How Villegas Dynasty Married Their Way to the Top

The Villegas family, a name once spoken with the kind of reverence reserved for royalty, power, legacy, and influence. And yet, here we are, centuries later, and the name has all but evaporated like the last drop of brandy in an empty snifter. What happened to this illustrious dynasty? Let’s peel back the layers of history, intrigue, and—dare I say—good old-fashioned family drama.

It all begins with Juan and Nicolás de Villegas, a pair of brothers who, in their time, stood as the epitome of influence. These were not your average fellows pottering about in obscurity. No, these men commanded respect and left behind a legacy—or at least, they tried to. But fate, as it often does, had other plans. The offspring of these two titans were the last thread holding the family’s dominance together, and oh, what a tangled thread it turned out to be.

Now, you might think, "Surely a family of this stature could have carried its name through the ages with ease." But the devil, as they say, is in the details. The 17th century granted the Villegas clan social recognition and influence, yet by the 18th century, it all began to unravel. Why? Because, as it turns out, the women of the family—capable as they may have been—married into other powerful clans, taking their husbands’ surnames and leaving the Villegas moniker to gather dust. It was less a fall from grace and more a slow, genealogical whimper.

The crux of the matter lies in the family’s chiefdom, which saw a curious phenomenon: more female chiefs than male ones. This gender imbalance meant the family’s name was slowly diluted through marriage alliances. It wasn’t some grand scandal or a dramatic overthrow—just the quiet march of tradition doing its thing. Women, for all their power and influence within the family, were tethered to the names of their husbands. As a result, the Villegas name dissolved, mixing like fine whiskey into a cocktail of other noble lineages.

Let’s put it bluntly: the Villegas family didn’t lose their legacy; they rebranded, and not entirely by choice.

Take Don Juan de Villegas, for instance. His son, Don Lucas, was no slouch in the marital department, tying the knot twice—first with Doña Isabel María and later with Doña Ana María. Both unions likely served to solidify alliances, as was the custom of the day. One of Don Lucas's daughters, Doña Nicolasa de Villegas, went on to marry Don Diego de Cárdenas, chief of Jocotitlán. Strategic, yes. But each marriage nudged the Villegas name further into obscurity.

Meanwhile, Nicolás de Villegas’s lineage was no less ambitious. Don Vicente married Doña Cecilia Chimal de León, tying their fortunes to the Chimal de León family, whose roots stretched deep into the chiefdom of Temascalcingo. Then there was Doña Úrsula de Villegas, who married Don Alonso de Granada Mixcoatl, a man whose name alone conjures the grandeur of ancient nobility. Each alliance was a masterstroke in power consolidation, but the Villegas name was steadily absorbed into these other dynasties.

It wasn’t just about marrying well; it was about keeping up appearances in a world where lineage was everything. Don Matías de Villegas, for instance, married Doña Petronila Mago, a chief of Huichapa and the daughter of a governor. Their union was more than just a partnership; it was a statement of intent. Similarly, Doña Pascuala de Villegas married into the Moctezuma lineage—yes, that Moctezuma—via Don Ignacio de Tapia y Moctezuma.

By this point, the Villegas name had become a shadow of its former self, tucked neatly beneath the towering banners of other noble houses. The last chieftain, Doña Melchora de Villegas, sealed the deal by marrying Don Nicolás de los Ángeles, tying the family’s fortunes to Atlacomulco’s powerful leadership.

A Family of Strategic Marriages

It is often said that life is a game of chess, but for the Villegas family of yore, it was more like a thrilling match of football—complete with strategy, clever passes, and the occasional dramatic dive for the ball. Don Vicente de Villegas, a man with a penchant for big-picture thinking and an eye for detail, took a playbook straight from his father, Don Nicolás. Both men understood that in the turbulent socio-economic leagues of their time, a successful marriage was the ultimate goal-scoring opportunity.

This wasn’t about love, poetry, or locking eyes across a crowded room. Oh no, romance was as relevant here as a sunroof in a submarine. The Villegas clan used marriage as a well-calibrated mechanism to consolidate power, enhance wealth, and fortify their economic dynasty in the bustling arena of Mesoamerican chiefdoms. It was strategic. It was clinical. And, dare I say it, it was spectacularly effective.

Don Vicente was not content to simply sit in his family box seats, sipping a metaphorical goblet of success. No, this man was the tactical manager of his progeny, orchestrating marital unions with the precision of a coach plotting the perfect set piece.

He and his wife—a Villegas Chimal by name—produced five children: Doña Ana, Doña Isabel, Doña Úrsula, Doña María, and the oddly singular Don Francisco. Each of these names might as well have been etched into a trophy, for they represented pivotal alliances forged across the socio-economic landscape.

Don Francisco, being the odd one out, chose the ecclesiastical life. A noble pursuit, certainly, but let’s be honest: you don’t score economic touchdowns by donning a cassock. That task fell to the sisters, who—like midfielders distributing the ball—married into influential families to ensure the Villegas name echoed through the halls of power.

First on the pitch was Doña Ana, who married Don Melchor del Castillo, chieftain of Jiquipilco. This was no mere romantic rendezvous but a solid cross-field pass into one of the region’s powerhouses. Don Melchor’s position in Jiquipilco made him a formidable partner, and the alliance shored up the Villegas’ standing like a well-placed wall during a free kick.

Next came Doña Isabel, whose choice was less local but no less shrewd. She married Don Antonio de Moya, a Spaniard. Now, this wasn’t just any Spaniard; he was a man with connections that reached across the Atlantic. Think of him as the foreign transfer player whose signing brought a touch of European flair to the Villegas lineup.

Doña Úrsula continued the tradition with Don Gabriel de San Antonio, chieftain of Chiapa de Mota. This was another critical move, bringing yet another local chiefdom under the Villegas influence. Finally, Doña María married Don Lucas Santiago, a chieftain from Tlatelolco, cementing the family’s ties to one of the most historically significant regions in Mesoamerican history.

At first glance, these marriages might look like mere footnotes in a dusty genealogy chart. But let’s not kid ourselves—this was a masterclass in socio-economic strategy. The Villegas family didn’t just tie the knot; they tied entire regions together.

Each union brought land, alliances, and prestige into the fold. By marrying into chieftain families of Jiquipilco, Chiapa de Mota, Tlatelolco, and even the Mexica lineage, the Villegas clan built a sprawling network of influence that spanned the Alto Lerma area and beyond. This wasn’t just about preserving wealth but multiplying it through clever consolidation.

Don't Mess with the Villegas

Let’s talk about the women of this dynastic saga. Forget the image of the genteel lady embroidering handkerchiefs in the drawing room. These women were the strategic masterminds, the Napoleon Bonapartes of matrimonial alliances. Before the Spanish even set foot on Mexican soil, it was the women of the highest social rank who carried the family banner. Lineage? Maternal. Influence? Enormous.

When the Spaniards came along, the women of Jocotitlán’s ruling class quickly adapted, adopting European customs while maintaining their central role in family strategies. They weren’t just marrying for love or a charming smile; they were marrying for power, stability, and survival. A prime example is Doña Isabel de Villegas, who hit the proverbial jackpot with Don Antonio de Moya.

Now, Don Antonio wasn’t just a bloke with a fancy Spanish surname. He was a man of trust, reliability, and, most importantly, proximity to power. When he married into the Villegas family, he wasn’t just signing up for Sunday lunches and awkward family portraits. He became a key player in their dynastic chess game. As a witness to Don Juan de Villegas’s will, Don Antonio wasn’t just scribbling his name at the bottom of a legal document; he was cementing his role as a trusted insider.

The Villegas family’s choice of Don Antonio highlights their knack for spotting talent. They didn’t just settle for any Spaniard—they chose a man who could solidify their position locally and open doors regionally. Think of him as the family’s own Cristiano Ronaldo, capable of scoring goals on and off the pitch.

By now, you’re probably wondering, “What’s the big deal with these marriages?” Well, in a world where social stability was shakier than a two-legged barstool, these alliances were everything. The Villegas clan wasn’t just preserving their surname; they were building a fortress around it. Their approach was simple yet brilliant: marry within your social class and make the most of the connections that come with it.

They weren’t just securing their place in the pecking order; they were actively climbing it. By tying the knot with Spanish families, they learned to navigate the intricate maze of Castilian customs and institutions. In short, they were the Elon Musks of their day—innovators who adapted to every challenge thrown their way.

But the Villegas family didn’t stop at keeping things local. They had their eyes on the bigger picture. By marrying into families from neighboring towns like Atlacomulco, Temascalcingo, Jiquipilco, and Jilotepec, they expanded their influence and created a network that was as robust as it was far-reaching. It wasn’t just about who you knew—it was about who you were related to.

This regional expansion wasn’t just a vanity project; it was a masterclass in political and economic maneuvering. The family wasn’t just preserving their social status; they were ensuring that their name would be synonymous with power and influence for generations.

So, what can we learn from the Villegas family? That survival in a turbulent world isn’t just about brute strength or sheer luck. It’s about strategy, adaptability, and knowing when to play your cards. Whether it was through maternal influence, shrewd matrimonial alliances, or regional networking, the Villegas clan showed us that a family’s legacy isn’t something that happens by accident. It’s built, one calculated move at a time.

If they were around today, I imagine they’d be running a multinational conglomerate or dominating the political landscape. But instead, they left us with a blueprint for how to navigate the choppy waters of history with style and grace. And for that, we can only tip our hats to them—and maybe start plotting our own family’s rise to glory. After all, if the Villegas could do it, why can’t we?

In-text Citation: (Ramírez González & López Alcántara, 2018, pp. 54-56)