Poblenou Cemetery holds a winged skeleton bending to kiss a dying young man on the forehead. The sculpture sits on the tomb of a textile manufacturer and is dated 1930. Nothing marks it out: it stands in an ordinary row of family graves, and you will walk past it unless you know where to turn. Around it the cemetery reads as a small town — paved lanes between walls of stacked graves, marble angels, broken columns and portrait medallions, the taste of a nineteenth-century merchant city spending money on death.
This was the first burial ground Barcelona opened outside its walls. Graves packed into church floors and yards had become a public health problem, so in 1775 the city put its dead out here on empty land. French troops destroyed the place in 1813. An Italian architect, Antonio Ginesi, rebuilt it, and the new cemetery was consecrated in 1819, laid out as streets of niches stacked several storeys high with family tombs and chapels along the main avenues. That layout is still what you walk through.