Notes on Certain Maya and Mexican Manuscripts: Third Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology to the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, 1881-82, Government Printing Office, Washington, 1884, pages 3-66

In Short

This work is a rigorous technical examination of specific Mayan and Mexican codices, primarily the Codex Cortesianus and the Fejervary Codex. The author meticulously reconstructs the "Tableau des Bacab" and other calendar wheels, attempting to reconcile their internal logic with the historical accounts of early Spanish chroniclers. By isolating day-symbols, cardinal directions, and numerical cycles, the study provides a scholarly map for interpreting how these civilizations tracked time and space. It remains a foundational, if dense, record of nineteenth-century Americanist ethnology.

The Story

The inquiry begins with a focused look at the Codex Cortesianus, a Maya manuscript containing a complex, circular array of day-symbols. The author identifies this as the "Tableau des Bacab," positing it as a representation of the gods of the four cardinal points. He notes that previous scholars, such as Leon de Rosny, recognized the importance of the plate but failed to unlock the mechanical order of its contents. Through a careful re-mapping of the day-names and the numeric dots accompanying them, the author argues that these signs form a single, continuous line—a chronological loop. He introduces his own calendar tables to test this, asserting that once the symbols are correctly ordered, the internal logic of the Maya year-bearer system becomes clear.

The narrative then shifts to the Fejervary Codex, a Mexican document that mirrors the Maya interest in cardinal orientations. Here, the challenge is greater, as the document uses a more varied set of symbols and colors to represent seasons and elements. The author scrutinizes the "calendar wheels" described by early observers like Sahagun and Duran, noting that while many historical accounts exist, they are often riddled with contradictory interpretations. He seeks to resolve these conflicts by cross-referencing the codex’s visual layout with his established mathematical framework.

As the investigation progresses, the author moves from specific page-by-page analysis to a broader synthesis of Nahua (Mexican) and Maya traditions. He examines the assignment of colors to directions—yellow, red, white, and black—and attempts to harmonize these with the four-year cycles. He finds that while the Maya and Mexican systems are distinct, they share profound structural similarities, such as the use of a 260-day cycle and the mapping of time onto four quadrants. The author concludes by looking at the broader historical implications of these symbols. He argues against the idea that the Maya simply borrowed from the Mexicans, suggesting instead that the codices represent a sophisticated, shared, or parallel development of ancient American thought. He ends by demonstrating how these visual symbols—the serpent, the tree, the bird, and the human figure—served as a bridge between abstract mathematical time and religious ritual, effectively creating a unified view of the universe.

How It Unfolds

Defining the puzzle The author introduces the "Tableau des Bacab" and identifies the failure of earlier researchers to explain the meaning of its outer symbols. He establishes that a coherent calendar system must exist within the manuscript's circular geometry.

Mapping the cycle By applying a standardized Maya calendar table, the author traces the path of day-signs around the plate. He identifies a potential transposition error by the original artist regarding two specific days, Eb and Caban, and justifies his correction through mathematical deduction.

Crossing the cultural divide The investigation expands to the Mexican Fejervary Codex, where the author seeks to map the four cardinal points to the Mexican year-bearers. He contrasts his findings with the conflicting accounts of various Spanish chroniclers and past scholars.

Synthesizing the elements The author provides a comparative analysis of how different cultures assigned elements and colors to their cycles. He concludes by arguing that the visual symbols in these codices—such as trees, serpents, and birds—are consistent enough to prove a deep underlying link between Maya and Mexican chronological thought.

The People

The text is driven by a small circle of intellectuals and historical voices. The primary figure is the author, a precise and somewhat combative scholar who views himself as a corrector of past errors. He acts as a detective, relying on his own mathematical tables to challenge the work of European scholars like Leon de Rosny, whose lack of explanation for the "day characters" serves as the initial catalyst for the study.

The author also engages with the voices of the past: Landa, Cogulludo, and Perez. These Spanish chroniclers are presented as both essential and flawed; they provide the "keys" to the calendar systems, yet their descriptions are often contradictory or colored by their own religious perspectives. The author treats them as raw data points that require rigorous filtering. Additionally, he cites Schultz-Sellack and Boturini as representatives of competing theories regarding cardinal colors and elements. The author is constantly testing these figures' claims against the internal evidence of the codices themselves. Throughout the work, the "artist"—the unknown ancient individual who painted the codices—serves as the silent antagonist whose choices must be decoded and, where necessary, corrected to reveal the underlying, intended truth of the calendar.

In Its Own Voice

"This plate (Nos. 8 and 9 in Rosny's work), is entitled by Rosny 'Tableau des Bacab' or 'Plate of the Bacabs,' he supposing it to be a representation of the gods of the four cardinal points, an opinion I believe to be well founded."

This opening assessment confirms the author's primary hypothesis about the Codex Cortesianus.

"If we examine carefully the day characters and large black dots in the outer space we shall find that all taken together really form but one continuous line, making one outward and two inward bends or loops at each corner."

The author explains the structural logic he discovered in the Maya manuscript's circular layout.

"As it may be supposed that using the same numeral to any five days of the twenty in this way will produce a similar result, let us test it by an example."

The author describes his methodical approach to validating his calendar tables against the data in the codices.

What It's Really About

This book is fundamentally an argument for the structural integrity of ancient American intellectual life. Beneath the technical analysis of day-signs and cardinal points lies the argument that the Maya and Mexican civilizations possessed highly consistent, logical systems for organizing the universe. The author rejects the notion that these symbols are merely decorative or chaotic; rather, they are a form of "written" mathematics. The central question is whether a chaotic, disparate set of manuscripts can be unified into a single, intelligible chronological framework. The author concludes that these systems were not merely superstitions, but a robust technology of time that allowed these societies to map their existence onto the cycles of the sun, seasons, and elements.

Why Read It Today

Readers with a deep interest in the history of archaeology and the methodology of decipherment will find this book fascinating. It captures the specific, analytical atmosphere of late nineteenth-century Smithsonian research, where scholars worked with lithographic copies of codices and fought to bring order to a nascent field.

It is not a casual read. The prose is dense, filled with tables, references to specific plates, and arguments about orthography and astronomical cycles. A reader expecting a narrative history of the Maya people will be disappointed; this is, strictly, a manual for understanding the "nuts and bolts" of the calendar. However, for those who enjoy the feeling of peering over a scholar’s shoulder as they solve a complex, ancient puzzle, the book offers a rewarding, grounded experience. The author's confidence in his own deductions—even when he admits to correcting the work of ancient artists—gives the text a distinct, period-specific character. It stands as a testament to the patience required to reconstruct lost systems of knowledge from the fragmented remains of the past. The technical charts and lists, while challenging, remain a remarkable primary look at how human societies have historically translated the abstract movement of time into tangible, visual art.