The Man Who Invented Aztec Crystal Skulls. Jane MacLaren Walsh
deities wearing skulls on necklaces and belts, and occasionally painted them on pottery.
In the second half of the nineteenth century Aztec skulls carved from rock crystal appeared in museum collections on both sides of the Atlantic. They were much admired for the beauty of their translucent material and the evident skill with which they had been carved by ancient artisans using primitive stone tools. Increasing their exotic allure was the notion that they played some role in the bloody human sacrifices practiced by Aztec priests.
A rock crystal skull, sent through the US Postal Service, arrived at the Smithsonian Institution a number of years ago as an anonymous donation. The package had gone to the National Museum of American History. A handwritten note accompanying it said that it was an Aztec skull purchased in Mexico in 1960. The note also said that the skull had belonged to Porfirio Díaz, the dictator of Mexico from the late 1870s until 1910.
I entered the picture when Richard Ahlborn, a colleague at American History, called me. He knew I was the primary researcher on Mexican pre-Columbian archeology in the Smithsonian’s Museum of Natural History. He asked me what I knew about crystal skulls, and I told him that the British Museum had a life-size crystal skull on exhibit which was said to be Aztec, as did the Musée de l’Homme in Paris, and that my own department in the National Museum of Natural History had once exhibited a small crystal skull as a fake. After a short discussion, he said, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “I’ll take it!” I said, without giving it too much thought.
Richard delivered it the next day. It was surprisingly large, 10 inches in height—about the size of a football helmet—and heavy, weighing 31 pounds. It had been carved and hollowed out from milky white quartz. It had prominent teeth, deep eye sockets, and circular depressions at the temples. I asked for a cart to move it from the loading dock to my office. An archivist standing nearby jokingly warned, “Don’t look it in the eye! It might be cursed.”
Once I had gotten the skull upstairs, I examined it carefully. It was an impressive and interesting artifact, but did not look at all Aztec, or even pre-Columbian. It was much too big, the proportions were off, the teeth and circular depressions at the temples did not look right, and overall it seemed too rounded and polished. It went into a locked cabinet and I forgot about it for a while.
When a colleague asked me to write a book chapter about an unusual or problematic object in the Department of Anthropology’s collection, the crystal skull came to mind. The Porfirio Díaz provenance was anecdotal, and the Aztec attribution seemed unlikely to me since no crystal skull had ever been found in an archeological excavation in Mexico. When the editors accepted my proposal, I began to concentrate my research on crystal skulls.
I first investigated the archival and published history of the two-inch crystal skull I knew about in the Smithsonian’s collections. It came to the museum from Mexico in the nineteenth century as part of the Wilson Wilberforce Blake Collection, but it disappeared sometime in the 1970s after it was taken off exhibit. When Smithsonian geologist William Foshag examined this small skull in the 1950s, he determined that it had been carved and polished with modern lapidary equipment. Foshag had spent many years studying pre-Columbian carvings in jadeite and other hard stone and was extremely knowledgeable about carving and polishing techniques (Foshag 1957). He wrote on the catalog card that the skull was “definitely a fake, made on a lap wheel and polished with a wheel buffer” (National Museum of Natural History, Department of Anthropology, cat. Card #98949 5/27/1952).
Figure 0.1 Smithsonian crystal skull. Photo by James Diloreto (National Museum of Natural History, Department of Anthropology, 562841).
The collection accession file contained a sheaf of letters Blake had written to the Smithsonian curator, William Henry Holmes. Blake’s letters were filled with journalistic details discussing archeological questions and general goings-on in Mexico City. One letter from 1886 passed on some juicy gossip about a “Frenchman named Boban,” who had tried to sell a fake crystal skull to Mexico’s Museo Nacional in partnership with Leopoldo Batres, the Mexican government’s inspector of archeological monuments. This was the first time I encountered Boban’s name.
I already knew that both the British Museum in London and the Musée de l’Homme in Paris had a large crystal skull in their collections, so I contacted Elizabeth Carmichael at the British Museum and Daniel Levine at the Musée de l’Homme requesting information about their skulls. Carmichael’s response was full of interesting notes about the acquisition history of the British Museum crystal skulls—they had two—as well as comments on scientific studies performed on them since the 1960s. A copy of the original registration slip for the smaller skull indicated it might have been purchased in the 1860s, and the larger skull, which was the one I had known about, was purchased in November 1897 from Tiffany & Co. of New York, through George F. Kunz.
Daniel Levine’s letter informed me that he believed the crystal skull was one of the most important artifacts in the museum’s pre-Columbian holdings. A copy of the object’s catalog card indicated that the skull was part of the Alphonse Pinart Collection, which had arrived in 1878, when the Musée d’Ethnographie du Trocadéro, France’s national ethnographic museum and the Musée de l’Homme’s predecessor, first opened to the public.
One fact stood out at this point in my research: all the crystal skulls I had identified in Europe’s major museums seemed to have appeared within a thirty-year period, between the 1860s and the 1890s. This was true of the two Smithsonian crystal skulls as well. The small one from Blake was purchased in 1886 and the newly arrived, much larger skull would have surfaced during the same time period if it had, in fact, been part of the Porfirio Díaz Collection. Were they from a cache of ancient artifacts that someone had uncovered and slowly sold off or were they all fashioned by a nineteenth-century crystal carver who had some odd affinity for crania? I knew that at least one of them, the small Smithsonian skull examined by Foshag, had been carved with modern lapidary equipment, but what about the others? This trail was already becoming interesting.
Turning to the literature on crystal skulls, I consulted books, articles, and exhibition catalogs. The skulls were always described as amazing examples of pre-Columbian lapidary art, given that the carvers had worked only with stone tools. Rock crystal is quartz, a relatively hard stone—seven on the ten-point Mohs scale. It is extremely brittle, making it even more difficult to carve and prone to shattering when worked inexpertly.
William Foshag’s assessment that the early Smithsonian skull had been carved with modern tools led me to consult published studies on faked pre-Columbian antiquities. One of the earliest scholarly investigations into the nature and problem of faked antiquities came from William Henry Holmes, a geologist, archeologist, and artist who served in numerous capacities at the Smithsonian Institution for more than six decades. In an 1886 article in the journal Science, he wrote about fake Mexican pre-Columbian artifacts that he believed were being sold in large quantities to the world’s museums at the time.
Following in Holmes’s footsteps, I focused my research on faked pre-Columbian artifacts, and soon found a 1982 compilation entitled Falsifications and Misconstructions of Pre-Columbian Art, published by Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection in Washington, DC. The chapter “Three Aztec Masks of the God Xipe,” written by Esther Pasztory, the noted art historian from Columbia University, provided an unexpected clue about the origins of the crystal skulls. One of the three stone masks she discussed, which she believed to be a fake, was part of the Alphonse Pinart Collection in the Musée de l’Homme. This was the same collection mentioned in Daniel Levine’s letter about his museum’s crystal skull. However, according to Pasztory, Pinart had not actually formed the collection himself—he had purchased it from a French antiquarian named Eugène Boban (Pasztory 1982: 94). The name immediately rang a bell, bringing to mind Blake’s letter to Holmes naming Boban as an accomplice in the attempted sale of a fake crystal skull to Mexico’s Museo Nacional (SIA 3/29/1886). Now it appeared that the crystal skull in France’s foremost anthropological museum had originated with Boban! I would soon discover that the Pinart Collection contained a second, though much smaller, crystal skull, also purchased from Boban.
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