Canaletto as Painter
and Engraver
72. Interior of Henry VII’s Chapel,
Westminster Abbey, c. 1750. 65 x 57.7 cm.
Museum of London, London.
The Subjects of his Paintings
Of all the cities in the world, Venice seems to be the one that has carried out the most imperious seduction, of its sons who love their mother city, as well of foreign visitors. Its portraitists multiplied throughout its history. Of these, there were none more zealous, attentive or more gifted than Canaletto and his nephew Bellotto, who reproduced, on multiple occasions, all of its faces, aspects and perspectives. The happy and spiritual Venetians of Tiepolo and Goldoni’s century declared that they had such a predilection for their divine city that they passed their lives there in order “to comfort the eyes”. One can easily understand this contemplative intoxication, this continuous visual enchantment, this salutary exhilaration occasioned by gazing at the most marvellous of urban scenery created by men who would never tire of admiring it since its subtle charm of its lighting and variety of atmospheres continually modify its every aspect.
None of the travellers rushing to the Venetian Republic’s bedside, from 1700 up until the time of its unacknowledged, desperately spirited death throes, allowed themselves to protest against the intimate joy of the civis vénétus felt when seeing Venice and her astonishing, shimmering spectacles presented at any hour of the day. Charles de Brosses, being the great Epicurean that he was, gave himself over to the city in a sensual manner and acknowledged the delight he took in travelling up and down all of the squares, wharfs, canals, alleyways and bridges in order to “treat the eyes” with the splendour and variety of unimagined views, vistas and perspectives that he found on every walk and gondola trip. Goethe, who had been deeply attracted by this “city of Castors”, which is the nickname he gave to the Pearl of the Adriatic, carried away a vision of it magic that he said he would always have and of which he would only speak in the words of a poet hypersensitive to the fascination of the eye by the beauty of things. How many others became ecstatic before the radiant physiognomies of the Doges’ Palace, the Procuratie arches, Saint Mark’s, the marble palaces along the Grand Canal, San Giorgio Maggiore, the Giudecca and the extraordinary mix of land and sea, churches of every style, Byzantine cupolas, Oriental mosaics, pink façades bathed in the lagoons’ waves, the gondolas and other vessels multiplying at Esclavons Quay, not to mention the enchanting, mysterious gardens beyond the city limits, the jubilant crowds, the tolling bells and the barcarolles bringing joyous vibrations to the cheerful atmosphere.
“Make it so,” implored Gasparo Gozzi, “that around every strolling Venetian there be laughter in the air and that before his eyes disperse all ugliness, pain and misery!” This prayer seems to have been answered for those who enjoyed the vitality of the city of carnival celebrations and maritime nuptials on board the solemn Bucintoro. Since Addison, who saw Venice in 1700, on through Montesquieu, Rousseau, the Abbot of Itérais, Madame du Boccage, Young, Moratin, Lady Montaigu and Madame Vigée-Lebrun, there was but a chorus of praises, an exaltation of admiration, a constant panegyric to the exceptional and incomparable foyer of art and beauty that represented the Adriatic’s glorious dowager. The amphibious city derived its life from the sea and the prodigious artistic opulence of its abundant life floating atop piles.