Mexico's Philosopher King: Nezahualcóyotl of Texcoco

The following is my response to a Quora question that asked "which historical figure do you have a crush on?"

I think Nezahualcóyotl of Texcoco was really interesting. He was the emperor of the city-state of Texcoco (part of the Aztec empire). Under his rule, Texcoco was ushered into a Golden Age of art and literature. He called together an ensemble of philosophers, artists, musicians and other wise men who could develop their crafts in the court of Texcoco. He was the Philosopher King of Mexico. He even gathered materials for an impressive library, which didn’t survive the Spanish conquest. Don’t you just hate it when libraries don’t survive conquests?

People usually remember him for being a gifted engineer and architect. He created a dike which separated the fresh and brackish waters of Lake Texcoco, which I suppose is really important, but I don’t find it that interesting. What really fascinates me about him is his poetry. He wrote a lot about death and the inevitability of oblivion. Some of his poems still manage to be pretty and lighthearted, talking a lot about butterflies and quetzals and stuff. Here’s a sample:

He makes the Eagles and Ocelots dance with him!

Come to see the Huexotzinca:

On the dais of the Eagle he shouts out,

Loudly cries the Mexica.

The battlefield is the place: where one toasts the divine liquor in war,

where are stained red the divine eagles,

where the tigers howl,

where all kinds of precious stones rain from ornaments,

where wave headdresses rich with fine plumes,

where princes are smashed to bits.

There is nothing like death in war,

nothing like the flowery death

so precious to Him who gives life:

far off I see it: my heart yearns for it!

And they called it Teotihulcan

because it was the place

where the lords were buried.

Thus they said:

'When we die,

truly we die not,

because we will live, we will rise,

we will continue living, we will awaken

This will make us happy.'

Thus the dead one was directed,

when he died:

'Awaken, already the sky is rosy,

already dawn has come,

already sing the flame-coloured guans,

the fire-coloured swallows,

already the butterflies fly.'

Thus the old ones said

that who has died has become a god,

they said: 'He has been made a god there,

meaning 'He has died.'

Even jade is shattered,

Even gold is crushed,

Even quetzal plume are torn . . .

One does not live forever on this earth:

We endure only for an instant!

Will flowers be carried to the Kingdom of Death:

Is it true that we are going, we are going?

Where are we going, ay, where are we going?

Will we be dead there or will we live yet?

Does one exist again?

Perhaps we will live a second time?

Thy heart knows:

Just once do we live!.

Like a quetzal plume, a fragrant flower, 

friendship sparkles:

like heron plumes, it weaves itself into finery.

Our song is a bird calling out like a jingle:

how beautiful you make it sound!

Here, among flowers that enclose us,

among flowery boughs you are singing.

the earth is a grave and nothing escapes it, nothing is so perfect 

that it does not descend to its tomb. Rivers, rivulets, fountains and 

waters flow, but never return to their joyful beginnings; anxiously 

they hasten on the vast realms of the rain god. As they widen their 

banks, they also fashion the sad urn of their burial.

Filled are the bowels of the earth with pestilential dust once flesh and bone, 

once animate bodies of man who sat upon thrones, decided cases, presided in 

council, commanded armies, conquered provinces, possessed treasure, destroyed 

temples, exulted in their pride, majesty, fortune, praise and power. Vanished 

are these glories, just as the fearful smoke vanishes that belches forth from 

the infernal fires of Popocatepetl. Nothing recalls them but the written page.

-Nezahualcoyotl

Fun fact: He’s also on the 100 peso banknote in Mexico