Loving the Unloved: A 1640s Cob with a Story

In keeping with last week's relic theme, I show you one of my favorite pieces: an old crusty eight reales cob from high up in the Andes. This one was found on land; rare for these pieces since most of them come from shipwrecks. It is an old one too, as it has survived since the 1640s -- long after it should have been melted (as most cob coins were).
   This cob is a beautiful hunk of silver that was hammer-struck on a rough cut flan at the foot of a mountain of silver. The majestic peak, located in the colonial city of Potosi, was named Cerro Rico or "rich mountain" for its silvery veins.
   Potosi was a miserable place, high in altitude, causing headaches and nosebleeds. Miners took to chewing coca leaves (baked hard) just to ease the pain. But the silver -- glistening silver -- made it all worthwhile despite the altitude of 13,780 feet (plus another 1,900 feet on the slopes).
   The beautifully mottled sepia tones, with splotches of dark chocolate and hints of mint, give this piece authority. The colors look like the mountain. But more to the point, these salty deposits belies a tale of malfeasance at the mint.
   The evidence is clear: the cob is debased (less than the required 93% fineness) and just shy of its required weight of 27+ grams. Produced under the darting eyes of the on-site assayer, Pedro Trevino, it was a deliberate silver grab.
   Pedro worked at the mint from the late 1630s until about 1645 or 47. The cobs produced during his watch were marked with his monogram: an R with the crossbar of a T placed across the top. This TR is seen on the left side of the Hapsburg shield underneath the P that stands for Peru (or Potosi). Since the crossbar of the T extends both left and right, the cob is though by experts to be a later style from the 1640s.
   In a subsequent investigation by royal officials sent by the Phillip IV in 1648, it was decided to deport poor Pedro back to Spain where he met his end, dangling, at the end of a rope. Other corrupt mint officials were punished as well, and the whole coinage of Potosi was redesigned in 1652.
   And so, we have this beautiful cob as a testament to these events of three centuries ago. You just have to love the primitive nature of this piece -- haphazardly struck on an odd-shaped flan. And the corrosion -- oh sweet corrosion -- is the punch-line.

Loving the Unloved: Relic Coins are Evocative

A relic should look the part.

Green verdigris has built up on the surface, threatening to
swallow up stars and numbers, whereas copper oxides steal
electrons underneath. As the verdigris thickened,
it flaked off leaving a ruddy shadow in low relief.
This is the tipping point in the death of a lost cent.

   Old coins can be evocative, but relic coins steal the show. Unfortunately, most collectors have lost (or more likely, have suppressed) the sense of wonderment that pulls one to embrace a grounder that is coming apart.
   Yet, relic coins are beautiful because of this!
   More than a few essayists have noted that ruined edifices can be more beautiful than when new. The English poet John Dyer expressed this sentiment in 1746 in reaction to the ruins of Rome: "The triumphal arches are more beautiful now than they ever were, there is a certain greenness, with so many colors [that] add certain beauties that could not be before imagined."
   Later commentators, like Christopher Woodward in his sensitive book In Ruins, have remarked that the aesthetics of decay is more than just the colors; it is the struggle that is captivating.
   It is the conflict between man and nature -- when nature is winning -- that captures our attention, draws us closer, making it hard to look away.
   Yet, to some collectors, a relic coin is one to be avoided. Some collectors are even apologetic about having a coin that is corroded or damaged. Relic coins are just scudzy, and that is that.
   I don't think so.
   I have seen a many very fine 1818 cents, many with smooth fields, pleasing butternut tone, sharp details, and all the other trappings of youth (and/or a sheltered life): one in a hundred. Nice.
   But few pieces are as evocative as the one I show you today.