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Historians still have a difficult time pinning down Juan de Betanzos’ elusive figure. Since the sixteenth century, when he lived and translated in Cuzco and Lima, only a few biographic items have been disclosed. Hampe unearthed a document in which a Juan de Betanzos buys a book by Terence,[1] in Lima in 1542 (1981: 147) from the Dominican Bishop of Cuzco, fray Vicente de Valverde. That is the earliest information about him found so far. The place or the date of his birth are not yet known nor the date of his arrival in Peru.

His authorial name and the one he uses to refer to himself in his Suma y narración (1551-1564) is “Juan de Betanzos, vecino de la gran ciudad del Cuzco…” (“neighbor of the great city of Cuzco,” my translation.) (1987: 9).[2] He also signed legal documents in Lima in 1544 and in 1548 with that name (Lohmann, 1997: 127-128); but he changed into Juan Díez de Betanzos in legal documents dated 1563 and 1564 in Lima, and 1566 in Cuzco (Lohmann, 1997: 129-131). These last documents were part of legal procedures involving his daughter, Doña María Díez de Betanzos. She did carry his father´s two last names. It was not unusual for Spaniards to change names during their lives, especially when they were headed for the Indies. Regarding his birthplace, there were Díez in Granada[3] and in Valladolid,[4] where certificates of “hidalguía” were extended for members of that family.[5] The toponym he used as his last name, Betanzos, corresponds to a town in Galicia, Spain, but it could very well be his hiding place. So, doubts about his birthplace still remain.

In May 1564, our author gives his job description as “lengua ynterpetre [sic] en la Real audiençia…”[6] (Lohmann, 1997: 129) in financial documents, and indicates his residence as being “desta çibdad de los rreyes[7] donde al presente resydo”[8] (Lohmann, 1997: 129).[9] Later that year, in August 1564, he states being the “ynterpetre [sic] mayor”[10] (Lohmann, 1997: 129) of the Lima Audiencia. His name, profession and place of residency were necessary to identify him.

Not surprisingly, there was a second Juan de Betanzos in Lima in the 1560’s. But according to Lohmann (1997: 130), they are not to be confused because while the first Juan de Betanzos, the author, identifies himself as “staying in Lima but a neighbor[11] in Cuzco,” the second one is described as an “alguacil” or sheriff in the Lima Audiencia.

Anthony Pym’s work (2000) on translation and interculturality has led me to recall not only that a person is what he writes, but also to look for clues in linguistic areas that can clarify the many questions that still surround this early colonial Spanish author. Lexical items in his Suma y narraçion give us clues about his origins and mother tongue. The first information this analysis brings out is that his text, written in Spanish, is heavily marked by Arabisms:

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These results were unexpected since Arabs and Mozarabs were forbidden to travel to the Indies. Nevertheless, his Spanish-Arab lexicon points to Betanzos’ origin in an area where Arabs and Mozarabs lived in close contact with Spaniards, like Granada or Cordoba. It is interesting to note that Corominas’ etymologies indicate in several instances that the Arabic words Betanzos chose belong to a vulgar register. This lexical information, transferred to the social paradigm, would place Betanzos in or close to the Arab or Mozarab populations in Spain, and at a low echelon.

This conclusion leads me to believe that he arrived in the Indies having already had an intercultural experience, that of the proximity of the Arab or Mozarab world in the Iberian peninsula, and perhaps, of being part of those minority social and linguistic groups. Betanzos appears not to be aware of the presence of Arabisms in his lexicon, since he does not indicate that to his readers. Those words seem to be entirely assimilated, with the author being unable to distinguish them from the ones derived from Latin. His degree of linguistic awareness would have been modified through formal schooling in Spanish, but that was either very minimal or nonexistent. Formally or not, he did learn to read and write. Betanzos declares he has linguistic limitations when he laments to the Viceroy, to whom he dedicates his text, of having to express himself as the natives did, and not in the refined Spanish he would have liked (1987: 7). This could be a case of excessive humility, but it can also be a recognition of his linguistic shortcomings.

He exhibits a “native bilingualism,” and an intercultural experience that only got richer in the Indies. Here he came into contact with a variety of indigenous languages, mainly Quechua and Aimara, but also Puquina, Taino, Kuna, and Nahuatl, and he includes words from them in his text. A general presentation of his indigenous lexicon in the Suma y narración can be found at <http://www.coh.arizona.edu/spanish/FossaLydia/Betanzos/betanzos.htm>. This website houses a 541 entry glossary of indigenous terms he used in his text. Most of them are in Andean languages, but, as we will see, many others are in languages spoken in the Caribbean: Santo Domingo and Haiti (Hispaniola), Panama-Tierra Firme, and in Mexico. In the following table I present a list of Antillanisms, fifteen items so far; some of them repeated through his text, and some written only once. The page numbers indicate the first time they appear in the book:

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The presence of Antillanisms can mean two things in Betanzos’case. First, that he remained for a considerable length of time on the islands; or second, that those words had already been incorporated into the Spanish that was spreading all over America, wherever Spaniards went. Betanzos learned them fast, being young when he crossed the Atlantic. On the other hand, the words in Nahuatl in his lexicon indicate that he included them in his vocabulary after Hernán Cortés’ expeditions into Mexican territory, between 1516 and 1523. After this period words in that language were learned and used by the Spaniards in Mexico, Yucatán, Guatemala, and in the Antilles. Later, between 1523 and 1543, they were carried into the Andean region by Spaniards and their retinues of African and indigenous slaves. Also, the use of words identified as belonging to the area of Panama (Kuna), indicate that their incorporation into daily language and written expressions by Spaniards in the Andes was done after 1523. They went South with Francisco Pizarro’s expeditions (Cieza, 1989: 11).[15] According to these facts, Betanzos must have travelled to the Indies around 1540.

Not only Betanzos used Caribbean lexical items to describe the Andean world. Agustín de Zárate reported in 1557 the traveling of Antillanisms with Spaniards when crossing over different geographical locations and distinct languages in the Indies. It is not surprising to find Taino and even Nahuatl terminology in his contemporary Pedro de Cieza, since he lived in Nueva Granada (Colombia, and parts of Panama, Ecuador and Venezuela) for more than ten years. Instead, a study of the lexical items used by Polo Ondegardo,[16] who did not live in Central America, shows only the Caribbean terms already assimilated into Spanish and used all over Spanish America: ají, cacique, chicha and maíz (Enguita Utrilla, 1979: 300 and 1996: 235). But, for an author like Betanzos, who supposedly never remained for a long time in the Caribbean territories, the fifteen lexical items from that area are significant. Bernal Díaz del Castillo[17] is another author of the period to take into account. He did live in the Caribbean islands and was familiar with Taino dialects. According to Alvar (1970: 19), Bernal presents “an inventory of more than eighty lexical Americanisms,” of which “he employs no less than thirty from the Antilles”.[18] So, Bernal doubles Betanzos’ Antillanisms. According to López-Morales (1990: 147), Oviedo and Las Casas use around 50 indigenous words each, not only Antillanisms. They lived in the Antilles most of their lives. Furthermore, López-Morales believes orality in Spanish is even more bilingual, that is, includes a more indigenous lexicon than written colonial texts: “It is clear that the indigenous words that reached the documents, whichever they were, were only part of the spoken language of the time; the prevalent bilingualism would promote them with more emphasis” (1990: 150).[19] I believe the linguistic factor supports the idea of a Caribbean stop in Betanzos’ voyage, or a very close and long association of a very young Betanzos with people who lived there, as the Pizarro family.

His Spanish also shows “vulgar” varieties of words such as “tresquilar” (1987: 44) which he uses to describe indigenous hairdos but is part of the semantic field of wool cattle shearing. Betanzos employs the adjective “atusado” (1987: 44); Covarrubias has an interesting explanation of the word: “Atusado, aquel a quien han quitado el cabello bajo: pero este término atusar no es usado entre gente cortesana.” (1995: 138).[20] The word “espital” (Betanzos, 1987: 72) is a vulgar corruption of “hospital” or “ospital” (Covarrubias 1995: 648).[21] These references to vulgar Spanish corroborate and support the use of vulgar expressions of Arabic words also, and exhibit the socio-economic extraction of the author. Additionally, words like “desmamparado” (Betanzos, 1987: 28), which is “desmanparado” in folio 10 of the manuscript for “desamparado”; also “prosupuesto” (1987: 29) (f 10), and “prosuponer” (1987: 25) (f 9) for “presuponer”[22] indicate a superficial knowledge, mostly oral, and a restricted use of the Spanish language.

His first official job in Peru in 1543 was that of a writer in a context of oral translation and transcodification between indigenous khipukamayuq[23] and an interpreter or lengua, also indigenous. This information appeared in Fray Antonio´s “Discurso sobre la descendencia y gobierno de los Yncas,” a text dated in Cuzco, March 11, 1608. Fray Antonio[24] describes how this information was obtained and by whom: the few remaining khipukamayuq were summoned by Don Cristóbal Vaca de Castro,[25] and interrogated through a native interpreter while two Spaniards wrote what was said: “Estos [cuatro historiadores muy viejos] trajeron sus quipus y los descifraron ante Vaca de Castro mediando como intérprete el indio Pedro Escalante y los vecinos[26] del Cuzco Juan de Betanzos y Francisco de Villacastín los quales iban escribiendo lo que por los quipus iban declarando” (These [four very old historians] brought their khipu and deciphered them before Vaca de Castro; the Indian Pedro Escalante acting as interpreter, while the neighbors of Cuzco, Juan de Betanzos and Francisco de Villacastín, wrote what was being declared by the khipu)[27] ([1608] 1920: 5). In fact, I believe Betanzos used the drafts of this document as the source for the later Suma y narracion (Fossa, 2003).

In 1544 Juan de Betanzos married the indigenous noblewoman Cuxirimay Ocllo, who had been Francisco Pizarro’s consort. Pizarro was dead by then, and Vaca de Castro had been instructed to care for his descendants, and to marry single indigenous noblewomen to Spaniards. Cuxirimay Ocllo was baptized as Angelina, and known as doña Angelina, using first the patronym Pizarro in 1544 documents drawn in Lima, and that of Yupanque in 1563 documents related to her daughter María Díez de Betanzos (Lohmann, 1997: 129). This marriage makes Betanzos a rich man, and a “neighbor,” since he is now co-owner of the properties Pizarro handed Cuxirimay/Angelina on account of her kinship to Atahualpa.

Even though Fray Antonio states that Betanzos and Villacastin knew the indigenous language (Quechua) in 1543,[28] there are opinions to the contrary. The most important one is that of Licentiate Martel de Santoyo who specifies, in a letter to the Crown, the absence of Spanish interpreters, religious[29] or judicial, in Peru in Vaca de Castro’s times: “The tongues or interpreters that exist on this land are local Indians who know something of the Spanish language and up to now there has not been any Spaniard as interpreter and this has not been sought after, with the inconveniences that derive from this …” (Lisson-Chaves, 1943.112).[30] In 1609, Garcilaso registers a somewhat unflattering view of the “lengua”: “Juan de Betanzos boasted of being a great speaker of the general language of that land” (De la Vega, 1960, IV: 140).[31] Note that Garcilaso says “boasted”[32] and not “was.” These affirmations leave us, in 1542, with a Betanzos writing the Spanish version of what the khipukamayuq reported, but who still knows little or no Quechua.

The description that best fits Betanzos in this period is that of a transcoder, since he is registering in a written form the oral translation the lengua was making of the information stored in khipu which the khipukamayuq were voicing. It was thus a process of two transcodings, khipu to Quechua spoken language, and Spanish spoken language to a written code. Between those two transcodings, one translation took place, from oral Quechua to oral Spanish.

In 1548, in the Cédula de encomienda[33] extended by President Don Pedro de la Gasca, Juan de Betanzos is identified as “lengua.” This document mentions his merits to be awarded the encomienda, one of the most important being the fact that he had been busy translating doctrinal texts into Quechua: “… as a person so well instructed in the language of the indigenous peoples you busied yourself in translating our Christian doctrine in that same indigenous language so that the clergy who are supposed to teach it can better make themselves understood and the natives can apprehend it in a way that His Majesty has been and is served and the Catholic faith satisfied” (Quoted by Domínguez, 1994: 68).[34]

In a later letter, written in Lima (Ciudad de los Reyes) in September 25, 1548, to the King, Gasca identifies Juan de Betanzos as “lengua,” and indicates that he is married to an indigenous woman who is the mother of a bastard child of Francisco Pizarro’s (Angulo, 1924: xxxix).[35] Thus, the transformation from a mere encoder or writer of other’s translation to a full-fledged interpreter (tongue or lengua) happened in Cuzco between 1543 and 1548.

In his own text, started circa 1551 and finished in 1564, Betanzos gives some detail about his activities as translator. In the Prologue, his first words after the salutation are: “A book of Christian doctrine was recently translated and compiled [by me] which book contains the Christian doctrine and two vocabularies, one of lexical items and another one of notable things, and full prayers and coloquia and confessionaries …” (Betanzos, 1987: 9).[36] He also indicates he has spent six years of his life doing this, and that it took him a great effort, leaving him exhausted. These facts prompted him to resolve that he would never again translate a text to or from the “Indian language” since it had been a very strenous task due to its complexity. He was also set back because of the difficulties inherent in consolidating the differences of opinion he received on the same subjects, and on the diverse opinions the Spaniards held with respect to those of the Indians (1987: 9).

He was aware that people not only needed to know indigenous languages, but they also had to know how to inquire: “… as new in the treatment of Indians they would not know how to inquire and ask about it [the past] lacking the intelligence of the language, and the Indians, not trusting them, will not dare to give full reports …” (1987: 9).[37] Also, he set out the vision of his own job as translator, and on the quality of his work: “… the subtle and experienced judgement of Your Illustrious Lordship required gracious style and smooth eloquence which I at present and as a service that I am due to Your Excellency lack and the history of such matters does not allow, since in order to be a real and faithful translator I have to maintain the way and order of speaking these indigenous peoples had…” (1987: 9).[38] Here he is adhering to the foreignizing approach to translation, apparently not to domesticate the text (Schleiermacher, 1992: 42; Venuti 1993: 210). But I have doubts if it is so or he is only justifying his defective Spanish. Anyway, he does not follow his strategy consistently. He also lamented the short time he had been granted to finish his translation: “It has also been very strenous due to the short time I have had to busy myself with it, because all (my time) was necessary for the other book of the Doctrine, and above all it was harder having to finish this book now that Your Excellency ordered me to do it …” (Betanzos, 1987: 9).[39] And, finally, just in case anybody accused him of poorly interpreting his informers or rendering false descriptions, he dismissed those virtual accusations as “dreams or whims.” He stated in his defense that he knew the indigenous language better than the first “lenguas” indicating with this affirmation his awareness of being part of a second generation of interpreters in the Andes, in the 1540’s, those of peninsular provenance who had replaced indigenous ones as reported by Martel de Santoyo.

Betanzos identifies himself as “interpreter” in official documents only after he was appointed as “main interpreter”[40] in the Audiencia de Lima in May 1564 (Lohmann, 1997: 129). From then on, he is “tongue interpreter of the Royal Audiençia in the çibdad de los rreyes” (Lohmann, 1997: 129).[41] He used his professional activity as an identifier only when it had been officially recognized.

Sebastián de Covarrubias, in his Tesoro de la lengua castellana y española first published in 1611, defines “lengua” the person, as: “The interpreter who declares one language with another one, intervening between two different languages. Sometimes we use this term lengua because of its similarity and reference…” ([1611] 1995: 709).[42] And, “interpreter” is: “He who turns the words and concepts of one language into another one, in which task fidelity, prudence and cunning are required; having equal knowledge of both languages and of what is said in them through references and metaphorical terms, being able to ascertain what can correspond to it in the other language” ([1611] 1995: 671).[43] For “traduzir”: “… in the Spanish one means to turn the sentence from one language into another one, as translating from Italian or French some book into Castilian.” ([1611] 1995: 930). “Translation. This same volume and the translator its author. If this is not made with utmost care and prudence, knowing equally both languages and translating in some parts not according to the letter but to the sense; this will be what a sage and critical man said, that that was pouring, meaning spilling and wasting.” ([1611] 1995: 930)[44]. Please notice that the first two references, “lengua,” and “intérprete” refer to verbal expressions, and “traducir” to written ones. These definitions embody the criteria shared by learned peoples in Spain on how to translate in the late sixteenth century and early seventeenth. It cannot be said that Betanzos belonged to this group of people, but it is without doubt that he understood what the processes were about.

Regarding his approach to translation, Betanzos adds that “… I, being ordered to do so, have to translate as it happened …” (1987: 10).[45] Thus, he anounces he will adhere to literal translation, repeating in a Romance language, synthetic, what was said in an indigenous one, agglutinant. That in itself is impossible to attain. Besides, his project is laden with his own fictionalizing strategies, present all along his text (Fossa, In press). Also, the text he said he translated literally is studded with words and phrases he maintained in the source language. He did accompany them with several types of bilingual equivalences,[46] so it is evident that he wanted the text to be clear and understandable to his readers. Why did he maintain the words in their original language? Exotism? In a word, he did not adhere to any of the anouncements he made regarding translation and codification.

This brings us to the question of his Quechua learning. Demand and opportunity are the key words here: Demand for interpreters and translators of Quechua and Spanish, and the opportunity of learning indigenous languages and of being associated with the entities that needed these professionals, the Church and the Audiencias. Betanzos indicated he spent six years of his life “… writing a vocabulary in Indian language and confessionaries and vocabularies....”[47] He is referring to the preparation of a bilingual Quechua/Spanish version of the texts that go along with the “Christian doctrine primer,” and to one ‘Christian doctrine primer’ proper. The elaboration of evangelical texts leaves us with the sole option of associating Betanzos with a religious order that would have been busy, in Cuzco and even in Los Reyes, with these tasks in the 1540’s. It is impossible to even think of a lay person with relatively little formal instruction, as our author, to take up the task, on his own and at his own risk, of writing some of the first[48] volumes destined to natives’ evangelization in the Andes. This responsibility would fall, necessarily, on members of a religious order, and a prestigious one at that. My hypothesis is that he did this work between 1543 and 1551.

I believe that his participation in the production of translated evangelical texts must have been related to the more mechanic aspects of copyist or translator of first versions and to the incorporation of changes and corrections to the different versions. I do not see him assuming responsibility for the content and the final linguistic forms, and he does not claim to be the author of those religious texts either. He only says he worked on the compilations and translations to Quechua from Spanish (I do not think he knew Latin).

Clergymen were in dire need of prayer books, vocabularies, and grammars in the main native languages in order to be able to prepare their sermons, to follow confessions, to teach the natives how to pray, and know the basics of religious doctrine. It is plausible that parallel efforts were carried out for these urgent and monumental tasks by Dominicans and also by members of other Orders, in different locations. They had to comply with the requirements of the Crown at that point of evangelizing in native languages. Some members of the clergy might have been more inclined towards learning and teaching Quechua within their own Order, and others, of applying it to evangelization. These were complementary and simultaneous efforts.

In Betanzos’ case, the relationship with Dominican friars seems to be the most probable for several reasons. One is the support this Order gave to don Cristóbal Vaca de Castro upon his arrival at Ciudad de Los Reyes in 1541. Fray Tomás de San Martín, Superior of the Dominican Order in the province of Perú (Pérez, 1986: 102) proclaimed Licenciate Vaca de Castro as Governor. San Martín may have also recommended Betanzos for the job of writer in the Khipukamayuq report of 1543. Another reason is the early installation and organization of the Order in Los Reyes and in Cuzco, and the considerable number of friars it counted on. According to Isacio Pérez, “… en 1540 ya había en el Perú unos 35 ó 40 dominicos…” (… in 1540 there already were about 35 or 40 Dominicans in Peru…) (1986: 101). Several people were needed to learn the language, write bilingual vocabularies and indigenous language grammars, as well as fill the duties of friars and missionaries throughout the immense territory: “… in these years of 1541-1545, the evangelization of Indians in their own language was already underway” (Pérez, 1986: 165).[49] In 1541, following the same author, Fray Tomás de San Martín worked on an “evangelization plan” in native languages, in which manuscript Christian doctrine primers were essential: The task of manually writing all the primers that were needed for lay and ordered friars to use required many people working simultaneously.

San Martín’s policies were continued by Fray Juan Solano, second Bishop of Cuzco, arriving in early 1545 to replace Vicente de Valverde who had died in November of 1541. In 1545, the Dominican Fray Jerónimo de Loayza, first Bishop of Los Reyes, forbade the use of cathechism primers in indígenous languages “until they be seen and examined by us together with their authors and other persons who understand well the language and the ones [primers] that go through this process be limited to one version” (Pérez, 1986: 165).[50] The First Concilio Limense of 1551-52 certified that this model primer had already been prepared: the Jesuit priest Francisco Mateos thus indicates in his Constituciones, quoted by Pérez (1986: 165). According to Mateos, besides the doctrinal primer certain “coloquia” were written, also in Quechua, which would add commentaries or explanations, and dealt with “the Creation and other useful things” (Pérez, 1986: 165).[51] If we remember Betanzos’ bilingual religious work, the two coincide: “A book of Christian doctrine was recently translated and compiled which book contains the Christian doctrine and two vocabularies, one of lexical items and another one of notable things, and full prayers and coloquia and confessionaries …” (Betanzos, 1987: 9).[52] In 1551 both doctrinal primers, the one Betanzos “translates and compiles,” in his own words, and the one approved by the First Concilio Limense were completed. They share many characteristics, thus we are probably talking about the same series of texts. The presentation of the text before the Concilio can also explain the effort mentioned by Betanzos of finishing it in a rush.

The type of translation fostered by Dominican friars such as Domingo de Santo Tomás, author of the earliest grammar and vocabulary in Quechua, was far from literal. In fact, what was at play here was the need for the linguistic support the indoctrination campaign required. It was thus a translation with an objective: the Catholic message had to be conveyed quickly and as efficiently as possible in Quechua and other indigenous languages. The fulfilling of this requisite was possible through the semantic, syntactic, and morphological manipulation of the Quechua language.[53] The result of this forced hybridization was the inclusion of a series of Quechua words or phrases whose content was Spanish or Catholic, and many loan words from Spanish when it was impossible to convey religious dogma with Quechua words. These linguistic manipulations produced what César Itier has called “Quechua misionero,” a Hispanisized, Christianized language.

Since the 70’s, José M. Enguita Utrilla has studied the presence of what he calls “indoamericanismos léxicos” in Spanish lay texts (documents and chronicles), clarifying his Hispanic perspective on the subject. He makes interesting contributions to the study and analysis of translation in the sixteenth century as performed by semi-cult Spanish individuals who started writing history or chronicles and reports. He proposes several “procedures” through which Spaniards decipher the semantics contained in “barbarous words” (Enguita 1979: 288). The procedures he has identified are: Descriptions, Definitions, Explanations, Coordinations between indigenous terms and Spanish ones (disjunctive, copulative), and Translations. The aim of these procedures was to make the texts closer to Spanish, European readers, and the translation went from indigenous languages to Spanish. But, as I have discussed before, the main translation tasks from Spanish or Latin into indigenous languages, regarding doctrinal texts, were not for Spaniards but for native peoples. In these texts, written and oral, other procedures are found, besides the ones Enguita mentions. These have been studied by C. Itier, and signal a more complex, systematic approach to the translated text. It encompassed the manipulations, and then the transformation, of the indigenous languages themselves, since they were forced to say things that were never thought by their speakers, forcing morphology to express European concepts (1995: 321-322). The resulting effects of these manipulations not only changed the language, but created turns and combinations that were incomprehensible for native speakers.[54] Friars continued to use them, maybe believing them to be crystal clear, even though little was obtained in the expected conversions into Christianity.

Nicanor Domínguez (1994) and myself (In press) believe that Betanzos was formed as a translator in this atmosphere, within the Dominican Order, and with the conviction that Quechua and the other indigenous languages were incapable of expressing the subtle, sophisticated Spanish ideas regarding religious belief. Indigenous languages were always seen, in this context, as lacking the appropriate vocabulary for intelligent expression, and always in need of manipulation. In my book, soon to be published in Lima, I studied the degree of knowledge Betanzos had in Quechua, based on his use of the possessives, and concluded that it was not that advanced or systematic. My study was based on several examples similar to this one, although the one I will analyze here was not included in the previous work:

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According to Enguita, this procedure would be that of Definition, “easy and exact perception of the corresponding original concept. It is characterized by its concisiveness” (1979: 288). That is what appears, at first sight, to be happening in this example. I will start with the grammatical aspects of the phrase in Quechua. One of the possessives in Quechua, when needed, bears two suffix marks, one on the possessor, _p, and one in the possessed, _n. In the present example, the possessed is marked by the suffix _n, but not the possessor. The correct form would be: Yngap Guauquin. This omision is probably due to the influence of Spanish, where a word ending in an labial occlusive sound is unusual. Regarding now its semantic aspect, the Quechua meaning of guauque, /wawqi/, is not simply “brother.” It also means relative and ally according to Santo Tomás (1951: 289).[55] For the Anonymous Quechua Lexicographer, this word has even more, and more complex meanings, besides those of blood or amical kinship: “Hua[u]que dezían a la estatua o ydolo particular que tenia cada nación. (That is what they called the statue or particular idol each nation had.) My translation.” (1951: 50). In Aimara, Bertonio offers: “Huauque, kochomasi: amigo (friend)” (1879: 154). So, in the phrase of the example: “Ynga Guauquin que dice el hermano del Ynga (Ynga Guauquin which says the Ynga’s brother) My translation.,” guauque could refer to a living human being, or a representation of oneself[56] or of a whole nation. Guauque had a meaning that was closer to alter ego, than to “brother.” The wide and diverse semantic field covered in Quechua by the word guauque is reduced to the one in Spanish, restricted to humans, to individuals. The two words quauque and “hermano”[57] may certainly have some shared traces of meaning; the problem is that once the term is translated into Spanish without any other explanation that could compensate for the loss, it remains for Spanish speakers and readers as a perfect synonym of “hermano,” thus losing all other inherent traces in the process of translation. Thus, indigenous lexical items in general, and Quechua words in particular, lose an important part of their semantic content besides most of their symbolic content. Pym provides us with the model of intersection (2000: 6) that could very well illustrate the first part of this situation, that of the common semantic traces. In my example, the semantic traces which excede this intersection are ignored, and the parity or equivalence with the foreign term is based only on the traces which intersect. If we were to redraw Pym’s intersecting circles to illustrate the result of this equivalence, the circle representing guauque would be significantly larger than the one representing the word “hermano (brother)”; and the whole of “hermano (brother)” will coincide with guauque. In this case, then, guauque covers and largely exceeds the semantic field of “hermano.” All this “excess” in meaning, excessive from a Spanish perspective, is lost in Betanzos’ version. For Itier, this would be a case of “substitution of realities conceived of by Andeans with European realities, through language” (My translation) (Itier, 1995: 325). Pratt describes it as “traffic,” not translation (2002). My way of expressing this is that a “reduction” or banalization[58] and simplification of Quechua terms and concepts has taken place, creating the situation for sublating (Niranjana, 1992), not translating, the language and subalternizing the culture. Venuti stresses “the power or translation to (re)constitute and cheapen foreign texts, to trivialize and exclude foreign cultures…” (1993: 208).

I have chosen several examples to illustrate the discussion on Betanzos’ skills as a translator from Quechua to Spanish from the large selection compiled in his Glossary (Fossa 2003). I want to begin with the apparently simple noun equivalences he presents to us:

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This is a case of “explanation[59] and translation,”[60] as will have it Enguita. Simple, except that each one belongs to a different culture. What is a bonete? Does it have the same function as a chuco? Besides occupying the same place on the body, are the shapes, colors, textures, different? I will examine Covarrubias’ Spanish dictionary, and compare his entries with those of the bilingual Quechua-Spanish vocabularies, to answer these questions and thus evaluate the translation strategy. I will give here an edited version of Covarrubias’ entry, which is very long[61]:

“Bonete. Cierta cobertura de la cabeza que en latin se llama pileus, vel pileum dicen en francés. El bonete usan los clérigos, digo el de cuatro esquinas, que encima forma una cruz. Dice Pierio Valeriano que significa las cuatro partes del mundo y el polo del cielo, por el ápice de en medio; para significar que los eclesiásticos han de tener gran capacidad y enderezar todos sus pensamientos al cielo. Y hasta nuestros tiempos le usaron los letrados juristas, y sobre él ponían las borlas los doctores, en señal de la dotrina y eminente ciencia … Por imposición del bonete se hacen las colaciones de los beneficios eclesiásticos, y los que han de gozar de sus privilegios le han de traer; porque los sombreros se permiten por el sol y el agua, cuando se camina. … nosotros le traemos por honestidad y por conformar con el demás vestido, que comúnmente es negro, a diferencia de los señores cardenales que le traen rojo, conforme a su hábito, significando la inflamada caridad y la excelencia de su estado. El bonete redondo usan algunos prelados de las órdenes monacales y clérigos cuando traen luto, por cuya razón se pudieron llamar brunetes, y corruptamente bonetes, desde el tiempo de los sacerdotes de Plutón, que le usaban negro, como está dicho. Los que son desta hechura colorada, usan los moros de Berbería”.

Covarrubias [1608] 1995: 198

Covarrubias first describes the use and function of the bonnet, and then he explains who wore this garment. He is very explicit in regard to form, color, and symbolism. His description of the item is comprehensive, going into antique sources to validate his opinions, and indicating with clarity that meanings and senses have changed historically. Let’s compare this entry with the Quechua chuco. Fray Domingo de Santo Tomás offers two entries in his Lexicon ([1550] 1951: 272): “Chuco o tanca. bonete, cobertura de la cabeça,”[62] and “Chuco. capacete, armadura de la cabeça.” He does not carry tanca in his Lexicon. The Anonymous lexicographer has: “Chucu, bonete de Indios, sombreros o casquetes” ([1586] 1951: 38). For Tanca o calla, an apparent synonym of chucu, he gives “rueca,” something unrelated ([1586] 1951: 82). In this same text, in the Spanish section, we find bonete de indios collas ([1586] 1951: 119), specifying that this type of hat or headdress belongs only to the Colla indians. He offers chucu as the Quechua equivalent. If it only belongs to the Colla, the Aimara dictionaries might help us, since that is the language they spoke. Bertonio’s Aimara vocabulary[63] clarifies the question: “bonete de clerigo, Tanca” ([1612] 1879: 99). He adds: “becoquin[64] bonnet. Huachu. ([1612] 1879: 99). Tanca. Hat, and clerics’ bonnet; Tanca cchucutha. hicho [sic: ichu][65] woven in the indian´s old style. Tanca postponed to puma. Hat made of the skin of the head of the lion, with its teeth, eyes, etc. Which was worn in their dances” (Bertonio, [1612] 1879: 99)[66]. For Huachu, Bertonio offers: “Becoquin o escofia” ([1612] 1879: 141).

There are two important things to discuss here. First, the common use of many words in Quechua and Aimara, languages that have shared the same territories for centuries or even millennia. Second, the apparently simple thing of analyzing the use of interlanguage equivalences turned complicated once each of those words is housed in its own cultural context. Aimara and Quechua are very close languages; they share many lexical items, grammatical structure, and their respective cultures are roughly similar. Even though the two indigenous languages mentioned are close, it is nevertheless surprising to find that an illustrated Quechua learner, such as Domingo de Santo Tomás, does not distinguish between the two, or at least does not tell his readers that the words he is using belong to two different languages. He simply uses them as interchangeable synonyms within a Quechua vocabulary. This use must reflect what was happening at street level.

Betanzos’ gloss can be extended somewhat to give us the cultural context that frames his utterance: “los indios le dijeron que el capito[67] que era un hombre alto y que tenia la cara llena de barbas y que era todo metido y envuelto en ropa desde los pies hasta la garganta…e que traia encima de la cabeza un chuco que dice bonete…” (1987: 254). His choice for the indigenous word chuco in a description of Pizarro is indicative of his plan of “speaking as they do.” As he is talking now from an indigenous perspective: he uses chuco when he could have very well used “capacete.” And also, why didn’t Betanzos just say “chuco que es su capacete”? I believe he wanted us to be familiar with the generic, since both chuco and bonete can be particularized adding adjectives or other modifiers. We can see why Santo Tomás added a second entry for chuco; this second one should be used when describing Spaniards: “Chuco. cap, armour or the head” ([1550] 1951: 272).[68] What Pizarro probably had on his head was a helmet.[69]

Pedro de Cieza (1550) adds an interesting spin to the question of bonete, as used by indians: “y en la cabeça se ponian unas trenças o llauto, que llaman ‘pillaca’; ques como corona, debaxo del qual colgavan unas orejeras de oro y ençima se ponia un bonete de pluma casi como diadema que ellos llaman ‘paucarchuco’…” (1985: 18). Again we see here the equivalent of chuco (as in paucarchuco) and bonete, used in an indigenous context. By Cieza’s description, it can be ascertained that it is a cover that goes right on top of the head, and fits there snugly. It can be made of ichu, feather on a textile base, and even animal skin, if we go back to tanca.

Llautu, then, is the generic for headdress; and chuco is a particular kind, especially used by people from Collasuyu. These garments were very important in indigenous life because each ethnic group or even family group had a special, different one. It served as identifier and as lineage marker. Probably that is why it was important to describe the kind Pizarro was wearing, from an indigenous people point of view it was important to decipher to what ethnic group he belonged and his position within it.

The word “bonete” coincides only in part with chuco. Both words, each in its own context, have marked symbolisms. Those of the indigenous terms are mostly lost, since lexicographers explained only those of Spanish, as is the case of “bonete.” Contrary to Enguita’s classification, I believe this is a case of “sub-lation,” following Niranjana (1992). She means by this the under-translation of the indigenous languages and terms, which remain only half-way explained and understood, being associated with a term from the colonizing culture. This term will transfer its own meaning into the native form, notwithstanding its partial coincidence and overlapping. In adapting the indigenous word to the Spanish sphere, meanings, senses, and symbolisms are lost because they are never rendered if they exceed those of the “equivalent” word in the colonizing language, thus subalternizing the culture that hosts it.

Intercultural issues, in the sense of overlapping or intersecting Pym gives this phrase (2000: 5), are of a very complex nature in these texts. There is first the author’s interculturality, premise based on his identified Arabic, Spanish, and even Sephardic lexical items, combined with those of the Antilles (Taino and Kuna) and also Andean, from sources such as Quechua and Aimara. It is interesting to observe how words change or increase meaning or acquire new ones when they are either extracted from or reinserted into their own cultural contexts. Meanings vary when words are presented in isolation or contextualized. The crucial role context has in dispelling ambiguity, and culture has in attaching all its values to words, should not be overlooked.

In the following example other aspects of interculturality will be explored:

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The equivalence here seems to be transparent: Capac means Rey or King. But, if the idiosyncracies of government are not known, how can equivalences be established? We can then say that this is certainly an adaptation. This pair of words gets more complicated when Betanzos adds:

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Before getting into the analysis, it should be said that the Quechua lexical item Cuna, when written as a separate word as Betanzos does, has no apparent meaning. What Betanzos wants to stress is the idea of plurality this particle carries. The suffix _kuna is one of the most utilized plural forms in Quechua. But, this language does not require pluralization except when the number will be unclear in the sentence or utterance. In this example, Betanzos should have written capacuna, as one word, or omit the suffix entirely. He wrote it as two words because he capitalized both Capac and Cuna in the text as well as the manuscript. He is now referring to the Inkas and says that, according to the Indians, the list of Capac Cuna included only the ones associated with outstanding deeds. So Capac now means “the best,” because in this list only Inkas are mentioned; but not any Inka, only the best ever. The connection between “King” and “best” could be found in the semic trace /high/. In his text, Betanzos uses capac in two ways, and writes one of them in two different ways: Capac, Capac Cuna, and Capacuna (Fossa 2003).

The encoding of indigenous languages in alphabetical characters is a complicated matter for Spaniards, who had trouble representing the sounds Quechua does not share with Spanish, which are quite a few. One of them is q, which requires a post-velar occlusion. On page 9, Betanzos elaborates the suffix _q or _c in his spelling, on the positioning of the adjectives in Quechua and Spanish, and also on the semantics of capac: “aunque los que construyen este nombre [Guaina Capac] no entendiendo lo que quiere decir dicen que dice mancebo rico porque habran de saber que capa sin c postrera dice rico y Guaina dice mancebo e si dijera este nombre Capaguaina dijera mancebo rico mas dice Guaina Capac postrera que dice mancebo rey.”[70] There is, according to Betanzos, a difference in meaning between capa and capac. The first word means rich, and the second one, king. But, the difference goes beyond semantics. From a morphological perspective, the suffix _q added to a verbal root nominalizes it, and indicates the agent of that action. Also, when that suffix is used with a verb of movement, it indicates purpose of the action described by the verb (Gálvez, 1990: 91). Syntactically, there are also differences. In the first case, Capaguaina, capa is modifying guaina (rich youngster), and in the second one, Guaina Capac (young king), Guaina is modifying Capac, although Betanzos does not say so, focused as he is on the suffix. The word capac, which should be written qhapaq, is shared by Quechua and, in this case, Puquina, another major indigenous language spoken in the southeast part of Peru.[71] Betanzos seems to be unaware of the sharing of this lexical item, and he attributes the term solely to Quechua. Both words might have sounded similar to Spaniards, but phonetically, they are very different: /kapa/ and /qhapaq/. Only a foreigner, a Spaniard, could confuse them.

Capacuna or Capac Cuna, then, is the plural of Capac. It is a roll of all the Capac, that is, of all the Inkas, which Betanzos is careful to list as one dynastic lineage of kings, or monarchs. A monarch is a single person who exercises government, which recent research indicates was not the case with the Inka (Pease, 1991; Rostworoski, 1983). Nevertheless, Betanzos’ Capacuna is still one of the earliest list of rulers of the Inka period available though it is now believed that some of them governed simultaneously, and that the unsuccesful rulers were eliminated from that roll.

I contend here that Betanzos’ European concept of a kingdom, and of a king, superseded the tradition found in the Andes. He himself describes in detail the ceremony of accession to power, which interestingly enough, was also a marriage ceremony. All the symbolism of the situation escapes our author, as well as the process by which an indigenous ruler and his wife were nominated or selected. After the marriage-accession to power ceremony was completed, the wives or Coyas are seldom mentioned by him or by other authors, such as Cieza. Spaniards are focused on the activities of the men in power, following their own masculine traditions. We have in this example a case of interculturality, in the sense that the ceremony was recognized as one of conferring power, but the other aspects of its meaning, which did not overlap with the European, Spanish content, were ignored and invested with European significations. In Enguita’s terms, this would be a Translation. In my words, it is a case of cultural colonization through overpowering language contact and translation, in which the original language’s semantic traces have been reduced to those of the equivalent in the target language, and furthermore, the traces of the target language that exceeded the original meaning have been transferred to the semantic content of the indigenous word.

In the following quotation, I want to stress the characteristics of cultural colonial translation (a translation of languages of unequal value and prestige, usually the colonized language being explained and assimilated into the colonizing language), while underlining the author’s efforts in conveying the content and context of an unknown reality.

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In this passage, Betanzos is talking about women’s garments. He uses two words in quechua: chumbis /chumpi/, and topos /tupu/. The first term is somewhat ambiguous in what he says “con unas mantas y fajas que ellos llaman chumbis”: it is not clear if he is referring to both, “mantas y fajas (covers and belts),” or only to the last one. According to Santo Tomás, chumbi is “ceñidero” (waistband); and chumbi or guachuco is “faxa para ceñirse” (belt to tie) (1951: 273). The Anonymous Quechua lexicographer has chumpi as “color castaño” (hazel color) (1951: 29), and a second entry for chumpi, meaning “faxa de Indias, o cingulo” (female indians’ belt or sash). “Faxa,” “ceñidero,” and “cingulo” mean roughly the same: sash. The Anonymous Quechua lexicographer confirms the use of chumpi only by women, who had these sashes around their waists to keep their other garments in place. Betanzos goes on to say that these chumpi were special, in that they were worked in gold thread. I presume it is because of this fact that he describes them at all, to show that gold was present everywhere, also in women’s attire. He sees another golden item: the topo or /tupu/. Besides indicating that they were made of very fine gold, he adds measurements to the description (“dos palmos” about 20 centimeters) in order to enhance the fact of their being precious.

The stress on the gold present in the garments distracts us, and the author, from the ceremonial use of these items, and from the ceremony itself. The festivities are related to the beginings of Inka culture, the emergence of the inaugural couples from the Pacaritampu cave. Betanzos is only giving us the characteristic that particularly struck him the most, from an European perspective, and not the most important general aspect as seen from the indigenous perspective. What we are seeing here is not only a “reduction” of the Quechua meanings (Fossa, 1998),[72] but a change in focus. This last translation procedure is as important as the first; the first one refers to the semantic content, and the second one to the cultural content and symbolism. I want to underline the fact that his perspective is the one that prevails, to the detriment of the indigenous one which goes unheeded. Venuti would call this a “transgression of discoursive values” (1993: 209). The effect of simplistic, banalizing translations on the general public’s idea of cultural value of the translated society is of great import.[73]

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This word, Cozcoynacacuna is in fact, two: Cozco and yñacacuna, meaning the yñacacuna from Cuzco. One might think that yñaca would be Quechua, being associated with Cuzco, but neither Domingo de Santo Tomás or the Anonymous lexicographer include that word in their Vocabularies. Bertonio does, so yñaca is Aimara. He says: “Iñaca, vel Palla; Muger que viene de casta noble de los Ingas” (1879: 175). Bertonio feels the need to include the interlinguistic equivalent, palla. The Anonymous offers the same meaning for Palla in Quechua: “India noble, señora de linage de Ingas.” (1951: 67) as Bertonio does for “yñaca.” As we already know, the suffix _cuna is a pluralizer in Quechua. So, what we have here is an Aimara word treated as a Quechua word by Betanzos. In this sense, we have an assimilation of Aimara into Quechua, of which the author does not know, or at least, does not inform us.

On the other hand, we have another assimilation, or what I called a “saturation” of meanings. The Inka civilization has been dubbed an “empire” for its similarities with what the Spaniards knew of it in the sixteenth century. Many aspects of Inka life have been compared to that of the Romans, like their roads, and buildings, their host of deities and rituals, etc. Those real or imagined similarities led them to describe Tawantinsuyu as an “empire.” This conviction overflows the political and invades the demographic: it is Inka women who are described as “Roman matrons.” I do not believe this is an error in perception, but a strategy of transmission of the unknown by association with the known. Furthermore, they do not allow the establishment of relations of identity with Quechua semantic contents. They are a distraction towards European ideas or constructs with which they coincide only in part (Fossa, 1998: 10). But, if they are used as is the case here, Betanzos thought his readers will understand the function these women played in the Inka state, as he understood it also, through that conceptual filter. The final effect of this strategy is the emptying of the meaning of yñaca as understood in its own culture, and its replenishing with foreign semantic and cultural traces. This derives in a decrease in intrinsic, proper, semantic content, and in a super abundance of extrinsic, added meaning.[74]

Another example of linguistic, and semantic “traffic”[75] (Pratt, 2002), a form of cultural colonization, will be studied below.

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Let’s start with Cuxipata. It might be a good idea to use a second instance of the use of Cuxi, as in Cuxirimay (below) to draw better conclusions.

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Cuxi here is used as an adjective, modifying pata (Cuxipata), a noun, and rimay (Cuxirimay), a verb. Pata or tiana mean “poyo para assentarse” (bench to sit on) and Pata pata means “escalera de barro o de piedra o escalón” (staircase made of mud or stone, or step) (Santo Tomás, 1951: 337). The Anonymous lexicographer gives us “poyo, grada, andén” (bench, step, platform) for pata. Pata pata would then be “gradas o escaleras.” (steps or stairways) (1951: 69). The same in Aimara: Pata means “poyo o grada” (bench or step), and Patapata means “muchas gradas” (many steps); Patarana means “Andenes de los cerros naturales o artificiales, aquellos como poyos” (Platforms on the sides of the hills, natural or artificial, such as benches) (Bertonio, 1879: 252). I should mention here that the reduplication of a word is another linguistic resource for indicating plurality in Quechua and Aimara. The plural Pata pata or patarana are known even today as “andenes,” the agricultural surfaces obtained from cutting “steps” into the slopes of mountains. The singular, pata, means grada (step) or poyo (narrow, raised plain or terrace).

Rimay means “hablar” (to speak) (Anonymous, 1951: 78; Santo Tomás, 1951: 347). Cussicui means “deleyte” (pleasure) for Quechuist Santo Tomás (1951: 277), and Cussi means “dicha o ventura, o contento” (happiness or good fortune, or glee) for the Anonymous (1951: 27). Cusi means “dicha, ventura” (happiness, good fortune) for Bertonio (Aimara) (1879: 61). So Cuxipata would translate roughly as “andén o explanada[76] venturoso/a o dichoso/a” or “fortunate or merry terrace.”[77] Betanzos indicates that Cuxirimay means “habla ventura” (speak good fortune), and that cuxipata cato means “el placer venturoso,” “the fortunate pleasure.” Cussicuy is a word used by the Anonymous lexicographer to explain “Plazer deleyte” (pleasure glee) (1951: 172). “Deleyte” is cusicuy, and “Plazer o deleyte”means cussicuy [sic] for Santo Tomás (1951: 99);. “Ventura” (Good Fortune) is not in Santo Tomás’ Vocabulary, but the Anonymous offers that and other phrases. For “Ventura” he has: cussi, sami.

Before reaching any conclusions, let’s find out what cato means. Catu for the Anonymous means “mercado o feria” (market or fair) (1951: 23), and for Santo Tomás, catu /qatu/, o catucona /qatukuna/ means “feria o mercado” (fair or market) (1951: 252). Feria has the semantic traces of noisy, merry meeting place. Mercado (market) is a more complex word because it includes the concept of money exchange for goods, and that was not the case in the Andes. Barter was the way in which commerce was made, if at all, and this could take place in a fair. There is no such entry as catu in Aimara. So, instead of el placer venturoso, cuxipata cato should mean feria de la alegre (venturosa) explanada or “merry (fortunate) terrace fair.” These phrases do run parallel to Cuxirimay “habla ventura,” “fortunate speaking.” Is this a wrong translation, or an equivocal copy? The manuscript text is quite clear, so the doubt remains. Would the writer have mistaken “plaza” for “plazer”? But the accord between the noun and the adjective “plazer venturoso” (fortunate glee) in gender and number work against this hypothesis. An error in translation, or a mistranslation will support the idea of a relatively limited knowledge of the indigenous language Batanzos was supposed to master in order to translate effectively.

According to Betanzos, his indigenous wife, Cuxirimay Ocllo (baptized Angelina and bearing two successive last names, Yupangue and Pizarro) was also the sister of Cuxi Yupangue: “su hermano Cuxi Yupangue” (Betanzos, 1987: 217). Cuxitopa Yupangue was Cuxi Yupangue and Cuxirimay Ocllo or Yupangue’s uncle (Betanzos, 1987: 221). With names having meanings, where does translation end and patronyms begin? Is Betanzos trying to establish a lineage? Is he making evident, in a European way, that the persons he mentions not only were noble but also relatives? Is Betanzos “trafficking” with indigenous patronyms in order to give them a dynastic flavor? I believe so, since he is trying to prove that his wife, Angelina Yupangue, was related to the highest Inka nobility. If he has married an indigenous noblewoman, he is entitled to the restitution of her property, a concept foreign to Inka civilization, but very active in early Spanish invasion.

Conclusions

It is difficult to ascertain, given the small amount of information available, Betanzos’ ethnic origin. But, linguistic evidence points to a pluriethnic, pluricultural background that links Arab and Mozarab with Ladino and Castillian traces. All of them belong to a low social echelon, syndicating him as belonging to a mixed, lower class status.

His pluricultural background is further enriched with indigenous American vocabulary from the Caribbean area, Mexico, and the Andes. He is aware of differences between island and Andean languages, but within the last category, he is unable or unaware to discern between what he calls Quechua, and Aimara, and Puquina, as his writings show.

Regarding Betanzos’ knowledge of Quechua, the review of several examples of his ability with the written language point to the fact that it was superficial and, at times, erroneous. Notwithstanding that he was trained as a writer of Quechua, and as an extension of this task, as a team translator of religious texts within the Dominican Order, those results cannot be evaluated since these sixteenth century doctrinal primers have not yet been found. Thus, no indigenous opinion of his Quechua versions has been recorded. He was, later in his life, official interpreter of the Audiencia de Lima, but the evidence produced so far does not substantiate the assertion of a proficient use of the indigenous language. Also, documents indicate that very little effort was made on the part of lay and religious people alike, in learning indigenous languages before 1542. His Spanish also lacks luster and an extensive vocabulary, confirming his scarce formal learning and his limitations regarding written and verbal expression.

Betanzos ability as a cultural and linguistic translator are more difficult to evaluate. He uses a wide range of strategies to translate the linguistic forms, wider and more complex than the list given by Enguita. In general, his translations speak more of a cultural trafficking: Betanzos perceived indigenous cultural aspects that would serve his interests, so he focused his attention not on the culture itself, but on those matters which would benefit him. He treasured the important information he had gathered from the Khipukamayuq, and used it to enhance the dynastic relationships of his indigenous wife so that she, and he through her, could apply for the restitutions the Crown recognized were due to noble Inka persons and their descendants.

He is aware that he is writing for a public ignorant not only of the language, but also of the culture. He not only has to explain the facts but also adapt the meanings to European realities. The version he produced is more Spanish than Andean, contributing to the devaluation and transfiguration of the Quechua language and its semantics.

Betanzos does not follow consistently any translation or transcoding strategy, tilting from a declared foreignizing approach to writing a domesticated version of Inka life. He belongs to the second generation of interpreters and translators, the first one being of indigenous young men taught Spanish on ships and in convents in Spain. The second generation he talks about was formed mainly by Spaniards who knew some general Quechua, and mestizos, who were partly bilingual.

In performing cultural translations, Betanzos shortchanges indigenous languages constantly since he stops at giving equivalences as if they were perfect synonyms. The most important aspect of cultural translation, the permanence of symbolism, is lacking. Contextualization might help, and also explanatory items coming from an exhaustive knowledge of the culture that produces the symbolic traces adhered to certain expressions. Betanzos happens to be incapable of fulfilling the task of cultural translator due to his ignorance or lack of interest in the indigenous cultures and languages. When ignorance is at play, the cases of under-translation or sublation can be explained. If lack of interest is predominant, the cases of over-translation go unnoticed by the translator. The instances in which there is a change of focus fall also in the category of opaque translations since the stress in meaning is changed to that of the translator’s culture without alerting the reader. The addition and subtraction of semantic content in the translation of indigenous languages into Spanish is not accounted for in Betanzos’ text. But it happens constantly: some words are partly deprived of their semantic content while others are emptied and awarded the meanings of the target language. In these cases, as in others, the traffic of meanings is at play.

Betanzos thus diminishes the content and scope of words and phrases and of the culture that coined them, helping to show the colonized representation of indigenous peoples as ineffective, dull, inferior. He certainly fits the description of an agent of colonization, his versions always serving Spanish interests.