resin of trees and shrubs, had been seen as valuable medicines even before Dioscorides, and since the 1520s, the Spanish had sought new balsams in American nature. Along with botanical medicines, they had vast potential as commercial trade items throughout the Atlantic world.37
But Martínez Compañón also wanted to know what local natural resources might affect the health of his diocesans. He inquired as to whether “there are any mineral waters, and if there are if they are hot or temperate, sulfurous, nitrous, ferrous, or of another quality, what use they made of them, and to what effect.” It is possible that one response he received to this query is depicted in volume 2 of the watercolors, in an image that shows a “woman with leprosy bathing” (see Plate 11). In the late colonial period, Lima had its own hospital dedicated to lepers (named for their patron saint, Lazarus), and the viceroy endorsed projects to develop leprosy remedies based on balsams and ointments.38 The image shown here suggests that the waters from this mountain stream in Trujillo might have served the same purpose. Along with potential cures for endemic disease, the Bishop inquired about “any poisonous animals or insects” and what might be done about these. He asked for notice of “any strange birds or carnivorous animals,” many of which must have been those depicted in volume 6 of the watercolors.
Plant and animal life was central to understanding the local environment; and in a bishopric that held vast expanses of arid desert and rocky mountains, water was an even more essential resource. So Martínez Compañón inquired if there were any water sources in each area. Perhaps having been warned that water disputes were rampant in Trujillo (as they were in much of the Andes and still are today), he wanted to know whether these were “for the common use of the people” or if they were held privately. At the same time, water was essential to transporting commercial goods and crops. So the Bishop inquired about any local rivers, their sources and tributaries, and their navigability. In addition, he wanted to know whether each river in question had a bridge and, if not, “if it would be possible to build one, and how much, more or less, its construction would cost.” Bridges would become a central part of the Bishop’s reform agenda, especially in the watery eastern portions of Trujillo, where he managed a campaign to build a bridge over the San Antonio River in the province of Luya and Chillaos.39
Once water was secured both for irrigation and transport, the Bishop could turn to local agricultural production. He wanted to know what crops were farmed in each area, how productive the fields were, and “the method, form, and season of doing their planting, cultivating, and harvesting.” While agricultural crops provided both local comestibles and material for trade, Martínez Compañón realized that American woods were even more potentially profitable, largely because of their high demand in European markets. Of these, he wanted to know about not only “their abundance, and qualities” but also “the use they make of them, or might be able to make of them.”40
Finally, like most anyone who had any knowledge of the Indies, Martínez Compañón knew that the Spanish were still looking for the very substance that had made their earliest ventures in America so fantastically successful. He asked simply, “if there are any minerals, what they are, how they mine them, and what they produce.” These would have complemented the great silver mine at Hualgayoc in Cajamarca, which was closely linked to the economic future of the entire province. As Chapter 5 will demonstrate, his reform work there would be some of the most thoughtful and innovative of his efforts in the bishopric.41
In the end, the questionnaire presaged what Martínez Compañón’s broader reform agenda would ultimately entail. His blueprint for reform was clear: he first needed to teach the people proper Spanish language skills, manners, and work habits. To do so, he would use local primary schools. He wanted to be sure that the bishopric was sufficiently populated and that people lived healthy lives; this was why he sought demographic information. Once the people were healthy, he would ensure that they had stable family structures based on strong Catholic marriages. With all this in place, the people needed to live together in orderly towns. They could then promote the infrastructural improvements—such as roads and irrigation ditches—that they needed to develop for agricultural and commercial growth. Mining was also an important economic factor, but the Bishop was concerned about indigenous laborers being harshly exploited—both underground in silver pits and aboveground on haciendas and in obrajes. In addition to wanting to improve the social and economic well-being of his diocesans, Martínez Compañón’s questionnaire demonstrates that he also sought to learn about “the arts, society, and culture of the Indians of Peru.”42 He inquired about their knowledge of materia medica, or botanical medicines, balsams, and any antidotes they might use against the bites of poisonous animals. He wanted to know about their antiquities and whether they had abandoned their idolatrous practices. Once it was received and compiled, this information would help him to construct his living utopia in Trujillo. He could also employ it as evidence in his ongoing campaign to demonstrate the Indians’ intellectual capacity.
Had the responses to these questionnaires survived in municipal or state archives, they would have formed an unbelievably fecund source for scholarship on local life in northern Peru in the late colonial period. Unfortunately, years of research in Peru, Colombia, and Spain produced almost no evidence of responses. But this does not mean that they were never written; Viceroy Croix’s report on his term in office clearly describes how Martínez Compañón gave him “an exact and prolific document with reports of priests, subdelegates, and Indian officials … everything with the corresponding documentation.” Convinced that the reform agenda that they meant to support was “of utmost importance,” Croix shared the reports with the Ministerio Fiscal in Lima. By June 1786, the viceroy had seen that the files were sent to Fernando Saavedra, the intendant of Trujillo. From there, they disappeared from the archival record.43
The Visita
After such an effort preparing the questionnaire, organizing his team, and packing for what was sure to be a lengthy expedition, Martínez Compañón finally set out on the cool, clear Southern Hemisphere winter morning of June 21, 1782. That day, he began designing and implementing his utopian agenda for Trujillo. The visita would allow him a bird’s-eye view of his territory. He would meet local authority figures and personally assess the challenges faced by provinces and municipalities. He would learn about the region’s natural resources and come to understand its best chances for improvement. Perhaps most important, he could spread news of his utopian vision, gathering support for his plans and inspiring local communities to begin the challenging but rewarding process of reforming their own futures. First he traveled north from Trujillo along the Camino Real through the pale sands and crescent-shaped dunes of the Sechura Desert and into the sunny, verdant Chicama Valley. After a brief stop at the seaside town of Chicama, he headed up into the Cajamarca sierra, where he visited several small towns, including Contumazá, Trinidad, and Gusmango, which he reached on June 25. He continued northeast through the sierra to Celendín, a sparsely populated area where Indians lived scattered on distant haciendas. Here he conducted a thorough inspection of the local clergy, cautioning priests to carefully record names, dates, and the socioeconomic status of townspeople who presented themselves for baptism, marriage, and other sacraments.44 He commissioned a map of the pre-Hispanic Moche irrigation canals that bifurcated the local landscape.45 Here he also made his first attempt at founding a new town—something that the local hacienda workers requested he assist them with. As the next chapter shows, his efforts to establish Amalia de Celendín were successful—a 1794 letter from the local priest revealed that there were already two hundred houses built there, and in 1802, the Crown officially bestowed upon Celendín the title of villa, meaning that it was now an official Spanish settlement, with a population of two thousand to four thousand inhabitants.46
From Celendín, the Bishop and his sorrel mare, along with Echevarri and the rest of the party, headed down the sierra toward the Marañón Valley and the Amazonian province of Moyobamba. Although it was the largest of the ecclesiastical provinces of Trujillo, it had only one significant town—also named Moyobamba. The
