comes from the Indians who believe them to be gods. However, while the

compatriots enjoy author’s admiration, the others, both the locals and the Europeans, are

portrayed as noticeably inferior. It is especially obvious in the comparison of the figures

of the praised Cortés56 and the lucky Columbus, whose discovery the chronicler attributes

to a Spanish sailor, whose maps Columbus retains after the death of the latter.57

America and its inhabitants are key figures in Gómara’s theorizing of Spanish

nationalism. Like Cortés, he often marvels about the land and the events he is

describing.58 He uses the same word maravilla / maravillar (“marvelous / to marvel”) in

similar circumstances, which indicates his intent to reimagine the reality that is so

different to the one he knows. At the same time, another recurrent word, gran (grande /

grandeza / grandísimo) (“great / big / greatness, enormity / the greatest, the biggest”)

appears in his writings.59 The vagueness of its meaning, as something imprecise but the

one that causes admiration, can be indicative of the limitations of Gómara’s imagination

and his impossibility to verbally convey the impact of the reality he never saw.

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 The use of the superlative suffix “ísimo,”60 prominent in Historia general, also

might point out to the very same fact, inviting the reader to imagine rather than

understand why the Indians were not only “muy putos” but “falsísimos,” “ingratísimos,”

and “inimicísimos,” or why the Spaniards were not just lucky but “dichosísimos,” and not

just religious but “devotísimos” and “religiosísimos” (“great lechers”; “the falsest”; “the

most ungrateful”; “the most hostile”; López de Gómara, Primera parte 128, 204, 373;

“the luckiest”; “the most devoted”; “the most religious”; López de Gómara, Segunda

parte 429, 162, 404). Despite relying heavily on imagination of the reader, Gómara does

show intent to interpret the new reality rather than reinvent it. He introduces local words

in his writings. In the second part he even tries to describe them or give a Spanish

equivalent (compared to the simple use of the local words in the first part) in an attempt

to approach the reality: “teucalis” – “templos,” “tianquitzli” – “mercado” (“temple”;

“market”; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 59-60, 151).

He also uses the words describing Catholic religious practices in order to portray

the Indian religious practices and ritual places: “una torrecilla maciza con una especie de

capilla en lo alto” or “una especie de sacristía” (“a massive tower with some kind of

chapel on the top”; “a type of sacristy”; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 62, 34). Not

only religion, but also life in the New World is often portrayed through European images:

“gran ejército de aquellos indios,” “mayordomo” and “lacayo” of Moctezuma, his

“escudo de armas” and “banderas,” or “romance viejo" that the Indians sang as a prayer

(“great army of those Indians”; “butler”; “lackey”; “coat of arms”; “flags”; “old

romance”; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 78, 134, 52). While the use of these terms is

similar to the use of Arabisms by Cortés in the sense that both of them reimagine the

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current reality, it is yet a step forward, as here, the starting point is not the externalized

Other, but an internalized self. This contributes to a more rapid and successful

appropriation of the Other through the process of reinterpretation.

Gómara’s nationalism allows him to occupy a hegemonic position in the dialogue

with the New World, enabling him to be the sole source of judgment about its value and

qualities, which facilitated the Orientalization of the Other in his Historia general. After

having established Spain’s authority, Gómara then reimagined the New World, recreating

its image as parallel to that of the Peninsula. As a skillful writer, he uses both linguistic

and extra-linguistic tools to achieve his goal. The “Arabization” of Amerindians by his

predecessors proved to play a pivotal role in the process of justification of the conquest of

America. Gómara uses many of these traditional tactics to legitimize the right of

Spaniards to engage in the new overseas crusade. Like Colúmbus, he often uses words of

Arabic origin, especially in the descriptions of Amerindians and their life. These are both

the words that were widely used during his time as “algodón” or “aceite,” and other less

common words (“cotton”; “oil”; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 18, 23). However,

there is a tendency to agglomerate such words in the descriptions of the Indians and their

way of life.61 Gómara reinforces this image by calling them “infieles” (“infidels”), and

this adjective usually follows the mention of the Iberian Reconquest, which gives it an

even deeper meaning, highlighting Gómara’s messianic view of the Spanish nation: “al

acabarse la conquista de los moros . . . comenzó la de los indios, para que siempre

peleasen los españoles con infieles y enemigos de la santa fe” (“after the end of the

conquest of the Moors, the one of the Indians started, so that the Spaniards were always

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fighting the infidels and the enemies of the Holy Faith”; López de Gómara, Primera

parte 33).

The text of the chronicle abounds both in tacit and explicit comparisons to the

Arab world, its traditions and customs. The rivers of the New Worlds are compared to the

Nile (López de Gómara, Primera parte 153). The appearance of the Indians is also exotic

and Oriental: they have “zarzillos en las orejas, anillos en las narices, and “they are

dressed “en mantas” (“earrings in their ears and rings in their noses”; “blanquets”; López

de Gómara, Primera parte 122). Their family and marital traditions seem to be taken

directly from the Arab world.62 Ultimately, Amerindian lifestyle is Arab-like: they are

nomadic; they embalm their diseased and follow other “Oriental” practices.63 Even their

priests “borrachos o encalabrinados con humo” can be regarded as an allusion to the

“drunken Sufism” founded by Persian Sufist Tayfur Abu Yazid al-Bustam polularly

known as Bayazid al-Bistami in the ninth century (“drunk or altered with fumes”; López

de Gómara, Primera parte 122). This parallel is reinforced by the comparisons of the

ritual dances to “la zambra de los moros” (“the zambra celebration of the Moors”; López

de Gómara, Primera parte 53).

Taking into consideration these tacit and open Orientalist claims by Gómara, it is

then logical that in the second part of the chronicle it is Santiago Matamoros, and not the

Apostle Peter who appears on the battle field to protect the Spaniards, because the local

population had to be first defeated and reverted from their “sodomía” (“sodomy”) before

they can earn their way into Heaven.64 As in the other texts, the biblical references65 here

serve the chronicler’s agenda and are skillfully used as the underlining argument to prove

Gómara’s legitimizing theory of the conquest. It is also curious that while proclaiming

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that “la conquista de Méjico y conversión de los de la Nueva España, justamente se puede

y debe poner entre las historias del mundo,” in his brief overview of these glorious stories

Gómara suggests that “no deberíamos meter en esta cuenta a los reyes de los judíos”

(“the conquest of Mexico and the conversion of those of New Spain can be and should be

justly included into world history”; “we should not include the Jewish kings into this

account”; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 8, 7). This asseveration follows the

alienating tendency of Hispanic Peninsular Orientalism towards the Jews, and, therefore,

once again confirms a close link between Gómara’s Orientalist practices and the original

paradigm formed during the period of the Reconquest.

While, on one side, Gómara insists on the similarities of the conquest of America

and the Amerindians and the Reconquest of Iberia and the Muslims, he nevertheless,

draws an important line between them. It is necessary in order to legitimize the conquest

and the religious crusade in America. He adopts Columbus’s approach to the

Amerindians as noble savages. Their nudity is constantly noted by Gómara on the pages

of the chronicle (see, for example, López de Gómara, Primera parte 69, 76, 77, 113, 141,

162; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 33). They are also often portrayed as “hombres

simples,” “gente pobre, pero caritativa y muy religiosa en aquella su falsa creencia”

(“simple men”; “poor but charitable people, and very devoted to their false religion”;

López de Gómara, Segunda parte 34). Their religious devotion is important, because,

when converted, they were perceived to become devoted Catholics. But the Amerindians,

according to Gómara, not only possess a religious predisposition, they also have the

knowledge of the Spanish hegemonic societal structure, based on the concepts of nobility

and honor and honra, which is indicative of their easy integration into the colonizer’s

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society. When Moctezuma invites Cortés and his men, he asks the conquistador about

their social status in order to treat them accordingly.66 This will later evolve into the

system of casts, copiously depicted in the so-called castas paintings that became another

source of Orientalization in the colony in the eighteenth century.

The ultimate goal of such manipulations of the image of the Indians was to prove

that they were a lost Christian tribe, which would serve as the decisive justification of the

conquest, since the religious route was proclaimed the only legitimate way of exploration

of the New World. Orientalization through reinvention of the Amerindian population

from the perspective of the Spanish hegemonic society presented a convenient

mechanism to carry out these manipulations. They allowed Gómara to evolve and

reinforce the idea of the linkage between the Old and the New Spain. At the beginning of

the first part, he only introduces this concept, although he does not appear to be entirely

convinced himself: “allí se hallaron cruces de latón y palos sobre los muertos, de donde

arguyen algunos que muchos españoles se fueron a esta tierra cuando la destrucción de

España hecha por los moros en tiempos del rey don Rodrigo” (“There they found brass

crosses and sticks over the tombs, and because of that some argue that many Spaniards

went to this land when Spain was destroyed by the Moors during the reign of king

Rodrigo”; López de Gómara, Primera parte 86). In the second part, when the reader is

already familiar with the Orientalized image of the Amerindian Other, it is Moctezuma

himself who attests to the chronicler’s theory:

Recuerdo debéis tener . . . cómo ni somos naturales de esta tierra, ni

nuestro reino es duradero; porque nuestros antepasados vinieron de lejanas

tierras, y su rey o caudillo que traían se volvió a su tierra, diciendo que

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 enviaría quien los rigiese y mandara si él no viniese. Creed por cierto que

el rey que esperarnos hace tantos años, es el que ahora envía estos

españoles que aquí veis, pues dicen que somos parientes, y tienen desde

hace mucho tiempo noticia de nosotros. . . . Me haréis placer que os deis . .

. por vasallos del Emperador y rey de España, nuestro señor, pues yo ya

me he dado por su servidor y amigo. (López de Gómara, Segunda parte

173-74)

You should remember that we are not from these lands and that our

kingdom is not long-lived, because our predecessors came from far away,

and their king or caudillo returned to his land promising to send someone

to reign and command them if he did not come back. Be assured that the

king we have been waiting for so many years is the one who is now

sending the Spaniards you see here, as they say that we are related and

they have learned about us long ago. You will please me if you proclaim

yourselves the vassals of the Emperor and king of Spain, our lord, as I did

when I offered him my service and friendship.

Here, Gómara skillfully uses actual beliefs and historical events, although

reinterpreting them to fit his goals. This becomes the quintessential justification for the

inevitability of the conquest of America, whose reinvented self seems to be nothing else

but the mirror image of the colonizer. In this case, the conquistadors in their pursuit not

only look for humane retribution, but are guided by God, since the conversion of these

so-called lost Spaniards becomes their sacred duty. That is why in the chronicle, the

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vassalage, the religion and the success, military or financial, go hand in hand, reinforcing

the idea of divine support of the Conquest. And, as in the Cid, the treasures, obtained by

Cortés and his men, seem to be the divine reward for their actions. The acquisition of

gold, silver, pearls, and precious stones is meticulously documented by Gómara and

serves as testimony of the divine approval of the conquest.67

However, in order to justify the methods and cruelty of the military campaign, it

was not enough to compare and contrast the image of the Amerindians to that of the

Moors. It needed to be further Orientalized in order to convince the reader that the only

approach to rescuing these lost people was military conquest. As a result, Gómara creates

a fantastic image of the Indians, attributing to them all possible negative characteristics.

Most of the local population is depicted as a group that shares similar traits, regardless of

the region where they live: This “gente tan inhumana y bárbara” not only displays

negative personal characteristics, they are so “asnos” that Gómara even curses at them

(“people so inhumane and barbaric”; “gross”; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 32). And

what is even worse, they sacrifice and even eat other human beings, a recurrent image in

Historia general (see, for instance, López de Gómara, Segunda parte 136). They are

Sodomites and idolaters, and even their land smells like sulfur, a clear allusion to the

infernal chaos (López de Gómara, Primera parte 372, 360). If this was not enough to

cause consternation among his readers, who would approve of Christian salvation of such

tribes that warded off the path of civilization, Gómara offers an even more repugnant

summary that he attributes to a renown religious man and the confessor of the Emperor

Fray García de Loaisa.68

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 Gómara is horrified by the customs and the religious practices of the New World.

By creating a macabre picture of Amerindian religion, he urges their conquest and

Christianization, which he sees as a blessing. Gómara openly and repeatedly states that

the Amerindians are possessed by the devil, which, on the one hand, is negative, as it

denounces them as sinners; but, on the other hand, it is a desirable condition, because it

inserts the Amerindians into the Christian dichotomy of good and evil. It means that they

can be rescued by the conquistadors. After all, despite their paganism, they once knew

the true faith, the confirmation of which one can see, for example, in the fact that “bien

pensaban estos mejicanos que las almas eran inmortales” (“and those Mexicans believed

strongly that the soul was immortal”; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 393). It is not a

coincidence that after the conquest, Gómara creates a positive image of the locals, who

overthrow idols and do not see the devil any more, and the narration of their lives

culminates with the chapter “Lo bien que libraron los indios con ser conquistados” (“The

benefits of the freed Indians after their conquest”; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 434).

That is why, in Historia general, unlike in Bernal Díaz’s chronicle, the

conversion of the Indians is not only in the center of the author’s attention, it is also a one

way process, where the Indians are portrayed as eager, readily accepting the lost children

of Christianity. Gómara’s long discourses about the benefits of the conquest and the

sermons of Cortés, like the one in Tenochtitlán on the negative consequences of idolatry,

are a brilliant example of, using Carman’s term, “Renaissance ventriloquism,” which

allows the author to inadvertently defend the conquest of America in the eyes of not only

his European readers, but in the eyes of the colonized society (Carman 133-34). The

religion and the supposed common past serve here as an egalitarian principle that allows

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to form the bridge between the colonizer and the colonized through Orientalization of the

latter.

Because of this reason, the idyllic scenes ignore sometimes the reality of the

conquest, as Gómara does not retain readers’ attention on the cases of the renegades, like

Gonzalo Guerrero or the baptized Indians who abandon their Christian faith. All of this

also can explain the very limited attention that the chronicler pays to the Indian

interpreters of Cortés: Melchor is called “rudo y simple,” while Doña Marina, whose

original name is not revealed by Gómara, is barely mentioned 69 (López de Gómara,

Segunda parte 28). As Carman notes, “as soon as she appears in the narrative, she is

translated, baptized, and given Castilian identity” (121). At the same time, Jerónimo de

Aguilar is focused on as a symbol of the coming religious redemption of the

Amerindians. Gómara, once again, resorts here to his nationalism. When Aguilar is

rescued by the Spaniards, the first thing he asks about is if they were Christians, and as

they confirm, Aguilar “les rogó que diesen gracias a Dios . . . por la merced que le hacía

de sacerlo de entre infieles y hombres infernales, y ponerle entre cristianos y hombres de

su nación” (“he begged them to praise the Lord for his favor, as he took him from the

infidels and infernal nation and put him with Christians and his countrymen”; López de

Gómara, Segunda parte 30-31). Gómara seems to believe that the Christian conquest

brought positive changes to Amerindian society despite its atrocity, especially in light of

new regulations that came into existence in 1542 that proclaimed the elimination of

Indian slavery, as well as forced service, both domestic or as carriers, and assigned them

to pay a tribute instead (Roa-de-la-Carrera, Ethics 231).

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 As a result of Gómara’s manipulations with the Latin American Other, the reader

is presented with its Orientalized image that is a logical continuation of the

Orientalization practices found both in the Peninsular literature and in the accounts of the

first discoverers and colonizers. The author reimagines the Indian in order to legitimize

the conquest, taking advantage of the work already done by his predecessors. However,

his ethnographic interests also allow him to use a more interpretative Orientalism, which

will find its manifestation in later writings, like the another chronicle depicting the

conquest of Mexico, Historia verdadera de la conquista de la Nueva España by Bernal

Díaz del Castillo.

Created in response to Gómara’s account and unlike the letters of Cortés, it was

written long after the end of the campaign. This allowed the author to distance himself

from the events, as well as travel through time and space: often, he emphasizes the

importance of an event by comparing it to the future ones, like the conquest of Peru. It

makes his account more verdadero (veridical), which was, after all, the goal of Bernal

Díaz.70 However, Gómara’s account undeniably influenced Bernal, to the point that some

argue for systematic plagiarism of his chronicle by Bernal Díaz (Roa-de-la-Carrera,

Gómara 35; Iglesia 77-96).71

To his credit, Bernal Díaz tried to clarify all the possible contradictions between

his account and that of the others. For instance, it is in his Historia verdadera where we

find the mention of Cortés’s lost letter. His first letter was never found or published;

Bernal Díaz mentions this missing letter very vaguely in his chronicle: “Cortés escribió

por sí, según el nos dijo, con recta relación; más no vimos su carta” (“Cortés wrote, as he

told us, his own true account, but we never saw his letter”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia

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135). Henry Wagner also proposes that Gómara had a copy of the original, which he used

for his own chronicle (155).

Gómara is severally criticized by Bernal Díaz for his exaggerations in terms of

almost everything, beginning with the heroic role of Cortés in his conquest and ending

with the descriptions of the New World. Bernal finds himself obliged to correct Gómara

almost on every other page with the exception of the narration about the conquest of

Tenonctitlán, where he seems to be carried away by the events.72 Unlike Gómara, Bernal

is not fixated on numbers and distances, but tries to create an epic account of the

conquest of Mexico from the point of view of the soldier, who is unfortunately forgotten

in the official chronicles. He often uses the collective “we” to give the voice to those

soldiers, including himself: “¡Oh qué cosa tan trabajosa es ir a descubrir las tierras

nuevas, y de la manera que nosotros nos aventuramos!” (“Oh, how difficult it is to go and

discover new lands, especially in the way we ventured”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 14;

my emphasis). Understanding this approach is crucial for the interpretation of Bernal

Díaz’s perception of the Other. His different standpoint and goals for his narration result

in a significant shift in Amerindian Orientalism from the first chronicles.

In order to explore Bernal Díaz’s version of Orientalism, his descriptions should

be compared to the key Orientalized elements of Cortés himself: gold, God and glory. It

soon becomes obvious in Historia verdadera that the gold rush is not the author’s

primary focus. While in Cartas de relación the search for gold is the main goal, and even

Christianization seems at times secondary, Bernal Díaz’s chronicle often just attests to

the presence or absence of the precious metal. It does not become an object of fixation for

the soldiers; though, they welcome its abundance. The attention of Bernal Díaz is on the

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story itself and on the heroic deeds of the simple soldiers. The concepts of el honor y la

honra becomes predominant in the chronicle and is applied to both the Spaniards and the

Indians as a universal concept. 73 As a result, gold is not the primary reason for

Orientalization in Bernal Díaz’s account.

Another object Orientalized by Cortés is the land and its inhabitants, and here lies

the most substantial difference between both authors. While the novelty and the desire of

self-Orientalization for the purpose of personal prosperity lead Cortés to marvel at the

New World and its inhabitants, the time gap and a more veridical approach of Bernal

Díaz allows him to create a more realistic picture. Unlike Cortés, he often invites the

reader NOT to marvel at the otherness of the New World. His linguistic choices here are

important. He uses the word “marvelous” (maravilloso74) only later in the account (in

Cartas it is much more recurrent). Instead of this word, that triggers the imagination or

reimagination of the subject, he uses the adjective gran or grande (“great, large, major,

big”). While, as in case of Gómara, it can be indicative of intent to convey extraordinary

nature of the New World, Bernal almost never uses it in the superlative form, unlike

Gómara. This implies a statement of a fact rather than a comparison. Hence, an

interpretation rather than creation of a relatively abstract matter is what triggers readers’

imagination: “gran carga de oro” or “muy grandes ofrecimientos que Cortés les hizo;”

“gran Montezuma,” “gran fortaleza de México” or “gran poder del emperador” (“big load

of gold”; “great offerings of Cortés”; “great Moctezuma”; “great fortress of Mexico”;

“great power of the emperor”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 101, 134, 97, 154, 281). Yet

again, the author uses this word indiscriminately in the descriptions of both the Spaniards

and the Indians.

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 The image of the latter in Bernal Díaz’s chronicle is also rather different. While

Cortés’s Orientalization causes him to reimagine the looks and the behavior of the

Indians, the author of the Historia verdadera seems to marvel at neither their ritual

deformities nor exotic looks. Rather, he creates a linguistic entourage that helps the

reader to easily identify the characters. There are several words that are constantly used

when the Indians, both guerreros (“warriors”) or naturales (“aboriginal”), are mentioned:

canoa, flecha, algodón (“arrow,” “canoe,” “cotton”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 75, 81;

75, 77; 57, 81). These words are used on the same pages and in the same context, thus,

forming part of a semantic entourage of the Amerindians. In the same way the word

caballo (“horse”) is used when talking about the Spaniards (Díaz del Castillo, Historia

57-58). It is curious that a bridge-word between the two antagonists is gallina (“chicken”)

that often changes hands and serves as a precious commodity for both groups (Díaz del

Castillo, Historia 61, 67, 84, 90, 94, 97, 180). Bernal also does not avoid direct,

sometimes inferior descriptions of the Indians, as their lengua (“interpreter”) Melchor, an

Indian convert, whom he does not trust and describes as perfidious (Díaz de Castillo,

Historia 78).

It seems that the figure of the Amerindian in Bernal does not go through exactly

the same process of reinvention as compared to the accounts of Columbus or Cortés.

However, it would be erroneous to say that he avoided Orientalization of the Other. The

very inferiority that Bernal Díaz attributes to them arises from it and will lead to the

formation of the famous system of casts that becomes so popular in Mexico in the

eighteenth century. When the chronicler describes the Indians as “locos” (“crazy”) (164)

or “muy hermosa para india” (“too beautiful to be an Indian”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia

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164, 133), he reveals his hegemonic approach that is now disguised in a “verdadera

historia” of the conquest. However, the basis of this Orientalism is gradually changing

from that of the first colonizers. While Columbus and Cortés rely heavily on

reimagination and reinvention of the reality of the New World, Bernal Díaz some thirty

years after the conquest of Mexico chooses reinterpretation, which becomes a more

efficient way for the appropriation of the Amerindian Other at his time.

Another proof of this change in the Orientalist strategies can be found, again, in

the linguistics preferences of Bernal Díaz. While the first accounts used Arabic loanword

to describe the new reality, most of the Arabisms in the Historia verdadera are used in

neutral contexts75 for routine descriptions (with only a couple of exceptions, which will

be mentioned later).76 It indicates, on one hand, that these loanwords gradually became an

integral part of Spanish language, and, on the other hand, that Arabisms were no longer

indispensable for the process of Orientalization of the Amerindian Other. At the same

time, the words originated in the native languages of the region are much more abundant

in the chronicle. Often, Bernal Díaz introduces them in pairs, a Spanish and a local word,

unfamiliar at the time, for an easier understanding: cazabe – yuca (“yucca”), estera –

petate (“mat”), gran señor – lopelucio (“great master/lord”), ídolos – teules (“idols”),

navíos – acales (“ships”) (Díaz del Castillo, Historia 19, 30, 104, 119, 192, 201). He

makes sure that while his account is as authentic as he would like it to be, it is also clear

and understandable, and even educative for the reader. He clarifies not only the words,

but also cultural refeences, for example, when he mentions that Moctezuma decides

“hacer ciertos sacrificios en recompensa del gran tlatlacol, que quiere decir pecado (“to

make certain sacrifices to compensate the great tlatlacol, which means sin”; Díaz del

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Castillo, Historia 261). Curiously, most of these words are now officially part of Spanish

dictionary, similarly to the Arabisms, used by the chronicler, that were gradually

becoming a part of his contemporary language.

The reinterpretation of reality is also prominent in the comparisons that Bernal

Díaz uses in this chronicle. While his predecessors had a tendency to compare the reality

of the New World to that of Southern Spain, to cities, like Granada, Seville or Cordoba,

all belonging to Al-Andaluz, and heavily influenced by the Moors (for example, see

Cortés, Cartas 62-64), the author of Historia verdadera chooses a much wider range of

cities and localities of Spain for his comparisons: the geographical position and the city

profile of Valladolid with its towers, the picturesque landscape of Talavera and Palencia,

the abundance and the fairs of Medina del Campo, his homeland, the plaza mayor of

Salamanca, slaughterhouses in Castile, etc. (Díaz del Castillo, Historia 207, 224, 256,

258, 260). The very reality of the New World is often expressed in terms of his

contemporary Europe, which indicates the transatlantic rebirth of the Europeanizing

tradition present in Renaissance Iberia. For instance, in his descriptions, he uses

culturally oxymoronic word combinations such as “escuadrones de indios,” “guarniciones

de mexicanos,” “mayordomo de Montezuma” (“squadrons of Indians”; “Mexican

garrisons”; “Moctezuma’s butler”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 79, 123, 249). It would be

difficult to imagine Bernal’s predecessors using similar terms on such a regular basis.

The above mentioned expressions are based on physical resemblance of the two objects

rather than on the reinvention of one of them by attributing to it the characteristics of the

other. All of the above shows the ethnographic interest of Bernal Díaz and advocates for

an interpretative Orientalization of the Amerindian Other rather than a mere reinvention.

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 While the gold and the peculiarities of the lands and its inhabitants play a

secondary role in Historia verdadera, the third crucial topic, the religion, is very

prominent. Unlike in the previously analyzed accounts, the mentions of God are quite

constant here. Not only does Bernal Díaz refer to God, Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary

when he needs their heavenly patronage, it becomes a recurrent motif in his writing.

When describing religion, he becomes a traditionalist. The scenes of the Spaniards

overthrowing the pagan idols of the Amerindians and forbidding the locals to perform

their ritual sacrifices, as well as the conversion to Christianity of Indian men and women

are abundant in the narration, especially during the march on Tenochtitlán (see, for

example, Díaz del Castillo, Historia 43 and 233). However, it is the religious aspect of

the Historia verdadera that reveals the gradual change in Hispanic Orientalism from

reinvention to reinterpretation, since some of the aspects in Bernal’s account remain very

similar to his predecessors, and others show a change that was already seen previously.

Unlike the earlier accounts, Historia verdadera makes a very direct connection

between religion and vassalage, as Christianization was interpreted as a pledge of

allegiance to the Spanish Crown. 77 The chronicle mentions several cases of baptism,

especially of Indian women, but it admits that this did not guarantee their loyalty to

Spaniards, as in the case of Melchor, their “lengua” (Díaz del Castillo, Historia 8). This

more realistic approach to the topic of conversion is combined with the attempt of Bernal

Díaz to once again reinterpret the local religion and traditions. As such, he conveniently

adapts the word “papa,” also meaning “the Pope” in Spanish, to name the local priests,

since as he claims, the Indians called them so.78 The chronicler, thereafter, calls them

“papas” as consistently, as Cortés was calling the temples mezquitas. However, he

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reminds the reader from time to time about the difference, when referring to the priests as

“adivinos y papas” (“fortune tellers and papas”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 169). He also

inserts other images and words from the Catholic religion into his account about the

pagan rituals of the local population. For instance, a common practice among the Indians

is zahumar (“fumigate with incense”) Cortés and his men with what seems to be incense.

Bernal also uses the word “altar” to refer to both the Christian altars that they build in the

Indian cities and the local altars where the ritual sacrificed are made; even the local bread

is compared to an “oblea” (“wafer”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 251). It is important to

note the difference between the use of such terms by Cortés, Bernal and Gómara, which

is crucial for the differentiation between the reinterpretative and reimaginative

approaches to Orientalization. While Cortés, and similarly Gómara, proceed to adjudicate

terms like “mezquita” or “capilla” directly to the object, Bernal has a tendency to

compare the aboriginal object to the Spanish one, which leads, as a consequence, to the

recurrent use of comparative structures.

As Carman notes, on a larger scale, works like the one of Bernal Díaz and López

de Gómara served to legitimize the conquest of the New World as an acceptable and even

desirable way to spread Christianity in the Americas (43). Therefore, the Orientalization

through reinterpretation and Europeanization of the Amerindians was intended to have a

great impact on the popular minds: the use of the same religious terms for both Catholic

Spaniards and pagan Indians brought them closer together and substantiated the purpose

of the conquest steering it towards the religious Reconquest, much like in Medieval and

Renaissance Iberia. To reinforce this idea even further, Bernal Díaz compares

Tenochtitlán not to Venice, as Cortés and Gómara (Cortés, Cartas 41; López de Gómara,

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Segunda parte 147), but to “Constantinopla y . . . toda Italia y Roma” (“Constantinople

and the whole of Italy and Rome”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 259). This not only implies

its link to the long-established Christian tradition, but also insinuates that Tenochtitlán

might be the third Rome, and just like Constantinople after 1453 it was in need of a

Christian rescue. In this light, it is of no surprise that in terms of religion, Bernal Díaz

remains a traditionalist and still follows the peninsular Orientalism of the first colonizers.

While Bernal’s account tries to incorporate the Amerindians into the social

paradigm rather than create an American substitute for the Moors, some traditional

peninsular Orientalist tactics are still present in his work. At the very beginning of the

chronicle he mentions that as they saw a big settlement in Cuba, they immediately named

it “Gran-Cairo” (“Grand Cairo”), as the size and appearance of this city built by the Other

reminded them of this Arab city (Díaz del Castillo, Historia 6; Díaz del Catillo, History

3). Another traditional element of peninsular Orientalism is the evocation of St. James,

one of the symbols of the Christian Reconquest of Iberia. The battle cry “Santiago y a

ellos,” is one of such examples, where Santiago Matamoros (“St. James Moorslayer”)

becomes the patron saint of the Spaniards fighting the Indians (“In the name of St. James,

attack!”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 161). Bernal also notes that St. James was the saint

patron of Cortés, along with St. John the Baptist and Virgin Mary (Díaz del Catillo,

History 842). The alternate version of Historia verdadera also mentions the new church

built on the ground of an old temple: “As we got possession of this great city

[Tenochtitlán]. . . it was determined to place a church of St. Jago on the ground where

this temple stood . . . The church which now stand here is called St. Jago el Taltelulco”

(Díaz del Catillo, History 148). At the same time, the chronicler is criticizing Gómara’s

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evidence of the holy patronage that includes an actual appearance of the saint in front of

Cortés and his men (Díaz del Castillo, Historia 83). Despite that, bernal essentially uses

this image in the same Orientalist fashion as Gómara and other authors, for example, in

novela morisca.

Another traditionalist aspect of the Historia verdadera appears at the very

beginning and has to do with the image of teules, the local idols. While it becomes

customary in the chronicle that the Spaniards overthrow them, introducing at the same

time the elements of Christian religion, it is of greater importance the perception of these

idols by both sides of the conquest. At the very beginning, Bernal Díaz makes an

astonishing statement: “los ídolos del barro . . . decían que eran de los judíos que desterró

Tito y Vespasiano de Jerusalén, y que habían aportado con los navíos rotos en que les

echaron en aquella tierra” (“the clay idols, they say, belonged to the Jews banished from

Jerusalem by Titus and Vespasian, who came on the broken ships in which they were sent

off”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 18-19). In the alternate version there is also a similar

passage, even more assertive, about the presence of the idols: “When the figures of idols

which they brought were produced, it was believed that they were antiques conveyed to

these countries by a Jewish colony, after the destruction of their city by Titus and

Vespasian” (Díaz del Catillo, History 10). This passage is of special interest because it is

almost a direct quote from Cortés’s letter79 that used the same historic event to refer to

the number of Indians killed by the conquistadors. There is a very significant difference

though: while Cortés alienates both the Jews and the Amerindians from the hegemonic

society, Bernal includes them into the social hierarchy through his reinterpretation of the

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Other, but at the same time, he perpetuates the Orientalized image of the Jews created in

the Peninsula.

On the other hand, the local population sees Spaniards as teules: they require

sacrifice, reverence, vassalage and they bring a new God (Díaz del Castillo, Historia 170,

175, 182, 187, 214, 237, 295, etc.). Cortés and his men take advantage of this perception

and the Amerindians’ believe that they were fulfilling an old prophecy. All of the above,

like the interpretation of the local religion through Christianity and the local perception of

the Spaniards, gave birth to religious syncretism, the manifesto of which can be seen in

these words:

Y respondieron que no aprovechaban nada sus varas y flechas ni buen

pelear . . . porque una gran tecleciguata de Castilla venía delante dellos, y

que aquella señora ponía a los mexicanos temor, y decía palabras a sus

teules que los esforzaba; y el Montezuma entonces creyó que aquella gran

señora que era Santa María y la que le habíamos dicho que era nuestra

abogada, que antes dimos al gran Montezuma con su precioso hijo en los

brazos. (Díaz del Castillo, Historia 271)

And they replies that their arrows and canes and great fighting skills

were of no use, because the great tecleciguata of Castille preceded them,

and this great lady put fear into Mexicans and she was saying words to her

teules that encouraged them. Then Moctezuma believed that that great

lady was the Virgin Mary who, as we said, was our advocate, and we had

given him her image with her precious on in her arms.

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This fusion is impossible to imagine without the reinterpretative practices that took place

on both sides of the Conquest.

However, all these served only as an anticipation of Bernal’s Orientalism. It is not

God, gold or land, but the people, both the Indians and the Spaniards, that are in the focus

of his attention. It is the mutual influence of the representatives of the hegemonic and

subaltern societies. Bernal Díaz accepts that both the Indians and the Spaniards go

through a process of acculturation. Cortés and his soldiers not only learn to eat local food,

but also practice local traditions (Lucena Salmoral 54). As such, they, at first surprised,

accept the help of tamemes or “indios cargueros,” but later on, the Spaniards demand that

those servers be provided to them (“Indian carriers”; Días del Castillo, Historia 115).

However, in the process of acculturation, the hegemonic group usually does not lose its

essence and does not fall under the Amerindian influence, but uses common sense to take

advantage of the situation. When and if a Spaniard is Americanized, he is banned from

the hegemonic society.

Inadvertently and despite his intent of reinterpreting the new reality, Bernal Díaz

proclaims the dominance of the colonizer over the colonized in all aspects, from social to

religious. It is especially evident when comparing the lenguas or translators of Cortés,

Doña Marina (La Malinche), Jerónimo de Aguilar and one of the Spaniards living with

Indians, Gonzalo Guerrero. The latter is a Spanish conquistador who assimilated among

the Indians. His appearance was completely altered by the Other: “dijo que estaba casado

y tenía tres hijos, y que tenía labrada la cara e horadadas las orejas y el bezo de abajo”

(“he said he was married with three kids, and his face was carved and his ears and lower

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lip pierced”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 70). He seemed to forget the true religion and

prefered not to join Cortés, who concludes that Guerrero has to be left alone because he

“jamás será bueno” (“will never be good”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 70). For Bernal,

this is unacceptable, and in his eyes, Guerrero steps down the social ladder by joining the

Other.

Opposite of him is the figure of the Europeanized Malinche or Doña Marina, her

Christian name. The legendary interpreter of Cortés, La Malinche, as Bernal clearly

states, was not only crucial for the Christianization of the Mexican Empire, but also saved

the lives of the conquistadors and was extremely loyal to them (see, for instance, Díaz del

Castillo, Historia 132, 153). Unlike Gonzalo Guerrero, she accepted the values of the

hegemonic society. Even physically, she was more attractive than him and had powers

and influence that corresponded to her noble origin. As a result, she enjoyed some

privileges, so that even the Indians recognized her exceptional position. She became an

alter ego of Cortés to the point that the Amerindians address him as “Malinche”. In this

light, the position of Doña Marina can be compared to the one of Avengalvón in the

Cantar del mio Cid, revered but never equal to the Christian warrior.

Jerónimo de Aguilar occupies an intermediary, and therefore, more indicative of

Bernal’s Orientalism, position compared to the two previous characters. At first

encounter, Bernal says about him that he “ni más ni menos era que indio” (“was exactly

like an Indian”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 69). His description even contains several

Arabisms (albricias, alpargatas zarangüelles), a very rare phenomenon for Historia

verdadera that can be found in only a couple of other descriptions, one of Moctezuma,

and another one, of Tenochtitlán (Díaz del Castillo, Historia 95, 154). However, as

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Aguilar declares his loyalty to the Spaniards, Bernal’s tone changes. He reminds the

readers that Aguilar was a religious man; soon after that he claims Aguilar to be a loyal

subject of Spanish Crown who is devoted and eager to convert the Indians.80 Hence, his

comeback to the hegemonic culture it is of no surprise. His religious vocation in past and

in present allows him to advance on the social ladder. The behavior and perception of

these three lenguas are similar to the Moors and the Moriscos in Iberia. These characters,

the transgressors of the two worlds, are Orientalized based on their religious and cultural

background; their position in the social hierarchy depends on their acceptance of the

hegemonic society values.

Just like the Other in Iberia, the Indians in Historia verdadera are often portrayed

collectively; only the noble ones are given a more detailed description or a chance to

speak for themselves. This is of no surprise, taking into consideration that Bernal Díaz

was very familiar with the chivalric novels and similar literature of the period. The only

Indian who is portrayed in much more detail and is given a voice in the chronicle is the

Emperor Moctezuma. Like the initial description of Aguilar, Moctezuma’s description

also contains Arabisms like carmesí, almizcle, algodón (Díaz del Castillo, Historia 95).

His image almost mirrors the characteristics of Cortés81 himself, but always not to the

same extent, creating a parallelism like Abencerraje-Narváez in El Abencerraje y la

Hermosa Jarifa (see Chapter I for this description).

In sum, while Gómara’s chronicle is structured around the figure of Hernán

Cortés, Bernal’s account tries to introduce another voice to the conquest, that of the

soldiers who carried out the victory on their shoulders. As a result, in both cases, the

Amerindian subject noticeably lacks the opportunity for self-expression. It is notorious

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that the voice of the Other, Orientalized in both chronicles for the purpose of

legitimization of the conquest, is silenced. It creates a contrasting image of the

representation of this silenced and Orientalized Other that only finds its voice in the

Nahua rewriting of the conquest of Mexico, such as the chronicle by Domingo Francisco

de San Antón Muñón (Chimalpahin) Quauhtlehuanitzin,82 where Nahua involvement in

this historic process is given more protagonism, leading to the self-Orientalization of los

vencidos (“the conquered”).

As a result, Bernal’s Orientalism does not avoid the inevitable influence of

Peninsular Orientalism. However, due to the time gap, it is more subtle than that of his

predecessors. It is based on the inferiority of the Other who is to be rescued by Christian

society in order to become a part of it. However, there is a change in Bernal’s writings.

The chronicler reinterprets, rather than reimagines the reality of the New World and the

relationships between the Amerindians and the Spaniards. He Orientalizes them in order

to be able to appropriate this new entity and make it understandable to hegemonic

society, but his approach is more realistic than that of his predecessors.

While Bernal’s chronicle shows signs of a more advanced and changing

Orientalism, Gómara’s account is a more traditional Peninsular-like Orientalism that sees

the overseas conquest as a continuation of the Christian Reconquest of Iberia. Hence, the

chronicler’s perception of the Amerindian Other and the Moorish Other seem to be

closely related. As a result, Gómara uses the same techniques of reimagination of the

reality of the New World, as, for instance, the novela morisca. At the same time, despite

the dominance of the original paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism, there is a nascent

attempt at reinterpretation of the Orientalized Other that manifests itself through

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ethnographic curiosity, and, to a lesser degree, through the religious perception of the

New World. This interpretative Orientalization begins to play a more prominent role in

later chronicles.

§ 4. The Evangelists and the Ethnographers

The impact of the authors’ immediate experience as active participants in the

process of conquest (or access to the participants of such events, as in the case of

Gómara) and direct interaction with the Other for the purpose of its domination were very

obvious in the two previous groups of works, the personal travelogues and the chronicles.

Unlike them, the narrations by the evangelists, who, as in the case of the Franciscan friars

were often viewed as the first ethnographers of the Americas, reveal a slightly different

approach. While the first chronicles of the conquest refer numerous times to their

presumed linguistic competence as a means to successfully carry out their campaign, the

Franciscans, who established a relative missionary monopoly in the New World,

understood very early the actual importance of truly understanding the language and the

customs of the Other. Motolinía, for instance, notes that “la lengua es menester para

hablar, predicar, convenser, enseñar y para administrar todos los sacramentos; y no

menos el conocimiento de la gente” (“Knowledge of the Indian language is necessary for

speaking, preaching, teaching and administering the Sacraments. Not less necessary is to

be informed concerning the natives of New Spain”; Motolinía, Historia 88; Motolinía,

History 187). Even the title of his chronicle, Historia de los indios de la Nueva España,

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while creating a parallelism with many other accounts, like Bernal’s, emphasizes the

position and the role of the Amerindians in the history of the colony.

Such approach “changed the friars into students of ethnography,” and, as a result,

numerous studies were carried out, predominantly, by the members of the Franciscan

order, often with the endorsement of the Vatican (Baudot 72-73). Friars like Andrés de

Olmos, Martín de la Coruña, Toribio Motolinía, Francisco de Las Navas, and most

famously, Fray Bernardino de Sahagún embarked on an Amerindian Crusade with the

conviction that only a deep knowledge of the Other would allow their mission to succeed.

In an effort to do so, they paid special attention to the lingua franca of New Spain, the

Nahuatl, creating in 1547 the first Nahuatl Grammar (Andrés de Olmos), and in 1555, the

first Nahuatl-Spanish Dictionary (Alonso de Molina) (Baudot 92). However, this

ethnographic approach did not prevent the friars from engaging in an Orientalist

campaign that affected significantly the perception of the Other in the colony and the

metropolis.

The evangelists, like the conquistadors, led their own religious campaign. They,

more so than the others, perceived the continuity of the process of redemption of

Christianity during the Latin American Crusade. In this light, the accounts of the

evangelists offer a quintessential view of the Amerindian Other that combines religious

and personal approaches that were despairingly represented in the previously analyzed

chronicles. Due to the evangelists’ religious background, the question of Amerindian

identity, their qualities as human beings and their prospects in the Catholic world play a

crucial role in the works by the friars like Fray Toribio Benavente Motolinía and Fray

Juan de Zumárraga (Franciscans), Fray Julián Garcés, Bartolomé de Las Casas, and Juan

146
de Torquemada (Dominicans), and others. On the other hand, like conquistadors, they

were in need of justifying their actions, often defending their order against the others.

Therefore, the accounts of the friars present an different testimony of the representation

of the Other and its Orientalization by the hegemonic society that combined the

approaches that became popular in the early colonial period.

Since in our focus is the Orientalization techniques of the dominant society, this

section looks into the hegemonic approach to colonial subjects, in particular Motolinía

and his Historia de los indios de la Nueva España (1541). While other accounts,83 like

Fray Diego de Landa’s Relación de las cosas de Yucatán, or especially Fray Bernardino

de Sahagún’s Florentine Codex may be of greater interest due to their ethnographic

nature,84 Sahagún’s alleged intent to represent America from the stand point of the Other

differs from mainstream representations like Motolinía’s. Such attempts, as well as the

chronicles of discovery written by the Amerindians themselves, like the account of the

conquest of Mexico by Domingo Francisco de San Antón Chimalpahin

Cuauhtlehuanitzin Muñón, constitute another approach to the representation of the New

World that can be a topic of a future analysis. As Browne notes, “in colonial situations,

the colonizer and the colonized mimetically feed off each other as they “naturalize” the

Other’s world as part of their own. However, it can no longer be assumed that this

happens on both sides of the equation for the same reasons” (168). Therefore, in order to

be able to trace the development of Hispanic Orientalism, it is important to consistently

view it from the same perspective.

For the purpose of this analysis, we will set aside the discussion about the

composition of the “provisional, incomplete, and mutilated version” and the fate of the

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Historia de los indios de la Nueva España, confiscated, as many other evangelical

chronicles in 1577 (Baudot 335, 120). Instead, we will concentrate on Orientalization

techniques that make this chronicle a quintessential Orientalist manual of the colonial

period, a sort of “work of propaganda,” as described by Baudot (370). First and foremost,

unlike the previous accounts, Motolinía tells the story of life after the conquest and not so

much the story of the conquest itself. This gives him a certain perspective, similarly to

Bernal Díaz, whose historical distance from the past allowed him to create a broader

picture.

As Taboada indicates, after the conquest of America, religion becomes a litmus

test for social and even racial segregation, and Motolinía indulges himself in the process

of religious mythmaking (46). He is not shy to denounce the atrocities and severe

exploitation of the Amerindians by the Spaniards and advocates for the local population,

something that was not favorably viewed in the metropolis. However, his Orientalist

approach changes its strategy. While the associations with Asia are still present,

Motolinía’s perception of the Other is not centered around the premise “like the Moors,”

as was typical of his predecessors, but rather “not like us, the Spaniards.” While it seems

like a minor divergence, it marks a significant change in the Orientalist approach, as it

changes the reference (from another Other to hegemonic group, as well as directionality

(from comparison to contraposition).

While the religious aspect is predominant in Motolinía’s chronicle, his narration

style is considerably more human than that of the conquistadors. Possibly influenced by

the art of homiletics, Motolinía’s text features direct addresses to the audience, almost

poetic passages, and even a villancico.85 However, religious aspect, a crucial point for

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social segregation, impregnates every aspect of the chronicle. It is structured so that the

reader gets acquainted first with the local pagan and demoniac traditions. These lead to

the process of Christianization and, finally, the celebration of Christian religious

practices, such as Easter and Corpus Christi as acknowledgement of the figure of Christ,

baptism and confession, as a personal acceptance of Christianity, and finally, the

eradication of polygamy as the ultimate proof of full acceptance of the new religion,

according to the author (in this precise order!). This structure of the chronicle reveals the

importance that Orientalization acquired as a technique of appropriation through

interpretation, so skillfully used by Motolinía.

This approach also serves another purpose. The departing point for the definition

of the Amerindian Other becomes “us” and European history rather than Islam. It is not

by accident that Motolinía mentions Rome several times, as well as its legacy and Spain’s

links to it, for instance, when addressing Spanish and Holy Roman Emperor Charles V

(1500-1558): “Emperador Romano, amado de Dios” or when he compared the

Amerindian calendar to the Roman calendar (“Roman Emperor, Beloved of God”;

Motolinía, Historia 72, 33; Motolinía, History 165). At the same time, the allusions to

Asia are few. Most of them are biblical in nature, such as the references to Babylon,

islands of Ophir, mountains of Gelboe, etc. (Motolinía, Historia 166-67; Motolinía,

History 292-93). To reinforce the close link between the Other and “us,” the author uses

biblical structures to create an account about the New World using a formulaic text,

widely accepted and recognized in Europe. This manifests itself in the enumeration of

names that recall biblical passages attesting to the lineage of the tribes of Israel.86

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 The rather recurrent reference to Babylon is very significant for Motolinía: it

directly links the Amerindian community, in which at the time of the Franciscan religious

campaign more than forty languages were spoken, to the biblical scripts. But more

importantly, such allusion was a confirmation of the Franciscan agenda in the New

World. “The destruction of the new Babylon, the priestly and hierarchical Church” and

the Second Coming of Christ were believed to result in the replacement of the current

Church, “after the conversion of the Jews and the gentiles and the elimination of the

infidels” (Baudot 78). This is indicative that, despite the desire to give protagonism to the

Amerindian Other, the Reconquest Other was always present in the discourse of

hegemonic society. It can also be seen in Motolinía’s Oriental references, although there

are only few exceptions to the evasion of non-biblical Oriental allusions: “para que de

estos se servían grandes señores de esta tierra, como ahora hace Gran Turco, de eunucos”

or “hacen también alpargatas como los del Andalucía” (“The lords of this land are served

by these dwarfs as the Grand Turk is by eunuchs”; “They also make slippers, like those

worn in Andalusia”; Motolinía, Historia 146, 198; Motolinía, History 269, 332). And

even these comparisons are different in nature that the one seen previously: they serve as

a reference rather than directly attribute certain Oriental characteristics to the Amerindian

Other.

Motolinía also presents the reader with the list of the ten American plagues87

mimicking the infamous plagues of Egypt. It is not surprising then that he calls America

“otra Egypto en idolatría” (“a second Egypt in point of idolatries”; Motolinía, Historia

156; Motolinía, History 278). In this case, this comparison is Europeanized, as it has

already passed through the purgatory of biblical tradition. Motolinía even concludes that

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the transatlantic colony “es capaz de producir . . . todo lo que hay en Asia, y en Africa, y

en Europa; por lo cual se puede llamar otro Nuevo Mundo” (“is capable of producing in

abundance everything found in Asia, Africa and Europe; wherefore this land can rightly

be called another New World”; Motolinía, Historia 158; Motolinía, History 281).

Therefore, the departing point of such comparison is Europe, and not as much Asia, and

America gradually becomes an independent actor, different from the previous peninsular

Other and capable of creating its own dichotomy with the Old World.

The Orientalization process in Motolinía’s account, as in previously reviewed

chronicles, has two vectors: self-Orientalization and the Orientalization of the Other. Like

the conquistadors, the friars needed to justify their religious campaign, which led to the

reinterpretation of their own role in the process of the conquest of America. In Chapter 4

of the Third Treatise, Motolinía carefully reviews the behavior of the Spaniards and other

friars, comparing the humildad and pobreza 88 (“humility” and “poverty”) of the

Franciscans to the seven deadly sins, under the spell of which fell too many of his

compatriots.89 The concepts of humility and especially poverty, the pillar aspects of the

Franciscan order, were crucial to the friars, and Motolinía constantly finds their

manifestations in his fellow friars, as well as in the Amerindians.

On the other hand, there is a great deal of idealism in portraying the local

population and their Christian devotion. Browne notes that, unlike in later works like

Sahagun’s, Motolinía’s view “simply lacked the conceptual framework that would have

been necessary to perceive the superficiality of the Nahuas’ conversion” (106). Motolinía

also laments that they are treated by the members of the superior class as their slaves.

They are prompt to fall into the deadly sins, like drunkenness and sodomy, of course,

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mostly before the Franciscan missionary campaign. However, the image of the

Amerindians needed some positive traits to support the possibility of their redemption.

Motolinía finds them not in their superficial behavior that can be changed, but in the

inherited characteristics: he praises their peacefulness, natural talents, and openness to the

Christian word. For instance, he notes that “estos indios y todas las animalias de esta

tierra naturalmente son mansos . . . pero hábiles son para cualquier virtud, y habilísimos

para todo oficio y arte, de gran memoria y buen entendimiento;” they are “simples y sin

ningún mal, no codiciosos de intereses, tienen gran cuidado de aprender” (“yet, the

Indians are fit for any virtue, most fit for a new trade or art, having a retentive memory

and possessing a good understanding”; “simple people, well disposed, neither avaricious

nor ambitious. They take great pains to learn”; Motolinía, Historia 88; Motolinía, History

187-88).

The chronicle is full of idyllic descriptions of Indian devotion and readiness to

battle el demonio (“the devil”). It is he who is their main opponent, which, once again,

refers to the Christian opposition of good and evil. The locals not only long for baptism

and reject polygamy willingly; they seem to be completely acculturated in the eyes of

Motolinía. As a proof of this, he mentions an Indian who sold his possessions to give

limosna (“alms”), or the natural understanding of the concept of honradez and honestidad

(“honor” and “honesty”) by a young Indian girls serving the pagan idols who restrain

themselves from sexual relations and make a sort of penitencia (“penance”), or even fast

(Motolinía, Historia 94, 43-45).

Another example are the visions of the saints and apostles, frequent in Motolinía’s

account. They are sometimes shared by both the Spaniards and the locals. Unlike in the

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previous accounts, where Santiago Moorslayer was by far the most popular and recurrent

vision, in Motolinía’s Historia there are various saints and apostles who appear to both

the Indians and the Spaniards. Some of these visions include, naturally, St. Francis,

St. Anton (128), Archangel St. Michael (72), and, of course, Santiago Moorslayer (71).

The latter does not appear, however, in America. This vision is mentioned as a part of the

campaign against the Moors and the Jews to liberate Jerusalem where the representatives

of the New World fight alongside the Holy Emperor’s troops.

The inhabitants of the colony receive Motolinía’s blessing and are portrayed as

ready for a change. Their lands also hold great potential. Despite being “destruída” (sic)

“de plagas” because of the “enfierno que estaba en México” as a result of paganism, it is

usually described in very positive terms as “esta tierra muy sana” and “rico valle y

fertilísimo,” abundantísima de todo género de ganados” (“devastated by . . . plagues”;

“the city of Mexico, which looked like as if it had been brought from hell itself”; “this

land is very healthful”; “the rich and fertile valley”; “It abounds exceedingly in all kinds

of cattle”; Motolinía, Historia 19, 24, 6; Motolinía, History 95, 104, 80). As in the case of

Amerindians, while the customs of the city of Mexico deserve to be reprimanded by

Motolinía, he admires its inherited grandeur and richness. As a matter of fact, the word

“grandeza” (“grandeur”) becomes a customary adjective applied to everything in and

about the city. It is important to note, however, that despite all of these similarly

equalizing characteristics, the Other always remains in the inferior position and needs

guidance from the hegemonic society.

In Motolinía’s Historia, like in the other chronicles, one can find abundant

references to the marvelousness and the secrecy of the land, as well as superlative

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adjectives describing it.90 However, the context of most of them is religious, which, once

again, refers to the reinterpretative nature of the author’s Orientalization. The

ethnographic curiosity of this approach also resulted in the use of Christian religious

terms to describe the local practices, although not as prominently as in the other

chronicles, the most dramatic being “gran príncipe o pontífice mexicano, que era como

papa” (“the great chief of Mexico, the pontiff who was, as it were, their pope”; Motolinía,

Historia 31; Motolinía, History 113). Some local words, like teutl, are also introduced

into the text with their respective description, a technique that was typical for the

chronicles of the early colonial period (Motolinía, Historia 25).

What is strikingly different is the notable lack of Arabisms in the text.91 This

echoes the above mentioned relative absence of parallelisms with the Arab world,

especially in a non-biblical context. Even more indicative is the insertion into the

chronicle of the letters of Don Antonio Pimentel who conveys to the Emperor the story of

the military campaign in Jerusalem, where the “ejercito de la Nueva España” fights

against the Jews and the Moors (“the army of New Spain”; Motolinía, Historia 69;

Motolinía, History 162). This is indicative of the fact that the Amerindian Other starts to

be interpreted as a part of the dichotomy Europe-America rather than Europe-Asia. It

represents a significant change in the Orientalist paradigm in the New World.

As a result, the Amerindian Other in Motolinía’s chronicle is reinterpreted in

order to be appropriated and form part of the hierarchical structure of colonial society.

Paraphrasing Walden Browne’s conclusion about the work of another Franciscan, Fray

Bernardino de Sahagún, “he labored intensely – if not entirely successfully – to make all

that jarred with a Western schema fit into a preexisting perspective . . . in order to

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produce what can only be understood as a highly orchestrated text” (96). However, it is

not viewed any more entirely as a part (or a mirror) of the Muslim world that Spain had

to face for centuries; instead, America forms a new dichotomy with the Old World. In

this sense, the Historia de los indios de la Nueva España reveals cardinal changes in the

original paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism in the New World; the changes that were first

expressed in the works of explorers and conquistadors and developed in the subsequent

works of the chroniclers of the New World.

§ 5. Conclusion

Hispanic Orientalism is not static, but rather changing in nature. Its historical

development and relocation from Spain to Latin America caused the most significant

changes in its original paradigm. In its process of development, the mimicry of the

discourse of power, implied in Said’s concept of Orientalism, played a crucial role. It was

the inner impetus of adjustment to the evolving relationship between the hegemonic and

the subaltern cultures that defines Hispanic Orientalism in its migration from Europe to

America. It was important at the time to establish Christian dominance, as the process of

consolidation of the Spanish Empire was not yet complete and there was a need to

reiterate the claims of not only Christendom, but also of Spaniards as such, especially

under the imminent Ottoman threat.

Therefore, the transatlantic migration of the Orientalist paradigm from the Iberian

Peninsula to colonial Latin America was a crucial moment for the formative process of

Hispanic Orientalism in the New World. The relational model between hegemonic

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Spanish and subaltern cultures both in Medieval Spain and the colonized New World

undergoes an unavoidable process of change. It was based on cultural and mental

differences between the subaltern Others, Moors and Amerindians, and the historical shift

in powers. As well, it arose from the differences between the social strata of the dominant

class in Spain and the conquistadors. Even though, the Conquest of the New World was

perceived as a continuation of the Reconquest and the Crusades, the relocation of the

paradigm and a new geopolitical situation, as Spain became one of the largest empires in

the world at the time, and the Islamic threat to Europe, influenced the changes in the

original paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism.

Paraphrasing Michael Householder’s emphasis on the “encounter, invention,

narration” (1) as mechanisms of imagining the Other, Hispanic Orientalism arose from

the encounter, reinvention and later reimagination of the Other. When the Spanish

Kingdom confirmed its European and Plus Ultra dominance, the discourse of power

reshaped the Orientalist approach of the new colonial nation. This gradual change can be

seen in the chronicles of the conquest and the accounts by the colonizers and religious

men. During the early Renaissance, Christian ideals play a crucial role in the process of

Orientalization of the Other, since the measuring scale for the latter was not fully

established. In the later period, the acceptance of Christianity and its values served as a

litmus test for the differentiation between “us” and the “Other,” as well as led to

sectarianism and social disparity.

Initially, Columbus and Cortés’s strategy generally followed the appropriation

through idealization and reinvention approach, typical of Peninsular Orientalism at the

time. The abundance of Arabisms and comparisons to the Muslim countries reveals the

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underlying opposition between the Amerindians/Moors and Europe. The ensuing

chronicles about the New World had a broader perspective, both historically and

geographically, so they could not rely on imagination only: since it would jeopardize the

credibility of their Orientalist approach. Therefore, chroniclers like those of Gómara and

later Bernal Díaz del Castillo chose a different technique – that of reinterpretation of the

existing reality. The acknowledgment of the differences of the New World weakened the

ties between the Amerindian Other and the traditional Orient.

However, it is in the evangelical accounts like Motolinía’s, where we can clearly

see the direction of the development of the colonial Orientalist paradigm. Despite the

prominence of the religious aspect and the ethnographic interpretation through a religious

lens, his account reveals that the Orientalist approach, as well as its underlying

dichotomy, have experienced significant alterations. While Motolinía is still searching for

the (Christian) appropriation of the Other through reinterpretation, he also gives

protagonism to America itself. His allusions to Asia are rare and mostly biblical, and his

comparisons often involve Europe rather than Muslim countries. In this sense, the

Amerindian Other starts to be interpreted as a part of the Europe-America dichotomy

rather than Europe-Asia. This represents a significant change in the Orientalist paradigm

in the New World.

In sum, the original paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism had traversed an enormous

length through space and time. In its transatlantic journey during the period when the link

between the New and the Old World was especially strong, it managed to adapt to the

new historical circumstances. Two major changes can be observed in the paradigm. One

of them was the movement away from the reinvention of the Other as a mechanism for

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appropriation, since it was deemed unreliable and not trustworthy for the audience.

Instead, reinterpretation took place. The other key change was the gradual substitution of

Asia by America in the Orientalist dichotomy in the New World. These two alterations,

established during the early colonial period, were adopted in the late colonial and the

early Independence periods, determining social segregation, such as the castes system in

Mexico, and further Orientalization of the Other from a new perspective. This

experience, the possibility to switch the elements in the dichotomy in an Orientalist

relationship, will provide an Orientalist model for the Independence period when the

hegemonic powers change once again.

NOTES

29
At the same time, the fifteenth and seventeenth-century travels and expeditions
were a break though in geography and navigation. Christopher Columbus reaching in
1492 Las Indias that later were confirmed to be a new continent was only the beginning
of a great journey of discovery. Even though most of the expeditions had economic rather
than scientific purpose, it is their scientific value that preserved the names of the
explorers and sailors in the history. In 1513, Vasco Núñez de Balboa for the first time
crosses the continent discovering “el mar del Sur,” in other words the Pacific Ocean.
Another expedition, the consequences of which it is impossible to overestimate, is the
one of Ferdinand Magellan y Juan Sebastián Elcano (1519-1522). Sailing along the South
American cost, they were the first Europeans to reach Tierra de Fuego and the Pacific
Ocean through the Strait of All Saints, or Strait of Magellan, as it is known nowadays.
Magellan never saw the result of his expedition, as he died in Philippines where his
crewmembers were the first Spaniards who reached the islands. It was Elcano, who
finally returned to Seville in September 1522 with 18 members of the original 265
member crew (Tuñón de Lara 286). However, it is impossible to overestimate the result
of the expedition of Magellan-Elcano, as it was a practical prove of the spherical shape of
the Earth and it gave an estimate of how fast one could circumnavigate it.
Parallel to this process are the exploration campaigns in the New World. As such,
between the years 1540 and 1550, all the territory between Río de la Plata and California
was explored. Several expeditions were launched from the Caribbean to discover the
lands on the North. In 1513, Juan Ponce de León discovered what was first believed to be

158
an island that was called Florida. In 1565, the first city in North America, St. Augustine,
was founded by Pedro Menéndez de Avilés. Earlier, Hernando de Soto was the first
European to cross Mississippi. Parallel to his endeavors was the expedition of Francisco
Vázquez de Coronado y Luján in present day Colorado during which the Great Canyon
was discovered (Tuñón de Lara 290-91).
In the present day Central and South America during the sixteenth century,
numerous expeditions explore the immense territories, establishing in them political and
economic dominance of Spain. Many of the cities that become a center of sociopolitical
life of the region are founded during that period, among them, for example, Lima, the
capital of Viceroyalty of Peru (1543). The process of creating of sociopolitical centers in
different regions of the American triggered cultural development, especially in the center
of the Viceroyaly of Nueva España and Peru. The first printing house was founded in
Mexico already in 1535, in Lima it appeared in 1584. The first universities opened their
door to students in Santo Domingo, Mexico and Lima (the last two – around 1555)
(Tuñón de Lara 292, 297).
30
Antonio Domínguez Ortiz compares the use of workforce in the mines of
Nueva España, where the labor of free workers and blacks was used, and the mines of
Potosí in Peru. In the latter, a system of mita was implemented. This system, of Incaic
origin, demanded the mandatory participation of all the members of the society in the
working process. Even though, there was a rotation among workers and they were paid
certain salary, the work conditions were so hard, that the indigenous population from the
neighboring territories left for other regions in order to avoid exploitation (Tuñón de Lara
295). This, along with other consequences of the conquests (numerous diseases and
exterminations), resulted in considerable demographic changes in the New World, some
of the regions of which, as the Caribbean, losing almost of all its indigenous population.
The fast enrichment of the Spanish Crown due to the active exploitation of
precious metals, especially in the region of Potosí and Zacatecas, was another
consequence of the discovery of the Americas. However, it had both positive and
negative impacts: on one hand, it resulted in the delayed economic downfall of Spain and,
at the same time, in the continuation of the Orientalization process as one of the ways to
legitimize the exploitation of the local and imported workers. In the sixteenth century,
Spain acquired about 7,400,000 kilograms of silver and 150,000 kilograms of gold from
the New World. However, most of this wealth did not stay in the country, as it was used
for the Spanish military and diplomatic campaigns in Europe. The drastic economic
downfall of Spain occurred between 1540, when war depth constituted 68% of the
kingdom’s income, and the end of the sixteenth century, when it was eight times bigger
than the yearly income of the kingdom (Kamen 154). Spain’s economic downfall and the
ways it extracted and spent the resources of the New World resulted in the gradual
decline of its role in the Colony throughout the seventeenth century. However, by that
time, Spanish social and economic practices had been established in Americas, and along

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with them the principles of interacting with the Other, which were brought to the New
World from Europe. As a result, it coined its own principles of Orientalization that
naturally were rooted in the Iberian Orientalist practices of the time of the Reconquest
and the Post-Reconquest.
31
See the section dedicated to the Diarios of Christopher Columbus.
32
It is argued sometimes that the religious mission was the real reason for
Columbus to launch his trips to the New World, as he was searching for “paraíso
terrenal” (“the eathly paradise”), which according to cartographers of the time, could be
found in that direction.
33
Spanish control over the New World was carried out by two institutions. One of
them, Consejo de las Indias (Council of the Indies) was founded by Carlos V and had
very broad authority. Another institution, Casa de Contratación (The House of Trade),
even though it was officially overseen by Consejo de las Indias had total control over the
trade with the New World (Tuñón de Lara 292, 382). Established in Seville, in 1717,
Casa de Contratación was moved to Cadiz where it influenced considerably the life of its
inhabitants and the very profile of the city.
34
The Spanish word “criollo” can be translated into English as “Creole.”
Nevertheless, there is a significant difference between these terms. Both comprise the
ideas of some kind of mixture, but Creole refers to racial mixture between Europeans and
Africans, and criollo, to a person of European descent born in the Americas.
35
See the following:
Nuestros Señores, este presente año de 1492, después de Vuestras
Altezas haber dado fin a la guerra de los moros que reinaban en Europa y
haber acabado la guerra en la muy grande ciudad de Granada, adonde este
presente año a 2 días del mes de enero por fuerza de armas vide poner las
banderas reales de Vuestras Altezas en las torres de Alfambra, que es la
fortaleza de la dicha ciudad, y vide salir al rey moro a las puertas de la
ciudad y besar las reales manos de Vuestras Altezas y del Príncipe Mi
señor, y luego en aquel presente mes, por la información que yo había
dado a Vuestras Altezas de las tierras de India y de un príncipe llamado
Gran Can, que quiere decir en nuestro romance Rey de los Reyes, como
muchas veces él y sus antecesores habían enviado a Roma a pedir doctores
en nuestra santa fe porque le enseñasen en ella y que nunca el Santo Padre
le había proveído y se perdían todos los pueblos creyendo en idolatrías o
recibiendo en sí sectas de perdición, Vuestras Altezas, como católicos
cristianos y Príncipes amadores de la santa fe y acrecentadores de ella y
enemigos de la secta de Mahoma y de todas idolatrías y herejías, pensaron

160
de enviarme a mí, Cristóbal Colón, a las dichas partidas de India para ver
los dichos príncipes, y los pueblos y tierras y la disposición de ellas y de
todo y la manera que se pudiera tener para la conversión de ellas a nuestra
santa fe; y ordenaron que yo no fuese por tierra al Oriente, por donde se
costumbraba de andar, salvo por el camino de Occidente, por donde hasta
hoy no sabemos por cierta fe que haya pasado nadie. Así que, después de
haber echado fuera todos los judíos de todos vuestros reinos y señoríos, en
el mismo mes de enero mandaron Vuestras Altezas a mí con armada
suficiente me fuese a dichas partidas de India . . . (Colón 15-16, my
emphasis)

. . . our Lords: This present year of 1492,

after Your Highnesses had brought to an end
the war with the Moors who ruled in Europe and
had concluded the war in the very great city
of Granada, where this present year on the
second day of the month of January I saw the
Royal Standards of Your Highnesses placed by
force of arms on the towers of the Alhambra,
which is the fortress of the city; and I
saw the Moorish King come out of the gates of
the city and kiss the Royal Hands of Your
Highnesses and of the Prince my Lord; and
later in that same month, because of the re-
port that I had given to Your Highnesses about
the lands of India and about a price who is
called “Grand Khan,” which means in our Spa-
nish language “King of the Kings”; how, many times,
he and his predecessors had sent to Rome to
ask for men learned in our Holy Faith in order
that they might instruct him in it and how the
Holy Father had never provided them; and thus
so many people were lost in idola-
try and accepting false and harmful religions;
and Your Highnesses, as Catholic Christians
and Princes, lovers and promoters of the Holy
Christian Faith, and the enemies of the false doc-
trine of Mahomet and of all idolatries and
heresies, you thought of sending me, Christó-
bal Colón, to the said regions of India to see
the said princes and the peoples and the lands,

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 and the characteristics of the lands and of
everything, and to see how their conversion to
our Holy Faith might be undertaken. And you
commanded that I should not go to the East y
land, by which way it is customary to go, but
by the route to the West, by which route we do
not know for certain that anyone previously
has passed. So, after having expelled all the
Jews from all of your Kingdoms and Dominions,
in the same month of January Your Highnesses
commanded me to go, with suitable fleet, to
the said region of India.” (Columbus 17-19).
36
Having arrived in America, Columbus shows no doubt in his Diary about the
land being a part of the Far East, unlike some of his sailors. Numerous notes relate newly
discovered lands to Cathay and Cipango, and Columbus even uses his authority to impose
his beliefs upon his crew (for instance, during his second voyage he make everybody sign
a declaration that Cuba is not an island but a part of mainland Cathay) (Gil, Varela 217-
23; Morison 277; Flint 128). There were similar precedents that Columbus knew about,
as the one of Bartolomé Díaz that might have served as an inspiration for the Admiral.
While the hesitation of the sailors is important as it questions the Orientalist theories of
Columbus, it is even more indicative of their persistency that neither the Admiral’s son
nor Las Casas mention this episode in their writings (Gil, and Varela 216). Gil and Varela
note:

Francisco Niño, vesino de Moguer, piloto de la caravela Niña, dixo que

para el juramento que avía hecho que no oener yó ni vido isla que pudiese t
tresientas e treinta e cinco leguas en una costa de Poniente a Levante y aun
y que veía agora que la tierra tornava al Sur Suduest ;no acababa de andar
y al Suduest y Oest y que ciertamente no tenía dubda alguna que fuese la
tierra firme, antes de muchas leguas navegando por la dicha costa, se
fallaría tierra donde tratan gente política de saber y que saben el mundo
etc. (Gil, and Varela 219)
37
See:
This is the first voyage and the
courses and way that the Admiral
Don Cristobal Colón took when he
discovered the Indies, summarized
except for the prologue that he
composed for the king and queen,
which is given in full . . . (Translated by me – S. T.).

162
 Este es el primer viaje y las
derrotas y camino ǭ hizo el
almirante don xpōūal Colon
quando dscubrio las yndias
puesto sumariamēte sin el
prologo ǭ hizo a los reyes ǭ va
a la letra . . . (Columbus 16-17)
38
The figure of Columbus appeared to be reinvented several times in history not
only in the writings of Las Casas. His origins, as well as his burial place remain in
question and are disputed by the researchers. For instance, while the widely accepted
theory of Genovese precedence of Columbus is shared by a number of researchers, other,
like Menéndez Pidal note that he might have belonged to a Jewish Spanish family forced
into exile because of the persecution that began in Iberia in 1391 under the mandate of
the Archdeacon of Ecija (La lengua 9-10). This and similar disputes are indicative that
the figure of the very “discoverer” of America underwent a process of Orientalization by
the hegemonic power in an effort to attest to its own importance through the reinvented
image of the one of the most important historic figures of the period. Similarly, the
writings of Columbus, and later on, other discoverers and conquistadors of the New
World, Orientalized the new reality in order to aggrandize their role and seek social and
economic welfare.
Menéndez Pidal also established the periods for language acquisition of
Columbus that are closely related to his travels and his professional experiences
(La lengua 19-25). This is important as its shows the gradual “Hispanization” of
Columbus (through Portuguese), which, together with the Menéndez Pidal’s theory of the
Spanish-Jewish origins of his family completes the circle of Orientalization of Admiral’s
figure. In a way, it can be compared to the representation of the Indians as the ones who
forgot the God and whose comeback was facilitated by Spain and the Spanish
conquistadors and evangelists.
39
“juraban muchos hombres honrados españoles que . . . cada año vían tierra al
Oueste de las Canarias” (“many honorable Spaniards . . . / swore / that every year they
saw land to the west of / the Canaries” (sic); Colón 18; Columbus 25; August 9, 1492).
40
The association of the Arabic word kalb ‘dog’ can be one of the possible
etymologies of the renown personage of Shakespeare’s The Tempest (1611) (Taboada
95).
41
“Esta gente es muy mansa y muy temerosa, desnuda . . . sin armas y sin ley”
(“these people are very gentle and very / timid, naked . . . without / weapons and without
law”; Colón 54; Columbus 133; November 4, 1492).

163
 42
"Todos de buena estatura, gente muy fermosa" (“all of good stature – very
handsome people”; Colón 31; Columbus 69; October 13, 1492).
43
Columbus’s and Las Casas’s reimagination and reinvention of the Other leads
to a construction of the image that is quite similar to the image of the Moors in the
Iberian Peninsula. It is crucial though that Columbus separates the Indians from the
Africans. Often, this contraposition is based on color. This way, Columbus includes the
Indians into the Spanish societal structure, rather than alienating them, as happened to the
Jews in Medieval Iberia. It facilitates considerably the task of the Christian conquest of
the Americas, or its Reconquest, as the Indians seemed to know the true God, whom they
lost to their pagan rituals.
44
For instance, alquicel, alberca, adobe, mezquita, almaizal (yashmak, water
tank, adobe, mosque, thin mantel; Cortés, Cartas 21; Cortés, Letters 30-35).
45
Codex Mendoza. Ed. James C. Clarke. 3 vols. London: n. p., 1938. Print.
46
Guamán Poma de Ayala, Felipe. Nueva crónica y buen gobierno. Eds. John V.
Murra, Rolena Adorno, and Jorge L. Urioste. 3 vols. Madrid: Historia, 16. 1987. Print.
Fol. 404.
47
See Cortés, Cartas 14, 17 and Cortés, Cartas 64-65 for textual reference.
48
“Y el capitán . . . les dió a entender que en ninguna manera él se había de partir
de aquella tierra hasta saber el secreto de ella para poder escribir a vuestra majestad
relación de ella” (“The captain them answered them, giving them to understand that on
no account would he leave until he had learnt the secrets of the land and might send Your
Majesties a true account of it”; Cortés, Cartas 15; Cortés, Letters 19).
49
There is a tendency to adjudicate those characteristics more to his enemies,
while he restrains himself from direct negative comments about his Indian allies or the
Indians who treat him friendly: he describes in detail the grandeur of Moctezuma’s court
(Cortés, Cartas 66-69), and the Tlaxcaltecas are referred as “eran muchos y muy fuerte
gente . . . con sus plumajes que acostumbraban traer en las guerras . . . que peleaban con
mucho denuedo y ánimo” (“they were many and very strong . . . dressed in feathers they
wear in battle . . . they fought with great courage and ferocity”; Cortés, Cartas 36-37;
Cortés, Letters 57-58).
50
“Los aposentos . . . son muy amoriscados y en las partes adonde no alcanzan
piedra, hácenlas de adobes y eneálanlos por encima . . . Hay casas muy frescas . . . de
cinco patios dentro de una sola casa, y sus aposentos muy aconcertados, cada principal

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servido que ha de ser por sí. Tienen por dentro sus pozos y albercas de agua . . .” (“the
rooms are . . . in Moorish fashion. In those parts where there is no stone they make their
houses of adobes, which are whitewashed . . . There are houses . . . very cool and have . .
. as many as five courtyards in a single house, and the rooms around them very well laid
out, each man having a private room. Inside there are also wells and water tanks”; Cortés,
Cartas 21; Cortés, Letters 30).
51
This tradition of using Arabized toponims and Ababisms in general will persist
for some time in America. See the legend about the city of Xequechakán that was
considered to be called so after the xeque, the Moorish ruler who came to these lands and
was later killed when the locals revolted against his oppression (for a detailed version,
see Antonio de Ciudad Real, Tratado curioso y doctor de las grandezas de la Nueva
España, 353). Taboada also gives the follwoing example:
En Brasil, la carta de Pedro Vaz de Caminha informaba que los indios
también hablaban “beribería”, por lo que no se los podia entender . . .Cei
contestaba citando algunos antropónimos, entre los cuales figuraba el de
“Mahoma “. En otras áreas guaraní, el cronista Jerez señala la semejanza
de su lengua con el árabe; Martín del Barco Centenera y Johannes de Laet
hacen mención de los mahomas sobre el Río de la Plata. (129-30)
52
However, the absence of a direct comparison can be also indicative of the fact
that the word “mezquita” was used to denominate a non-Christian temple, hence the
English translation of it as a “shrine”. Cortés continues referring to local temples as
“mezquitas” also in the other letters that compose Cartas de relación.
53
When describing the Templo Mayor of Tenochtitlán, he writes: “Entre estas
mezquitas hay una que es principal, que no hay lengua humana que sepa explicar la
grandeza y particularidades de ella . . . la más principal es más alta que la torre de la
iglesia mayor de Sevilla . . . de maravillosa grandeza y altura” (“Amongst these temples
there is one, the principle one, whose great size and magnificence no human tongue could
describe . . . the most important of these towers is higher than that of the cathedral of
Seville . . . of remarkable size and stature”; Cortés, Cartas 64; Cortés, Letters 105-06).
54
See, for instance the use of the word “escaramuza” and “escaramuzar.” There
terms, typical for a Moresque novel, describe the often glorious for Spaniards encounters
with the Indians on the battlefield. The concept of individualism and personal glory are
very important for the participants of such combats, similarly to scenes in Guerras civiles
de Granada.
55
He starts his account by presenting the Spaniards as an example of good
Christians and vassals who are under God’s protection as they carry out their mission:

165
 Demos gracias a Dios, que tanto bien y honra nos ha guardado y dado.
Pidámosle por merced nos ayude y guíe a conquistar esta tierra y nuevo
mar que descubrimos y que nunca jamás cristiano vio, para predicar en
ella el santo Evangelio y bautismo, y vosotros sed lo que soléis y
seguidme, que con el favor de Cristo seréis los más ricos españoles que a
Indias han pasado, haréis el mayor servicio a vuestro Rey que nunca
vasallo alguno hizo al señor, y tendréis la honra y prez de cuanto por aquí
se descubriere, conquistare y convirtiere a nuestra fe católica. (López de
Gómara, Primera parte 108)

Let us praise the Lord who saved and gave us so much good and
honor. Let us ask him to help us in his mercy and guide us to conquer this
land and the new sea that we discovered that no Christian ever saw, to
preach in it the Holy Gospel and the baptism. And you be what you are
and follow me, as with God’s help you will be the richest Spaniards who
passed through the Indies; you will the greatest servants to your King,
more than any of his vassals and you will have honor and fame of
everything that is here discovered, conquered and converted to our
Catholic faith.
56
The image of Hernán Cortés is opposite to this pejorative description. He is
portrayed as a great warrior and strategist, whose honor and honra run in the family: “sus
padres . . . no solamente los honraban sus vecinos por la bondad y cristiandad que
conocían en ellos, sino que hasta ellos mismos se percibían de ser honrados en todas sus
palabras y obras” (“his parents were not only respected by the neighbours because if their
kindness and religiousness, but they themselves felt respected in their words and deeds”;
López de Gómara, Segunda parte 9). Even his appearence is of a hero: “Era Hernán
Cortés de buena estatura, rehecho y de gran pecho; el color ceniciento, la barba clara, el
cabello largo. Tenía gran fuerza, mucho ánimo, destreza en las armas” (“Hernán Cortés
was tall, robust and of wide chest, greyish color, with light colored beard and long hair.
He was very strong, of great spirit and skillful with weaponry”; López de Gómara,
Segunda parte 444). In Historia general the reader almost always sees the glorious
victories of Cortés and his men, and much less often is faced with the scenes of defeat,
suffering or other problems, something that Bernal Díaz severely criticized later in his
own account.
57
The descriptions of the latter are simple and even negative. He is portrayed as a
foreigner and he always seems to lack strength and support: “le faltaba el favor del rey,”
“trajo mal despacho,” pobremente vestido” (“he lacked the king’s favor”; “had no luck”;
“poorly dressed”; López de Gómara, Primera parte 31-33). Gómara even attributes the
discovery of the New World by Columbus not only to the support of the Catholic kings
who conveniently had “el pensamiento puesto en echar a los moros del reino de

166
Granada,” a metaphor of the future Latin American crusade, but to mere luck, as,
according to Gómara, a Spanish sailor who had reached America before Columbus,
“falleció . . . en casa de Cristóbal Colón, en cuyo poder quedaron las escrituras de la
carabela y la relación de todo aquel viaje largo” (“had their mid set on expelling the Moor
from the kingdom of Granada”; “died in the house of Christopher Columbus who took
possession of the ship’s log and the account of that long journey”; López de Gómara,
Primera parte 29, 32). Hence, Columbus was only taking advantage of the greatness of
Spanish sailors.
It is also indicative of the reimagination of the figure of Cortés the fact that
Gómara’s other chronicle, Crónica de los corsarios Barbarroja, completed while he was
writing Historia general, traces parallelisms between Cortés’s military success and
importance of the conquest’s consequences, and the one of ’Arjul Barbarossa, the elder
brother of Khair ad-Din, whose victories are sometimes attributed by Gómara to the
former57 (Roa-de-la-Carrera, Gómara 36, 45). Carman points out though that despite the
parallelism in the portrayal of these “great men,” they are not treated alike. In the
dedication to his Crónica, Gómara distinguishes two historic genres: narration of
someone’s life and narration of the fate of great men, like emperors or conquistadors,
whose trajectory is closely connected to history. While the Barbarrossa brothers are
depicted biographically, Cortés’s life is so closely related to the conquest that Historia
general almost falls into the second category (87-89). Another crucial difference lies in
their ethics: for Gómara, in the comparison between the Cortés’s ethics and Barbarossa’s
states that there exist “the pinnacle of virtue and the sea of vice” (Carman 95). As a
result, there is a difference in the images of the two chronicles. Muslim and adversary to
Spanish kingdom, the Barbarrossa’s nobility and personal glory allowed for the
comparison to a Christian conqueror like Cortés, in the same way that Abencerraje could
be compared to Narváez (see Chapter I for this description).
58
See López de Gómara, Primera parte 5, 7, 29, 30, 35, 37, 86, 10, 110, 127, 142,
212, 213, 371, 376, etc.; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 27, 101, 111, 132, 134, 400,
etc.
59
See López de Gómara, Primera parte 5, 29, 32, 36, 50, 70, 83, 84, 102, 111,
122, 128,143,147, 202, 207, 362, 374, etc.; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 8, 12, 23,
24, 27, 33, 57, 59, 75, 151, 423, 429, 431, etc.
60
This suffix is used extensively in both parts of the Historia general. See López
de Gómara, Primera parte 5, 29, 36, 43, 62, 70, 84, 140, 143, 146, 158, 163, 202, 203,
204, 207, 234, 355, 362, 373, 374, 384, etc.; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 8, 57, 58,
75, 103, 131, 133, 140, 143, 146, 162, 151, 157, 404, 419, 423, 429, 431, etc.
61
See descriptions in the first part where the following words of Arabic origin are
used: zaragüelle, alpargata, alfiler, alboroque, algodón; azúcar, mazapán, algodón,

167
aljófar, nácar; bodoque, almohadilla, algodón, almizcle, alquitrán, atabal (López de
Gómara, Primera parte 82, 127, 142-46) or jarro, algodón, almaizales, alpargatas,
alfileres; azúcar, aceite, alfiler, zaragüelle; arrejaque, aljófar; azotea, almacén (López
de Gómara, Segunda parte 18, 23, 81, 156).
62
They “se casan con cuantas quieren . . . no hermana, ni madre ni hija. No las
quieren extranjeras ni desiguales,” allusion to polygamy and Islamic marital restrictions;
“son ellos celosos, y ellas buenas de su cuerpo,” living in a type of harem, where the
master sometimes “cortaba narices y miembro, y hasta brazos, a los criados que
guardaban y servían a sus mujeres” (“get married with as many as they want, not sisters,
mothers nor daughters”; “used to cut noses and penises, and even hands of the servants
who guarded and attended to their wives”; López de Gómara, Primera parte 122, 199).
63
“Se mudan como los árabes,” “acostumbran lavarse dos o tres veces al día” as
the Mulsims do before payers, and even embalm their deceased: “los asan, en fin,
después de muertos, y aquello es embalsamar” (“they are nomadic as Arabs”; “they have
a habit of washing up two or three times a day”; “shortly, they fry them after death, and it
means embalming”; López de Gómara, Primera parte 122-23).
64
“Vieron por tres veces al del caballo rucio picado pelear en su favor contra los
indios . . . era Santiago, nuestro patrón. Hernán Cortés quería mejor que fuese San Pedro,
su especial abogado” (“they saw three times the one on the roan horse fighting with them
against the Indians . . . It was St. James, our protector. Hernán Cortés preferred him to be
St. Peter, his patron saint”; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 46).
65
The religious influence is quite prominent in Gómara’s argument. It is
important to note that it is evident not only in the open comparisons, arguments and
ideology, but also can be seen on a structural level. For instance, in the first part, the
chapter entitled “El sitio de las Indias” with its precise measurements resembles the
biblical description of lands inherited by each of the Israeli tribes:
De Cotoche o Yucatán hay ciento diez leguas al río Grande, y quedan
en el camino la punta de las Mujeres y al bahía de la Ascensión. Del río
Grande, que cae a dieciséis grados y medio, hay ciento cincuenta leguas
hasta cabo del Camarón, contadas de esta manera: treinta del río o puerto
de Higueras, de Higueras a puerto de Caballos otras treinta, y otras treinta
de Caballos al puerto del Triunfo de la Cruz, de él al puerto de Honduras
otras treinta, y de allí al cabo del Camarón, veinte, de donde calculan
setenta al cabo de Gracias a Dios, que está a catorce grados. (López de
Gómara, Primera parte 24)

The portion that went to the tribe of Judah for their families extended
to the border of Edom in the wilderness of Zin in the Negeb on the

168
 southern end. Their southern boundary ran from the edge of the Salt Sea at
the south bay southward to the slopes of Scorpion Pass, then through Zin
south of Kadesh-barnea, curving back to Karka through Herzon and
Addar, then past Azmon, and along the brook of Egypt out to the sea.
(The Holy Bible. The Berkley Version, Joshua 15.1-4)

The description of the temples of Tenochtitlán in the second part resemble the
description of the biblical tabernacle or Solomon’s temple (note the repetition of the
number “3” and the structure of the temples in both descriptions):
Al templo le llaman teucalli . . . Todos o casi todos, son de una forma;
y por tanto, con hablar del mayor bastará para entenderse, y así como es
general en toda esta tierra, así es nueva forma de templos, y creo que ni
vista ni oída más que aquí. Tiene este su templo el sitio cuadrado. De
esquina a esquina hay un tiro de ballesta. La cerca de piedra con cuatro
puertas , que responden a las calles principales que vienen de tierra por
tres calzadas que dije, y por otra parte de la ciudad que no tiene calzada,
sino muy buena calle. En medio de este espacio hay una cepa de tierra y
piedra maciza, esquinada como el patio, y de cincuenta brazas de ancha de
un cantón a otro. Cuando sale de tierra y comienza a crecer el montón,
tiene unos grandes relejes. Cuanto más crece la obra, tanto más se estrecha
la cepa y disminuyen los relejes . . . (López de Gómara, Segunda parte
154-55)

The house which King Solomon built for the Lord was 90 feet long, 30
feet wide and 45 feet high. The porch in front of the temple itself was 30
feet long, as was the width of the house, and its width was 15 feet in front
of the house. . . . The house was built of stones dressed at the quarry . . .
The door of the lowest side rooms was on the right side of the house and
by winding steps one could go up to the middle side chambers and from
the middle to the third. (The Holy Bible. The Berkley Version, Kings 6.2-3,
7-8)
Here one can also compare Gómara’s and Bernal’s descriptions of the overview of
Tenochtitlán with its three roads stretching out from the lagoon and the biblical
description of the Paradise and its four rivers: “Todo el cuerpo de la ciudad está en el
agua. Tiene tres clases de calles anchas y agradables. Las unas son de agua sola, y las
otras, de tierra y agua” (López de Gómara, Segunda parte 147-48). “Le dejo que mirase
su gran ciudad y todas las más ciudades que había dentro en el agua . . . y de allí vimos
las tres calzadas que entran en Mérico, que es la de Iztapalapa. Que fue por la que
entramos cuatrodías había; y la de Tacuba, que fue por donde después . . . salimos
huyendo . . . y la de Tepeaquilla” (sic) (Díaz del Castillo, Historia 258-59). “There was
also a river flowing out of Eden to water the garden, and from there it was divided and

169
became four rivers. The first is named Pishon; it flows around all the land of Havilah,
where there is gold, high quality gold; aromatic gum, too, and onyx stone. The name of
the second river is Gihon; . . . the name of the third river is Tigris . . . The fourth river is
the Euphrates” (The Holy Bible. The Berkley Version, Genesis 2.10-14). These tacit
comparisons would be easily perceived by the devoted population who would be more
inclined to favor the Christian conquest of the New World for the sake of its salvation
from the pagan oblivion it lived in.
66
“Se fue a Tecpan, que es un palacio, y allá se informó particularmente por los
lenguas, cuáles eran o no caballeros, y . . . así les envió el don: si era hidalgo y buen
soldado, bueno y con mayordomo, y si no, y marinero, no tal y con lacayo” (“he went to
Tecpan, which is a palace, and there he learned in detail through interpreters who was a
nobleman and who was not. And respectively, he sent them gifts: if nobleman and good
soldier, he sent a good gift with a butler; if not noble or a seaman, not such a good gift
and with a lackey”; López de Gómara, Segunda parte 134).
67
See López de Gómara, Primera parte 109, 129, 133, 135, 134, 211; López de
Gómara, Segunda parte 16-19, 80-83, 168-69, etc.
68
His comment seems to draw an infernal picture that should have served as a
motivation for the true believers who were looking into participating in the American
crusade:

Los hombres de tierra firme de Indias comen carne humana, y son

sodométicos más que ninguna otra generación. Ninguna justicia hay entre
ellos, andan desnudos, no tienen amor ni vergüenza, son como asnos,
abobados, alocados, insensatos; no tiene en nada matarse ni matar; no
guardan verdad si no es en su provecho; son inconstantes, no saben qué
cosa sea consejo; son ingratísimos y amigos de novedades; se precian de
ser borrachos, pues tienen vinos de diversas hierbas, frutas, raíces y grano;
se emborrachan también con humo y con ciertas hierbas que los saca de
quicio; son bestiales en los vicios; ninguna obediencia ni cortesía tienen
mozos a viejos ni hijos a padres; no son capaces de doctrina ni castigo; son
traidores, crueles y vengativos, pues nunca perdonan; inimicísimos de
religión, haraganes, ladrones, mentirosos, y de juicios bajos y apocados;
no guardan fe ni orden, no se guardan lealtad maridos a mujeres ni
mujeres a maridos; son hechiceros, agoreros, nigrománticos; son cobardes
como liebres, sucios como puercos; comen piojos, arañas y gusanos
crudos dondequiera que los encuentran; no tienen arte ni maña de los
hombres; cuando se olvidan de las cosas de la fe que aprendieron, dicen
que aquellas cosas son para Castilla y no para ellos, y que no quieren
mudar de costumbres ni dioses; no tienen barbas , y si alguna les nace, se

170
 la arrancan; con los enfermos no usas piedad ninguna, y aunque sean
vecinos y parientes lo desamparan al tiempo de la muerte, o los llevan a
los montes a morir con sendos trocitos de pan y agua. Cuando crecen se
hacen peores; hasta los diez o doce años parece que han de salir con
alguna crianza y virtud; pero de allí en adelante se vuelven como brutos
animales; en fin, digo que nunca crió Dios tan cosida gente en vicios y
bestialidades, sin mezcla de bondad o cortesía. Juzguen ahora las gentes
para qué puede servir la cepa de tan malas mañas y artes. Los que hemos
tratado, hemos conocido esto de ellos por experiencia . . . (López de
Gómara, Primera parte 373)

69
La Malinche is not given any protagonist in Gómara’s chronicle. Her name is
only mentioned as a reference, and it is her Christian nameonly, for instance: “Cortés les
hizo hablar con Marina” or “según dijo Marina” or “les preguntó con Aguilar y Marina”
or “lo examine con Marina y Aguilar” (López de Gómara, Segunda parte 59, 62, 73,
101). Gómara gives a very brief description of her story, noting appropriately that “esta
Marina y sus compañeros fueron los primeros cristianos bautizados en toda la nueva
España” (López de Gómara, Segunda parte 55).
70
He insists that “afirmo que lo que en este libro se contiene es muy verdadero,
que como testigo de vista me hallé en todas las batallas . . . y no son cuentos viejos, ni
Historias de Romanos de más de setecientos años” (“I affirm that what this book has is
very true; as I, as an eye witness, participated in all the battles . . . they are not old stories
nor seven hundred year old stories of Romans”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 1; or “I will
proceed with truth”; Díaz del Castillo, History IV).
71
Here is further, all the translations of Historia are mine unless otherwise
indicated. This is due to the fact that the Spanish and the English versions of the Bernal’s
text used for the analysis are based on two slightly different manuscripts. The Spanish
version is based on the original draft of the chronicle, edited by 1632, while the English
version is based on the manuscript altered by the later chronicler Adarzo y Santander.
72
Among Bernal’s arguments against the “escritos viciosos” (“vicious writings”)
of the official chronicler of the Spanish Crown are that “en su historia en todo lo que
escribe se enganó” and “todo que en el caso pone es muy al revés, por más buena retórica
que en el escribir ponga” (“he was deceived in everything he writes about”; “everything
that he describes is wrong despite the use of good rhetoric”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 1,
43, 108).
73
For instance, see Díaz del Castillo, Historia 21, 49, 87, 97, 178, 193.

171
 74
For other instances of the use of this Word, see Díaz del Castillo, Historia 113,
215, 238, 239, 242, 272, 377.
75
Here is the list of some of the Arabic loanwords used mostly to describe the
everyday life of the Spaniards (the words are mentioned multiple times in the chronicle,
however, here only one reference is given for brevity; all quoted in Díaz del Castillo,
Historia): zaino (about a hourse; 57), algodón (57), jinete (58), alarde (62), albañil (66),
jarro (67), albricias, zaragüelles, alpargatas (69), carmesí, almizcle (95), alazana (about a
horse; 112), azotea, albarrada (154), alférez (166), aljófar (262), alguicil (277),
bodoquillo (281), calafate (313), alarde (339), etc.
76
Some of the examples are algodón, jinete, albañil, azotea, carmesí (“cotton,
horseman, mason, roof, crimson”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 57, 58, 69, 95, 154). For the
etymology of the words refer to The Dictionary of Royal Spanish Academy: Real
Academia Española. Diccionario de la lengua española. 22nd ed. Real Academia
Española, n. d. Web.
77
“Les dijimos cómo éramos cristianos y vasallos del mayor señor que hay en el
mundo, que dice el emperador don Carlos” or “le dieron a entender . . . las cosas de
nuestra santa fe y el gran poder del emperador nuestro señor” (“we told them that we
were Christian and vassals of the greatest lord in the world”; “they made him understand
the things about our Holy Faith and the great power of our lord the emperor”; Díaz del
Castillo, Historia 95, 281). It is curious that the expression “mayor señor que hay en el
mundo” without the referral to the emperor could have been easily interpreted as a
reference to God, and not only the tribute to Carlos V who was the Emperor of the Holy
Roman Empire at the time of Cortés’s campaign.
78
“eran sacerdotes de los ídolos que en Nueva España se llaman papas” (“they
were priests of the idols who in New Spain are called papa”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia
10).
79
“Los españoles habían tomado por fuerza la grande ciudad de Temixtitan, en la
cual murieron más indios que en Jerusalén judíos en la destrucción que hizo Vespasiano”
(“the Spaniards had taken by storm the great city of Temixtitan, in which there had died
more Indians tan Jews in Jerusalem during the destruction of that city by Vespasian”;
Cortés, Cartas 96; Cortés, Letters 159).
80
“buena lengua y fiel” who in his talks to the Indians “aconsejaba que siempre
tuviesen devoción y reverencia a la santa imagen de nuestra señora y a la cruz” (“good
interpreter and loyal”; “advised that they be always devoted and reverend of the holy
image of Our Lady and the cross”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 70-71).

172
 81
While at the beginning of the Historia verdadrera Bernal laments that the main
focus both of Cortés’s Cartas and Gómara’s chronicle is on the conquistador himself and
his role in the campaign, he does not avoid Orientalizing of the figure of Cortés. He is
idealized, noble, wise, benevolent towards the Indians and good with the soldiers, but
above all, he is the defendant of the true faith, almost like the legendary Cid. Even the
way Bernal addresses the conquistador, “nuestro Cortés” (“our Cortés) echoes “mío Cid”
(Díaz del Castillo, Historia 275). Bernal Díaz in his account of Cortés’s life not only
reinforces the impression of the conquistador’s power, but also his deep knowledge of
history and law by attributing to him numerous high-sounding speeches that show great
familiarity with Roman history. However, these can be attributed to the influence of
chivalric novels, popular at the time in Iberia, with Bernal Díaz, and even Cortés himself
(Pagden 48-49).
While Cortés is depicted as a very literate man of his time, which can be deduced,
for instance, from the use in his account of the Mexican conquest of both Latinisms and
references to the Roman heroes, like “certum quid,” “ab initio” or “un hecho troyano,”
his education was not as sophisticated as it appears to be (“Trojan deed”; Cortés, Cartas
66, 68, 4). As Pagden notes, “several years’ legal training, popular fantasy and the
traditions of medieval Spain” – that is what defined Cortés style and thinking (49).
Nevertheless, both Bernal Díaz and even more Gómara create a more sophisticated image
of the conquistador, for whom “ya echada estaba la suerte de buena o mala ventura,
como dijo Julio César sobre el Rubicón” (“the fate the good or bad luck was already
determined, as Julius Cesar said at the Rubicon”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 149).
On the other hand, Bernal himself was known to be fond of reading chivalric
novels, which could inspire him to add to his chronicle his own touch. In this light, the
following expressions seem to belong to the chronicler rather than to Cortés himself.
While admiring the view of Tenochtitlán, Bernal and the others see it as “las cosas del
encantamiento que cuentan en el libro de Amadís” (“the enchanted things described in
the book about Amadis”; Díaz del Castillo, Historia 238). Similarly, the following words
seem to be taken directly from a chivalric novel: “Dénos Dios ventura en armas como al
paladín Roldán” (“God give us fortune in arms like the Paladin Roldan”; Díaz del
Castillo, Historia 91; Díaz del Castillo, History 51).
82
See: Chimalpahin Cuauhtlehuanitzin Muñón, Domingo Francisco de San
Antón. Ed. and trans. Susan Schroeder, Anne J. Cruz, Cristián Roa-de-la-Carrera, and
David E. Tavárez. Chimalpahin's Conquest: A Nahua Historian's Rewriting of Francisco
López De Gómara's La conquista de México. Stanford: Stanford U P, 2010. Print
83
Also see the chronicle of the representative of a less influential in the Colony
Dominicans Fray Diego Durán and Jesuit missionary José de Acosta.
84
However, the role of Sahagún as the pioneer ethnographer and anthropologist is
sometimes questioned: “Sahagún has no place as the father of modern anthropology,

173
nevertheless, anthropology’s ongoing struggle to come to terms with the diversity of
cultures and human behavior may still lead to a better understanding of Sahagún”
(Browne 71).
85
See Treatise I chapter 15 (Motolinía, Historia 67):
Para qué comía
La primer casada,
Para qué comía
La fruta vedada.

La primer casada
Ella y su marido,
A Dios han traído
En pobre posada
Por haber comido
La fruta vedada.
Also see: “¡Oh, tierra del Perú . . !,” “¡Nobles de España, llorad . . !,” “Oh, qué río de
Babilonia . . !” (“Alas! land of Peru . . !”; “Ye nobles of Spain, bewail . . !”; “Alas! What
a Babilonian river”; Motolinía, Historia 166; Motolinía, History 291-92).
86
See the descriptions in the Epístola proemial (Motolinía, Historia 3-7) that
enumerate the parents and their offsprings of the rules of what was in Motolinía’s time
New Spain. They closely resemble the detailed biblical descriptions of the tribes of Israel.
It is not casual that such description is placed before the beginning of the actual
chronicle. It sets the tone for the reader and inspires him to see more similarities between
the Amerindian Other and the Christian religion and its practices, something that was of
high importance for the Franciscans.
87
The plagues for Motolinía are directly related to the “codicia” (“greed”) of the
conquistadors. They are (Motolinía, Historia 13-17):
1. Chickenpox and measles (Viruelas, sarampión);
2. Death of many as a result of the conquest of Mexico;
3. Famine;
4. The calpixeques (exploitation of Black);
5. Indian tributes;
6. Golden mines;
7. The way Mexico City was built;
8. Slavery;
9. Indian workers of the mines;
10. Division among Spaniards.

174
 88
The use of these two words is prominent in the chapter. The words “humilde”
and its derivatives are used 8 times and “pobre” and such, 7. These adjectives are applied
to both the Franciscans and the Indians, which establishes a special link between them in
the eyes of the reader, serving as a proof of a successful Christianization campaign by
these friars.
89
Of especial concern to him is also the greed that is constantly present in his
descriptions: “¡Oh, cuántos por esta negra codicia desordenada del oro de esta tierra están
quemándose en el infierno!” (“Oh, how many, how many, on account of this black
inordinate greed for the gold of this land are burning in hell!”; Motolinía, Historia 23;
Motolinía, History 101). Moreover, Motolinía denounces ruthlessly the abuses of the
Spaniards and even shows examples of divine retribution, as in the story of the Spaniard
who used to call Indians “perros” (“dogs”) and who was consequently torn to pieces by a
tiger (Motolinía, Historia 109).
90
See, for instance, Motolinía, Historia 1, 30, 52, 62, 110, 115, 117, 118, 162,
177 and 19, 118 respectively.
91
There are only few Arabisms used by the author. Among them are: atabal (19);
zaraguelles (65), and alpargatas (198).

175
 CHAPTER 3.

The Transition: Hispanic Orientalism before and after Latin American

Independence

§ 1. Introduction

At the beginning of the sixteenth century both the Latin American colonies and

the metropolis underwent significant sociopolitical changes. At the beginning of the

conquest of Latin America, Iberia, as well as the whole of Europe were under the

imminent Ottoman threat. At the same time, Spain, as Taboada points out, occupied

rather subordinate position among its peers because of its economic circumstances, lack

of significant technological and military advances, and even the number of inhabitants;

it is during the sixteenth century when the Iberian Peninsula took the first steps to

minimize the gap between and “sus contrincantes extraeuropeos, para superarlos en

varios terrenos en el XVII, competir ventajosamente en el XVIII y dominarlos en el

XIX” (“its non-European so that it surpassed them in several fields in the seventeenth

century, successfully competed with them in the eighteenth, and dominated them in the

nineteenth”; Taboada 28). Beginning with 1580,92 the fearful Ottoman menace that, in a

sense, provided a framework for the Christian crusade in the New World, was gradually

disappearing. Nevertheless, this did not mean that the Islamic threat was eliminated from

the popular mind. The latent wars with and within the Islamic world, and the piracy

from Moroccan and Algerian costs (Taboada 124-28, 171) maintained and nourished the

paradigm of relationship with this Other up to modern times.

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 The overseas colony was also experiencing some sociopolitical and economic

changes, which led to its independence from the metropolis, weakened by the

Napoleonic wars. Toward the beginning of the eighteenth century, the complex

socioeconomic and political relationships in Latin American colonial society were

already established. The originally flexible society gave way to an almost feudal

organization. The system of the encomienda, established in the early colonial period to

control and exploit the indigenous population, underwent a process of considerable

scrutiny on the part of the metropolis, especially after the denouncements by the

Dominicans, like Bartolomé de Las Casas, which led to its abolishment at the beginning

of the eighteenth century. Adopted in 1680, La Recopilación de Leyes de Indias,

established a rigid system of relationships between different racial groups, the

implementation of which, however, was not ideal. The changes in the system of taxation

affected first of all the indigenous population and caused numerous revolts in the second

half of the eighteenth century, like the one of Túpac Amaru II (1780-1783). The latter

had strong repercussions rippling across Peru and reaching territories from Tucumán in

modern Argentina to New Granada, proving that “Madrid could not fully control the

situation [in the colonies] at the same time as it weakened the structure in order to

implement the change” (MacLachlan 101).

However, the crisis of the encomienda along with the ongoing discussions about

the legitimacy of the Amerindian campaign and the rational capacity of the local

population, on one hand, and, on the other, the sixteenth-century treatises of Fray Matías

de Paz and Juan López de Palacio Rubios, stipulating that the king “could not seek to

extend his dominions or enrich himself” though a colonial occupation, “set a

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problematic precedent for formulating a coherent narrative of colonization . . . creating

an obstacle for the construction of a discourse of domination” (Roa-de-la-Carrera,

Infamy 189-191). Many, such as Gregorio López and John Major, theorized about the

legality of the Spanish enterprise, proclaiming the use of force as an exclusive measure

“if the heathen refuses to tolerate the peaceful preaching of the Gospel,” having in mind

mostly “the infidel of the later Middle Ages” (Parry 17). John Major’s, thesis, however,

are of great importance for the development of Orientalism in Latin America. His

second argument in justification of the conquest, not a theological but a secular one,

consisted in bringing civilization to the barbaric population of the New World. In this

sense, Major was, as Parry notes, “the first publicist to apply the Aristotelian theory of

natural servitude to the natives of the New World or to any entire race” (18). This is a

very important step forward that is retaken and revised in the late colonial and early

independence period, when the dialogue between civilization and barbarism gains a new

perspective, as in the works by Sarmiento.

The arduous and prolonged debate about the legitimacy of the conquest led to the

strengthening of the desire, on the part of the hegemonic society, to reassure itself and

the others about the imminent need for colonial intervention and the dominance of the

hegemonic class. And what better mechanism than reinterpretation of the Other could

come in hand for such a task? As a result, this tendency, latent in the early colonial

period gained more force towards the beginning of the nineteenth century, when the

rupture with the former colonizer produced a different type of Orientalism.

It is during this phase of the pre-independence period that the phenomenon of

criollismo became more and more powerful. Initially, it was not associated with

178
separatism, but rather aimed to defend the interests of the Indies and prevent their

discrimination by the metropolis (Tuñón de Lara 379-81, 385). However, at the

beginning of the nineteenth century when Napoleon’s invasion weakened Spain and

detracted its attention from the colonies, it was the criollo (Creole) movement and

thought that became the engine for emancipation. As Browne notes: “Monarchical – and

even supposedly liberal – Spain had become a millstone around the necks of criollos

(Creoles), who realized during the turn-of-the-century European wars that they did not

need Spain as an intermediary . . . they needed . . . to forge their new identities” (46). At

the beginning of the nineteenth century, the realization of this dissonance resulted in the

independence movement led by criollos who would assume the role previously played

by the Peninsular colonizers. Inspired by the example of the United States that gained

independence in 1776, the new leaders of the New World were ready to take the place of

the colonizer (Tuñón de Lara 388). This moment initiates a new period when the nature

of Hispanic Orientalism undergoes a major revision due to dramatic changes in the

social and political circumstances.

The original paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism, which had traveled an enormous

distance throughout space and time, continued to develop in the colonies. The early

colonial period is characterized by a growing tendency to implement a reinterpretive

approach to the Other for the purpose of its appropriation. Parallel to this process, was

the gradual substitution of Asia by America in the Orientalist dichotomy in the New

World. In the late Colony period, these changes resulted in social segregation, such as

the creation of the caste systems in Mexico and the further Orientalization of the Other

from a new perspective. Nevertheless, the dramatic change in power during the

179
independence movement that altered the axes of the colonizer and the colonized resulted

in the need to review the long-established approach to the Other. The hegemonic

powers, represented now by the criollo elite, had to define themselves in opposition to a

new entity. While in the early colonial period the crucial point for such differentiation

was the Amerindian Other; towards the 19th century the differentiation from Europe, the

old colonial alma mater, became indispensable for the creation of independent nations.

As Latin American nations moved towards their independence the need for self-

assurance and differentiation grew stronger. As a result, the transitional period of

Hispanic Orientalism is characterized by the gradual shift from an interpretative to a

differentiating Orientalist approach. It was no longer the colonizer Orientalising the

colonized, but rather the former colonies Orientalizing the self and the others to assert

their right for independency.

The close co-existence of the colonizer and the colonized in the New World

could not but lead to the deep mutual influence between the hegemonic self and the

Other. For instance, Browne notes that “art historians have documented the increased

Europeanization of the indigenous artwork” during the colonial period that manifested in

“hybrid of indigenous and European features” (160-61). This tendency continues into

the later centuries and can be seen in the paintings representing different castes in Latin

America, the so-called pinturas de castas, the caste paintings. The pre-established

images of the Other and the self, deeply rooted in popular imagery and the literature,

were the raison d’être of verses like the following that was circulating in New Spain by

1821:

180
 Desconfía de indio con barbas,

De gachupín lampiño,

De mujer que hable como hombre,

De hombre que hable como niño. (León 70)

Do not trust an Indian with a beard,

Or a beardless Spaniard, indeed,

A woman who speaks like a man,

And a man who speaks like a kid.

The first two verses are very indicative of the direction of Orientalization and

self-Orientalization in Latin America. Taboada notes in regards to the function of

appearances:93

Durante siglos, los varones de la Cristiandad latina se habían distinguido

de los muslimes o los judíos por su ausencia de barba. Al arribar al

Nuevo Mundo anotaron, acertadamente o no, que su modalidad lampiña

era compartida por los amerindios, cuya escasa pilosidad empezó a

convertirse en un rasgo básico de las descripciones. Que los europeos

comenzaran a portar barba a partir del siglo XVI es un hecho, y en alguna

medida, aunque con seguridad la causalidad no es tan directa, el cambio

nos señala que el Otro por excelencia, del cual había que distinguirse, no

era ya el judío/muslim, sino el amerindio. (232)

181
This reveals a new tendency that will be formulated during the later colonial period and

will be developed fully during the post-independence: the necessity of differentiation

from the Other, whatever form it takes.

Not surprisingly, while during the colonial period mimesis was the way of

“Othering” (Browne 158), with Independence, “en busca de raíces, se opuso la herencia

indígena a la hispánica” (“in the process of searching for their the roots, they opposed

the Indigenous heritage to the Spanish”; Portilla 16). This resulted in the reevaluation of

the process and the outcomes of the American conquest, which led to the reinterpretation

of history from the point of view of the Latin American self, such as, for example, the

negative associations of the figure of Hernán Cortés and La Malinche. The period

between 1763 and 1830 was marked by the accelerating disintegration of many of the

American colonies, which “constituted a water-shed between two epochs and changed

the character of European imperialism” (Fieldhouse 100). However, the time alignment

and the likeness of the independence movements across Latin America was striking:

“Although the early stages of the struggle for independence in Mexico are more

ambitious in that lower classes were involved, it is generally recognized that, early on,

the struggle for Mexican independence fell into the same pattern of a triumphing

politico-economic elite that is recognizable in other Latin American independence

movements” (Browne 46). It is of no surprise then that similar Orientalist tactics were

used across America.

This chapter analyses the manifestations of Hispanic Orientalism during the

transitional period, which spans over the later Colonial and early Independence periods.

In order to trace the gradual changes in the paradigm, we review its implementation in

182
the seventeenth century poetry and prose by Sor Juana Inés de La Cruz (1648-1695), in

the eighteenth century castas paintings, which strived to depict the rigid colonial

structure in pre-independence Latin America. Finally, we look into the Orientalism of

the early Independence period in Facundo: civilización y barbarie (1845) by Domingo

Faustino Sarmiento. The analysis of this broad scope of narrative and pictorial

representations of Orientalism allows us to clearly delineate the tendencies of the period,

which will define the late-Independence and modern Orientalism in Latin America.

§ 2. Orientalization through Self-Reinterpretation in the Late Colonial Period:

“Mundo iluminado” by Sor Juana Inés de La Cruz

During the time when the overseas colonies of the Spanish kingdom became

more and more autonomous from the metropolis and were gradually acquiring a proto-

state shape, a new question arouse, that of their right to exist and their place in the

glorious scripts of European-dominated history. While the Americas continued to be the

Other of Europe, the colonies strived to be included in the European tradition. Only such

acceptance would give the New World enough power and grounds to later differentiate

itself from the metropolis, launching the independence movement. As Latin American

nations moved towards their independence this need for self-assurance only grew

stronger. During the post-independence period, it manifested itself in further

differentiation not only from the metropolis, but also from the other Others, including

the Oriental Other.

183
 This intricate process of finding its place in European history and culture while

still preserving a certain degree the autonomy can be observed in the prose and poetry of

Sor Juana Inés de La Cruz (1648-1695). While her literary predecessors emphasized the

need to include the Amerindian Other into Colonial society by reinterpreting itself for

the purpose of its appropriation by the hegemonic group, Sor Juana’s approach is

different. She offers the reader an insider’s view, which makes her claims of the inherent

value of “nuestra Imperial Méjico” for European society more substantial (“Our Imperial

Mexico” (Neptuno alegórico); De la Cruz, Obra 792).

In a way, she launches a campaign to de-Orientalize the Colony, whose

Orientalized image was created and perpetuated in the chronicles and travelogues of the

discoverers and colonizers. In order to carry out her mission, Sor Juana engages in a

process of self-Orientalization, originated in the polyglot nature of Spanish society, and,

as a consequence, of Hispanic Orientalism, whose influence was analyzed by Julia

Kushigian, pointing to its impact on the later works of Latin American authors

(Orientalism 26; Sor Juana 168). Anna More, theorizing the concept of the Archivo

criollo (“Creole Archive”), makes a similar observation as regards the local documents

that were gathered and reinterpreted in order to “domesticate” the common past (73).

Sor Juana’s self-Orientalization partially follows this tendency. It is based on the desire

to insert America into European imagery and history. Both her poetry and prose abound

with biblical, Greek and Roman mythological and historic references. In one of her most

extensive works, Neptuno alegórico (1680), a symbolic welcoming of the twenty-eighth

Viceroy of New Spain, Tomás Antonio de la Cerda, Count De Paredes, Marquis De la

184
Laguna (Arenal 27), Sor Juana supplies the following arguments, tracing the evolution

from pagan traditions to Christianity:

Y esto hicieron no solo con las deidades, pero con todas las cosas

invisibles . . . y también con las de quienes era la copia difícil o no muy

agradable, como la de los elementos, entendiendo por Volcano el Fuego,

por Juno, el Aire, por Neptuno el Agua y por Vesta la Tierra . . .

. . . Decoro de mejores luces que aprobó el Real Profeta . . . Y de

nuestro Redentor dice el sagrado cronista San Mateo . . . (De la Cruz,

Obra 777-78)

And they did it not only with deities, but with all the invisible things

and also with those whose copies were difficult to produce or were not

pleasant, such as the elements, understanding the Fire as Vulcan, the Air

as Juno, the Water and Neptune, and the Earth as Vesta.

The decorum of the brightest lights endorsed by the Regal Prophet . . .

And the holy chronicler St. Mathew says about our Savior. . . 94

Among these deliberations, the image and the allusions to the Colony are

carefully and almost always tacitly inserted in the narration and the broader

philosophical and religious discussions. This makes Sor Juana’s claims more assertive,

as she establishes the parallelism between two historical processes. On the one hand, Sor

Juana portrays a positive development (guided by God’s word and knowledge) from the

original polytheistic worldview of the ancients to the monotheism of advanced society;

on the other hand, she portrays the Colony as a Utopian possibility for the metropolis.

185
This becomes the leitmotif of Sor Juana’s poetry and prose. As George Thomas states,

her works reveal her constant “consciousness of Mexico’s peripheral position in the

Spanish Empire and criollo . . . pride” (37).

The juxtaposition of the two worlds and, at the same time, the continuity

between the decline of the one and the rise of the other, as will be later theorized by

Oswald Spengler in The Decline of the West, are the basis for Sor Juana’s self-

Orientalization. For instance, in Primero sueño, published first in 1692, one of Sor

Juana’s most iconic poems, she not only lays the basis for the opposition between the

“nuestro Hemisferio” and the other one, but most importantly, she creates a

juxtaposition using the traditional Orientalist terms of “su Occidente” versus “nuestro

Oriente” or “Ocaso . . . fugitivo” versus “Mundo iluminado” (“our Hemisphere”; “their

Occident”; “our Orient”; “fugitive Sunset”; “enlightened World”; De la Cruz, Obra 200-

01). Especially the second pair of attributes is indicative of Sor Juana’s self-

Orientalization practices, as ocaso also symbolizes the decline while the light that is

brought to the New World represents its rebirth and is the sign of future prosperity.95 It

is only logical then that in the conclusion of the poem, where the reinterpreted and

inferior Oriental “rüina” (“ruins”; De la Cruz, Obra 201) is symbolically represented as

the place where the sun sets , and the new world is associated with the sunrise. Hence in

the poem, Orientalism not only reinterprets the Other but also there is a nascent intent to

differentiate from the Other, in its initial phase, the Oriental Other. Similar tendencies

can be observed in the other poetic and prose works by Sor Juana.

On the other hand, as it was noted earlier in the late Colony, in the process of

interaction with the Other, the Asian references and entities were gradually giving way

186
to the American. As Taboada states, “en la amplia literatura sobre los “orígenes

Americanos” que tanto preocuparon a la Colonia, los moros están casi del todo

ausentes” (“in the broad literature about ‘American origins’ that was so important for the

Colony, the Moors are almost completely absent”; 131). As such, in Sor Juana’s works

the Orient per se appears only in conjunction with Biblical references. However, as

Kushigian notes, her poetry “is purely mystical and greatly influenced also, either

directly by Arabic-Spanish mystics or indirectly by the writings of Raimundo Lulio,”

whose ambivalent interest in Muslim mysticism became a source of inspiration for later

authors (Orientalism 4). She further traces the roots of Sor Juana’s Orientalism to the

Medieval Peninsular tradition, comparing her to ulemas, the educated Muslim women in

Andalusia and judías cultas, whose intellectual impact on society was significant (Sor

Juana 176-77).

Octavio Paz in his study of Sor Juana’s life and legacy also traces several

Orientalist influences. He repeatedly argues for the association of Sor Juana’s symbolic

fertility with that of Isis, the Ancient Egyptian goddess of fertility, Paz declares that “la

madre Juana es Isis, señora de las letras, y también la pitonisa que predice en su cueva

(en su celda), encinta no de hijos sino de metáforas y tropos” (“Mother Juana is Isis, the

lady of letters; she is also the pythoness who foretells in her cave (her cell), pregnant not

with children but with metaphors and tropes”; Sor Juana 288). Paz also finds Oriental

influence is Sor Juana’s poetry of loving friendship. While in these poems Sor Juana

oscillates between the expressions of courtly love (amor cortés) by the bard to his dame

and the pledge of vassalage between the patron from his/her vassal, the very nature of

the amor cortés, according to Paz, was undoubtedly determined by “la influencia de la

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erótica árabe. A su vez, ésta recoge y elabora la interpretación del platonismo hecha por

los filósofos árabes helenizados y por los sufíes” (“the influence of Arabic eroticism,

which subsequently retakes and elaborates on the interpretation of Platonism by

Hellenized Arab philosophers and Sufis”; Sor Juana 264-65). As a result, Sor Juana’s

Orientalism is less direct than that of her predecessors. However, its metatextual

character reveals a deeper interpenetration of the Christian and Muslim cultures as a

result of their eight-century-long coexistence.

A close analysis of Sor Juana’s references reveals the continuity of the process of

reinterpretation of the traditional Orient and its historical role. However, the purpose of

such reinterpretation in Sor Juana’s works differs slightly from her predecessors’,

indicating a further development of Hispanic Orientalism. It is designed to complement

the process of self-Orientalization initiated by the inclusion of the Colony into the

European historic and cultural paradigm. The proper Orient that Sor Juana refers to in

her text arises from the biblical texts. Both in her poetry and prose, it is Egypt and its

history that are the center of attention. Her images of Egypt, especially the pyramids,

can be attributed to the influence of Plutarch and Piero Valeriano, whose works became

popular in the metropolis and also circulated in the colonies. However, as Rocío

Olivares Zorrilla notes, these are images of “un Egipto idealizado y fantástico,” in other

words, Orientalized (“an idealized and fantastic Egypt”; 185).

As such, in Primero sueño, the comparison between the “barbarous” Egypt and

the pious Christian world of her contemporaries is carried out on several levels (De la

Cruz, Obra 190). Like in the mechanism used in Neptuno alegórico, Primero sueño

demonstrates the positive impact of the development propitiated by Christian

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knowledge. Sor Juana, unlike the followers of Peninsular Orientalism, does not despise

the Other. On the contrary, she highlights its achievements and glory, knowing that the

higher it is in the eyes of the reader, the more dramatic will be its fall.96

The two worlds through have something in common,97 as “pirámides se juntan al

Orbe” (De la Cruz, Obra 190). This represents the nexus that allows for them to

communicate and for the new world to learn from its predecessor, much as the actual

New World for Sor Juana becomes a better more progressive place after absorbing the

Old World. But despite all the advances, the older civilization, as Egypt, “retrocedió

cobarde” when faced with Christian world supremacy (De la Cruz, Obra 192). This

parallelism based on both biblical tradition and Orientalist influence on Sor Juana reveal

that she is following the interpretative path of Orientalization that her predecessor had

successfully used to defend their theses and advance their thoughts.

Julia Kushigian indicated another interesting parallelism between Primero sueño

and the general orientalism tradition. She points out that the topic of the nocturnal

voyage, the circular nature and space of the poem and the limitless possibilities for

perfection and imagination can be compared to the nocturnal voyage of the imagination

in Thousand and One Nights (Sor Juana 180-81). This reinforces the thesis of Sor

Juana’s Orientalism as deeply rooted in the previous Hispanic tradition, significantly

marked by the East-West dichotomy.

Like her early colonial predecessors, Sor Juana does not avoid the topic of the

righteous power of the king that it linked closely to religion. Nor does she avoid the

religious references, as the contraposition between the two worlds is carried out not only

on the literal, but mostly on the symbolic level. The pyramidal form associated with

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Egypt, the symbol of its beliefs and self is opposed to the eternal circle, the symbol of

Christianity. For Sor Juana, the “Pirámides fueron materiales;” they have “céntrico

punto donde recta tira / la línea, si ya no circunferencia, / que contiene, infinita, toda

esencia” (“Pyramids were material”; “center point, through which passes the line that is

different from an infinite circumference that contains the essence of everything”; Obra

191). At the same time, its “bárbaros jeroglíficos de ciego” (“barbarous hieroglyphs of

the blind”; De la Cruz, Obra 190), a means to convey the invisible God, as Sor Juana

also suggests in Neptuno alegórico (Obra 777), lead to the collapse of not only Egyptian

society, but also its soul. Even the same word “alma” (“soul”) is used differently when

referring to the two worlds, with a capital letter in case of the new more advanced world

and written in lower case when referring to the old (De la Cruz, Obra 190-91).98

This picture of religious, cultural and historical decline is reinforced by the

examples of other cases of the Orient’s fall, such as the “blasfema altiva Torre”

(“arrogant blasphemous Tower”), an indirect reference to the Tower of Babel, of whose

futile existence “dolorosas son señales” (“the signs are so painful”; De la Cruz, Obra

191). These are opposed to the world, defined by Sor Juana as “maravilloso,” the world

that embraces Christianity and knowledge (De la Cruz, Obra 191). It is curious that this

is exactly the same word that the previous chroniclers and religious men used when

describing the New World and comparing it to the Old, hence, reinforcing the continuity

of Sor Juana’s Orientalism. The word “maravilloso” and its derivatives is a constant in

the semantic field that describes the New World (for example, in Primero sueño it is

used multiple times, see 191, 195, 199, etc.). In Neptuno alegórico it is not only the

repetition of the word that is symbolic, but also the conclusion of the poet:

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 Así, excelso Señor, claro Neptuno,

en el paterno amparo y oportuno

vuestro, la tantos años esperada

perfección deseada,

libra la soberana en cuanto brilla

Imperial Mejicana maravilla . . . (De la Cruz, Obra 810)

This brings the parallelism of the use of this word to a new level: its meaning has

changed from marvelous as unknown and unexpected, as in the early colonial writings,

to marvelous as prodigy, something in which to take pride. Hence, Sor Juana not only

successfully incorporates the New World through self-Orientalization into world history,

but also lays grounds for the future development for this self-sufficient and valid in itself

entity through the differentiation from the others and further elaborating on its

uniqueness. The omens of the future can be seen in Sor Juana’s description of her

contemporary Mexico, “pobre en sus acciones” but “de deseos rica” (“poor in her

actions”; “rich in her desires”; Obra 810). The poet culminates Neptuno alegórico

praising “vuestra grandeza” that cannot but evoke La grandeza Mexicana (1604), the

elaborate tribute to Mexican history and culture by Bernardo Balbuena (“your

grandeur”; Obra 810).

In Neptuno alegórico, the contraposition between Old and New Worlds reaches

its peak. The Orientalist mechanisms observed earlier are only reinforced by the direct

juxtaposition of the Orient and contemporary Christianity presented earlier in the text,

and the contraposition of the “Nuevo Mundo” and the metropolis:

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 Éste pues, que aunque de altivo

goza tantos atributos,

hasta estar a vuestras plantas

no mereció el grado sumo,

la Metrópoli Imperial

os consagra por preludio

de lo que en servicio vuestro

piensa obrar el amor suyo,

con su sagrado Pastor,

a cuyos silbos y a cuyo

cayado, humilde rebaño

obedece Nuevo Mundo . . . (De la Cruz, Obra 805)

Sor Juana’s claims sound almost revolutionary, premonitory of the independence

movement and showcasing the new phase of Hispanic Orientalism that strives to attest

to the originality of the New World in its differentiation from the other civilizations. At

the same time, in glorifying Mexico, Sor Juana shows respect to its deep connections to

the European self, thus, undergoing the process of self-Orientalization. In the poem

“Letra con que se coronó el festejo de esta asistencia” (“Bailes y tonos provinciales”),

she notes:

. . . naciendo en Europa,

pasó su luz matutina,

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 brillando Estrella en Italia,

a lucir Sol en las Indias. (Obra 89)

(“. . . being born in Europe, she passed her morning light as a bright Star in Italy and as

Sun in the Indies”). However, Sor Juana does not have illusions as to when the New

World will receive its recognition. As in the previous texts, she hopes that the Colony

will someday attest to its marvel, but now “ya que no pueden con voces, / con el silencio

lo explican” (“since they cannot do it aloud, they will explain it by silence”; Obra 89).

This oscillation between the desire to be recognized as equal to Europe and to

differentiate the Colony that prides itself in its uniqueness are characteristic of Sor

Juana’s Orientalism and is the precursor of post-colonial Hispanic Orientalism. Claudia

Parodi who analyses the antagonistic processes of Hispanization of the Americas and the

Indianization of the Colonial hegemonic society points out that Sor Juana often

Indianizes, in other words, reinterprets the classical history for the purpose of glorifying

the Colony (39). She singles out the epigram that uses the story of the Athena and

Neptune who competed for the honor to name the capital city: “Si tamen hic certas:

Neptunia Mexicus audit, / Neptuno, et Palmam nostra Lacuna refert” (“Yet, if you

compete here, listen the Neptunia Mexico, our Lagoon gives the Palm to Neptune”; De

la Cruz, Obra 799). This assertion, that if the battle took place in Mexico, Neptune

would be the winner, brings this city to the same level as Athens (Parodi 39-40). At the

same time, while Mexico is seen as equally important to Athens, it prides itself in its

difference.

The Orientalism of Sor Juana, caught between the reinterpretative self-

Orientalization and differentiation, such as is found in Primero sueño and Neptuno

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alegórico, can also be observed in the other poems. Although such instances are few,

some of them also cast light on the nature of her Orientalist approach. Many of them,

like the “Villancicos” of the “Primero nocturno” and “Segundo nocturno” (Santa

Catarina, 1691) recur to the image of Egypt and the Nile that is reinterpreted through the

Christian biblical tradition for the purpose of reflecting on the contemporary Christian

world. Sor Juana skillfully uses these images to review the pivotal topics of her poetic

career: the role of knowledge, the position of woman and the role of religion in

contemporary society. The reinterpretation of the Orient plays a crucial role in this

process.

Finally, there is a small number of poems where Sor Juana’s self-Orientalization

acquires a new dimension. While the previously analyzed works referred to the Colony

as a sole entity, these poems show the ethnographic interest of Sor Juana who introduces

to the reader the main groups (or later, castes) of colonial Mexico: Los Criollos, Los

Blancos, Los Negros, Los Indios, etc. Similarly to the religious men (see Chapter 2), Sor

Juana tries to recreate their image, mostly through their speech. It is curious that, unlike

her predecessors, she not only showcases the semantic differences, but also phonetic and

grammatical idiosincracies, something that became of interested to the friars only later

in the colonial period.

Sor Juana’s representation of the different layers of Mexican society seems to be

coming from the point of view of the insider, not as much from the outsider that tried to

mimic and blend into the society. Not only do her ceremonial verses usually adopt the

position of the insider rather than the perspective of the metropolis, as indicated by

George Thomas (38), but her other, less solemn works also follow this approach. That is

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why the Orientalization of the characters is carried out through their speech and is more

tacit, as it appears to come from themselves. Some of the poems not only include the

linguistic observations of Sor Juana, but also mimic the rhythms of Indigenous and

African Languages, forming the “rhythm of the oppressed” (Miles 16-17). This allows

the poet to address and represent a wider audience “with clear American character,

distinct from the Spanish European tradition” (M. González 145).

As such, in the “Villancico VIII. – Ensaladilla,” (San Pedro Nolasco, 1677) the

Negro complains:

La otra noche con mi conga

turo sin durmí pensaba,

que no quiele gente plieta,

como eya so gente branca. (De la Cruz, Obra 223)

(“The other night with my conga I couldn’t sleep and I was thinking hard that the Black

people do not like the White people”). This passage not only highlight the phonotypical

differentiations between the hegemonic and the subaltern groups, but also reveals the

internal conflict voiced by the group that, as it was pointed out earlier, was condemned

to silence (De la Cruz, Obra 89). The words of the Negro are preceded by a chorus

“escrava no quede” (“don’t become a slave”) that are indicative of the social position of

the signer (De la Cruz, Obra 223). This desire to give voice to the silenced echoes the

intents of the religious predecessors of Sor Juana, like Fray Bernardino de Sahagún, who

tried to approach the Other from positions different from the ones of the Hegemonic

elite.

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 Even more indicative of the latter is the representation of the Indio, who

alternates the aboriginal language with Spanish, as well as his local traditions with

Christian ones, as he says:

Sólo Dios Piltzintli

del Cielo bajó,

y nuestro tlatlácol

nos perdonó. (De la Cruz, Obra 224)

(“Only our God Piltzintli came down from the Heaven and our tlatlácol gave us

pardon”). However, and it is significant in the light of the previous Orientalist tradition,

that the Indio also draws the following comparison:

“Téhuatl so persona

dis que se quedó

con los perro Moro

impan ce occasion. (De la Cruz, Obra 224)

(“Téhuatl is the person who, they say, remained with the doggish Moors on impan ce

occasion”). This reference that uses the typical negative adjective, applied to the Moors

during the late Reconquest and the vestiges of which can be seen in the chronicles of the

conquest and discovery, like the dog-headed people in Columbus’s Diary, along with the

images like the one of the Synagogue in El divino narciso, reveal the close connections

of the Hispanic and Peninsular Orientalist tradition in the seventeenth century. And once

again, as in the previously analyzed works, the Orientalization of the Other and the self

served the purpose of self-definition for the greater purpose of differentiating, as Sor

Juana states in “Loa para el auto sacramental de ‘El divino narciso’” “Dos Mundos,” so

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that one day the Colony can overthrow “los Reales Pies / . . . cuyas soberanas plantas /

besan humildes las Indias” (“two worlds”; “the royal feet . . . whose sovereign feet / the

Indies humbly kiss”; De la Cruz, Obra 390; De la Cruz, Selected 87).

Another significant poem, “Villancico VIII. – Ensaladilla,” (Asunción, 1681) can

be seen as a precursor of what will be known in Mexico as castas paintings and portrays

the social segregation as a result of deeply rooted Orientalist practices that reinterpret the

subaltern societal groups by ascribing them certain pejorative characteristics. In the

poem, Sor Juana singles out several of such groups: Los Negros, Los Mestizos,

Los Galleguiños, and Las Mulatas. It is indicative that the White people, Los Blancos,

are never mentioned in the poem; however, the other groups are inadvertently compared

to them and judged by their principles. The principle of blood purity is manifested in the

following words: “ha de ser todo blanco / y nada negro” (“everything has to be white,

and nothing should be black”; De la Cruz, Obra 348).

The members of different castes are represented not only with their typical

attributes, but are surrounded by the stereotypes that were the results of the previous

Orientalization. As such, Los Negros are signing, Los Mestizos are portrayed as mentally

inferior, as they “no entienden / tanto Misterio” (“Do not understand the Mysteries [of

God]”; De la Cruz, Obra 348). It is curious the case of Las Mulatas (and the gender here

is also indicative), as their Orientalization seems to go back to the original Peninsular

Orientalism. There are even described as Orientals, similar to the descriptions of the

Indigenous population found in the first chronicles of discovery. They have “rostro

alazán/ algo tostado” and “de color de la pasa / traen tocado,” the colors and the use of

Arabisms (alazán) creating the appropriate Oriental entourage (“their face the color of

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cinnamon slightly burnt”; “they wear a headscarf of the color of raisins”; De la Cruz,

Obra 348-49). However, despite the apparent step back to the Peninsular Orientalism,

Sor Juana, as we saw earlier, seems to distance herself from the judgmental approach of

her predecessors and to portray the castes more as an observer than a part of the

hegemonic class.

In conclusion, the seventeenth-century works of Sor Juana reveal two growing

tendencies in Hispanic Orientalism. She continues the tradition of the reinterpretative

Orientalism. Like her predecessors, she shows ethnographic interest in the Amerindian

Other. However, unlike those before her, she portrays them from the point of view of the

insider. The Oriental Other serves Sor Juana as a tool to assert the predominance of the

Catholic Church and European tradition, much like her predecessors. She reinterprets

the Oriental Other in order to prove the superiority of the current civilization over the

ancient, and with it, to showcase the importance of the Colony for world history,

balancing between its uniqueness and its relevance to world history.

On the other hand, the Colony in Sor Juana’s narrative undergoes a process of

self-Orientalization in order to occupy an equally important place in a predominantly

European history and imagery. This moment is crucial for late colonial Orientalism, as it

consequently allows for a process of differentiation --first from the Oriental Other, then

from Europe, and later, from others-- which results in the independence of the Americas.

Being a self-sufficient and equally important entity are the most important conditions

that would allow for this to happen, since the role of a subdued Other would not prove

the legitimacy of striving for independence. Paraphrasing the words of Stephanie

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Merrim, Sor Juana orientalista “pieced together her own world” (231), whose fragile

equilibrium she tried to preserve in her works.

§ 3. Orientalization through Segregation in the Castas Paintings

of the Eighteenth Century

The racial diversity in the New World, enhanced by the interracial relationship

posed a destabilizing threat to the social structure of the colony. Despite the wide variety

of the racial mixtures in the Colony, towards the beginning of the nineteenth century, the

demographic map of the Hispano-American population was approximately, the

following: 40% - black, Mestizo, Mulatto and other mixed groups, 40% - indigenous

population, and 20% - white (Tuñón de Lara 375-76). These three groups existed in the

New World in constant opposition to each other, which led to their segregation on all

levels, civil and religious. 99 As Nicolás León describes it, “de las tres razas, una

mandaba, la otra obedecía, y la tercera estaba en una servidumbre de derecho” (“among

the three races, one dominated, the other one obeyed, and the third one was a part of

lawful slavery”; 7). The dominance of the “blanco” (“White”) led to the gradual

Orientalization of the other two, the “indio” and the “negro” (“Indian” and “Black”), as

seen in the previous chapter.

However, in the late colonial period the hegemonic group, in the absence of an

immediate local threat, becomes more and more heterogeneous.100 The concept of purity

of blood, inherited by the colonizers from the period of the Reconquest, continues

playing an important role in the late colonial period. While the opposition “gente

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blanca” / “gente de color” and “gente con razón” (Whites and Mestizo) / “gente sin

razón” is crucial for the social hierarchy, there is a segregation tendency among the very

colonizers (“white people – colored people”; “rational people- irrational people”; León

8, 27). And, curiously, it is based on the degree of interference of the both Amerindian

Other and Reconquest Other (Moors and Jews). On one hand, “los blancos . . . eran

todos limpios; la mancha que en su sangre pudiera encontrarse para la sociedad, solo

podia provenir de los delitos que traía consigo la infamia, de tener mezcla de moro o de

judío, de haber sido penitenciado por la inquisición” (“The Whites were all pure; the

only defect that they could possess in the eyes of the society was the result of the

disgrace: having Moorish or Jewish blood or having been sentenced by the Inquisition”;

León 8). The distinction between the inhabitants of the colonies was based on the

principle of raza, coined during the period of the Reconquest. The notion of raza, as

Magali Carrera notes, “connoted generational associations with Jews and Moors and was

used in Spain as a means to legitimize the discrimination and persecution of the non-

Christians and their descendants (10). As a result, the basic principle of the relationship

between the layers of the society or castes was imported from the metropolis with all its

Orientalist attributes.

On the other hand, and it is crucial for the nature of the relationship with the self

and the Other in the Americas, not all the members of the “white” group in the Colony

were pure descendants of the Europeans. Some of them had indigenous blood. Even

though this presence could be minimal, it automatically displaces such individuals from

the hegemonic position in society. Similar attitudes towards one’s own heritage led to

the idea of blanquemiento or mejoración de la raza (“whitening” or “race

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improvement”), which imposed on the Other the desire to be associated with the

colonizer by his appearance, language, and social status. In this case, the Other would

not only accept his lower position, compared to the European, but also Orientalize

himself and try to mimic the colonizer in order to solve this self-imposed dilemma.

Finally, there was a rivalry between the newly arrived Spaniards,

contemptuously called gachipunes (cachupines), and the lineages of the original

conquistadors and explorers of the New World. The differentiation between these two

groups was not as radical as in the cases of others, so anything would serve to point out

their lack of relevance for the top social class, like in this popular lyrics widely spread in

New Spain:

Gachu en arábigo hablar

Es en castellano Mula

Y Pin en guineo articula

Acá en nuestro idioma dar;

De donde vengo a sacar

Que el nombre de Gachupín

Es un Muladar en fin

Donde el Criollo siendo Culo

Podrá con gran disimulo

Cagar en cosa tan ruín. (sic). León 18

What Gachu is in Arabic

Is Mula in Castile

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 And what Pin is in Manila

Dar in our language is,

So, the conclusion is deep:

That Gachupín is a Dung Heap;

While the Criollo is a Behind,

So one wouldn’t really mind

To shit on such thing without guilt.

As it can be seen, the criollos, Spaniards born in the colony, had a similar fate.101

León in his analysis of the caste system in colonial Mexico suggests that this

denomination is an “americanismo,” but at the same time he indicates a more Orientalist

explanation, which would point to the not-so-pure origin of this group. According to

Mexicanismos by Fray Pedro Simón, “criollo es vocablo de negros, y quiere decir

persona nacida en la tierra, y no venida de otra parte” (“Criollo is a Negro word that

mean a person born in the land and not coming from somewhere else”; qtd. in León 19).

The relationships between different categories of whites in the colony were conflictive,

eventually igniting the independentista movement.

This differentiation in hegemonic society is indicative of the vectors of

Orientalization in the transitional period of the formation of the Hispanic Orientalist

paradigm that took place in the late colony and during the early independence. As Latin

American nations were moving towards their independence, there was a strong need for

differentiation. In the early colonial period, the crucial point for this differentiation was

the Amerindian Other. However, towards the 19th century, the differentiation from

Europe, the old colonizer, became indispensable for the creation of independent nations.

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Yet, the prolonged contact between colonizer and colonized could not but influence the

perception of hegemonic society, following Browne’s thesis that “through mimesis,

human beings make the Other . . . their own” (166).

The attempts to create “an impression of the society that is orderly, stable, and

clearly defined” led to the appearance of the so-called cuadros de castas or castas

paintings. According to the Franciscan friar Juan de Torquemada, they represented

“variedad de colores” (“variety of colors”) in the colony; through, their apparent order

and tranquility are a “carefully arranged illusion” (Guzauskyte 176). Curiously, these

paintings originally were not meant to place emphasis on cultural diversity, but rather to

glorify the colonial pride of the criollos. As the metropolis was distancing itself from the

colonies, the criollo elite became increasingly interested in their immediate

surroundings. This, combined with the not-so-friendly relationship with the Spaniards,

led to a strong link, as Katzew argues, between castas paintings and criollismo to the

point that the latter was fundamental for their appearance (1-2).

Taboada reveals a remarkable assimilation by the criollo chroniclers of the

Andalusian world that led to “la reaparición americana de una toponimia

reconquistadora o pasajes donde los españoles se comparan a sí mismos con los héroes

de la Reconquista” (“resurfacing in America of the Reconquest toponymy, where the

Spaniards compare themselves to the heroes of the Reconquest”; 192). In the chronicles,

this mechanism served to differentiate between hegemonic society and the settlers,

elevating the roles of the former and reinterpreting the image of the latter. The castas

paintings used a similar mechanism to implement the mechanism of racial and social

differentiation by the way the castes were portrayed. Their violent or non-violent

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behavior, exotic environment, typical occupation – all of this, reflected in the paintings,

served as an anthropological landscape, the tacit reference which was Spain and the

white Spaniard. The popularity of such images arose as a result of the centuries-long

Orientalization of the Amerindian and African Other in the New World, rooted in the

mentality of the early colonial period in Latin America.

In order to understand the social and racial complexity of the New World, as

well as the fertile grounds where Hispanic Orientalism set roots, it is important to

determine the function that castas paintings had in the life of the colony. There is an

argument about the functionality of the paintings that is closely related to their

Orientalism. Anthropologists like Francisco de las Barras de Aragón (1929) argue for

the presence of a great degree of realism in the castas paintings due to the scientific

curiosity typical of the Enlightenment. On the other hand, a more contemporary theory

by Concepción García Sáiz argues for a certain level of exoticism. Finally, the most

recent studies of Ilona Katzew and Estrada de Guerlero emphasize “the degree of artifice

present in the genre” (Katzew 6-9). In this light, if the reality portrayed in the castas

paintings was deliberately manipulated, they represent a perfect example of Orientalist

approach, much like the chronicles of the conquest. The reinterpreted reality here,

however, served not only for the purpose of appropriation. Given that criollismo served

to promote this genre, it was also intended for differentiation purposes. Yet, it is

important to note that this pursuit of differentiation was still in its initial stages.

Ultimately, as an Orientalized portrayal of colonial reality, castas paintings

served as a reflection of the desire of hegemonic society – itself heterogeneous – to

stabilize colonial society by ascribing each group a role and, along with it, a certain

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Orientalized image designed to make the new castes fit into the prevailing social

hierarchy. This pictorial genre voiced the prejudice the dominant class had towards the

Other(s). In this sense, it is consistent with the depiction of violence in castas painting.

Evelina Guzauskyte points out twenty four paintings, which reveal that, in the eyes of

hegemonic society, mixing with the Other, especially with those of African descent,

only meant el empeoramiento de la raza (“worsening of the race”). Among these, “three

paintings portray unions between individuals having some proportion of Spanish and

Indian blood, and only two depict Black African and Indian relationships, while nine

paintings show Black African and Spanish unions. The latter focuses, however, on

gender, not on racial differences” (179). This is significant, as it proves that the process

of racial mixing not only negatively affected the population, but even violated the

traditional role of women, who become disobedient and even violent. It reflected the

concern of the contemporaries about the wide-spread moral decay in the colony

(Lehman 125), something that can be seen already in the later chronicles of the

conquest. All in all, as Pierce notes, “casta sets advertised the natural abundance, in both

products and people, of the American territories and exhibited a new sense of

chauvinism and pride about the wealth of the Americas” (53). However, such images

“inevitably apprehended European cultural features according to the internally

determined parameters of their own dispositions” (Browne 167).

The castas painting represent the gradual development of the process of

mestizaje (“racial mixtures”) in the Americas, which led to the imminent desire on the

part of the local upper class to redraw and reestablish their hegemony in the Colony.

According to Nicolás León, there were fifty five different groups that represented

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various degrees of racial mixture (some castes out of the fifty five can be seen as

synonymic denominations of the same caste) (21-27).102 Bonnie Gasior notes a curious

and significant fact about these groups:103 thirty of them referred to the mixtures with

Africans (1:245). It is interesting to note the obsession of the colonizer for depicting all

the minutest racial differences that eventually define social and cultural barriers. Such

groups depicted all the possible racial mixtures in several generations, which could point

to a strong need on the part of the ruling class to establish a new type of hierarchy in the

Colony.

Most of such groups had pejorative names, which indicated their lower, subdued

position, compared to the dominant white race and even other “pure” races: for example,

Saltarás for a darker offspring (“Jump back”), No te entiendo (“I-don’t-understand-

you”) or Mulato (“Mulatto” derived from “mule”). In this sense, the castas paintings

represent an popular source of information about racial mixtures in the Colony, and at

the same time, an illustration of the mechanisms of migration of the original paradigm of

Hispanic Orientalism to the New World. It is frequently argued that these derogatory

names were often “fanciful inventions created by a few intellectuals and the artists of

casta paintings” (Katzew 44). While this can be indicative of the fact that these names

were not as common among the non-elite population. It shows that the vector of

Orientalization proceeded, as usual, from hegemonic society, which created an

Orientalized image of the subedits that the latter did not necessarily shared.

The castas paintings originated in colonial Mexico and became very popular

toward the end of the eighteenth century.104 This type of art was especially popular in

the Viceroyalty of New Spain; however, similar paintings were produced as well in the

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Southern Cone (modern Peru, Ecuador, and Bolivia) (Guzauskyte 177). Often, the series

were ordered by the metropolis, and were perceived as a type of souvenir, which

resulted in creating of a large number of such paintings. This suggests that castas

paintings were successfully used in the New World as a vehicle to promote social and

racial differences among different groups that formed during the conquest and

exploration of the Americas.

The castas paintings, as most early colonial art, was an heir to European artistic

traditions and trends, while at the same time developing its own distinguishable and

unique style. Asian influence, as a result of the ongoing trade via the Manila galleons,

was prominent in eighteenth-century Mexico, where a burgeoning nationalistic

sentiment resulted, among other things, in this type of human cataloguing (Pierce 48, 56-

57). This aspect of the paintings is significant in the light of the Orientalizing nature of

this type of art.

A very important aspect of castes, represented in the castas paintings, is the

notion of “calidad” (quality) as a means for mimicry, ambiguity, and hybridity, as

suggested by Magali Carrera (6-15).105 It was widely believed that the mixture of races

resulted in quality degradation (with few exceptions, such as the offspring of Spaniard

and Castiza, who would be considered a Spaniard). In this sense, the product of racial

mixtures in the New World can be compared to the offsprings of Jews, Christians, and

Arabs in the fifteenth-century Spain, whom premier grammarian Antonio Nebrija

considered of “sangre corrompida” (“corrupted blood”) (qtd. in Guzauskyte 181). This

parallel is especially important in the transition of Hispanic Orientalism, as it

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contributed to a similar perception of the Other in the Americas and its association with

the Other in Medieval and Renaissance Iberia.

Since, the castas paintings represent an attempt to categorize the diverse racial

mixtures originated from the three dominant races in the New World: Europeans

(Peninsular Spaniards), Indians (Native Americans) and Blacks (Africans), they are

often painted in series of twelve or fourteen and depict a mother, a father, and their

child; as well as show the daily life in the colony, representing the clothing, typical for

the caste, fauna and flora, etc. (Sullivan 86). Over a hundred castas paintings sets are

known to exist and more continue to surface (Deans-Smith 169). Castas paintings, in a

way, are similar to Spanish “cuadros de costumbres” or depiction of manners (a part of

the costumbrismo movement) and can serve as an encyclopedia of the everyday life of

the period. The decline of the castas paintings is often associated with the independence

movement in Mexico and the search for national identity (Carrera 136-37). As a matter

of fact, the nineteenth-century political changes in Mexico resulted in the prohibition of

castas paintings in September 1822 and the declaration of the equality of the citizens

before the law, stated in the Constitution of 1824 (Ladd 122). These reforms aimed to

establish a new national identity, dramatically different from the colonial subject.

The depiction of the all possible outcomes of miscegenation in the colony, as

Wendy Phillips points out, is to “acknowledge and document the presence of Africans

and of Europeans and indigenous groups as the roots of . . . mestizaje, or cultural

blending” (775). While the white population was atop, the indigenous people and the

people of African descent 106 were not treated equally. Indians were associated with

unskilled labor and agriculture, while Africans were perceived as a rather homogenous

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sector of society that did not have any rights. The alliance of Indians and Africans and

their potential revolt was feared by the ruling class, which was amply outnumbered

(Katzew 39-41).

Of especial interest for the study of Orientalism is a group that gained significant

presence by the seventeenth century and was mentioned in many official writings well

into the eighteenth century. These are the ladinos, the westernized, mostly mestizo,

locals who broke with their customary ways of life and adopted Spanish manners

(Katzew 41). While there is no documented presence or influence of the Jewish

community on Latin American ladinos, it is remarkable that this term, denominating the

Hebraic-Spanish language of the Sephardic community (which in itself is a corrupted

version latino), was used to denominate the cultural converts of the Americas.

The castas paintings portray a colonial diversity that goes beyond the three main

races. Several of these groups exemplify the Orientalist tendencies regnant in the New

World during its transition from the colony to the independence. These are the groups,

whose treatment by the hegemonic society denotes an Orientalist-like approach to the

representatives of the caste. In the chronicles of the previous centuries, as it was seen

previously, the prominent and active Oriental reference was gradually disappearing.

However, it is important to note, as Taboada points out, that while the direct

identification with the Orient disappeared rather fast, the process of association of

Amerindians and Muslims did not have the same fate because of certain more or less

unconscious attributes ascribed to either of these Others (Taboada 221-22). There is

much evidence of this in the folkloric and linguistic heritage: expressions like moros en

la costa (Moors on the shore), games like juegos de moros y cristianos in Spain and

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gioste del Sarracino in Italy (Majid x, 162-66), words used to denominate maíz (“corn”):

“minho marroco,” “millo mouro,” “grano de Turquía,” “blé sarrazin,” “arabósitos,” or

“frumento turchesco” (Taboada 222). The relative abundance of Orient-related caste

names in the colony is another example of the persistence of Reconquest-type imagery

in Latin America, as the mindset of the participants continued well after 1492 both in the

Peninsula and in the colonies.

In this light, of special interest for this study are the castes of Albarazados (or, in

other transcriptions, Albarasado, Alvarasado or even Albarrasado), Barzinos (or

Barcino, Barnocino or Varsino), Chinos (“Chinese”), Moriscos (“Moresque”), and

Genízaros (“Janissaries”) and other groups that derive from them. These groups are

referred to as mano prieta (dark hand), which distinguishes them from the whites and

Indians107 (Katzew 42). Their image, the denomination of the caste, and the peculiar

characteristics related to their appearance shed light on the development of Hispanic

Orientalism in the late colonial period.

The above mentioned castes can be divided into two groups based on their name.

The first group contains the Albarazado and the Barcino, whose names may have

derived from Arabisms in Spanish. However, according to the Dictionary of the Royal

Academy of the Spanish Language, only the name of the first group is indeed rooted in

the Arabic word albaráṣ, meaning a very white, very pale skin, which can be used

derogatively (RAE). This caste that represented the seventh generation of Spanish-

African descent did not constitute one of the basic categories. However, by the end of

the eighteenth century it became much more popular among the castes painters (Carrera

53). Barcino, defined as “dicho de ciertos animales, especialmente de perros, toros y

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vacas: de pelo blanco y pardo, y a veces rojizo,” is of unclear origin (“said about certain

animals, especially dogs, bulls and cows: of white, brown and sometimes reddish color”;

RAE). León, citing Diccionario de la Lengua Castellana, traces the root of the word to

Arabic baraxa, a spot on horse’s skin (21).

However, what is important in the case of these two groups is the fact that

hegemonic society chose these names that can potentially be traced to the language of

the traditional Other and kept the derogatory meaning that was typical for the

denominations of the other castes. This tactic, the expansive use of Arabisms to describe

the reality of the New World and convey the perception of the new phenomena, was

typical for the early colonial period, where the Amerindian Other was reinvented, and

indeed reinterpreted, in order to be included in the social hierarchy. The Albarazado and

the Barcino share a similar fate, which can be explained by the strong presence of Indian

blood in these castes. As a matter of fact, the Indian blood is dominant in both groups.108

Their representation was rather popular in the castas painting series, which allowed for

the persistency of their Orientalization in Mexican Yucatec folklore.109

However, a greater interest accompanies the second group of castes, represented

by the Chinos, the Moriscos, and the Genízaros (Chinese, Moors, and Janissaries,).

Despite the apparent referral to people of Chinese and Moorish origin or the military

men serving the Ottomans, these names refer to the local hybrid castes and lack any

direct connection to Oriental cultures. These groups become indicative of the vector of

Orientalization that is being established in the late colonial period. All of them share a

common denominator: they are not directly associated with the non-American Other,

which means that their image is rather the result of reinterpretation based on the vague,

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mostly phenotypical similarities between the groups; rather than of reinvention, which

was typical for the early colonial period, when the general lack of information

contributed to the wide use of imagination by the first conquistadors and explorers.

Evidence for this hypothesis is the use of the images of the three castes by the

artists. They differ in frequency of occurrence in the castas paitings and, therefore, in

general popularity among the painters. Since the basis for their Orientalization was

reinterpretation, hence, this preference would depend on the public’s familiarity with the

subject of comparison. And indeed, a significant difference can be observed here:110 the

representations of some of the castes are not as popular as the others. In order to

establish the reason for this and reveal the nature of Orientalization in its transition from

the colonial to an independentista paradigm, it is crucial to look into the components of

the racial mixtures denominated as the Chinos, the Moriscos, and the Genízaros, and

their links to the original Others they seem to evoke.

Based on the catalogues analyzed, as well as the castas painting series, exhibited

nowadays both in Mexico, Spain, and the Unites States, it was established that the most

popular group among the three Orientalist castes was the Moriscos. According to Ilona

Katzew, the caste name morisco appeared in the seventeenth century, along with castizo

(44). They were also the group that was easiest to identify racially.111 In most of the

castas paintings, the Morisco’s ancestors are always the same: a Spaniard and a Mulatta

(Mulatto being a mixture between Spaniard and African).112 Hence, the similarities in

phenotype of the Peninsular Moriscos and the new hybrid caste in Latin America

allowed the colonizer to export the name and the connotations associated with it to the

new territories. This original perception that the American continent was a part of Great

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Asia and the presence of Arabs and even Chinese was to be expected (it is not accidental

that Columbus brought an Arabic interpreter with him), played a crucial role in the

initial denomination, when the Orientalization process of appropriation of the

Amerindian Other went through the path of reinvention. However, as the years went by,

this denomination persisted, not as a direct association but as a comparison to the

original Moriscos.

While the representations of the Moricos can be found in most of the castas

paintings series, it is unusual that, unlike the others, in the painting Las castas from the

Museo del Virreinato, Tepotzotlán, part 4 represents a slightly different variation, which

sheds light on the roots of Latin American Orientalism. Its title, “Español con Mora

Mulato,” at first, introduces the spectator to another type of racial mixture present in the

Colony. However, the deeper meaning of this inscription, the quintessence of Peninsular

Orientalism transported to Latin America during the early colonial period, can be seen

only in comparison with the other similar castas paintings. As such, painting # 4 of the

castas paintings series of Miguel Cabrera (1763), Andrés de Islas (1774), and Francisco

Clapera113 (1775)114 refers to Mulatto as a child of Spaniard and African. This reinforces

the hypothesis that the transatlantic migration of the Peninsular Orientalist paradigm was

natural. In the New World the colonizer found himself surrounded by, in his opinion, the

same or similar ethnic groups that he had Orientalized previously in order to understand

and fit them in the paradigm115 he was accustomed to.

Another group affected by transatlantic Orientalism are the Chinos. Unlike the

Moriscos, this group does not represent a homogeneous entity and is described

differently in the castas paintings. 116 The Chinos constitute a very varied group, as it

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often refers to the offsprings of different castes of mixed blood. Also, unlike in the case

of the Moriscos and the Genízaros, there are several variations of this caste, such as for

example Chino Cambujo and Cuarterón de Chino. If one takes into consideration the

representations of the Chinos in the castes paintings, it is difficult to establish a clear

general racial pattern: in some of them African or Indian blood predominated (Clapera,

Cabrera); in others, it was Spanish blood (see the painting from Museo de Virreinato

unlike in the pattern suggested by León, in others, Indian (Islas). However, this racial

mixture with the (strong) presence of Latin American Indio and African Black is the

feature that they have in common.

Hence, the Orientalization path of these groups, rooted in physical appearance, is

similar to that of the Moriscos. The name of the caste – the Chinos – is also indicative of

the Orientalization path that was typical of the Colony, itself deeply rooted in the

syncretism of the actual Orient and the supposed Orient (the Americas) imposed by the

colonizer upon the colonized and persisting in popular memory even after America was

proven to be a different continent. As such, the word Chino (Chinese in Spanish),

referred not only to the phenotype of the person, but also indicated his/her occupation, as

it became associated with the Quechua word china, a “servant girl of Indian or Mestizo

blood” (García Sáiz 26). It can also arise from the commonplace denomination of the

inhabitants of the Philippines as chinos (León 69). This process of merging the

Orientalized subjects will be rather common in the early colonial period.117 The fact that

such denominations persisted shows the impact that traditional Peninsular Orientalism

had on the Americas. However, this original Amerindian orientalism is gradually losing

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its fairytale-like nature, turning into reinterpretation, as demonstrated by the numerous

attempts of looking for the local origins of the Chinos.

The origin of the third group, the Genízaros, in contrast with Moriscos and even

Chinos, is rather obscure. Unlike others, the Genízaros are not regularly depicted in the

castas paintings. In the collections mentioned by León, there is only one depiction of the

Genízaro, and in the other works analyzed, they are mentioned only by Francisco

Clapera in # 15 (De Genizaro, y Mulata Gibaro) and # 14 (De China, e Indio,

Genizaro), both of 1775, and by Ignacio María Barreda y Ordóñez in # 13 (De chino y

genízara, albarazado, 1777), hence, leaving their social status and relations to the other

groups unclear.118

The name of the groups, which derives from the Turkish word yeni-çeri (“new,

inexperienced military force, new troops”), refers to another commonly-encountered

Other of Europe, the Ottoman Empire, hence linking this group directly to the Orient

(Armstrong 130). Europe at the time was very familiar with Janissaries, who emerged as

a group in the fourteenth century and since then actively participated in the Ottoman

military campaigns. These elite soldiers were selected from the population of the

conquered lands, following the law of draft, devshirme, also known in Europe as “Law

of Tribute Children” (Kinross 147). The Janissaries were Christian-born119 and unlike

general non-Muslim subjects, such as Greeks or Slavs, were forced to convert to Islam

(Kinross 58-59). This hybrid nature of the Oriental subject, converted into the Other and

then reshaped to fit dominant society by the Orient itself, approximates the situation of

the Genízaro group in the Americas. Drawing a conclusion from the paintings

representing the Genízaro groups, these were the product of mixture of European,

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African, and Indian bloods, with a predominance of the latter. Nevertheless, the fact that

such name, referring to Turkish warriors, was used to denominate a caste in the Colony

reaffirms the hypothesis about the development of the original paradigm of Hispanic

Orientalism in the Colony towards a more interpretative approach.

In conclusion, the castas paintings reflect the results of the social processes that

originated in the early colonial period. Their creation was the culmination of the attempt

by hegemonic society to bring stability to the multiracial world created in the Colony.

However, as a result, this society “marchó de la hibridez al casticismo, en una evolución

empobrecedora que le hizo perseguir toda huella que pudiera recordar la diferencia

religiosa” (“in the process of an impoverishing revolution, it went from hybridity to

caste system, making sure that even the smallest trace of religious difference would

disappear”; Taboada 239-40).

Several of the castes reveal in their names and racial structure the path that

Peninsular Orientalism took in America. While the initial selection of the name could be

related to the Orientalist-like reinvention of the Other, the later pictorial endeavors

aimed to clarify the origins of the castes like Chinos or Genízaros demonstrate that late

colonial Orientalism was switching from a process of reinvention to one of

reinterpretation of the Other. This indicated that the Europe/Asia dichotomy is gradually

shifting towards America/Europe, which becomes characteristic of the transitional phase

of Hispanic Orientalism.

The castas paintings, charged with hegemonic colonialism, became the

predecessors of a series of postcards representing the American aboriginal population,

which circulated well into the twentieth century. Despite the prohibition of pejorative

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castas representations, their orientalist legacy continued in Latin America. In his

analysis of the postcards that were part of an exhibit by Guillermo Gómez-Peña and

Coco Fusco, dedicated to the five hundredth anniversary of the discovery of America,

Jorge Barrueto notes that similarly to castas paintings even nowadays, “esta

representación étnica visual, presente en la tarjeta postal, refleja las ideas e intereses de

las élites locales que dominan la nación, en donde los indios son sujetos sualternos en el

escenario político nacional” (“this ethnic representation in the postcards reflects the

ideas and interests of the local elites who dominate the nation where the Indians are

subaltern subjects in the national political arena”; 47). Therefore, it is clear that the

legacy of eighteenth-century Orientalist representations found its repercussion in the

minds of the hegemonic social group that continues to use it for its political purposes.

§ 4. Differentiation through Reinterpretation: The Gaucho

and the Oriental in Sarmiento’s Narrative

Historically and politically, the late Colonial period in Latin America was a

tumultuous and unstable period, when the constant power struggle was gradually

reshaping the distribution of influence and powers in Colonial society. As seen

previously, Hispanic Orientalism did not avoid this transition as well, oscillating

between the Peninsular-indebted tradition of appropriation of the Other and the nascent

attempt at differentiation for the sake of self-definition and taking pride in one’s own

newly found identity. The Independence movement and the struggles of the early post-

Independence period ignited this process in the political as well as the literary arena.

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This section analyzes one of the fundamental post-Independence texts, Facundo:

civilización y barbarie (1845), by Domingo Faustino Sarmiento (1811-1888), where the

struggle for Argentinian independence forms a parallel with the clash of Orientalist

traditions in Latin America, thus revealing the predominant tendency in Hispanic

Orientalism in the newly liberated states of the New World.

Sarmiento was born into a new era; only a year after Argentina proclaimed its

independence from Spain. However, the fight for independence started much earlier and

culminated much later; and it was far from its end, as he himself noted, when Facundo

was first published as a series in the Chilean journal El Progreso in 1845. The key to

understanding Sarmiento’s political position and, consequently, his approach to the

Orient and the problem of the Other can be found in the deep political controversy that

reigned both in the Colony and in the metropolis on the verge of the wake of the

Independence movement in Latin America. On one hand, the exploitation of the New

World was reaching new heights, as the continent watched the benefits slipping away

from the Colony. For instance, in 1785, 3.5 million pesos in wealth were taken out from

New Spain alone, and this figure rose to 6 million pesos during the mid-1790s (Haring

305).

The exploitation of the Colony was not only economic but also cultural. The

undermining of the colonial self became a constant in the relationship between the

colonizer and the colonized. As Covadonga Lamar Prieto states, “tres son los temas que

vertebran la minusvaloración a lo americano durante la polémica del Nuevo Mundo: la

desintegración física de todo lo criado en el Nuevo Continente, las escasas o

evanescentes virtudes intelectuales de los criollos y, por último, la configuración política

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de la sociedad” (“there are three topics that are the foundation of the underestimation of

everything American in the polemics of the New World: the physical disintegration of

everything created in the New Continent, the scant and fleeting intellectual virtues of the

criollos, and, finally, the political configuration of society”; 79). The criollos

themselves, as the “product” of the Colony, were under a constant attack despite the

significant demographic disparity between the European-born and Latin America-born

white population of the Colony. For instance, by 1790, in the Intendancy of Mexico only

0.1% of the population were European-born, 2.2% in Mexico City (Carrera 39). The

stronger and the more independent economically and politically the Colony became, the

more its self-awareness grew and its desire to take pride in its difference from the

metropolis, and later, from the world asd a whole. The Orientalist separation between

the self and the Other became a perfect mechanism with which to carry out this task.

On the other hand, and contributing to the process of the awakening of the

Colony, was the political crisis in the metropolis that affected its presence in and

governance of the New World. Towards the beginning of the eighteenth century, the

Bourbon monarchs in Spain launched significant reforms for the Colony. Started by

Philip V (1700-1746) and reinforced and continued by Charles III (1759-1788) and

Charles IV (1788-1808), they aimed to counteract the gradually increasing distance

between the metropolis and the colony. Among those acts were increased taxation,

restructuring of the colonial administrative system, decreasing the powers of the local

laic and religious authorities (Katzew 112). However, the Napoleonic invasion interfered

with the colonial plans of Spain, setting the grounds for the chain of revolutions that

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culminated in the independence of most of the Spanish colonies by the mid-eighteenth

century.

The Independence process in Argentina began as a result of its economic

empowerment. The independent Viceroyalty of La Plata with Buenos Aires as its capital

was established in 1776-1777 as a result of its separation from the Peruvian viceroyalty.

Its major consequence was that the elite could no longer exercise the artificial control of

the commerce and trade flow (MacLachlan 99). In 1810 came the proclamation of the

official separation from the metropolis; however, the process of the establishment of the

new state took much longer, as the “Colonial government was no more arbitrary than

that of the parent states, and no special forms of constitution were contrived for the

American colonies. Each colonizing power automatically exported a simplified form of

its own system of government and law” (Fieldhouse 97).

All of the above characteristics were part of the political climate of Argentina

where Sarmiento grew up and where his political views as a member of the Generación

de 1837 forced him into exile to Chile where he wrote Facundo. An analysis of the

country in making, the text portrayed the duality of the former Colony: its oscillation

between the past and the present, between the capital and the interior, civilization and

barbarism, and ultimately between “us” and the “Other.” This oscillation defines

Sarmiento’s approach to these two selves, as he “tries to establish a ‘civilized’ yet

criollo identity (Civantos, Criollo 44). In the Orientalist tradition, he stays between the

innovative tendency of differentiation of Sor Juana, whose poetry and prose are

permeated by the desire to be included into European history but also reflect the nascent

desire for independence, and the castas painting, deeply rooted in traditional Peninsular

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Orientalism that strived to reinvent the Other for the purpose of its domination.120 This

duality of traditionalism and progress, civilization and barbarism, is what defines

Sarmiento’s Orientalism and what makes it more complex and less linear than that of his

predecessors.

In order to understand it, it is important to define Sarmiento’s position in relation

to what he calls civilization and barbarism, both in his narrative and in his personal

experiences: how he describes both and what delineates his Orientalist model. William

Katra in his analysis of the impact of Sarmiento’s travels to the world outside the former

Spanish Colony depicted in his books, such as Viajes, notes that “his previous illusions

about an exalted ‘civilization’ had been thoroughly shaken” after he saw the “abject

misery of . . . the general population” (74). This disillusion about the world that was for

centuries the model against which the Latin American Other was tested led to a

profound change in Sarmiento’s attitude towards the “civilized” and the “barbarous.”

Katra argues that this caused that “from start to finish Sarmiento was predisposed to

embellish what he saw, for this New World vision provided a new justification for his

class, and revitalized directions for his own energies” (74-75). Because of this new light,

the revision of the traditional perception of the Other, rooted in the Peninsular

Orientalist tradition was inevitable.

However, the image of the Other created by Sarmiento in his works, especially in

Viajes that reflected his travels to North Africa, among other places, is sometimes

criticized precisely because of its Orientalist cut. Isabel de Sena, for instance, argues:

“¿Sarmiento ha visto Argelia? . . . Porque en cierta forma . . . nunca salió de su cuarto, el

viaje de circunnavegación de Sarmiento es una extensa alegoría sobre un centro (la

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civilización e industria del Norte) y sus márgenes (los desiertos, literales o metafóricos,

del Sur) y su búsqueda de medios para integrarlos” (‘”Did Sarmiento see Algeria?

Because in a sense, he never left his room, his circumnavigation is an extensive allegory

about the center (the civilization and industry of the North) and its margins (the deserts,

literal or metaphorical, of the South) and his search for a means to unite them”; 86). This

casts light on the traditionalism of Sarmiento’s use of Orientalist mechanisms that, as

before, are manipulated for the purpose of achieving political goals.

Some researchers, such as Paul Verdevoye and Christina Civantos, establish an

unexpected connection between Sarmiento and the Orient, pointing out his possible

Oriental origins through his maternal ancestors and that the writer himself traces the

origins of Albarracín, his maternal last name, to a Saracen leader of the twelfth century

(Verdevoye 707; Civantos, Orientalism 27). On the other hand, Cristina Civantos in her

extensive research on the Oriental, and in particular Arabic, influence in Facundo,

highlights the connection between the gauchos and the Arabs via Spain, the motherland

perceived by the Americas “both as España and as al-Andalus” (Orientalism 25-28).

Indeed, the interconnectedness between these two Others, the Amerindian in the Colony

and the Arabic in Spain, lays on the surface of the text.

There is a significant discussion among literary critics about the function of the

Orient and Oriental references in Facundo. Some of them, such as Ana María

Barrenechea, Jaime Concha or Carlos Altamirano, attribute the appearance of the Orient

in Sarmiento’s narrative to various aspects of romanticism (Civantos, Criollo 51).

Indeed, these picturesque images of the Orient that evokes certain connotations and

perceptions abound in romantic European literature (for instance, José de Espronceda in

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Spain, Lord Byron in England, Mikhail Lermontov in Russia, and others). Civantos

notes, the Orient could have been used also for a different reason. While the gaucho was

unknown to Europe, the Oriental Other was a common reference. Using it to describe an

Argentine Other would make it easier for the European reader to absorb its image.

However, “we could almost say that the gaucho and the Arab are equally unknown to

him; certainly he visits Algeria before he visits pampas” (Criollo 52).

The text displays an array of comparisons, both direct and implicit, between the

gauchos, their character and habits, their nomadic lifestyle, and the typical landscape

that serves as a canvas for their everyday life. The gauchos live in a “Babilonia

americana,” often surrounded by arid nature; they have mastered the art of

horsemanship, much like their Andalusian counterparts (“American Babylon”;

Sarmiento, Civilización 25; Sarmiento, Civilization 47). In the gauchos’ customs and

traditions Sarmiento finds nothing else but “los hábitos pastoriles de la América,

reproducidos hasta los trajes, el semblante grave y hospitalidad árabes (“just as we find

reproduced in the pastoral habits of America the same grave countenance, hospitality,

and dress of the Arabs”; Sarmiento, Civilización 40; Sarmiento, Civilization 60). Even

the structure of gaucho society resembles the Oriental, where the ruler, a caudillo, is the

omnipotent tyrant and at the same time, an idol, a “Mahoma” whose reputation precedes

his actions (“Mohammad”; Sarmiento, Civilización 60). The similarities continue

throughout the text.

However, from the very beginning of Sarmiento’s account, this Oriental-like

image of the gaucho is polarized. One of the avenues of polarization chosen by

Sarmiento is precisely the differentiation from the Oriental Other, as well as from the

223
rest of the world. While talking about the disdain of the Argentinian gaucho towards the

mighty economic potential of the rivers, the author notes that this “obstacle” in the rest

of the world had an opposite effect: the river was “lo que hizo la celebridad remotísima

del Egipto, lo que engrandeció a la Holanda y es la causa del rápido desdenvolvimiento

de Norteamérica” (“what brought celebrity to remote Egypt, what made Holland great,

and it is the cause of the rapid development of North America”; Sarmiento, Civilización

24; Sarmiento, Civilization 47). It is curious that, as Emeterio Santovenia and William

Katra argue, the Anglo-Saxon America for Sarmiento is a part of this antithesis, and the

idealization of this society in his narrative contains implicit criticism of the author’s own

society (Santovenia 71-72; Katra 80-81). Together with Old Europe and Egypt, a symbol

of past civilizations, it serves as a backdrop for his campaign for Latin American self-

identification.

However, just like Sor Juana, Sarmiento does not depart definitively from the

European tradition. At the dawn of Argentina’s independence he still feels the need to be

considered as a part of this tradition in order to attest to his own validity. As such, when

describing Facundo Quiroga, Sarmiento notes that, despite not knowing it, the caudillo

was “el César, el Tamerlán, el Mahoma” (“a Caesar, a Tamerlane, a Mohammed”;

Sarmiento, Civilización 86; Sarmiento, Civilization 100). This desire to define

Argentina, and ultimately Latin America, against other established and recognized

countries is pivotal for Sarmiento’s Orientalism and his treatment of the Other. Julio

Ramos in his analysis of the text highlights this Sor Juana-like Orientalism. Ramos

suggests that the use of the Oriental Other familiar to the Europeans as his reference

224
allows Sarmiento to include Latin America in the literary and historical paradigm of the

Old World (42-43).

At the same time, the “graspable” gaucho-Arab connection through Spain had a

negative connotation for the representatives of the Generación de 1837, as “these

thinkers blamed the political turmoil of mid-1800s Argentina on its having been

colonized by a backward country, one they saw as inferior to, and distinct from, Europe

(Civantos, Orientalism 21, 26). This assertion puts a new spin on the perception of the

self and the Other in Latin America. If Spain is the Other of Europe, due to its marginal

position and deep rooted connections to the Orient, Latin America, thus, is Europe’s

Other as well (hence, the repeated comparisons between the gauchos and the nomadic

barbaric tribes). And more importantly, the Colony is no longer perceived as the Other

of Spain from the perspective of the criollo insider. The parallel counterbalance for this

so-called Oriental axis is the European axis that refers to the antagonistic comparisons

between Latin American reality and the European one.

Ramón Menéndez Pidal goes as far as describing Sarmiento’s relationship with

Spain as a bitter divorce from his mother-culture despite its continuing influence on him.

He criticizes Sarmiento, who “con su acostumbrada violencia, que gustaba más de

contemplar los defectos que las cualidades” writes about the metropolis: “Nosotros

somos una segunda, tercera o cuarta edición de la España, no a la manera de los libros

que corrigen y aumentan en las reimpresiones, sino como malos grabados, cuyas últimas

estampas salen cargadas de tinta y apenas inteligibles. Sus vicios son los mismos de que

adolecemos nosotros, hijos de tal madre . . .” (“with his usual violence, as he preferred

to point out defects rather than virtues”; “we are a second, a third or a fourth edition of

225
Spain. Not like the books that are corrected and complemented in their new editions, but

as bad engravings, whose last imprints are full of ink and are barely visible. Their vice is

the same vice we suffer from, we, the sons of such a mother”; Menéndez Pidal, La

lengua 136).

This approach was not unique to Sarmiento, as “el siglo XIX ahondó en estas

semejanzas: la expresión ‘África empieza en los Pirineos’ tuvo ecos entusiastas entre los

pensadores latinoamericanos . . . que explicaba[n] así con facilidad las causas del atraso

que habían heredado” (“the nineteenth century focused on these similarities even more

intensely. The expression ‘Africa begins in the Pyrenees’ was echoed enthusiastically by

Latin American thinkers who used it as an easy explanation for the backwardness that

they inherited”; Taboada 235-36). However, in Facundo, Sarmiento cannot divorce

himself completely from his Peninsular heritage. His ambivalent relationship to the

metropolis manifests itself in his rhetorical question (note also the linguistic choice):

“¿El problema de la España europea, no podría resolverse examinando minuciosamente

la España americana, como por la educación y hábitos de los hijos se rastrean las ideas y

la moralidad de los padres? ¡Qué!” (“Could not the problem of European Spain be

resolved by closely examining American Spain, much like the upbringing and habits of

children may be discerned from the ideas and morals of their parents? So!”; Sarmiento,

Civilización 10; Sarmiento, Civilization 33). This historical and cultural

interconnectedness defines Sarmiento’s approach to the relationship between the self

and the Other. The identity crisis in Latin America called for the redefinition of these

two entities, and Facundo attests to this process, revealing the underlying struggles of

the criollo elite.

226
 The so-called Oriental and European axes are intertwined in the book,

contributing to the complexity of the apparently ambiguous (non-)Oriental and (non-

)Orientalized Other and self. At the beginning of the first chapter, Sarmiento makes a

quintessential remark where he crosses the two axes in the most spectacular and cunning

way. And to retain his neutral position as a supreme judge, he conveys his message

through a quote from Sir Walter Scott, whose chivalric novels can be considered a

perfect example of the romanticized and Orientalized treatment of the Orient. Sarmiento

quotes the words of Walter Scott, who sees the vast Argentinian lands “pobladas sino

por cristianos salvajes, conocidos bajo el nombre de gauchos . . . cuyo principal

amueblado, consiste en cráneos de caballos, cuyo alimento es carne cruda y agua y cuyo

pasatiempo favorito es reventar caballos en carreras forzadas” (“are populated by

Christian savages, known by the name of gauchos . . . whose principal furnishings are

horses’ sculls, whose food is raw meat and water, and whose favorite pastime is racing

horses until they burst”; Sarmiento, Civilización 28; Sarmiento, Civilization 51).121

This barbaric and primitive Latin American Other, at a first glance, is opposed to

the exquisite “cultured” Europe, when Walter Scott continues: “Desgraciadamente . . .

prefirieron su independencia nacional a nuestros algodones y muselinas”

(“Unfortunately . . . they preferred national independence over our cotton and muslins”;

Sarmiento, Civilización 28; Sarmiento, Civilization 51). However, ironically, both words

that represent the so-called “civilization,” algodones and muselinas, are of Arabic origin,

hence questioning again the notion of culture and barbarism. This, along with the

references from biblical stories and Greco-Roman mythology, gives a new perspective

to the Orientalization process in the Americas. Diana Sorensen writes in her analysis of

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Facundo that “when the historical axis is taken into account, the succession of readings

becomes part of a semiological chain in which the elements of the system interact with

each other” (3). The novel, to a certain extent canonized in Argentine literature, went

through several such readings, both within and from outside Argentina, each of them

adding to the interpretation of civilization and barbarism, the self and the Other, the Old

and the New Worlds.

Sarmiento’s predecessors, like Sor Juana, longed to be included in the European

cannon, and particularly in Spanish history, for the Colony to be recognized on a par

with the metropolis. While not completely departing from that tradition, Sarmiento is

looking for a certain separation from Europe, France in particular. Orientalizing the

barbaric self, he strives for differentiation and not so much appropriation or

reincorporation of the Other into hegemonic culture and history. In doing so, he passes

through the process of transculturation and reassessment of European values (Mauro

256). Here lies the key difference between Hispanic Orientalism at the beginning of the

Colonial period and after Latin American Independence.

Sarmiento reinforces this thesis by further referring to early European history.

The Roman Empire considered all “outsider” cultures “barbaric” – those with different

customs, social organization, and languages. Essentially, the so-called barbarians

(Germanic tribes, Vikings, etc.) were the Other of Roman civilization, much like Latin

America became for Europe. However, Sarmiento separates at the very beginning of his

book two similar but unequal terms: salvaje (“savage”) and bárbaro (“barbaric”)

(Sarmiento, Civilización 12). His descriptions of the good-willed but wild natured

Facundo, and the atrocities of the Government of Juan Manuel de Rosas (1793-1877),

228
and the dictator himself, serve as examples of his reinterpretation of civilization and

barbarism, and, as a consequence, of the self and the Other. Facundo Quiroga, while

committing atrocities, shows a constant intent of imposing an order on the lands under

his control. Sarmiento defines him as barbaric but not as cruel; his life choices are

dictated by his lack of education and the natural inclinations of the people of the land.

He is a remorseful murderer, who laments the unnecessary massacres. Facundo is a

romanticized wild spirit, who resembles a Medieval knight of the pampas as he appears

on a white horse at the beginning of one of the battles. At the same time, Rosas, the

representative of modern civilization, whose education would have polished his manners

eradicating the barbarism that Facundo possesses, is portrayed as a ruthless assassin. He

orders mass killings without any remorse and in excess, putting another spin on

Sarmiento’s argument about the difference between barbarism and savagery. This

reorientation puts a dent in the reigning Eurocentrism of Orientalist discourse. As

Hernán Taboada notes, it reveals the process of diversification of the Other in the former

Colony:

Como han visto (¿con exageración?) los críticos del orientalismo a partir

de Edward Said, el oriental es una proyección a la cual los europeos

atribuyen todas las características negativas de las cuales quieren liberar

su propia imagen. Es irreductible en su error. El Americano, en cambio,

fue el prototipo, que después se iba a ramificar en muchos otros, del

hombre natural, que era posible transformar, convertir. Este personaje

tenía antecedentes en el pensamiento grecorromano y el árabe, pero

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 reencarnó en Europa tras el primer encuentro con pueblos

primitivos . . .122 (231)

The established parallelism between the Oriental and the Amerindian Other, and

the revision of the role of the Other in the New and the Old Worlds are crucial for

establishing the paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism of the post-Independence period.

Civantos goes even further by defining the romanticized and the popularized gaucho as

“the true criollo” who is appropriated by the hegemonic ruling class in Argentina

(Orientalism 30). This conclusion is significant, as it echoes our argument of

Sarmiento’s Orientalism as being rooted in early colonial Orientalism, which used

appropriation mechanisms to reinvent or reinterpret the Other. On the other hand,

Civantos also notes that Sarmiento, in his “drive to formulate an identity” goes through

so-called Orientalist “self-essencialization” or “auto-Orientalism,” which is her

definition of this term, correlates with what we earlier identified as self-Orientalization

(Orientalism 51, 215). This confirms our second thesis that the Hispanic Orientalism

found in Facundo represents a step forward from appropriation and into differentiation,

which is carried out through Orientalizing the self, something that was earlier observed,

for instance, in the writings of Sor Juana.

It is Sarmiento’s oscillation between the Other and the self, and his ultimate

reinterpretation of both that defines his Orientalism. This multiplicity of voices is what

reflects the “heteroglot reality” and the shift between the notions of civilization and

barbarism captured in the pages of Facundo (Civantos, Orientalism 34, 222). In his

Orientalist approach to the new Argentinian reality Sarmiento makes the first natural

step “del orientalismo al americanismo,” serving as a precursor of modern Hispanic

230
Orientalism that aims toward differentiation123 (“from the Orientalism to Americanism”;

Taboada 215). Even Sarmiento himself uses this term in his closing remarks. His

opposition to Europe, partly as a reaction to the government’s purposes of “whitening”

the nation, results in his desire to affirm his country’s own identity despite and in

conjunction with Europe.

One of the bases for differentiation in Facundo, is that the Other, in the process

of self-Orientalization, in given a chance to speak for himself. Since the early times of

exploration, there were intents to give voice to the silenced Other, for instance, in the

ethnographic works of some missionaries. Indigenous art towards the seventeenth

century also manifests itself as liberating and raising the indigenous voice,124 contrary to

the mainstream castas paintings created mostly by criollos or, through very rarely, by

Spanish painters like Francisco Clapera (Mauro 257). Sarmiento not only seeks to give a

voice to the Argentinian gaucho, the Other of civilization, but also to the criollo, as

himself, who was for centuries, the colonial Other for the metropolis. In doing so, he

intends to break up with the traditional segregation established between the hegemonic

colonizer and the subaltern colonized, as well as to reevaluate the roles of the self and

the Other within his own society.

In sum, Sarmiento, caught in political transition, exists between the past and the

future of Hispanic Orientalism. As his predecessors from the early Colonial period, he

uses preconstructed stereotypical images of the Oriental Other as a reference, this time

for the barbaric self, the gaucho, in his dichotomy between civilization and barbarism.

Like the castas painting, he attempts to classify the Other (hence, his types of gauchos

in Chapter II: el rastreador, el baqueano, el gaucho malo, el cantor) for the purpose of

231
its being catalogued and controlled by civilized society. However, as does the earlier Sor

Juana, he attempts to give voice to the Other. By portraying Facundo as a romantic

character he creates admiration for him in his readers. While complaining about the

gauchos’ “lack” of civilization and education, Sarmiento admires their natural

intelligence and skills, and their rough but sensitive nature. He inadvertently praises the

Other, the “barbarian,” the counterpart of the dreaded Orient at the time of the

Reconquest, thus undergoing the process of self-Orientalization for the purpose of

differentiation from the European self and European-bound political movements in

Argentina. Francisco Goyogama contemplates the possibility that Sarmiento shared the

views of el deísmo, a more liberal Christian theology, that cultivated “la razón,” that

consequently, “se convierte en la presuposición de la tolerancia que encuentra expresión

en la rebelión contra la ortodoxia y el dogmatismo (“becomes a presupposition of the

tolerance that finds its way in the rebellion against orthodoxy and dogmatism”; 244). In

this light, it is of no surprise that Sarmiento prefers the “barbarity” of Facundo to

Rosas’s regime.

Sarmiento’s criollismo, paraphrasing the words of Covadonga Lamar Prieto, is

indebted to the new neo-Latin tradition based on cultural self-validation and recognition

of the argentinidad of the criollos, but also keeping in mind their Peninsular heritage

(80). This process of rethinking the self will eventually lead to hispanismo as the

reconciliation and the revalorization of Spanish heritage in the Americas, as Civantos

defines it (Criollo 27), as well as a more global reconciliation with the general Other, be

it the Orient per se, as in the works of Borges, or the newly constructed Others, as in the

works of Enrique Gómez Carrillo. It also marks a new stage of Hispanic Orientalism

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that gravitates towards self-Orientalization as a means of recognizing its own uniqueness

and difference from the metropolis, as well as the rest of the world. In this sense,

modern Hispanic Orientalism came to life as a consequence of the successful struggle

for independence in Latin America. It was defined by the shift in political powers, as

well as the shift in cultural hegemony.

§ 5. Conclusion

The late Colonial and the early Independence periods in Latin American

constitute a transition from a subsidiary role in the world’s political arena to a more

prominent position as a sovereign entity. They also marked a transition in the paradigm

of Hispanic Orientalism, which was significantly affected by the change of powers.

During this time, Hispanic Orientalism displayed both the characteristics of the previous

Colonial period that reinvented and reinterpreted the Other, but toward Independence, it

also gradually gravitated towards a newer model based on differentiation.

The basis for this can be found in what Claudia Parodi defines as a cultural clash

between two civilizations that led to a creation of a new one “que incorporó elementos

culturales procedentes de los dos grupos en contacto, del medio americano y de su

‘reinvención’ en el Nuevo Mundo” (“that incorporated cultural elements from both

groups in contact, the American milieu and its ‘reinvention’ in the New World”; 29).

From it, “la emergencia de una conciencia o identidad criolla en los virreinatos

latinoamericanos, sobre todo en Nueva España” emerges during the seventeenth century

(“the formation of Criollo identity or self – awareness in the Latin American

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viceroyalties, especially in New Spain”; More 72). It is heavily based on the hegemonic

elite’s search for its own identity and history, as distinct from Europe. In the writings by

Sor Juana this oscillation between the desire to be equal to Europe and distinct at the

same time became extremely prominent. In order to achieve balance between these two

opposites, she resorts to self-Orientalization that springs out from the early colonial

tradition of reinterpretation. However, her constant comparisons of Mexico to the

metropolis are colored by the desire to differentiate herself from the hegemonic power.

Although she does not fully embrace differentiating Orientalism, her approach

foreshadows the post-Independence Orientalism of the late nineteenth and twentieth

centuries.

While Sor Juana’s approach to the treatment of the self and the Other was rather

innovative compared to the early colonial writings, the seventeenth-century castas

paintings represent, in a sense, a step back to traditional Peninsular Orientalism.

Manifestations and reflections of the dominant colonial system, castas paintings

skillfully used reinterpretation of the Amerindian Other in order to create the parameters

of a rigid society based on race and blood purity. Unlike the literary works of the period,

castas paintings were made to order and by the order, permitting the hegemonic society

to legitimize its position. Exported to the metropolis, these depictions of Colonial life

served as a confirmation of the image of the reinvented Amerindian Other, existing in

the popular mentality in the Old World.

The clash of the Peninsular and Latin American views of the self and the Other

sharpened towards the eighteenth century. As Jorge Rueda de la Serna points out, the

process of mythmaking was intense on both sides of the spectrum: the image of the

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fertile and rich Colony and the natural intellect of its inhabitants was often outweighed

by the image created by the dominant society, that of the degeneration of the European,

especially the Spanish, race in the New World under the pernicious influence of its

malignant climate that converted them into lazy and disloyal subjects, incapable of the

great deeds of their ancestors (Rueda de la Serna 218). Anouar Majid finds an echo of

this self-purifying tradition in Spain’s need to “exorcise the ghost of its own mestizaje”

(161); a dark spot on the crown of the metropolis. The eighteenth-century crisis in

Europe sharpened this opposition, resulting in the consequent independence of most of

the Colonies and the gradual separation of the overseas Hispanic Orientalism from the

Peninsular.

This process of drifting away from the Peninsular tradition can be clearly seen in

Sarmiento’s Facundo, where his oscillation between the sociocultural phenomena of

civilización and barbarie echo the above delineated traditional myths of the self and the

Other. Sarmiento, much more prominently than Sor Juana before him, leans toward the

revision of the traditional role of the former Colony through the process of self-

Orientalization and differentiation from the traditional superpowers that become the

Other of Latin America. This process will intensify in the upcoming century when the

Latin American states become more established after having gone through political

turmoil. Hispanic Orientalism will expand the notion of the Other: it will no longer be

exclusively associated with the Orient, the traditional Other of the Peninsular Medieval

tradition, but will embrace the other nations, including the former colonizer and

emerging powers such as United States.

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 In their effort to revise Latin America’s role in world history, both Sor Juana and

more so Sarmiento (unlike the mainstream castas paintings) tried to rescue the

marginalized, read Orientalized, criollo identity, reinterpreted by hegemonic society.

This was the result of the fact that “the criollo population of New Spain was beginning

to grow, as was their sense of entitlement as they emerged from the secondary status

they had had compared to the ruling European-born elite. The marginalization of these

people, who were full blooded Spanish, demonstrates the importance of place in

defining one’s identity in colonial . . . culture” (M. González 143). This subtle balance

between the Orientalism that serves the purpose of segregation of the Other within its

own society and the Orientalism that establishes the validity and the uniqueness of that

society through self-Orientalization and differentiation from the European Other

determined the definition of this period as transitional for the development of the

Hispanic Orientalist paradigm.

As a result, the transitional period of the Hispanic Orientalist cultural paradigm

marked a sharp break with the Peninsular tradition in the perception of self and Other,

since Independence, in a way, inverted these roles. However, the Orientalization

mechanisms did not change so dramatically. While appropriation through

reinterpretation still takes place in the narrative of this early transitional period, it

gradually gives way to the process of differentiation. Its integral part is self-

Orientalization, a way to review the role and position in the world of the former Latin

American Other.

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 NOTES

92
Hernán Taboada notes that after the year 1580:
se abrió una etapa de relativa paz e incluso desaparecieron algunos
aspectos de la intolerancia española: la literatura del Siglo de Oro adoptó
con entusiasmo el tema del Turco. En lo que respecta a Indias, esto
significo el alivio en el hostigamiento naval . . . las relaciones de España
con Marruecos adquirieron mayor cordialidad y los ataque piratas las
costas españolas disminuyeron en el siglo XVII. Por su parte, los
otomanos se apartaron de las rutas atlánticas; hacia aquella época
consolidaron su poder en el Cáucaso, Yemen y el Mar Rojo. (171-72)
93
The full quote and its translation is as following:
Durante siglos, los varones de la Cristiandad latina se habían
distinguido de los muslimes o los judíos por su ausencia de barba. Al
arribar al Nuevo Mundo anotaron, acertadamente o no, que su modalidad
lampiña era compartida por los amerindios, cuya escasa pilosidad empezó
a convertirse en un rasgo básico de las descripciones. Que los europeos
comenzaran a portar barba a partir del siglo XVI es un hecho, y en alguna
medida, aunque con seguridad la causalidad no es tan directa, el cambio
nos señala que el Otro por excelencia, del cual había que distinguirse, no
era ya el judío/muslim, sino el amerindio. (232)

During centuries, the men in Latin Christianity distinguished

themselves from the Muslims and the Jews through the absence of a
beard. When they arrived to the New World, they noticed, rightly or
wrongly, that their beardless appearance was shared by the Amerindians,
whose sparse hairiness gradually became their basic feature. It is a fact
that the Europeans started growing beards beginning with the XVI
century, and in a way, even though its causality is not so obvious, this
change shows us that the Other, from which they wanted to distinguish
themselves was not any more a Jew or a Muslim, but the Amerindian.
(The translation is mine – S. T.)
94
The translation is mine (S. T.)
95
Sor Juana creates a color juxtaposition between the two world. “Nuestro
Oriente” is called “lunimoso” while “su Occiedente” has “su luz en trémulos desmayos”
(De la Cruz 200-01). Throughout the poem, two semantic groups define the two worlds:
sol, luminoso, oro, colores, luz on one hand, representing the New World, and negro,
sombra, reflejos, noche symbolize the past. Sor Juana even directly calls them
“antípoda” (De la Cruz 200).

237
 96
The more dramatic is “visüal alado atrevimiento” and the “señales externas,”
their “ambiciosa llama ardiente” only reinforces the image of “su figura trasunta” that
cannot be compared to “mental pirámide elevada” from the summit of which these
achievements look “tan atrasados” (“visual alated audacity”; “extreme signs”;
“ambitious burning flame”; “its transitory figure”; “high-rising mental pyramid”; “ so
far away”; De la Cruz, Obra 190-91).
97
The worlds seem to from a geometrical figure: a pyramid and an inverted
pyramid that have only one point in common: the both pyramids summit. This is
significant for Sor Juana’s interpretation of the relationships of the two worlds. The
inverted pyramid has an additional symbolic religious meaning as a representation of
Holy Trinity (for instance, in the icons, where the space between the eyebrows and the
nose of a holy figure was painted, following the Byzantine tradition, as forming an
inverted pyramid that symbolized the Holy Spirit, the God Father and the Son.
98
The Oriental play on words “fiel infiel” for Sor Juana becomes the
quintessential Other (“faithless faithful”; Obra 186).
99
There were, for example, different monasteries for only while or only Indian
nuns (León 5). In the Inde pro Indis (Edición Lorenzana), we read: “No se ordene sin
gran discernimiento a los MESTIZOS, ya vengan de INDIOS o de MOROS, ni a los
descendientes en primer grado de los que por parte de padre o de madre vengan de
NEGROS” (qtd. in León 6). It is indicative of the Orientalist thinking of the period that
the Moors, the conquered enemy that did not pose any significant threat to the colony
was still under the scrutiny of the hegemonic society.
100
In the light of the constant interracial mixing, it is important to note that the
culture and the customs could not avoid certain level of interpenetration. For instance,
María Concepción García Sáiz notes that the cultural and religious syncretism was
natural in the New World. As an example, she points out that the presence of Inca in two
versions of Adoration of Magi did not produce a dissonance, as “it would be like a
European artist portraying an indigenous figure to conjure up other parts of the world”
(36).
101
See the first part of the above mentioned verse:
En el idioma Olandesa
Al culo le llaman cri,
Porque el llamarlo así
En su idioma se profesa
Viendo término más chulo
Con más cortés disimulo

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 Al culo le llaman hollo;
Hollo y cri decen Crihollo
Y Crihollo es ojo de culo. (León 18)
102
León mentions the following castes: Ahí o Hay Te Estás, Albarasado
(Albarrasado), Albino, Barzino, Cabra, Cambujo, Campamulato (Calpamulato),
Castizo, Coyote, Coyote Mestizo, Cuarterón, Cuarterón de Chino, Cuarterón de Mestizo
or Español, Cuarterón de Mulata, Chamiso, Chino, Cholo, Español or Españolo,
Galfarro, Gente Blanca, Gíbaro, Grifo or Tente en el Aire, Harnizo, Jarocho, Limpis,
Lob, Lunarejo, Mequimixtos, Mestindio, Mestiz, Morisco, Mulato, Mulato Obscuro, No
Te Entiendo, Octavón (Ochavón), Postizo, Puchuela, Puchuela de Negro, Quinterón,
Quinterón de Mestizo, Quinterón de Mulato, Requinterón de Mestizo or Español,
Requinterón de Mulata, Rayados, Sambayo (Sambaigo, Sambahigo), Saltarás, Saltatrás
Cuarterón, Saltatrás Quinterón, Tente en el Aire, Tercerón or Cuanterón Cuatralvo,
Tresalvo, Torna antrás, Zambo, Zambo Prieto, Zambis (21-27).
103
Bonnie Gasior mentiones the following groups: Albarazado, Albino
(“albine”), Barzino, Cambujo, Campa mulato, Cuarterón (“Quadroon,” fourth
generation), Cuarterón de mulata, Cuarterón de Chino (“Quadroon of Chinese”), Chino
(“Chinese”), Genízaro (“Janissari”), Galfarro (“Lazyboy”), Gente blanca (“White
people”), Gíbaro, Grifo, Jarocho, Lobo (“Wolf”), Morisco (“Mosrisco, of Moorish
descend”), Mulato, Mulato obscuro (“Dark Mulatto”), No te entiendo (“I-don’t-
understand-you”), Pachuela de negro, Quinterón (fifth generation), Requinterón de
mulata, Saltartrás cuarterón (“Jump back Quadroon”), Saltatrás quinterón, Tente en el
aire (“Be in the air”), Tercerón (third generation), Zambo, Zambo prieto (“Black
Zambo”) (1:245).
104
The first major exhibit of castas paintings, “Inventing Race through Art,”
took place in Los Angeles in 2004 at Los Angeles County Museum of Art (Gasior
1:246).
105
The classification depicted in the castas paintings was undoubtedly a
mechanism of social control. In it, the existing classifications of the period found their
reflection: “gente de razón” (people with reason) were opposed to the Indians; “gente
decente” (respectable people) were against the plebs, and tributaries were opposed to
non-tributaries (Katzew 43).
106
According to Ilona Katzew, the subordinate position of people of African
descent could be explained by the following:
Being black not only presupposed a possible Muslim background but also
pointed to slavery and atavistic ancestry. In fact, blacks were long

239
 thought to be a damned people directly descended from Ham, Noah’s
youngest son. Genesis 10:9 relates that Ham committed a hubristic act
when he exposed his father’s nakedness to his brothers Shem and Japhet
while Noah was asleep drunk. Upon waking up and realizing what Ham
had done, Noah cursed him, condemning Ham’s son Canaan to perpetual
servitude. (46)
A similar explanation was offered with another biblical reference: blackness was
considered a curse that God bestowed on Cain for the murder of his brother Abel
(Carrera 11).
107
Ilona Katzew quotes here the copy of the manuscript (c. 1735) that belonged
to the Minister of the Marine, Don Antonio Enríquez: “No se hace mas distincion que
blancos, ó de mano prieta: los primeros son los Europeos y sus descendientes, que se
llaman criollos . . . de mano prieta se llaman o entienden mestizos, coyotes, mulatos,
lobos, zambaigos, moriscos, salta atrás, tente en el aire, gíbaros, chinos, e yndios los
quales son la mayor población del reíno y los que componen los pueblos entre los que
tienen estimacion los caciques y tlascaltecos, que son los que tanto ayudaron a Cortés en
su Conquista” (sic) (Anonymous. Descripción del Estado político de la Nueva España.
N. d. MS 9-4799, fol. 367г. Real Academia de Historia, Madrid, Spain).
108
According to Nicolás León’s research, the racial components of the
Albarazado and the Barcino group can be represented by the following chart (20):

De Tente en el Aire y Mulata,

Albarasado

Indian
Black
White

240
 De Albarazado e India, Barzino

Indian
Black
White

109
For instance, Nicolás León in his research mentions nine collections of castas
painting series, most of which contain images of both the Albarazado and Barcino
parents and offsprings (28-65). See the following table:

Representation of the Albarazado and the Bercino group in the castas paintings of
the eighteenth century

Collection # Barcino Barcino Albarazado Albarazado

(out of) O* P** O P

Museo Etnográfico del

Trocadero (París, Francia). 9/16 #13 #14
Ignacio de Castro, fines del s.18. I***
Museo de Historia Natural. 17
Madrid. Anónimo, s. 18. I?

José Joachin Magón, fines del 16

s.18. (más moderna). I? #15 #16

José Joachin Magón, fines del 20

s.18. (más Antigua). +

Casa de Beamore-Hants
(Inglaterra). Hijo ilegítimo de 14
Murillo? S. 18.
Colección Larrauri-Montaño. 16 #12 #13
(Mich.). Barnocino Barnocino #11 #12

Museo Nacional de México. S. 16

18. cuadre- #10 #11
tes
Collección Riva-Palacio.
Museo Nacional de México. 16 #12 #13 #11 #12
Princ. del s. 19?

241
Collección del Museo Nacional 7
de México. J. Ignacio Castro, I #13 #12 #13
fines del s. 18. Varsino Alvarrasado Alvarrasado
Museo de Viena (Austria).
Anónimo, fines del s.18/ Princ. 10/19 #18 #19 #10
del s. 19?. I Albarrasada
Abbreviations:
O* - offspring
P** - parent
I*** - incomplete collection
+**** - present but no specified, which one.

110
Among the collections, described by Nicolás León, one can find a certain
pattern of the appearance of the three castes, being the most popular, the image of the
Moriscos, and the least – the Genízaros (28-65).

Representation of the Morisco, Chino and Genízaro group in the castas paintings of
the eighteenth century

Collection # Morisco Morisco Chino Chino Genízaro

(out of) O* P** O P O

Museo Etnográfico del Trocadero

(París, Francia). Ignacio de 9/16 #5 #6 #9 #10
Castro, fines del s.18. I***
Museo de Historia Natural. 17
Madrid. Anónimo, s. 18. I? #17

José Joachin Magón, fines del

s.18. (más moderna). 16 #5 #6 #15
I?
José Joachin Magón, fines del
s.18. (más antigua). 20 +**** + #17 #18
#18
Casa de Beamore-Hants
(Inglaterra). Hijo ilegítimo de 14 #13 #12
Murillo? S. 18.
Colección Larrauri-Montaño.
(Mich.). 16 #5 #6 #10

Museo Nacional de México. S. 16

18. cuadret #5 #6 #6 #7 #9
es
Collección Riva-Palacio. Museo
Nacional de México. Princ. del s. 16 #5 #6
19?

242
 Collección del Museo Nacional de 7
México. J. Ignacio Castro, fines I #9
del s. 18.
Museo de Viena (Austria).
Anónimo, fines del s.18/ Princ. del 10/19 #5 #6 #19
s. 19?. I
Abbreviations:
O* - offspring
P** - parent
I*** - incomplete collection
+**** - present but no specified, which one.

Another indicative comparison of the popularity of the three castes can be seen
in the following table, based on the seminal catalogue by María Concepción García Sáiz
(Las Castas Mexicanas: Un Genero Pictorico Americano. Milan: Olivetti, 1989. Print.).
The reason for differentiating the two tables is that, at the moment of research, it was
impossible to establish, which of the painting collections overlap, since there was 65-
year gap between the two publications. However, both provide a similar picture, which
proves the hypothesis about the existence of the relation between the popularity of the
group and the familiarity of the non-American Other among the hegemonic society.
The castas paintings by Francisco Clapera were not included in this catalogue.
Since the number of incomplete collections was considerable, only the collections
containing seven and more paintings were selected for this table. Both the complete and
incomplete collections are clearly marked; it is followed by the number of painting in
the catalogue, as well as the total number of paintings (where available). The reason for
selecting seven representations as the minimum is due to the fact that the castas
paintings usually consist of twelve or fourteen images, so seven images constitute about
at least half of an average castas paintings series. The school of painting is also kept in
the description, as there are significant differences in representation of castes between
them.

Representation of the Morisco, Chino and Genízaro group

in the castas paintings of the eighteenth century

School/Author/ Collection Quality # M M C C G G

aval.// / / / / / /
total C P C P C P
Mexican school. Private collection, Breamore I? 14 + + - - - -
House, London, England.
Mexican school. Private collection. C* + + + - - -

Luis de Mena. 1750. Museo de Américas, Madrid, I ?* 8 + + - - - -

Spain.
Mexican school (M. Cabrera, 1763). Private I 13/16 + - + + - -
collection / Museo de Américas, Madrid, Spain.

243
Mexican school (J. Joachin Magon, 1770?). Museo C + + - - - -
Nacional de Etnografía, Madrid, Spain.
Andean school (1770-1780?). Museo Nacional de C** - - + + - -
Etnografía, Madrid, Spain.
Mexican school (Andrés de Islas, 1774). Museo de C + + + + - -
Américas, Madrid, Spain.
1774 (Illustrations in Idea Compendiosa del Reyno C + + - + - -
de Nueva España by Pedro Alonso O’Crowley).
Biblioteca Nacional, Madrid, Spain.
Mexican school (S. Salcedo, 1779?). Private I 12 /14 + + - - - -
Collection, Avila, Spain.
Mexican school (I. M. Barreda y Ordóñez, 1777). C* + + + + + +
Real Academia Española de la Lengua, Madrid,
Spain.
Mexican school (last quarter of 18th century). C + + + + - -
Museo de Américas, Madrid, Spain.
Mexican school (I. de Castro?). Museo Nacional, I 7 - - + - - -
Mexico.
Mexican school (I. de Castro, 1775-1785?). Musée I 10/16 + - - - - -
de L’Homme, Paris, France.
Mexican school. Instituto de Cultura I 15/16 + + + + - -
Puertorriqueña, San Juan de Puerto Rico.
Mexican school. Private collection, Mexico. C + + - - + +

Mexican school (Disciple of M. J. Zendejas, C* + + + + - -

1780s). Private collection, Mexico.
Mexican school. (18th century). Museo del C*, *** + + + + - -
Virreinato, Tepotzotlán, Mexico.
Mexican school (M. Cabrera’s circle). Private I 8/16 - + - - - -
collection, Mexico.
Mexican school. Private collection / Banco C**** + n + n - n/a
Nacional de México, Mexico. / /
a a
Mexican school (J. de Páez, mid 18th century?). I? 15 + + + - - -
Private collection.
Mexican school (J. Alfaro, 1787). Whereabouts I? 12 + + - - - -
unknown.
Mexican school (end of the 18th – beginning of the I 10 + + - - - -
19th century). Museum für Völkerkunde, Vienna,
Austria.
Mexican school (end of the 18th century). Museo I 12/16 + + - - - -
Nacional, Mexico.
Mexican school. Former Angel Cristóbal C*, + n - n - n/a
collection. ***, / /
**** a a
Mexican school (J. de Páez, 18th century). Private I 8/16 - - + - - -
collection, Mexico.
Mexican school. Private collection, Michoacán, C* + + - + - -
Mexico.

244
Abbreviations:
M/C – Morisco child
M/P – Morisco parent
C/C – Chino child
C/P – Chino parent
G/C – Genízaro child
G/P – Genízaro parent
C – complete
I – incomplete.
* One painting with sections representing different castes
** The Criollo group is mentioned in the painting
*** The Moro group is mentioned in the painting
**** The painter depicted only representatives of the respective groups. The author did not use the
“standard” composition for the castas paintings (parents and their offspring).

There are several conclusions that can be drawn from the table above. First of all,
the Morisco groups (both children and parents) appear on the overwhelming majority of
the paintings (the exceptions being only the incomplete painting). At the same time, the
Genízaro group was depicted only twice, which confirms the volatile nature of the name
of this group, as sometimes the same parents whose offspring is Genízaro, give birth to
the offspring denominated belonging to a different group, i.e., both Genízaro and Lobo
can have parents who are Torna-atrás and India (García Sáiz 26-29). Unlike the names
of the other Orientalized groups, the Genízaros seemed not to take root in the New
World. Unlike them, the Chinos are well represented in the castas paintings. The
dominant are the paintings of the offsprings rather than the Chino parents. As well, this
groups has several subgroups, reflected in some of the paintings (Chino Cambujo, Chino
Alvarazado, etc.), which indicated the transparency of the margins of this groups.
111
The tentative racial structure of the Morisco is the following (León 20):

De Blanco y Mulata, Morisco

Indian
Black
White

112
The Morisco children are constantly depicted in the castas paintings series.
Some of them include the paintings by Francisco Clapera (1775) and another
anonymous painting (1765); Miguel Cabrera’s painting (1763), Andrés de Islas’s (1774),

245
José Joaquín Magón (c. 1770), Las castas painting (18th century) by anonymous in
Museo del Virreinato, Tepotzotlán, among others. In most of the paintings, coincides
not only the origin of the Latin American Moriscos (child of Spaniard and Mulatta), but
also the order in which his representation appears in the series (often, it is the 5th). It is
also significant, that in the taxonomic chart of castes in the Colony by María
Concepción García Sáiz, unlike the Chinos and the Genízaros, who present a more
complicated racial mixture and whose parents can vary, the Moriscos can be born from
to Spanish and Mulatto parents only (24-25).
113
The figure of Francisco Clapera (1746-1810) is of special interest for the
process of Orientalization in the castas paintings. It is not only that in his series there is
an obvious presence of racial conflicts (one scene depicting violence (# 15, De Genizaro
y Mulata, Gibaro), and another – drinking and being drunk (# 5, De Mulato y Española,
Morisco)), but also he is the only known Spaniard who created castas paintings (Katzew
26). It is noticeable that the violence occurs in the Orientalized groups of the Genízaro
and the Morisco, and possibly derives from the connotation of the violent nature of the
representatives of the respective groups in the peninsula. It is important also that among
the twenty four castas paitings depicting violence, selected by Emilia Guzauskyte in the
four catalogues, four refer to the scenes with Genízaros, Chinos or Moriscos and several
others to the offsprings of these racial mixtures (193-94).
114
Ilona Katzew and the other authors, citing her seminal work on castas
paintings in eighteenth-century Mexico (Casta Paintings: Images of Race in Eighteenth-
Century Mexico), date this Francisco Clapera’s series from the year 1785 (23). However,
in the exposition of Denver Art Museum, this series is dated from 1775.
115
Here one can have as an example the figure of la tapada limeña that became
popular in the sixteenth century and into the early republican period, whose image
reminded many of the Moorish influence in America.
116
Very generally, the representation of racial structure of the Chino caste can be
as suggested by León (20):

246
 De Lobo y Negra, Chino

Indian
Black
White

However, based on our analysis of the paintings, the actual representations of the
Chino groups are much more complex. Based on the works analyzed could be
summarized in the following table (based on the other paintings of the same series).
Also, it is important to keep in mind that there are several other variations of the origins
of the Chino group (see, for instance, No te entiendo con india, sale chino of Luis
Berrueco). María Concepción García Sáiz, for example, points out the multifaceted
nature of this group. She indicates that the Chino could be an offspring of the following
parents: Lobo and Negra, Lobo and India, Mulato and India, Coyote and Mulata,
Español and Morisca, Chamicoyote and India (26-27).

The Chino group

Painting Father Paternal Paternal Mother Maternal

Grandparents Great- Grandparents
Grandparents
Clapera, # 13 Barcino Mestizo Español Mulata Español
India Negra
Albarazada* India
Lobo
(Indio / Torna
atrás)
Islas, # 10 Lobo India Negra
Negro
Anonymous Morisco Español Española
(Museo del
Virreynato),
section 8
Mulato Español
Negra
Cabrera, # 9 Negro India
(China
cambuja)

247
* I was not able to locate the painting # 11, which might contain the information about
Albarazado group. Therefore, I used the description provided in the painting of Miguel
Cabrera, the most renowned among the painters analyzed here (# 11, De Lobo y d'India,
Albarazado) Other authors present their own variations: Gíbaro con Mulata, Albarazado
(section 10, Anonumous, Museo del Virreinato); Tente en el aire y Mulata, nace
Albarazado (# 13, Islas).
117
A similar process can be observed in the Morisco group. While the reference
to the Moors (moros in Spanish) and the Morisco group in the Iberian peninsula are
undisputable, García Sáiz offers another possible origin or, perhaps parallelism:
“Morocho, ameneaus: “hard grained maize”; 19th century, “a vigorous person,” “dark-
skinned, swarthy”; perhaps from Quechua muruch’u, “something hard,” “hard corn,”
1560. But influenced by moro e moreno) (24). This is indicative of the fusion of
Orientalization processes originated in Spain with the Orientalism in the Colony.
118
María Concepción García Sáiz suggests that the parents of Genízaro could be
Cambujo and China or Torna-atrás and India or Barcino and Zambaiga (26-27). This
indicates the predominance of the Indigenous and African blood in the Genízaros. The
in-depth analysis of their offsprings, such as Gíbaros, can also cast light on the nature of
Genízaro group and the role of Orientalization in its perception and denomination. See
the following paintings: Clapera’s # 15 (De Genizaro, y Mulata Gibaro); Anonymous,
Las castas (section 9, “Lobo con China Gibaro”); Anonymous, De china y mulato
produce gibarao. The general racial structure by León suggests the following, which
makes Genízaro racially closer to Barcino (20):

De Barcino y Sambaigo, Genízaro

Indian
Black
White

119
The reason for selection of Christians was merely pragmatic. A Muslim in the
same position was believed to be prompt to abuse his privileges. His relatives could be
using his position to disobey local authorities, not paying taxes and event oppressing the
peasants. At the same time, the Christian selectees, converted to Islam would be more
zealous about their new religion and their new coreligionists (Kinross 147). The
Janissaries, the elite sultan forces, became famous in the Christian Europe as a result of

248
the numerous military campaigns of the Ottomans, as the one at Rhodes in 1522, when
the Sultan Suleimans’s fleet and army fought against European knights, Castile and
Aragon knights being among them; or the campaigns that followed, such as the one in
1535 when the joint forces of Spaniards, Germans and Italians under the command of
Andrea Doria disembarked in North Africa (Kinross 176-77, 220). However, towards
the end of the sixteenth century, the Janissaries became more sedentary. They were
allowed to work as artisan and receive profits from sales, as well as to get marry, which
naturally affected both their discipline and warrior spirit (Kinross 285). Only in 1826,
the Janissaries were officially abolished in Tanzamat (Regulations) of the Ottoman
Sultan Mahmud II (1785-1839), as intent to modernize the army (Armstrong 150, 194).
120
It is curios that in Facundo color, a crucial aspect for social segregation in the
castas paintings is also used for differentiating the so-called civilization and barbarism.
In Chapter 8, Sarmiento offers a long discourse on color and how it served as a
distinction of Rosas’s supporters. He then ties the use of color to barbarism, as it was
used by barbaric civilizations, culminating his deliberations with a rhetoric question:
“¿Es casualidad que Argel, Túnez, el Japón, Marruecos, Turquía, Siam, los africanos,
los salvajes, los Nerones romanos, los reyes barbarous, il terrore e lo spavento, el
Verdugo y Rosas, se hallen vestidos con un color proscrito hoy día, por las sociedades
cristianas y cultas?” (Sarmiento, Civilización 122).
121
This dismal picture of Latin American barbarism echoes the descriptions of
the first explorers and colonizers, whose Orientalized image of el buen salvaje populated
European literature and long after the end of the Conquest.
122
See translation for this quote:
The critics of Orientalism, starting with Edward Said, regarded the
Oriental (with exaggeration?) as a projection, to which the Europeans
attribute all the negative characteristics they do not want to be associated
with their own image. It is a persistent error. The American, on the other
hand, was a prototype of hombre natural, that later was going to ramify
into many others; it was easy to transform and convert. This character
had its precursors in Greek and Roman thought, as well as Arabic, but
reincarnated in Europe after the first encounter with the primitive nations.
123
Taboada finds natural the connection of the Orientalism and Americanism:
. . . no es extraño entonces que el primer americanismo haya derivado
algunos temas del orientalismo. Más tarde la experiencia del mundo
Americano llegó a crecer en tales proporciones que desplazó a los
escritores turcógrafos en España, país que se iba a convertir en el centro
del saber americanista (hasta el siglo XVIII) mientras iba descuidando los
estudios orientalistas, al tiempo que París y Ovaina los creaban. El Turco

249
 y el Moro reinaron en la literatura española del Siglo de Oro a partir de
1580, y desde esa misma fecha fueron desapareciendo de su ciencia.
(228-29)
124
However, as Stacie Widdifield notes:
With the move toward independence, the body of the Indian became
the critical nexus in the discourse of origin and authenticity. The
Indian of academic painting was constructed in a historical light as a
complex “simulacrum of the Indian [with] the aura of an elite culture
from which the present of the nineteenth century could claim a
legitimizing descent. These nineteenth-century representations also
contained the regulatory associations of casta references. Specifically,
the use of neoclassicism also maintained the Indian as a figure that
was the continuous object of conquest and westernization. (10-11)

250
 CHAPTER 4.

The Differentiation: Hispanic Orientalism in Modern Latin America

§ 1. Introduction

The geopolitical and social impact of Latin American independence can be

compared to the aftermath of the Reconquest in Spain. A new power structure impacted

the development of society, and naturally led to the revision of the traditional Other.125

As Walden Browne notes, “the rise of nationalistic sentiments in Latin America coincides

with the growing desire on the part of its inhabitants to establish an intellectual

foundation separate from Europe or the United States” (63). As had happened earlier in

the Peninsula, these profound political changes had a strong impact on the modern

Hispanic Orientalist paradigm. The decline of the Spanish Colonial Empire, partly as a

result of “the Indies gone, prosperity done” process (Etemad 193), also factored into the

reconsideration of a new position on the world arena by the newly formed Latin

American nations.

The early independence period was marked by significant political and economic

clashes, as violence and poverty went hand-in-hand. It is notorious, however, that until

now, even the countries of Latin America that had enjoyed a wide variety of mineral and

natural resources, such as Mexico, Peru, and Argentina among others, have experienced

great economic difficulties.126 The period of independence in Latin America was also

marked by the more or less violent rule of succeeding military regimes. They appeared

not only during the process of formation and stabilization of sociopolitical processes in

251
the young nations but continued to emerge in the twentieth century. The ideas and

policies of the leaders who wore military uniforms when they came to power, such as

Juan Domingo Perón (Argentina), Fidel Castro (Cuba), Augusto Pinochet (Chile), Hugo

Chávez (Venezuela) and others, up until today affect popular thinking and the

development of sociocultural relations in their respective countries. In his study on the

relations between ex-colonizer and ex-colonized, Albert Memmi traces a parallel between

the decolonization of Latin America in the nineteenth century and the Arab world in the

twentieth, pointing out that military regimes played crucial roles in the history of both ex-

colonized 127 defining their post-colonial relationships (Decolonization 15-17). While

such regimes often may have appeared attractive in the beginning, their strategies for

maintaining political power have proven detrimental for the nation.

As a result, Latin American independence failed to bring prosperity and peace, or

to solve social and political conflicts. Often, it meant the change from one “master” to

another rather than a change in the system itself. In his comparative analysis of

decolonization in the North African Arabic countries and the Southern Cone, Albert

Memmi traces an interesting parallel: “Naturally, it is reassuring for a people to be

governed by leaders of its own; flattering to see their flag flapping in the wind in place of

that of the colonizers . . . but, for majority, things haven’t changed much. There has been

a change of master, but, like new leeches, the new ruling classes are often greedier than

the old” (Decolonization 3-4). Furthermore, Memmi points out that the educated and

highly motivated members of the upper middle class (criollos, in the case of Latin

America) were expected to “have taken care of the administration of national business

matters in the interests of its people . . . instead, this class exacted privileges for itself and

252
developed a political and administrative system to protect them” (Decolonization 4).

Tired of being underprivileged, the Latin American criollos, who now took the place of

the colonial master, needed to legitimize their position, as the Spanish conquistadors

previously had done. The new criollo elite would also have to revise the image of Latin

America and the Amerindian in order to differentiate themselves from the former

metropolis.

In this sense, the following assertion by Hernán Taboada about the arrival of

Spaniards to the New World can be metaphorically applied to the Latin America that

suddenly came to the realization of its new political role and place, and the deep

similarities between itself and the former metropolis that it tried to overcome through

differentiation:128

Cuando la civilización europea alcanzó más vigor y autoconciencia,

atribuyó esta capacidad de redimirse mediante la imitación a la cantidad

de otros pueblos, incluyendo, desde el siglo XIX, a los muslimes, pero el

americano resultó ser el espejo llamativo y hacia él dirigieron

crecientemente las miradas los europeos. Durante siglos, los varones de la

Cristiandad latina se habían distinguido de los muslimes o los judíos por

su ausencia de barba. Al arribar al Nuevo Mundo anotaron, acertadamente

o no, que su modalidad lampiña era compartida por los amerindios, cuya

escasa pilosidad empezó a convertirse en un rasgo básico de las

descripciones. Que los europeos comenzaran a portar barba a partir del

siglo XVI es un hecho, y en alguna medida, aunque con seguridad la

causalidad no es tan directa, el cambio nos señala que el Otro por

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 excelencia, del cual había que distinguirse, no era ya el judío/muslim, sino

el amerindio. (Taboada 232).

As in the case of Spaniards, not so much the physical, but rather the cultural and

sociopolitical resemblance of the former colony was perceived as an obstacle to the

successful and independent development of the Latin American countries. As such, it is

addressed through Orientalizing the self and the Other(s).

As the power rested in the hands of the people once considered “the product” of

the New World and, hence, second class citizens, towards the beginning of the twentieth

century there began a significant movement toward locating a new niche for Latin

America in world history. As Marcel Merle suggests, the process of decolonization

provoked “pasiones en lugar de reflexión” (“passions instead of reflexion”); however,

once the tumultuous Independence period was over, the new nations felt the urge to

“ascender hasta los orígenes de la aventura colonial para identificar las corrientes de

pensamiento que la favorecieron y las que se opusieron” (“to get to the origins of the

colonial enterprise to identify the ideas that favored and opposed it”; 13). So, as the states

progressed and gained more recognition, their attention moved from the search for the

external Other, as a means for differentiation, to the revalorization of the Latin American

heritage. As such, the previous periods, both in literature and politics, are characterized

by the virtual absence of an indigenous voice, unless it was represented in Orientalist

fashion by, and served the interest of, the dominant group. Therefore, even though the

colonial master has changed, the autochthonous population continued to be the Other-

within of the newly born independent Latin America, often Orientalized and surrounded

by a preconceived concept of their nature and self. With the exception of Benito Juárez in

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México, it is not until well into the twentieth century that we see influential figures of

indigenous ancestry, such as Juan Evo Morales Ayma or Rigoberta Menchú.

These circumstances – the presence of the ethno-cultural group, overlooked or

oppressed by the ruling class, on the one hand, and the historical memory of the ruling

class itself as having been oppressed, on the other hand, as the former colonized –

defined Hispanic Orientalism in post-Independence Latin America. Already during the

transitional period the authors of the New World started to look at the rest of the world,

as well as into their own restructured society, for a new Other, against which to define the

emerging nations. This process only intensifies into modernity as the threat of a new

“reconquest” by the former metropolis diminishes.

The parallel with the historical past, once again, is not incidental. As Hernán

Taboada notes, “antes de tener parlamentos, ejércitos y universidades de cartón pintado,

tuvimos una Reconquista de cartón pintado; desde el Cid mucho habían cambiado los

tiempos, aunque los hombres que llegaron a Indias no siempre lo vieran, dominados por

algunas míticas ideas de lo ocurrido en la España medieval” (“before having puppet

parliaments, armies and universities, we had a puppet Reconquest; a lot had changed

since the times of the Cid, even though those who arrived in the New World were not

always able to see it, possessed as they were by mythical ideas of what had happened in

Medieval Spain”; 194). This parallel illustrates the continuity of Hispanic Orientalism as

a dynamic paradigm that, despite its rather superficial shifts in actors and circumstances

along its temporal and geographical journey, continued to project its political agenda onto

modernity. So, as in the Renaissance with the Moors, Latin American nations in the

twentieth century became more benevolent toward the internal/external Other. The

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difference in this perception is often marked by the desire for self-affirmation on the part

of the newly independent state, which leads to a more favorable representation of the

Other, and even its “veneration,” as argued by Julia Kushigian.

Consequently, two main Hispanic Orientalist strategies result from the new

political dynamics of post-Independence Latin America. Both of them served the purpose

of differentiation through self-Orientalization. As Latin American nations moved towards

their independence this need for self-assurance only grew stronger. During the post-

Independence period, it manifested in further differentiation not only from the former

metropolis, but from the other Others, including the Oriental (Asian) Other. One of these

strategies is focused on the role of the outsider, and looks for the Other both in the

traditional Orient and in Europe, the former colonizer. This approach is copiously

reflected in twentieth-century literary works, for instance those of the representatives of

the modernista movement.

This chapter looks into the search and the interpretation of the European/Oriental

Other(s) in works by Enrique Gómez Carrillo: his modernista travel logs, such as Japón

heroico y galante (1912), La Rusia actual (1906), and literary criticism as Literaturas

extranjeras (1895). Also, we will analyze the relationship with the external Oriental

Other in the short stories of Jorge Luis Borges. The selection of Borges’s works allows

for a dialogue with Kushigian’s suggesion of a sincere veneration of the Orient in

Hispanic Orientalism.

The other modern Orientalist strategy is focused on the image of the Amerindian

self, previously Orientalized by hegemonic society. Erik Camayd-Freixas notes that

“‘orientalization’ of Native Americans, which depicted them as foreigners in their own

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land so as to justify colonization, is a direct antecedent of modern Orientalist discourses

about Latin America” (Controversy 1). Indeed, the shift of power in the New World

called for the revision of the Eurocentric model and a push towards constructing a new

perspective centered on Latin America. This leads to what Cristina Civantos defines as

hispanismo, the reconciliation and the revalorization of the Spanish heritage in the

Americas (27). It is carried out through self-Orientalization and the revalorization of the

Other for the purpose of differentiation from the mentality and the political dominance of

the former colonizer.

Silvia Nagy-Zekmi states that “la visión eurocéntrica de la escritura orientalista se

construye a partir de esta misma distancia entre el Uno (self) y el Otro que se establece

para impedir la realización del deseo del observador y para permitir que las cualidades

negativas del sujeto se subrayen y lo atractivo se represente como un extraño elemento de

una cultura incomprensible e impenetrable” (“the Eurocentric vision of Orientalist

writings is based on this very distance between the self and the Other that is established

to prevent the realization of the observer’s desires and to allow for the exaltation of the

negative qualities of the subject while presenting its attractiveness as a strange element of

an incomprehensible and impenetrable culture”; 17). If so, Latin America-centered

Orientalism inverts these elements, making the former hegemony “strange” and

“incomprehensible,” while attributing positive characteristics to the formerly Orientalized

self.

This inversion of the roles is not new to Latin America. The switch of

dichotomous elements is an Orientalist relationship that took place previously both in

Renaissance Spain and during the Independence period in Latin America. In order to

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analyze this path of revalorization of the past, this chapter analyses the twentieth-century

image of the Orientalized figure par excellence of Latin American history, La Malinche.

It looks into the revision of her role during the Conquest, in Elena Garro’s “La culpa es

de los tlaxcaltecas.” Confronted with the masculine stereotypical image of this legendary

interpreter and the symbolic mother of mestizaje, Garro attempts to de-Orientalize her

protagonist in an effort to revalorize colonial history.

In order to recreate the contemporary paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism, the

approach of each of the above mentioned authors is analyzed in the context of previous

Orientalist tradition. The goal and the outcomes of their Orientalist strategies, focused on

self and the non-Latin American Other, are then compared in order to trace similarities

among them, which ultimately allows for establishing the characteristics of Hispanic

Orientalism in the twentieth century. This allows us to define the paradigm for Hispanic

Orientalism during the post-Independence period, when Latin America, the former

colonized self, is striving to find its place in the modern world, in order to establish

relationships with Europe, Asia, and North America, and at the same time to review its

own sociopolitical order and the relationships between different classes and sociocultural

groups (castes) within its own society.

§ 2. Differentiation through Reinterpretation: The Traditional

and the Non-Traditional Other

The beginning of the twentieth century for post-Colonial Spain and Latin America

was marked by two significant but opposite tendencies. By 1898, Spain lost its remaining

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overseas colonies as a result of the Spanish-American War, which negatively affected its

image on the world’s arena, as well as weakened its political influence. At the same time,

the former colonies, emerging from the tumultuous process of national formation and

having obtained a new political identity, felt more secure about the diminished colonial

European threat. Under these new circumstances “early twentieth-century Latin America

is known for its hispanismo, or Hispanism, a spirit of reconciliation with Spain that

entailed a revalorization of Hispano-America’s Spanish heritage” (Civantos 27). For

Hispanic Orientalism it meant that its Eurocentric nature, which characterized the

discourse of civilization and barbarism during the nineteenth and part of the twentieth

century, was gradually giving way to a different approach (Nagy-Zekmi 18). Michel

Foucault also argues that by the twentieth century, Europe increasingly looked for an

outsider Other to help it reestablish its identity after the nineteenth-century turmoil (Les

mots 339). Latin America did not fall short of similar aspirations. During the period when

the image of the actual Orient as a threat was too historically removed to be preserved in

the popular imagery, and Latin America was self-assured enough to move forward with

its own version of Orientalism, it was the search for the new Other that marked modern

Hispanic Orientalism.

At the beginning of the twentieth century while the search for the negative image

of Latin America continued, many of the authors resorted once again to the Oriental

Other. This approach fits substantively with the theory of Edward Said, whose “book

became emblematic of the coherent criticism of the Western colonial enterprise in the

Orient, and subsequently, in the so-called ‘Third World,’ by unmasking the creation of

the colonial/colonizing discourse, which naturally forced upon us the idea of an exotic

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Orient” (Nagy-Zekmi, 14-15; my translation). This idea of the Orientalized exotic

Oriental Other became immensely popular during the modern period. Araceli Tinajero in

her book Orientalismo en el modernismo americano argues for this tendency for

exoticism in the representations of the Orient in the works of Latin American modernista

authors, such as Juan José Tablada, Efrén Rebolledo, Enrique Gómez Carrillo, Rubén

Darío, Julián del Casal, and others. These authors not only refer to Oriental topics, they

also experiment with Oriental literary forms. For instance, Juan José Tablada is the first

Latin American poet to write haikus, as seen in his collection of poems Un día (1919)

(Whittingham 218). However, often their use of Oriental themes and forms was merely

decorative: their search for an enhanced sensibility and their rejection of Western

rationality forced them to reinterpret the Other (Camayd-Freixas, Tao 120).

This proposition, the exoticizing Orientalist approach to the Oriental Other,

contrasts with Julia Kushigian thesis about the veneration of the Orient in the Latin

American Literary tradition. While the abundance of Orient-related images is indicative

of the interest in the topic, the quality of representation speaks to the curiosity of the

authors and their admiration of the often pre-constructed image of the Other. Examples of

this are the travelogues of Enrique Gómez Carrillo (1873-1927), a Guatemalan with deep

roots in the European cultural and literary tradition. Born in post-Independence Latin

America, only relatively independence economically and politically, Gómez Carrillo,

using the terms of Rana Kabbani, felt that he was “the agent of the superior civilization”

when he looked at the Orient. However, his exoticizing look is slightly different than that

of the original Peninsular Orientalism. While reinventing the Other, he seeks self-

Orientalization at the same time, as a way to differentiate his Latin American identity

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from that of the others. In his attempt to carry out this process, Gómez Carrillo refers to

the notion of the proper Orient, as well as a broader approach to it, for instance, including

images of Eastern Europe in his “Oriental” travelogues. This section analyses his

Orientalized perception of the Other in his travel narrative and literary criticism, such as

El Japón heroico y galante (1912), La Rusia actual (1906), and Literatura extranjera

(1895).

The debate between the predominantly negative Saidian approach to Orientalist-

type relationships and Kushigian’s thesis about the veneration of the Orient in the

Hispanic literary tradition is crucial for understanding the perception of the Orient in the

narrative of the “errant chronicler” Gómez Carrillo. A Guatemalan writer, educated in

Europe and proud of his European ancestry, Gómez Carrillo worked as a correspondent

for both Spanish and Latin American newspapers, visiting numerous countries of the so-

called Orient, from Russia to Japan and North Africa. But it is Japan and Japanese culture

that seemed to attract his attention the most, possibly because of the widespread

japonofilía in France, Paris being the center of the artistic world at the time (Whittingham

219). Ivan Schulman in his argument about the new modernista approach to

Orientalism(s) also indicates that the Latin American representatives of this movement

were strongly influenced by the nineteenth-century predetermined images of the Orient

they encountered in predominantly French texts (96). He also indicates that the Hispanic

World, familiar with the Arab Other, was looking into the exotic Orient rather than the

Middle East. At the same time, the political and social turmoil in countries like China

often prevented European travelers from visiting, whereas Japan, which opened to the

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Western world in 1853, presented an exciting opportunity for an Orientalist discovery

(96).

Gómez Carrillo’s travel writings were not an exception to this tendency. He

dedicated several travel memoires to the description and analysis of the customs and

traditions of Japan and its inhabitants, as well as Japanese literature: Literaturas exóticas

(1920), El alma japonesa (1905), and El Japón heroico y galante (1912). But it is

perhaps the latter work (Heroic and Gallant Japan) that best reveals Gómez Carillo’s use

of Hispanic Orientalism in nominally “post-colonial” Latin America. 129 It shows an

interesting blend between the ideologies of the former colonizer and the colonized in the

mentality of the author, as a Guatemalan who spent his formative years in France. This

influences his approach to the Other, as well as his perception and his interpretation of

Japanese culture and lifestyle.

At the time when Gómez Carrillo visited Japan it had emerged as a victor over the

Russian Empire. Its future potential, as well as its process of cultural modernization were

at the center of Europe’s attention. For Gómez Carrillo, the case of Japan was especially

significant: its Westernization and modernization in the twentieth century echoed similar

processes that Guatemala and Latin America as a whole were aspiring to at the turn of the

century (Clark 111). Therefore, Gómez Carrillo’s interpretation of this process, as well as

his understanding of Japanese culture was tacitly influenced by the desire of self-

identification.

In order to understand the nature of Orientalization in El Japón heroico y galante,

it is important to refer to Said’s concepts of “strategic location” and “strategic

formation.” Their thorough understanding casts light on the position of the author with

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respect to the Other that he observes and interprets, as well as the position of Japan itself,

caught between the process of Westernization and the desire to preserve its own culture.

As Memmi states, “writers have a marvelous tool at their disposal, imagination, which

allows them to make believe. They can attribute to fictional characters things they

themselves feel and think” (36). Likewise, Gómez Carrillo creates his own image of

Japan influenced by his beliefs and experiences. Similarly, his contemporaries, such as

José Juan Tablada and other Latin American modernists build their own rather

exoticizing visions of Japan (Chang Shik 100). Gómez Carrillo as well, in the words of

Francisco Morán, “va en busca de un topos en el que Occidente ya ha envasado su

mirada: . . .el Oriente literario de las fabulas y las leyendas, de las sensaciones que

persigue el modernismo” (“looks for a topos that the Occident has already established:

the Orient of fairy-tales and legends, a feeling that is pursued by Modernism”; 394).

At the beginning of Gómez Carrillo’s travelogue, he reports, disappointed, that

the influence of Western civilization has spread to Japan. However, as he leaves

Yokohama and heads to Tokyo, he finds more and more representations of his idyllic

“Japón soñado” (“the Japan I dreamed about”; Japón 10). He is amazed and at the same

time amused by the paradoxical combination of sadness and gallantry in Japan.

Submerged in the world of elegant musme (meaning “girl” or “daughter” in Japanese),

naïve and carnal “women of pleasure,” oiran, and ancient samurai, he founds what he

sees as the essence of Japan: a blend of tragic and heroic spirits displayed in front of his

eyes in a solemn slowness. Gómez Carrillo finds these qualities not only in the glorious

samurai, but even in the lowest classes and the least revered professions (in the eyes of a

European traveler), as in the legend of “virtuosa oirán” (“virtuous oiran”): “En mi

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ignorancia, yo no sabía, hace pocas semanas, que una hetaira . . . puede ser modelo de

honestidad” (“In my ignorance, I did not know till recently that a hetaera could be a

model of honesty”; Japón 27). He uses the legends, the poetry, and the events in

contemporary texts to attest to his observations and add to the veracity of his narration. In

his descriptions, Gómez Carrillo also pays special attention to Japanese realia, recreating

an exotic atmosphere: kimonos, exquisite silks, magnificent screens, bamboo furniture,

exotic hairdos; all of them shape the profile of his “Japón admirable” (“admirable Japan”;

Japón 12).

As a result, Gómez Carrillo sees Western influence on Japan as menacing and

destructive. He concludes his analysis of the Westernization of the country with the

following words: “la miseria tal como hoy existe . . . es una fatal consecuencia de la

influencia europea” (“misery in its current state is the fatal consequence of European

influence”; Japón 204). Furthermore, he declares that this pernicious and distructive

influence is dangerous not only for Japan, but also for the whole world, as it diverts this

Oriental giant from its historic mission: “Las civilizaciones de todos los países deben

reunirse en el Japón; y el Japón transformará estas civilizaciones por su influencia propia

y dotará al mundo de una civilización única y verdadera. Esta es la misión particular del

Japón” (“The civilizations of all countries should meet in Japan; and Japan will transform

these civilizations through its own influence and give the world a real and unique

civilization. This is the actual mission of Japan”; Japón 100).

The tacit comparison with Latin America here is pivotal. In the post-Colonial

period, the new nations were at the crossroads of civilization: they had to choose whether

to continue with the European traditions brought by the conquistadors or to go back to

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their pre-Colombian roots. By creating such parallelism with Orientalized Japan, Gómez

Carrillo calls for revalorization of the past for the sake of differentiating the independent

Latin American self that is being “destroyed” by Westernizing influence. This is a crucial

aspect of modern Hispanic Orientalism; the call for the revision of the Orientalized past

becomes only stronger as Latin America faces more political and cultural challenges in

the twentieth century.

In this light, the image of this country created by Gómez Carrillo seems to be

rather distant from the traditional Saidian negativism. The author praises the national

character, both in men and women, openly admires the Japanese past and present. He

singles out Japan among all other Oriental countries he visited and seems sympathetic to

its historic mission conveyed to him by the locals, and found in the legends and myths of

the country. However, does his view entirely follow Kushigian’s positivist definition of

Hispanic Orientalism and is Gómez Carrillo’s approach a true and sincere veneration of

the real Japan? In order to answer these questions it is important to go beyond the

superficial descriptions of the country and its traditions and analyze the broader context

in which they are given.

First and foremost, it becomes obvious to the reader from the very beginning that

the travelogue purports to be written from a European point of view or is aimed at a

European audience. This can be seen in multiple mentions of Europe and European artists

and writers found on the pages of Heroic and Gallant Japan. In the first paragraph, a

synthesis of the travelogue, Gómez Carrillo describes Japanese reality as “no como en

Europa” (“not like in Europe”; Japón 10). Hence, the starting point for his observations is

Europe and the Other is measures against its traditional values. One can attribute these

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numerous references to the European history, literature and culture to the fact that Gómez

Carrillo saw his audience as primarily European. But even so, their abundance and their

recurrence, and at the same time, the lack of references to Latin America (there are only

three or four in the whole text) is indicative of the imperative desire of the Guatemalan

writer to take advantage of the hegemonic discourse; therefore, it is natural to expect that

he would use it in his narrative. Such supposition can explain why Japan interests him so

much. Its ambivalent position between its glorious past and Westernized present echoes

the personal dilemma of the author, caught between the Latin Americanism of the former

colony and the Eurocentric approach to the Other of the former European colonizer.

Gómez Carrillo has to reimagine himself first in order to reimagine the Oriental Other. In

this sense, he follows Kushigian’s argument about self-Orientalization as an integral part

of Hispanic Orientalism.

Secondly, viewed through a European lens, the image of Japan cannot but

undergo a process of reinvention. Gómez Carrillo arrives at this country, as he himself

attests, looking for a Japan that he was dreaming about, to find “qué le falta a este Japón,

en el que vivo desde hace algunas horas, para ser mi Japón soñado” (“what this Japan that

I am living in for the past several hours lacks to become the Japan that I dreamed about”;

Japón 10). His descriptions of the local customs and traditions are always carried out in

comparison to European ones: “Los europeos llaman a Utamaro el pintor de las casas

verdes” (“The Europeans call Utamaro the painter of green houses”; Japón 41), “Cree

Usted que hay un occidental célèbre capaz de hablar así? Uno hubo . . . Se llamó

Próspero Mèrimée” <sic> (“Do you believe that there is a famous Westerner able to

speak like this? There was one. His name was Prosper Mérimée”; Japón 41), “El miedo a

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la muerte, este miedo que domina al Occidente, no ha invadida aún el Japón” (“The fear

of death, this fear that dominates the Occident, has not yet invaded Japan”; Japón 135).

These strong European bonds and the use of Europe as a reference are indicative of the

fact that the appreciation of Japan’s self and culture is carried out from the standpoint of

the Occident. This reveals that despite the author’s respect of the Other, its image is

redrawn using European patterns, in other words, Orientalized. It is appreciated but its

value is measured using European scale.

It is also indicative of Gómez Carrillo’s Orientalization that it does not always

take the form of an open and premeditated Europeanizing hegemonic discourse. While

there are only few direct comparisons to Latin America in Heroic and Gallant Japan,

there are various metatextual references to the New World and tacit comparisons of Japan

and Latin America. Their significance lies, however, not only in the fact that such

comparisons are silenced by the author, but in their nature. For instance, Gómez Carrillo

describes the differences in Japanese referring to the notion of castes in Latin America,

and even describes the lower class Japanese women as “lo mismo que las indias de

América” (“same as Indigenous women in America”; Japón 20). This is especially

peculiar in light of the fact that the castas painings, the representations of the castes

popular in colonial Latin America, were banned in 1822 in Mexico for their

discriminatory nature.

Another important metatextual comparison between the New World and Japan

lies in the description of their religious practices and honor code. When describing

hakakiri, the ritual suicide of the Japanese worriers, Gómez Carrillo notes that “sacrificio

de la existencia como . . . acto natural” (“sacrificing one’s existence is a natural act”;

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Japón 49). It is this and other similar practices of the honor code and even everyday life

that contributed to the grandeur and the gallant heroism of Japan’s splendid past. This

cannot but raise the argument about the role of the colonizer in the process of the

conquest of the Aztec Empire and its impact on (paraphrasing the words of Bernardo de

Balbuena, la grandeza latinoamericana) the Latin American grandeur and its history.

The Orientalized image of Japan, thus, allows Gómez Carrillo to tacitly review the Latin

American past without calling for such revision openly, which might not be welcomed by

his contemporary readers from both Europe and Latin America.

But perhaps, the most indicative of Gómez Carrillo’s Orientalization, as well as

self-Orientalization is the reference to the wide-spread mito del buen salvaje (myth of the

noble savage). Popularized in the chronicles of the first explorers and conquistadors, it

originally described the indigenous population of the Americas as the naïve and lost

children of the true faith, which later allowed for the religious campaigns and

Christianization. Gómez Carrillo uses similar imagery to describe the contemporary

Japanese, whom he sees as the lost children of a great civilization that is disappearing

under the European pressure. The author is surprised by their shameless nudity, their

harmonious living with nature, but at the same time their sins, their view of women

divided into progenitors and prostitutes, and their inability to distinguish between good

and evil, as in the case of oiran who are often surrounded by “aureola de perfecciónes”

<sic> despite their not so noble profession (“halo of perfection”; Japón 39). He uses even

more direct references to the myth, so deeply embedded in the perception of the

Amerindian Other, when referring to the looks of the Japanese: “sin más traje que un

taparrabos, un simple taparrabos de salvaje” (“wearing no more than a loincloth, the

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simple loincloth of a savage”; Japón 14). This comparative self-Orientalization plays a

crucial role in Gómez Carrillo’s political agenda. Without it, a process of differentiation

would not be complete.

According to Kushigian, Hispanic Orientalism lacks imperial aspiration, which is

what makes it able to comprehend and appreciate its Other. For her, Hispanic Orientalism

“reflects not so much a political posture towards the Orient . . . rather, a more thoughtful

approach that values the dialogue of discourses, reflecting an antithetical denial of and

openness to the Other . . . providing an enriching discourse that does not seek to exercise

social or political control over the Orient” (10-11). However, this is not entirely true in

the case of Gómez Carrillo. While his goal is indeed not to control the Other, his dialogue

with the Orient is not as open or as direct as Kushigian suggests. While she insists that

the positivism of Hispanic Orientalism is the result of the yuxtapositional and non-

hierarchical structure of the relationship with the Other that is reflected in its

openendedness and polyglot nature (14), the Eurocentric approach to the image of Japan

plays an important role in Gómez Carrillo’s narrative. Even when he uses it as a

mechanism to call for the revalorization of the Latin American past, the fact that he is

forced to do it is significant. As such, the relationships between the observer and the

Other are not entirely non-hierarchical. The Orient is portrayed and judged from an

outside’s perspective, which in case of Gómez Carrillo is complicated by his self-

Orientalization.

Gómez Carrillo uses similar Orientalization tactics not only when addressing the

proper Orient. In his critical essays and travel logs, he seeks to analyze a broader Other in

order to highlight the uniqueness of Lain America’s historical and cultural path. For

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instance, he refers to the images of Europe, especially Eastern and Northern Europe.

Multiple times, he comes back to the image of czarist Russia, and the image of this non-

traditional Other reveals his Orientalist approach that might not be as obvious in the case

of the Orient proper, whose Orientalized traits became almost canonical by the beginning

of the twentieth century.

As in case of Japan, Gómez Carrillo refers to the image of Russia, its history and

culture on multiple occasions. He analyses the historical trajectory of the country in La

Rusia actual (1906); while in Literaturas exóticas (1920) along with other authors from

Eastern Europe (Albania, Montenegro), North Africa (Tunisia) and Asia (Corea, China,

Japan) he analyses El rey de los judíos, a sacrilege play that he attributes to Grand Duque

Konstantin Romanov (see chapter “Un drama evangélico ruso”). In his earlier critical

essay, Literatura extranjera (1895), he dedicates two chapters, respectively, to a

Ukrainian-born Russian woman writer, Maria Bashkirtseva, and to the major Russian

poet Alexander Pushkin, whose African roots were well-known.130

The very fact that the Slavic Empire became the center of Gómez Carrillo’s

attention is significant, especially in the light of Russian-Japanese conflict and the attack

of Port Artur in 1904, and the might of these two world powers (Torres 153-54). The

image of imperial Russia (1721-1917) that extended over Europe and Asia, with the Urals

as a symbolic frontier between both worlds, resulted very attractive for the Guatemalan

writer: formed as a result of the process of consolidation of its relatively developed

European part and Asian (Siberian) wilderness, it was conquered and explored much like

Latin America in the early Colonial period. On the other hand, it served as a reminder of

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the metropolis, the country where nunca se ponía el sol (“the sun never goes down”) and

whose mythical natural treasures became legendary in Europe.

This duality and, at the same time, the similarities between Russian and Latin

American colonial history served Gómez Carrillo as a basis for his revision of Latin

America’s future and its position in respect to the old metropolis. The geographic

position of the Russian Empire, two thirds of which were located in Asia, contributed to

its easy inclusion in the often diverse and multifaceted group of “Orientals.” On the other

hand, the Russian Empire was seen for a long time as the Other of Europe, barbaric and

wild compared to the “civilized” Old World, much like Latin America in its relation to

Spain. Gómez Carrillo embraces the opportunity of rescuing the image of traditional

Russia from oblivion through the Orientalization of its image, which could allow for the

revalorization of the past in the New World.

At the center of Saidian Orientalism lies the thesis that it is customary that a

dominant culture “actively makes place in it for a foreign Other” through the process of

Orientalization that includes attributing to it all negative or unwanted characteristics

(xxv). Gómez Carrillo, who oscillated between the Eurocentric sociocultural traditions

that Orientalized Latin America in the first place, and the former Colony’s quest for

differentiation, skillfully uses this duplicity to disguise his criticism under the mask of

traditional Eurocentrism. His approach to the image of Russia, similarly to the previous

case of Japan, combines the two Orientalist approaches. It is not a coincidence, that

Gómez Carrillo included the chapter on Cuban-born French poet José María de Heredia

in the same volume where he theorizes about Russian literature and the role of Alexander

Pushkin.

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 Gómez Carrillo resorts to the image of the Russian Empire multiple times. In his

travelogue, La Rusia actual, he describes its land and its capital at that time, St.

Petersburg, along with the other “Oriental” cities and countries (from a European point of

view): India, Shanghai, Damascus, Athens, Tokio, and others. In his literary criticism, he

claims to rescue from oblivion the names of certain writers unjustly forgotten by

mainstream European society. However, very often, these images have a certain exotic

appeal: they are often the Others opposing the dominant literary tradition or transgressing

social boundaries, like Maurice Barrès or Carmen Sylva, the Romanian queen-artist, or

Alexander Pushkin, the most significant Russian poet whose rebellious and elegant

poetry and prose reformed not only national literature but the language itself. In order to

revalue and rescue their image, and as a result, to validate the Other, Gómez Carrillo

cannot but use the same technique that Orientalized it in the first place.

Sharpened by exoticism, in the words of Ivan Schulman (105), Gómez Carrillo’s

Orientalism, however, serves a different purpose. Indeed, it would be erroneous to assert

that Gómez Carrillo’s Orientalism is only disguised or shrouded in European tradition.

“Un verdadero hijo de Francia” (“a true son of France”) according to Julio César

Anzueta, he shares the European taste for the exotic, predominantly in Oriental cultures

(46). One of the most vivid examples of this is his very publicly discussed relationship

with Mata Hari. That said, Gómez Carrillo’s Orientalism still kept a certain distance from

the Reconquest and even the Conquest tradition, as he was more aware of the negativism

of the exclusivist position of his predecessors. As such, he praises Emilia Pardo Bazán’s

efforts to rediscover Nordic literature for the readers in Spain and Europe. His Literatura

extranjera shows the oscillation of Gómez Carrillo between the hegemonic and the

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subaltern cultures: on one hand, he praises contemporary French literature, on the other,

he brings to life the literary works of Nordic authors - Swedish, Norwegian, German,

English, and Russian.

Gómez Carrillo himself admits that, for many, there is still a “misterio exótico y

lejano,” something that explains why “nuestro entusiasmo por las letras eslavas es

apasionado” (“exotic and remote mystery”; “our passionate enthusiasm for Slavic

literature”; Gómez Carrillo, Crítica 65). His “alma irónica de comentarista marginal”

(“ironic soul of a marginal commentator”), his personality, which was often compared to

Jules Verne’s or Gustavo Aymard’s, allows Gómez Carrillo to have a fresh look at old

facts (Ugarte 134, 138). However, despite his awareness of the imperfections of an

Orientalist glance at the Other, he cannot avoid it, partly influenced by the dominant

tradition, partly because it was the only literary weapon he knew he could effectively use

to achieve his goals.

As such, the brief analysis of the trajectory of Russian literature in Western

Europe that precedes his analysis of the life and literary legacy of Alexander Pushkin

(1799-1837) in Literatura extranjera is a brilliant example of reinterpretation. Unlike his

predecessors, Gómez Carrillo is more aware of this Orientalization, which he carries out

through his manipulations of perspectives and historical facts. Hernán Taboada notes that

the Hispanic world, in the absence of an Islamic threat, centers its attention on the

exoticism of the Other (56). Similarly, Russian literature sparked curiosity in the

European mind as long as it remained in the periphery and did not significantly interfere

with it. “La fijación de una frontera hasta entonces cambiante” (“fixation of the

previously unstable frontier”), in the case of the Russian and Spanish Empires vis a vis

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the “Turkish threat,” started to take shape by the end of the eighteenth century (Taboada

173). This crucial moment of the rise of the Northern power that coincides with political

and social reforms, along with the military victories of Catherine the Great (1729-1796)

in the South, is a period of especial interest for Carrillo, not only because of its temporal

proximity to the Independence of Latin America, but also because of the ideological

significance of this period when Russian national identity was being formed. This is what

possibly made it so convenient for the revision of the Latin American Orientalized image

proposed by Gómez Carrillo.

The introduction to his essay on Pushkin at first seems to be extremely rational,

thus denying the Orientalist approach. The author is ironical towards nationalistic writers

and critics: “los profesores de las Universidades nos hablaron . . . de herencia grecolatina,

asegurándonos que sólo lo ligero y lo elegante podía florecer bajo el sol del Mediodía”131

(“university professors talked to us about Greco-Roman legacy, assuring us that only the

subtle and the elegant could prosper under the Midday sun”; Gómez Carrillo, Crítica 66).

He seems to mock the secular stereotypes of such interpretation: “todo lo que el extremo

Septentrión nos envía es odioso; los rusos son cosacos, y los cosacos son los hijos de la

nieve y de la bruma . . . Al principio casi llegamos creer en la verdad de tales razones”

(“everything that is sent to us from the far North is detestable; the Russians are Cossacks,

and these are the children of the snow and the mist… At first, we might almost believe in

the truth of such arguments”; Gómez Carrillo, Crítica 66). This, along with the

abundance of dates and historical references should assert the trustworthiness of the

narrative.

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 Nevertheless, other than this brief introduction, the rest of the text is an example

of Orientalist manipulations, as a result of which the historical Pushkin gives way to an

exoticized image, well in line with the traditional Orientalized images of the Other. As

Juan Mendoza notes, “bien sabía él que el hombre de carne y hueso conmueve más que la

sombra; sabía también que la caricatura es risible, pero comprendió al mismo tiempo, que

el retrato auténtico es otra cosa;” so he makes his protagonist take part in “una existencia

real por la vitalidad de la exactitud que les imprimía” (“he very well knew that man of

flesh and bone affects us more than his shadow; he know that caricature is laughable, but

at the same time he understood that an authentic portray is a different thing”; “a real

experience because of the vitality of its image’s precision”; 310-11). As in his other

essays, Gómez Carrillo chooses “un ambiente cultural generalizado, que propiciaba su

temática, que adoptó sin reservas” (“a culturally generic ambience that favored his topic,

which he boldly implemented”; Gutiérrez 414). This allows him to easily manipulate

historical figures by transforming them into literary characters.

As such, the biographic account of Alexander Pushkin’s life appears Orientalized

bearing more resemblance to the plot of a novel than to a historic figure. Only to the

reader familiar with the poet’s life and works does it become soon evident that Gómez

Carrillo traces a parallel between the romantic protagonist par excellence of Eugene

Onegin (1823-1831) and his author. Despite the fact that his novel in verse bears some

resemblance to Pushkin’s life, the Guatemalan writer makes these similarities absolute,

which results in significant historical errors and misinterpretations. The romantization

and Orientalization of the poet is carried out in similar fashion to the figure of

Abencerraje in early post-Reconquest Spain. Pushkin’s life, his infancy and his literary

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career seem to be at the center of such transformation. Impoverished noblemen, the

Pushkins were able to place young Alexander in the famous Lyceum of Tsarskoe Selo

opened recently for the purpose of the education of the golden youth of the Russian

capital at the time, St. Petersburg. The phantasmagoric imagination of Gómez Carrillo

transforms them into “nobles cortesanos a quienes la vida en el palacio les impedía

consagrar diariamente algunas horas a la educación del niño” (“noblemen whose life in

court prevented them from dedicating several hours daily to the education of their son”;

Gómez Carrillo, Crítica 67). Some factual mistakes also take place, as it seems that,

according to Gómez Carrillo, Tsarskoe Selo was located close to Moscow.

Alexander Pushkin’s fame and influence on Russian literature is defined by his

elegant and agile poetry and prose. It is of no surprise then that the reinvention of this

figure is centered around his creative work. Gómez Carrillo, once again, as in the case of

Japan, introduces two opposite forces that fight for dominance. It is the deep influence of

French tutors and his Russian nanny that allows Pushkin to understand that “su fantasía

septentrional necesitaba versos amplios, robustos y tiernos, que el francés no podía darle”

(“his Nordic fantasy needed ample, robust and gently verses that French could not

provide”; Gómez Carrillo, Crítica 69). Gómez Carrillo theorizes and reinforces this idea

by referring to the theory of “idiomas nórdicos,” quoting Prosper Mérimée and others

who believed that “el ruso parece hecho para la poesía” (“Nordic languages”; “Russian

seems to be made for poetry”; Gómez Carrillo, Crítica 70). Once again, the revision of

the Other brings the Guatemalan writer to the same conclusion: the necessity to

revalorize the Latin American past that, as in the case of the life and legacy of Pushkin,

was unjustly misunderstood and forgotten, and declare its uniqueness.

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 To reinforce this idea, Gómez Carrillo goes even further by Orientalizing, as does

Sarmiento, the “barbaric” and opposing it to the “civilized” Europe:

Los idiomas del Norte, por el contrario, parecen hechos para expresar

sentimientos llenos de intensidad nebulosa. El choque frecuentísimo de las

consonantes, la gran libertad de los giros y el sonido prolongado de

algunas palabras, se prestan para expresar con nobleza cosas que en

italiano, en francés o en español parecerían ridículas. El ruso tiene todas

las cualidades de los dialectos bárbaros, con algo, además del movimiento

armónico de los idiomas meridionales. (Gómez Carrillo, Crítica 69-70;

my emphasis)

The languages of the North, on the contrary, seem to be created to

express feelings filled with nebulous intensity. Very frequent clash of

consonants, great freedom of order and prolonged sound of some words

are fitting to express in noble way things that in Italian, French or Spanish

would sound ridiculous. Besides the harmonic flow of Southern

languages, Russian also has all the qualities of the barbarous dialects.

Such descriptions attest to the existence of the two antagonistic entities, the self and the

Other, even on the semantic level. Both Pushkin and the Russian language, which was

later greatly influenced by the poet, are perceived as the Other, albeit closely linked to the

European dominant self. These Orientalized mirror images, like the images of

Abencerraje and Narváez in post-Reconquest Spain, establish the external and internal

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connections between the two entities revealing a complex nature of their interactions.132

However, the reinvention and reinterpretation of the Other and its comparison to the

dominant society is not carried out in the same way. It is done by “a third party,” the

former Other; thus the aim is not appropriation of the Orient by hegemonic society, but

revalorization of the self, a self-(de)Orientalization or differentiation. This marks the

difference between the original and the modern paradigms of Hispanic Orientalism.

Having justified his linguistic preference for Pushkin, Gómez Carrillo only

reinforces his barbaric image, emphasizing the parallelism between the Russian and Latin

American Others. Pushkin appears for the reader as a wild, arrogant, and selfish copy of

the protagonist of Eugene Onegin. As in the case of the poet’s education and language

preferences, he does not disclose the real reasons for Pushkin’s multiple exiles caused by

his political disagreements with the government: such was the case of his support of the

Decembrists, the participants in the first revolt of the nobles against the tsar in 1825.

Many of them were exiled to Siberia without the possibility of appeal or return to St.

Petersburg, 133 but Gómez Carrillo’s Orientalizing imagination draws a different, more

vicious picture: “embriagado por los primeros triunfos . . . metióse en política, compuso

epigramas . . . la justicia se enteró del asunto, y después de hacer un largo análisis, tuvo a

bien considerar que el poeta necesitaba un baño de nieve para que se calmasen sus

ardores líricos: le mandó a las montañas del Cáucaso” (“intoxicated with the first

triumphs, he got involved in politics, composed epigrams; the justice system learned

about this case and after long considerations, decided that the poet needed a snow bath to

calm down his lyrical ardors: they exiled him to the Caucasus”; Gómez Carrillo, Crítica

71). Several stereotypes about Russia agglomerate here, like “un baño de nieve” that

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paradoxically refers to one of the best hot spring resorts of the Russian Empire. Almost

satirical is the reference to “largo análisis,” especially in the light of other of Gómez

Carrillo’s comments about Russia, like: “no hay en el mundo entero un ser tan

caricaturesco como el empleado moscovita” (“in the whole world, there is no more

caricature figure than that of the Moscow clerk”; Gómez Carrillo, Impresiones 213).

These circumstances, according to Gómez Carrillo, only instigate the rebellious

nature of Pushkin whose life becomes “orgía elegante y sinfín;” his image becomes not

only metaphorically but literally barbaric: “La sed de amar y ser amado le abrasa el pecho

. . . su pelo de cautivo, corto y vulgar, crece fantásticamente en su imaginación y cubre el

rostro de las enamoradas increíbles . . . ninguna sombra femenina le es indiferente”

(“endless elegant orgy”; “the thirst of love and to be loved was burning in his chest, his

hair of a prisoner, short and vulgar, grows fantastically in his imagination covering the

face of his amazing lovers; he does not miss a single female shadow”; Gómez Carrillo,

Crítica 71-72). This transformed image of the poet is culminated with the translation of

his poem about the encounter of a disturbed poet with a seraph. 134 This oscillation

between the hegemonic “civilized” and subaltern “barbaric” becomes even more intricate

at the end of the essay, when Gómez Carrillo creates an idealistic scene of Pushkin’s

rescue by European literary tradition: “Durante el destierro, Pushkin no tuvo más

consuelo que los libros de Byron” (“during his exile, Pushkin’s only consolation were the

Byron’s books”; Gómez Carrillo, Crítica 71). However, even the literary figure chosen

for Pushkin’s comeback is a renowned Orientalist, famous precisely for his romantic

reinterpretation of the Other.

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 For Gómez Carrillo, it is this Byronian influence that makes Pushkin the national

poet of Russia. In the same way, the Moorish protagonist who supports and shares

Christian and monarchical values in Abencerraje or Guerras civiles de Granada becomes

a part of the hierarchical societal structure. Nevertheless, both in the case of the Moorish

prince and the Russian poet, the Orientalized Other occupies an inferior position

(Lumsden-Kouvel 103). This is probably the reason why Gómez Carrillo shows no

interest in the violent and typically romantic death of Pushkin in a duel defending the

honor of his wife, Natalia Goncharova, considered the most beautiful and elegant lady in

St. Petersburg, among whose admirers was even the Tsar Nicolas I.135

Finally, in the selection of the figure of Pushkin for his essay, it is hard to

overlook the deep Oriental connections of the poet. His great-grandfather, an African

slave, was given as a present to Peter the Great, and was known in Russia as an arap

(Arab, in its translation from nineteenth-century Russian). Even in his appearance,

Pushkin bears a resemblance to his ancestor. So does his Orientalists works, like The

Prisoner of the Caucasus (1821), The Gypsies (1824), The Fountain of Bakhchisaray

(1823), The Journey to Arzrum (1836), and others. Thus, the image of Pushkin, much like

Latin America, was already Orientalized by hegemonic society, making his figure even

more convenient for Gómez Carrillo.

In conclusion, in his effort to transmit the exoticism of Oriental culture, along

with a description of traditional life and customs, Gómez Carrillo often Orientalizes both

the proper as well as the less traditional Oriental Other like Russia or Romania. His Latin

American background, influenced by the European paradigm of the relationship with the

Other, determines his perspective. His depictions of the reality of the Other and his

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reinterpretation are carried out for the purpose of manipulating the existing linguistic and

cultural stereotypes. By reviewing the past and the present of the Other, Gómez Carrillo

asks the reader to revalue their ethnic and cultural singularity, thus calling for their

differentiation from the traditional hegemonic power. Consequently, this serves him as a

platform to claim the revalorization of Latin America, an idea that he tacitly introduces

through bold but scarce comparisons. He uses typical Orientalization mechanisms such as

reinterpretation and reimagination, but for a new purpose: to differentiate the earlier

Other from the dominant power.

While Gómez Carrillo’s Orientalism lacks Saidian negativism, it still carries out

his assessment of the Other from the standpoint of hegemonic European civilization and

its achievements. Both his essays about Russia and Japan reveal his interest in local

history and culture. However, the image created and praised by Gómez Carrillo in his

travelogues is somewhat different from the real one. In order to effectively carry out his

agenda, Gómez Carrillo constructs it from preconceived ideas and expectations about the

Oriental Other, which find their echo in history and folklore. In this sense, Gómez

Carrillo’s Orientalism occupies a middle ground between Said’s and Kushigian’s

formulations. This allows the author to distance himself from the Other, but at the same

time to appreciate the Orient for its Otherness, without appropriating it, as it happened in

the case of Hispanic Orientalism during the Medieval and the Renaissance periods when

hegemonic culture was under an immediate threat by the Other.

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 § 3. The Search for Latin American Identity in the Oriental Mirror:

The Forking Orientalism of Jorge Luis Borges

Towards the mid-twentieth century, the exoticizing image of the Orient in Latin

America, which prevailed at the beginning of the century, was gradually transformed into

a more multifaceted and perhaps less fabulized representation. Erik Camayd-Freixas

finds that this “evolving nature of this [Oriental] influence” is profoundly related to the

authors’ “deepening understanding of Latin American affinity with the East” (Tao 119).

Indeed, several parallels can be traced between Latin America and its history and that of

the traditional and non-traditional Orient. Like the Moors at the time of the Christian

Reconquest in Iberia, Latin Americans became a new Other. Similarly, their

independence from Spain raised the need to “exorcise the ghost of its own mestizaje” that

resulted in “anxiety about the perceived lack of purity, religious and political unity, and

even orthodox Christianization” (Majid 161). In the twentieth century, the search for

national identity led to almost an obsession about the question of Otherness and its role in

the formative process of Latin American nations.

In this process, the concept of the Orient is used as a canvas, on which the authors

draw their own theories of Americanism. Rosario Hubert points out that toward the

second part of the century there is an increasing number of literary works that take place

outside Latin America, especially in places traditionally considered as “Oriental.” She

notes that in the new era of global migration, immigration, and exile, “the new

cartographies of fiction . . . transcend what is considered – or expected – to be Latin

American.” These writers aim for a more global approach, so that the “new narrative

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geography is not necessarily linked to the historical contingency of the writer but has to

do instead with deliberate aesthetic and political gestures” (Hubert 43). This marks a

more global approach to both the Latin American as well as the Oriental Other. In such

circumstances, mere exoticism would not be enough to address the question of the Other.

On the other hand, within the criticism there exists an alternative approach to

modernism. Some, as does Francisco Morán, suggest that there exists another perspective

of the Other parallel to the exoticizing trend developed during that period. This so-called

anti-Orientalism was based on the perception of the Oriental subject as “un cuerpo

extraño en el cuerpo de la Nación, y como constitutivamente decadente, tanto en el

sentido físico como moral. Esa decadencia representaba, ponía en peligro - y cuestionaba

desde dentro - el vigor de la Nación, en particular, y de América Latina, en general” (“A

foreign body within the body of the Nation, structurally decadent both physically and

morally. This decadence represented, endangered, and questioned from within inside the

vigor of the Nation in question, and Latin America in general”; Morán 385). From this

point of view, traditional modernism for Morán appears to be exported from the former

metropolis. As such, it could not be used to address the question of Latin American

national identity, and a new Orientalist approach needed to be found.

In light of this, it is not surprising that modern Orientalism is indebted to

Romanticism (Nagy-Zekmi 19). It relies on the riotous image of the Latin American

Other in its search for its real self. It is not accidental that many find parallels between the

nineteenth-century Romantic and twentieth-century works. For instance, Marina Kaplan

argues that Facundo should be “read as a work of fiction, which resembles a romance

more than it does a novel,” tracing parallels with the literary legacy of Jorge Luis Borges

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(316). The authors in this process, paraphrasing the words of Rosario Hubert, “do not

exoticize the Oriental but instead use the Oriental setting as a rhetorical device to discuss

the notion of exoticism, that is, the treatment of any cultural particularity as distant and

fixed” (Hubert 48). This approach allows for an easy parallelism between the traditional

Orient and Latin America, something that the authors started to take advantage of already

at the beginning of the century, as for instance in the works of Enrique Gómez Carrillo.

In this context, the works of Jorge Luis Borges (1899-1986), who systematically

used the image of the Orient in his writings, is emblematic of modern Orientalism. In her

research on Hispanic Orientalism, Julia Kushigian extensively studies Borges’s legacy

and concludes that his Orientalism is characterized by a polyphony arising from the

Hispanic Orientalism’s polyglot nature that allows for a dialogue between the East and

the West (Orientalism 26). She then includes the representations of Borges’s Orient into

the positive paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism marked by a sincere veneration of the

Other and its recognition by mainstream culture. Similarly, Kushigian uses the works of

Severo Sarduy and Octavio Paz to exemplify her thesis. However, such reading of

modern Hispanic Orientalism can be seen as unilateral and often does not address the

complexity of the historical relationship of the Hispanic world with the Oriental Other.

Neither can it be applied to all the stages of development of Hispanic Orientalism.

Rubén Gallo in his analysis of Mexican Orientalism criticizes Kushigian’s theory

and opts instead for Said’s approach:

Though useful in thinking about writers like Sarduy and Borges and their

relation to a fictionalized Orient, Kushigian’s study does not serve as a

useful model for understanding Mexican orientalism. What would prove

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 extremely useful for understanding this phenomenon is Said’s method of

relating works of art and literature to the larger historical context in which

they were created, especially his insistence on how representations of the

Orient are always shaped by the extra-literary circumstances of the

author’s life, including the political climate, cultural debates, and

economic interests that shaped his or her life. (63)

While it does seem that the application of Kishigian’s model of Hispanic Orientalism

based on the analysis of Borges’s works is limited, it is not altogether “useless” as Gallo

argues. It is true that Hispanic Orientalism in the twentieth century is characterized by

polyphony. However, what is not established precisely is the nature of the dialogue

between the East and the West. Despite the curiosity and apparent reverence toward the

Orient in Borges’s works, one cannot but see between the lines the hierarchical structure

of his relationship with the Other.

Such relationship is conditioned by several factors. On one hand, Borges could

not avoid the temptation, as indicated earlier, to use the Orient as a canvas to draw this

own image and that of Latin America. In doing so, he resorted to the tradition of Hispanic

Orientalism existing in the works of his predecessors. Kushigian’s descriptions of

Borges’s Orientalist tactics inadvertently conform to this supposition. Not only does she

mention the traditional Orientalist motives in his narrative, she also points out his

generalization of the West and the East, which is an unavoidable consequence of the

reinterpretation of the Other (Orientalism 24). Kushigian refers to Foucault’s notion of

utopia that “affords consolation because they unfold in a fantastic, untroubled region”

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(Orientalism 21). It is created by means of fantasy; it is a fascinating mystery that

irresistibly attracts Borges (Orientalism 23, 39). Nonetheless, this fatal attraction does not

automatically make both parts of the dialogue equal. It reveals the fascination with

chinoiserie, and thus the reinterpretation of the Orient from an outsider perspective. At

the same time utopia, and this is important for our Orientalist quest, reveals the

dissatisfaction of the author with the present; it sharpens his desire to retreat to the past,

to the original stage, often idealized, where the pure essence of self is not yet

contaminated by the hegemonic discourse of powers (Camayd-Freixas, Realismo 20).

This symbolic return to the origins of Latin Americanism for Borges would mean the

revision of the Colonial enterprise and its Orientalist imprint.

On the other hand, Borges uses this Orientalised image of the Other for self-

determination and differentiation, just as Kushigian argues: “In the Orient Borges has

located a culture that is radically different from our own, and he describes it in the

sharper language of fantasy . . . therefore, while the other culture is distinctive, it does

identify itself as we do. In other words, its categories are our own, it is as we want it to

be” (Orientalism 23). However, it is not this veneration that becomes the motor of

Borges’s Orientalization but instead the desire to define itself against the Other, much

like it was done centuries ago in post-Reconquest Spain. That is why the fantasy, the

reinvention of the Other, is crucial for Borges’s representation of the Orient. This echoes

Gallo’s interpretation of Saidian Orientalism, when he states that Said “investigates ‘the

Orient’ much as a psychoanalyst would interpret a fantasy: his emphasis is not so much

on factual accuracy, but on the desires and fears that are projected into its construction.

Analyzing ‘the Orient’ as a fantasy . . . will allow us to interpret the cultural fantasies and

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fears about alterity” (Gallo 63). It will also allow Borges to define himself against this

alterity.

A closer analysis of some of Borges’s short stories and poetry allows us to see the

continuity of Orientalist tradition in Latin America. It is notorious not only in his

expressly Orientalist narratives, such as “El Aleph” (“The Aleph”), “El Zahir” (“The

Zahir”), “Los traductores de las 1001 noches” (“The Translators of The 1001 Nights”),

“La busca de Averroes” (“Averroës's Search”), “Funes el memorioso” (“Funes the

Memorious” or “Funes, His Memory”136), “El jardín de los senderos que se bifurcan”

(“The Garden for Forking Paths”), “El acercamiento a Almotasím” (“The Approach to

Al-Mu’tasim”), and others, but also in his texts depicting Latin American reality. Borges

continues the long-existing tradition of self-definition through the Other. Like his

predecessors during the transitional period, he opts to Orientalize the self in order to be

able to revise the traditional, canonized representation of Latin America, imposed by the

metropolis.

In the twentieth century, having overcome the fear of a return to colonial times,

Latin American authors engage in a more dynamic dialogue with the East, using it to

define the self through the process of Orientalist differentiation. Marina Kaplan in her

analysis of “El Evangelio según Marcos” (“The Gospel According to Mark,” 1970) by

Jorge Luis Borges places the author within the group of Orientalist post-Independence

authors, from Domingo Faustino Sarmiento to Julio Cortázar and Juan Rulfo: “The

central conflict occurs between two orders of the real, which traditionally, had been the

divine and the demonic, white and black magic, or the civilized castle and its opposite:

the enchanted forest (the site of adventure par excellence)” (317). The latter is nothing

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else but the Latin American pampas, a quintessential space of Otherness, a time capsule

where the Orientalized protagonist exists till he confronts his civilized adversary. The

similarity of the negative character of the old gauchos, according to Kaplan, is also

symbolic, as “these gauchos now represent the intellectual barbarism, which for Borges

consists in mistaking the text for reality. In this sense, the whole story is a mockery of

literal readings and, therefore, a criticism of romances” (Marina Kaplan 327).

Thus, for Borges, the process of Orientalization of the Other is not done solely for

the purpose of addressing the foreign or the national subject. Through the process of self-

Orientalization and the Orientalization of the traditional Orient, he propagates his ability

to engage in Orientalist discourse. This attests to his belonging to the dominant, not

dominated culture, as the latter’s versión de los vencidos (“version of the vanquished”) is

never strong enough to create and perpetuate an Orientalized image. This is an important

underlying message of Borges’s Orientalism that defines the so-called dialogue with the

East: rather than a dialogue between two equally important and mutually respecting

entities, it is a dramatization by Borges, carried out for the purpose of self-assurance of a

Latin America that seeks to exchange the subaltern discourse with the hegemonic.

For instance, in his short story “Yo, judío” (“I, a Jew,” 1934) Borges plays with

the notion of the Other and the self. He questions his and, ultimately, his readers’ desire

to comprehend the present through questioning one’s own past: “¿Quién no jugó a los

antepasados alguna vez . . . Yo lo hago muchas veces, y muchas no me disgustó

pensarme judío” (“Who has not, at one time or another, played with thoughts of his

ancestors . . . I have done so many times, and many times it has not displeased me to

think of myself as a Jew”; Borges, Ficcionario 87; Borges, Selected 110). The image of a

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Jew results attractive to the narrator because of its historical exclusivity that acquired for

him a romantic aura, especially in the nineteenth century. However, it is this

romanticized, in other words, Orientalized, image of the Jewish Other that results

attractive to the author who, unfortunately for his Oriental fantasia, comes to a mundane

conclusion that his ancestry was “casi irreparablemente español” (“irreparably Spanish”;

Borges, Ficcionario 87; Borges, Selected 110).

He ridicules the anxiety of belonging to the once marginalized Other in order to

differentiate oneself, as he states: “Nuestros inquisidores buscan hebreos, nunca fenicios,

garmantas, escitas, babilonios, persas, egipcios, hunos, vándalos, ostrogodos, etiopes,

dardanios, paflagonios, sármatas, medos, otomanos, bereberes, britanos, libios, cíclopes y

lapitas” <sic> (“Our inquisitors seek out Hebrews, but never Phoenicians, Garamantes,

Scythians, Babylonians, Persians, Egyptians, Huns, Vandals, Ostrogoths, Ethiopians,

Illyrians, Paphlagonians, Sarmatians, Medes, Ottomans, Berbers, Britons, Libyans,

Cyclopes, or Lapiths”; Borges, Ficcionario 88; Borges, Selected 111). He accepts the

charm of such quests; however, his protest is not against Orientalization, but against its

Eurocentric version imposed on Latin America. It is significant, that the enumeration that

starts with historical nations ends up with mythical creatures. It accentuates the idea of

the universality of the concept of the Other. Borges uses this metaphor to question our

reinterpretation of the Other and our desire to be identified as such in order to be different

and pertain to this mythical attractive structure that the dominant culture has created in

the first place.

In another short story, “Historia del tango” (“A History of the Tango,” or “History

of the Tango,”137 1955), Borges himself indulges in the process of Orientalization. The

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origins of the tango are the perfect grounds for this process. Originated as “orgiástica

diablura,” the tango is viewed through the lens of its “capacidad sexual y capacidad

belicosa” (“devilish orgy”; “sexual potency and combative potential”; Borges,

Ficcionario 329-30; Borges, Selected 396). As such, Borges offers a page-long excursion

into the question of virility with examples from Historia de los godos, Iliad, Beowulf,

using almost as a epigraph to his review the words of an Afghani protagonist in Rudyard

Kipling’s Kim: “A los quince años, yo había matado a un hombre y procreado a un

hombre” (‘When I was fifteen, I had killed a man and begotten a man’)” (Borges,

Ficcionario 330). These references place tango in the Orientalized past, thus

Orientalizing its present, and consequently, Argentina.

This image then is opposed to that of the gaucho that Borges sees as a symbol of

national identity, unlike the soldier that he references above. However, his perception of

the gaucho seems to arise from a Facundo-like narrative, where his image is Orientalized.

Thus, Borges sees him as bearer of “tradiciones orales” who “no está al servicio de una

causa y es puro;” his “valor cifrado” (reminiscent of maravillas of the first chronicles of

the conquest) is enigmatic and attractive (“oral traditions”; “not in the service of a cause”;

“courage ascribed to the former”; Borges, Ficcionario 331; Borges, Selected 398). It is

not occasional then, that this authentic self is presented as the opposite to the tango,

rooted in European Orientalism. Borges advocates for the revision of the traditional

perception of Latin America, and its role in historical processes.

As such, he rejects the Orientalist image imposed by the metropolis and calls for

differentiation. Borges almost echoes the comparison between Japan and Latin America

by Gómez Carrillo in El Japón heroico y galante when he opposes the Orientalized self

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to the others: “El gaucho y el compadre son imaginados como rebeldes; el argentino, a

diferencia de los americanos del Norte y de casi todos los europeos, no se identifica con

el Estado” (“The gaucho and the hoodlum are seen as rebels; Argentines, unlike North

Americans and most Europeans, do not identify with the state”; Borges, Ficcionario 331-

32; Borges, Selected 398). 138 Thus, the Latin American self undergoes a process of

Orientalization in order to throw off the shackles of European hegemony.

The perception of the proper Orient in the narratives of Borges does not avoid this

anti-colonialism. For instance, in his poem “El otro tigre” (“The Other Tiger,” 1960) the

author evokes an exotic image of the animal that becomes an iconic symbol of the East.

As such, his tiger is mysterious and ephemeral; Borges deciphers his shadow surrounded

by the Oriental entourage in the labyrinth “entre las rayas de bambú” (“Among the slivers

of bamboo”; Borges, Ficcionario 354; Rodríguez Monegal, and Reid 281). It is

significant that the tiger, a perfect metaphor of the Orient, exists in a vacuum, as “En su

mundo no hay nombres ni pasado / Ni porvenir, sólo un instante cierto” (“in its world,

there are no names, nor past, nor future – / only the sureness of the passing moment”;

Borges, Ficcionario 354; Rodríguez Monegal, and Reid 281). This anticipates and

addresses the future criticism of the artificial imaginative nature of his images.

Borges is not alone in this enterprise. Other authors, like Alejo Carpentier, also

resort to the Orientalist myth to find the answer to the question of Latin Americanism, as

it interweaves the universal and the local, the individual (Camayd-Freixas, Etnografía

94). For instance, in his novel El arpa y la sombra (The Harp and the Shadow, 1979),

Carpentier retakes the story of Columbus and his voyages, which in itself became a myth,

Orientalized by the hegemonic power and perpetuated in subsequent literature. It is

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significant that Carpentier looks into the past in order to define the present and the future

of Latin America (similarly, Elena Garro and Laura Esquivel and other female writers use

this mechanism to carry out their iconic revision of La Malinche). He aims to revalorize

the Colonial period for the purpose of differentiation from the imposed dominant

discourse. In order to do so, Carpentier places his protagonist in a relative historical

vacuum in order to preclude the traditional perceptions that could influence his revision:

Columbus himself meticulously reconstructs the discovery, thus changing the

Orientalizing discourse from the inside. It is also important, as Molly Metherd points out,

that the narration is “isolated” in time, as Columbus reviews his Diary at the end of his

life (232). This allows him, as in case of the chronicles narrated long after the events, to

gain a certain perspective that legitimizes the revision.

Similarly, one can assume that Borges’s image of the East is also isolated, and

therefore Orientalized. Timothy Weiss points out a significant difference between him

and other contemporary authors, which lies in Borges’s acceptance that his idea of the

Orient “derives from text books and books; it constitutes an imaginative space, a feeling,

a collection of philosophical ideas,” rather than real life experience; his only brief travel

to Asia sparked his “library” interest in the Orient (20). So, unlike his predecessors, his

Orientalization is conscientious, and the author openly admits it: for him, the mysterious

shadow loses its enigma because “ya el hecho de nombrarlo / Y de conjeturar su

circunstancia / Lo hace ficción del arte y no criatura / Viviente” (“but still, the act of

naming it, of guessing / what is its nature and its circumstances / creates a fiction, not a

living creature”; Borges, Ficcionario 355; Rodríguez Monegal, and Reid 282).

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 Furthermore, Borges opposes this Oriental tiger “verdadero, el de caliente sangre”

to the other tiger, “un tigre de los símbolos y sombras,” the Latin American literary tiger

of Borges (“the real one, whose blood runs hot”; “a tiger made of symbols and of

shadows”; Borges, Ficcionario 354-55; Rodríguez Monegal, and Reid 282). Though

opposed, at first glance, these two are intricately related. While between them “se

interponen los convexos / mares y los desiertos del planeta,” it is “en vano,” as Borges

“desde esta casa de un remoto puerto / de América del Sur, te sigo y sueño” (“the convex

oceans and the desearts / spead themselves across the earth between us”; “in vain”; “from

this one house in a remote lost seaport / in South America, I dream you, follow you”;

Borges, Ficcionario 354; Rodríguez Monegal, and Reid 281). Furthermore, the point of

departure of the two tigers is similar: it is the “penumbra” of the “Biblioteca laboriosa;”

therefore, it is of no surprise that both share the same virtual geography, “su selva,”

where both “salvará[n] las bárbaras distancias” (“half-light”; “painstaking library”; “its

jungle”; “it will cross the wilderness of distance”; Borges, Ficcionario 354; Rodríguez

Monegal, and Reid 281). The word bárbaras here is key for establishing the link between

the Oriental and the Latin American tigers from the point of view of the Orientalist

dialogue of civilization and barbarism, ongoing from the early post-Independence period.

The parallelism established by Borges between the Orient and Latin America is

possible only through the Orientalization of the former, its reinterpretation from the point

of view of modern circumstances, and the self-Orientalization of the latter. The Orient for

Borges is oxymoronic: he admits that the Oriental tiger is the product of his imagination.

At the same time, the ephemeral Latin American tiger surpasses its counterpart by

fictionalizing it through their contact. This can be seen as an allusion to the Latin

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American past and present Orientalized by the Colonial power. In this light, it is of no

surprise then that Borges seeks to find the third, “el otro tigre” (the real Latin America?)

that exists “más allá de mitologías;” however, he feels he cannot embark on this journey,

“esta aventura indefinida, / Insensata y antigua” (“the other tiger”; “out of reach of all

mythology”; “this ancient and vague adventure, / unreasonable”; Borges, Ficcionario

355; Rodríguez Monegal, and Reid 282). It seems that for Borges the enterprise of de-

Orientalizing the past appears almost impossible; however, he keeps on looking. He does

not lose hope of rescuing the third tiger, the real Latin America, different from the one

almost everyone believes in at the moment. This is his “trans-modern response to the

European modernity” where the truth emerges from the borderland and not from the

metropolis (Barragán-Ekhause 294). Thus, is truth of the subaltern offers a new self-

Orientalized version of Latin America that is set off against both Europe and its own

Orientalized image imposed by the latter.

The notion of memory and history is crucial in Borges’s Orientalism. It allows

him to establish the relationship between the Latin American past and present, and by

reviewing the latter, the former would be consequently de-Orientalized. Curiously, in

criticism, the analysis of these two phenomena in Borges was not only made from a

literary point of view. Neuroscientists like Rodrigo Quian Quiroga (University of

Leicester, UK), analyzed Borges’s short stories like “Funes the Memorious” and “The

Garden of Forking Paths” as related to the functions of memory and fourth dimension,

coming to the conclusion that they might have predicted the hypertext and the Internet

(Kodama vii-viii). Though, he is cautious and warns against over interpretations and

suggestions that Borges “foresaw modern neuroscience,” Quian Quiroga, however, finds

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that Borges’s narrative “had the perfect words to express the results of my research [in

neuroscience] and . . . with astonishing clarity ended up sorting the pieces of the puzzle I

had been working on” (8). Therefore, he finds a palpable, real representation of the

literary interconnectedness of Borges’s world.

This interconnectedness, on the metaphorical level, is what allows Borges to

travel through space and time in his Orientalist journey. Shlomy Mualem in his research

on the influence of the ideas of Plato on Borges notes that in Western history, the

intellectual dramas of the former and the philosophical fiction of the latter are among the

most sophisticated examples of the synthesis of mythos and logos, idea and fantasy,

whose juxtaposition is meant to demonstrate, first and foremost, the connectivity between

classical and contemporary history, thought and narrative (13). The above mentioned

approaches, like the two tigers of Borges, one – on the imaginative level, the level of

mythos, and the other – scientific, on the level of logos, attest to Borges’s global

understanding of the world, and Latin American history in particular. The revision of the

past and present of the latter in his narrative paves the road for the process of

differentiation of Latin America through its special and temporal interconnectedness and

connection to the imaginary or real Orient.

From a psychological point of view, these interwoven concepts, real and unreal,

memory and oblivion, essence and vacuum, are critical for the ontological development

of a human being, when the time is “marked, lost, and recovered in the critical junctures

of presence-absence of the first, indispensable object” (Woscoboinik 223). For a human it

is usually the mother figure who plays this essential role; for the onflow of Borges’s

cyclic history and time, it is the presence-absence of the de-Orientalized self, and

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subsequently, Latin America that defines these critical junctions where the development

takes place. This echoes the suggestion of Ana Tissera, who in her analysis of the

structural complexity of Borgean worlds proposes that he constructs their image “en

torno al sí o no del sujeto que los evoca,” so all the manifestation of his time are mere

reiterations of propositional attitude related to the self (“around the yes or no of the

subject who emulates them”; 203). Like the law of communicating vessels, Borges is

looking for a delicate equilibrium between the West and the East; it is only then when the

Latin American vessel overflown with Colonial Orientalism can recede to historic reality.

The cyclical notion of time allows for this communication between different entities, and

it is underlined over and over by Borges in his narrative.139

In conclusion, the narrative of Jorge Luis Borges showcases a more dramatic turn

towards Americanism than at the beginning of the twentieth century. While his

predecessors, like Gómez Carrillo, use the dialogue with the West to legitimize Latin

American autonomy, Borges is able to manipulate the conversation between East and

West, de-Orientalizing the image of the former Colony. At the same time, he uses pre-

constructed and self-Orientalized images, such as that of the gaucho, to oppose

mainstream European Orientalization. This allows him to intensify the process of

differentiating Latin America from the Old World through his narrative, which seeks to

exchange subaltern and hegemonic discourses.

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 § 4. Differentiation through Self-Orientalization:

Revalorization of the Traditional Colonial Other

It becomes clear from the analysis in the previous sections that there was a

gradual tendency in the twentieth century to address the issues of Latin Americanism

from a new perspective. Orientalization played a crucial role in this process; so did the

Oriental Other that played the role of the counter weight in the process of self-

Orientalization (or de-Orientalization, if seem from the standpoint of the European

hegemonic power). However, towards the second part of the century, it became more and

more common to look at the Latin American past in order to get to the “source” of the

problem. It also allowed looking at history from a greater distance, which could

contribute to a better analysis of the negative and positive consequences of colonialism in

Latin America, such we have seen in the works of Borges and Carpentier.

The analysis of both official history and official historical discourse became

primordial to the “nationalization” of the Latin American image. Magali Carrera points

out that this process started already during the independence movement, when “the body

of the Indian became the critical nexus in the discourse of origin and authenticity” (147).

However, it was not until the twentieth century that Latin American authors embarked on

a full-scale campaign to rescue the image of the Amerindian and the mestizo. The

nineteenth century was able to provide only a “simulacrum of the Indian [with] the aura

of an elite culture from which the present of the nineteenth century could claim a

legitimizing descent.” This had a strong connection with the profound Orientalization by

hegemonic society as seen in the eighteenth-century castas paintings and the neoclassic

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tendency to represent the Indian as the conquered object subjected to colonization and

Westernization (Widdifield 10-11). Especially during the second part of the twentieth

century, the efforts to rescue and revalorize the colonial subject coincided with the

growing political and cultural awareness of this long-ignored entity.

To the extent that a glance at the colonial past may address the issue of the

Orientalization of the Amerindian by the dominant power, perhaps one of the most

powerful of such revisions is that of the figure of La Malinche (Malintzin), the

Orientalized figure par excellence of Mexican Colonial history. Her image was constantly

present in the chronicles of the discovery and the conquest in the narration about the

Mexican campaign of Cortés. However, as indicated in Chapter 2, different authors

ascribed to La Malinche varying roles in those historical events. As such, Gómara’s

chronicle only occasionally mentions her name and does not attribute to her any

protagonism. At the same time, Bernal Díaz del Castillo draws an exceptionally positive

image of La Malinche, naturally, from the point of view of the conquistadors. These and

the other renderings of the historical Malinche in the writing of the period were heavily

influenced by the agenda of their authors and the interests of the Spanish Crown, thus

presenting reader with an Orientalized rather than historically accurate Malintzin.

This Orientalized Malinche became an iconic image and a negative symbol of the

Westernization of the Americas and is copiously reflected as such in Mexican arts. Daniel

Meyrán suggests that her depictions displayed a surprising equanimity and persistence

in rendering her image based on “el romanticismo ahistórico y el patriotismo con un

tema común: el tratamiento peyorativo de Malintzin/Marina/Malinche” (“historical

romanticism and patriotism with a common theme: the pejorative treatment of

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Malintzin/Marina/Malinche”; 167). One of the reasons for this tendency, as Lucía

Guerra Cunningham argues, is the patriarchal tradition dominant in the arts before the

twentieth century. Literature was no exception: it was a territory dominated by

masculine imagination where patriarchal hegemony deeply impacted not only the art of

writing but also the approach to certain literary topics (Guerra Cunningham 21). In this

type of writing, the female subject speaking and acting for herself was unheard of, or

better said, ignored (Jardine 25). The Independence of the Colonies, however, called for

the reconsideration of the Orientalized Latin American past, and the image of La

Malinche was no exception.

The revision of La Malinche happened gradually, and for long, many of the

authors, including those who criticized the official nationalist discourse, were not able

to make significant changes, thus, mostly recreating and, therefore, perpetuating the

existing paradigm in their own style (González Hernández 164). This revision did not

come only from women writers (although Elena Garro, Laura Esquivel, Lucha Corpi

and others were the ones who completed the de-Orientalization project by seeking to

give a voice to the silenced subjects). Before these successful revisions, there were

several attempts, both from female and male authors, to rescue this historical character

that became a symbol of surrender to the colonizer and a curse word in contemporary

Mexico. One of them, for instance, is Sergio Magaña (1924-1990) with his historic

drama Cortés y La Malinche (Los Argonautas) (1985) or Moctezuma II (1954). Sandra

Messinger Cypess notes that by establishing parallels between the myth of Jason and

Medea, Magaña shifts the blame from Malinche to both her and Cortés (Myth 46-47).

Although, despite giving Malinche certain protagonism in history, this and similar

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revisions failed to free her image of the pre-established Orientalized canon in which she

was placed by hegemonic society.

One of the first successful attempts to give a voice to La Malinche is Elena

Garro’s (1920-1998) short story “La culpa es de los tlaxcaltecas” (“Blame the

Tlaxcaltecs”) in Semana de colores (The Week of Colors, 1964). Her success can be

attributed not only to her new de-Orientalizing approach, but also to the changed

circumstances of the social situation of women writers in this period. During the second

part of the twentieth century, women writers and subjects emerged with a new strength to

oppose the patriarchal tradition that had dominated literature. At the heart of this process

was the movement of l’ecriture feminine under the lead of Simone de Beauvoir, Julia

Kristeva, Luce Irigaray, Hélène Cixous, and others who argued for a creation of an

exclusively female text as a result of their gender differences, which would express

themselves through their bodies, thus opposing the existing masculine literary tradition

(Zepp 6). It is this recognition of the female subject and its protagonism in literature

and history that allowed Garro to embark on her revisionist journey.

Past and present are intricately related for Elena Garro. This cyclical notion of

history, as it was seen previously in Borges, allows the author to revise the past through

the present, as well as speculate about the repetition of history in the future. It is not by

accident that the binary rhythm that is typical in Borges can also be observed in Garro’s

works (Cruz García 64-65). The dichotomies formed by historical duplicity are what

creates cyclical time and force upon the characters an imminent connection with the

past. In the case of women, and La Malinche in particular, as Sandra Messigner Cypess

argues in her study of Garro’s approach to the figure of Cortés’s translator in Los

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recuerdos del porvenir (Recollections of Things to Come, 1963), “this implies that

women must repeat the tragic past of La Malinche until the sociocultural conditions are

themselves changed to allow for a new pattern of behavior to develop” (Garro 120).

This original tragic pattern results from the Orientalization of the Colonial Other by

hegemonic society. Thus, the only way to break with this tradition is to rescue,

revalorize this past, and de-Colonize it, so that Latin American woman and Latin

America itself could escape the vicious circle of Orientalized history.

Patricia Gonzalez in her study of Garro’s female subjects argues that the

archetypical feminine image that Garro recreates in her works is bound to overcome her

isolation through fantasy, imagination, madness, or eternal death (78). Laura-Malinche,

the protagonist of “La culpa” shares this fate, as she and her Indian husband from the

past are longing for the end of time, when present, past and future fuse and become one.

Since the Orientalization of La Malinche is deeply rooted in the historiography of the

early colonial period, Garro launches her review of the traditional myth of La Malinche

by looking at the past through the lens of the present. As such, in the story “La culpa,”

two parallel worlds coexist in the narration, modern Mexico with its cultural and political

issues and Tenochtitlan, the Aztec capital, at the time of the conquest. It is not an

accident that the point of contact for both seems to be the chronicle of Bernal Díaz del

Castillo, read by the main character. One of the main sources of the Orientalization of

Colonial Mexico, Bernal’s chronicle functions as an Oriental folding screen or mirror,

framing the actions of the characters in the past and present. Thus, both worlds are

mutually penetrable and intertwine in the mind and life of Laura, the protagonist, as

Garro carries out her historical revision through her eyes.

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 Garro was not alone in this effort. Several writers and filmmakers before and after

undertook such historical emendations in their quest for revalorizing the historical past,

Orientalized by the mainstream social groups. For instance, one later revision is the film

by Brazilian filmmaker Nelson Pereira dos Santos, who in 1971 released his rendering of

one of the sixteenth-century chronicles (1557), "Como era gostoso o meu francês" (“How

Tasty Was My Little Frenchman”). As does Elena Garro, he superimposes the traditional

narration and his contemporary society, creating a sharp critique of the latter. As Silvia

Nagy-Zekmi suggests, they both take advantage of Orientalism “to create a domestic

Latin American discourse and, in some cases, a discourse of resistance against the

dictatorial powers” (18; my translation). This discourse is, in a sense, anti-Orientalist, as

it protests the hegemonic approach to the subject of the Latin American Other. However,

it embarks on its own campaign of self-Orientalization in order to rewrite the Colonial

past.

Pereira dos Santos exposes the cultural and mental gap between the Europeans

and the aboriginal society where the captive Frenchman is forced to live, a factor that

defined the development of Hispanic Orientalism in its transatlantic journey. As did

Sarmiento earlier, he puts in perspective and questions the traditional perceptions of

civilization and barbarism: the atrocity of the ritual anthropophagy as opposed to the

greed-driven Europeans, one of whom, the captain, betrays the Frenchman to ensure his

upper hand in the future negotiations with the Tupinambás, and the Frenchman himself,

who kills the captain and plunders the grave of the deceased husband of his indigenous

wife looking for loot (Young 86). This revalorization of the Orientalized self allows

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Pereira dos Santos to question not only the canonized image of the aboriginals, but also

his contemporary hegemonic powers and their actions.

The anthropophagy here, as in the historical visions in “La culpa,” serves as an

avenue to transport the contemporary reader to the past and transform the (his) popular

memory in order to “redigest” the Orientalist image of the Amerindian self and history.

Pereira dos Santos carries this out on a metaphoric and literal level, as the protagonist of

his film is ultimately devoured by the Indians. This echoes the Manifesto Antropófago by

Oswald de Andrade (1928), which as Cristina Rocha notes, tried to offer a modernista

“response to the perceived problem of Brazilian cultural dependency by celebrating

creolization’s ability for absorbing or ‘cannibalizing’ European metropolitan culture and

thus giving it a local flavor” (202). Similarly, memory for Elena Garro allows for a

similar process for her contemporary Mexican society.

In the same way, Elena Garro achieves this through the dialogues between Laura,

the protagonist, on the one hand, who oscillated between the mirrored worlds of the past

and the present, and personifies La Malinche, and, on the other hand, Nacha, her

mysterious maid who, as her señora, also belongs to both worlds. Garro plays with

stereotypes of the past and the present in order to revalorize the Mexican past. “La culpa”

superimposes both images of the world, and it is in the difference between them that she

finds the hegemonic Orientalism imposed by Colonial society. For instance, Laura admits

that her husband Pablo looks very much like her “primo marido” (“cousin husband”;

Garro 19). The difference, however, lies in their personalities. Pablo is wrathful and

violent, while her Indian husband is often idealized and portrayed as kind and forgiving

(he does not kill Laura for her betrayal). It might be significant, in light of the biblical

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references in the traditional chronicles that the name of the “marido nuevo” serves as a

reference to the figure of St. Paul, whose convertion was followed by his vehement

dedication to spreading Christianity around the world with his symbolic sword, that is,

the Bible (“new husband”; Garro 17). Thus, he is expected to share the hegemonic vision

of the conquistadors who also brought la espada y la cruz (“the sword and the cross”) to

the New World.

Indeed, the portrayal of Laura’s Indian husband, made up of references by the

other characters, approximates the style of the chronicles, both semantically and lexically.

The difference lies in the distribution of these characteristics. Laura, for instance, points

out the Indian’s nudity and closeness to nature. His physical wound, constantly oozing

blood, can be perceived as a symbolic Latin American trauma: its Orientalization led to

the permanent and recurring damage to its image that leaks throughout the pages of

historical documents and literature. On the other hand, the references to the Indian by

Pablo Aldama and his world are, as expected, traditionally Orientalized: he is dark, both

physically and metaphorically; he is “asqueroso,” “sádico,” and “brujo” (“disgusting”;

“sadistic”; “witch-like”; Garro 22-23). Pablo also tends to generalize and extend his

characterization of Indians as regards their ethnicity rather than their individuality, when

he refers to Laura’s husband from the past as “estos indios salvajes” (“these savage

Indians”; Garro 16). These opposing or dialoguing perspectives allow Garro to create a

depth in the image of the Other that was lacking as a result of the Orientalization by the

hegemonic power.

This second dimension serves as a backdrop for the revalorization of the main

character, Laura-La Malinche. A symbol of the colonial chingada, this image, if rescued

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and given a proper voice, could facilitate the revisionist campaign of Latin Americans in

their search for differentiation from the West. The traditional dichotomy of the

representation of women in literature allowed for two categories: first, what is known as

marianismo followed the example of the Virgin Mary; the other was that of a lost

woman. Silence is the key characteristic of both of these representations (Araújo 120).

By extension, both were represented as an object rather than a subject. In traditional

literature the symbolic and physical surrender of La Malinche as the new Eve of

colonial patriarchal society becomes in the eyes of machista society the quintessential

cause of the loss of the Aztec Empire (Guerra Cunningham 21). By extension, “she may

be also considered the first mother of the Mexican nation . . . symbol of national

betrayal” (Messinger Cypess, La Malinche 2). Such visions were copiously reflected in

literature even in the twentieth century. For instance, in El laberinto de la soledad

(1950) by Octavio Paz, his campaign to cast new light on the Orientalized Latin

America led to the recycling of the traditional patriarchal approach, manifested in

assertions like: “Es verdad que ella se da voluntariamente al conquistador” (“It is true

that she gives herself up voluntarily to the conquerors”; Paz, Laberinto 77). Thus, the

female subject here remains objectified, as the perspective of El laberinto de la soledad

continues to be hegemonic and phallocratic.

Such patriarchalism is what Garro’s Malinche has to overcome along with the

hegemonic Orientalization of the colonial subject. Sandra Messinger Cypess in her

comparative study of the literary and personal opposition between Elena Garro and

Octavio Paz, symbolically entitled Uncivil wars, points out that precisely this

differential approach to the question of gender is what defined their historical

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perspective of Latin American subjects: a passive object of sexual desire versus an

active subject who creates his/her own history (Wars 17). Garro herself set an example

for such reading: Rhina Toruño recalls the episode of Garro’s life when she asked to be

placed in a female juvenile facility as a delinquent in order to narrate the story of the

young women in detention and to denounce the cruelties of their captors (36-39).

Garro’s campaign to revalorize La Malinche and the female subject more broadly has a

double meaning: as she becomes a symbol of the colony itself. Latin America can be

perceived as a female subject, chingada by the colonizer and neglected by the colonized

who did not take pride in her. Only a de-Orientalizing discourse that breaks with the

patriarchal hegemonic view of the female subject could lead to a successful historical

redemption for Latin America.

Therefore, Garro protest such hegemonic representation by carrying out her

narration of the world of La Malinche through her own perspective. It is she, along with

Nacha, who narrate and advance the actions in the story. Throughout the narrative the

modern Laura is gradually transformed into La Malinche, symbolically reversing the

process of Orientalization. At the beginning of the story, the Indian husband notes that

she is too pale, to the point that her hand “está muy desteñida, parece una mano de

ellos” (“is very pale; it looks like their hands”; Garro 14). Under “ellos” he understands

the conquistadors; however, he never refers to them as such, nor does the name La

Malinche appear in the story. Laura also perceives this whiteness; she is almost blinded

by it. This whiteness is what ignites the process of change, as “el tiempo había dado la

vuelta completa” (“time had come full circle”; Garro 12). It is opposed to the darkness

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of the Indian, to the night when the narration takes place, and to the “cafecito”

(“coffee”) served by Nacha throughout the story.

The more Laura interacts with her other husband, the more Indianized she

becomes. At some point, when a doctor is called to assess her, she is so lost between

her past and her present, that she is not sure which story she had to tell. When Pablo, a

senior official in the Mexican Government, perceives her “betrayal,” he calls Laura “tan

baja” (“so low”; Garro 23). This echoes the Orientalized perception of the Amerindians

in general, as low, savage, and incomparable with the colonizer. By comparing both

worlds, Garro achieves --to paraphrase the words of Charles Perrone-- the juxtaposition

of the “old (primitive, native, savage, under-developed) and the new (modern,

industrialized, developed)” that allows her “to ridicule social values and criticize the

statute of . . . [the Mexican] subject” (72). It discloses the Orientalization path of the

Amerindian Other, that is, Orientalization by association with it. However, unlike the

traditional Malinche, Garro’s character becomes an active subject. It is not the men who

decide her fate, but herself (Messinger Cypess, Garro 131). This is crucial, as it reflects

the revalorization path of Garro’s Orientalism, which gives a voice to the previously

silent subject.

However, what is more important for Garro’s revisions is the internalized sense of

“culpa” (“fault”) of her Malinche. While she repeatedly says, that “la culpa es de los

tlaxcaltecas,” her story-long dialogue with Nacha seems to be carried out in an attempt to

persuade herself that it is true (“the Tlaxcaltecs are to blame”; Garro 11). Similarly, the

image of La Malinche in Latin American literature always appeared Orientalized, despite

the claims of the authors to address it from a new refreshing point of view, as it was seen

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in the works of Sergio Magaña or Octavio Paz. To add to this binary opposition, Garro

plays with the notion of “la noche triste” (“the night of sorrows,” the traditional

reference to the forced retreat of the Spaniards during the conquest of Mexico). This is

done, again, on several levels. First, the word “triste” (lit. “sad”) is constantly repeated

in the story, concentrated mostly at the beginning when Laura is still undergoing her

transformation. Secondly, it is mostly during the night (or in little light) when the

Indian and Laura can see each other. She leaves Pablo forever also during the night.

This can be seen as a symbolic revenge: the Indians recover what is “theirs” causing the

defeat of the colonizer (literally, Pablo’s illness).

Thus, Elena Garro is reconstructing the process of Orientalization of the Other.

The association with the Amerindian is what causes Laura to become La Malinche, both

in her own eyes --as she sees the chaos of the defeat of Tenochtitlan and the corpses in

the canals that now became the modern-day Periférico or beltway of Mexico City-- and

in the eyes of her husband, who Orientalizes her and ascribes to her the traditional

characteristics of the Other found in the chronicles of the conquest. This societal post

mortem of Orientalization allows Garro to reveal its causes and objectify them. Only such

conscious revision can fully address the question of the revalorization of the past and lead

to differentiation. Nevertheless, Orientalization occurs even during this process, albeit

from a different standpoint and for a different purpose. The somewhat idealized image of

the Other points out to self-Orientalization, without which, as seen in the works of other

twentieth-century authors, the process of differentiation would not be complete.

Elena Garro’s Orientalism, therefore, relies on a historical revision of the past for

the purpose of its revalorization that will allow bringing to light the uniqueness of the

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historical path and role of Latin America, overlooked by traditional Orientalism. This

allows the author not only to address the Orientalized image of the Colony, but probably,

most importantly, to revise the patriarchal image of the female subject, Orientalized not

only by the colonizer but also by the colonized masculinity. Such revision inspired a

more open debate on the question, and produced even further attempts to redefine the

female subject. For instance, Guadelupe Cortina notes that several Jewish-Mexican

authors, like Margo Glantz, Ethel Krause, Sara Levi-Calderón, and Sara Sefchovich,

embark on a similar journey looking to define the place of a Jewish-Mexican female

subject in the history and culture of Mexico through the revision of its hybrid nature and

its relationship with mestizaje (12-13). Garro’s approach became very fruitful, especially

for Hispanic authors residing outside of Latin America who addressed the problem of

mestizaje and cultural memory in relation to temporal and geographical displacement,

like Lucha Corpi in her novel Black Widow’s Wardrobe, or Dreaming in Cuban by

Cristina García.

The revalorization of the past, thus, became one of the most prominent

characteristics of Hispanic Orientalism in the twentieth century. From Abel Posse’s

Perros del paraíso (1983) to Ana Lydia Vega’s Falsas crónicas del Sur (1991) and

Paloma Pedrero’s La isla amarilla (1995), many contemporary authors followed this path

in order to redefine the Latin American subject and differentiate it from the canonical,

stereotypical Other, forced upon the continent by hegemonic colonial discourse (Gosser-

Esquilín 202-03; Berardini 276). The desire to give a voice to the silenced Other, then,

approaches the perspective of the self-Orientalizing writings of the mestizo and

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indigenous chroniclers, who also sought differentiation from the stereotypical image

created by the “official” chronicles of the discovery, conquest, and colonization.

§ 5. Conclusion

The twentieth century brought new concerns to the Latin American continent. Its

preoccupation with its own history and identity only intensified after the creation of the

Latin American nations in the nineteenth century. Ivan Schulman argues that “a detailed

revisionist study of Modernism’s Oriental strategic formation . . . will confirm ever-

present emancipatory projections and epistemological concerns linked to the

reconstruction of the self, the nation, and the universe through the visioning of an

alternative cultural space” (Schulman 105). These concerns became the catalyzer for the

development of the new Orientalist mechanisms of the modern period, with its redefined

frontiers and power shifts.

In the twentieth century the now independent Latin America could allow itself to

indulge in traditional reinterpretive and reimaginative Orientalism directed to both the

traditional and non-traditional Orient. Modernista authors, such as Gómez Carrillo,

produced numerous texts marked by exoticism and admiration for the reconstructed

image of the Other, in similar fashion to early Peninsular Orientalism. However, already

during this period, a significant distinction is established between these approaches.

While the original paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism is used by the authors for the

purpose of appropriation of the Other, the modern paradigm is implemented to seek

differentiation from the former hegemonic powers.

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 Gómez Carrillo’s Orientalist revisions of past and present, East and West, allow

him to argue for the revalorization of Latin American history, but not for the purpose of

domination of the Other, but rather to create a distinction from the traditional image of

the subaltern. In this sense, Gómez Carrillo occupies a middle ground between the

negativism of Saidian Orientalism and the positivism of Kushigian’s. This approach

allows the author to occupy the position of spectator (flanêur) rather than actor,

distancing himself from the Other. He seems to appreciate the Orient for its Otherness,

without appropriating it, contrary to what Hispanic Orientalism did during the Medieval

and Renaissance periods when the Other was perceived as a threat to the existing

hegemony.

These tendencies only intensify with time, and display sharpened revalorization

mechanisms that do not rely as heavily on traditional Orientalism as does modernista

literature. For instance, the present analysis of Hispanic Orientalism’s processes of

appropriation and differentiation reveals that the works of Jorge Luis Borges – so often

criticized as “evasive” and “cosmopolitan” – actually become the stage for a more

dramatic turn towards Americanism than at the beginning of the twentieth century. His

Orientalization springs not as much from the unilateral manipulations of the Other, but

rather from a dialogue with the West in order to legitimize Latin American autonomy.

Consciously or not, what Borges does is to manipulate the conversation between East and

West to de-Orientalize the image of the former Colony. In doing so, he uses pre-

constructed and self-Orientalized images created by his predecessors during the post-

Independence period (like the gaucho), with which to oppose European mainstream

Orientalism. As a result, he seeks Latin American differentiation from the West by

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inverting the subaltern and the hegemonic discourses. By being able to produce

hegemonic discourse, he allows the Latin American Other to exonerate itself and

establish itself as another of the world’s powers.

The globalization processes and political changes of the late twentieth century

only intensified this desire for differentiation. Many authors find an effective path in this

direction, not so much by addressing the canonized Orient, but rather by looking at how

history has been Orientalized by the hegemonic Colonial powers. One such author, Elena

Garro, embarks on this historical revision in order to redeem one of the most emblematic

symbols of colonial domination, La Malinche. She dismantles the traditional Orientalized

image of this historical figure by presenting her, to use a mathematical expression, as a

case of “proof by contradiction.” Skillfully replicating the path of traditional Orientalism

that converts Laura-Malinche into the Colonial Other, she reveals the artificiality of this

approach and the need for its revision. Despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that the

images of the past she creates are somewhat idealized, her thesis, the imminence of

historical revalorization, becomes obvious to the reader. This revalorization then

addresses the question of the differentiation of Latin America and its cultural and

historical uniqueness.

In sum, modern Hispanic Orientalism displays an intensifying tendency to revise

the Latin American past, as well as reconsider its interaction with East and West. This is

affected by means of a number of techniques, from the juxtaposition of Latin America

and the traditional Oriental Other, to the contraposition of the versions of the conquerors

and the vanquished, the colonizers and the (formerly) colonized. The main goal of these

manipulations, however, remains the same: to differentiate Latin America from the

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traditional hegemonic colonial discourse for the purpose of establishing a more

autonomous national identity and defining a place for Latin America in a de-centered

contemporary world.

NOTES

125
The decolonization of Latin America reached its apogee in the first half of the
nineteenth century. During that period, Spain was considerably weakened politically and
economically as a consequence of Napoleonic invasion. The American colonies were not
something of an immediate concern of Spain at that moment, and the rupture became
imminent. The year 1810, especially after the meeting of Las Cortes de Cádiz in Spain,
was the turning point in the history of the New World. Las Cortes de Cádiz convened on
September 24th, 1810. Among other important decisions, Las Cortes voted on the first
Constitution of Spain. In its 384 articles, the Constitution guaranteed freedom to print any
material (except for religious texts), inviolability of domicile, legal egalitarianism, among
others (Tuñón de Lara 398-99).
The criollos, taking advantage of the political instability in Spain, launched the
campaign for independence that achieved almost immediate results. As such, already on
May 25th, 1810, the Viceroy of the Viceroyalty of Río de la Plata had to resign and yield
his position in Buenos Aires to the Junta led by Manuel Belgrano (1770-1820) (Tuñón de
Lara 401-02). On September 16th, 1810 the Viceroyalty of Nueva España launched its
independence campaign with “grito de Dolores” (“Cry of Dolores”). The “grito de la
independencia” or “grito de Dolores Hidalgo” is one of the iconic moments of the
Mexican independence campaign. On the Sunday morning of September 16th, 1810, the
local priest of the town of Dolores, Manuel Hidalgo, called his fellow citizens to fight for
the independence of their country and the abolition of “mal gobierno” (“bad
government”) and the so-called “Gachupines.” (The last term is a derogatory name for
the Spanish noblemen, hidalgos, that is considered to originate from a last name of
Spanish nobility from the South, the Cachopines).
The process of rupture between the colonizer and the colonies accelerated after
Napoleon’s defeat during the rule of Ferdinand VII (1813-1833). The two key figures of
the independence movement of the period, José de San Martín and Simón Bolívar,
between 1818 and 1823 bring independence to Chile, Nueva Granada, Venezuela,
Colombia, Mexico and Peru contributing to the establishment of an independent country.
This moment marks the rupture of the former Other with its “patron” and, hence, initiates
a new era, when the nature of Hispanic Orientalism has to be revised due to the dramatic
change in the circumstances.

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 126
Albert Memmi describes this paradox of Latin America in his latest book
Decolonization and the Decolonized (2006). He compares the situation in post-colonial
Latin America with post-colonial Northern Africa, finding striking parallels in the ways
of functioning of the former colonies. However, the question remains if and how the
colonizer prevented the colonized from developing his leadership strategies and decision-
making that ultimately impedes the latter to successfully govern the newly formed
society. See:
Why Mexico, also an oil-producing country and one of the leading
beneficiaries of tourist dollars, has been subject to periodic crisis that have
led it to the brink of bankruptcy and forced it to beg for debt relief from
foreign debtors? In 2003 Argentina declared that it would unilaterally
cancel three-quarters of its debt; between individuals this would be
considered fraud and subject to prosecution.
Such is the paradox. Generally speaking, the third world is poor and
dying of starvation. Potentially it has the wherewithal to supply the needs
of all its citizens, but lacks organization and suffers from an ineffective,
absurd, and scandal-ridden system of distribution. (Decolonization 7)
127
Memmi argues that the attractiveness of the military regimes is rooted in the
fact that “the military, which is far from being reclusive, has the advantage of being able
to impress the crowds with their uniforms, their weapons, their medals, and their
theatrical ceremonies. The list of soldiers who have held power in once colonized nations
is extensive” (Decolonization 16). However, it is crucial to remember that it is not only
the “exterior” that differentiates the military regimes from the other types of regimes.
Unlike them, the military is by default, organized; strategizing is their way to survive and
succeed in combat. Therefore, in a situation of instability and uncertainty, the military
men are often the only ones who are able to make fast and effective decisions and the
only ones who have organizational skills. Hence, political power often rests in their hand.
And they maintain it in military-style way, insuring the “discipline” of their subjects by
using repressive measures, and gradually becoming tyrants.
128
The translation of the quote is the following:
When European civilization strengthened its power and self-
consciousness, it attributed this capacity to redeem themselves through
imitation to a number of other nations, including, since the seventeenth
century, the Muslims. But the Amerindian was a striking mirror, and the
Europeans diverged increasing attention to it. During centuries, the men of
Roman-Catholic tradition had distinguished themselves from Muslims and
Jews by not wearing a beard. As they arrived to the New World, they
noted, rightly or not, that they shared this quality with the Amerindians,

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 whose sparse hairiness gradually became a basic characteristic of their
descriptions. It is a fact that Europeans started wearing beards beginning
with the nineteenth century, and somehow, even though surely the
causality is not so direct, this change tells us that the Other par excellence,
the one to distinguish oneself from, was not any more the Jew or the
Muslim, but the Amerindian.
129
The application of the Western term “post-colonial” to the neo-colonies, such
as Guatemala, may be problematic because of its relative economic and political
independence on the international arena.
130
Alexander Pushkin’s great-grandfather, Abram Petrovich Gannibal was
brought to Russia from Africa as a gift to Tsar Peter the Great who educated him and
made him a nobleman. Pushkin will write a historic novel The Negro of Peter the Great
(unfinished), which curiously in Russian original does not use the word “negro” but
“Arab.”
131
It is of interest as well the relationship between “the Shadow of Islam,” in
terms of Hernán Taboada and "la bruma del extremo Septentrión" by Gómez Carrillo
(Gómez Carrillo, Crítica 66).
132
In order to establish the basis for his revalorization campaign, Gómez Carrillo
needs to assure his readers of his impartiality. He is familiar with the criticism of the
Eurocentric views of many of the travel logs by European and even non-European
travellers. Therefore, in the introduction, he acknowledges and ridicules the preexistent
stereotypes about Russia based on its perception as the other of Europe. But the battle
between French and Russian influences on Pushkin is won by the exotic Other that allows
the poet to embrace the mysterious inclinations of his soul dormant at the time. This
approach, however, disregards the fact that Russian nobility of the nineteenth century was
highly influenced by France to the point that many could not speak Russian well (for
instance, some of the members of the Decembrist noble revolt against the tsar in 1825 had
to be interrogated in French because they could not express themselves well enough in
Russian). These prosaic facts, if used, would not have the same impact as the road that
Gómez Carrillo takes, so they are omitted.
133
Such omission by Gómez Carrillo is, however, strategic. In his travel log
dedicated to Russia, he recalls this revolt and its consequences in the chapter “La
obsesión de Siberia.”

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 134
The poem in question is “The Prophet.” Inspired by biblical episode, it is
perceived by Pushkin and later other poets as a metaphor for the messianic role of poetry
as a weapon for sociopolitical struggle.
135
Pushkin was shot, and did not die because of a stab wound, a more romantic
variant of the duel suggested by Gómez Carrillo. An important detail is that his death
resulted in the discovery of another Russian national poet who became a symbol of
Romanticism in Russia, Mikhail Lermontov after he composed and read an ode dedicated
to Pushkin’s passing.
136
See Borges, Fictions 131.
137
See Borges, Fictions 260.
138
It is crucial here to note that the notion of “American” for Borges here is more
inclusive, than that of his predecessors. Unlike Gómez Carrillo who uses the terms
latinoamericano and norteamericano, he implements americano when referring to all the
inhabitants of the American.
139
For the par excellence manifestation of this idea, see “El tiempo circular”
(“Circular time”), where Marcus Aurelius states that “No one loses the past or the future,
for no man can be derived of what he does not have” (Borges, Selected 227).

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 CONCLUSION

The relations between the hegemonic and the subaltern, the colonizer and the

colonized, were under an intense revision in the second half of the twentieth century.

Edward Said, Michel Foucault, Albert Memmi, and many others —as Magali Carrera

defines it— contributed to the shift in scholarly thinking and redefinition of the concept

of colonialism, the perception of which shifted from a static to dynamic, making it an

active mechanism of construction of the Western history (15). The present research

constitutes a systematic analysis of the development of a dynamic Hispanic Orientalist

paradigm across space and time. It is focused on the Orientalizing practices and

mechanisms adopted by the hegemonic part of Hispanic society, first in Medieval Iberia

and Renaissance Spain, then in its spatial transition to Colonial Latin America, and

finally in its temporal displacement toward Independence and Latin American modernity.

This broad approach reveals gradual and subtle changes that occurred over the years and

influenced or altered the original paradigm. It is important to emphasize that the authors

of the texts analyzed for each of the four stages of development of Hispanic Orientalism

generally belong to the dominant sociocultural group. Therefore, the patterns and the

mechanisms found in those texts depict the evolution of hegemonic Hispanic Orientalism.

Parallel to this narrative is the so-called narración de los vencidos, the narrative of the

vanquished, the subaltern, the Other. Such texts were purposefully omitted in the present

research for the sake of consistency in point of view.

Four stages proved to be crucial for the development of Hispanic Orientalism.

The original paradigm was coined in Medieval Iberia and Renaissance Spain during the

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first significant encounter with the Semitic Other, the Moors and the Jews. As a threat to

the nascent Spanish kingdom, both groups went through a process of reinvention by

hegemonic society. The lesser a threat they became, the more distant these two Others

became from their historical portrait, in other words, the more idealized. It is also

significant that their initial mode of Orientalization differed. While the Moors were

included in the Christian-Muslim dichotomy, the Jews were marginalized or excluded

from this social construction. Hence, the Muslim Other underwent a process of

reinvention for the sake of being neutralized through its appropriation, while the Jewish

Other was reinvented in order to be placed outside the social order, and therefore

neutralized as a threat nonetheless. By the end of the Reconquest, the Orientalist

paradigm was well established and did not meet any significant resistance in its overseas

journey.

The early Colonial period marks the second stage in the development of Hispanic

Orientalism. It is generally accepted that the Colonial enterprise was a logical

continuation of the Christian Reconquest crusade in the Peninsula. It set a precedent not

only for the treatment of the Amerindians, but any Other at the time. It is rooted in the

fact that in the European imagination, the descendants of the Moors were only partly

defined by their religion; more importantly, they were outsiders, non-Europeans, tainted

by their religious “impurity.” For the expanding Euro-American sense, the colonial

minorities (Native Americans, Africans, Jews, and mestizo population) became the

metaphoric and the symbolic descendants of the Moors (Majid 5). Hispanic Orientalism

in the Americas set in motion an othering mechanism that affected the perception of the

subaltern cultural self well into the Independence period.

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 Indeed, the first chronicles of conquest and discovery reveal zealous attempts on

the part of their authors not only to Orientalize the New World but to find the true Orient

in it. However, the more information and the faster it penetrated Old Europe, the harder it

was for hegemonic society to convince its audience of the veracity of the reinvented

Other and its Oriental ties. The ideological and the tactic parallels between significant

historical events, like the fall of Granada and the conquest of Aztec Empire, when

conversion and education were used as offensive mechanisms, fueled the Orientalist

theories calling for similarities between Moriscos and Amerindians (Majid 66). However,

both curiosity on the part of the colonizer and the attempts on the part of colonized to

manifest themselves as independent subjects, led to the implementation of a new

Orientalist approach. The traditional trio of the conquistadors, to paraphrase Michael

Householder’s study Inventing Americans in the Age of Discovery, “encounter, invention,

narration” gave way to “encounter, reinterpret and appropriate” (1). It seems that the shift

from reinvention to reinterpretation for the purpose of appropriation is insignificant. It

involves a substantial change in the approach to the Other. It requires a more meaningful

and extensive dialogue between hegemonic and subaltern cultures.

This dialogue intensifies during the third stage, the late Colonial and the early

Independence periods. Political and social instability were reflected in the transitional

character of Hispanic Orientalism during this time. It combines the traditional

appropriation approach to the Other (as seen in such typical hegemonic representations as

those of the castas paintings) with the more novel approach –that of differentiation

through self-Orientalization and the revalorization of the Other, instigated by the

Independence movement.

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 This leads to hispanismo, the reconciliation and the revalorization of Spanish

heritage in the Americas, as Civantos defines it (27), as well as a more global

reconciliation with the general Other, be it the Orient per se, as in the works of Borges or

even Europe, as in the works of Enrique Gómez Carrillo. This marks the last, modern

stage of Hispanic Orientalism that gravitates towards self-Orientalization as a means of

recognizing its own uniqueness through self-differentiation from the metropolis, as well

as from the rest of the world.

Modern Hispanic Orientalism came to life as a consequence of the successful

struggle for independence in Latin America. It was defined by the shift in political power,

as well as the change in cultural hegemony. In this sense, it can be correlated with

another term describing the relationship of colonizer and colonized in Latin America,

tropicalismo. The latter is also based on Eurocentric ideology as it exoticizes the

primitive aboriginal Other; and yet, at the same time, it allows for multiple perspectives

(Aparicio, and Chávez-Silverman 1-9). Such approximation (as does Hispanic

Orientalism) produces in the mind of hegemonic society tainted with the fear of the

Other, an image of ‘mythical latinidad’ (Nagy-Zekmi 18). This Orientalized image is the

one that the newly independent Latin American nations try to rescue through

differentiation from the colonial hegemonic discourse.

The task of establishing the developmental path of hegemonic Hispanic

Orientalism throughout the history of the Hispanic world is challenging and can face

significant skepticism and even criticism because of its broad nature. It is almost

unrealistic to analyze all the manifestations of this phenomenon in Spanish and Latin

American literature and culture. However, it was never the purpose of the present

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research to delineate an exhaustive picture of Hispanic Orientalism, but rather to reveal

the dominant tendencies and landmark moments in its overall evolution, as well as to

shed light on the underlying causes for these changes. Our first hypothesis stated that the

paradigm was not static, and that historical forces and its migration from Spain to Latin

America brought about its most significant changes. The textual corpus selected for this

research serves as a litmus test that unveils this changing nature in Hispanic Orientalism.

Across time and space, it proved to be a developing phenomenon defined by ever-

changing social strategies often in the face of political and religious turmoil. The shift in

hegemonic power, be it the successful conclusion of the Spanish Reconquest, the

Conquest of America, or the Independence movement that led to the Colony’s separation

from the metropolis, proved to be the engine of change within the original paradigm of

Hispanic Orientalism. It reacted to changes in the official discourse of power by adapting

to it through the process of mimicry implied in Said’s concept of Orientalism. Therefore,

a true model of Hispanic Orientalism arises only as a result of analyzing this changing

paradigm.

Our second hypothesis, that the model of Hispanic Orientalism reflects

sociopolitical processes and, as a result, contains a number of characteristics pertinent to

a specific type of discourse (e.g., imperial or non-imperial) was also confirmed. It was

reflected in the predominance of certain Orientalist approaches during different time

periods. For instance, during the stages when the imperial discourse of power was in

play, Hispanic Orientalism revealed a marked tendency toward the appropriation of the

Other through various mechanisms, like reinvention or reimagination and

reinterpretation. This echoes the negative view of Orientalism by Edward Said, who

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critiqued the preconceived and stereotypical image of the Other created by the hegemonic

sociopolitical group.

At the same time, in early Independence and into modernity, an era dominated by

the non-imperial discourse of power, the leading Orientalist approach is based on the

process of differentiation and self-Orientalization, as argued, among others, by Julia

Kushigian. Unlike the imperial discourse, the non-imperial discourse is based on

juxtaposition, not on hierarchy. This interaction among adjacent powers, each of them

trying to dominate the other culturally, politically, or economically, amplified the need to

rethink oneself in comparison to the often pre-established images of the Other(s), like

early modern Europe had done, in order to confirm one’s validity and importance in the

world’s political arena. Hence, Hispanic Orientalism does not entirely follow either one

of the above mentioned theories. Both of them exhibit certain limitations in their

approach: Said’s Orientalism is based on nineteenth-century British and French Oriental

policies in Africa, while Kushigian’s argument is centered on modernity; her theory

based on the sincere veneration of the Other by hegemonic society cannot be entirely

applied to the manipulative strategies of the dominant sociocultural group during the pre-

Independence period.

In a way, Said’s and Kushigian’s approach to Orientalism seem to be most

appropriate to describe the initial and the final stages in the development of the Hispanic

Orientalist paradigm. Said’s universal approach, in the words of Debra Lee-DiStefano, is

an invitation to begin the dialogue of cultures (17-18). At the same time, Kushigian’s

approach is closely related to the process of gaining independence in Latin America and

the weakening of the religious factor in a post-colonial context, when the newly formed

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states attempted to raise awareness of their uniqueness by differentiating themselves from

the former metropolis and the rest of the world. Their independence from Spain allowed

them to have the upper hand in negotiating their own identity, something that was rather

impossible during the Colonial period. Only in this case, when the threat of the Other,

either political or cultural, is diminished, can Hispanic Orientalism gradually become

positive in its portrayal of the Other. By “positive” here I mean a greater and more

sincere appreciation of the Other, as evidenced in much (although by no means all) of the

literature from post-Independence into modernity, rather than reinventing the Other, as

was the mark of Hispanic imperial Orientalism during the Reconquest, Conquest, and

Colonial enterprises.

Born in Iberia, Hispanic Orientalism came a long way not only geographically but

also structurally. It changed along with the discourse of power. Appropriation through

reinvention and reinterpretation gave way to a more open-minded and open-ended, but

nevertheless Orientalizing, mechanism: differentiation through self-Orientalization and

revalorization of the Other(s), its history and culture. Yet, after all the changes that

Hispanic Orientalism embraced, one question still remains: is there a Hispanic

Orientalism or is there instead a multitude of Orientalist discourses in the Hispanic

tradition? The answer to this question lies in the approach to the analysis on Hispanic

Orientalism in this work. It focuses on the texts produced by the mainstream culture of

the different periods. It does not provide a definitive answer to the question, as posed by

Christina Civantos: “Can the subaltern speak in a language that will be listened to?”

(222). Hispanic Orientalism did produce —from the first literary works in Spain and the

folios of the Láminas Granatenses (Sacromonte Lead Books 140 ) to modern cultural

323
productions on both sides of the Atlantic— an Orientalist discourse by the Other, as well

as attempts by hegemonic society to give a voice to the Other (not to be confused with

the attempts by the same society to purposefully reinvent the Other): These are some of

the other avenues of Hispanic Orientalist inquiry that were only delineated in this work

and will constitute a topic for future research. Given the ample literary and artistic

production featuring Orientalist practices, I recognize the limitations of such study and

the impossibility to describe the phenomenon in all its variations. Therefore, the

paradigm described here attempts to reflect Hispanic Orientalism as produced by the

hegemonic group, as a first step in the analysis of the complex nature of Hispanic

Orientalism.

Hispanic Orientalism came a long way from the alienation of the Other to its

idealization and appropriation, and finally, to the differentiation from the Other by the

Orientalized self. Along the way, it was used as a tool for colonialism, political

propaganda, domination, and self-revalorization. Subject to political and sociocultural

influences, it evolved along with the dominant discourse of power. Presently, new

political circumstances — such as unprecedented migrations, the election of the first

Jesuit and first Latin American Pope, Francis, his new politics of making Catholicism

more embracing and accessible, as well as the reconfiguration of the old alliances in and

between the Old and the New Worlds — will undoubtedly reflect in the discourse of

Hispanic Orientalism in the years to come.

324
 NOTES

140
See: García-Arenal, Mercedes, and Fernando Rodríguez Mediano. The Orient
in Spain: Converted Muslims, the Forged Lead Books of Granada, and the Rise of
Orientalism. Trans. Consuelo López-Morillas. Boston, Leiden: Brill, 2013. Print.

325
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342
 VITA

SVETLANA TYUTINA

2004 B.A., Second Language Acquisition,

Instructional Technology
Herzen State Pedagogical University of Russia
St. Petersburg, Russia
2006 M.A., Spanish
University of Northern Iowa
Cedar Falls, Iowa
2009 Ph.D. Candidate, Spanish
Florida International University
Miami, Florida
2010 Ph.D., Romance Philology
Herzen State Pedagogical University of Russia
St. Petersburg, Russia
2014 Assistant Professor
Florida Polytechnic University
Lakeland, Florida

SELECTED PUBLICATIONS AND PRESENTATIONS

1. “La visión del mestizaje en la segunda mitad del siglo XX: La reivindicación
femenina y masculina de la Malinche.” El Cid, 2013. xxiv-xxxi. Web.

2. “Gallant, Heroic and Orientalized Japan in the Narrative of Enrique Gómez Carrillo.”
LASA Congress. Washington D.C., May 2013.

3. “Incorporating Language for Special Purposes into Traditional Language Courses.”

MLA Congress. Boston, MA, January 2013.

4. “Foreign Languages in the Modern Job Market: Languages for Special Purposes.”
Proceedings of the 5th ICT Conference, Nov. 15-16, 2012. Padova: Libreria
Universitaria Italiana, 2012. 371-376. Print.

5. “Cantar de mio Cid: Creation of the Founding Paradigm of Hispanic Orientalism.”

Peripheral Transmodernities: South-to-South intercultural dialogues between the
Hispanic World and “the Orient.” Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholar
Publishing, 2012. 178- 196. Print.

343
6. “Graduate Student Leadership and Community Service. Graduate Student
Professional Organizations: to Join or not to Join?” MLA Congress. Seattle, WA,
January 2012.

7. “The Manifestation of Eurocentric Orientalism in Eighteenth-Century Castas

Paintings (Mexican School).” 4th Conference on Orientalisms and the Asian and Arab
Diasporas: Representaciones del/de lo oriental en las Américas y en la Península
Ibérica. U of Fez, Morocco, March 2012.

8. “La imagen de moro y morisco en la novela de Ginés Pérez de Hita Guerras civiles
de Granada.” Serta Hispanica. St. Petersburg: St. Petersburg Academy of
Postgraduate Pedagogical Education P, 2012. 33-37. Print.

9. “Competitive Strategies of Spanish Newspaper in the Contemporary Information

Space.” Annual Conference of Russian Academy of Science “Society, Language, and
Culture.” Russian Academy of Science, Russian Academy of Language, Moscow
Institute of Foreign Languages, Moscow, Russia, September 2011.

10. “Using Business Section of Spanish Newspapers in Spanish for Business Class.” 12th
Annual Spanish Language Faculty Development Program “Teaching Spanish for
Business: A Global Approach.” Ávila-Madrid, Spain, June 2011.

344