The Eternal Cortege: The Columbus Monument in the Cathedral of Sevilla

The funerary monument for Christopher Columbus stands in the south transept of the Seville Cathedral, Apart from a coating of dust, it looks startlingly lifelike; as though four 16th century heralds of thte rulers of Spain are waiting only for a flourish of trumpets to prompt them to carry toward the altar the coffin of the man to whom the Crown had bestowed the titles admiral, viceroy, and governor.

The monument is a tomb, however, and after decades of multiple studies and a few genetic tests, it has been settled that Columbus' remains are contained there. They have traveled on almost as many journeys as his body did when alive. He's had a few "final" resting places. This tomb/monument was designed by Arturo Melida, who won the commission in a contest initiated by royal decree in 1891 for the Havana Cathedral, in anticipation of the 4th centennial of Columbus' "discovery" of the Americas. (As an American academic, I can't refer to this without calling into question this perspective on his mission and its consequences, but that's not the subject of this post.)

The fact is: Melida's design had lots more to say about Spain's view of itself than anything of substance regarding Columbus. All that is said of Columbus can be seen and summarized right here:

The inscription is a sort of tracking history of Columbus' remains. His body had been moved to Havana after Spain lost Santo Domingo in 1795. It was placed in this container in 26 February of 1891. The pedestal reads, "When the island of Cuba emancipated from Mother Spain, Seville obtained the deposit of Columbus's remains, and its city council erected this pedestal." There's a wealth of understatement there, but so be it. Columbus' coat of arms is lavishly incised into the center of the casket. It is the bottom of the casket, but since it will never be buried, and the top will never have its bronze "tapestry" removed, this is the only place in the design where it makes sense to display his identifying information.

It is telling, though. Because what one can see, without approaching closely, is an awe-inspiring representation of Spain's Renaissance splendor, power, and wealth, which is carrying the corpse of the man who uncovered the economic resources which made that greatest era possible. The man is impossible to find in the dazzle of royal self-aggrandizement.

The monument in the cathedral is missing a few of its original, significant details, lost to damage from the passage of time. Here is a model of Melida's original design, now on display in the Prado in Madrid:

To fully appreciate the import of the Columbus monument, you need to see what was originally carried on the staffs of the leading pall-bearers, and know the significance of the time and place of the monument's creation.

Here is the description of the sculpture, taken from an American compendium of Columbus monuments. The book was written in 1892, when the design was approved, but still under construction:

The writer (J.M. Dickey, probably American) did not see the monument when he described it. I'm uncertain if he saw a drawing or photograph of the model now in the Prado. His focus is on the fact that the sepulcher honors Columbus. But I think his focus, taken at face value, could make us miss a different motive for the monument. One much more important to the Spanish Crown, which was probably not much concerned about whether America considered itself "discovered" by Columbus.

Melida wins this commission from the Crown, not because he creates the best monument to Columbus, but rather because he creates the best monument to the power of Spain as a colonizing force. The sculpture was, perhaps subconsciously, perhaps propagandistically, a nostalgic denial of the fact that Spain's days as a great colonizer were fading fast. Within eight years, Melida's sepulcher would land in Seville's cathedral because Spain would lose all of its colonies in Latin America and the Caribbean. The coffin would not only bear Columbus' corpse, but the dead dream of conquest as well.

The sculpture's use of the symbol of Mary on the left-front figure and the image of St. James on the right-front figure, now visible only in the model, above aren't simply to signal that pall-bearers represent the kingdom of Spain--specifically King Ferdinand II and Queen Isabella. The emblem of Mary is one of pure Christian goodness which stomps upon the dragon--the evil of the devil and unbelievers. The emblem on the staff on the right is not just any emblem of St. James, it is St. James the Matomoros--the patron saint of the conquest of the Americas and the driving of Muslims out of Spain in the early 1500s. The tomb's message to the Cuban Christians in the Havana Cathedral would have been that, even after 400 years, the Crown crushes native resistance.

As precise as the symbols in the monument were, overall, it proved unpersuasive. The Spanish-American War sent Spain out of Cuba in 1898 and it took Columbus and the monument with it.

I am an art pilgrim, though. And I have brought you here, after sharing the undeniably fascinating history of this piece, to show off the incredible craft of this sculpture.

I cannot believe that, apart from the marble for the heads, this entire sculpture is bronze. The cloth and leather elements are so convincing in their texture and drape that I figured they had to be made of lead or tin, in order to have a metal with adequate tensile strength for such detail.

Here you have the herald representing the kingdom of Castille. You cannot miss the symbols in his livery. His tabard, looking like heavily textured leather is a stylized castle, with towers on the epaulets.

Here is the close-up. Check out how realistic the golden bullion tassels look. And the embroidery of the applique of the castle on the tabard.

On his head, he wears a crown in the shape of a castle, with multiple turrets and blind arcades. Some of the turrets appear to have openings. Those turrets have quatrefoil windows. Look at the realism of the gloves and sleeves.

Beneath the heraldic tabard, the figure is dressed like a priest. He has a lace surplice and a cassock with crowns. A turret border runs around the hem of the garment. This is all bronze, people! How did Melina create the different impressions of weight of the fabrics? the gravity of the drape? the texture that makes the cassock seem like silk, the crowns like embroidery, and the surplice like fine lace? And all of this convincingly appears to fall beneath the "leather" tabard and imply an actual body underneath.

The herald of Leon is more decorated more complexly laden with symbols than the one from Castille. He's tasked with representing more than one geography and a detailed, emphatically vicious story.

But to begin simply, here is his tabard. It does have a glorious lion rampant affixed to it, and the lion wears a crown. You can just see the crown the herald wears. It has two lions, rampant, facing each other. What are they facing? A fanciful version of a pomegranate branch.

There are no lions on the Leon herald's surplice and cassock. And why is that?

The pomegranate was a symbol of the city of Granada, the last stronghold of Muslims in Spain. Ferdinand and Isabella (who united kingdoms of Castille and Leon) in 1492 declared victory over Granada and forced Muslims to convert or leave. Here, the cassock, beautifully "embroidered," shows the scallop shells, symbol of St. James (Matomoros, Muslim killer), raining down on the garden of pomegranates. The scepter held by the herald of Leon ends in a spear-tip crowned with a Muslim crescent, piercing a pomegranate, grinding it into the ground. Andalusia was for centuries a vast Muslim-ruled region within Spain, but this monument's design reduces it to near-invisibility in conquest. Still, the presence of Granada is greater than that of Columbus, whose tomb this is.

I was briefly stumped as to why the herald of Aragon had bats all over his livery. The main device in the crest of the kingdom is four red vertical bars (which isn't very exciting, visually, for a work like this). You can see them in the penultimate photo, but the red either was never applied, or faded with time. However, the bat is used in the heraldry of the kingdom to recall the success of James the Conquerer in the 1238 battle of Valencia, where the bat was a symbol of victory.

This opens the door to an opportunity for some truly fabulous regalia. Look at these golden "embroidered" bats applied to this cassock! And, yes, the cloak-like tabard does look like the most luxurious eastern tapestry cloth, ever.

The bat crown should have been in every great 1890s German expressionist horror film made. It's the very beginning of Art Deco.

Finally, we come to the herald of Aragon. Where the heralds of Castille and Leon lead the procession with heads held high, Those of Navarre and Aragon cast theirs down in solemn contemplation, which actually looks like mourning.

The crown and tabard of the herald of Aragon features the interlocking chain design derived from the victory of Sancho VII, after he broke the chains of the enslaved warriors of the caliph Sancho's army fought in the battle of Las Navas de Tolosa in 1212. With the final victory of the Crown over Navarre in 1512, the chains become the crest of the region. So, again, Melina's choice in designing the tomb of Columbus is to assert moments in royal history where "heathens" are put down. It demonstrates that, even after 400 years, Spain regarded its subjects in the colonies as just as "other" as the Muslims who were defeated, exiled, and/or converted. The crown of the herald also features the fleur-de-lis of the Bourbon dynasty, who assume rule of Spain in the 18th century.

Melida's sculpture was designed to be viewed from all sides, as is clear from its striking appearance from behind. Perhaps because the view of the livery of the rear heralds is partially obstructed by the catafalque when viewed from the front and sides, the rear view of them is carefully staged. The figures stand at a near-equal height and uniform posture. Their emblems are positioned almost as precisely as paintings in a gallery. Their robes are draped for a sense of credible movement, though, as pall-bearers in step with each other, but still individual men, would be.

The person responsible for the placement of the monument in 1898 had a terrific eye. Note that as one stands directly behind the procession, a perfect view of the Custodia Grande, a massive silver monstrance created by Juan de Arfe y Villafañe (circa 1587) is framed by the heralds.

National pride and history being what they are, I doubt the monument can be celebrated in the spirit it was intended, and it certainly didn't have the effect on the citizens of Havana that the Crown may have hoped for. What drew me to it, and compels me still, is the magnificent aesthetic achievement it is in 19th century Art Nouveau sculpture--particularly in bronze. It utterly misses as a memorial for Columbus. He's scarcely even a ghost here. But as a memorial for a particular past of the rulers of Spain, it is a tribute to bravado and bravura.